"Carl. I need your help."

Lassiter stared at the phone for a minute. Throughout the years, he’d received at least two dozen phone calls that began like that. Most of those, however, had been frantic and pleading. This time, Ty sounded completely calm and even slightly amused.

"What?" Lassiter grunted, leaning back in his desk chair. "What’s going on?"

"Nothing," Ty pressed on breezily. "I just busted some kid trying to lift batteries and Power Aid. Do you want to come down to the store and play the bad cop?"

Lassiter’s ears perked with interest at the offer.

It had been a long time since he’d been the bad cop.

The Department had promoted him out of actual work and into a desk years ago, and while he enjoyed his new rank, he had to admit he did miss the interrogating of suspects. He liked getting his hands dirty. But most of all, he liked The Fear.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, sitting up again, glancing around to make sure there was no one around.

Of course there wasn’t.

It was his office.

"The usual," Ty told him. "Scare the hell out of the little punk so he won’t even think about doing it again, then turn him loose."

Lassiter scowled. "You’re not going to prosecute?"

"He’s just a kid, Carl. I’m not going to give him a record over some batteries. He just needs to get his ass kicked a little."

Lassiter nodded slowly. It made sense. Even though his title was technically Loss Prevention Specialist, Ty had always balked at the term and just called himself a Professional Asskicker.

That was basically his job description, after all: Catch shoplifters and kick their asses so they never did it again. To a more cynical observer, he would have been nothing but a glorified security guard with marginally better surveillance equipment and no authority to actually arrest anyone, but he was a natural at what he did and he loved his job. He knew every scam and palming technique there was. He could spot a shoplifter from a hundred yards without even blinking, and he’d turned into a surprisingly competent interrogator. He’d stumbled into the job almost accidentally after high school when he’d been working at a grocery store, and never looked back.

"He’s a thief," Lassiter insisted. "Ass-kicking isn’t going to change that."

"Oh, I don’t know," Ty countered calmly. "Seems like a good ass-kicking or two kept me out of trouble. Mostly."

Lassiter grunted.

It was hard to argue with that one…except the "mostly" part. Mostly was a relative term.

"Can I at least bring my cuffs?" he demanded, figuring there wouldn’t be any point otherwise. "Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve gotten to cuff a perp?"

"Sure," Ty mumbled. "We’ll see how long it takes him to wet his pants and burst into tears."

"Sounds like fun," Lassiter agreed, standing up. "I’ll be there in ten minutes."

He dropped the phone back on the hook and grabbed his keys off the desk. No one would miss him if he was gone for a half hour or so, he told himself, and it was technically police business.

Besides, he knew he could make the kid cry in under three minutes.

Three minutes was his record.

Ty’s was five.

He wasn’t going to let the little rat beat him at his own game.

When he got to the small store, Ty was sitting behind the front counter. He grinned up at Lassiter as the promoted detective walked in.

"Hey, Carl," he greeted, dropping his feet to the floor as he stood up. "You ready to scare this kid straight?"

Lassiter nodded. "Where is he?"

Ty flicked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating a large door behind him. "The back room. He made his phone call to his parents. Now he’s just waiting for them to pick him up. And stewing."

Lassiter grinned approvingly. "You sure he’s stewing?"

Ty returned the grin, looking quite pleased with himself. "Oh, he’s stewing."

"Good," Lassiter grunted, pushing past Ty and opening the door to the back room.

It was going to be easy, he told himself.

The little punk was just a thief.

No good.

He’d always be no good.

People just didn’t change.

In all his years in law enforcement, it was the one rule he’d never once seen broken, not even with seemingly innocent kids.

People never changed.

Crooks stayed crooks. Forever.

Killers killed again.

Thieves stole again.

Abusers abused again.

There was no way around it.

As he opened the door and stepped inside, he froze. Ty was right behind him, but the younger man managed to avoid bumping into him.

Lassiter stared at the kid sitting behind the table. It was a small boy, no older than ten or eleven, wearing a torn blue jean jacket. A mop of thick black hair sat on top of his head, and he was scowling at the two adults.

"This is Chief Lassiter," Ty spoke first, walking around the table, nodding at Lassiter. "He’s with the police."

The boy blinked up at him, for a brief moment looking somewhat concerned. His dark eyes flashed with defiance.

Lassiter knew he was supposed to say something right then, but for some reason words escaped him.

Ty glanced over at him curiously. He’d never seen Lassiter speechless before, especially not during an interrogation. "Carl?" he murmured. "Uh…weren’t you going to say something?"

Lassiter nodded, his eyes drifting back to the kid behind the table.

He wasn’t a carbon copy Ty by any stretch of the imagination. His features were sharper and his eyes were angrier than Ty’s had ever been, even back when he was this kid’s age. But he had the same look of a world-weary wisdom far beyond his years that Ty had had. He had the same look of being lost at sea.

Their eyes met across the table, and for that brief moment, Lassiter thought he might break his record. The kid looked ready to cry right then and there.

That’s when Lassiter realized he was wrong.

People never changed…but at least one person in that room had.

Himself.

Because of Ty, that angry little punk who would steal anything that wasn’t nailed down, he couldn’t look at this kid now and see a lifelong criminal.

He couldn’t look at anyone and just know they were completely hopeless.

He hadn’t been able to in years, if he was being honest with himself, but he’d never been able to admit it before that moment.

A cop was supposed to be cynical.

A cop was supposed to be impartial.

A cop was supposed to understand human nature…and human nature didn’t change.

But he was standing there, and he knew he had changed.

Ty had changed, too, sure. He’d gone from a snot-nosed street punk to a competent professional. But looking back, that change was mild compared to the one Lassiter had undergone.

This kid was still no good.

He was still a little punk who needed his ass kicked.

But Lassiter wasn’t ready to write him off as hopeless.

Not yet.

Not anymore.

Ty rolled his eyes when a full minute passed and Lassiter still hadn’t said anything.

"You’re the worst bad cop ever," he complained.

Lassiter nodded in agreement. "Yeah. I guess I am."