There was no hesitating this time. Harry strode silently but purposefully into the head office of the Narcotics Division. His hair was trimmed and he had on a crisp, white shirt with a favorite royal blue tie over the pinstripe gray of his tailored slacks. The suit jacket hung over his shoulder, and he used his free hand to knock four times on the glass door of Lieutenant Powell.

"Come," was all Powell ever said in response to a knock.

Harry gently closed the door behind him, tossed his jacket on the chair, and stood before his former boss. Powell was in his fifties and stubbornly forging through to retirement; a no-nonsense cop who was a master at bending the rules to favor the good guys. His dyed hairline was in full retreat but he was still athletic and fit. He cleared his throat, but said nothing.

The two eyed each other for a few tense moments and Powell leaned back in his seat, folding his hands in his lap. "You look like a man who's just washed a whole shitload of crap out of his hair."

"Everybody needs a shower now and then."

"Don't tell me, Denby. You think that you can just waltz back in here and report for duty like some sort of misunderstood Eagle Scout just because Don Kirkendall can no longer hang you out to dry?"

Harry smiled and sat down gracefully across from the Lieutenant, mirroring his posture with folded hands. "No, no I don't, because, as you know, Don Kirkendall never had a thing on me. My hiatus was simply brought on by a little too much Scotch and not enough judgment. A glaring moral defect, to which I have humbly testified before dozens of fellow drunks, but no crime."

"You are one slick son-of-a-bitch, you know that?" Powell shook his head.

"Tell me what I want to know. Tell me if I'm employed."

"And what use are you to me or this particular Department with you being on IAB's ten most wanted list?"

"I kept quiet and my connections are still intact. You know and I know that it'll take years for any new probie to come up with what I've got on the streets." He leaned forward and lowered his eyes, "Trust, in our line of police work, is a valuable and hard won commodity."

Powell laughed as he stood up to fill his briefcase with files from his desk, "Trust...god, Harry, you use that word as if you know what it means."

"I do now, Boss. Believe me, I know exactly what it means."