Father and Son

By Chris BJ

Ray Vecchio checked himself out in the mirror as he waited for the inner door to be opened. He knew the mirror was likely to be two-way - checking *him* out. All the same, he thought he looked good enough to pass the test. His contact was talking to the guy on the door, and he saw the man indicate with a thumb back to him. His stomach was tense. This undercover stuff was a young man's game, and he wasn't getting any younger - the bald patch he saw on his head confirmed that every time he shaved. He'd heard there was a big operation going on here - one of the richest roulette wheels on this side of town, girls, and drugs. The name behind it was one Paul Ionucci, and Ray knew that if Ionucci could be made to fall, a lot of other kingpins were going to tumble. He saw his contact signal him. He was in.

He walked into the room, trying to exude wealth and boredom, trying to look like just the sort of sucker who wanted to get some of the action and who was good pickings. He handed the waiting door man his coat. The air was thick with smoke, not all of it tobacco, he noted. His contact nodded to him, and disappeared - the deal was to get him in, and now Ray was on his own. He blew his cheeks out in slight frustration at the size of the place - the problem was going to be where to start. He was asked if he wanted a drink by a passing waitress, and took a scotch from her tray. He sipped it and plotted his move. Black jack, he thought, seeing the table through a gap in the crowd. The croupier was a woman, with dyed black hair, heavily made up. Her costume was a little too revealing, and unflattering for someone her age. She gave him a smile which did not reach her eyes.

"Wanna play?"

"Yeah, cut me in."

She dealt the cards with skill, he won the first game, but lost the next three. "My luck's not too good tonight," he said with mock dismay.

"Yeah, shame. Why don't you watch, maybe you'll get lucky again?" She dealt to the other men, and they had a similar run to him. She's good, he thought. Must be worth quite a bit to the house. He couldn't quite see how she was cheating, but he didn't need to, to know what was going on.

"You're good with those cards, lady."

"It's just my job. They fall how they fall." Ray asked to be dealt in again, and then stiffened with shock. A man came to the woman's side, and he realised he was looking at Paul Ionucci himself. Ionucci ignored him, and stroked the woman up and down her arm.

"Lola honey, that kid of yours is bein' a pain. Can't you deal with him?"

"What's he doing?"

"Jack says he won't sit down, wont go to bed. Says he's not a baby-sitter."

"Aw, bring him down here. He may as well watch me as watch Jack. God knows he don't say nothin'. He won't bother me."

Ionucci kissed her neck and left. Ray realised he'd struck gold. The woman was obviously on a direct line to Ionucci, and if they could take her, may be they could nail him. Ray continued to play, winning a little, losing a lot more. A thick set man came to the table leading a dark haired child up to Lola. She winked at the gamblers at the table.

"Excuse me, boys, won't be long. I just gotta little problem to handle. Come on, little problem," she said, as she took the boy's hand, and dragged him not too gently over to a chair next to the wall. Ray saw her shake the child by the shoulder and was clearly telling him to stay put - or else. A waitress brought them a glass of soda with a straw, and Lola gave it to the boy. The child took it, and sat on the chair, swinging his legs and sucking on the straw, his big eyes watching his mother as she returned to the table. Ray ventured, "Nice kid." Lola pulled an ugly face.

"Yeah. Real nice. Dumb as a pole. Never says a word. Don't even know if he understands anything I say. Must be on account of his father, he don't get nothin' like that from me."

"His father?" Ray asked, not really interested.

"Yeah, big joke. He's a cop's son, go figure."

Ray was suddenly very interested, but played it casual. "A cop? That must be handy, with all this," he indicated the room with a wave of his hand.

"Well it would be, if the pig was still around. Ain't seen him in years. Probably some big shot lieutenant now, unless he got whacked by somebody."

"Anybody we know?" still casually. Her eyes narrowed.

'What cops do you know?" she asked suspiciously. Ray cursed his gaffe, and sought to extricate himself.

"Well, ya know, a few dollars there, a sweetener here, new clothes for the kids, that sort of thing. Good for business."

She relaxed, and he could see she bought it. All too easy to convince people of police corruption in this city, he thought.

"OK, if you see this pig, don't you be stuffing too many dollar bills into his paw. Guy's a loser, big time. Name's Ray Vecchio. Detective. Raymond. Vecchio."

She almost spat as she said the last three words. Ray looked at her in shock, but realising that this was not in character, covered up with a cough.

"Can't say as I've heard of him. Maybe he was feeding you a line?" Ray tried to sound uninterested.

She yawned. The conversation was boring, and so was the creep she was talking too.

"Yeah, maybe. You gonna talk all night, or play black jack?"

Ray let her deal him again, but his mind was elsewhere. Over by the wall, the boy was still staring, legs swinging back and forth.

Down at the precinct, the lieutenant was very pleased with his detective's work. The place was dirty, just as Ray had been told, and it was going to hit some big pockets, real hard, to have it shut down. "OK, we'll go in tonight. We'll grab everyone there, and especially this Lola woman. She won't want to be the patsy for Ionucci." The plan was for Ray to go back that evening, with his contact, and two other detectives. Welsh and the others would provide backup. Ray would be wired, and could give the signal to move in. Until then, Ray was told to go home and rest up. He needed to be fresh.

Ray didn't immediately obey orders. He drove past the Canadian consulate, and waited patiently for Fraser's shift to end. As the clock struck, the mountie unfroze, and came over to the car. "Get in," Ray said. They drove back to Fraser's apartment. Ray told him about the coming gig.

"You want in on it?" Fraser said he did. Ray then told him of the strange conversation he'd had with Lola. Fraser was as puzzled as Ray.

"Another police officer?" he suggested. Ray thought that was unlikely. Somehow Lola didn't strike him as the sort of woman any cop would want to touch - she was diamond hard to the core. The happy hooker she wasn't.

"What about someone you've arrested?" Ray shook his head.

"I dunno Fraser, it's weird. Could be anyone, I suppose. The kid's kinda nice looking. She says he's dumb, but she's no Einstein, so what do you expect?" Fraser could offer not other explanations for the mystery, and Ray filed it at the back of his mind, planning to give it some attention if he ever got time. They arranged to meet later. Fraser could be part of the back up team, Welsh had agreed. Ray knew he'd feel better for the mountie's presence.

That night, things went to plan. Ray got in easily, on the strength of his large losses the night before, and he and his contact were able to pass the two other police officers off as fellow would be gamblers. The room was as crowded as before. His contact melted away, and once Ray thought he had had enough time to leave the building, he surreptitiously gave the signal. The three cops took up discrete positions and waited while Welsh and his men covered the exits and entrances to the building. Ray heard the two buzzes on the small radio, which told him all was ready. "Ladies and gentleman, can I have your attention please." Gradually the room fell silent. Two bouncers made their determined way over to Ray, but were forestalled by his shout.

"Chicago PD. Nobody move!"

Welsh and the boys, with Fraser, came in through front and back doors. Ray saw a movement by the black jack table. Lola was pulling something into - or out of - her bag. He rushed over and grabbed her arm. "Easy, lady. You're under arrest, on suspicion of carrying out gambling in contravention of the state of Illinois gaming rules." She struggled as he read her her Miranda rights. All around him cops were doing the same to the patrons. She spat at him, and he pushed down on the table and cuffed her hands behind him. He wiped her spit from his face, and saw to his shock that her son was again sitting against the wall, watching the whole proceedings. Hell, he never meant to have the kid see all this. Fraser came over to him and Ray pointed the child out.

"Go sit with him, Benny will ya? We'll have to get someone to come down and pick him up."

He pulled Lola up off the table, and looked at her sullen face. "You got someone to take the kid?"

"Nah, why don't you have him, pig. Who the hell are you anyway?" Ray gave her his sweetest smile. "Detective. Raymond. Vecchio. At your service," and watched with amusement as her mouth dropped open in shock.

Back at the precinct, Ray was revelling in the somewhat rare pleasure of not only contemplating a job well done, but basking in the open approval of his superior. Welsh could hardly contain his delight. Lola was a supremely good catch, among a lot of very satisfying little fish. Welsh filled Ray and Fraser in on the woman.

"Lola Carpenter. Ex-hooker, ex-Vegas croupier. Ionucci's mistress. Got form as long as your arm. I'm gonna toss her to the big boys and let 'em make her push a few buttons for us. "

"The feds?" Ray was surprised.

"I know, Detective. I'm not that fond of them either. But they can offer her a witness protection programme in exchange for testifying to the grand jury, and I've heard that she could bring Ionucci down, and his bosses." Ray didn't think much of handing his big prize over to the FBI, but at the same time, he knew Welsh was right. What the hell, he thought, this had been a good day.

Ray had a few days' leave coming to him, and now things had quietened down, he promised his mother that he was going to finish some of the repairs around the house that Maria's useless husband Tony could never seem to get round to. Of course, that meant dragging Fraser into it, with the bribe of a little Italian home cooking. Truth to tell, Fraser never needed persuading to come over. Fraser loved Ray's mother, and his mother adored Fraser. That he didn't come over more often was entirely due to Ray's wanting to keep Francesca's ever present and very obvious passion for the mountie in check. Fortunately, his sister was away in Florida for a month, so Fraser was safe.

Ray had a mouthful of nails and was up a ladder in the living room when his cell phone went. He spat the nails into his hand, and picked the phone out of his back pocket. "Vecchio." He listened intently to the caller, and Fraser saw his face change.

"You're kidding, right? I can't..." the voice continued. "Uh huh. Yeah. OK. I'll talk to Ma, and come down, if she agrees." He listened again. "OK, Lieutenant. Bye".

Ray closed up the phone, and came down the ladder. Fraser looked at him quizzically. "Holy shit." Ray said quietly. Fraser was shocked - Ray never swore, and certainly never used any bad language in his family's house. Ray went over to an arm chair and sank heavily into it, a sick look on his face.

"What wrong, Ray?" Fraser asked.

"That was Welsh. They got that Carpenter broad all ready to testify but now she's said she'd pulling out unless they put her kid into protective custody too." Fraser was puzzled.

"Well surely, that would be a natural extension of the witness protection programme."

Ray sighed. "Yeah, you'd think, wouldn't you. Well, it ain't good enough for her, she says. She doesn't want him with her - she says that Ionucci's men will try to get to her through him, and she wants him out of the way."

"Has she said where she wants him put?" Ray gave Fraser a queasy grin.

"Oh yeah, sure she has. She wants Detective Raymond Vecchio to take care of him."

Fraser stared at him.

"Oh come on, Benny, it's obvious. This is her idea of a bad joke. Some guy tells her he's me, leaves her with a kid, and now she's pissed off. She hates cops, and she hates me. Sticking me with her dopey kid is just a game for her."

"Do you think she's serious?"

"Well, Welsh says she is, and there's too much riding on it for me to just say no. I gotta talk to Ma, though. She has to know the score."

Fraser nodded, but he already knew what Mrs Vecchio's response would be. The woman had a heart roughly the size of Canada, and as soon as she heard about the poor little boy, abandoned by his mother, Fraser could not imagine she would hesitate for one minute to take him in. So it proved. Ray was virtually ordered to bring the child home without delay, and the two men left her making plans for the new arrival to share her grandsons' room, digging out bedding and clothes.

Welsh felt it was his duty to be brutally honest with Ray. "The woman's a witch, I'll grant you that, but she's right about one thing. Ionucci's boys will come after the kid. I don't know if I can in all conscience allow this thing to go down." Ray felt sick. What if any member of his family should come to harm over this? The kid was vulnerable, sure, but that's why they had social workers. Fraser felt he should speak up.

"Ray, I don't think you should feel any obligation over this. The child could be protected another way. He could stay with me, for instance."

"Fraser, you can't look after a kid in that block of yours. If I was staying with you, I'd run away myself."

Ray was silent for a minute, mulling it over. He straightened up, as he made the decision.

"OK, I'll do it, but on one condition. I get protection for my family and if anything happens, anything at all, the deal's off. OK?"

Welsh agreed, but he wasn't happy. The whole matter was extremely unorthodox. He knew the woman was not well-intentioned, and he felt highly uneasy about it all. Still, Ray would be well able to protect the child, and there seemed few alternatives. He told the detective that Lola had agreed to give Ray temporary guardianship, and would not, while the child was in Ray's care, be able to make any demands or decisions concerning his welfare. The city social services, who were holding the child, would take full responsibility for ensuring his well-being. Welsh told Ray where the boy was to be collected and he left with his friend to get him.

The social worker was waiting for Ray and Fraser, and asked to speak to Ray alone before he met the boy, Petey. She expressed plainly that she thought the situation was far from ideal, and Ray had to agree with her. However, when she learned of his domestic circumstances, and in particular about his mother, she seemed to think that in the short term, little harm could come to the boy. She was more concerned about the impact on Ray's family.

"Detective, I think it only fair to warn you. Petey is a very troubled little boy. So far as anyone can determine, he has never spoken. He's very small for his age, and I am worried about his development."

"Is he retarded?" Ray asked. The social worker did not care for the term, but she shook her head.

"We don't think so - not as such. It's very difficult to assess, when he seems to have no verbalisation, but he seems to understand most things said to him, even if the responses is pretty minimal. There is no sign of autism, deafness nor other pathology to explain his lack of speech. The best we can come up with is that it is his way of dealing with trauma. We think that the main problem is just a simple lack of affection. The mother doesn't seem very warm. I've seen this before, in abuse cases."

Ray nodded, but inside he wondered afresh what on earth he'd let himself in for. The social worker continued.

"I think you should be prepared - and in particular, your mother and your family need to be prepared - to be extremely patient with Petey. In many ways he's the equivalent of a much younger child, in his behaviour and reactions. He will need to be treated very gently, and there can be no question of trying to force the speech issue." Ray agreed. He explained that his mother was a very kind, loving and patient woman who could take most things in his stride. At last the social worker seemed satisfied. As a foster placement, Ray's home was better than most, and the situation was to be kept under review.

"Come and meet him, then." Ray followed her out into the hall, and introduced her to his friend. They all went into an adjoining room, the social worker motioning to Fraser to hang back while Ray approached the child. She's right, he's small for seven, he thought. He knelt down to the boy, who was standing solemnly, holding onto a woman's hand.

"Hi Petey, how ya doin'?" No response, just a wide eyed stare. Ray persisted.

"Petey, my name's Ray. Would you like to come and stay at my big house for a little bit?" Nothing. He looked at the social worker in mute despair, but she encouraged him to keep going.

"Do you like baseball, Petey?" He saw a slight change of expression, a little quizzical look.

"Would you like to learn to play baseball?" The boy just regarded him silently. Ray sighed. He took the child's hand, and met no resistance.

"Come on kid, my ma's got a place all made up for you. You're gonna love it." To his surprise, and relief, Petey let Ray lead him into the hall. Fraser followed. The mountie had watched the interaction with concern. The child was obviously severely traumatised. Fraser had some experience of children, but his own childhood held no huge memories of warmth, although he was undoubtedly loved, at least according to his grandparents' views. The child seemed frozen into muteness, he thought, and suddenly realised that he was about to be taken into a furnace of Vecchio love. If anyone can get through to the boy, Fraser thought, Ray and his mother could.

Ray was not so sure. He was used to kids who were all too ready to make their demands known, and for whom the main task was trying to shut them up. The silence of the child freaked him out. His ma was going to accept the boy, no matter what, Ray knew, but he balked slightly at taking this cuckoo into the nest. He hoped none of his family was going to suffer as a result of this. He'd have not the slightest hesitation in passing the boy back to the social workers if they did - Lola or no Lola.

The Riv pulled up in front of Ray's home, and his mother came out to greet them. He'd rung her on his cell phone en route, but could only give her the bare bones of Petey's details. He didn't know how much the kid understood, but had his own painful memories of adults talking over his head, assuming he didn't know what they were saying about him.

"So this is Petey. Hello, caro. You call me mamma, OK?"

She fussed over the child as they entered the house. She handed him over to Maria to take him upstairs and show him his room, then took Ray and Fraser into the kitchen to get full details. Her eyes widened with sympathy as Ray explained that the social workers thought much of his stunted development and lack of speech was due to emotional, and possibly physical deprivation. Mrs Vecchio could hardly conceive of anyone being so cruel to a little child.

"The poor bambino. He reminds me so much of you when you were little."

Ray was startled by this. This was too weird. There simply was no possibility that Lola's claim that a Ray Vecchio was the father of her child was true. He made light of her words. "Well, ma, he's obviously got Italian blood. What can I say?" He explained what the social worker has said, about the need for patience, and above all affection and kindness. Mrs Vecchio tutted.

"Of course, Raimondo. What else do children need?" A mother who doesn't hate him, and a father who isn't a fantasy, Ray thought silently.

At this point, Maria brought Petey into the kitchen. His mother took him by the hand and led him to the table.

"Would you like some cookies and milk, caro?" Ray was amazed that she actually managed to win a little nod from him. Food, he thought, at least we've got food to grab his attention. Cookies and milk were produced all round, and the two men and two women joined the boy in the snack. Ray noticed he gulped the milk, but nibbled the cookie cautiously, watching Ray the whole time. It took him ten minutes to finish a single one. Meal times were gonna be slow, he thought.

Fraser finally stood up. "Ray, I think I should go now, let you get Petey settled in. I could come back tomorrow, with Dief?" Ray knew what he was thinking. The wolf, although never his favourite person, exercised a special magic over kids. Maybe they might find another line into Petey's head - if he didn't turn out to have a dog phobia. He walked his friend outside and waited for the taxi.

"I don't know if this is gonna work out, Benny," he confessed.

"I have every confidence in you, Ray. And even if I didn't, I have every confidence in your mother." Ray laughed. That was true, at least. He waved his friend off, and went back in.

Ray left Petey to the tender mercies of his mother and sister. Maria's kids were taken aside and told in no uncertain terms that Petey was not to be teased or bullied, and that his lack of speech was strictly off limits as a topic of conversation. Petey was to share with Maria's two boys. It'll either kill him or cure him, Ray thought not quite with amusement.

Supper was tough going. The normal volume was tempered to a dull roar with Francesca's absence, but even so, Ray winced on the child's behalf. He seemed to take it calmly, just staring at Ray or his mother, as he picked his way slowly though the plate full of food, chewing ever so slowly. Ray was relieved that his mother knew not to nag the kid. Before Petey had eaten half of his food, Maria had excused herself, and taken her spouse and offspring off to watch television, leaving Ray, his mother and the slowly masticating child at the table. Ray did not try to talk to him - he felt to do so would be to distract him from the task at hand. Instead he talked lightly to his mother about nothing much. He had an idea, at last.

"Benny's gonna bring Dief over tomorrow," he said with a quick glance at Petey. His mother understood, and played up to it.

"His wolf? Heavens, Raimondo, you will never finish those repairs if you are out playing with that dog." Ray choked back a laugh - him, play with Dief? The image was too unreal. Their shtick seemed to work though. Ray saw Petey's face take on a more interested expression.

"Hey Petey, you ever seen a wolf before?" Little head shake. "You gonna love him. He's the smartest dog I ever saw. Fraser can make him do all sortsa tricks," he lied, slightly, but knew Fraser would put the wolf through its paces if it made Petey happy. Ray fancied that the child ate slightly faster after that, and before long, the meal was finally over.

He took the child upstairs and got him to clean his teeth and wash his face. He helped him change into pyjamas - some of Maria's kids hand-me-downs he noted. Petey's mother had not even bothered to pack him a bag. He got him settled into the bed. He looked at the selection of books and toys Maria had dug out for him. He picked up a book at random - Dr Seuss. He thought that was too wordy for the boy - they didn't know if he could read. He selected another, a book about dogs, and showed it to the boy. He'd made the right choice. The child took it from him, and began to flip the pages slowly, clearly interested. Ray patted him on the head. "Good night, Petey." The child ignored him, rapt in the book. Ray left him to it. It was the most animated he'd seen the boy all day.

He rejoined his mother in the kitchen, where she was clearing up. He kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks ma."

"You're welcome, caro. That little one, he needs a lot of love." Ray agreed, while wondering to himself whether a stay in his home, however pleasant, could ever make much difference to the boy. He had to go back to his mother one day, didn't he? Ray was tired, and went to bed early. His mother stayed in the kitchen, singing softly to herself as she washed the dishes.

The next morning, Ray met his mother on the stairs. She was carrying a basket of dirty sheets, and Ray caught a whiff of urine. He realised what had happened. "Petey?" She nodded.

"Sorry, Ma...," he apologised, embarrassed at the extra work he'd brought her.

"Don't be silly, Raimondo, all children do this. You did it, Francesca did. It's his first night in a strange house. It's only natural. Why don't you go up and get him ready?"

Ray went on up the stairs to the boy's room. The child was sitting up in bed, with the dog book back in his hands. "Hiya, Petey. Rise and shine. " The boy looked at him this time, so Ray grabbed his hand and got him up. "Time for a shower, kid." He ran the water till it was warm, and helped the boy undress. He put him under the shower and waited. He gave him a couple of minutes then looked in. "All done?" He could see he was, turned off the shower and wrapped the boy in a towel. He rubbed him dry, then handed him some clean pants and a shirt. He waited patiently for Petey to slowly dress, then took a comb and flattened the tousled dark hair.

"Come on, kid. Breakfast." He led the child downstairs. It was Saturday morning, and the house was empty. Maria and Tony had taken their kids off early to see Tony's mother. Ray and Petey sat down in the kitchen. Ray could smell cinnamon toast and coffee. Ray's mother placed a glass of juice and a plate of toast in front of the boy. Petey chewed it slowly, but a little smile appeared as he ate. Chalk one up to Ma's cinnamon toast, Ray thought.

They finished up and then Ray got a coat for Petey. "Come on, we gotta go pick up Benny." They got in the Riv and drove off to West Racine. Petey watched the streets pass by, nose pressed against the window. Ray wondered if he had ever been in this part of town - or any where - before. Ray beeped the horn, and Fraser's head appeared from the window. He waved, and came down with Dief. He was carrying a plastic pink object - a Frisbee. Ray got Petey out of the car. He wanted the boy to meet the wolf before the four of them were stuck together in the car. He led him over to Fraser. "Hello Petey. This is Diefenbaker. Dief, say hello." Petey's eyes grew like saucers at the sight of the white animal. He clung tightly to Ray's hand, and for a moment Ray thought he'd made a terrible mistake by bringing him. Dief looked at Fraser and whined. "Go on" Fraser said to his wolf. Dief walked over to Petey and sat in front of him, and to Ray's astonishment, stuck out a paw. Petey stood completely still. Fraser sensed he just didn't know what to do. He knelt down beside the child and gently took his hand, placing it around Dief's paw. Dief dropped his paw and yipped softly.

"No Dief, that's not polite. No, I don't care what you say. Not every one understands about wolves." Dief sat quietly while Fraser again took Petey's hand and placed it on Dief's neck. Petey's eyes widened further. Fraser made his hand stroke up and down Dief's soft fur. He let Petey's hand go, and Ray saw the boy continue to pat the animal's neck all on his own. Then he saw a little grin curl the edges of his mouth. Cinnamon toast and deaf wolves, he thought. Maybe we're gonna win this after all.

Ray drove them all back to his place. Fraser, Petey and Dief sat squished together in the back of the car. Petey's arm stayed around Dief's neck the whole time, and when the wolf licked his face he squirmed with pleasure. Ray watched the going's on through the rear view mirror, feeling a bit more cheerful than he had been in over 24 hours.

They took the child to the nearby park. The January weather was cold, but crisp, enough to deter most visitors, but pleasant enough if one kept moving. Fraser handed Ray the Frisbee.

"Here Petey, try this!" Ray gave it to Petey, who looked at it, but made no move to use it. "Just throw it kid, come on!" he encouraged. Petey suddenly threw the disk straight up in the air, and it landed just in front of him. Ray gave it back, and the performance was repeated. Great, Ray sighed internally. Kid doesn't even know what to do with a Frisbee. He took the plastic object from Petey's hands and gave it to Fraser.

"Show him, Fraser," he asked. Fraser walked a few yards away, then threw the Frisbee. It flew long and low, and Dief raced after, finally catching it by a graceful leap. He brought the disk back to the mountie. Petey looked astonished. Again, Fraser threw it, and Dief caught it, jumping even higher. Ray heard a strange sound, and turned to see Petey's face, convulsed with happiness. The sound was a little gurgling laugh. Ray shouted, "Keep it up Fraser". Fraser threw and Dief caught, over and over. Petey reached out his hands to the scene. Ray took the Frisbee from Fraser, placed it in Petey's hands, and then taking his hand and his arm, helped him throw it. Not far, but at least a proper throw. Dief ran to get it, and brought it back, dropping it at Petey's feet. Petey looked as if Christmas, his birthday and Thanksgiving all in one had just dropped on his head. Ray and Petey threw again, Dief fetched again. Over and over. Fraser watched the pair with a smile on his face. The little icicle was melting fast. He felt a slight pang for his friend though. The situation was highly artificial, and very fragile. But for now, all that mattered was that he and his friend had made a sad little boy happy, even for just a little while.

Ray was off for a week, getting Petey settled in, and then returned to work once the routine had been established. Welsh was prepared to cut him considerable slack - the child was possibly under direct threat from the Mob, after all, and Ray was not just his guardian, but his guard. He pulled the detective off most of his cases, letting him concentrate on the boy in the evenings. Petey's schooling was in a state of flux, and for the moment, he was being tutored at Ray's house while he was assessed for special needs education. That could take months, so for now, school was out of the question. Who knew where he would be in six month's time. Welsh arranged that when Ray or Fraser was unavailable, a uniformed cop was present at the Vecchio home at all times. The child went nowhere without supervision.

Meanwhile, Ray spent as much time as he could with him. Fraser came over every weekend, with Dief, and some evenings too. Fraser liked to read to Petey in the evening, or would tell him long stories. Petey would listen to Fraser, Dief curled up next to him on his bed, until his eyes drooped and either Fraser or Ray tucked him in. His mother put supreme efforts into finding things he like to eat, and took infinite patience over his slow meals. All the efforts ever brought them were a few smiles, even the occasional laugh. But not a single word.

Ray took him for a social work assessment once a week, and after the third week, mentioned the speech problem. The social worker explained that the problem was not capable of a short-term solution. If a child did not learn to speak within three years, it got progressively more difficult to resolve the impediment. Sometimes, rarely, it cleared up spontaneously, but she felt this was unlikely in Petey's case. Ray looked gloomy. "Cheer up detective, you are working miracles with him. He responds better, he looks happier. You have him playing with other people and other children. You must see that compared to his situation three weeks ago, that is simply astonishing." Ray acknowledged the truth of her words but he couldn't help but wish the child could tell him what was in his heart. He was beginning to become extremely fond of him. The boy had a wistful appealing air about him, that invited love from all quarters. When Francesca had returned from Florida, and was informed of the situation, she took to the boy immediately. But then Fraser had always said his sister had a warm heart.

And so things continued. Ray was beginning to forget what life without the child had been like, and Fraser was amused to find him taking to "parenthood" like duck to water. Mrs Vecchio was a great help, but the true bond was with Ray.

Spring came early that year, and Ray came into Petey's room one Saturday morning, with his hands behind his back. "Hi Petey. I gotta surprise for you" The little boy looked up at him, puzzled. Ray produced what he had been hiding - a child sized baseball glove and bat.

"I told you I'd show you how to play base ball. You gonna sit there all day, son?"

Petey scrambled out of bed without further prompting and was in the shower already when Ray come into the bathroom. Saturday meant playing with his friend the wolf, and his uncle Ray. Petey could hardly wait. He ate his breakfast quickly for him, legs swinging against the chair, and then jumped up and grabbed his coat. Ray laughed at his mother.

"Kids in a hurry." His mother smiled back at him. He kissed her offered cheek and raced out after the boy who was already waiting by the Riv. They picked up Fraser and Dief , and went to the park with Francesca. Francesca produced her own present for Petey - a baseball cap - and showed him how to wear it, with the peak turned to the back. Fraser was back stop, and bat tutor. He held Petey's hand correctly on the bat as Ray tossed a ball gently to them. To both Ray and Petey's delight, he actually made contact with the ball, which skidded off to the side. He threw again. Missed. He threw again, and with Fraser's help, the little boy actually managed to whack the ball some distance. He stood still and watched it. "Come on Petey, Run!" He looked startled. Ray pointed at Francesca on "first base". Petey ran hesitantly up to his "aunt". "Keep going, kid!" Dief was "second". Again Petey ran, and with Ray's urging hit third base (a dead tree) and headed to home plate. "Way to go, Petey!" Ray grabbed him up in a big hug and was rewarded with a little hug back.

They played the rest of the morning, Petey and Dief running around the park like mad things. Finally Ray called a halt. It was time for lunch. The little group walked back to his house, the spring sunshine blazing down. Life was good, Ray thought.

Just as he reached the house, his cell phone rang. "Vecchio. Oh Hi Lieutenant." He listened intently.

"Yeah, hang on a minute, let me talk to Fraser." He covered the mouthpiece, and spoke to his partner.

"Fraser, the lieutenant says he's heard Lola's due to start her testimony Monday. Thinks it might be a good idea to get Petey out of town for a few days. Better for Ma and family. He's got a cabin up by the lake. Do you think you can come with us?" Fraser nodded.

"OK lieutenant, Fraser's cool with that. Where do we head to?" He listened again. "Got it." He handed the phone to Fraser.

"Wants to speak to you. I'll go tell Ma". Fraser took the phone.

"Hello, Lieutenant."

"Ah Constable, I'll sort this out with the Consulate. I'll be a lot happier knowing you are with Vecchio." Fraser heard him hesitate, then clear his throat. You keep your eyes peeled. I've got a bad feeling about this. I think Lola's thrown her son to the wolves."

Fraser was concerned. "Have you heard anything specific?"

"No, but I don't like the way this has gone down. She could be using the kid to deflect attention from herself. I don't think you need to worry the detective about it, but you can tell him that I'll arrange for someone to keep an eye on his house. Hopefully it'll be over in a couple of days."

"Understood, Lieutenant."

"Constable? "

"Yes, Leftenant?"

"You take care out there, ok?"

"Yes, Leftenant." He shut the phone down, and went inside. Mrs Vecchio had been given the bare story, and Francesca had brought a bag down for her brother and the boy. Mrs Vecchio gave the child a hug and kissed her son.

"You have a nice trip, Raimondo. Show Petey how to catch a fish." Her light words did not conceal the worry in her eyes. Fraser tried to reassure her.

"We'll take good care of him, Mrs Vecchio," and hoped she knew that he meant he would look after her son as well.

Ray's mother and his sister watched them drive off in the Riviera, with heavy hearts. Francesca put her arm around her mother, and took her inside.

The cabin was two hours drive out of the city, and in other circumstances, Fraser would have been pleased to be getting out of the city. Welsh's word hung heavily on his thoughts. He looked at the boy, curled up asleep in the back around Dief, with a little smile on his small face. How did so much innocence come from such evil, he thought? Maybe he really was Ray's son. Fraser smiled to himself at the thought. Fraser knew his friend wanted children, although his failed marriage had been childless. Fraser himself had once had dreams of children with Victoria, but the woman had smashed those, as she had nearly smashed Ray, him and their friendship. Fraser now tried not to give much thought to such things these days, but he had to admit, the past few weeks with Petey had been extremely rewarding. He'd seen a side of Ray he knew was there, but had rarely seen hints of - a patient, kindly, gentle man, the loving parent. What made it more extraordinary was that Fraser knew Ray's father had been a complete wastrel, a man who beat his children, drank his salary, treated his family like dirt. Genetics obviously weren't everything, Fraser reflected.

It was mid afternoon before they arrived at the cabin, which was very isolated and right on the lake. They'd stopped at the local store to collect the key and supplies for a couple of days. They had to leave the Riv quite a way away from the cabin, as there was no vehicular access. Ray and Fraser unloaded the car and opened up the cabin. The inside was decidedly masculine, sparsely furnished but comfortable. Welsh's fishing gear was stored neatly in a corner. There were two small bedrooms, one with a double bed, the other with a bunk bed. Ray bagged the double bed, reasoning the wolf would want to sleep with Petey and Fraser, and Fraser didn't argue. He would probably sleep on the floor, in any event.

Once they were unpacked, they sat and relaxed, eating a late lunch. Ray sighed and patted his stomach.

"Not as good as Ma's, but it's OK. What do you want to do now, Petey?"

He grinned when the child went over and picked up the baseball bat and glove, which they had brought with them from the park. The four of them played catch and hitting runs in the clearing in front of the cabin until it was dark. Fraser cooked a simple meal, and then Ray put the child to bed. For a change the kid went to sleep without any delay. Ray yawned too. He was tired. A long drive, and tension had done for him. He said good night, and left Fraser to himself. Fraser settled into an armchair, and switching on a light, picked up a book and read until late into the night.

Ray found him asleep in the chair when he got up, at the crack of dawn by Ray's standards. "Hey Benny. You been there all night?" Fraser stretched and yawned.

"Sorry Ray, I must have fallen asleep."

"Come on. I'll fix breakfast. You get a shower, and then if you wouldn't mind getting Petey?" Fraser nodded assent and headed off to the bathroom. When he emerged, a little tousled head was waiting outside. "In you go, son." Fraser got the child dressed, and they came back into the living room where the smell of eggs, bacon and coffee greeted them.

They ate in silence, Ray watching the child pick over the food. Petey loved eggs, and was becoming adept at slipping the wolf the odd snack of bacon when he thought Fraser wasn't looking. Fraser saw it all of course, but he wouldn't have stopped the child for all the world.

"Well, this is the life. What are we gonna do today?" Ray asked finally, pushing back from the table.

"Fishing?" Fraser suggested.

"OK, Petey, you happy with that?" Ray started to asked then stopped. Dief growled. Fraser looked at the wolf, who was staring intently at the window, hackles raised. Fraser felt the hairs on the back of his own neck lift in response. He had learnt through bitter experience not to ignore Dief's warnings, and signalled silently to Ray, finger on lips to warn him to keep quiet. Ray mouthed "what?", and Fraser pointed at the wolf, then to Ray, the child and the back of the room. "Go," he mouthed back to his partner. Ray understood. Crouching low, he took the boy by the hand, and led him towards the back entrance of the cabin.

Fraser was about to look through the window at what Dief was trying to warn him about, when a shot through the wall of the cabin left him in no doubt. He dived to the floor, and waited. No second shot, so keeping low, he followed Ray's path to the back. Man and boy were waiting, outside the rear door, crouched behind a shrub next to the stairs. "How many?" Ray whispered. Fraser shook his head "Can't tell. One, probably more". Ray felt his bowels clench with fear, and he held Petey firmly to him. The little boy's big eyes looked at Fraser with fright. Fraser knew they had to get away from the cabin, but they were exposed on all sides. Their only hope, slim at best, was to get to Ray's car, but that was parked at the front, about 200 yards away.

Suddenly they heard another shot, and both men knew that they no longer had the option to stay where they were. Peter squirmed in Ray's hold, terrified. "Shhh, it's okay" Ray whispered into the top of his head, but he knew they were in desperate danger. The gunman, or men, were clearly carrying high-powered rifles, and his hand gun was no use - they would be picked off before he could get a clear shot. He looked at Fraser. The mountie thought he had a plan. "I'll head off that direction," he indicated north. "If they follow me, then take Petey, get to the car, and go. Call for help." Ray didn't like the sound of this. Apart from the fact that Fraser was putting himself in considerable danger for them, who knew how many men were waiting in ambush. On the other hand, they were sitting ducks at the cabin. Fraser watched the struggle on his face that Ray's thoughts produced.

"You have a better plan?" He asked the Italian. Ray shook his head.

"OK, then I'll go. Give me a minute, then run. Got it?" Ray nodded, but as Fraser made to get up, he grabbed his friend's arm. Fraser looked at him. "Be careful, Benny". Fraser nodded, and moved silently away. Ray saw him belting hell for leather northwards, and then saw that he was being pursued. The rifleman, too far away for Ray to be sure he could hit him with his gun, was walking slowly in Fraser's direction, taking a sighting along the gun, but the mountie was zigzagging, making it hard to get a clear shot. Ray did not dare to attempt a shot, for fear of failing and then drawing attention to himself and boy. Ray could see the attacker was completely absorbed in tracking the other man, and knew now was when he had to seize his chance.

"Run, Petey, Run". He grabbed the boy's hand and pulled him with him, running desperately towards the Riv. The boy stumbled. "Too slow!" Ray thought desperately, and scooped him up, ploughing desperately towards safety. Ray heard another shot, behind him, and turned, despite himself. In despair he saw that Fraser was down, and the gunman had turned back towards the cabin. The child was struggling against his grip in terror. Just a few more yards, just a few more. He heard a shout - "Vecchio!", and half turned to it. The shot and the searing pain across his chest were simultaneous and suddenly Petey was a dead weight in his slackening arms. He sagged to the ground, dizzy, the pain in his chest like fire, threatening to tear him in half. He felt himself losing control, and fought it. Petey was completely still. There was blood everywhere, over his hands, over the child. "Petey!", he cried to the child but he did not respond. Ray could only hold him close to him, as consciousness slipped away from him. He did not hear the gunman approach, nor feel the grasp of his hair as his head was pulled back. The gunman looked at him, and pulled the child's head briefly away from his chest. Satisfied with his work, he slung the rifle onto his back, and walked away. The cop and the boy lay together, in the bright sunshine. The peace of the morning, so briefly shattered, rolled back over them.

Fraser woke, with a thunderous pain in his head, feeling completely nauseated. Something wet touched his face, and he pushed it away. He heard a whine, and realised the dampness was from Dief's nose. The wolf nudged his face again. "It's OK, Dief," He tried to say, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth. He tried to sit up, and immediately had to roll to one side and vomit. The retching made his head scream in agony. Exhausted, he put his hand up to the burning pain on the side of his head. It came away bloody. He couldn't remember the shot that felled him but he knew he was lucky to be alive. "Ray," he suddenly remembered, and his heart twisted. He raised his head cautiously. Around him was silence. He couldn't see his partner, or the boy. Dief whined again. Fraser took Dief's demeanour to indicate that the immediate threat had passed. He had to find Ray, and tried to get to his feet. He was forced to do it in stages, first to all fours, and then a rest while his stomach flip flopped. He had nothing more to throw up, but he spent a few seconds heaving. "God," he thought in despair. At last he managed to stand. His vision was blurry and he walked as if drunk. He had no way of knowing how long he'd been out. Dief whined again, and he could see him, as a blur of white, ahead of him. "Good boy, Dief. Find Ray". He moved slowly towards the cabin.

"Let them be safe," he prayed silently, knowing all the while that the chances were small of his prayer being answered. The wolf led him past the cabin, towards Ray's car. Fraser's heart skipped as he made out the shapes of the huddled man and boy in front of him, right in the middle of the clearing. He staggered to them, and sank to his knees. Ray's face was as white as a dead fish's belly, and Fraser wondered if he was looking at a corpse. He felt for Ray's carotid pulse, but his hands were shaking so much, he wasn't sure if he could feel it or not. The child was clasped tightly to the man's chest. Fraser grabbed Ray's arm, and dragged it, with immense difficulty, away from the boy's body, then pulled the child back so he could see if he was injured. One look was all that was needed to confirm that Petey was dead. Half his chest was gone. Fraser felt he was going to be sick again, but he fought the desire to vomit. He had to help his partner. There was so much blood that he couldn't tell the state of Ray's injuries. Ray hadn't moved. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch. Fraser had to hope he was still alive. He pulled the little body away from Ray and placed it beside the still figure of his partner. He lifted Ray up slightly, and propped him, sitting, against his own body. He reached into Ray's inner pocket, and found the cell Phone. He dialled 911. "Police" he whispered.

Ray woke, to bright lights and beeping. Hospital, he thought. He'd been in enough times to know that instantly. He moved to sit up, and was immediately stopped by the agony across his chest. He sank back. He looked round, and saw a man's dark head, resting on his folded arms on the side on his bed. "Benny," he thought. He must have spoken aloud, for he saw his friend's bandaged face lift and turn toward him. Ray saw he had two black eyes, and stubble on his face. "He looks like hell," Ray thought. "Ray?" he heard Fraser say. "Yeah, Benny," Ray croaked. His voice sounded like he was an old man. Fraser sat up, and looked at his friend. Tired blue eyes searched Ray's drawn, pain-filled face.

"How are you feeling?"

"Great, Benny, just great" Ray whispered, eyes closing.

"Just rest, Ray" Fraser said, as he saw his friend drift back into sleep. Fraser stood up slowly, and rested his hand on the other man's for a second. Ray didn't stir. Fraser left him there, and buzzed the nurse to tell her that his friend had finally woken up.

When Ray next woke, the room was darker. It was night, he could tell. The room was lit by a single lamp over the bedside table. He saw Fraser was still there, again apparently asleep with his head resting on the bedside. There was another bed in the room - Fraser's, he guessed. The pain in Ray's chest was no less, and he knew enough this time not to try and move. He lifted his arm, and saw he was on a drip. He turned his head slightly and saw the monitors, pulsing and beeping softly, recording his vital signs. Guess I must be still alive, he thought wryly.

Fraser murmured something and moved. Suddenly his eyes opened, and he saw Ray watching him. He cleared his throat and sat up slowly. Ray could see it hurt him to move his head.

"Hey, Fraser," he said weakly, with a small grin. Fraser smiled back.

"How are you feeling, Ray?"

"Sore," Ray confessed.

"Yes," Fraser agreed, as much for himself as for his partner. As Fraser continued to look at him, assessing how awake his friend was, he saw a shadow cross the other man's eyes.

"Petey...?" Ray asked quietly. Fraser grimaced, and took hold of Ray's hand, sympathy and pain mixed on his face. Ray knew what he was going to say.

"He's gone, Ray. He didn't have a chance."

Ray gave a little nod, and let his head sink back against the pillow. He closed his eyes, and as Fraser watched, a single tear seeped out. There was nothing Fraser could say to ease the pain. The memory of the little pale face, spattered with blood, lying next to Ray on the bright, dew damp grass, was very vivid to him. At last Ray had been spared seeing that, he thought. The doctors had told him that the child had died instantly. The bullet had carved a track through Ray's chest muscle, and into the boy. If Ray had not been turned slightly at an angle, the bullet would have passed through his chest and the child's, killing them both. They had had no chance of escaping the killer. Fraser hoped, prayed, Ray could accept this one day.

The doctor came in shortly after, and seeing both his patient were awake, he turned on the lights to make an examination.

"Detective Vecchio, do you know where you are?" Ray nodded, and seeing the doctor was expecting a fuller response, confirmed that he knew he was in hospital, and that he'd been shot. The doctor listened to his heart and checked a few matters.

"All in all, you appear to be doing well. You were unconscious for more than 12 hours, hardly surprising considering the amount of blood you lost. Your chest is going to feel painful for some time I afraid, there's considerable muscle damage, and one rib was cracked by the bullet. I think you are one lucky man, though."

Ray winced. Fraser knew what he was thinking - what they both thought. Neither of them felt particularly lucky at the moment. The dead child was an invisible force binding them together in sorrow. Getting no response to his speech, the doctor gave up.

"I think you'll be here for another couple of days. I've arranged a prescription for pain relief. I think the Constable should also stay in, too - that was a hell of a whack to the head you got there," turning to Fraser, who nodded.

"I understand there's a Lieutenant Welsh who's been waiting to see you. Do you think you're both up to visitors?" Ray looked at Fraser, who nodded again. The doctor stood up, but before leaving the room, he looked at the two friends, at their sad, tired faces.

"You know, being a survivor isn't just about being lucky enough to not be killed. You have to allow yourselves to heal." The two men looked at him. Neither was able to frame a response. The doctor gave them a last sympathetic look and left to find Welsh.

The big cop came into the room. Fraser was still sitting beside Ray's bed, and he was relieved to see that they were both awake, even though they looked, he thought grimly, like shit. Fraser was going to struggle to his feet, but he waved him back down.

"Well, Detective, Constable. Back on familiar ground, I see. I hope your insurance gives bulk discounts," he joked feebly and was rewarded with a slight grin from Vecchio. He pulled up a chair on the bedside opposite where Fraser was sitting. He passed a weary hand over his face. He hadn't got much sleep since he'd got the call that there were two officers down and a child killed. He'd been at the hospital while Vecchio was in surgery, waiting with Ray's family. Once the all clear had been given, he'd virtually forced Mrs Vecchio and her daughters to go home to sleep, promising on his own mother's grave to let them know the minute he had more news. He'd been on the phone to the feds, who'd passed on the news about her son's death to Lola. He was unsurprised to learn she hadn't taken the news particularly badly. Right now, all Welsh cared about was his detective, and his friend. He knew the boy had become very important to Ray, and he damned the woman again for dragging the cop into the mess. He didn't know about the strange coincidence which seemed to bind the two together, but he did know that Ray would kill to protect each and every member of his family - or a friend. The child had become both.

Fraser broke into his thoughts "Do we have leads on, on...?" He fell silent - he was going to say "the killer" but couldn't say this in front of his partner. Welsh shook his head. "Ballistics came up with nothing. Could be anyone, from any where. Ionucci had a lot of contacts. My guess is, we'll never find him." Fraser received this news in silence, but acknowledged the truth of it. He had had no chance to see the man's face, and the man was clearly a professional. Probably from out of state - possibly even out of the country. "And Lola?" Welsh grimaced.

"She's OK. She's due to start testifying tomorrow, and the witness protection people have got it all in hand." No-one wanted to mention the one thing they were all thinking about. Petey. Ray coughed, and Fraser looked at him with concern.

"Do you wanted some water, Ray?"

"No, Fraser, I'm OK," although his friend could see the pain lines etched into his thin face.

"She set us up, didn't she? I mean, the gunman knew my name," Ray said. Welsh nodded in agreement, grim-faced.

"It looks as if she did. We can't prove anything, but if she wanted to give someone the impression that her boy meant more than he did to her, and that a certain Detective Vecchio was protecting him, I can't think of a better way of taking the heat off her until she got before the grand jury. That" Welsh restrained himself. There wasn't anything more he could say. Even if they could prove her complicity, there was nothing more to be done about it. It sure wouldn't bring back the child. Ray knew that Lola was determined to also make him suffer personally, in revenge for the cruel trick played on her by her false lover.

"I'm sorry, detective. Perhaps you would have been safer, here in the city." Welsh had been feeling terribly guilty about his suggestion ever since he'd got the news about the shooting.

"It's ok, Lieutenant. At least my family was kept out of it," Ray tried to comfort him. Welsh assented wordlessly. The three men fell silent, then Ray spoke again.

"Lieutenant, where's the boy? I mean, where's...?"

Welsh decided to be businesslike about it.

"The coroner's got to make his report on him, then the body will be released. I think it's likely his mother will want you to handle the arrangements - she's going to be off the scene for a long time. But I can do all that if you want."

Ray waved a tired hand at him. "No, I want to do it. Doc says I'm gonna be out in a coupla days."

Welsh cleared his throat. "I promised your mother I'd let her know the minute you were awake. I'd better ring her."

"Sure, Lieutenant. Tell her I'm fine, but I'm real tired. Tell her to come in the morning."

Ray was not lying, Welsh could see. The man was clearly struggling to stay awake, and even the mountie was yawning. Welsh promised to try and hold off the Vecchio clan for another 12 hours.

"Get some rest, you two. I need you back on our feet, ASAP."

"Understood, Leftenant", Fraser replied for them both. Welsh said goodnight, and left to make the call.

Ray turned his head to Fraser.

"She let him be killed, Fraser. How could she do that? I miss him so much," he said, his voice breaking, the tears now falling without concealment down his long face.

Fraser shook his head at the unexplainable cruelty of mankind, and felt tears pricking his own eyes. He didn't know what to say - the pain was so unbearable. He ached for his friend, for the child, and for himself. He lifted his eyes, and saw his dead father standing opposite him, looking at him across Ray's bed. His father's eyes were full of sorrow for his son, and for once, he offered no words of advice. The only thing Fraser could do was to watch his friend grieve, and hold his hand.

Mrs Vecchio crossed herself before entering the room with her son, and his best friend. Welsh had warned her that both men were in a pretty fragile state, and he didn't need to tell her that the death of the child was a tremendous blow to her son. She was determined to be strong for him, but even with being forewarned, she could not stop a sharp hiss as she saw her son, and Benton, who had taken up his place again beside Ray. Raimondo was terribly pale. He was swathed from navel to neck in bandage, and tubes and leads were coming out of him in all directions. His eyes opened as she bent to kiss him.

"Hi, Ma, " he said weakly, with a smile.

"Caro, caro, what have you done to yourself?" she mock scolded, but her heart was tight with pain.

"Nothing much, Ma. Just a little accident." She stroked his face and turned to Benton, who had stood up when she entered the room. She was shocked at his appearance. He had two completely black eyes, and a bloody bandage on the right side of head, and he swayed slightly as he stood. "Sit down, Benton, before you fall down!" He complied, sagging heavily back into the chair. Her hand gently traced over the bandage, then she put her hand on his face and bent down to kiss his cheek. She could see his eyes were dull with pain. She was torn as to which of the two looked the worse. She took her son's hand and placed her arm around the shoulder of his friend.

"Now, I must tell you. When you get out of here, Benton is going to stay with us until you are both well. OK?" She looked from her son, to the mountie.

"Si, Mama" Ray said.

"Thank you kindly, Mrs Vecchio" Fraser wasn't going to argue, he knew there was no point even if he'd wanted to.

"Why don't you sit down, Ma?" Ray indicated the chair. She did as he suggested.

"Ma, there's something I have to tell you....". She stopped him.

"Si, caro, I know. The bambino, I know. I prayed for him last night." Actually she had cried as if he were one of her own grandchildren when Welsh had told her the news, and had spent much of the night saying the rosary for the repose of his innocent soul.

Ray closed his eyes again. For a few seconds he thought he was going to break down, but he was damned if he was going to start in front of his mother. He knew if he did, she would also lose control, and he needed to feel calm, keep every body calm. That was his job. He was the head of the family after all. He took a deep breath, and let it out.

"Ma, the funeral.... his mother... I mean, she's under the witness protection plan and they don't want her to break cover," he lied. "I want to have it at our church with Father Behan. Can you...?"

"Of course, my darling. What else could we do for the little one? Leave it to me. You need to just think about getting well, and coming home." She could see how tired he was, and decided to cut her visit short. She kissed his cheek again.

"Just sleep, now. I'll come back later." He nodded, his face still held against her hand.

"And you Benton, you should sleep too."

"Yes, Ma'am". She kissed him too, and gave him a little hug. Her "son" too, she thought. Then she left the two men in peace.

Fraser did indeed leave hospital within two days, but Ray was another three in being released, as there was a problem over the drainage from his wound. Francesca and Fraser took the Riv to the hospital to collect him, and carefully drove him back home, mindful of the still painful chest injury. Ray was still very quiet, Fraser too. There seemed too much to speak of, but no right words. As Ray came up the steps with the help of his sister and his friend, the first thing he saw was one of his nephew's baseball bats. His face contorted with pain, but he said nothing as he continued his slow progress into the house. His mother got him to bed, and once he was settled, brought in a tray of lunch. He had no appetite, and just pushed the food around the plate as she watched him, perched on his bedside. She thought about nagging him, but she could see his hazel eyes were moist. His heart was full, even if his stomach were not. Finally he admitted defeat and she took the tray away. Returning to the bed, she took his hand.

"Look at me Raimondo," she gently commanded him, lifting his chin with her free hand. He looked at her, eyes brimming.

"Caro, caro, caro. It hurts, no?"

"Si, mama. It hurts," he whispered. She took her son into her arms, and he sobbed like a child. She held him and soothed him until the storm had passed, patting him, willing the pain away. Finally he quieted, sat back and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. She took her handkerchief and dabbed at the droplets on his face. He gave her a grateful, wobbly grin. "Sorry, Ma."

"Don't be silly, my child. You cry for the little one, that's good. He will see you from heaven and know you loved him."

"Ma...", he protested as his tears threatened to return.

"Shhh, caro. It's all right. I think you should know what we are going to do for him, what a beautiful funeral we are going to make for him. Father Behan has got the choir, and Francesca has arranged a great big bouquet of white roses, for the coffin. And Benton has organised for some police officers to carry him into the church. It will be beautiful, you will see."

Ray couldn't see that this would help, but if his mother was getting some comfort from doing one last thing for the boy, he wasn't going to stop her. His chest hurt, and he wanted to be alone, to just crawl under the covers and make the world go away for a while. His mother saw his expression, and understood.

"Go to sleep, my darling. You'll feel better after a nap." He nodded at her, and as he slid down under the blankets, she tucked him in, as she had done when he had been Petey's age. He closed his eyes, and she placed her hand on his forehead, as if in benediction. He didn't hear her leave the room.

When he woke, the afternoon sun was pouring in through the window. His mother was right, he did feel better. He wished he'd had that lunch, but did not want to call and ask for it. He lay back in the bed, thinking of nothing much, just letting the sun warm his body, enjoying the familiar feel of his own bed. He was almost dozing again, when he heard a knock.

"Si, Ma," he called out, but when the door opened, it was Fraser, carrying another tray. "Benny!" he greeted him with pleasure. Fraser smiled at him. It did his heart good to see Ray looking better. He settled the tray on the bedside dresser, and sat on the chair at the foot of the bed.

"How are you feeling, Ray?"

"Better, Benny. Hungry." Fraser grinned.

"Your mother thought you might be. Here," handing him the tray, and watched his friend wolf down the light meal. When he was finished, he took the tray off him. Ray sighed with pleasure.

"God, I'd forgotten what proper food tasted like." Fraser laughed.

"I know you mean. I think if I ever have to eat another meal with the word 'Surprise' in the title, it'll be too soon."

Ray smiled. Fraser looked a little better, although the black eyes were beginning to turn green and yellow, the ugly rainbow colours of healing bruises, and the removal of the dressing let the world see the extent of the ugly gash the bullet had torn through his scalp. He looked like he was auditioning for Frankenstein's monster, but Ray could also see that three full days of Vecchio cooking and Vecchio pampering, was beginning to erase the pain and the tiredness which had so marked his friend's face in the hospital. For his part, Fraser was just glad to see Ray smile again.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, not wanting to bring up anything to destroy the peaceful, precious mood, but at last Ray ran his hand over his balding scalp and sighed.

"Benny, Ma says you got some cops to carry the coffin for the funeral?"

"Yes Ray. Leftenant Welsh has asked two uniformed police officers to do it. I didn't think we could manage it, not with this" indicating Ray's chest, "and this" pointing to his own head.

"You're probably right. Ma was pleased about it, and the choir."

"Yes, I think it's good for her to have something to do, and plan for. She's very upset, you know. She loved Petey."

"I know, Benny, I know. Didn't we all." Ray fell silent, and Fraser felt it was time to leave him to get on with it. He picked up the tray, and turned to leave, but hesitated.

"Ray, I think you should know....?" Fraser stopped, wondering if he could find the right words.

"What, Benny?" Ray looked at him, puzzled. What was the mountie trying to get off his chest?

"There wasn't anything you could have done to save him, you know. I mean, there was no escape. They were professionals. They would have come after you and after you, and the only difference would have been, you would have died too." Fraser looked at him, willing Ray to understand, to forgive himself. Ray could not meet his eyes.

"Yeah, Fraser, you're probably right. I just wish, I just..." He could not continue. Fraser came back to the bed and put his hand on Ray's uninjured shoulder.

"I know, Ray. I know. Me too."

The funeral was a week later, in the morning. Unfairly, Ray thought, the spring sun blazed down, oblivious to the feelings of the sad little group assembling at the Vecchio home. The hearse was due to arrive shortly. As they waited, the postman made his daily delivery. There was just a single letter, for Ray, and he idly tore it open, as he waited. He glanced at the contents, then shoved it quickly into his pocket, before his mother could see. Fraser noticed though, and the look on Ray's face. Bad news, he thought, but knew that Ray either would, or would not, tell him when he was ready. Now was not the time to press him.

The hearse pulled in front of the house, and Francesca carried the beautiful white flowers out ahead of her family. She handed it to the undertaker, who solemnly placed it on top of the small coffin. Ray and Fraser stood stiffly to attention, as the Vecchio women cried quietly. The undertaker then signalled, and the family got into their assembled cars, slowly following the hearse the short distance to the church, where Welsh and two of Chicago's finest were waiting. The cops saluted the hearse, then helped take the coffin out of the car, and then shouldered it. The little procession went into the church, and the Mass began.

The mourners were small in number but the intensity of their grief more than made up for that. Not since the death of his own father had Fraser felt so much pain in a public gathering. The choir sang with heart breaking sweetness, children's hymns, simple and easy to understand. Fraser was not a Catholic, but had had a little experience of the services since meeting Ray. He had yet to attend a Catholic funeral though, and found the whole thing overwhelming. Ray stood, knelt or sat, as required, back rigid, face set like stone though the whole thing, but the rest of his family were less restrained. The church felt hot and stuffy and the scent of incense was sickly, nauseating. Fraser was glad when it was over, and he could follow the small coffin back into the sunshine.

At the graveside, the words were said and the dirt tossed in, and then the little boy was finally laid to rest. Ray felt he couldn't take any more grieving and suddenly desperately wanted to get away from his family and the miserable atmosphere. He asked Lieutenant Welsh if he could take his mother and Francesca back home. Welsh readily agreed, and Ray asked Fraser if he could spare the time to come with him. Fraser was only too happy to do whatever Ray wanted. Ray climbed into the Riv, and Fraser got into the driver's seat. "Where are we going?" he asked Ray. "To the cabin" he replied. Fraser nodded assent. He didn't understand as yet, but if Ray felt he had to got there, he wanted to be there with him.

They drove in silence back to the lake, and up the path to the cabin again. Fraser parked the car and got out. Ray followed. The clearing, so recently the site of so much death, looked just as they had first seen it. A vision of peace and tranquillity.

Ray walked over to the cabin porch and sat down. Fraser joined him. Ray looked at him, rubbing his chest from the exertion of the drive, then put his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the letter Fraser had seen him stuff there earlier. "Read this, Benny" he asked, and Fraser took the letter from his hand. It was from a scientific laboratory, and as Fraser read, he realised he was reading a DNA report. A report on the blood of two males. Ray and Petey's. "Ray...?" he asked, confused. "Go on, over the page." Fraser turned it over and read there that it had been found that the two samples were deemed to have a probable relatedness of 50%. The people from whom the samples had been drawn were likely to have shared one parent in common. Ray looked at Fraser's face, and saw the realisation dawn on him, as it had for Ray when he opened the letter that morning.

"You know what that means, Fraser?" Fraser nodded.

"Yes. It seems that your father, and Petey's father, were the same person."

Ray was suddenly furious with the world, and exploded with anger.

"He was my *brother*, Fraser! I just buried my little brother," he shouted at the other man, and then turned away from him to face the lake. His words echoed around the area. Fraser could not believe that there was another layer of grief to be added to the already unendurable burden of guilt and sadness his friend was carrying. He had to ask, though.

"Why...?"

"I had to know, Fraser. The kid, he looked like me, every one said it. I knew I wasn't his father. I dunno, thought maybe he was a distant cousin or something. I just didn't figure my Pop could be his too. He must have thought it was a big joke, making out he was me, to Lola. That son of a bitch."

Fraser knew that Ray and his father had not had the most loving of relationships, but this was a new nadir for him. Ray turned back to him suddenly.

"Fraser, I gotta ask you to take a walk for a few minutes. I gotta be alone."

"Yes, Ray." Fraser could see his friend was barely in control, and spoke as calmly as he could.

"Why don't you beep the car horn when you're ready - I'll head that way," gesturing along the lake edge. Ray watched him go without a word. All the rage he felt at his father threatened to swamp him. He wanted to literally kill someone or something. He walked into the clearing and screamed.

"POP!!"

"Yeah." He heard the voice behind him, and whirled round. There, in the clearing, stood the man who had made his life a living hell while he'd been alive, and was now trying to destroy the foundations of his life from beyond the grave. Ray shook with anger, and raised his fist in fury at the spectre. "You bastard! You cheating, slimy stinking bastard!"

The ghost gave him a heavy-lidded sneer. "Is that anyway to speak to your father. I oughta smack you one right here!"

" 'Zat right, Pop? Why don't you ahead, take your best shot." He strode up to his father and stuck his face out at him. The ghost made a fist, and dropped it.

"You little..." he snarled, in impotent fury, at his son.

"What's the matter, Pop? Oh I forgot, you're dead. Kinda makes his hard to slap people around, don't it." Ray laughed into his hated father's face and walked away.

"Don't you walk off from me, you little shit! You gotta respect your parents. I'm your father." Ray turned and looked with disgust at the piece of work in front of him.

"Yeah, pop, that's right, you're my father. But I don't respect you. You never respected anyone in your whole life."

"Don't you talk back to me. I respected plenty a people. Your mother..." Ray cut him off.

"Yeah, pop. Let's talk about Ma. Where the hell was she when you were making babies with Lola?"

"Don't you dare bad mouth your mother. Your mother is a saint. That Lola, she's just a whore..."

"I know what she is, and I know what that makes you - two of a kind. We buried your son today, my baby brother. Don't you even care about that?"

"Well, maybe that's for the good. Wouldn't have grown up to be anything, the little dummy". Ray put his hands over his ears. Was it really possible that he was the actual son of this man? He tried to get control of himself.

"Go away Pop," he said quietly through gritted teeth. "Go away, and never come back. You are not my father. I am no longer your son."

He sat on the grass and put his head between his knees, forbidding sound or sight of his father to come to him. After a few minutes, he looked up. There was no one else there. He got slowly to his feet, wincing at the pain in his chest. He realised he was in the clearing where Petey had died. He looked around to see if he could find the spot. He found a place where the grass looked a little darker, and yes, there were some marks that could have been blood. He knelt down, and kissed the grass. "Blood of my blood," he whispered, then placed his hand over the spot, in blessing, as if the earth had a wound he could heal with his touch.

After a minute or two, he sat back and looked around. He saw Fraser keeping a respectful distance, watching him from past the cabin. Ray signalled him to come over him, as he got to his feet. He was exhausted, in pain, and shattered from the revelations and emotions of the morning. Fraser came up and took his arm.

"You all right, Ray." Ray nodded, then shook his head. "No." He scuffed up the grass with his shoe.

"This is where it happened, isn't it?"

"Yes Ray, it looks like the place."

"Do you think...?" Ray couldn't find the words.

Fraser prompted him "What, Ray. Do I think...?"

"Do you think a son can grow up not to be like his dad?" Ray looked at him with a desperate appeal in his wounded eyes. Fraser knew now what was really troubling Ray. He was so angry at his father, so hurt and betrayed, and he was afraid he was fated to become like him.

Fraser spoke carefully and deliberately, so that Ray could not mistake his meaning.

"Ray, I didn't know your father. I only know what you've told me. But to my mind there is no doubt at all, you're a better man now than your father ever was, or ever could be. And in his short life, you were a better father to Petey than anyone else could ever have been."

Ray looked at him, eyes full of tears. Could Fraser be telling the truth? He searched the Mountie's face, but saw only absolute certitude, and sympathy.

"He was a great kid, Fraser."

"And you are a good man, and my friend, " Fraser said simply. Ray looked at the ground, and seemed to come to a resolution. "Benny...?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"Let's go home."

Ray never saw or spoke to his father again. He rarely spoke of Petey, and then only to Fraser. He burned the letter with the DNA results, and kept the secret from his mother. Slowly the rhythm of their lives returned to the way it had been before, before the child had come. But when the spring flowers filled the air with their scent, and the sun warmed the world, he would go to Petey's grave, and talk to him. To tell him he had been loved, and was still loved. And that while there was breath still in Ray's body, his brother would not be alone.