Part 15 ~ Tuesday 26 April 1994

Ray and Stan had spent the best part of a week pursuing the necessarily elusive assailant of Joseph Vecchio, and making a determined show of it. But what started out as keeping up appearances swiftly morphed into something very real and substantial. Whatever the truth of the matter, Ray could feel the tremors of unrest whenever he spoke to the few associates of his father’s who would give him the time of day. There was a feeling of axes to grind, noses out of joint, fingers that were itching to point and condemn based on substantially more than old grievances.

Despite what every officer involved had assumed, tongues loosened and information began to trickle their way about unconnected crimes; snitches who were now beyond Joey’s intimidating grasp leaked news of racketeering, potential hits, even – and Ray hoped to God that this was nothing to do with Frankie – people-trafficking. Cases that had sat on police department desks for months, and in some case years, now threatened to be solved with the merest encouraging prod, an appropriate hook, or a subtle lean on overburdened shoulders.

In a horribly convenient way it was perfect. The jockeying for position now one of the big hitters was permanently out of the game was fascinating for Ray to watch, not as a son on the back foot, but as a cop who’d spent uncountable hours searching for something – anything – to destabilise this particular criminal empire. The whole Zuko operation was threatening to implode and, in a perverse way, he was as excited as a kid should be at Christmas – not that he’d ever experienced such a novel concept. As the enquiry progressed there was an almost tangible air of waiting for the other shoe to come thudding to the floor.

As their enquiries moved forward Ray became pathetically relieved to discover how much of the worst offending went around rather than through Frankie, and the once unthinkable concept of persuading his old friend to turn on his associates came to the forefront of Ray’s mind with increasing regularity. In exchange for the kind of explosive evidence Frankie could provide, a sweet deal with the state could keep him out of prison, albeit in a witness protection programme for life.

It became obvious that the time was right to re-visit Frankie, and if Ray had to find an excuse he could always tell himself it was supposedly a further interview about the shooting. Despite being actively encouraged to shut up, Stan’s muttered concerns supplied the soundtrack to Ray’s enquiries regarding where to find the man in question.

“He’s still in the hospital,” Ray told Stan as he came off the phone, puzzled frown creasing his brow a little deeper than usual. “He seemed okay at the funeral, but he went back to the hospital. You think that injury was worse than we were told?”

“Know what I think?”

“Amazingly not, that’s why I’m going through the motions of asking you,” Ray said with forced patience. “Bestow your great wisdom upon me.”

Stan grinned at the much missed sarcasm and pulled his chair closer to Ray’s.

“I think Frankie’s still in the hospital because he’s scared to go home,” Stan confided. “He’ll have been ready to be discharged days ago but, this part of town? Even the hospital can’t throw out a Zuko if he don’t want to go.”

It made spine-tingling sense when viewed through eyes that had seen Frankie’s so-called front line of defence patiently waiting for the boss to bleed out and die.

…

That evening Ray and Stan headed back to the hospital, surprised to find Al on guard outside Frankie’s room, no sign of any heavier mob presence.

“There’s my boy,” Al grinned as he stood to embrace Ray, leading to a complicated game of cat and mouse before Ray gave it up and let himself be hugged.

“What are you doing here?” Ray asked as he peeled Al off. “Where’s Charlie?”

Al’s sunny demeanour instantly dropped away.

“I’m here so Frankie’s safe. Me an’ Marco have been here a whole lot.”

“Charlie?” Ray pressed.

Al shrugged.

“You know Charlie.”

“This cryptic shit meant to tell us something meaningful?” Stan asked.

In fact it told Ray all he needed to know about how right Stan had been regarding Frankie using the hospital as a safe space. Without any further preamble he nodded to Stan to stay with Al, and let himself into Frankie’s room.

The look on Frankie’s face as the door opened was an undisguised statement of alarm, rapidly changing to a relieved smile as Ray entered.

“Ray!”

“Hey, Frankie.”

Waving to keep Frankie seated in the armchair beside his bed, Ray dragged the visitor’s chair over and sat close.

“Good book?” Ray asked, indicating the volume that Frankie was gripping so hard his knuckles had turned white.

“Just something Al brought in.”

“Al had an actual book?” Ray grinned. “What is it? Alice and Gerry do meth?”

Frankie chuckled and tossed the book aside.

“Catch 22.”

“Really? Did they publish a version with pictures?”

“Al knows I like to read. He’s doing his best.”

“And how are you doing?” Ray asked, gesturing in the general direction of the gunshot wound on Frankie’s thigh.

“Getting there. Still not right yet, so…” Frankie indicated his hospital room. “But, y’know… Going home soon.”

Ray watched closely as Frankie’s true feelings crept through the falsely nonchalant façade.

“Looking forward to that?”

Their eyes met; they both knew what Ray was asking.

“No choice. Better just get it over with.”

“Or, maybe, home isn’t the best idea right now. Maybe somewhere peaceful, clean air, no stress. Somewhere you can read to your heart’s content. Somewhere you might even be able to recuperate without constantly looking over your shoulder.”

That hit a nerve, and not the one in Frankie’s leg. The kneejerk reaction came and went, visibly forced down.

“You know, Ray, I was reading something a while back that made me think of you.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“There was a line, something… ‘Wondering if the open wound that was his heart would ever heal’.”

“Jeez, Frankie. Couldn’t you stick to comic books?”

“I thought of you, and what your pop had done to you and the girls. And I let him,” Frankie admitted mournfully. “Ray…”

“If I didn’t know you better I’d think you were trying to put me off where this conversation was going.”

“Oh?”

“Being somewhere safe, and that place not being your home.”

A slight tremor crossed Frankie’s face, rapidly followed by an entirely unconvincing flash of bravado.

“It’ll be fine.”

“Sounds it.”

“I’m always fine. Today I’m just feeling sorry for myself ‘cause I can’t take home the cute nurse who does mornings.”

“That’s it, is it?”

“Just that.”

“So why do I get this feeling that you’re clinging to this place, hiding from Charlie?”

“No.”

“Charlie and his merry band of back-stabbing goons.”

“It’s not like that.”

“You trust him?” Ray pressed. “C’mon, Frankie, this is me you’re talking to, I know every tell you have.”

Frankie drew breath to speak but thought better of whatever he was about to say and fell silent.

“Frankie?” Nothing. “Frankie. I can help you.” Apparently the only reply that warranted was a derisive snort. “If the only person you feel safe with is Al you’re screwed. I love the idiot but I’d never pencil him in as anyone’s saviour.”

“You have to get out of here.”

“Eventually. When we’ve had an in depth conversation about how to keep you alive now Charlie is making his move.”

“He’s not…”

“You don’t think he wants to be king pin? You don’t think he wants rid of the weakest link?”

“What I think is you want to get out of here before you say something you regret.”

“Don’t you see, Frankie? I’m not scared of your threats. My pop owed too much to your pop to let you be pushed around, but he isn’t here to keep anyone in line anymore. Joey Vecchio was your backbone. Without him you’re ineffectual.”

“What is it you want? I thought—”

“That we were friends again? ‘Cause we didn’t shoot each other?”

“Maybe,” Frankie admitted, his voice barely audible.

“And maybe you were right. Because as a friend – one of the very few you apparently have – I want to keep you alive. Going home and being at the mercy of Charlie Santoro and his crew doesn’t give you much of a chance.”

“That isn’t how it plays out.”

“What if…” Ray shuffled his chair closer to Frankie’s before dropping his voice. “What if Charlie has already got rid of the biggest hurdle between him and taking over your operation?”

Frankie didn’t even appear shocked.

“He hit Joey? You think I haven’t thought of that?

“So you’ve gotta see the sense in…”

“I’m not running away. I can’t. I have to see this through.”

“To the death?”

“What choice do I have?” Frankie demanded, fighting to keep his anger under control. Anger borne of fear. Ray knew it intimately. “Beyond this I’ve got nothing.”

“You want to get out of this with your life?” That caught Frankie’s attention. “Turn state’s evidence. Give them up.”

The tiny glimmer of hope Frankie had shown died in an instant.

“Fuck, no, Ray, you have no idea what you’re asking.”

“Every idea. You can be kept safe. It’s not like you don’t have the means to start over somewhere new. We can place you the other side of the country, new name, new life…”

“There’s no safe. It’d just be a different death sentence.”

“Listen to me, you’re not like them, you…”

“You’ve gotta get out of here, Ray, right now. I can’t believe you’re stupid enough to even bring this up. Get out.”

Struggling to his feet, Frankie dragged Ray from his chair and started shoving him toward the door. Ray put the brakes on and turned to his oldest friend.

“Frankie. It was bad enough with Pop. I really don’t want to see you on a slab. This wasn’t the life you wanted, it doesn’t have to end this way.”

Frankie shocked Ray by grabbing him and pulling him into a hard, desperate hug. Equally abruptly he pushed him away again.

“Bye, Ray,” he whispered.

“No. It doesn’t end this way.”

“Bye, Ray.”

Finding himself ejected into the corridor, Ray turned a full circle before stopping in front of Stan and Al.

“I can see that went as well as expected,” Stan said as he made a break away from Al.

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

“Ray, sweetheart, I’m looking out for the boss, don’t you worry.”

“Thanks, Al,” Ray threw back over his shoulder. “That’s all I need.”

Nodding contentedly to himself, Al waved until the cops turned a corner out of sight. Left alone the smile immediately dropped from his face. He reassured himself by checking his handgun, practising a quick draw once or twice before settling down to guard the boss. Everyone dismissed him as an idiot, but he knew. Just like Ray knew, and Frankie knew. Change was coming, and it was going to be brutal.

Back in the car Ray paused before sliding the key into the ignition.

“You think some things are inevitable?” he asked Stan.

“Like Frankie getting his head blown off by Charlie? Probably.”

“I can’t let it happen.”

“Yeah, well… Good luck with that.”

…

Late that night, as he habitually stared at his bedroom ceiling, Ray went over and over the sentence that had made Frankie think of him: ‘Wondering if the open wound that was his heart would ever heal.’

“Maybe,” he said in a whisper.

Maybe, if the cure hadn’t bolted back to Canada to help save Ray’s family. He should have told Ben how he felt. He still could. But he couldn’t. Could he? He would call Ben later and… They’d talk about the three day question. No, they wouldn’t. Of course they wouldn’t. They’d talk about work and drunk drivers and illegal fishing before moving on to polite normality: Carol and Diefenbaker and Stan. The fact that Ray had realised Stan was turning down undercover work so he could stay here and babysit his liability of a partner. They’d talk about Pop and Charlie and Frankie and—

An unbidden memory popped into his head. Him and Frankie, along with the neighbourhood kids, playing basketball and Ray scoring to win the game. A throng of 7 year olds celebrating with laughter and hugs and… Barely in the front door before Pop was taking a belt to Ray. What’s wrong with you, dancing around, behaving like a sissy? Frankie fucking Zuko. Next you’ll have his dick in your mouth. A kid too young to understand what he’d done wrong. Now a man old enough to recognise his pop for what he was, and still bearing the scar of the belt buckle on his back.

The desire to leap up, holler and punch walls came and went. The knowledge that the next time he saw Frankie he would hug the living daylights out of him stayed.

That scar… Benny would have seen that scar and maybe wondered. Probably thought line of duty rather than sadistic father. Benny, his Benny who was barely his, would have seen that scar. Ray’s desire to weep was swallowed down.

In this life he’d swallowed and swallowed and swallowed the agony down until he was choking.

He wanted the cure, he wanted Ben, he wanted love and acceptance and security, he wanted—

He just wanted.

Ray wondered if the open wound that was his heart would ever heal.

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