Hurray! I adore Welsh, so, so much. I loved him being responsible for them, drinking tea with Vecchio, keeping an eye on him on nights when things got bad. The desk, with cases he and Frannie had slowly placed there over the months. Welsh's anger over Fraser getting exiled again for doign the right thing. Frannie, wanting them all to be safe and happy.

This is terrific: Some cops don’t worry about those cases. They’re the cops from the right streets, the right families. The families who aren’t second, third generation immigrants, with surnames that are easy to pronounce. Those cops don’t last long in the poorer precincts. A paisan, a Polack, and a Canuck walk into a bar. And then they do their best to make things come out right.