On most days, Camille and Eric took their lunches together. It was all part of living in someone's hip pocket, as partners often did. Today, though, Eric had a rather lengthy meeting with an attractive young ADA, one who Camille suspected he secretly fancied. The meeting had gone over into lunch. So, she was flying solo.

To commemorate the occasion, Camille decided on Vietnamese, something for which her partner never really had a taste. The place she favored wasn't fancy. It had something of a fast-food quality about it, with well-scuffed linoleum floors and cheap plastic chairs, but the dry pho was to die for.

She sat for just a few moments perusing the menu, fairly certain she would go with the pho, when she heard a deep and smooth voice.

"You're Camille Thomas, aren't you?"

She looked up to see a giant of a man, probably in his mid-fifties, with a warm and friendly smile. If she had to guess, she would have pegged him as a retired football player and, for a moment, almost thought she recognized him. Despite his affable demeanor, though, she had a cop's wariness and thought of the Sig on her hip. The man was enormous. She hesitated for just a moment, uncertain how to respond.

"Who's asking?" she finally settled on.

His smile broadened. "Tommy Haas wanted me to look you up ... has been threatening that for more than a year. I'm Cecil Dykstra."

To her eternal shame, Camille sprang to her feet and squealed like a teenaged concertgoer. Stepping around the flimsy table, she threw her arms around the big man.

"Oh, shit," she said, stepping away half a minute later, "I am so sorry. I don't usually hug someone who I've just met."

"Camille, don't let me stop you," said the enthusiastic old man.

The detective also was embarrassed she'd taken so long to meet the colossus. Her schedule was sometimes prohibitive, and several planned meetings in the past year had fallen through. Now, she was excited.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" she enquired as the two took their seats.

"You know," he said in a booming voice, "I got a call from Tommy early this morning, or really late last night, and he said he might be out of touch for a day or two and I should give you a call."

Clearly, the man had thought to look her up, instead.

"Did he say why?" she asked, leaning forward.

Cecil looked about the room and moved closer.

"Well," the man said just above a whisper, "he didn't say exactly what's up, but I think our friend had an epiphany. He told you about a certain someone who might be in the City who's like, you know," he tapped his chest with a heavy right thumb, "one of us. And he got it in his head you might go looking for this guy ... you know, on account of what he's been up to ...."

She gave a heavy breath. "Cecil, it's my job."

The old man immediately struck a conciliatory tone. "Ya' know, I know it is. Tommy talks about you like you're the best things since butterbeans ... which tells me you're one helluva good cop. So, I would never try to tell you how to do your job ...."

"But ...?"

"But," continued Cecil, "people like us are all different, Camille. Some of us are really tough, and the usual things ... well, don't always hurt folks like me ... at least not as much. If you decide you wanna go looking for this guy, gimme a call, just in case. I've done all this before." He waved a casual hand "And I'm retired now, so, I got nothing else shaking. I'd be happy to help you sort that whole thing out."

Camille was so charmed by the man that she could scarcely calm her smile.

"I appreciate the offer, and I'll definitely give you a call if we get a lead on the fellow."

Cecil gave the hardiest laugh. "You are everything Tommy said, and more," he crooned.

"Oh, now you're over-egging things!" She gave up controlling her laughter altogether.