Part 18 ~ Sunday 1 May 1994

It was a little past nine in the morning when Ray was woken by the persistent ringing of the telephone. Stumbling out of bed and cursing those last celebratory beers, he snatched up the receiver and grunted a hello.

“Ray,” came the panicked reply, “it’s Frankie.”

“Frankie? What…?”

“God knows I didn’t want you involved in this but—”

Frankie’s voice broke off and Ray could hear a commotion in the background. Before he had the chance to ask what was happening, the connection was broken.

Momentarily paralysed by shock, Ray forced himself into action and rushed to turn on his cell phone; the moment it connected a call came through, startling him and leaving him to perform a juggling act as the phone almost slipped from his grasp. Seconds later he’d answered and was trying to listen and dress at the same time, urgency making him clumsy and his hangover insisting that everything needed to be worse.

“Ray, there’s something kicking off,” Stan warned him. “I’m thinking Frankie’s in trouble.”

“I know, he just called but got cut off.”

“I’m coming to get you.”

And Stan was gone, leaving Ray asking questions of thin air. He raced to get ready, and was pulling his coat on over a bullet-proof vest when Stan, similarly clad, burst into his apartment.

“The precinct got a call about a shouting match and a couple of shots, pretty close to Charlie’s house, and now there’s an altercation spreading out along the street. A couple of units are attending but we have to get there.”

Stan paused for breath; Ray just stood and gawped. Stan grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him out into the stairwell.

“Ray? C’mon, pal, wake up.”

“I am awake, I wish I wasn’t. Is Frankie dead?”

“Not as far as I know, but if it’s going down with Charlie’s crew now, he must’ve sent out his own guys. I’m assuming he has some still loyal to him.”

“You driving? I’ll try calling Al or Marco, see if they’re safe.”

“I’m driving, just move.”

No reply from either Al or Marco’s phone; no reply from the Zuko house.

“What if—”

Ray’s question was cut short by Stan skidding his GTO into a side street as bullets ricocheted off the bodywork. Immediately out of the car and slamming themselves against the side of the nearest building, Ray and Stan agreed a strategy with no more than a look and a nod, edging out into the street, guns drawn and taking in the scene as swiftly as possible.

They recognised several of Charlie’s men barricaded behind two bullet-riddled cars, another man was lying in the road, clearly deceased. Officers from their precinct were in a similar position behind their own vehicles, with others taking cover in doorways and around the corners of a couple of convenient buildings.

Ray could see a way to flank Charlie’s crew and gestured, creeping along a shadowed wall that offered them a degree of camouflage. As Stan joined him shots rang out in their direction, and they forced themselves into a narrow alcove in the wall that somehow managed to accommodate both men. Ray clutched Stan to him as a hail of bullets attempted to reach them, feeling the rapid pounding of his partner’s heart as they desperately tried to keep out of harm’s way.

Chips of dislodged masonry flew into their faces and Ray pulled Stan tighter.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha.”

“Thought we were dead there,” Stan admitted in an unsteady voice.

“They hurt you and I swear I’ll kill every one of them,” Ray said vehemently, feeling Stan start to relax with a somewhat inappropriate chuckle.

“This’ll be something to tell Frannie’s kid. How their uncle was saved by an architectural quirk of ugliest building in Chicago.”

More flying chucks of stonework refocused them before the gunmen’s attention switched to a new police unit that screeched to a halt further along the street.

“We going?” asked Ray.

Stan took a deep breath.

“Let’s go.”

As one they stepped out from their hiding place, weapons up and opening fire the moment they were able to secure a target. One man fell and the car he was ensconced behind started to smoke as bullets ploughed into the engine.

“Think we hit a fuel line,” Stan warned as flames took hold, and dragged Ray back into the alcove.

Seconds later there was screaming and shouting as Charlie’s crew came to the same conclusion and made a bolt for a safer spot, firing wildly as they went.

“Officer down!” came an alarmed cry, seconds before the smoking car exploded into a vicious blaze, sending debris and burning rubber in all directions; a sliver of hot metal sliced through the edge of Stan’s jacket sleeve.

“That get you?” Ray asked as Stan’s heartbeat once again sped up beneath Ray’s restraining arm.

“No,” Stan replied, sounding doubtful as he watched and waited until a small patch of red bloomed on his sleeve. “Yes. Can’t be much, didn’t even feel it.”

“Oh, fuck…”

“Let me just…” Stan peered out to see what was going on. “We’re okay, Charlie’s goons have moved on.”

They fell out of their hiding place and rushed to the downed officer, horrified to find one of their own struggling for breath as his partner carried out some basic first aid, while another officer radioed for paramedics.

“Glenn…” Ray started, but words failed him as he watched the downed cop struggling to breathe.

The officers both glanced at Stan’s arm but he waved their concern away.

“You got this?” he asked.

“Go,” they were told, and Stan gave Ray a push to get him going before they raced back to the GTO.

Once in the car they contacted the precinct for an update, only to be told exactly what Ray had feared: the gunfight had moved on toward Frankie Zuko’s. Ray was about to end the call when Lieutenant Welsh cut in.

“Vecchio, we don’t want any heroics, no getting yourself killed for Zuko.”

“We’ll have to judge the situation when we get there.”

“Y’know, I miss the Ray Vecchio who did what he was told.”

“I don’t,” emerged from Ray before he could stop it. “I mean…”

“We’ll discuss it later.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And keep a look out for the Mountie, he called in here and is now headed for you.”

“Ben’s here?” Ray asked, stunned by the news.

“He wouldn’t be stopped. Don’t let him get killed either.”

“No, Sir.”

Welsh hung up and Ray turned to Stan.

“You get that?”

“Which bit? You being in trouble for answering back, or Red being around?”

“You got that.”

As they drove up to Frankie’s house it was into an eerie silence. A tense three-way standoff was in place: Zuko faithfuls, Charlie’s crew, and 27^th Precinct cops squared up in the road and Frankie’s front yard. Stan parked just out of the line of anyone’s fire and they cautiously exited the GTO, just as another police car arrived behind them and Ben was out of the vehicle before it stopped moving, hurtling to Ray’s side.

“What are you doing here?,” Ray demanded, “It’s not safe, you’re not armed, you—”

“It’s good to see you, Ray.”

“Well, of course, but…”

“Stan, you’re wounded,” Ben interrupted for a second time.

“It’s nothing.”

“You shouldn’t be here, you should be getting medical attention.”

“And you shouldn’t be here, period.”

“I need to get inside the house,” Ray said quietly.

“No,” Ben and Stan said in unison.

“I can get in round the back, but it’ll have to be just me.”

“Great, you’re committing suicide for Frankie Zuko, thanks for that, partner.”

“No, I can do this, you two just make sure nobody’s attention wanders.”

“Ray…”

“No, Benny, I don’t want to hear it. Not until we’ve run away on a bus together.”

“Ray…”

“No.”

Slipping away from the hands that reached out to stop him, Ray took off, leaving two extremely perplexed people behind.

Ben and Stan exchanged a very knowing look, then immediately went in pursuit of Ray.

Ray ducked down and moved back along the street. Once out of sight he straightened up and ran full pelt to the rear of Frankie’s rear garden, hoping nothing had drastically changed and being relieved when the area was pretty much as he remembered it. Then it was all about two tree branches and a leap of faith, then heaving himself over the wall. Once inside, he stopped to catch his breath, and was appalled when Stan, then Ben, dropped down beside him.

“What part of ‘it’ll have to be just me’ didn’t you two bozos understand?”

“If you were being rational, I would’ve paid more attention,” Stan said.

“I needed a diversion. Out front.”

“You need a fuckin’ miracle,” Stan argued, “back here, and the best you have is us. How are we doing this?”

“We can’t…”

“Ray, listen to me…”

“No, get out of here.”

Stan turned to Ben.

“You try. He’s been impossible ever since Canada.”

“That’s understandable due to his father.”

Stan fixed a beady look on Ben.

“Oh, his father, you think?”

Ben’s mind was racing as he tried to calculate a way through this with everyone that mattered coming out of it in one piece.

“You didn’t bring any Mountie grenades?” Stan taunted as he waited.

“Enough!” Ray said through gritted teeth.

“It appears that all of Frankie’s reinforcements are at the front of the building,” Ben observed, “there’s no-one on guard at the back of the house.”

Ray and Stan peered through the dense shrubs to see where Ben was looking; they agreed with quick nods.

“So, provided you know an easily accessible ingress point…” Ben continued.

“You could just say we need to find a way in,” Ray said flatly.

“Understood. We need a way in that stands the best chance of not alerting anyone in the building.”

Ray pointed to an upstairs room that, in his mind, still had a well worn path to it: brick grill to trellis to window sill.

“Let’s go.”

“Try to maintain cover for as long as possible – we don’t know if anyone inside is watching the garden.”

“Well, fortunately, you dressed like a tree,” Stan said as he gestured to Ben’s brown uniform. “We’ll hide behind you.”

Expecting the evil eye, Stan was thrown by receiving a smirk in response. They hurried to catch up with Ray, who was already half way to the easily accessible ingress point. Fortunately the window was unlocked, as it has apparently remained for years after youthful shenanigans had damaged the mechanism to allow Ray as a kid to sneak in and out unimpeded.

Minutes later Ray, Stan and Ben were at Frankie’s bedroom door, listening intently for any indication of movement in the house. There was clearly a situation underway downstairs, the raised voices and banging impossible to miss, but the upper floor was quiet. Ray cracked open the door to confirm their observations then, after a few seconds, they made their way to the top of the staircase. As far as they could tell, there was no-one guarding the study door, the front door was shut, and the other rooms off the hallway were silent. It now all depended on who was inside the study with Frankie, and how far, and how badly, things had progressed. Charlie’s presence was a given, but if he had a clutch of his men with him, all hell could and would probably break loose.

It was the sound of Al berating, presumably, Charlie, that forced Ray to make a move. Gun at the ready, he crept down the stairs, straight to the study door as Stan and Ben quickly checked the other rooms for signs of life. Ray gently tested to see if the door was locked. No. He braced himself, but it was the sound of a hefty smack, and Al protesting, that prompted Ray to act. He threw open the door and took half a step in, ready to leap back out if necessary, but there was only Frankie, Al and Charlie in the room.

Charlie and Ray instantly had their guns aimed at one another in a classic standoff. Ray edged further into the room as Ben arrived.

“Get in here and lock the door,” Charlie ordered.

“Lock it,” Ray agreed.

Ben hesitated, reluctant to exclude Stan, but suspecting that Ray knew how this would play out, and he wanted to keep his partner out of as much trouble as possible. Ben locked the door just as Stan arrived. The pounding and hollering was immediate, and it took several snapped commands from Ray to make Stan back off. With much cursing, Stan eventually did as he was told.

Once the quiet settled, Ray risked a look at where Frankie was cowering on the floor, Al trying his best to shield his boss. Frankie was grey with fear, too much skin already black and blue, bleeding from just about everywhere on the left side of his face. He was cradling his broken right hand and blood was seeping through several spots on his white shirt. There was also a worryingly large blood stain on his pants at the site of his gunshot wound, giving every indication that the injury had been deliberately aggravated.

“Get out, Ray,” Frankie gasped, “it’s over.”

Ray bristled, focusing back on Charlie.

“Because this piece of shit says so?”

“This piece of shit is sure to take one of you out today, and my men will deal with the rest. That what you want, kid?”

“Haven’t you noticed, Charlie? I’m not a kid any more, and I’m taking you in for this.”

“You’ll always be Joey’s kid to me.”

“Yeah, okay, about my pop…”

“Dealt with. You want to know what he really thought of you, kid?”

Ray gave a humourless chuckle.

“Oh, I know. Why d’you think it was such a pleasure seeing him on the slab?”

Now Charlie laughed, and there was nothing humourless about it.

“That’s the spirit. Bit of the old man there.”

“Hey, that’s mean,” Al interjected, “Ray’s…”

“A sweetheart, sure, you fucking moron.”

“If I may intervene?” Ben suggested.

“No,” Ray snapped; Charlie looked amused.

“Mr Santoro, you must see that there is little to no chance of you emerging from this encounter alive.”

“You a betting man… What are you? Constable?”

“Sergeant. Sergeant Ben Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”

“You a betting man, Sergeant?”

“Not generally. False promise does little to appeal to me.”

“Well, I am. And I’m willing to bet that Ray here, if given the option of a bullet between your eyes, and letting me walk away…”

“Ah, I see your reasoning. However…”

“Shut up, Benny, we don’t need a however.”

Charlie switched his gun to focus on Ben, and Ray instinctively stepped in front of his lover.

“You are not walking away, Charlie. Kill me and Stan takes you in. Kill Stan and there are a hundred other officers happy and willing to take our places. But I am a betting man, and I’ll bet it ain’t going to come to that.”

“Charlie,” Frankie groaned as he attempted to sit up. “Charlie, this is between us. Let them go, I’ll give you whatever you want. This is a misunderstanding, that’s all, everyone gets to go home.”

“That’d be a great solution if there wasn’t at least one dead cop out there,” Ray spoke convincingly but desperately hoped he was exaggerating.

“I didn’t shoot him,” Charlie explained lightly.

“You would be tried under Collective Responsibility, Mr Santoro,” Ben explained. “Mr Zuko’s offer may be the best you get.”

“C’mon, Charlie,” Frankie wheezed as he slumped back into Al’s arms. “Old time’s sake.”

At last, Charlie seemed to waver. His pistol lowered slightly, and every other man in the room took a deep breath.

“Just give me the gun,” Ray said, calmly now. “If Frankie refuses to press charges you’re a free man.”

The moment of impasse stretched on. Eventually Charlie took a deep breath and lowered his gun a fraction.

“Charlie,” Frankie said with the fakest smile Ray had ever seen, “this is madness, we’ll get through this. We’re a team. Ain’t we a team?”

Charlie huffed a laugh and rolled his shoulders. As the tension appeared to seep from the room Ray chose to make a move.

“C’mon Charlie, give me the gun.”

Ray took a tentative half-step forward and Charlie’s response was automatic: he refocused and fired. A direct hit. Ray spun across the room before collapsing in a motionless heap.

Enraged, Ben snatched up Ray’s dropped gun and turned it on Charlie, taking the smallest of split seconds to recognise the intent in the man’s eyes. The mobster was almost smiling as he aimed for a second time at Ray. Ben opened fire, a precise shot that ripped through Charlie’s heart and sent his already lifeless body staggering backwards to hit the wall, leaving a vivid smear of red as he slid to the floor.

Already heading for Ray, Ben didn’t see Charlie go down. As he passed Al the gun was snatched from his hand and fired once more, aimed at a point that would have been a few inches above Charlie’s head.

“I did this,” Al told the room alongside the sound of Stan hammering on the door. “I fired a warning shot then killed Charlie after he shot Ray and was gonna go again. I did this. Okay? I have the gunshot powder stuff on my hand. I did this.”

Falling to his knees and shaking in trepidation, Ben gently turned Ray, tearing up with relief when he registered the steady breaths.

“Ray?” Ben quickly checked Ray for injuries and, finding nothing of note, carefully patted his cheek as he regained consciousness. “Ray, can you hear me?”

Ray’s eyes blearily opened.

“Ouch. Ouch.”

The moment Al unlocked the door, Stan pushed his way in and ran straight to Ray’s side.

“He shot you? Has anyone called for an ambulance?”

“Ouch,” Ray informed him sincerely, finally managing to sit up and pull open his coat, showing them where Charlie’s bullet had lodged itself into Ray’s bullet-proof vest. “Ouch.”

“Oh, that’s gonna be the biggest bruise, sweetheart, you want Uncle Al to kiss it better?”

Al laughed at Ray’s appalled expression and wandered back to Frankie, helping him from the floor to his armchair, and checking him over.

“Yeah, we need a ambulance,” Al said ruefully. “And we only just sprung ya, boss.”

Stan sank onto the floor alongside Ray and made calls. Ambulance first, Welsh next, cop they’d seen attending to his injured partner third.

“The cop that got shot…”

“Glenn Dasking,” Ray filled in.

“Yeah, Glenn, he’s in theatre, but it’s looking good.”

Overwhelmed by just how close he’d come to losing Ray, Ben remained clutching his hand, resting his fingertips over the strong pulse in Ray’s wrist. Ray gave him an unguarded, if somewhat battered smile, squeezing his hand back.

“Hey, Benny, we’re okay.”

“We are that,” Ben agreed, and if they’d been alone the three day question would have been answered succinctly and sincerely there and then.

They were aware of a fresh racket outside the house as the various factions were brought up to speed about events and initially reacted by overreacting, all accompanied by the howling sirens of newly arriving police units.

“You want to tell me what happened?” Stan demanded. “How did I end up out there while all this was happening in here, partner?”

“I was trying to keep you alive, you ungrateful Pollack!”

“It was Charlie who insisted the door was locked,” Ben explained, before giving Stan a swift rundown of the actual version of events, judiciously amended to accommodate Al’s version of events. Frankie was slumped, nodding sagely at the fabrication, and he met Ray’s eyes with a weak smile.

“Thanks, pal. We okay too?”

Ray suddenly felt a wave of the relief that Ben had experienced. Staring at his old friend, beaten and bloody but alive and breathing, he allowed the children buried within the men to connect, thankful they were both still here.

“Yeah, Frankie. We’re okay.”

As the yard and street were being cleared, Lieutenant Welsh made his way into the house, checking out the condition of his officers, the Canadian contingent, and lastly Frank Zuko.

“What are we looking at?” Welsh asked.

“Al saved my life,” Ray answered.

“Al saved my life,” Ben echoed.

“Al saved my life,” Frankie added.

“Don’t ask me, I was stuck in the damn hallway!” Stan griped.

Welsh turned his attention to Al, who self-importantly pulled himself to his full height.

“It was me, okay, took out that chickenshit asshole.”

“Use names,” Welsh said patiently.

“I tried to warn Charlie off, but he shot Ray, was ready to shoot my boy again, so what could I do? I shot the bastard. Lock me up! It’s worth it! I shot the bastard, messing with my boys,” Al concluded with a genuine display of disgruntlement. “Nobody messes with my boys. Look at the bruises in this room.”

For a long moment, Welsh stared at the corpse of Charlie Santoro. Then, expression giving nothing away, he gave a brief nod and backed out to let paramedics and CSI into the space.

Events trundled on: Frankie and Ray were assessed by paramedics and helped into a waiting ambulance, Frankie traumatised and simply glad to be alive, Ray complaining vehemently and insisting he had no need for a check up. Ben reminded Stan that his wounded arm also needed treatment and, when Stan inevitably began to disagree, Ben sent a pointed look in Al’s direction, all that was needed to explain to Stan that the mountie needed to talk to Al before he was arrested. Without further discussion Stan went with Ray in the ambulance.

Mind racing, Ben ushered Al to a private spot. So far there hadn’t been so much as a caution issued, a response so lax all Ben could do was recall the conversation he’d had with Welsh about the lack of enthusiasm to solve Joseph Vecchio’s murder. If this was a continuation of that mentality he could certainly live with it. Al was gazing at him expectantly; Ben gave him an appreciative smile.

“Al, that was incredibly quick thinking, but I don’t want you to take the blame if it means a prison sentence.”

“Look, Sarge, I knew what I was doin’ and I’m happy doin’ it. When we was on the plane you told me you had no rights here as a cop, and I don’t want Ray to lose you when he only just about found you. If I end up in the slammer, it’s a thing, but I’m good with things. I need you to keep an eye on the family, but with Charlie out of the way stuff’ll get better real fast.”

“How did you know to fire the gun to ensure you have gunshot residue on your hands?” Ben glanced around. “Not that anyone seems particularly interested in examining you for forensic evidence right now.”

“Not so stupid after all, eh, Sarge? Yeah, I watch all the TV shows.”

Shouts drew their attention: several of Charlie’s crew were sending verbal abuse and heated glares in Al’s direction as they were herded into paddy wagons. Al cheerfully jeered back and gave them the middle finger.

“What happens now with Charlie’s men?” Ben asked.

“Look at ‘em, they’re going to jail.”

“The ones that aren’t,” Ben clarified. “Are we still looking at a power struggle?”

“Pfft. Bunch of small time losers that Frankie’ll stamp on, no trouble. Marco’s smart, I tell you that? He’ll help. He ain’t no thug like Joey and Charlie and he’ll do right by Frankie.”

They looked across the yard as Lieutenant Welsh made his way over to them. Al responded by holding out his wrists for handcuffs.

“Self defence, right?” Welsh asked Ben, ignoring Al’s gesture.

“Without question,” Ben assured him.

Welsh took up Al’s right hand and shook it firmly.

“Hospital, now, both of you.”

…

Once at the hospital it became clear Ben and Al weren’t there to be medically assessed, it was for a meeting to clarify more details about the morning’s events. Once Ray had been checked over, and Frankie patched up and the gunshot wound re-stitched, by necessity everyone gathered in his, by now, too familiar suite.

Lieutenant Welsh once again went through the events that led to Charlie’s death, and Ray and Stan finally had the satisfaction of knowing what had kicked the whole destructive business off.

“It was nothing,” Frankie said, still clearly bemused by the turn of events, “I needed to see Charlie, and I had a couple of my guys go pick him up like I’ve done a hundred times before. I’d been hearing rumours and we needed to talk. Seems like he didn’t want to talk at that point.”

“Rumours?”

Frankie hesitated, throwing a guarded look at Ray. At a further prompt from Welsh, Frankie took a deep breath.

“That he killed the competition. I’m sorry, Ray, I didn’t know until today. Charlie had Joey killed and it turns out he was coming for me next.”

“You’re sure of this?” Welsh confirmed.

Frankie rolled his one open eye and pointed to the mess that was his face.

“Mr Santoro did say that Joseph Vecchio had been, in his words, ‘dealt with’,” Ben explained.

“We got a source for these rumours?” Welsh asked.

“We talk, we all talk,” Al explained, “and one day, the truth about that asshole starts coming out.”

“Names?”

Al shrugged.

“All of us. What else can I say?”

Welsh turned to Frankie.

“I don’t know where it started, it just…took off.”

Welsh revisited his poker-faced sage nodding, and Ben received a knowing look from Al. There was absolutely no doubt in Ben’s mind where that rumour had started.

Once Welsh was gone, everyone else drifted into the corridor, Stan pausing to have a few words with the officer on guard outside Frankie’s room, Al finally being escorted away for processing, Ray stopping in his tracks and asking Ben to give him a few minutes, before going back to Frankie.

“No prodding the sore spots,” Frankie warned him, and Ray smiled at the memory, tempted to poke a bruise or two for old times’ sake.

“You sure about Charlie and my pop?” Ray asked.

“Okay. This sore spot. Like I said, I’m sorry, if I’d known sooner I would have told you, just for the joy of seeing you take him in.”

“You’ve changed your tune.”

“Forget the rumours, he told me he killed Joey, who at least owed it to my father to look out for me. I’d’ve paid you to take Charlie away.”

“That’s not very mobster of you.”

“I’m sick to the stomach with it all.”

“I told you what to do.”

“And I told you I can’t. I’m just happy that Joey and Charlie won’t be terrorising me anymore.”

Ray considered, and began a slow walk back to the door.

“Me too.”

“I’ll give you a call when I get out, maybe visit.”

“Yeah. Do that.”

There was a loaded pause, and just when Ray reached for the door handle Frankie cleared his throat. It was as ominous a throat-clearing as Ray had ever heard. He turned back.

“What do you remember?” Frankie asked. “After you were shot.”

“I was out cold until it was all over.”

“So…”

“What? So what?”

Frankie gestured Ray close, then grabbed his sleeve and drew him closer still, dropping his voice to a whisper.

“It was the Mountie.”

“What was?”

“Killed Charlie. He saw you hit and reacted so fast nothing would have stopped him.”

“Ben…? But Al…”

“I’m hoping it makes you safer rather than meaning you’re shacking up with a psychopath, but you have to know.”

In renewed shock, Ray sank onto the edge of the bed, Frankie patting him reassuringly like old times.

“Ben…?” Ray repeated.

“Saved your life. He saved your life, pretty sure he saved all of us.”

Ray gave himself a shake, and patted Frankie’s patting hand.

“We’ll talk.”

“This information isn’t going anywhere,” Frankie reassured him. “As far as I’m concerned Al killed Charlie and I’ll swear to it in court if I have to.”

Another pat and Ray was up, back to the door.

“Get that nurse’s number,” he said over his shoulder.

Frankie laughed and waved his friend goodbye, settling back in the bed and feeling safe for the first time in a decade.

Back in the corridor Ray watched Ben as he listened to Stan’s conversation with the guard. Ray wasn’t exactly sure how he should be feeling about the extraordinary information that had just been passed on to him – in fact, was there any way to hear how close he’d come to death and just carry on as normal? It was all he could do to suppress his monumental reaction to the fact that Ben had saved his life. Their lives. His life.

Ben glanced over, then did a double-take. Ray wondered what the expression on his face was telling Ben, but their eyes locked and held, and all Ray wanted was to get Ben alone, tell him the answer to that stupidly inadequate three day question, and hold onto him. Not even kiss him, just hold him and thank him for ensuring Ray Vecchio was still in this life, then thank him again on behalf of his sisters, and the baby he’d now get to meet, and even Stan, who needed Ray just so he could live as himself.

“We leaving?” Stan asked as he peeled himself away from the wall that had been propping him up. “I could sleep for a week.”

“Yeah,” Ray agreed, gesturing to Ben with a nod, “let’s go.”

“You wanna drive?” Stan dangled his car keys in Ray’s direction.

“What part of ‘ouch’ didn’t you understand?” Stan sniggered and Ray smiled. “I’m not safe to drive,” Ray clarified. “I’m so wired I’ll drive us into a wall.”

“I’ll drive,” Ben offered.

Stan scrutinized him for a moment, then sighed and handed over the keys.

“There, you get to be a hero today as well as Al. The man who’s getting us all home in one piece.”

Ray smiled at that; Stan was closer to the truth than he knew.

“What happens now with Frankie?” Ben asked as he drove to Stan’s apartment, clearly wanting all the details of Ray’s private conversation but too polite to ask – at least while Stan was there.

“He says he’s sick to the stomach with it all.”

“He turned you down when you offered to find him a deal,” Stan reminded Ray from his recumbent position on the back seat.

“It’s only been a couple of weeks but I’ve watched him crumble. The first time we met, that day when I went over to confront him about Pop, he was playing the part, and playing it well. Now he’s…” Ray groped for the correct explanation. “When I walked in that day that was Frank Zuko. When I walked out it was the Frankie I knew. Since then it’s been the Frankie I knew.”

“Think he’s playing you?”

“Why would he? There’s no need, not now. We could go our own ways and the old pals act would be over for good.”

“Welsh will want to know how it’s going to go. If the Zuko brand is going to re-launch he’ll want to get ahead of it.”

Ray groaned.

“Tomorrow will be statements, all day.”

“Be glad you’re around to make them,” Ben reminded him.

Ray looked at Ben, and once again the knowledge of what this man was willing to do to keep him safe churned up too many emotions to count. Ben noticed the look and glanced Ray’s way.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Ray told him with a soft smile. “Yes. I am. Just like you promised.”

…

Lieutenant Welsh parked outside the Vecchios’ North Octavia house and took some time out, ruminating on the day’s events, and the run up to them. Was he being told the absolute truth? The whole too good to be true-ness of the situation piqued his investigative instincts.

Ray Vecchio was one of the most honest, by-the-book cops he’d ever known, so much so that it was almost a weakness. But Ray had started acting odd the moment the Mountie had come onto the scene. At first he’d thought it was Vecchio senior’s death that unsettled Ray, but no, absolutely the Mountie. Was Welsh bothered by the burgeoning relationship between the two men? Hardly, he had much bigger and better things to think about.

Stan? What could you say about Stan? Ask him if he wanted a coffee and he turned shifty and interrogated you for the sub-text of the question for so long the coffee went cold. Another exceptional, trust-worthy officer. His speciality was undercover work, so he was adept at hiding the truth. Maybe, at this point, he was more loyal to Ray than the force?

Then there was the Mountie, about as stoic and impermeable a man as Welsh had ever met; their conversations about the Joseph Vecchio case had been open and easy, but that outer shell, that perfect defensive layer of inscrutability was enough to fool just about anyone questioning his integrity. Welsh believed Fraser could rob a bank in front of you and then plausibly deny it as he counted out his haul under your nose.

Al Caruso? The hero of the hour? If he was completely honest with himself, Welsh knew that, having apparently saved the lives of two serving officers, Al was more likely to be feted by the Mayor than given a day in court.

Not that any of this mattered.

The precinct’s Deputy Chief had lost his son, a fledgling beat cop, to Vecchio senior and Santoro a decade ago. The perpetrators of the crime had been well known but their guilt had been impossible to prove, and the DC hadn’t given up on the chance to nail Zuko’s right hand men for something ever since. When news came in of Joseph Vecchio’s death he’d been on the phone to Welsh within minutes, viciously jubilant about the man’s demise and still wanting – needing – his son’s other killer dealt with and making it plain he didn’t care how it happened, doing his best to convince Welsh that, although it was a long time since they’d had any fatalities when a perpetrator ‘fell down the station stairs’, Santoro was the appropriate candidate to ruin their safety record.

Al had done Welsh a huge favour. If it was too good to be true, Welsh and the DC would happily look the other way and take the gift that was presented to them.

Welsh and the DC were old friends. All that would be shared beyond their private conversations was pride in their force for job well done that morning, taking out a couple of Charlie’s thugs, and then the man himself.

Subsequently, Welsh had made up his mind before he left the car. Now it was a courtesy to let the Vecchio sisters known their father’s case was solved and, just to satiate his own curiosity, see how the family took the news.

Maria answered the door, no introductions needed, instantly anxious and ushering Welsh in.

“My God, is it Ray, is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Welsh promised, letting himself be led into the lounge, nodding a greeting to Francesca, and taking the offered seat.

Moments later Marco appeared and sat alongside Francesca, slipping a reassuring arm around her shoulders.

“Keeping your head down?” Welsh asked Marco, who simply looked perplexed.

“It’s Sunday. Sunday’s a family day.”

“Wise man.”

“What’s happened?” Maria pressed. “We know something’s been going on, the whole neighbourhood knows.”

“And Ray’s okay?” Francesca demanded confirmation.

“Ray’s okay.”

It was obvious Welsh was waiting for Maria to take a seat, so she did, tugging her chair a foot closer to where the Lieutenant sat.

“This morning there was an altercation between police officers and members of Charlie Santoro’s crew. During this altercation Mr Santoro was killed.”

“What?” gasped Maria.

“Uncle Charlie?” Francesca whispered as she clutched Mario’s arm.

“At some point before he died, he confirmed that he was responsible for your father’s death.”

“No, they were the best of friends,” Maria protested.

“I have it on good authority that Mr Santoro had ‘killed the opposition’, and was aiming for Frank Zuko next.”

“Is Frankie—” Marco couldn’t get the words out.

“Mr Zuko is back in the hospital, but he’s likely to fully recover. Charlie shot Ray…”

The room exploded in panicked noise that took a huge effort on Welsh’s part to suppress. “Ray was wearing a vest, he’s bruised but in one piece,” he finally managed to announce.

“Stan? Ben?”

“All in one piece.”

“And Al?” Maria asked in a shaking voice. “He’s so protective of Frankie, is he…?”

“Also okay.”

“Jesus wept,” Francesca muttered, hands over her face and entirely relying on Marco to keep her upright.

“Mr Caruso will tell you all about it when he gets here,” Welsh promised, “multiple times, and each with more heroics than previously.”

“What does that mean?” asked Marco.

“He shot Mr Santoro to save Ray.”

“He admitted that? Do we need to call Spinetti?”

“By all means call your lawyer, but I think you can safely say self-defence is the overriding factor here. Mr Caruso has been forensically processed, but it’s a formality. Unless something anomalous shows up, then we’re done.”

Francesca abruptly got to her feet.

“I gotta—”

Slapping a hand over her mouth she ran from the room, with Marco in swift pursuit.

“She was always Charlie’s favourite,” Maria explained, tears springing to her eyes. She dropped her head into her hands. “Al did this? Al really did this?”

Marco returned and leant against the doorframe.

“Frannie’s locked herself in the cloakroom. Maria, she needs you.”

“You believe Al could do this?” Maria asked him.

Marco thought for a moment.

“I don’t know, I mean… Al was Joey’s man after all, and if Charlie admitted to killing him… And this was Ray, Al thinks of Ray like he’s his kid.”

Maria wiped her eyes and sat up straight.

“Yes. Ray.” She turned to Welsh. “God help me, I’d’ve done it for Ray.”

“Thankfully you don’t have to,” Welsh said, kinder now.

“Sorry, I have to see to Frannie, she’s pregnant and this has been so hard on her. First her poppa and now… She was always Charlie’s favourite,” she repeated as tears once again threatened.

Maria left the room, Marco on her heels.

Welsh made his way back to the car, not so much as acknowledged as he left the house. His curiosity was ninety-eight percent assuaged. Interesting family all round, he smiled to himself. He shrugged the visit off, ready to head back to his office, put this case to bed and undoubtedly secure a pay rise, if not a promotion, from the precinct’s exceedingly grateful Deputy Chief.

…

Ray and Ben finally reached Ray’s apartment having dropped Stan off, promising to pick him up the next morning as they had his car. Once inside Ray did exactly what he’d wanted to do since the hospital: ignoring the inevitable discomfort from his bruise, he pulled Ben into a solid hug, relishing the deep sense of security as his hold was reciprocated. A little ouchy, but one-hundred-percent worth it.

“Thank you,’ he whispered.

“Ray…”

“I know. Frankie told me. I know. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. You know it’s all about what I want,” he teased, trying his best not to succumb to the footage of Ray being shot that was looping in his head. “If you were straight I’d’ve let you die.”

Ray started to giggle, leaning back to witness the watery smile on Ben’s face. His amusement instantly turned to sympathy.

“Ah, Benny…”

Ben ran his hands over Ray’s buzz cut before drawing him into a tender kiss that soon turned desperate. Ben gasped as he broke it.

“I could have lost you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I could have lost you.”

Ben buried his face in Ray’s neck and let himself be comforted as once again their embrace became tight and secure.

“Y’know I really got it today,” Ray started quietly. “Once you said something like, if someone was pointing a gun at Stan, I’d react instinctively. There was a moment – there were moments – today when we were in that position, trapped against a building with bullets flying around us. He had his back to me, and I had my arm around his chest keeping him close so he’d be safe. I could feel his heart beating, racing against my arm. I knew then if someone hurt him I’d go after them and take them down, or die trying.”

Ben’s head came up so he could look into Ray’s eyes.

“In the moment you do the right thing, you don’t even question it. The need to protect your own…”

“That’s it. Thank you, Benny, thank you.” Ray gently kissed Ben, then leant their brows together, as close as they could get. “The thought of leaving you, of someone having to go to my sisters and tell them that Charlie had murdered me… If I wasn’t already dead, the knowledge would have killed me. They’ve been through too much.”

“You all have.”

“We all have,” Ray agreed. “We all have.”

They stood there, holding one another, barely noticing time pass. Ben had morphed from someone who couldn’t care, into a man who cared so much it was destabilising his entire life. And Ray was gradually becoming the man he was always meant to be, finding his inner strength, emboldened and reassured by Ben’s support, now able to tackle the world head on. No longer looking over his shoulder at the ghosts of his past. Able to trust and love without fear.

Ray rubbed his head against Ben’s, without a word able to instigate the attention he wanted.

“How’s your head?” Ben asked after kissing Ray’s temple for the twentieth time.

Ray stopped to think about it – all this madness and not a twinge.

“Head’s fine. My migraine approves of me being crooked.”

“Not crooked, Ray. Pragmatic.”

“Oh, yeah, pragmatic,” Ray repeated derisively.

“Is anything like this ever likely to happen again?”

“Not a chance. Unless someone messes with you, or my girls, or the baby, or Stan, or probably even Al, or the newly established wimp that is Frankie Zuko, provided he cleans up his act.”

“Well, then, where’s your problem?”

“You are the absolute worst influence.”

“Happy with that?”

“Perfectly.”

When they eventually parted, needing sustenance alongside the affection, Ray sat Ben down at the kitchen table, pulled a few items from a cupboard and turned on the stove.

“Dried pasta and bottled sauce?” Ben observed. “Won’t that get you disowned by the family?”

“It’s quick, it’s easy, and only somewhat disgusting. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“I can keep a secret.”

They exchanged a knowing look.

“Just as well.”

Ben briskly changed the subject.

“Can I do anything to help?”

“Grate some cheese? See if there’s jar of olives that wasn’t supposed to be thrown out last decade?”

Ben pulled some cheese out of the fridge.

“Grana Padano,” he read off the label.

“See, we’re authentic,” Ray grinned, and Ben returned the smile before searching for the grater and a dish.

At the table, food finished, jar of olives dated two years ago consumed without a single qualm, a ridiculously obvious query popped into Ray’s head.

“Damn sure I should’ve asked this earlier, but how are you even here?”

“Al telephoned me.”

“Al did?”

“At Marco’s instigation. He was, rightly as it turns out, concerned about the situation between Charlie and Frankie, and was frightened that you would find yourself in the middle of it. Also rightly as it turns out.”

“So Al was ready for this. That explains a lot. Or does it?”

“From what I recall of the highly detailed itinerary of his entire life he gave me when I was originally bringing him back from Tuktoyaktuk, I believe he would usually be at your sisters’ house on a Sunday, so yes.”

Ray thought about it, slowly nodding his head as more details dropped into place. With a frown he considered the immediate moment.

“Why are we so calm? More to the point, why am I so calm? This is not natural for me.”

“Because you’re probably still somewhat in shock and/or denial, plus the fact that you were unconscious for what was debatably the worst moment.”

“Why debatably?”

“It’s ingrained in us to believe that the loss of a life is the most appalling thing we can experience. Not for me, not today. You being shot was terrifying. Charlie Santoro’s mortality came a very poor second.”

“So… The reason you’re so calm…?”

“Is because I’m satisfied that my actions were completely necessary and unavoidable.”

Ray gave a shudder.

“Jesus wept, Uncle Charlie is finally dead.”

“Thankfully.”

“And I should be climbing the walls, not stuffing my face with pasta. Talking of stuffing faces, where’s Dief?”

“With Carol.”

“She’s nice.”

“She is. But quite gullible where Diefenbaker is concerned, which he naturally enjoys. It’s virtually impossible to explain the benefits of a healthy diet to a deaf wolf.”

“You miss him?”

“Yes.”

Ray suddenly leapt to his feet.

“Oh, shit, talking of missing, I should be phoning Maria.”

“You might want to wait. Lieutenant Welsh was planning on visiting your sisters to update them on your father’s case. I imagine they’re presently assimilating what they’re been told. Your lucky escape, and Al’s actions will have been a huge shock.”

Ray sank back into his seat.

“Some of Charlie’s crew are still out there. I need my gun back. Or at least a gun. Multiple guns. And maybe I should to move into to the girls’ house for a while.”

“The bed was very comfortable.”

The look of promise on Ben’s face was a timely reminder of the joys of privacy, and the advantage of your sisters being more than a door away.

“I’ll buy them better locks, upgrade the alarm.” Ray was back on his feet and heading for the landline. “If they can’t talk because Welsh is there, that’s fine. If they don’t feel like talking, that’s fine too, but I have to try.”

Ben sighed and set to cleaning up, because of course Maria would want to talk, and Francesca would want to talk, and Ben wasn’t putting anything past Marco at this stage. He wondered if Al was in custody, thought probably not going by Welsh’s less than vigorous pursuit of justice in this particular case, and accepted that Ray was going to be on the phone all evening. Ben realised he didn’t actually mind, and it felt very self-indulgent for some odd reason.

He was drying up the last pot by the time he figured it out. It was because of the partnership he and Ray had already developed, despite the short time they’d known one another. With any and all of his casual partners, the idea that he would wait around while their time together was ‘wasted’ on family commitments would have been preposterous. With Ray he believed he had all the time in the world. Perhaps Steve had been right about him and his selfish nature, but wouldn’t he be stunned to discover how the Cop from Chicago had changed him.

Leaning in the kitchen doorway, Ben eavesdropped on Ray’s conversation for a moment.

“Like I told Maria, I’m fine, it’s just a bruise. – Yeah, huge.” Ray laughed. “Yeah, a doozy of a bruisy, just like when I was a kid. – Hey, hey, don’t cry, that’s all finished…”

Ben left Ray to it, wandered into the bedroom, picked up Ray’s bedtime reading, and settled down for a chapter or two of Christine.

Just before Ben succumbed to a doze, Ray joined him on the bed, carefully leaning half across him and treating them both to a heartfelt kiss.

“Everyone okay?” Ben asked.

Ray slumped back onto his side of the bed.

“I think so. Coping but upset. Frannie is stupid upset but Maria keeps waving ‘hormones’ about like it explains everything. And… Amazing. They accepted what a piece of shit my pop was, but Uncle Charlie? What a swell, upstanding guy! Who shot their brother! I love them but they’re idiots.” Ray glanced at Ben’s amused expression. “They are, and… Shut up!”

“Is Al there?”

“Just arriving, so I got off the phone while I still could.”

“He saved your life, you owe him a thank you,” Ben pointed out.

“He’ll be dining out on this for the rest of his life, that’s thanks enough.” Ray considered, softened. “Oh, God, yeah, I’ll thank him.”

“Did Maria say anything about Lieutenant Welsh?”

“He was good, just laid out the bare facts, told them it was over. Charlie killed Pop, Al killed Charlie, end of story. On second thoughts, maybe Frannie has every right to be all ‘hormones’.”

“Welsh seems content to move on from this as swiftly as possible.”

“Well, he hated my pop, and he hated Charlie – they were the absolute worst – so he has every right to be happy with this.”

“I’d expect more scrutiny.”

“Maybe the whole department is as bad as I am – not using the C word, but yeah, totally corrupt.” The lack of a response from Ben was as loud as if he’d shouted his conclusions from the rooftop. Ray scrutinised Ben’s poker face and, just for a flicker of a moment, he seriously considered the integrity of his department. Of Welsh. Perhaps less than a flicker. “Benny… You know what? I don’t care, I don’t want to know. Let’s all be pragmatic.”

“Let’s.”

“Because sometimes you’re the perfect company man, and then suddenly you’re as honest as the day is short.”

That cracked Ben’s expression, and he had to laugh, dragging Ray closer for a kiss and squeezing hard in just the wrong spot. Ray yelped and withdrew, pulling his shirt away from his skin as if that would in any way stop his bruise from hurting. Ben backed off, offering a string of sorrys.

“No, don’t apologise, just… What? Just what? What am I saying here? This is so unfair! Look at you, everything I ever wanted, lying there for the taking, and I can’t even manage a deep breath without my eyes watering, let alone anything fun. I’m going to the morgue tomorrow and I’m shooting Charlie for myself.”

“Finished?”

“And another thing… What the fuck, Charlie? Why did you say you killed Pop?” Ray took an unwisely deep inhalation and cringed. He attempted to get comfortable before turning his head in Ben’s direction. “Benny, be smart. Please. Why would Charlie admit to something he didn’t do?”

“I’d be lying if I said this hadn’t thought about this.”

“You get anywhere?”

“I have three…” Ben paused for a moment. “Four. I have four reasons that may come close to the truth, or possibly might be miles awry.”

“Do any of them go near him guessing Frannie did it and wanting to cover for her because she was his favourite?”

“No. From what I’ve observed of his character, altruism seems highly unlikely.”

“I’m sounding as bad as my sisters now. Charlie the protector. What am I, a Disney prince?”

“Firstly, and perhaps the most logical explanation, is that we simply misinterpreted what he said. In our presence, Charlie didn’t state that he killed your father, he said he’d been ‘dealt with’. It was almost a throwaway comment. The person who had stopped him attempting to take over Zuko’s business was no longer around to stand in his way. He’d been conveniently dealt with, and Charlie wasn’t interested in speculating over who was responsible.”

“Okay, I’d take that, if it was just what we heard. But Frankie told me Charlie admitted it to him, admitted to killing Joey. I know the Zukos aren’t known for their honesty, but this time there’s no reason for Frankie to lie: he had nothing to do with it, he’s weak, he needed Joey alive.”

“Which leads to hypothesis number two: Charlie wanted the kudos that went with killing Joey. If he’d gotten away with what he was attempting – the takeover of Zuko’s business – what he’d supposedly done would have greatly boosted his reputation and ability to intimidate people.”

“That kinda makes sense, but not if he ends up in a murder trial.”

“If Zuko’s and Santoro’s factions hadn’t ended up in a street battle with the police, there’s every chance Charlie would have bullied Frankie out of his position, and taken over without his admission of killing Joey getting to the ears of law enforcement. Then he’d have relied on his men to spread the word, particularly if he was ever challenged.”

“Next?”

“To cause pain. He seemed a very sadistic individual and would likely have enjoyed seeing Frankie’s fear and distress at the admission.”

“That’s vaguely believable. Number four?”

 “On reflection, this isn’t a number four, it has its own category.”

“I’d still like to hear it.”

“This is highly speculative, but from everything we’ve learnt it does seem plausible. He had actually planned to kill your father, but your family got there first. To protect himself from being incriminated, Charlie would not have kept in touch with the person he’d hired to carry out the murder, and thought the man had done his job.”

Ray stared at Ben with his mouth open and eyes wide.

“As I said, it’s…”

“Completely believable,” Ray interrupted. Despite the wincing and ouching he shuffled over to Ben and snuggled up. “I’ve turned to ice, would you…?”

Ben gently ran his hands over Ray’s body, encouraging a little heat.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. After all, it’s irrelevant now.”

“I’m glad you told me, I just wish it didn’t seem so possible. Uncle Charlie.”

After carefully reaching out and bringing the covers on Ray’s side of the bed over them, leaving them wrapped up like a cosy burrito, Ben returned to what had previously worked so well to lull Ray into a better state of mind. He hummed, and accompanied the barely there sound with a barely there rocking motion. Ray warmed, and calmed.

“You saved my life, Benny,” he whispered. “In every way.”

It took everything Ben had to stop himself crushing Ray’s battered body in a stifling hug, the instinct to protect overriding common sense: so what if this was one place where Ray was safe, it didn’t mean he was safe enough.

It was easy to recognise that this was about the rage inside him resulting from Ray being shot and, just for now, when they needed peace and healing, Ben almost missed the old him, the aloof fool with the untouchable heart. The man… The man who would never have had the chance to be here with Ray Vecchio, a damaged soul in need of tenderness after a brutal upbringing. Ray deserved the best. He deserved someone who loved him, and Ben had to tell him—

“I’ll cook something special tomorrow,” Ray said, putting a screeching brake on Ben’s thoughts. “Dried pasta? Bottled sauce? Was what I thinking?” he chuckled. “I deserved to get shot.”

Despite wanting to scream in horror at Ray’s words, Ben took a calming breath, and forced himself to follow Ray’s unpredictably cheerful lead.

“So… Classic Italian?”

“Assolutamente.”

Ben’s brow crinkled as he thought, before tentatively venturing…

“Absolutely?”

Ray nodded against Ben’s shoulder.

“Steak and fries.”

“Bueno,” Ben responded.

“Onion rings. I love an onion ring.”

“Bueno, bueno.”

“That all you’ve got, huh?”

“Si.”

Laughing, Ray un-burritoed himself and inched his way up the bed. He stopped as he gazed into Ben’s eyes, seeing behind the humour. The level of compassion on Ray’s face was Ben’s undoing.

“I think that bullet hurt you more than it hurt me.”

Speechless and close to tears, Ben nodded, and willingly let Ray once again take over the mantel of comforter, greedy for the offered consolation, something that he barely recognised, and that he had never needed before now. Ray’s hand slid down his body, teasing at his clothes.

“How about I take your mind off things?” Ray suggested.

Ben caught Ray’s wrist and brought his hand up, pressing a kiss into the palm.

“No.”

“No?”

“These feelings are new. They’re reminding me how much I care, and how much I’ve improved as a person since I met you.”

“You’re happy to be miserable?”

“I am. And what’s more… Ray, that question you asked, the three day question?”

“That seems like a long time ago,” Ray said nervously, “and it was a stupid question, there’s no need…”

“The answer’s yes, it’s been yes all along.”

Ray swallowed down the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, and tried for a little damage limitation.

“This is because you’re overwrought, don’t say anything more that you’ll regret later.”

“I love you. Ray… I’ve never told anyone that before. I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

“Oh, my God,” Ray managed to croak. “Oh, my God. You said it.”

“I don’t care if you don’t feel the same…”

“Are you kidding? I wasn’t asking you, I was telling you, I was talking about me.” Ray leant up to look at Ben’s face properly, desperate to see the love there and not being disappointed. “I was talking about me.”

“So…?”

“I love you, Benny. And I’ve never said that before either, not like this.” Ray gave a teary laugh. “Tell me Al doesn’t count.”

Ben shook his head and eased Ray in for long kisses that reflected love not lust. This was a beginning and an end. Life would never be the same again.

The Three Day Question 19       The Three Day Question Index       Notes

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