Part 6 ~ Tuesday 12 April 1994
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Part 6 ~ Tuesday 12 April 1994 |
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Ray sat at his desk with his head in his hands, on his umpteenth coffee of the day, staring at a notebook full of his scribbled ideas and impressions. This should have been simple, fitting the jigsaw of his father’s murder together, but too many pieces were still missing. And then there was the question of the piece that was cut with the wrong die: Al Caruso. He’d visited his sisters the previous evening and found himself asking them if anything had blown up between Pop and Uncle Al. They’d looked understandably horrified, and hadn’t needed to give it much thought, because of course they couldn’t remember any incident that would lead to such a bloody end, the whole idea was preposterous. He knew that he had to talk to Frankie. He could do that
without antagonising the man, he didn’t understand what the problem was with
Stan and Welsh. Okay, he and Frankie had had some altercations in the past, and
sometimes it was hard to believe they’d grown up in each others’ pockets or
ever been such firm friends, but they could talk. They had talked. He’d even
heard rumours that Frankie had warned Pop off once or twice, forcing him to
leave Ray in one piece after his son had been a party to busts that seriously
inconvenienced the mob. They could be civil. Providing Frankie had some
extraordinarily good evidence that proved he had nothing to do with his
father’s death. Ray felt his hackles rise at the mental image of Frankie and
his expensively capped smile as he laughed in his face and had his thugs show
him to the door. No, maybe they couldn’t be civil. On consideration, the last
time they’d met it was only Stan’s intervention that prevented Ray overstepping
the mark and getting himself a cement overcoat and a night out to He wanted to speak to Al, find out if the old fool was finally willing to enlighten him regarding his involvement. Glancing at the clock he worked out it was about eleven-thirty in Tuktoyaktuk. Ben was liable to be at work and would be able to give him the number for the nursing station. Or he could talk to Carol, wouldn’t need to bother Ben at all. But maybe Ben had got some information out of Al and needed to talk to him. Maybe Ben would need to say thank you for something and then Ray wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything for another day. God, he loved that voice. That voice, that mouth, that face, oh boy, all the rest… Last night had been exhausting, pleasurable at first as he used and abused the highly erotic memories of the Mountie, frightening later when he tried to sleep, only to be repeatedly woken by the nightmarish vision of a frozen grey face with eyes that snapped open and fixed on him, exuding recrimination, demanding justice. Why was this his life? All Ray wanted, in no particular order, was: some peace and quiet and a solid eight hours of dreamless sleep; the answers to all of this case’s questions, featuring Al as an innocent bystander and a miraculous confession of guilt from one of Zuko’s cohort; Stan to phone and say he’d figured it all out, Stan to phone and say he was wrong about the three day question, Stan to come home. Still, he could want all he liked… The cop saw what he’d doodled in the corner of the page and hastily scratched out the Stetson. Stupid to pretend that his list of all he wanted didn’t have Ben at the very top. With a huge sigh, Ray gave up on the notebook, grabbed his mug and headed off for more coffee. Elaine, one of the station’s civilian aides, was pouring herself a cup when he arrived at the machine. Ray had always had a soft spot for Elaine; the feeling was mutual and he was cheered a little by the friendly smile when he greeted her. “Hi, Ray. Oh, wow, this is cool.” She gestured to his new crew cut: a frantic bid to shake off the ghost from the photo. “Is it okay?” “It’s more than okay.” She almost took the liberty of a stroke, but quickly withdrew her hand when she witnessed Ray’s discomfort at even a hint of the act. “So, is this the all-new, all-improved Ray Vecchio?” Ray’s face became grim as he quietly confided about Al’s comment and the picture, and Elaine’s expression mirrored his. She’d been in a position to discover too much about Joseph Vecchio and the way he treated his family, and the suggestion that Ray, in any way, could resemble that tyrant infuriated her. She admired Ray: his intelligence, his thoughtfulness, the understated tenacity with which he approached his work was an inspiration to her. He was an excellent, if somewhat unlikely, detective – an island of sanity in the midst of testosterone-drenched egotism and irrational rivalry. Had he ever asked she would have accepted a date in a heartbeat. She would have settled for one night in his bed if it meant a chance to see a glimpse of happiness or satisfaction in those tell-tale eyes. But he had never asked, and she had more than a faint suspicion of why. “So, have you made up your mind?” Ray pointed the conversation in a new direction. “Application’s in.” “You’ll make a great cop. You should have done this years ago.” “Meantime, if you need any help…” “Yeah, thanks, I know.” “I mean it, Ray. Beyond the call is not a problem. I know that sometimes these mob cases can’t be handled as cleanly as we’d like.” “You think I’d drag you into anything questionable?” “You wouldn’t need to drag me.” “And that’s why I can’t ask. Hey, it’s not going to come to that. Stan will come home and we’ll deal with it nice and legitimately.” “Bad timing.” “Oh, yeah. If he was home at least we’d have one brain cell between the two of us.” Elaine laughed and shook her head at the smartest cop on the block. The sudden change in Ray’s face wiped out the laugh and forced her to look over her shoulder to see what he had seen. My God, a vision in red! Elaine looked back to Ray. Unguarded in surprise, his expression pretty much confirmed her suspicions about him and told her a whole heap more. She looked back to the Mountie as he was directed to Welsh’s office, scrutinising him, hoping the inside was as good as the outside and Ray wasn’t going to be hurt. “Want an introduction?” Ray smiled, having shaken himself out of the shock and seen where she was staring. “So this is…” “Ben Fraser. He’s the investigating officer from Tuktoyaktuk.” “Any good?” Elaine asked casually, and the lightly suggestive tone of her voice made Ray turn to her. She didn’t add anything to her question, just met his eyes and tried to tell him with a look that it was okay. He was okay. She saw him figure it out, astute as ever, and there it was: the unshuttered glimmer that told her she had reached into him and warmed his heart. He surreptitiously took her hand and squeezed it. It had been the moment dreams are made of. Ray had glanced up as a flash of red caught his attention, reminded of the uniform Ben was wearing in the photograph, stunned to see the reality across the room from him, looking… Looking so good that Ray wanted to pinch himself to see if he’d dozed off, or had he simply died and gone to heaven and nobody had bothered to let him know? And there was Elaine, reading him like an open book – a conscious, living, open book – and letting him know she was happy for him. Now all that was left was for the dream to become a nightmare, because that was real life. This life. Elaine watched as Ray crossed back to his desk, taking a quick glance into Welsh’s office as he went. The Mountie emerged seconds later, and she would have sworn he found Ray by scent as opposed to sight, taking a deep breath and turning unerringly in the cop’s direction. The two men met, greeted each other cordially, shook hands. If called upon, Elaine would also swear that it was the Mountie who held on, stubbornly didn’t want to let go. “There goes the other shoe,” she said to herself, trying to erase the mischievous grin from her face. “I – umm – I didn’t expect to see you here,” Ray stammered, trying to reclaim his hand. Ben reluctantly let go. “I was concerned for you.” “Because of something Al said?” “Because of what he won’t say.” Ray gestured to the seat on the other side of his desk; Ben brought it closer before sitting. “He seems inordinately worried that you will approach Frank Zuko.” “Everyone’s worried about me and Frankie. But I’m backed off, following orders.” “Lieutenant Welsh?” “And Stan. You came all the way from “Is there something strange in that?” “Well…yes. I happen to know you have phones in Tuktoyaktuk, you could have phoned.” “I brought Al home.” “Where is he?” “ “You met my sisters,” Ray confirmed flatly, none too happy. “And very charming they are too.” “I don’t believe this.” Ben moved closer still, spoke confidentially. “Ray… I’m the cop who brought Uncle Al home, I don’t have a neon sign over my head advertising the fact that I slept with their brother.” Ray stood abruptly, pushing his chair out of the way, grabbing his coat from the rack, forcing the notebook into a pocket. “What say I take you out for lunch, Sergeant?” Without waiting for an answer Ray started out of the squad room, then stalled, allowing Ben to catch him up and pass him. “Ray.” “Elaine?” “Remember to turn your cell phone off,” Elaine advised softly. Ray blushed furiously. “We’re going for something to eat.” Elaine nodded knowingly and Ray gave her the evil eye, leaving her chuckling to herself as he fled the building. In the car park Ray led the way to his beloved Buick “What are you doing here? I don’t think I can cope with you here.” “I’m following up an investigation. I accept that I have no jurisdiction here, but Lieutenant Welsh has afforded me every courtesy.” “So this is purely professional?” “Of course.” Ray didn’t believe that for a moment. He took a deep breath and started the Riv, crawling out into the traffic. “Why did you wear that? You’ve got to have something more comfortable to travel in.” “I wanted you to look twice.” “You got what you wanted. But it wasn’t only me, was it?” “I created an impression,” Ben admitted. “But only you mattered.” “You make it all sound perfect, so damned plausible. Ever met someone this didn’t work with?” “How can I answer that?” “Answer it.” “That would be an admission that I am in some way disingenuous.” “Oh, that’s right. As if you’d ever con your way into someone’s bed.” Or someone’s heart. “What do you want to eat?” “What have you got?” “Coffee shops, diners…” “At home.” “We’re not going home.” “You’re not going to reciprocate my hospitality?” Ben
smiled. “I haven’t found anywhere to stay yet. Can we pick up my backpack from “It’s a small apartment, it’s not like your house.” “How big’s the bed?” Ray’s knuckles turned white on the wheel and he drove without thinking, mindlessly heading for his sisters’ house. The stop to collect Ben’s belongings was as brief as possible and, although it was tempting to spend a few minutes interviewing Al, the fact his old friend had left soon after being dropped off that morning, meant it was really only minutes before they were back in the car. Heading for Ray’s. And privacy. When Ray pulled up at a red light he dipped into his pocket for his phone, dithering for a moment before firmly switching it off. The remainder of the journey passed in virtual silence, and it was with a sense of the surreal that Ray eventually opened the door of his apartment and waved Ben in. This was the Mountie in his home. The Mountie – his source of fantasy – in his home. Ben threw down his backpack and wandered around, watched closely by Ray, who remained at the front door. “I like this. Far more personal than the house. It really is too big for one.” “Where’s Dief?” “With Carol.” Ben saw his picture propped up on a bookshelf, felt wanted, and took a deep, satisfied breath. He turned back to Ray and the contentment began to dwindle when he saw how deep the cop’s frown was. “You don’t want me here.” “It’s…difficult.” “You don’t want me.” “I didn’t say that.” “Then tell me you do.” Ray couldn’t vocalise the answer, but how come the Mountie could read his mind? Ben spun his Stetson onto the couch and stalked towards Ray, desire darkening his eyes as he approached and reached out. Ray snatched at Ben’s wrists, stopping him in his tracks. Anger welled up inside Ray as he realised how easily he could be pushed into a repeat of that night, and, although unsure which of them he was angry at, this time he couldn’t find the will-power to swallow it down. “Can I tell you something?” he snapped at Ben. “Anything.” “Something that may be due a big ‘so what’ but I want to tell you.” Ben nodded, face a picture of concern. “All my life I have been looking forward to the first time I could wake up with someone. Someone I cared about, or thought I cared about. Someone who maybe gave a damn about me. I wanted that to be you.” Ben took a slow step back, twisting his wrists out of Ray’s grip so he could gently take his hands. He chose his words carefully. “It should have been me. I’m sorry I misunderstood the situation. I’m sorry I let you go.” “You have the nerve to show up here when you treated me like you treated Steve and all the others…” “No, Ray.” “I was trusting you, you let me trust you. You fucked me over.” “No…” “You told me everything was going to be all right. And it wasn’t. It isn’t.” Ray tore his hands from Ben’s, shoving his way past him, not wanting the Mountie to witness his weakness, knowing the tears in his eyes would betray him. “I didn’t want much and I believed your lines. I’m so stupid. Pop was right about me, I’m so fucking stupid.” Ray pressed a hand to his forehead. “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck,” he gasped, staggering as a jagged pain took out the best part of his vision. He felt Ben’s arms come around him but refused to accept the comfort they offered, shrugging off the touch, and what he perceived as a pretence of friendship. Feeling the rejection acutely, Ben watched helplessly as Ray sank onto the couch, gripping his head in both hands. “Should I go?” “Seems to be what you’re best at. Oh, fuck.” “I can’t leave you. Can I get you anything?” “No.” “Do you need to lie down?” “I can do it.” Ben located the bedroom and closed the curtains before helping Ray up and guiding him in, sitting him down and removing his shoes, massaging his toes. Ray blinked furiously, barely able to focus on the man kneeling before him. “What do you want, Ben?” “I want you to call me…” Ben’s voice faded out, but Ray got the message. “Benny. Simple as that?” Ben sat beside him, slipping an arm around his shoulders and feeling relief as Ray leant against him, turning his head so he could press a very hot forehead against his cool cheek. “I missed you,” Ben softly confessed. “You missed me, huh? What happened to the detached Ben Fraser?” “I accused you of being switched off, five steps from the living dead. After you’d gone it didn’t take long to realise I was talking about myself. The emotionally untouchable Ben Fraser.” Ben gave a soft, humourless laugh at the thought. “Someone switched him on. Someone finally reached inside and switched him on. He’d only been waiting a lifetime.” Ray raised his head to look at Ben, the feeling of affinity he shared with this man making more sense as he assimilated his words. Ben returned the look, and they sat for a long moment just admiring the view, each man reacquainting himself with a face he’d thought he would never see again. It wasn’t long though before Ray gave up fighting the migraine and screwed his eyes shut. “An hour and a half,” he told Ben. “What is?” “That’s how long it will last.” “Can you sleep through it?” “If I lay down I’ll throw up.” “Then don’t…” “Catch twenty-two. If I stay upright I’ll throw up.” “Should I fetch a basin?” “I’ll make it to the bathroom.” Ray leant his head against Ben’s cheek again, appreciating the careful pressure as Ben leant back. “It’s not always like this. Sometimes I go for months with no problems. It’s just been since I heard about Pop. Oh, fuck, change the subject.” Ben turned and kissed Ray’s temple. “This cut suits you.” Ben ran his lips over the soft bristle. “It’s very tactile. Very sexy.” “You think?” “It even suits your car.” “My car? My hair suits the Riv?” Ray smiled. “It’s an image.” Ben kissed his temple again. “You’re so perfect, Ray.” “Don’t, Benny, please. Don’t start that. Can we just be quiet?” “Would you prefer to be alone?” Ben asked reluctantly, starting a slow withdrawal. Ray hesitated before admitting: “No. Just quiet.” Ben leant his cheek back against Ray’s brow. After five minutes of complete silence he began to hum, almost inaudibly, but Ray felt the notes vibrating through his skull, distracting him from the pain and calming him as he became lost in the melody. Then the rocking began, a smooth motion that took him back to his mother and a sense of comfort he had no idea he remembered. Ray snuggled closer to the Mountie’s reassuringly solid form, allowing himself to be beguiled by the illusion of love. Three hours later Ray woke up wondering where he was. Which wasn’t bad considering the amount of times he’d woken up, post-migraine, wondering who he was. He peered out from beneath a blanket and reasoned bedroom, home. He carried on looking around until he discovered the Mountie sleeping peacefully beside him. The red jacket and boots were off, the suspenders pulled from his shoulders, and he looked comfortable and contented. Ray rolled to face him. The minimal disturbance was enough to rouse Ben, and he uncurled into an elaborate stretch before settling back with Ray, shuffling closer and draping an arm over the cop. “How do you feel?” “Good.” “I telephoned the precinct and spoke to Lieutenant Welsh, told him you were indisposed and that I’d brought you home. He knew what was wrong.” “Was he pissed off with me?” “On the contrary, he was most sympathetic. Asked me if I could persuade you to relinquish this case before it causes you any lasting damage.” “And you said?” “That you were very uptight about the whole matter but a couple of hours of abandoned sex should loosen you up.” Ray’s heart stopped in the seconds it took him to work out that Ben was joking. He rolled away from Ben so the Mountie didn’t see the grin on his face. “See? Plausible. Completely plausible. Why am I dumb enough to believe anything you tell me?” “I assured Welsh that I’d discuss it with you but, from what I’d judged of your character, you were not going to give up this case of your own volition.” “You trying to get him to take it away from me?” “He’s not going to do that, Ray. Despite the huge conflict of interest he understands that you need to do this.” “I do. I need to do this.” “While we’re on the subject of what we need to do…” Ben raised himself on his arms, leaning over Ray. “Hey.” Ray turned his face to Ben’s, knowing what was coming, wishing he could say no before he got hurt again. But as Ben’s head dipped, he rose up to meet him, running his fingers into Ben’s hair, bringing him closer, faster. The kiss was so much better than in Ray’s fantasies, and he fleetingly wondered why he had been prepared to settle for memories when this man was there for the taking. I didn’t get laid, I got used. Ben eased nearer, burgeoning erection pressing at Ray’s hip, and Ray’s body responded enthusiastically: both men groaned softly as Ben ran his hand over Ray’s growing hardness. “Will you fuck me, Benny?” Ray whispered between kisses. “Last time was so good.” I got used. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. “Don’t ask. Just take,” Ben advised breathlessly. “Whatever you want. I’m yours.” ‘Another line?’ popped into Ray’s head and he fought the doubts in the best way he could: he very deliberately switched his mind off. What the hell, let’s just get used again. And again. And again. In the next room the phone rang and Ray involuntarily re-engaged his brain, struggling his way out from underneath Ben, who was quite determined to keep him where he had him. “Ignore it.” “I can’t. It could be Maria.” “She’ll call back.” “Ben…” “Or she’ll leave a message.” They listened as the answering machine clicked in and played Ray’s outgoing spiel. At the sound of Stan’s incoming voice Ray was out of the bed and bee-lining for the phone, fastening his clothes as he went. Ben laid back with a frustrated sigh and, not for the first time, wished he’d never heard of Stan Kowalski. “What are you doing phoning? Is it safe?” “It’s finished. I tell you, Ray, I don’t know why they needed me to show up.” “Not much of a case?” “They could have trained a monkey for it. Listen, I just spoke to Jack and he says you’re ill.” “Migraine. It’s passed.” “He also says you’ve got a new partner.” “Fraser turned up. He was bringing Al home and…” “He brought Al home?” “Yeah.” “Al can’t make it onto a plane by himself? Didn’t he have a better excuse?” “Not one you’re gonna like.” “Ah, fuck, Ray, what are you doing?” “This is about the case.” “Then why d’you sound so freaky?” “I’m not freaky.” “Freaky.” “Come on, Stan, he’s been okay. He was worried about me and
came all the way from “You don’t want to know what it says to me, I promise you. I think it would be better if you told me to butt out.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Then let’s not talk about it now.” “Okay.” “Okay.” “When are you coming home?” “I’m on the train.” “That’s great. I’ll come get you. Ring me from the station…” Ben figured out fairly quickly that the highly strung one would not be coming back to bed; he sat up on the edge, sulking. This was ridiculous. He’d never had a jealous moment in his life and now he was raging inside at the precedence Stan took over him. Logic wasn’t helping much at all and the knowledge that Ray and Stan had been friends for years only stoked his jealousy instead of quelling it. Friends. And what had Ray said? If Stan didn’t regularly leave him to work undercover they’d kill each other? Didn’t sound much of a threat, did he? But Ray had just leapt out of bed to speak to Stan. Yes, because he was his partner and Ray was unhappy about the case and he needed his partner. See, logical. So, Ben asked himself, why isn’t it enough that he has the actual investigating officer from Tuktoyaktuk here? Okay, to be honest, he didn’t come here as the investigating officer, he came here… Suddenly it all seemed absurdly funny and Ben laughed to himself, at himself. “Want to share the joke?” Ray asked from the doorway. Choosing not to hang onto even a semblance of dignity, Ben chuckled again. “It’s me. The joke is me.” Before Ray could delve into that, Ben quickly continued by saying what he hoped was the right thing: “How’s Stan?” “Yeah, like you care.” Ray turned and headed for the kitchen, emptying and refilling the coffee maker before switching it on. Ben pursued and waited, feeling the frost settle; eventually Ray turned back to him. “What can I get you?” “Tea?” Ray started out of the kitchen again. “Figured as much. I’ll go to the store and get some. What name should I look for?” Ben caught Ray’s arm, felt the rigid refusal to be swayed when he tried to draw him close. “What did he say? How can he turn you against me so readily when he doesn’t even know me?” Ray took a deep breath, allowed Ben to appropriate his body and hold him. “It’s not him. Or if it is him, it’s only because he makes me think.” “Do you suppose we can survive beyond him making you think?” It was the first indication Ray had had that Ben considered him to be more than a casual affair, and a swell of hope filled him. Ben saw it in the cop’s eyes and that, in turn, gave him hope. It was, however, short-lived. “Stan thinks you were wrong to make a move on me. Grieving relative taken advantage of?” Ben thought about it, and was shocked to see the truth. Yes, he had been wrong, but was just too caught up wanting Ray to realise it. The self-centred bastard had done it again. And it carried on: here he was thinking he’d made a worthwhile gesture, coming to be with Ray because he thought he’d be needed, but as ever it boiled down to what he wanted, where he wanted to be. His attention fixed on the frown that permanently marred Ray’s face, knowing that he was now a part of the cause. And it stung. “Stan’s absolutely right,” Ben admitted to Ray’s evident surprise. “Do you need me to apologise? Because I will even though I’m not sorry.” Ray gave a short laugh, taking his turn to surprise Ben. “I do not want to be the ham in the sandwich when you two meet. C’mon, let me go, I’m going to the store for tea. Never thought I’d hear those words coming out of this mouth.” “Are you going to dump me if he tells you to?” “For God’s sake! The two of you treat me as if I don’t know my own mind!” “He’s more important to you than I am.” “Benny, look… He was here before you and – you have to be realistic – he’ll be the one picking up the pieces when you’re gone. He’s important to me, of course he is. Sometimes it’s been impossible to get anywhere near the girls, even on the phone, and he’s…he’s been all I have.” The sad acceptance in Ben’s expression jump-started Ray’s natural compassion. He stroked the Canadian’s cheek, knowing Ben would turn to kiss his fingers, smiling when he did so. “Right now you’re just as important. This minute…this particular minute you’re everything.” “Ray…let me make love to you.” “It’s making love now, is it?” “I need to put things right. Make it up to you.” “Put what right?” “I finally realised what you’d been trying to tell me. That you’d never…” “Let that go,” Ray told him brusquely, pushing away and into the living room. “How can I? It should have been better for you.” “It was great for me.” “You let me hurt you.” “No. Not let, made. I made you hurt me. I wanted to make sure I’d feel it for days.” Ray turned back to face Ben. “I’m starting to think that I hurt you more, but I just can’t figure that out. I’m not usually this slow but it’s not been a good couple of weeks for me.” “Can I make it up to you?” “Is that just one of your better lines?” Ray smiled. At that smile Ben came to him, pulling him into an embrace that threatened to squeeze the air from his lungs. Wriggling into a more comfortable, inhalation-friendly position, Ray held the Mountie back, gently raking the fingertips of one hand through the short hair at the base of his skull. Ben’s head rested against his. There was a long moment’s silence. “Can you figure out what this is all about?” “No.” “See, Benny, as you so kindly pointed out, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not used to getting close, I’m not used to…to…” “Bonding?” “And you said you didn’t. Bond or connect. Another line to make me feel – what – sorry for you? Or make me think I’m special?” “You’re very special.” “Sure.” Ben pulled back and looked determinedly into Ray’s face. “Not a line. Every time I say anything you like you think it’s a line. Well, Ray, here’s the truth. I’m as bewildered as you are about all this and I have no lines for you.” He paused, summoned some courage. “I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” “Oh, yeah, if that’s not a line…” Ben let Ray go and stepped away, frustrated and irritable. “If you’re not going to believe anything I tell you then why am I wasting my breath? Why did I come all this way to be treated like…like…” “Like you’re everything Steve said you were?” “Why did you listen to him?” Ben demanded. “You may not have had a string of relationships but you know about people. You know they do and say stupid things when they’re hurt. You’re a cop, you must see it all the time.” “Yeah,” Ray admitted carefully, running his hands over his shorn head and wishing he’d kept his mouth shut about Steve. Younger, handsome, long-haired Steve. “I’m gonna be crap at this. You should never have come.” Ben drew breath to speak but his anger stifled the words. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and went to the bedroom to retrieve his boots and tunic. In his absence Ray sank into the nearest armchair and stared mournfully at the floor. You should never have come? Was he fucking insane or what? “He came to see me,” Ben told Ray as he emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, fully dressed but still buckling his belt. “Steve came to see me. He’d calmed down and wanted to make up. He even apologised for what he’d said to you about me. Perhaps you think this is a line as well…” “You made up? How did you make up?” Ray asked quickly, possessively. “Oh, how you’d imagine,” Ben retorted furiously. “I threw him over my desk and fucked him. Enjoyed him and then tossed him aside. It’s what I apparently do, after all. I can’t connect emotionally so I’ve spent my entire adult life screwing around in the hope that someone will make me feel…” Ben turned and saw the expression on Ray’s face. He saw the pain, the guilt, the confusion; it wiped his anger away in a heartbeat. He went to Ray and crouched before him, taking his hands and kissing them. “In the hope that someone will make me feel the way you have made me feel. Only you make me feel.” He kissed Ray’s hands again, happy to feel them clinging to his. “I didn’t even consider making up with Steve in that way. I don’t want him. I want you. I believe in fidelity, Ray, and I feel like I belong with you. I don’t know how it happened but we bonded, we connected, and I had to come to you.” Ray sat silently taking the words in, wanting, yet afraid to believe. “One day when we’re brave enough to say all the things we should be saying we’ll figure it out. And you’ll stop feeling like you’re a mistake I’m making. Or I’m a mistake you’re making.” Ben gave Ray’s hands a last squeeze and stood. “Where’s the store? I’ll go and get some tea. What else do we need?” “Shall I tell you why I believe him more easily than I believe you? Because it’s all pretty incredible, isn’t it? Things like this don’t happen to me.” Ray sprang to his feet and started to pace. “I follow my dead father to this one horse town where they already ate the horse, and this fantasy figure of a Mountie gets the hots for me? Not likely. I’ve gone through life with a sign pinned to my back that says ‘kick me’, why should something so good – potentially so good – happen?” “Perhaps it’s overdue.” “You see though? Steve says, ‘he’s gonna kick you too’ and it’s part of a pattern that makes sense to me. You saying you belong with me is some freaky trip that I cannot get my head around. I don’t think you’re a bad person, I don’t think you’re lying, but what you’re offering me rings alarm bells because this is my life we’re talking about. And in my life you have to fit by fucking me over and laughing in my face about it.” Ben took time considering Ray’s words. “I understand.” “I hope you can. I’m sorry I made you mad, I don’t blame you for being mad.” “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have got angry. You don’t deserve that.” Ben sat on the couch, hoping Ray might follow and stop the incessant pacing. “Ray…I’m the one who doesn’t make friends. You do. You’ve gotten past ‘kick me’ with other people.” “Remember how I said me and Stan started working together?” “Yes, I remember.” “Made it sound like we just fell in there and got on with it, didn’t I? Well, let me tell you, it was a fucking nightmare. I was a fucking nightmare. I froze him out for months, couldn’t talk to him civilly, didn’t know how to work with a partner. And all the time he’s trying, he’s making a pest of himself. See, he wants a partner so he can stay at the 27th: he’s sick of being moved around and wants a base.” “What happened?” “He hit me. One day he’d had enough of this shitty attitude and he hit me. I’ll tell you – and this isn‘t me bowing to some victim mentality – I deserved it. I had ridden him so hard for days over one minute mistake and been as obnoxious as any man could be. He hit me and he walked away.” Ray finally came and sat down in the armchair opposite Ben. “So I’ve got this split lip that reminds me I should show a little respect… Wipe that look off your face, Benny. This wasn’t like being hit by Pop, it wasn’t the same at all. This was honesty, and I respected it. It would have been dishonest for him to keep taking my bad attitude and putting up with it. It made me wake up to myself and see how badly I’d treated him. He’s a nice guy and by then I knew it, I’d just refused to see it. “Okay, this happened when we were out on a job, nobody else there, nobody saw it, but I just know he’s gonna go to Welsh and tell him and then they’ll move him on. So I phone him and tell him not to, that he was right. I told him not to feel bad about it because, although I tried hard not to, I’ve got to know him and I know he will be feeling bad. That night he turns up here with a bag of frozen peas. I’m convinced he’s lost the plot but he says it’s the best thing he knows for a sore spot, and that’s when we started to become friends, over this bag of frozen peas. Even now, if we think we’ve really pissed each other off that’s what we’ll show up with. Something to put on the sore spot.” Ray got to the end of what he felt was a stupid admission and took a deep breath. Ben was faintly smiling now and Ray was relieved; for a while there it looked like Ben would greet Stan by decking him. “I’ve been jealous.” “Tell me about it!” “Oh.” “What? You thought you were covering it up?” “Well…” “Every time I mention his name your whole body clenches.” “It’s never happened to me before. I don’t know how to deal with it.” “If you’re jealous because you think there’s something going on between me and Stan then you just have to believe me: that’s never been there, not for a minute. If you’re jealous of the friendship you have to get past it because nothing’s gonna change there. He’s the only true friend I have. There’s Elaine and Jack at work, but Stan’s the only person I turn to outside.” “Will you ever turn to me?” Ben asked softly. “That’s different.” “Why?” “Proximity.” Ben fell silent for a while and Ray took the opportunity to
check the cupboards and refrigerator for provisions he needed, making a short
list on the back of an old envelope and placing TEA at the top, underlined
twice. When the Mountie appeared in the kitchen doorway he handed over the list
and explained the location of the store, then he found his wallet and pulled
out “I was quite happy with where it was,” Ben admitted as he unenthusiastically accepted it. Ray frowned a deeper-than-usual frown as he thought, then his face brightened and he laughed. “I never had you down for a romantic.” Ben blushed and shrugged. “Neither did I.” Which earned him a kiss on the cheek as Ray went past into the living room. “Okay, I want you to take the spare keys…” Ray dug into a cut crystal bowl on the bureau; it was a repository of loose change and a mass of anonymous detritus from the repeated emptying out of pockets. Ray offered Ben the keys but the Mountie came closer to see what was engraved on the bowl, finding it was an award for bravery. “What did you get this for?” “A purely accidental act of heroism. It wasn’t a big deal.” Ben had already found a framed picture close by that had been laid down on its face. He picked it up and studied the photograph: Ray and Stan being handed their awards by a city official. “Why don’t you want to see this?” “I didn’t get that done, I didn’t want it.” Ben could take a good guess. “Stan put it here?” “Yup. He stands it up, I lay it down, he stands it up…” “What does it remind you of that you want to forget?” Ray’s glance shot in Ben’s direction for a split-second before darting away. “You want the keys?” Ben accepted that this was somewhere they weren’t going and replaced the photo, leaving it standing. Giving Ray a brief kiss he left the apartment. Ray closed the door behind him and took a deep breath before laying the photo face down and picking up the pile of mail stacked beside the bowl. Sitting at the bureau Ray began to sift through the letters;
he hadn’t even bothered to look at the items that had been delivered while he
was in Ray swallowed. Hard. He began to tremble as the rage built inside him, screwing the card up and hurling it across the room, sweeping every item on the bureau to the floor in one sudden wild gesture. He got up, sending the chair flying, paced and paced but the fury merely intensified until he knew the only way to dispel it was to do what he’d wanted from the start of the whole stomach-churning affair. He had to see Frankie, to ask him for the truth. He had to be lied to. He had to be dismissed. Then he had to empty a clip into that mocking son-of-a-bitch. … Ben was one step into Ray’s apartment when he noticed the
disruption and froze. He called out for the cop, noticing as he did so that his
keys were gone. When he thought for a moment he realised he hadn’t seen the
stretch of green that was the Ben knew he had to follow, especially because, after several long conversations with Al, he was less than convinced about the mob boss’s involvement in Joseph Vecchio’s death. Picking up the telephone receiver, he paused: if he contacted the Precinct for Zuko’s address they would know Ray had taken off to confront him and, if nothing else, that would probably get him removed from the case. He looked in the bureau for an address book, finding nothing more than an electronic notebook in the top drawer; ok, add the length of time it would take him to figure this thing out before he got the address… Then it occurred to him. Ben rushed back to the phone and keyed in *69, listening for a moment before hitting the number one and waiting an interminable few seconds for an answer. “Y’hello?” “Detective Kowalski?” “You got him.” “Detective, this is Sergeant Ben Fraser…” “Where’s Ray, is he okay?” Stan demanded automatically. “I need the address of Frank Zuko…” Ben quickly explained about the card and his supposition. Stan replied tersely with a location that was permanently engraved on the inside of his skull. “The train’s five minutes outside the station, I’ll go straight to Frankie’s but you’re gonna get there first. Frankie ain’t the problem – he’s a coward – you gotta look out for all the tooled-up gorillas he’s got hanging around. They come out of the woodwork and they come out ready to shoot. You armed, Fraser?” “No, I’m not.” “Ah, shit. Listen, whatever it takes, just get Ray outta there in one piece and we’ll deal with the consequences later.” Ben hurtled back down the stairs and into the street, luckily catching a cab fairly quickly due to the eye-catching appearance of the red serge. He took a look at his watch, trying to figure out how far ahead of him Ray was. The outer calm was an effective façade but inside his chest Ben’s heart was pounding fit to burst. Ray’s head start gave him just about enough time to get himself killed. … Ray drove the Riv into the curb and left it skewed, out of the vehicle practically before it had stopped moving, storming up to the Zuko’s front door and pounding hard on the solid wood with his fist. There was a long minute before it was opened, and Ray knew that time had been spent cocking every gun in the vicinity, but he was too wound up to obey the common sense that told him to get out of there. He pounded again. The guy who answered the door was another long-term fixture on the Vecchio senior party list. “Ray,” he acknowledged, challenging the detective’s right to be there with a cool look. “I want to see Frankie.” “I don’t think this is a good time.” “You let me in, Charlie, or I swear I’ll take you out getting to him.” Charlie Santoro hesitated, aware of the arsenal that was primed and waiting in the house, and not wanting a dead cop on his hands. “Let me talk to him first.” The door was suddenly pulled fully open and Frank Zuko was there for the taking. “Come in, Ray, come on in.” Now the invitation was openly extended Ray became wary; this wasn’t what he’d been prepared for. He walked into the house and let himself be guided by Frankie into the study, watching as the mob boss insistently dismissed his men, brushing aside muttered objections. Frankie closed the door and turned back. “What is this?” Ray demanded. Frankie looked surprised. “Okay, however unlikely it is, we want the same thing here. I’m trying to be civil.” Under Ray’s suspicious gaze Frankie crossed to the drinks cabinet. “Get you something? Soda?” “No.” Frankie poured himself a scotch and moved to sit in one of the large leather armchairs. “So, where’s the scarecrow?” “You don’t want to go there, Frankie. You don’t want to get smart at Stan’s expense because I am not in the mood.” “Hey, he started it.” “Did you hear me?” “Okay. You look fit to bust. Sit down, talk to me.” Ray remained standing, glaring at Frankie. “Suit yourself. Tell me about your Pop, Ray.” “No. Maybe you tell me. Why’d you have him hit?” At last the complacency fell from Frankie’s face. “You think I took him out?” “I saw him. Professional job. There’s no-one else going to risk doing that to him, so tell me why you did. Was he fleecing you?” “Everyone skims a little off the top and Joey was no different, but as long as it stayed a little I didn’t have a problem; I don’t deal with it the way my old man used to.” “So he was ripping you off.” “He was worth it. He was more use to me alive, Ray, and you know that.” “The mob doesn’t take anyone ripping them off.” “I wanted him around. He could keep people in their place better than anyone I’ve ever had.” “Oh, yeah, Frankie, he was to be admired for that. For being the cruellest piece of shit we knew.” “He was useful. More than that he was one of my own. I want to know who took him out and, if you’re prepared to be the good son, you’ll let me deal with whoever’s responsible for his death.” “You think I’m falling for this?” “I let you in here, Ray, in here, the same room, just you and me. What does that say to you?” “That you’re an arrogant bastard whose judgement is open to question.” Frankie looked up from his drink to see Ray’s gun aimed squarely at his head. The famous Zuko smile appeared. “Hey, come on…” “I want the truth.” “You pull that trigger and you don’t get out of here alive.” “Think I give a fuck? Don’t I seem to you a little past giving a fuck?” The smile started to look nailed on. “What exactly do you want?” “I told you.” “You want the truth, or you want someone to admit to killing Joey?” Ray just glared; Frankie started to rise but the cop took a step forward and he fell back in the chair, spilling the scotch. “See what you made me do.” “Getting nervous, Frankie? Starting to take me seriously at last?” “Ah, go to hell, Ray.” “Sure. But I’ll take company.” “Listen to me. Listen. If I had wanted to get rid of Joey you think I’d’ve taken the trouble to go more than twenty blocks north? And shall I tell you something else that you don’t seem to have considered? If I’d had your father hit I’d be sure to let you know because you’d owe me one fucking hell of a favour.” Ray covered the distance between him and Frankie before the mob boss registered the move; the gun was pushed into Frankie’s temple and now he was truly scared. “He was still my father. The decision to take him out wasn’t yours.” “But I didn’t…” “You think this is how he felt? Did he get a chance to beg for his life? Did he break into this much of a sweat?” Ray could feel Frankie trembling through the gun and it disturbed him enough to make him break the contact, even if it was only by an inch. “Ray, Ray, I didn’t kill Joey. I didn’t kill your father. What do you want me to say? I didn’t kill him.” “You want to tell me why I should believe you? You gonna produce indisputable truth that you didn’t touch him?” “If I had killed him I would have had indisputable proof that I didn’t ready and waiting.” Ray wavered: that made sense. “You think I’m some kind of fucking idiot, Ray?” Frankie hissed. “I know what this is about and it isn’t about a man you hated and wanted dead.” There was no reply and Frankie risked a brief glimpse at Ray, only to have the gun shoved back to his temple. He slowly, deliberately raised his glass and drained the last drop of scotch. “This is about your mother not your father. This is you looking for an excuse and wanting to kill every last Zuko in your rage.” Ray recognized it was no longer Frankie that was shaking and he took a step back, ironically not wanting to kill Frankie because of an unsteady hand. “We don’t talk about my mother,” he finally managed to say, the words emerging as little more than a whisper. “I know. And we don’t talk about my brother.” Pain sparked in Ray’s head at the association and he shook it away, but not before Frankie had caught the movement. “Ray… You want to put off blasting my brains out until you can see straight?” The gun gradually lowered and Ray heard Frankie take a deep, deep breath. “Sit down, Ray. Sit down and let’s neither of us get killed, huh?” Emotionally drained, feeling sick with the thought of what he could have done, Ray flicked over the safety catch on his gun and shoved it back in its shoulder holster. Crossing to the vast leather couch he sank down, cradling his head in his hands. Seconds later Frankie was at his side, offering water and aspirins, and he took them without question. “Kinda like being twelve,” Frankie grinned. “There’d be me with the beer, ‘Come on, Ray, come on, Ray, come on.’ And you’d take a beer and it would go straight to your head. I was always too stupid to stop offering and you were too stupid to stop taking. You remember that summer? You lived on beer and aspirin. God only knows how you didn’t get an ulcer.” “You think about your brother much?” Frankie’s grin slid away. “Carlo? Not much. Yeah, sometimes.” “I was telling Stan about him. About what happened after that party, just because me and Carlo were talking. Carlo always felt bad, didn’t he?” “He never had time for Joey after that, I know.” “Did your old man look at Pop when Carlo died?” “It was an accident, Ray. You get that drunk and go swimming…” The two men sat in silence for a while, each remembering, each reliving the feel of being twelve years old and with your best pal in the world, when guilt was being a half-hour late for dinner, and a beer headache was just a beer headache. Before turning thirteen, when the shit hit the fan and the word pain became spelt with a capital P; before being twenty and speaking civilly to your ex-best pal for the last time in over a decade because your paths were mapped and forked so acutely in opposing directions. “I know you didn’t do it, Frankie.” “You talking about Joey now?” “I always knew when you were lying and you’re not lying now.” “Glad you figured it out while I’m still breathing.” “You think any of your guys…” “No. We needed him. Like you said, he was the cruellest piece of shit, and we needed him. I know you don’t think much of how I turned out, but I’m not like my pop. I was never groomed for this. But after Carlo dying, and Mikey taking off… Hell, even Irene would have done a better job but she had the sense to leave two weeks after Mikey. I was all that was left so I had to do. But I’m not like them however hard I pretend to be. I’m the weakest link in the chain and I need people like Joey around me to keep it all happening.” “Why didn’t you say no? Why didn’t you walk away?” “I couldn’t and you know it. I was never as strong as you, Ray.” Ray was taken aback. He’d never considered himself to be strong, quite the opposite. And here he was sitting with the man he’d come to kill, listening to him saying things he couldn’t admit to anyone else. “I need you to promise me, Frankie. If you get a clue on who hit Pop you let me know.” “Ah, come on, I’ve got a reputation to…” “I mean it. You let me deal with it. Because I need to, and that’s not ‘cause I’m a cop, it’s because I’m Joseph Vecchio’s son.” Frankie considered for a moment before nodding, standing, and heading back to the drinks cabinet for a refill. “Hey, Ray… You ever think we could get past where we ended up? Things got out of hand but that was our pops, not us. We were fine before they pulled us to pieces.” “You think we could go back and be friends again?” Ray asked incredulously. “What happens next time I’m here asking why the drugs, or the beatings, or the murder? I chose my life and you inherited yours, and short of running away together like when we were eight, we’re stuck where we are. Don’t let five minutes nostalgia fool you into thinking we can go back.” Frankie nodded sagely before his mouth started to twitch. “I’d forgotten about that you know.” The grin broke out. “Running away, making it to the bus station…” “Grand desperados, huh? Paying for tickets with saved up pennies.” “Where in fuck’s name were we headed?” Frankie laughed. “You remember?” “I think we could afford about six stops,” Ray smiled. “We must’ve been the dumbest kids we knew.” “Did I get a hiding for that! You get a hiding for that?” “You know, Frankie…I got a hiding for everything.” The laughter petered out to be replaced by unspoken sympathy. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you did.” A solid quiet fell over them; the two kids inside the men exchanged a look that mourned lost innocence and the freedom to abscond. Finally Ray stood and went to Frankie, offering his hand, smiling as Frankie haphazardly juggled decanter and glass to firmly take it. “I’ll see you around.” “Yeah, you will. And make sure you bring a warrant.” Loud knocking at the front door startled them both, but Frankie’s grin was back in seconds. “You pre-order the coroner’s wagon?” “You’re assuming I was sane enough to think that far ahead.” Voices were raised outside the study and for the second time the men turned uneasily in their direction. “I’d better…” As Frankie tried to re-juggle what he was holding, the decanter began to fall, slipping past Ray’s attempt at a catch and smashing resoundingly on the wooden floor. It was a signal for all hell to break loose: the commotion in the hall exploded into noise and the study door burst open, the first of Frankie’s men through the door misread the situation entirely and was already focusing his gun on Ray as his boss started to tell him to back down. Ray knew he was about to be shot, killed at this range, when the Mountie appeared, striking the man’s arm as he fired. Automatically falling back, Ray got the sense of a bullet ricocheting close to him before it buried itself in Frankie’s thigh. As time resumed its usual pace Ray scrambled forward to Frankie, grabbing serviettes from the bar to press onto the heavily bleeding wound. He glanced round to see Ben throwing the shooter to the floor before kneeling on his back and cuffing the man. Charlie and the other goons were just standing watching, eerily inanimate. Instinctively knowing he could expect no help from them, Ray pulled out his cell phone with one bloody hand, switched it on and called for an ambulance. Then Ben was at his side, replacing the soaked serviettes with a fresh bundle. Ray put the phone away and sat back on his heels, looking at the blood on his hands, shaking his head in disbelief when he remembered his intent in coming here today. With utter, liberating relief he recognised Stan’s voice, looked up to see his partner pushing through the men in the doorway and heading for him. “Shit, Ray, you didn’t,” Stan muttered under his breath as he knelt by the prostrate body of the mob boss. “Stan…I’m not my father,” Ray replied as quietly. Stan looked into Ray’s face and understood the implications of what he’d said: not just that he hadn’t shot Frankie, but that it wasn’t in him to do such a contemptible thing in cold blood. That he wasn’t his father’s son in any capacity other than an accident of biology was something Ray had needed to know for a long time, and the point had been proved. “Get out of here,” Stan told him, “we can deal with this. I’ll speak to Welsh.” Ben glanced at Stan, resentful of the ‘we’ until he took a better look at Ray and saw what Stan saw: he was colourless, trembling. Ray gave one brief nod, standing and looking down at himself, sickened by the stench of alcohol and the amount of Frankie’s blood that had soaked into his clothes. The distant howl of the ambulance’s siren gave Ray the final nudge and he left, ignoring Ben’s gaze burning a hole in the back of his head, glaring a warning at Charlie as he shoved his way out. “Hey, Scarecrow,” Frankie gasped, finally rediscovering his voice. “Hey, Frankie, how you doin’?” “I’m bleeding to death here.” “No, you ain’t, Frankie. We should all be so damn lucky!” Stan looked at Ben for the first time, ignoring all the things he wanted to know about the man and focusing on the grim expression that said, yes, Frankie was bleeding to death. “You wanna tell me what happened here, Fraser?” Ben succinctly explained what he knew of the events leading to the shooting, and Stan took a look back at the cuffed man who was sitting on the floor leaning back against the couch. “Frankie, you want to bring charges against this idiot?” Stan asked despite knowing the answer; Frankie barely had time to shake his head before the paramedics arrived and hustled the two cops out of the way. Ben uncuffed the man on the floor before joining Stan in the hallway where he was explaining the situation to two uniformed officers who had turned up on the heels of the paramedics. He registered the female officer’s interest and, for the first time, wished the uniform didn’t attract so much attention. Growing irritable under the scrutiny, Ben left the house and waited for Stan in the front garden, wondering where Ray was at that precise moment. Wherever he was, the inevitable conclusion was that Ben should be with him. Or, however much it stung, Stan should be with him. He’d watched the connection between the two partners, seen the trust in Ray’s eyes when he looked at Stan. No-one had ever looked at him like that. Except maybe Diefenbaker. Ben smiled sadly as he missed his wolf: the only living thing he had connected with before Ray. “Ok, Fraser, we’re waiting on a ride back to the Station House,” Stan announced as he walked across the grass to him. Ben decided to make an effort; this was, after all, Ray’s best friend. He smiled and extended a hand. “Sergeant Benton Fraser, RCMP.” Stan was surprised by the belated formal introduction, but accepted the hand and reciprocated. “Stan Kowalski.” The usual ‘good to meet you’ stuck in Stan’s throat, but he decided to make an effort; this was, after all, Ray’s… Ah. “Hell of an outfit. You always get that reaction?” he asked, nodding back towards the cops they were waiting on. “Quite often,” Ben admitted uncomfortably. “That the point of wearing it?” Stan grinned. “I only wore it for one person’s benefit today,” Ben replied coolly. “Get what you wanted?” It was impossible to miss the hostility in Stan’s voice and that made Ben feel a little easier: if Stan had given up the pretence of affability this soon it would save hours of exhausting false geniality. But then again, it might be more satisfying to appear irritatingly oblivious. “I’m sorry, in what respect?” Stan paused, wondering what game they were playing. Whatever, he wasn’t going there, simply for Ray’s sake. “Forget it. You get any idea of how things were between Ray and Frankie before this all went down?” “As I told you, I was in the hallway and the door to the study was shut until we all heard the noise which proved to be a decanter smashing. Once inside the room I didn’t get the impression that the decanter was thrown or broken deliberately but simply dropped. And Frank Zuko did shout to his man not to open fire but he was fractionally too late.” “So Ray and Frankie were…?” “Standing together, at the bar.” “Ray’s gun?” “Holstered.” “Raised voices?” “Not that I was aware of. But the protestations of the men trying to stop me from entering may have been enough to disguise a degree of noise.” “What does your gut tell you? You walk in on a war zone or a declaration of peace?” Ben considered. “Peace.” “Shit. Ray must be so screwed up.” Stan pulled out his cell phone and went to the memory; he listened to twenty rings before the phone was answered. “Ray, I need to know… … Yeah, that’s what I thought. … You sure? … Well, you know him better than me. … He lost a lot of blood but I think he’s gonna be okay. You wanna tell me what happened in there prior to the shooting?” Stan listened at length, nodding and uh-huhing, before turning to look at Ben. “Yeah, he’s fine. You wanna talk to him?” Ben expectantly took a step forward but Stan stopped him with a raised hand, turning his back on the Mountie’s despondency at the rejection. “Okay. … He did, huh? … No, we’re going to the station now. Where are you? … No, that’s fine, you know that’s fine. … I’ll speak to you later.” Stan put the phone away and followed Ben to where he’d wandered, surprised by the sheer dejection conveyed by the Mountie’s expression and body language. Stan began to wonder if he’d judged Ben harshly, that his overprotectiveness of Ray and natural suspicion had clouded his judgement; maybe the Canadian did have some genuine affection for his partner. Stan realised he needed to see them together to form an educated opinion, and hoped that wasn’t as crass and voyeuristic as it appeared to be. Ben was entirely silent during the ride to the Station House, sometimes lost in thought, other times listening with growing curiosity to the way Stan diverted the female cop’s attention away from him. It wasn’t self-serving in any way, more like he was protecting Ray’s interests. Ben’s hopes that Ray would be at the Precinct were quickly dashed: there was no sign of the cop and he and Stan walked through the squad room and straight into Welsh’s office. He let Stan explain the circumstances that had led up to Frank Zuko’s shooting, only filling in scraps of information that Stan inadvertently omitted, watching Welsh’s poker face for a glimmer of emotion that would indicate Ray’s standing following the afternoon’s fiasco. Nothing was forthcoming though, and Ben was excused while Stan and Welsh discussed the assignment Stan had just returned from. Sitting at Ray’s desk, Ben took the opportunity to phone his Detachment, checking on the enquiries he had left his constables making before being put through to Carol for reassurance that Dief was happy. Her enquiry of, ‘Does he always eat so much?’ was met with a rare smile, and they discussed the wolf’s rapidly extending menu until Stan emerged from Welsh’s office and came to join Ben at the desk. Hanging up the receiver, Ben looked up at Stan. “Is Ray going to be taken off the case?” “Not if he keeps his head down for a couple of days.” “Is he likely to do that?” “Normally I could tell you, but I don’t know what’s going on right now. Any other time I tell him leave Frankie alone and he leaves Frankie alone. Course, if I’d been here…” Ben felt the accusation whether it was there or not. “I would have stopped him if I’d been able. If he’d opened that card in my presence.” “That’s okay, I know that.” Stan glanced at his watch. “C’mon, let’s get outta here. I’ll get a car from the pool and I’ll drop you off.” “So where you stayin’?” Stan asked once they were in traffic. “Ray’s.” There was a significant pause. “Ray happy with that?” He was when he was asking me to fuck him earlier. “I believe so.” “’Cos, y’know, this isn’t something he does.” “‘This’ being?” “He doesn’t bring people home.” “How do you know?” “I know, all right?” Stan gave Ben a mean sideways look. “You know it too so less of the games.” Ben had a sudden urge to be honest with Stan, to reassure him – God knows it would be good to have him on side – but normal service had been resumed: it was impossible to talk about something that mattered so much. “No games,” was all he could find to say, pitifully inadequate. Stan took another glance at the troubled countenance and told himself to be nice. “Ray said you saved his life back there.” “You would have done the same.” “I have done the same.” There was another difficult pause before Ben issued another inadequate but nevertheless heartfelt response. “Thank you.” “For what? For saving his life?” Nice wasn’t coming too naturally. “I didn’t save it for you.” Ben wanted to contradict that, but it meant going into areas he couldn’t possibly talk about. He shut up instead. “You two must have something based on silent appreciation,” Stan ventured when they pulled up outside Ray’s apartment block. Ben looked a question. “Quality time with Ray can be like being stuck in a mausoleum, and you’re just as bad.” “We talk. Ray and I talk.” Stan gave him a ‘sure you do’ smirk and got out of the car. The silence resumed as they took the stairs and Stan used his own key to let them into Ray’s home. “You knew he wasn’t here,” Ben observed as Stan automatically started to pick up the mess of papers on the floor, pausing only to stand the award photograph upright. “Yeah.” “You have your own key. So does that mean that Ray has a key to your apartment?” “Yeah.” “And that’s where he is,” Ben finished flatly. “It’s what he does to escape. Sometimes he locks me out of my own place and I end up living here. You have no idea of how weird he can be.” “I don’t think weird…” “Oh, yeah, weird, believe me.” Ben helped with the tidying up, grimly forcing himself to accept that Stan was here for the duration and wondering if he’d be better off moving to a hotel. But Ray would be back and he intended to be waiting for him. When though? “Will he answer your phone?” “No. And he doesn’t listen to the answering machine so he won’t pick up for you.” Ben dipped into his pocket, searching for Ray’s card. “I have the number for his cell phone.” “That’ll be off by now. You have to leave him alone to think.” “But, if I…” “He’ll be back when he’s finished thinking and then he may want to talk,” Stan told Ben impatiently. “I know him, you don’t; you’ll have to take my word over what’s gonna happen here.” ‘I know him, you don’t’? Fuck you, Kowalski! “Fine,” Ben snapped as he headed for the kitchen. “Look, buddy, don’t take that attitude with me. All I wanna do is bounce you outta here, so don’t tempt me.” Ben stopped and stared over his shoulder at Stan, knowing the venom he could introduce with one look; once he’d seen the detective get the message loud and clear he carried on into the kitchen. Stan found himself shuddering: that was one hell of a expression the Mountie mustered, and he didn’t appreciate having it turned on him. So, what did he do? Antagonise Ben further until the scary man beneath the surface exploded, or force himself to be reasonable, which he only seemed to be able to manage in fits and starts? It was easier to tell himself that he was going to make more of an effort for Ray’s sake than admit how much that look had rattled him. But there was one thing he wanted to make clear before the effort was made. He braced himself and went to the kitchen doorway; Ben was at the window staring down at the road, obviously looking for Ray. The forlorn expression was back and Stan found that almost as disconcerting as the hostile glare had been. “Fraser…” Ben’s face lost all expression before turning to Stan. “Yes?” “Listen…hurt him and I’ll kill you.” A moment’s silence. “If I hurt him…” Ben gave Stan the barest hint of a smile before turning back to the window. “If I hurt him…I’ll let you.” … At Stan’s, Ray had just about paced himself into a state of complete exhaustion. Believing Frankie had been an unexpected setback: it had been comfortable to fix his sights on the Zukos, and although there was still a chance his father had been murdered by one of Frankie’s cohort without the man himself knowing about it, he knew he would have to start looking elsewhere for the killer. Joey had been helping himself to Zuko money; what if he’d grown more ambitious and was looking for some action of his own? He could easily have trespassed on another family’s turf and they wouldn’t have had any scruples about getting rid of a threat to their position and income. But Ray kept coming back to the same impenetrable: why Tuktoyaktuk? Why the middle of the Canadian nowhere? One of the reasons he was going around in mental circles was that every time he came to the Tuktoyaktuk question his thoughts would divert to the Mountie. He felt bad for leaving him, and could only hope he and Stan had hit it off in some small way instead of going for each other’s throats. He’d go home soon, save one or the other or both of them. Just go home to be with Ben, knowing the man would hold him and tell him everything would be all right, however unlikely that was. He should have asked how long he was staying as opposed to telling him he shouldn’t have come. Shivering, Ray thought about getting dressed. He’d taken a long shower when he’d arrived, then put back on his singlet and boxers – the only items of clothing that didn’t have Frankie’s blood on. He kept some spare clothes at Stan’s but would have to step over the dumped bloody suit he’d arrived in to get at the wardrobe. Every time he saw that blood he remembered why he’d gone to Frankie’s, that it could have been his bullet leaving the mob boss – the best friend of his youth – bleeding to death on the floor. Another shudder hit Ray; he went to the bedroom door, stared at the suit, at the dark stains, remembered the blood in the snow. Then he wondered if he would make it to the bathroom before he threw up. … The unspoken truce held. After changing out of his uniform
Ben had cooked a meal and he and Stan had sat civilly down at the table to eat
it. They’d talked about Ben’s work in Stan switched the TV on to catch up on the news and Ben either watched the road from the kitchen window, or wandered aimlessly. He found himself back at the photo, longingly gazing at Ray’s image. Picking the frame up he turned to Stan. “Why does Ray keep this face down?” Stan hesitated for a moment then turned off the TV and gestured Ben over. Ben sat beside him on the couch, handing over the picture. Stan tapped on one of the men. “This guy was one of our colleagues. One of our friends. He died a couple of days after this.” Ben mulled that over, didn’t understand. “Then why doesn’t Ray want to remember him?” “Because he died in a booby-trapped car that was meant for Ray, and Ray still feels responsible.” “But surely…” “I know, I know. You won’t catch me arguing his side on this one. There was nothing he could have done, and I’ve been pretty brutal about how glad I am that it wasn’t him, but you can’t tell him. See, this was how Zuko senior dealt with things; we’d been pissing Joey off with some investigation so Zuko decides to kill Ray off as a gift for his pal. It was only the old man dying and Frankie taking over that saved Ray’s life.” Stan went on to repeat what he’d been told of Ray’s meeting with Frankie, this time including pieces of information that had been excluded from the account he’d told Welsh. “Ray’s certain that Frankie isn’t involved?” “Seems to be.” “But you’re not.” “I don’t know,” Stan sighed. “There’s something…” “Not right. That’s what Ray keeps saying. It doesn’t make sense.” Stan returned the photo to its place near the crystal bowl. After a moment’s consideration he laid it flat. After a moment’s more he stood it up. “Fraser…what are you doing here?” “Sorry?” “Why are you here? Is it the case, is it Ray?” “Both.” Stan turned and fixed his best myopic stare on Ben, who caved almost immediately. “Ray. I particularly wanted to see Ray again.” “You know how pissed I am about you hitting on him?” “This really is none of your…” “I’m making it my business, and if you want my partner you gotta get past me. You know how pissed I am about you hitting on him?” Stan repeated coldly. “I know, but it’s not… I didn’t…” Ben gave up trying to verbalise and fell silent. “So, what? Running out of talent at home, nice guy shows up, you get lucky…” “No! I didn’t ‘get lucky’. Well, yes, I did, but not in the sense you mean.” “And what sense is that?” “I can’t discuss this.” “Well, that just ain’t good enough. You’re gonna fuck him
around and disappear back to “I can understand why you feel so protective…” “You better believe it, Buddy.” “…but I have no intention of behaving badly toward him.” “You were wrong to go anywhere near him while he was so screwed up.” “Perhaps that’s the reason he needed me near him.” “Don’t put this on him. I’ve seen him fold too many times when he should have said fuck off, he wouldn’t…” “That’s where you’re wrong. He did tell me to fuck off. You think we just—” This was getting too personal, these details were for him and Ray, no-one else; Ben wanted to dispassionately explain but the words were virtually impossible to find. The fact that his and Ray’s situation made him uncharacteristically tongue-tied only made him surer that this relationship was right. He could discuss intimate details regarding any of his other partners eloquently enough, because ultimately he hadn’t cared for their feelings, but Ray was different. Precious. This closeness was something Ben had never experienced before and he wasn’t about to let it go. He looked at the silently fuming Stan, who was almost twitching with forced patience, the absolute last person Ben would want to alienate under the circumstances. Ben mentally took a step back, trying a different approach, less intimate – so he could actually spit the words out – but more personal, in the hope that Stan might just see there were genuine feelings involved. “Have you ever known, instinctively, that you were right about something or someone? Work? Home life? You recognise a guilty party with one look, you meet someone and know you’re going to get along well from the first moment?” Stan grudging acknowledged what Ben was saying with a nod. “Well, that’s how I felt about Ray. I had to take a chance, because I wasn’t prepared to lose him.” “Lose him? You never had him!” Now Ben was determinedly silent rather than lost for words, once again guarding Ray’s privacy as he had no idea quite what Stan had been told, unaware that Stan was willing Ben to say something convincing, something that would take away his suspicions and the desire to break the Mountie’s head. “Ever occur to you to fuck off when he told you to?” “Honestly? No.” “Did you ever give him a choice about this?” “Yes,” Ben said adamantly. “He stopped telling you to fuck off?” “Yes.” “Had he stopped telling or had you stopped listening?” “Ray made his choices,” Ben said, firmly now. “Has it occurred to you to respect that?” Stan took a deep breath, irritably raking his fingers through his hair, crossly muttering… “You couldn’t have waited for the next guy to come along?” “You think it was that simple?” Ben asked incredulously, his admiration for Ray loosening his tongue. “You think this was about some guy who came along? No. No. Because you’re with him all the time, because he’s so – so familiar to you, you take him for granted. You don’t see what a special person he is.” Stan saw the glimmer of passion that warmed the icy blue eyes, felt a little better but wasn’t going to show Ben that. “I don’t need you to tell me he’s special,” Stan protested. “I love him like a brother; he’s one of the best people I’ve ever met.” “Then why do you find it so hard to believe that I could feel the same way?” “In a couple of days?” “Why not in a couple of days?” Ben paused, recollected, spoke softly. “It didn’t even take that long.” Stan uneasily accepted that something was going on here, that the un-detecting detective had finally detected a note in the Mountie’s voice that made a chill wriggle up his spine. He’d heard the same note in Ray’s voice: I let him have me and switch me back on. What if he was being over-cautious and hounding the love out of Ray’s life? “You gonna make him happy?” he asked Ben unsurely. Ben looked over, not attempting to mask his surprise at the change in tack. “If he’ll let me.” “Because I’d like to see him happy. I’ve never seen Ray’s happy face. I’ve seen the happy mask but…” Stan saw Ben remember in the split second before his face fell into neutral. “You seen the happy face?” Ben said nothing, once again choosing to protect Ray’s privacy. Stan understood, appreciated, relaxed a little more. “You make him happy and I’ll dance the fandango,” he quipped as he switched the TV back on. That managed to raise a Canadian eyebrow. “You can dance the fandango?” “Natural talent, what can I say?” Stan assured Ben with the merest hint of a grin. Ben soon lost interest in the TV and went back to looking
out of the window and wandering. He studied the contents of the CD rack,
surprised and pleased by the many crossovers in his and Ray’s musical tastes,
then spent some time at the bookcase taking in the wide selection of volumes
that covered both fiction and reference. A forensic encyclopaedia was
bookmarked in several sections that pertained to Ray’s father’s death: cranial
gunshot damage, the effects of sub-zero temperatures on bodies, even the
section on cirrhosis. Wedged in the back of the book was an ordnance survey map
of the
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