Public Defender Joyce Davenport comes to the station to retrieve her young clients that the officers picked up at the school. She signs in, then looks around until she spots Hill and Renko.

"Officers?"

Hill is the first to speak. "Ms. Davenport?"

"Where is my client?" She asks.

Renko answers back, holding the door open for her. "Right this way, ma'am. Interrogation Room B."

Davenport steps in. She looks stoically at the scruffy black haired youth at the table. His dark eyes follow her every move. He rubs at his light moustache. Renko hands her a folder. She opens it as she takes a seat across from him. "Arturo Marquez. I see you were in juvy at thirteen. Didn't graduate from high school."

"I gotta take care of my momma."

"That's what they all say, Mr. Marquez. It says here that you and your friends were caught carrying guns and knives."

"Protection, lady." He snarls back.

"You lit a table on fire in junior high. I'm guessing you got bored with Study Hall."

"Yeah, and I was about to light that teacher's wig on fire and put it on his head."

She shakes her head and calmly says, "It also says you nearly beat a classmate to death when he took your lunch. A real mean streak, Mr. Marquez."

"He had it comin'. Just like those pigs out there." Arturo squints back. "They all law and order, when they don't know what they're up against. I'll tell you, lawyer lady. You don't wanna cross Pedro Morales. You never want to cross him. He'll put those pigs heads on sticks. Like popsicles! Ice them all! Be callin' it a pig roast. Could be a donut shop. Just like that. Get a dozen of them cops. Could be a bar where they hang out. Paint a police station red. You just never know. We don't call ourselves the Cold Cobras for nothin'. Ice 'em with our venom. When it comes down to it, after they get taken down, then we take out the boss. The man that gives the orders. No big law and order man gonna stop us." Arturo stares viciously at Davenport with intent to intimidate.

She stares back at him.

Sgt. Bates sits at a desk, typing files. The phone rings. She picks it up.

"Hill Street station. Yeah? This is. Oh, hi Peg. No. No. That's quite alright. Coffee? If that's code for lunch, I can do it. If it's the actual thing, Junior won't let me. Tomorrow? Twelve is fine by me. He doesn't know?"

Hill finishes his arrest report. He steps up next to Bates, waiting for her to get off the phone.

She continues her conversation and briefly looks up at him. "Okay. I gotcha. Right. Tomorrow it is. I'll see you then. Bye." Bates picks the report out of Hill's hands. "Sorry about that, Bobby."

"Family?" He asks.

"You could say that. Peg, J.D.'s sister wants to have lunch with me tomorrow."

"You're having a problem with that."

"It's just… I don't know much about J.D.'s family. I don't really know much about him at all. Then I get a call from his sister, saying she wants to hang out? The whole thing seems so strange, Bobby. I didn't even know or talk with these people before all of this happened...and now, I'm treated like one of the family. I know what's going to happen. All that reminiscing."

"You could always call her back and tell her you're busy."

"Do you know how many times I would have to do that? I can't run away from them."

Hill leans over, "Can I give you a little bit of advice?"

"Sure."

"Don't. Don't run away from J.D.'s family. That's what they are. Peg is gonna be an aunt. This is something incredibly new and special to her. You think it's awkward now, just wait until all those holidays. Her and Rob… At least Peg wants to be in Junior's life. You keep that away from them, him or her,…Junior that is, and you'll be facing a lot of resentment down the line. Questions you can't answer. Now that's awkward."

Bates looks at Hill with a mixture of understanding and guilt. "I wish you weren't right, Bobby. Okay. I'll try."

Hill puts a hand on her shoulder. He gives a wide smile. "Atta girl." After he steps away, she looks ahead to think.

...

At Division, Frank weaves his way through the quiet room with Lt. Bill Johnson, as officers sit, quietly tapping at their computer keyboards.

The lieutenant looks back at the bemused captain. "You asked about LaRue?"

"Yes."

"If you're looking for a glowing review, Frank, you've got one. I will say, he was nervous at first. You know, nothing to worry about. Like a kid on the first day of school. He learned to relax though pretty quickly. Always on time. Cracked up my guys with jokes. John was really something." Johnson shakes his head. Turning to look back at Frank, he stops reminiscing. "I can tell by that skeptical look on your face, you saw a different side to him altogether. I've seen that look on other commanding officer's faces for various guys."

"Bill, I'm not questioning J.D.'s work ethics. He certainly was a damn good cop, when he wanted to be."

Johnson repeats Furillo's words in muttering fashion. "When he wanted to be. Frank, if you want to play judge and jury with John LaRue, look no further than me…or you. The fact is, you and I both know…"

A plain clothes officer interrupts them. "Lt.? Here's the file you requested a signature on."

Lt. Johnson signs the form, handing it back to the man. "Oh, and tell him to call me if he needs anything."

Without missing a beat he continues with Furillo. "You and I both know this job is tough. Cops always need help. It's a hellish world. We know what it's like though. Those dark days of picking up the bottle. We're not perfect, and because of that, we've learned. We're in the business of helping people, Frank. I never forget that. Just like I can never forget thirty officers John LaRue helped, five of which were saved from an early grave. He did an outstanding job." Johnson leads the captain into a small office.

Frank slowly says while taking a seat, "Bill, I'm not here for his resume. His pension is what I came here to talk about."

Johnson takes a seat across from him at his desk.

"His family will get everything they're entitled to."

"He hadn't reached the twenty year mark at the time of his passing."

"You're talking about his switch over from detective to Division psychologist."

"Does the committee see his seniority?"

"Frank, just because John quit being a detective, he never stopped being a cop. He was sanctioned by me. I'm no detective, but rest assured, I am an officer of the law. I never stopped even though I run this portion of the department now. You're wrong about something, Frank. He was already at twenty-one. If you're thinking he lost all seniority two years ago when he joined with us, you can stop telling everybody he didn't. He was a cop to the very end."

Frank takes a moment to think. "Bill? Did he ever say much about his family?"

"Nothing more than his sister, Peggy, or what he liked to call his brother in-law, Rob 'swine.' I get the distinct impression you're fishing for more."

"This has to… Paternity. That's why I'm here."

"Oh."

"Did he say anything about children?"

"Frank, I don't go home with these guys. I wouldn't know what they do on their off-time. He never mentioned anything." Johnson hesitates before asking, "Do you know what it is?"

"The child? Not born yet."

"By this rare drop-by visit, let me guess. She's one of yours. The mother, that is."

"Cop. She's equally a damn good one too. She's been going through hell since it happened. Then she found out…about the pregnancy. It's been tough for all of us, but especially her." The captain gives a weakened smile. "She just cleared her first trimester."

Johnson sits back. "Right around the same time."

"She told me she was with him the night before the…" Frank takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "…accident." Swiftly bounding from the chair, he says, "Thanks for all your help." With tightened lips, he picks up his jacket and walks to the door. Before he can reach the threshold, Johnson's voice makes him stop.

"I told Chief Briscoe to give John's family everything he was worth. Also, I told Peggy Nelson to sue the pants off of those officers and everybody in charge of her brother's death. That goes for Fletcher Daniels, a true swine. There's a few other things I'd like to call him, but I'll leave it at that. One more thing. Let me know when she has the baby."

Frank gathers his thoughts for a moment. "I will." Then he walks away.

...

Belker sucks on a cigar. He peeks over the rims of his dark sunglasses. "I was checking inventory. We're lookin' for I'd say between twenty-three to twenty-five to fill up this gallery."

Washington looks on.

DeGault rubs his hands together. "If you're looking for twenty-five, it will cost you one point two."

Belker takes the cigar out of his mouth. "That's about fifty for each. Isn't that cheap?"

"Nobody zaid they had to be expensive."

"Are they real?"

"Real as you and me, Mr. Zanders." Westford answers back. "You do want the best quality, correct?"

"Wait. Quality?" Belker grins. "You mean fakes?"

"Nu no. Think of it as reproductions." DeGault answers.

"Reproductions?" Belker asks quizzically.

"Yes. Like pastiches and replicas." DeGault slowly walks around the empty perimeter looking over the bare walls.

"We'll take them." Washington pipes up. He steps over to his partner and quietly remarks, "John would know more about this than you."

Under gritted teeth, Belker answers back. "I'm trying my best."

Westford turns around quickly. "I'm sorry. Did you say something?"

"Uh, my partner here, Mr. Humphrey was just reminding me of his late partner, Johnny D. He knew an awful lot."

"The name doesn't ring any bells. Do I know him?"

Washington answers back. "Probably not. Johnny D. Aldo. He was on the west coast." He shakes his head.

Westford asks, "May I ask, what happened to him?"

Washington says, "Heart attack."

At the same time Belker says, "Ice cream truck."

Both turn to look at each other.

Washington corrects them. "He started to have a heart attack while walking across the street…"

Belker finishes the sentence. "…and then he got hit by the ice cream truck." He looks down mournfully.

Westford says, "How awful. I'm dreadfully sorry."

DeGault interrupts. "Are you aware that a single van Gough can fetch half a million alone. Mr. Zanders, are you not aware that Vincent van Gough sold very little during his lifetime? He was so mentally ill, that he cut off part of his ear."

Belker says, "I know a guy who bit off a nose." He starts chuckling.

Washington shakes his head in dismay while Westford and DeGault exchange unamused glances. "Okay, so who do we make the check out to?" He asks, pulling out a billfold.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Humphrey. Payment upon receipt of merchandise. Tomorrow. We pick you up at eleven o'clock sharp." Westford answers.

Belker slides the sunglasses down to his nose. "Wait. We need to pick ten more."

"No worries, Mr. Zander. You can finish picking tomorrow. Like I said before, we'll meet up with you here and pick you up. We can talk about the rest then. Just bring the money. No funny business either."

...

A knock comes at Furillo's office door.

"Come in." He says.

Davenport looks at him with a deep breath. She removes her glasses. "I saw you walk by before. Looked like you had a lot on your mind. Care to talk about it?"

"I went to visit Bill Johnson down at Division."

"About LaRue."

"He told me that the family would get his full pension. I don't know. The whole thing still seems so surreal. Losing him…and Ray." He snaps out of his mood to sound more positive. "Anyway, what's going on with you?"

"I just got done talking with Arturo Marquez. The devil himself would be proud of this one. Juvy at thirteen. Beat a classmate to a pulp. Lit furniture on fire. Had thoughts of burning a teacher alive."

"Typical behavior of someone in need of anger management."

"Typical behavior of a psychopath. Worse yet, a deranged criminal."

"Did he give you anything else?"

"One name. Pedro Morales."

"Sounds like he wants to run to his mommy."

"I wouldn't make jokes about this, Frank. Not by a long shot."

Detectives Washington and Belker return to the station. Other officers briefly look at them while walking by. Belker remarks with happiness, "We were good. I didn't think it would work but we were a team."

"Yeah, babe. And if you were left alone, we would have never been able to make the deal."

Belker turns to him in confusion. "What are you talking about? We got it done. Remember? You and I?"

"I'd like to know what was going on through your head. Ice cream truck? We agreed that if J.D.'s name should come up during an assignment, that he died from a heart attack. Nowhere, no how was it ever mentioned the ludicrous way you mentioned."

"I thought it sounded better."

"You did, did you?" Washington says in a perturbed tone. "Why didn't you just say he died from your onion breath?"

"Come on, Neal. What does it matter? We got the job done and quite frankly I'm proud of it."

"A Sunday, man? No art museum has a premiere on a Sunday night. Good thing I came in when I did."

"That was it? That was your sticking point?" Belker asks in dismay. "You went in because I said, Sunday? You're not going to tell me that we forgot to talk about it in the van. Nothing was ever mentioned."

"Don't you ever get out of the house, Belker?"

"I do. For pizza, or to catch a movie with my family. Okay. So, I don't know much about art. I do know that some of that stuff they call art, shouldn't be. And it goes for millions of dollars! That's what gets me."

They walk to the captain's office.

Furillo tries to reassure his wife. "Why don't you…" He spots the two men walking in. "Well talk about this later."

Washington then sees the captain's wife. "Oh, uh, sorry Ms. Davenport."

Belker looks over, nearly repeating his partner's words. "Yeah. Sorry Ms. Davenport."

Davenport turns to see the two detectives, Belker in particular and his unusual style of dress. "Fetching outfit you have on, detective. Undercover?"

Belker smiles before answering with regular graciousness. "Thank you, Ma'am. And, yes it is."

Her eyes turn to her husband's before she says, "Good day, gentlemen."

She leaves.

Furillo asks the two men, "What have you got?"

Washington says, "For starters, we got them. Like setting up cheese for a mouse. They took the bait."

"Names?"

"Oh yeah." Washington talks in a mock British accent. "Niles Westford." He shakes his head in disbelief, then switches back to his normal way of talking. "Sounded like he just came from the Shakespeare school. Everything but thee and thy in his vocabulary. No way was that real. I'm just trying to figure out where I've seen him."

Belker speaks up. "The other guy was a pretty boy blond Frenchman, and no, I'm not going to impersonate him either. Gilles DeGault. These guys are into art reproductions. They gave us a list the size of a menu on what to pick. When we started questioning them about things, they stopped the sale."

Washington then says, "Yeah, but they wanted us to continue tomorrow. Not at the gallery. Said to bring the money."

"How much?" Furillo asks.

"One point two."

"We'll get the decoy ready. Chances are they'll lead you to their base of operations. That's what we want. Mick, you had a wire, right?"

"Yeah."

"I want you both to have one. I don't want either of you to get off the radar if anything should happen. I'll have two officers stay behind you in close proximity. Oh, and don't ask anymore questions than you have. We don't want to lose them. Good work, fellas."

Belker says with pride, "I think we worked out well together. I actually had fun."

Furillo darts his eyes at Washington, who he can tell doesn't feel the same sentiment. "That's good, Mick."

Belker tries to keep his smile, but when looking back at Washington, knows better. He leaves the office in defeat.

Washington stays behind. "Uh, Captain. I don't know if I can truly handle Mick as a partner."

"He seems to think so."

"Yeah. I know. It's just that… Well, sometimes he just doesn't think before he says something. You know what that fool did? He tells those guys that J.D. was hit by an ice cream truck. I told him before. If we were ever to mention him during an assignment to say it was a heart attack."

Furillo tightens his mouth in understanding. "Is that your grievance? Other than the job you did?"

"I'd say that's about it."

"Neal, you can't let things like this get to you. You did your job. I'd say that the way LaRue was, even he would think your grievance is petty at best. I think he'd be quite honored that you would even mention him during one of your assignments. It's not what's said, but the fact it gets notice. Mick does things his own way. That's not going to change. He knows you're still hurting because he is too, but he's trying to make the best of everything. It's unusual for him to take on this type of assignment in the first place and on top of it, return and happily give notice the way he did. You both need each other, and I think more than ever, you need him. Once you're finished with this, I'll be sure to write a memo not to pair you two together. That's entirely up to you.

Washington looks down with guilt. "I understand, Captain. I'll work on separating my personal feelings from my professional ones. Thanks."

Belker looks at the steps ahead of him that lead downstairs. Washington calls him, "Hey, Belkah!" Belker turns to him. "Look man, I owe you an apology for the way I treated you earlier. It's just that I got these feeling's and it's still hard to deal with J.D. being gone."

Belker slowly smiles. "No problem. Apology accepted. Hey, I never had any reason to have a partner, but I understand. Lucy got on all of our cases when Joe was gunned down. It's just human nature to feel something when the guy you worked with isn't around anymore."

Washington bows his head down. "Yep. It hurts a lot." He lifts his head up. As he says positively, "What do you say we check out that book so we can pick the rest of those paintings tomorrow, partner?" He puts an arm around his shoulder.

Belker smiles back and taps Washington's back. "Yeah. I think I'd like that!"

They start to walk away together.

"Mick?" Robin Belker says aloud.

The two men turn around. Washington slips away to the coffee area, watching from a safe distance away.

Again, Robin slowly inches closer to her husband. "Mick, is that you?"

"Yeah. I think so."

Her jaw drops. "Oh wow."

Belker glances down, realizing she's talking about what he's wearing. "What? This?" He looks at her puzzled. Robin says nothing. She puts her hands on his shoulders. "It's for an assignment. That's all. An art gallery. Neal thought I should…look the part. W…why are you looking at me like that?"

"You…look…so…hot." She answers plainly, toying with his gold chain. "Did I ever tell you that sleazy business men turned me on? You know, while I was up in the Heights we got this guy, insurance salesman. Con artist. He was dressed so good. I just wanted to jump on him."

"You did?"

"But I really like… No. I really love sleazy art dealers." She gets super close to him. "There's just something about a bad boy who knows how to dress." Robin gets close to his ear. She stops. "Is that cologne I smell?"

He sheepishly smiles at her. "Well…"

Robin throws her arms around his shoulders. "So…hot. Smoldering hot." She reaches over for a long passionate kiss.

Washington still watches, shaking his head with a smile. He remarks to Officer Chen. "I think she approves."

She nods back in agreement.

Mick and Robin part their lips. She says, "You know, I came here to suggest we eat out tonight."

"Pizza?"

"Not exactly. I was thinking of fine wine and nicely cooked sirloin. That little Italian restaurant past Michigan Avenue. Mrs. Murphy's looking after Phillip for a little while." She digs two fingers under the open portion of his shirt. "Of course I can call up Mrs. Murphy and ask her if Philip can stay the rest of the night." Robin looks at Mick again, igniting her burning desire. "Oh, Mick. I want you right now so badly." Her fingers rummage deeper into his shirt. A bad boy dressed so good deserves to be stripped of everything he's wearing." She coos.

Mick feels caught off-guard. "Here?" He sputters. "Now?"

Robin says back, "Right now." She leans against him, passionately kissing her embarrassed husband.

He pulls away. "Robin, not here. Everybody's watching."

"So? Let them. A little indecent exposure can't hurt."

Again, she draws him in for another lengthy kiss.

Furillo steps out of his office. A small smile crosses his lips. "Mick, you can go home now."

The captain goes back into his office. He turns more serious when he sees the notes from Chief Briscoe on his desk.