Part 5 ~ Monday 11 April 1994
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Part 5 ~ Monday 11 April 1994 |
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Ray parked up outside of Stan’s apartment building. As soon as he’d got home he’d dropped his bags off and headed for his car, driving aimlessly around for an hour while he thought about his father’s death and the consequences. Now it was six in the morning and he wanted to talk to Stan about the whole wretched business. Looking up at the building, Ray counted the windows until he found his partner’s, grateful to see lights on as it meant Stan hadn’t left yet, but disappointed because lights on this early had to mean that Stan was flying out today. Ray let himself into the apartment with his own key and called out. Stan emerged from the bedroom, peering at his partner and intensely scrutinising his appearance. “You look like shit.” “Hello to you too.” “Make coffee,” Stan instructed before rubbing his bleary eyes and taking another look. Then he crossed to shift an armchair further into the room and transfer his packed holdall from its present position to the doorway. Ray allowed himself to be shooed into the space Stan had created. “Pace. Wear out your head.” “I’ve done something really stupid.” “Brought in the guy who killed Joseph Vecchio? That’d be stupid. Should give him a medal and send him on his way,” Stan muttered as he started making coffee. Ray hesitated. As well as he knew Stan, he didn’t know how he would react if he told him what he needed to tell him. “Come on, buddy, get it off your chest.” “I slept with the investigating officer,” Ray blurted out before he could stop himself. Stan looked up with surprise; he’d never been aware – or been privy to the knowledge – of Ray being that involved with anyone in all the time he’d known him. “Okay. I thought it was that Fraser guy. Don’t tell me – Carol. I spoke to Carol, she was…” “It was that Fraser guy.” Stan went into momentary freeze-frame before reanimating and carrying on with the coffee. Another glance at Ray told him the man was about to shake himself apart. “Pace, Ray, pace.” Ray began to pace, hands gripped together to contain the trembling. “You don’t want me to talk about this, I won’t talk about it.” “You can talk,” Stan told him, less than convincingly. “Gonna gross you out?” “I’m not grossed out, just, y’know…” “Disgusted? Appalled? Want the fag out of here?” “Surprised, I’m surprised,” Stan protested. “How long have I known you and I didn’t guess for a minute. I’m surprised. Call me the un-detecting detective.” “But you’d rather I didn’t talk about it.” “You can talk,” Stan repeated, “it’s just that you don’t like to. About anything personal. It’s all part of the Ray Vecchio exclusion zone.” Ray paced for a few minutes in silence before stopping and turning to Stan. “How could I have been so dumb?” “So…when you say ‘slept’ with him…” “The whole fucking works. Jesus, Stan, you don’t want details.” “Did you do it ‘cos you wanted to? I mean, he didn’t take advantage?” The pacing resumed. “What am I, some kid?” “At an all-time lowest low is what you are.” “I wanted to.” “Are you sure? You don’t look sure.” “Why’re you getting angry?” “I think he should’ve seen the state of you and backed off. We ever hit on the grieving relatives, Ray?” “It wasn’t like that.” “No?” “He knew I wanted him. And I did, I did, more than anyone I ever met.” “Was he, y’know, careful?” “Careful?” “I shouldn’t have to spell it out! Did you use protection?” “Gee, Mom, course we did.” Stan poured the coffee and took a look at his watch. “When do you have to leave?” Ray asked. “Soon.” “Ah, no. I need you here, Stan.” Stan went through another X-Files moment: Ray Vecchio admitting he needed anyone? “It’s only a few days, it’s not the two months.” “I think it was Zuko ordered the hit on Pop but my head’s scrambled, I can’t figure this out alone.” “I have to go.” The regret was audible in Stan’s voice. “Jack’ll help.” “Jack’s not you. I trust you.” Stan probably knew that but he’d never heard it said before. Ray Vecchio, who didn’t trust anyone, trusted him. It made him feel ten times worse about leaving. “I’ll try to get back in…three days max.” “Thanks.” Ray forced himself still to drink some coffee. “I’m sorry, you didn’t need this. It’s not even light outside. You didn’t need this.” “You always been – I mean, you always liked men?” Ray nodded, unable to meet his partner’s eyes. Stan carried on, trying to understand the situation. “But you don’t usually do anything about it. Or did the un-detecting detective miss everything?” “When I was…” Ray’s voice failed him. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Christmas, I was thirteen, a friend of Pop’s was at our party, his family was with him and his son was gay. He was eighteen, open about how he was; people tolerated him because his father was big time, and his father tolerated him because, although he was a shitty man, he was a good father and if it meant his boy’s happiness he’d live with it. Back then I didn’t know anything about anything, just thought the son was a nice guy, and I spent a lot of time talking with him. Music and movies. It was harmless.” Ray put the mug down, started pacing again. “End of the night everyone goes home and Pop comes after me, tells me he saw how I was ‘looking’ at this guy, tells me he’s never going to tolerate any son of his being a faggot. Having a couple of drinks in me I start to argue – fuck me, I’d never spoken back at him in my life – but I start to argue, and then he’s got a snooker cue in his hand and he’s beating me to within an inch of my life. I wake up in hospital and every day I’m in there he tells me if I ever look at another man like that he’s gonna kill me, and I believe that. If I ever shame him that way he’s gonna kill me.” Ray paused for breath. “But when I’m left alone I start wondering about the guy I was speaking to, how I was looking at him, and I realise I was looking at him like I never look at girls. Pop’s right about me, but I’m never gonna let him know that. And I’m never gonna let the girls see their brother laid out on some slab in the morgue because of their father.” Throat dry, Ray stopped for more coffee. He could see by the look on his partner’s face that he’d stirred the fierce protective streak Stan harboured for him. “You okay?” “I’m okay,” Stan replied in a tight voice. “Want me to shut up?” “You don’t have to shut up.” Ray smiled. “Can you guess what Pop bought me for every birthday, every Christmas, any celebration after that?” Stan shook his head. “A whore. Looking back it’s kind of funny, a string of thousand-dollar whores being wasted on this kid who’d already figured what was what and wasn’t going to be straightened out – pun intended. And I went along with it until I left home, which made Pop happy and gave him something to joke to his pals about. I had to go through with it every time because the girls had to report back, but Pop never knew what was happening in my head to get me off when I was with them.” Ray took another sip of his drink, another look at Stan. “You look like you wanna kill someone.” “Yeah, but I’m a week too late.” “I saw…I saw that look on his face too. On Ben’s – Fraser’s face. And I didn’t tell him anything as much as this.” “He was sympathetic, he was kind to you, he still shouldn’t have done it, Ray. Even if he was giving you a hell of an opportunity to get one back at your father, he shouldn’t have done it.” “I wasn’t with him as some kind of revenge against Pop,” Ray protested, “and it wasn’t all him. You’re talking as if it’s all him.” “He took advantage of you. You’ve got a background that’s full of crap and, okay, he makes you feel good for an hour, but what about now? I saw your face when you walked in. It wasn’t a happy face.” Stan sighed and clenched his fingers in his stand-up hair. “Shit, Ray, I don’t think you’ve got a happy face.” “I was happy with him. For more than an hour.” “So… Wait, wait… He was the first man you’d ever…” “Yes.” “Did you tell him that?” “I tried.” “He didn’t listen?” Stan demanded, furious now. “Timing was wrong.” “Did he hurt you? What did he do to you? If he hurt you I’m gonna catch up with him and hang him by the balls.” “What kind of detail do you want, Stan? The fact that, going on past experience, I can assure you he blew me better than a thousand-dollar whore? Yeah, sure, he nearly fucked me through the mattress but it was what I wanted. You’re looking pretty squeamish, pal; too much information?” “Ray…” “Stan…Stan… There isn’t an inch of me that he didn’t touch or kiss or both and he took two hours just doing that. You get that when you’re being used? I can still feel his hands on me, and it didn’t feel like lust. This was… By now I must be grossing you out.” Ray risked a look at Stan and gratefully saw curiosity and concern rather than revulsion on his face. “He looked into me and told me I’d been switched off and was five steps from the living dead. He was right. I let him have me and switch me back on. I feel, Stan. For the first time in years I’m switched on inside and I really feel. It hurts like hell but it’s real.” “And you’re trying to tell me you haven’t had a doubt since it happened? I don’t want to sound like a cop here, but the first thing you did when you came in was tell me how stupid you were for getting it on with this guy.” “He’s the investigating officer,” Ray spelt out, knowing Stan was right despite being wrong. Stan took another look at his watch. “I gotta go, Ray. I don’t want to now but I got no choice.” “I’ll be fine. Want me to drive you to the airport?” “Station.” “Station? Where you going?” “ “Why are you taking the train?” “Because that’s the ticket I was given.” “Want me to drive you there?” “You crazy? That’s four-hundred miles.” “Give us time to talk.” “When did you last sleep?” Ray shrugged. “Then I’ll go with the driver who’s likely to stay conscious. Just take me to the station.” Ray cleaned up in the kitchen while Stan got the last of his packing together. After setting the mugs on the dish rack Ray went and moved the chair back to its usual position, smiling at his partner’s consideration at providing him with a pacetrack. He felt better than an hour ago: Stan hadn’t told him to fuck off, and his head was feeling a lot less spiky. He knew he should be analysing why he’d defended Ben from Stan when he’d been thinking the exact same things about him, but that could wait. “Okay, I’m set.” Stan picked up his holdall, put it down again, studied Ray. “Don’t stare at me! You know I hate that!.” Ray paused; Stan stared. “What?” “Do I get to give you a hug? You look like you could use a hug.” “You have to ask? You scared if you hug me I’m gonna make a pass at you?” “Still talking about the exclusion zone here, Ray. The big ‘fuckoffdon’ttouchme’. You ever tried to get close enough to give you a hug? It’s like a military exercise. Tell me the last time anyone other than your sisters or Al got within three feet of you. In this country,” he added pointedly. Ray scowled at Stan, mostly for show, knowing he should give in gracefully as this was one argument he was undoubtedly going to lose, indeed wanted to lose in an edgy, ‘Oh, shit, this is impossible’ kind of way. With a display of great resignation he opened his arms to Stan. “Gimme a hug.” Stan adopted an expression of superiority and nonchalantly strolled into the ground-breaking embrace, but once there gave Ray the long, comforting hug he felt he needed, trusting his partner to appreciate the sub-text of the gesture and accept his sincerity without question. “Besides…” Stan grinned as they parted, “you can make any pass you want. Still don’t mean you’re getting any.” “You think I want your scrawny butt?” Ray threw back derisively as he picked up the holdall and left the apartment, waiting for Stan to follow and lock up. “I gotta show you a picture of this Mountie. Then find yourself a mirror, pal. Can you even spell inadequate?” … In the car they spoke about the case, going over Joseph Vecchio’s last days, dissecting the sketchy details surrounding his death, trying to fit Al Caruso into the picture. “Okay…the victim has pissed off Frankie Zuko. Why then,”
Stan asked in frustration, “up until the day he takes off for “I never said it was a good connection.” “Barely a connection at all.” “But it was a professional hit.” “Can’t prove it.” “I don’t know where else to look.” “Don’t rush into anything while you’re tired and caffeined up. Get Jack to help…” “I don’t want Jack.” “Get Jack to help if you need anyone before I get back, but take it slowly. Don’t make trouble with Frankie unless you have something bullet-proof. Better idea: don’t go anywhere near him without me.” “Frankie’s not going to hurt me.” “But his goons would just love to.” Ray chose to selectively ignore that statement of truth rather than pretend that Joey’s crew wouldn’t have been delighted to get rid of the boss’s aggravating son. “I’ll have to find out about Al.” “Phone Fraser and find out if Al’s been talking.” “Yeah, I can do that.” “You can do that. Whatever happened between you two, you’re still cops and you gotta talk about the case.” “Absolutely.” “So you’ll phone Fraser?” “When I need to.” “You need to.” “Okay, I’ll phone Fraser.” “Okay.” “Okay.” The last ten minutes of the journey passed in silence, Ray forcing himself to think about his father, Stan checking through notes he’d been faxed about his assignment. Outside the station Ray double-parked to drop his partner off. Seconds before he left the car Ray grabbed Stan’s arm. “Hey, Stan… Do you think it’s possible to fall in love in three days?” Stan took a deep breath, wanting neither to hurt nor to lie. He looked back at Ray and saw the emptiness in his eyes; he hated having to be honest. “I’m sorry, buddy. It just don’t sound like he was looking for love.” … Back at his own apartment Ray put the Whigs CD in his player before unpacking, specifically seeking the photo of Ben. He shook out his notebook and the picture fluttered to the floor. Picking it up he stared at the beautiful face with the half-smile, stroking over the image with fingertips that still knew the feel of the man in the flesh. Tears welled in Ray’s eyes. Maybe Ben wasn’t looking for love, but Ray had found it, discovered how it felt and how it tasted. Found it, lost it. You’re too soft. He’ll eat you alive. He wasn’t aware of how long he sat gazing at the Mountie, but he abruptly became aware of that song filling the room, and in his head he could still summon his lover’s voice as he joined in with the provocative lyrics. “…And slave I only use as a word to describe the special way I feel for you…” “Oh, yeah,” Ray whispered. “Got that right.” … Ben was aware that he hadn’t smiled since Ray had gone. Carol was giving him long, worried looks and he’d tried to fend them off with the usual reassuring smile but it wouldn’t come, simply refused to happen. It didn’t help when, after twenty-four hours with no sleep and continuous emotional smarting, Steve turned up in his office. “Looking rough, Ben.” “Can I help you?” “Don’t go Sergeant Fraser on me.” “What do you want?” “You drove past me earlier, didn’t try to mow me down. I thought you might be…approachable.” “No. Will you please leave?” Steve made himself comfortable in the visitor’s chair. “Not feeling too good, huh? Maybe it’s someone you ate.” Ben
fixed Steve with a look that said, quite succinctly, ‘Fuck off and die’. “What
does the detective from Ben took a deep breath, scraped a thumbnail through an eyebrow. “The detective from “Shame. I was hoping for another look. Or another lungful.” Steve ignored the glare for a second time. “Well, you’ve got to admit, you wouldn’t kick him out of bed for smelling like that.” The vice in Ben’s chest tightened; he glanced down to his desk but not before Steve had seen the change in his eyes. When he next spoke, Steve’s voice was unexpectedly kind. “That miserable, Ben?” Ben swallowed hard. “You’re right. I don’t feel so good.” “Where does it hurt?” “Everywhere.” “When did it start?” “When I found he’d gone.” Steve hesitated as that sank in. “He just took off?” “Literally.” “He dumped you. You got dumped.” Steve began to laugh, and Ben accepted it, knew it was warranted. “Oh, Ben…” “I got what I deserved.” “You think?” “What I’ve deserved for a long time. I’m sorry I hurt you, Steve.” “Good. I’m glad you’re sorry.” “The timing was a coincidence though: Ray being here was a coincidence.” “Ray.” “The detective from Steve smiled sadly. “I knew it was happening. You’d been trying to say something for weeks.” Guilt washed over Steve’s face. “I said some pretty bad things to him. About you.” “Doesn’t matter.” “You look like it matters.” “He’s gone.” “And what? You’re welded to the spot?” Ben frowned at him. “Do I have to spell it out? Go after him, you dense bastard.” “Go after him?” “Doesn’t it make sense?” The Mountie fell quiet and Steve waited a few minutes before getting up to go. “Why are you saying this?” Ben asked. Steve turned back from the door and smiled. “Because, despite what you think, we were always friends. Because if you go I’ll be glad to see the back of you. Because I scored last night. Take your pick.” … Mid afternoon Ray made it into work and was barely in the door before Jack Huey was waving a phone at him with his left hand and just waving hello with his right. Ray took the call at his desk, which he could barely find under the piles of papers and old files that Stan had dumped there during his absence. You let your partner use your space for spillover and he takes advantage again and again and… “Vecchio.” “Ray, it’s Ben.” Ray dropped heavily into his chair, turning his back to the room. He felt completely thrown: how was he supposed to do this? Benny? Sergeant Fraser? Just the sound of the man’s voice raised every hair on his body. Ray took a deep breath and tried to be as natural as possible. “Hey, Ben. I was going to phone you later. About Al.” “I’ve just spoken to a constable in Relief rippled through Ray and he slumped in his seat. “Thank God for that.” “A search of his accommodation returned nothing to link him with the crime so I have no reason to hold him any longer, but I think he should remain at the nursing station for another day or so to recuperate from the crash.” “But he’s okay?” “Sore from the bruises but in fine spirits.” “Thanks for keeping him out of this, Benny.” The name slipped out quite naturally and Ray instantly wished he could take it back. There was a moment’s pause which felt like a few hours. “Ray… I, umm…” “You get the coroner’s report?” “Yes. Yes, I’ve got it here. I’ll fax it through.” “Edited highlights?” “Cause of death was a single gunshot wound to the head. No other injuries but he’d probably have been dead from cirrhosis of the liver within a year.” “That’s gonna piss off whoever does life for him.” “How are you, Ray?” God, the Mountie was good at this: he actually sounded like he cared. “Oh, y’know, fine.” “How are the migraines?” “Pretty close thing on the plane but it held off. I got to see Stan before he went, that was good.” “Is he gone for long?” “Just a few days it turns out. Benny – Ben – I—” Unable to say what he really wanted to, Ray took a deep breath and let the moment go. “Look, I’m sorry, I’ve really got to get on here, I’m up to my neck in it.” “Of course.” “You’ll let me know if anything else happens your end?” “Naturally. I hope you’ll reciprocate.” “Yeah, sure. Thanks a lot, Sergeant.” “No, Detective. Thank you.” The connection was broken but Ray sat with the phone in his hand for a few more minutes. If the conversation in general hadn’t been difficult enough, the tone of Ben’s voice when he thanked him had sent a tremor through him that was going to make the rest of the day interminable: the possibility of mustering enough concentrative ability to work efficiently had just flown. Ray smiled wryly to himself: after all these years his father would be good for something. People would blame his distracted state on the murder rather than the involuntary resurrection of so many fabulous memories that simply refused to be filed away for later exploitation. … Benny. Ray had called him Benny. At that moment Ben had been transported to the night they’d spent together, a split-second flashback of sensual joy, followed by the realisation of an acute emotional awakening. Ray had sounded rattled to hear from him but maybe it was to be expected. That night had been extremely intense and it wasn’t something Ray had done before. Wasn’t something… It finally hit Ben. What Ray had been trying to tell him when he’d been too preoccupied to listen. It really wasn’t something Ray had done before. No wonder he’d hurt him. He’d hurt Ray. He’d hurt Ray so badly the man had bitten into his tongue to stop himself crying out. Yet Ray had wanted him, pulled him close, told him not to let go. But he had let go. He’d hurt him and let go and left in the morning without a word. Now. Think now. What could he do now to make things better? They were so far apart. What could he do? Go after him, you dense bastard. … Al was happy. He liked the room, liked the nurses, liked the fact he’d played his part. And here was the Mountie come to see him. Naturally he liked the Mountie: any friend of Ray’s… Ben threw his coat over the back of the visitor’s chair and tossed his Stetson onto the foot of the bed. Acknowledging Al with a nod he crossed to the window, staring out, wondering where to start. “You spoken to Ray lately, Sarge?” “A couple of hours ago.” “How’d he sound?” Called me Benny but couldn’t wait to get away from me. Because
I hurt him. “ “Yeah, that’s Ray,” Al grinned. “Me an’ the girls are real proud the way he’s stuck at the job. It ain’t easy for him, ‘cos you have to be hard sometimes as a cop and he ain’t hard. He’s sweet as candy, always was. Kindest heart.” What? The one I broke? Because I hurt him and let him go. “He’s…exceptional,” Ben admitted, knowing he could because this was Al and Al loved Ray too. There was a long pause while Al watched Ben trying to hold it all together. “So…you falling for him?” “Fallen.” “Saw that at the plane. The way you looked at the kid, I thought, he’s falling. Who’d blame you?” “Joey?” Ben suggested, a dangerous edge to his voice that Al typically failed to notice. “Oh, yeah, Joey, but not me. See, I am a very tolerant man, and if you’re not doing any harm, then whatever. Joey, though, he don’t tolerate nothin’. But that’s what his pop done for him: brought him up hard. Real hard.” “And that made it acceptable for him to beat and threaten his children into submission?” “Nothin’ makes that right, Sarge, and I did my best to be a – a…” Al looked hopefully at Ben. “Buffer?” “Sure. I got no family, see, and they let me be Uncle Al, and that’s special when you got nobody of your own. I did my best to be this buffer but if I come down hard on Joey he’s going to put me out and tell me don’t come back. And you can’t buffer from outside.” “What about Ray’s mother?” “God rest her poor soul.” Ben waited. Al respectfully lowered his voice until Ben had to strain to hear. “Died when Ray was thirteen. There was some awful bad stuff going down and she… She thought Joey had beat Ray to death and she couldn’t take no more. Took pills and a bottle of scotch. She was a good woman, rest her soul, but she couldn’t take no more.” Silence consumed them once again; Ben wished he hadn’t asked that last question and had to force himself to let his anger go, knowing it served no purpose here. “Mr Caruso…” “Al – we’re friends, heh?” “Al. You’re not being charged. You can leave whenever you want to.” “You’re not keeping me in for more questions?” The alarm in Al’s voice made Ben turn around and scrutinize him. “Witnesses have placed you in “So you keep looking at this?” “The investigation will continue, yes, and there may be more questions for you, but for now you’re free to go.” Ben could see Al furiously thinking, practically heard the cogs turning. “Ray’s gonna go looking for Frankie Zuko?” “I don’t know what line of investigation Detective Vecchio will be taking.” “He shouldn’t go looking for Frankie.” “Why, Al?” “Those witnesses of yours were wrong. Drunk and stupid – bar bums, you know bar bums.” “They were able to be quite specific about the date.” “Well, they’re wrong. They’re drunk, they’re stupid, they’re wrong.” “Al…” “’Cos I done it. I killed Joey, Sarge. I killed him ‘cos he was giving me to Frankie for some good stuff that went missing on one of my runs. Tell Ray, case solved. Tell him…tell him that Uncle Al killed his poppa. And tell him Uncle Al ain’t sorry.” … Ben sat in the Jeep, pondering his doubts over what he’d been told. Despite Al’s admission of guilt, what he’d actually confessed to Ben was that he was frightened, and that he would do or say anything to cover up the truth, even face the remainder of his life in prison. Al didn’t want Ray to confront Zuko, that was plain, but for what reason? Because Zuko had Joseph Vecchio murdered? Surely too simple to be the answer. Because Al had, in fact, lost valuable merchandise and Joseph Vecchio had somehow been implicated and punished for it? What were the implications for Al if the mob boss found out the truth? No, that didn’t work either: Al seemed more concerned for Ray than himself. Was there a possibility that Ray would discover something that would make this situation even more impossible to deal with? Or was it simply that Al didn’t feel Ray was safe anywhere near his father’s associate? Whatever the reason, and whatever he felt when he thought of Stan Kowalski, Ben didn’t like the idea that Ray was about to walk into this situation with no partner and no idea of what Al was refusing to disclose. He felt a surge of relief as he was finally presented with the excuse he’d been looking for. “Hey, Sarge, back already?” “Mr Caruso…Al…are you well enough to travel?” “Sure. Where we headed?” “Due south.” … Ray spent one hour tidying his desk, then another with Lieutenant Welsh spelling out all he’d discovered so far about his father’s death; once again he declined an offer to take him off of the case. Welsh was doubtful over the Zuko connection and told Ray not to pay a visit to Frankie until he’d had some sleep and the chance to review his notes when he wasn’t so strung out; Ray got the distinct feeling that Stan had been on the phone bending the boss’s ear, but that was okay. If their roles were reversed he’d have done the same. He chose not to argue when Welsh told him to finish for the day, grateful for the chance to walk away from the constant noise that was shredding his nerve endings. Back home he called Maria, telling her what was going on, trying to be positive but, in truth, having nothing to report. He asked if she had known Al was going to Canada. No, she knew he was taking a break but that was about it. That caused Ray to pause: Al told everyone everything, he wouldn’t stop for love nor money. Did that make the trip suspicious, if Al had not been specific about his intentions? Ray rolled his eyes at himself; Al was alibied, and not just once. Thank you for that, Benny. Once he was off the phone, he satisfied the need he’d been feeling to pull down the dust-ridden box of photos that he’d thrown on top of his wardrobe the day he’d moved into his own home. Cross-legged on the bedroom floor Ray picked through the photos, working back in time until he found the picture that he’d had in mind, checking the date scribbled on the reverse. Moving to the bathroom he held up the picture so he could study it next to his reflection in the cabinet mirror. Al was right: he was very like his father when Joseph was thirty-four. While he considered how much that gave him the creeps Ray precisely tore the picture into pieces, satisfyingly obliterating his father. Then he dropped the remains into the basin and, picking up his coat, wallet and keys as he went, left the apartment. … Ben strolled around “I want to take Ray a gift.” “That’s nice.” “But I don’t know what.” “Kinda tricky. Depends on, y’know, stuff.” “Stuff?” “Like whether he knows.” There was a pause as Ben waited for Al to continue and Al took a full thirty seconds to figure out that was what he was waiting for. “Ray know you’ve fallen for him?” Beneath the Stetson a frown crinkled the sergeant’s brow. “I tried to show him. But I got it wrong. He doesn’t know.” “So it can’t be too personal. Aftershave’s safe.” “Aftershave’s trite.” Al turned in a circle, looking at the available stores. “Clothes is no good.” “No?” “The kid’s got simple tastes but his version of simple costs a lot of bucks.” “I don’t care what it costs.” “But you don’t want to say too much, Sarge. Don’t want to scare him off.” Ben understood that and nodded. “Tie?” “That’s worse than aftershave.” Al carried on looking. “Jewellery. Nah.” “No?” “Don’t wear nothin’ like that. Took off his cross when his poor mother passed and I never seen him wearing it since.” Ben felt a strong pang as the vice tightened another notch, wishing he hadn’t screwed up so badly, wishing he had Ray around to hold and tell that everything was going to be all right. “Ain’t a lot of Ray stuff here,” Al concluded as he gave up on the stores. He nodded sagely. “Aftershave.” Ben thought back, trying to remember the brand but only recalling that the bottle was almost empty. He smiled to himself. Okay, maybe Al was right. “What’s it called? Ray’s aftershave?” “Packet o’ bran,” Al told him with unquestionable certainty. “Packet of bran?” Ben questioned regardless. “Oh, yeah. Packet o’ bran.” Ben sat Al down with strict instructions not to wander off, and found an outlet that specialised in perfumes and aftershaves. Scrutinising the names on the testers, Ben passed, then did a double-take, and went back to the Paco Rabanne. Spraying the aftershave into the air, he closed his eyes and stepped into the mist, mentally adding Ray’s natural scent which was ingrained in his memory. A bolt of the familiar ran through him, accompanied by a shudder of lust that rapidly transmuted into the greatest feeling of loss he’d ever had the misfortune to experience. But when he went to his wallet for the cash to pay for his purchase the absence of his Interac card and the knowledge of where it was made him feel a little better. As dubious a connection as that was, Ray had something of his close to him. The store assistant thought his first smile in days was for her and she smiled brightly back, but the real cause was Ben’s acceptance of what Ray had done to him. For him. He’d never had a romantic notion in his life, but now… He’d turn up on Ray’s doorstep, offer him a peace offering, offer him his heart and soul, and Ray would say, ‘My father’s still dead, why are you coming on to me again?’. But Ben was not deterred by the understanding that he was more likely to hear ‘fuck off’ than ‘fuck me’ from Ray’s lips. He could be persistent, resilient, and the biggest pain in the neck in the known world if that was what it took to pester Ray into believing that he could be trusted to never hurt him again. If there was a way to persuade Ray to love him back he would find it. And once Ray loved him he would never, ever let him go again.
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