"I DON'T KNOW! I guess, maybe I thought it ...might explain a few things."

Unwilling to show him any measure of the sympathy that tore at her heart, Diane let stinging words fly instead, "What? That personal tragedy gives you a right to jerk people around the rest of your life?"

Harry leaned down and faced her squarely, "Look who's calling the kettle black."

"What?"

"Ask Danny if he's feeling a little jerked these days."

Her eyes narrowed, "You have no right..."

"Absolutely no right to say the truth to your face," he interrupted. "Come on, Diane. You've always felt free to lay it all out plainly for ME, offering me immeasurable advice from your stores of wisdom."

"So that's what this is about, huh? A little payback for all the assumptions that you led me into with your clever crap."

"If you say so, beautiful."

"Well, as long as we're being completely honest, why in the hell did you decide to give ME all this incriminating information? If you're so convinced of my moral failings why didn't you give the information to Andy Sipowitcz or Lieutenant Fancy...they certainly could have passed it onto to Cohen and cleared us with IAB."

"I said you had deep unmet needs, not moral failings."

"Are we gonna do this dance again? I asked you a question."

"But I already answered you."

"When?"

He shrugged, "Months ago, when I wrote my letter."

"Harry, you sent me on a mother of a scavengerhunt with the contents of your little package. Now, I'm supposed to congratulate you on the foresight of sending an undercover narc to baby-sit Frankie, and, and ...and proclaim the resourcefulness of keeping accounts on the back of lottery tickets? You're making my head hurt."