When the Russian mob starts to take over the Boston underworld there are two ways to handle the situation; the way of the gun, or the way of the con. Or, a little bit of both.

Author's choice; author's choice; "It was sex pollen, I swear!"

On Saturday, Parker – or Alice – meets Peggy for coffee. The whole coffee part of the thing is an ordeal: entering the building by the front door, standing in the line with all the other customers, ordering a drink and sitting down without even having the pretext of scoping the place out for potential thievery.

Eliot cooks. Alec likes it.

Eliot watches, fascinated, as Hardison brings the joint to his lips and inhales, making the lit end burn bright and cherry-red for several long seconds.

A one-night-stand becomes a whole lot more. If only life were that simple.