Series: SHAKING UP THE PRECINCT
WARNING: Rated PG for instances of strong language.
Authors' Note: It was brought to our attention that many slash readers were offended by a remark we put in the first installment of our series. We apologize for any wounded feelings it may have caused--we didn't proofread our story adequately prior to submitting it, and the remark was the product of a bad experience with slash in the middle of the night. As sick as it made us, censorship makes us even sicker. We therefore apologize for any offense caused, and whether or not you dig slash, we hope you enjoy this and future installments of our series. Thank you kindly!
Author's Note 2: I apologize for any errors I made in the description of manic depression for all you psych students out there. --BMW
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"What 'Academy' are you talking about, Walker?"
"What do you think I'm talking about?"
"Well, half the stuff you talk about I don't even recognize!"
"Well, tough toenails for you!"
Detectives Raymond Vecchio and Elizabeth Walker were having it out in the bullpen at the 27th precinct. They were so loud that their shouts woke up a fellow detective, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, who was trying to sleep off the aftereffects of a long shift. The shouting even brought Lieutenant Harding Welsh out of his office.
"What the hell is going on out here?"
"How the hell should I know?" yelled Stanley. "I just woke up!"
"And why were you sleeping in the first place?"
"Long shift yesterday."
Welsh turned on Ray and Walker. "What the hell are you two arguing about?"
"Walker keeps telling stories about the Police Academy that I can't relate to!" Ray complained.
"Well, has it occurred to you that maybe no two cops have the same experience in the Academy?" Welsh asked.
"That's what I thought, but the Duck Boys don't know what she's talking about, either!"
"And that means what?" Detective Allie Mitchell had joined in. "Maybe she underwent a different routine than you guys did."
"The way she describes it--"
"Save it, Vecchio. You better get on that case or the Commissioner is going to have a fit."
Ray grimaced at the idea of the Commissioner chewing out the entire precinct for his negligence in solving a case. He shook his head and went back to work. Stanley looked at the clock on his desk, shook his head, and tried to go back to sleep. He was out in less than five minutes.
Walker surveyed the scene, then shook her head and walked into the break room, where Mitchell was getting a cup of coffee.
"What's up, Libby?" Mitchell asked upon noticing Walker's presence.
"You saw everything," said Walker as she walked over to the pop machines, fed a dollar bill into the slot, punched in her selection, and waited. A bottle of juice rolled down with a clatter. Walker picked it up, retrieved her change, and joined Mitchell at one of the tables.
"What were you two arguing about?" Mitchell's curiosity was roused.
"Long story, and you wouldn't believe me if I told you." Walker opened her juice and drained half the bottle in two gulps.
"Come on." Mitchell was adamant. "I won't tell."
"We were fighting about the Police Academy." Walker took a sip of her juice before she continued. "Vecchio is totally lost as to what I went through in the Academy." She paused. "He thinks it's the Police Academy I'm talking about."
"Is it?"
"No."
"Care to fill me in?"
"You promise not to tell anyone?"
"You have my word."
"Okay." Walker took a deep breath. "Here goes..."
-----
The insistent ringing of the phone brought Stanley out of his peaceful slumber.
Just before he could grab the phone his answering machine picked it up. "You've reached Detective Kowalski in Violent Crimes. I'm not here, so leave a message."
"Ray?" said a young female voice. "Ray, if you're there, please pick up!" The girl broke down sobbing.
Kowalski grabbed the phone off the hook. "Detective Kowalski, how may I help you?"
"Is that you, Ray?"
"Who is this?"
"This is Rachael Wilkes." The girl struggled to keep her panic in check. "I need you to help me."
"The name sounds familiar to me." Something clicked in Stanley's mind. "Jenna's daughter?"
"Yes, Ray." The girl was losing control. "Get over here, please!"
"Rachael, what's the matter?" Stanley was suddenly uncomfortable. "What happened?"
"She's dead, Ray! Mom's dead!" She broke up sobbing.
The news hit Stanley like a semi. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. "Jenna? Gone?"
"Yes, Ray." More sobbing.
Stanley struggled to regain his voice. "How?"
"Mycroft killed her. He didn't know I was there. I saw him do it!" The girl was in hysterics. "He's gonna kill me too, Ray!"
Stanley set his feelings aside and took charge of the situation. "Where are you, Rachael?"
"I'm here..." The girl stammered. "I'm here in Chicago."
"Okay, where at in Chicago?"
"On 5th street. Across from a Chicago Dough Company."
"Okay." Stanley took a few deep breaths before continuing. "I know where that is. I've been there before. Stay there and don't move. I'll be there soon, okay?"
"Just get here quick!" She killed the connection.
Stanley dropped the phone. "Walker!"
Walker was out of the break room in less than a minute. "What?"
"Come on."
"A case?"
"Yeah." Stanley shuddered.
-----
Stanley and Walker headed toward the 5th Street Chicago Dough Company in his black 1973 Pontiac GTO. Stanley's heart was pounding through his chest, and the sight of his uneasy state unnerved Walker.
"Kowalski."
"What?"
"We're coming up on 5th Street. I see someone across from the place you mentioned."
"Where?"
"Near that phone booth."
Stanley turned the car around the corner and saw someone standing by a phone booth. It was a girl. "I see her too," he said.
He pulled up to the phone booth and stopped. "Rachael? Is that you?"
"Yes," the girl stated.
Walker got out of the car and took her hand. "Come on. Let's get you
out of here." She opened the back door for Rachael.
Rachael took a deep breath. "Joseph Mycroft worked for my mother. She
fired him recently because he was sexually harassing some of his female
coworkers."
"Bastard," muttered Walker. "I'd like to separate his boyhood from the
rest of him."
Rachael took another deep breath and continued. "Well, less than an
hour ago he came to our house. Mom was in the living room when she heard
a knock on the door. I was in the bathroom." Her voice started to break.
"Anyway, she went to the door and answered it. It was Mycroft. I heard
a lot of shouting, then--" Her voice caught in her throat as if she were
about to cry. "Wh-when I opened the door, he-he shot her. Twice. I
saw him do it."
She suddenly lost whatever control she had and began to cry. Her body
shook violently with her sobs. "Why did he do it? Why the hell did
he kill my mother, Ray?"
"I don't know, Rachael." Stanley was shaking his head in grief, wishing
he could hold her and share her grief with his own. "I just don't know."
"What's your address, Rachael?" asked Walker.
"1300 North Wabash."
Walker grabbed the receiver off Stanley's radio. "Dispatch, Unit 1-2-1.
Request forensics team at 1300 North Wabash--" She put her hand on the
receiver. "What apartment is yours, Rachael?"
"Apartment 7C."
Walker spoke into the receiver again. "1300 North Wabash, Apartment
7C. I repeat, request forensics team at 1300 North Wabash, Apartment
7C."
The three were quiet the rest of the way back to the precinct.
-----
Mitchell looked up in surprise when Stanley, Walker, and Rachael walked
into the bullpen.
"Hey, Kowalski, what are you doing here?" asked Mitchell. "You're not
supposed to be on duty till tomorrow morning."
"I know. I have to talk to Welsh."
"What about?"
"None of your business."
"Okay," said Mitchell. "You don't have to be snippy." She gestured
toward Rachael. "Who's that?"
"This is Rachael Wilkes," said Stanley.
"Rachael Kowalski," the girl interrupted. "My last name is Kowalski,
Ray. There's no need for the charade anymore. My mom told me."
Stanley was startled. "I-I don't know what you're talking about, Rachael."
Rachael took a deep breath. There was no easy way for her to break the
news to Stanley.
"You're my father, Ray. You didn't know that?"
Stanley couldn't believe what he had heard. He remembered spending some
time with Rachael's mother when he and Stella had a major fight and decided
to live separately for awhile. He remembered how things had gotten a
bit intimate with them. He had no idea, however, what the results of
that night were. Jenna had told him that another person had fathered
Rachael and was killed when she was six months old. He was, therefore,
totally unprepared for the news that Rachael had just handed him.
"That--that's not possible, Rachael," Stanley stammered. "Your father
was killed six months after you were born."
"No, Ray." Rachael was adamant. "I guess my mom told you that to protect
you."
Stanley was stunned. "This I have to hear."
"Yes, Ray," said Rachael. "You do."
-----
Stanley sat in the interrogation room across the table from the girl
who claimed to be his daughter. He shook his head, trying to set his
account of the recent events straight. For as long as he could remember,
he had always wanted children. In fact, his disagreement with Stella
over the issue led to their divorce. Now that he had a child, though,
he wasn't sure about how good a father he'd be to Rachael.
Walker entered the room and handed Kowalski a cup of coffee. "Here,"
she said. "I hope this helps."
Stanley took the Styrofoam cup from Walker and took a sip of its contents.
The coffee had been watered down a bit so it wouldn't be as strong, and
it tasted unusually sweet. "Did you put Sprees in here?"
"Yes, I did."
"Chewy Sprees?"
"What else?"
Stanley smiled. "Thanks, Walker."
Walker turned to Rachael and handed her a cup of coffee, doctored up
the same way as Stanley's was. "Here, Rachael. Try to drink some of
this."
Rachael took the coffee and took a tentative sip. "You put candy in
coffee?"
"Works when I'm stressed." Walker gestured toward Stanley. "He popped
the idea to me."
"Oh." Rachael took another sip of her coffee. "Not bad."
"Look, I gotta go," said Walker. "Vecchio needs my help at the scene."
She turned and left the interrogation room.
Stanley and Rachael sat across each other. Neither person said anything
for an extended length of time.
"Okay, Rachael." Stanley broke the silence. "Could you please give
me your side of the story?"
Rachael took a deep breath. "A little over fourteen years ago you went
to California. You met my mother and you two formed a relationship.
You would have asked her to marry you if you weren't already married
to Stella."
"We were on the outs at that time," Stanley recalled.
"So anyway," said Rachael, "with much regrets, you left not knowing that
my mother was pregnant. Six months later, I was born three months premature."
She managed a wan smile. "Just like you, Ray."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded-up sheet of paper.
"This is my birth certificate," she explained as she pointed to a specific
area on the paper. "Your name is on the line that asks for the father's
name, Ray."
Stanley took a good look at the certificate, which was worn and barely
legible. True to Rachael's words, there was no mistake about the name
of Stanley Raymond Kowalski on the line for the father's name.
"I'll be damned," said Stanley, trying to deal with the shock of having
found out about an offspring that he had fathered. "I really am your
father."
"Yes, you are." Rachael paused. "My mom told me last year that if anything
happened to her, I was to go to you for help, no questions asked." She
looked Stanley in the eye. "Will you help me, Ray?
Stanley was unsure about everything at that moment. He had accepted
that he was Rachael's father, but he still couldn't believe it. It was
like someone had taken his world and hit it with a sledgehammer--all
in the blink of an eye. He was also unsure of how he would have been
as a father had he and Stella had kids. But then the truth hit him in
a new light. This was his daughter. Not any random protection client,
but his own flesh and blood. He was angry that the bastard who killed
her mother was still at large, because he had shattered her life forever.
He resolved then and there that he would bring in the person responsible
for turning Rachael's world upside down.
"Of course I will, Rachael." Never before had there been more certainty
in Stanley's voice. "Nothing in the world will stop me from helping
you."
-----
"Ugh!" Ray was revolted at the sight of all the blood that had spilled
onto the floor from the fatal wound that Jenna Wilkes had sustained in
the confrontation between her and her former employee.
"You didn't know that human beings had all that blood inside them?" asked
Walker. "Makes the pints we give at blood drives look like nothing."
"I'm beginning to understand why Kowalski hates the cold meat party,"
said Ray as he looked at the rather considerable puddle of blood that
had collected underneath Jenna's body.
"I've seen worse than this." Mitchell stopped to hand Ray the two bullets
that she had pulled out of the wall. They were enclosed in a small plastic
bag. "After graduating from the Police Academy. I was called on a 594
near the Bronx, but it turned out when I got there that the dispatcher
had confused malicious mischief with homicide. So I was walking not
into a 594, but a 187, right into the most gruesome homicide I had ever
seen. The guy's neck was--"
"Please, Mitchell!" shouted Ray. "Some of us need to concentrate here."
He paused. "Well, I guess it's better than that half-decayed corpse
the Colorado State Police discovered behind one of the dormitories at
the U.S. Air Force Academy about twelve years ago."
Walker tried not to let her eyes bulge at what Ray had said. She put
on a professional front, but Mitchell detected a green tint in her face.
"You okay, Libby?" asked Mitchell.
"I was just thinking how the cadets in that hall might have felt," said
Walker.
"I couldn't imagine it," said Mitchell.
"The cadets there were kept awake at night for a week because they couldn't
figure out what the smell was," Ray described. "One night, a few cadets
there decided to search for the source of the stench. Needless to say,
they got the most unpleasant surprise of their lives."
Walker changed the subject. "I haven't seen Fraser in awhile," she said.
"Do you have any idea where he is, Ray?"
"I don't know," said Ray. "Haven't seen him in a week. Weird, really.
It's not like Benny to take off on such short notice." He looked around.
"The Dragon Lady is probably having a fit."
"Wouldn't be surprised," muttered Mitchell.
The medical examiner then finished his analysis and motioned for the
coroner's crew to come with the body bag. Ray, Mitchell, and Walker
gazed without visible emotion as the body of Stanley's daughter's mother
was zipped into the bag.
"I would not want to be in Kowalski's shoes right now," said Ray as he
handed the evidence to the head of the forensic team.
"Ditto," said Mitchell and Walker in unison.
-----
Stanley guided Rachael through the door to his apartment. He wished
that he could go over to Rachael's apartment and grab a few articles
of clothing, but the forensics team thought that doing so would amount
to tampering with evidence. He therefore had to lend Rachael some of
his clothes.
"Are you okay?" he asked her.
Rachael shook her head and let out a little sob--she was all cried out
from having witnessed the murder of her mother.
Stanley put his arms around her and hugged her tightly. "Listen, I know
you're hurting," he said as he held her. "I am, too. I wish I could
have been able to protect your mom from that asshole. I know that nothing
I say can bring her back. I can and will, however, bring that bastard
in before he tries anything with you. I will not let him do to you what
he did to Jenna."
"You promise?" Rachael sniffled.
"You have my word." Stanley paused. "I tried to get some clothes from
your place, but the forensics workers at the apartment gave me all this
shit about tampering with the evidence. So I hope you don't mind wearing
some of my clothes for awhile."
He led Rachael into his spare bedroom, which was a far cry from the rest
of his apartment--as in, it was clean. Rachael lay down on the bed and
promptly fell asleep.
Stanley took the opportunity to check the three messages on the answering
machine.
"Stanley, this is your mom. Just called to check on you. Call me whenever
you have the time. Love you."
"Vecchio, this is Vinnie. Where's that twenty you owe me?" Stanley
smiled, knowing he hadn't seen Vinnie since two weeks before Ray came
back from the mob.
"Kowalski, this is Walker. Call me as soon as you get in. You have
my cell number."
Stanley grabbed the phone and dialed the aforementioned number. The
phone rang twice before Walker picked up. "Road Kill Caf--You Kill 'Em,
We Grill 'Em."
"City morgue," answered Stanley.
"Didn't expect you at the cold meat party, Kowalski," said Walker.
"You needed to talk to me?" Stanley asked.
"Yeah." Walker seemed a bit sick over the phone. "I heard through the
grapevine that you were having a bit of a snafu with the forensics guys."
"They won't let me get any of Rachael's clothes from the apartment."
Stanley sounded angry. "Gave me a bunch of shit about tampering with
the evidence."
"Ugh." Walker's distaste for the bureaucracy was evident in her voice.
"You want me to lend her some of mine?"
"Could you?"
"Hey, no problem. I'm with Mitchell and Vecchio right now, but I'll
drop a duffel bag off at your place by the end of the day."
"Thanks, Walker."
"No problem. Hey, did you check in with Hardass Harding yet?"
Stanley allowed himself to chuckle at Walker's nickname for the lieutenant.
"Oops."
"I'd do that if I were you."
"He'll probably kick me in the head."
"He may look tough, but he's pretty reasonable. Don't worry about it."
"All right. See ya."
"Later." Walker killed the connection.
Stanley replaced the receiver and looked out the window, trying to get
a foothold on his thoughts.
After five or ten minutes, he picked up the receiver again and dialed
Welsh's number.
-----
Walker put her phone on her belt as she, Mitchell, and Ray walked down
the street to the corner deli, where Walker's Camaro and Mitchell's Charger
were waiting.
"What did Kowalski have to say?" Ray asked.
"He was returning my call." Walker concentrated on her watch. "Turns
out the forensics guys were rather anal about letting Stanley get some
of Rachael's clothes from the apartment, so I volunteered to lend her
some of my own."
"That was nice of you," said Mitchell.
As the three walked down the street, a small object landed on Ray's head.
Ray jumped about a mile, screaming, "What the hell was that?"
"Jeez, Vecchio, I don't think anyone could hear you," muttered Mitchell.
"Let me see." Walker kneeled down and picked up the object that had
fallen from Ray when he had jumped. "This is a caterpillar, rather common,
although one might not suspect it by looking at its bright coloring."
She smelled it. "Smells rather exotic. Kinda reminds me of when I was
a kid and my neighbors dared me to eat one." She paused. "Doesn't taste
bad, although others of its genus have tasted better."
It was Ray's turn to gag. "Gross!" He shook his head. "Just great.
Another Fraser."
"What do you mean?" asked Walker.
"Fraser will put damn near anything in his mouth. Dirt, tree bark, you
name it." Ray paused, a wicked grin on his face. "Are you sure you
want to tongue-wrestle with him now?"
"That stuff doesn't bother me." Walker shrugged her shoulders as the
three approached their cars.
Walker's nonchalance stunned Ray. "It doesn't? You've been kissing
a guy who is not afraid to literally lick another man's boots!"
"Why should it?" Walker asked as she got in on the driver's side. "I
mean, it's not like he has the bubonic plague or something."
Ray shook his head as he climbed into the passenger seat of the Camaro.
"Just shut up and drive."
-----
Stanley stretched out in his armchair, putting his feet on the coffee
table. Welsh seemed to understand Stanley's position. He was a little
shocked at first, but Stanley offered a worthy explanation. Welsh granted
him the rest of the day off, and Stanley agreed to work from his house
in return. The agreement having been made, Stanley set to work.
He had set Detectives Jack Huey and Thomas Dewey on the lookout and trail
of Joseph Mycroft. They gave a description to Stanley that Rachael had
already given him. Mycroft's identity having been established, Stanley
instructed the Duck Boys to alert him if Mycroft did anything out of
the ordinary that posed a threat to Rachael.
Walker had showed up at his place at about a quarter to two, carrying
a stuffed-to-the-point-of-explosion duffel bag with her. Stanley accepted
it from her, filling her in on what was going on and inviting her in
for a soda. Walker had declined, saying she needed to help the Duck
Boys with their end of the case. Stanley had carefully placed the duffel
bag in the room in which Rachael was sleeping, fearing that dropping
it would cause it to explode.
As relieved as Stanley was, he was also so angst-ridden about the murder
of Jenna Wilkes that he felt he needed to do something to positively
channel his anger. So he did something that he normally wouldn't have
done under normal circumstances.
He had cleaned his apartment, top to bottom.
Before his outburst of nervous energy, he literally had to wade through
his apartment and it was a miracle that the turtle in his terrarium had
not been forgotten. It was not squalid by any stretch of the imagination,
but Martha Stewart would have had a massive heart attack if she had gotten
even a glimpse of Stanley Raymond Kowalski's digs.
Now, however, the place was immaculate. Not a speck of dust could be
found anywhere, everything was in order. Counters were so clean you
could see your reflection in them. The floors had been thoroughly vacuumed,
and the bathroom was so clean that one could not fathom taking a leak
for fear the sterile interior would be compromised. The kitchen was
practically spotless--none of the usual clutter existed. Stanley had
even gone so far as to loot his cabinets and his refrigerator and discard
everything he had opened and not eaten in the last month or two. The
floor was sparkling clean, almost to the point that Stanley himself was
afraid to walk on it, fearing he might slip and fall. The living room
was perfectly organized--not a single thing was out of place. As weird
as it felt, Stanley also felt a sense of serenity regarding his surroundings.
Stanley heard a slight rustle in the bedroom, then turned his head as
Rachael walked out of the room and headed toward the couch. She was
wearing a pair of sweatpants, a gray tee shirt, and a navy blue sweatshirt.
She flopped on the couch, next to where Stanley was sitting.
"Did you sleep okay?"
"Yeah," Rachael mumbled.
"You feeling all right?"
"A bit." Rachael yawned. "When do we eat?"
Stanley paled. There was almost nothing left in his refrigerator as
a result of his cleaning binge. He thought fast. "Is pizza okay?"
Rachael nodded. "Yeah, okay."
Stanley walked over to his phone, dialed the nearest pizzeria, and placed
an order for a Hawaiian pizza and a six-pack of root beer. As he did
so, Rachael noticed the rather hot temperature and took off the sweatshirt
she was wearing.
Stanley finally got the order worked through and hung up the phone.
"The pizza should be here in half an hour," he said. His eyes strayed
to the tee shirt that Rachael was wearing. "What's this?"
"What?" Rachael asked.
"This tee shirt," said Stanley. He read the text on it. "United States
Air Force Academy." He scrutinized it carefully.
"One of my friends gave it to me." Rachael yawned. "He has a brother
who goes there."
Stanley let it drop. He was tempted to pursue the matter, as he had
a hunch that this could be the "Academy" that Walker was alluding to.
This would explain the weird stories that Vecchio blew his stack over.
For all he knew, Walker could have packed the shirt in the duffel in
her haste.
Yeah right, Stan, he thought. What would an Air Force officer
be doing in a Chicago precinct after graduating from the most elite school
of the branch she joined?
He smiled as he wondered where Fraser was. He'd be able to tell whose
shirt it was by sniffing or licking it.
He turned his attention back to Rachael, who was engrossed in the program
on the television. "I'll let you know when the pizza gets here," he
said.
"Thanks," Rachael mumbled.
Stanley looked out his window and sighed. He couldn't believe what a
sudden tailspin his life had gone into. He loved Rachael, but he had
been caught totally unprepared.
-----
"You know, Kowalski," said Lt. Welsh as he looked at Stanley and at Rachael
the next day, "you have a rather unique penchant for getting into some
of the weirdest situations." He picked up a file, scribbled a note on
top of it, and then stuck it back on his desk. "At first I thought this
was just coincidental, taking into account your partnership with Fraser
while Vecchio was undercover. But now that Fraser is gone for the time
being, it's apparent that it's not just Fraser."
Stanley nodded, taking in the lieutenant's apparent disbelief. He then
shifted the conversation back to its original purpose. "I need you to
help me find some information pertaining to my daughter's mother's killer.
I have reason to believe he is stalking her."
"How did you come to this conclusion?"
"Last night, after I went to sleep, Walker called my dad," said Rachael.
"She said that Mycroft had rented an apartment three blocks from his."
"I remember Huey and Dewey telling me about that," said Lt. Welsh. "They've
been staking out his every move all night."
"They have no clue what they're dealing with," said Mitchell, who had
just arrived and was hovering outside the office. She was wearing a
pair of pajama pants, a tee shirt, and a letterman's jacket.
"You're not in your usual dress," said Stanley.
"I was running late," Mitchell confessed as she entered the office. "I
got the rap sheet on this sucker." She waved around a sheet of paper
before continuing. "It shows here that this Mycroft character is suffering
from a severe imbalance of the distribution of serotonin and norepinephrine
within his cranial and cerebral structure."
"Will you please speak in English and not in Fraserian?" Stanley barked.
"To put it bluntly, he's a few bricks short of a full stack." Mitchell
scanned the rap sheet. "We're dealing with a real nutcase here. Not
only is this guy manic-depressive, but a psych evaluation performed by
Ms. Wilkes's psychological department two months prior to her murder
shows that our man Mycroft may be schizophrenic as well."
"Yikes," said Rachael.
"What the hell does manic-depressive mean?" Stanley asked.
"Just like I said." Mitchell took a deep breath. "Manic depression
occurs when the brain doesn't respond properly to the hormones serotonin
and norepinephrine. The brain reacts adversely to this, causing the
person to go into stages of mania and depression. Mania happens when
the brain is overexcited, causing the person to practically go nuts.
Depression, well...you get the idea."
Rachael turned to Lt. Welsh. "Will you help us, sir?"
Welsh was silent for a minute. "Okay." He straightened himself up.
"What do you need to know?"
-----
Ray was hacking out the paperwork on Jenna Wilkes's murder. He was glad
to know that Huey and Dewey were keeping tabs on the prime suspect, but
he was curious as to whether or not there were other people capable of
committing the crime. Not to doubt Rachael's testimony, since she was
the only witness, but...
The sudden opening of the doors to the bullpen shook Ray from his reverie
and startled Huey and Dewey awake as well.
"Damn!" It was Walker. "Where's Hard--I mean, Lt. Welsh?"
"In his--" Ray was cut off by the sight in front of him. There was nothing
illegal about the way that Walker was dressed--he hardly considered sweatpants
and a tee shirt revealing attire--but the words on her shirt shocked
him. On the left breast of her tee shirt was her last name with "USAFA"
in larger print beneath it.
"USAFA?" Ray was astonished. "Isn't that the United States Air Force
Academy?"
Walker looked down, only then realizing that she had donned the wrong
shirt in her haste to get to the precinct on time. "I...I was in a hurry,"
she stammered.
Comprehension dawned on Ray's features, as he finally figured Walker's
behavior out. "So that's the Academy you've been talking about!" he
said as the phone on his desk rang. He picked it up on the second ring.
"What?!...No, I'm sorry...Listen, that is not how you talk to an officer
of the law...No, I will not give that message!...Hello?" He slammed
the phone down. "Dammit!"
"Vecchio!" shouted Lt. Welsh.
"Sir?"
"Who was that on the phone?"
Ray shook his head. "It was some guy telling me to tell somebody that
he's gonna kill her." He suddenly paled. "Mycroft..."
Rachael looked like a semi had slammed into her. "Oh god, no!" she whispered,
stricken. "He's found me." She was breathing heavily, too scared to
control herself. "Oh my god oh my god, what do we do?"
She was descending into severe panic, not knowing what was going on.
"I believe, Kowalski," said Welsh, "that you should take your daughter
home where she'll be safe."
"Safe?" Stanley exploded. "SAFE?! That asshole knows where I live!
He's totally unbalanced and out on a vendetta against my daughter! He
has no sense of remorse or guilt! He killed her mom during a psychotic
episode and I'm willing to believe that he'll do the same to Rachael!
The only way I'll be sure that Rachael is safe at home is if he's either
behind bars, locked in a rubber room, or lying on the goddamned coroner's
slab!"
"I understand your concern," said Welsh. "I feel, however, that your
daughter will be safe if escorted and guarded. I'll send Detectives
Huey and Dewey with you. You men will be instructed to remain with her
at all times until Mycroft is in police custody."
Stanley knew that he couldn't buck the lieutenant's orders. "Yes, sir."
"I'm coming too," Walker stated.
"Where are the Duck Boys?" asked Rachael.
"They should be coming to anytime soon," said Welsh. "Wait here till
they wake up."
-----
"So what's the plan?" asked Huey as he strapped the bulletproof vest
on and loaded his gun.
"You guys are coming with me and you are going to stay at my place with
Rachael until this son of a bitch is behind bars." Stanley checked his
gun to make sure it was fully loaded.
"Aye, sir." Dewey holstered his gun and looked nervously around. "Is
this Mycroft a psychopath or something?"
"Mentally unbalanced." Stanley took a sip of his coffee. "Manic-depressive
and schizophrenic--a terrific combination."
"Damn." Huey shuddered. "That's enough to make anybody's flesh crawl."
Stanley turned to Rachael, who had been fitted with her vest and was
sitting down. "You ready, Rachael?" he asked.
Rachael stood up. "I guess."
Walker picked up her gun, placed it in its holster, and punched her vest
to make sure it was up to the job. Yeah, right, like my fist is faster
than a bullet, she thought. "What's the deal with the wheels?" she asked.
"Rachael's coming with me," said Stanley. "You and the Duck Boys got
the Camaro."
The five were silent as they walked out of the precinct to the cars.
Stanley opened the passenger side door of the GTO for Rachael.
"We won't be too far behind, okay?" Walker said.
"Just please, don't rear end my car," said Stanley. "I know how fast
you drive."
None of the cars noticed the truck slowly creeping up behind them as
they headed for Stanley's apartment.
-----
"So, is Roto Rooter still interested in Stan's apartment?" Dewey asked
as he, Walker, and Huey passed through the streets of Chicago.
"Not for the time being," said Walker as she navigated the Camaro behind
the GTO. "When I went to drop some clothes off for Rachael, he was cleaning
that place up with a vengeance straight out of hell."
"So there's only a thin layer of clothes on the floor," said Huey.
"Who knows?" said Walker. "At any rate, he was sweating his ass off
in the kitchen when I stopped by."
Huey took a minute to read the text on Walker's tee shirt. "You went
to the Air Force Academy?" he asked.
Walker blushed, unsure of how to answer. "How did you know what the
letters stood for?"
"Vecchio woke us up with his ranting about the subject." Dewey rolled
his eyes.
"I should have known." Walker shook her head.
"Why did you get kicked out?" asked Huey.
"I didn't."
"Then what's an Air Force officer like you doing in a Chicago precinct?"
Dewey smiled. "Or are you undercover, like Vecchio was?"
Walker shook her head and took a deep breath. "I've always been into
law enforcement, whether local or federal," she said. "I joined the
Police Academy after being put on reserve. I had served seven years
of active duty at that time, and I thought to myself, 'Why should I just
stop here and sit on my rear end while waiting to be called back into
service?' I like going after the bad guy, and I wasn't going to stop
just because I was no longer on active duty."
"So did your military experience aid you in becoming a Detective in less
time than everyone else?" asked Huey.
"A bit," Walker confessed. "I busted my ass the rest of the way, though."
"That's good," said Dewey. "Say, what rank were you when you were placed
on reserve?"
"Major. I still hold that rank."
"Wow," said the Duck Boys in unison.
"But don't let that intimidate you," said Walker. "I'm still just the
same as everyone else at the precinct."
Huey changed the subject. "That truck behind us is catching up awfully
fast," he said.
Walker checked her side mirror as Huey was talking, and knew within a
heartbeat that the truck behind them was going to ram them, that it had
no intention of stopping and that there wasn't enough time to get out
of the way. "Brace yourselves!"
With a screech the truck that was behind them slammed into the car.
The detectives screamed as the Camaro skidded out of control and hit
the GTO. Both cars were thrown out of control as they skidded down the
street.
-----
"Hold on, Rachael!" shouted Stanley as he pushed the gas petal to the
floor. The truck, however, kept with the two cars and drove them off
the road.
As the GTO skidded to a stop, Rachael hit her head on the dashboard.
Stanley let out a yell of frustration, then reached over to see if Rachael
was still conscious. She was, breathing heavily but steadily. She may
have been shaken, but she was all right.
After several minutes, a man came out of the truck. He walked up to
the window, broke it with his fist, opened the door, and pulled Rachael
out of the car. Stanley tried to free himself from the seatbelt, but
the impact of the crash disoriented him.
Rachael struggled frantically as the man pulled her down the street.
"Let me go!" she screamed.
"Not until I make sure you're not gonna tell anybody anything," said
the man, "and the only way I can do that is to kill you." He dragged
her into a nearby apartment building.
-----
Stanley struggled with the seatbelt before finally freeing himself.
He climbed out of the car, frantically looking left and right.
"Rachael!" Stanley shouted. He looked around a bit more and saw Huey,
Dewey, and Walker running toward him and the GTO.
"I swear, that truck came out of nowhere," said Walker as she rubbed
her neck. She was apparently sore from the whiplash she had suffered
in the crash.
"Seriously, we had no warning." Huey backed Walker up.
Stanley motioned for Huey to be quiet. "It's not your fault." He listened
for any sound from the buildings surrounding them.
For a minute he heard nothing at all.
The silence was suddenly pierced by a muffled scream coming from one
of the buildings. As quickly as it had happened, all was quiet again.
"Which building?" asked Walker.
Dewey pointed to his right. "That one."
Stanley yanked out his cell phone and called the precinct. The phone
was picked up on the first ring. "Violent Crimes, Detective Mitchell."
"This is Detective Kowalski!" Stanley shouted. "Mycroft's got Rachael!"
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "Oh, god,"
said Mitchell very softly. "This is not good at all."
"I'm gonna need--"
Mitchell cut him off. "Vecchio and I will be there as soon as we can.
What's your 20?"
"1130 Addison."
"Ten-four. Assistance on the way. Over and out."
Stanley hung up the phone, then motioned for Walker, Huey, and Dewey
to follow him. They ran down the street and into the building that Stanley
had indicated.
"Okay," said Stanley as the four huddled into a corner. "Mitchell and
Vecchio are on their way over here right now. Walker, I want you to
come with me up those stairs--you're my primary backup. Huey, I want
you to wait a floor below. Dewey, I want you to stay down here till
Vecchio and Mitchell get here. Got it?"
The three nodded.
"Good." Stanley, Walker, and Huey made their way up the stairs.
Stanley nodded for Huey to remain a floor below them when they approached
the top floor. The three heard shouting.
Stanley motioned to Walker. "Wait near the door."
Walker nodded. "Gotcha."
Stanley ascended the stairs and stepped onto the roof, where Joseph Mycroft
was waiting for him with Rachael in tow.
"Why hello, Stanley," Mycroft said as he turned around and looked at
him. "Lost something of yours?"
Stanley pulled his gun as Mycroft turned around. "Drop your weapon!"
he shouted as the sound of police sirens grew louder in the distance.
"You can't win, Mycroft," said Rachael. "The cops are on the way here
now, in case you're deaf. Your ass is grass in a few minutes."
"You see, my dear Rachael, that's where you're wrong." Mycroft shook
his head. "You see, I could shoot you in the next few minutes, and your
father couldn't do anything about it. Do you care to know why?"
Rachael shook her head and looked at Stanley before glaring at Mycroft
again. "Why, psycho?"
A dangerous expression darkened Mycroft's face, but he sheltered it the
best he could. "Because he doesn't have his glasses on," he taunted
in a sing song voice.
"Oh, yeah?" shouted a voice from inside the structure. "Well, I don't
need my glasses to shoot you!"
Mycroft's eyes went wide as Walker stepped out onto the roof, gun pointed
at his head. "Drop the weapon and hit the ground. Now. Unless you want
me to blow that twisted brain of yours out the back of your head."
"Not before I do one thing," said Mycroft, smirking.
Before Stanley or Walker could react, Mycroft turned and grabbed Rachael,
dragged her over to the edge of the roof and shoved her off.
Walker fired two shots at where Mycroft was standing. Mycroft jumped
and tripped falling from the roof. He screamed on the way down and hit
the ground with a resounding thud.
-----
"What the hell is going on?" Ray sprung from the passenger seat of the
Charger as he belted out the question.
"Mycroft has Rachael on the roof," Dewey explained as the approaching
police cars surrounded the building.
"Hang on." Ray grabbed his radio off his belt. "All units, take your
positions. I repeat, take your positions." He turned back to Dewey.
"How long have they been there?"
"About ten minutes."
Mitchell looked up at the edge of the building. "Why the hell--" She
was cut off by a high-pitched female scream, accompanied by two gunshots.
A split second after that, a male body fell screaming over the edge and
hit the ground. Ray, Dewey, and Mitchell barely had time to get out
of the way.
"Freeze." Mitchell pointed her gun at the figure lying on the ground
at her feet. It was Mycroft.
"Don't move, psycho." Ray and Dewey pulled their guns and covered the
fallen killer.
-----
"Help me!!"
Stanley snapped out of his shock when he heard Rachael screaming. How
can that be? He asked himself. She just got shoved to her death.
Or did she...
Stanley walked over to the edge, leaned over, and saw Rachel hanging
onto a small ledge. "Rachael!"
"Help me, Dad!" Rachael shouted. "Please, Dad! Help me!"
Walker and Huey rushed over to where Rachael and Stanley were. "Don't
worry!" shouted Huey. "We're coming!"
Stanley grabbed her left hand, Walker grabbed her right, and Huey had
her by the underarms. Together, the three pulled her up and out of danger.
"What's wrong?" asked Stanley. "Did you think I was gonna let you fall?"
Rachael shook her head as she clung to her father. Stanley clutched
his daughter tightly as Huey and Walker escorted them off the roof.
The four headed down the stairs, where Ray, Mitchell, and Dewey were
waiting.
The detectives took a look at what was going on. Police officers were
sighing audibly with relief as the paramedics lifted Mycroft into a waiting
ambulance. They were even more relieved when they saw that Rachael Kowalski
had been retrieved unharmed.
Ray looked at Stanley as he held Rachael closely to him. He's a good
man, he thought. I mean, just because he drove my Riv into the
lake doesn't mean he's a bad person. Yeah, I love that car, but I wouldn't
trade a friend's life for it. I know he's not the type of person who
would trade his flesh and blood for that GTO of his, either. I know
I'd have been devastated if he and Benny had died when the Riv blew up
or if they had drowned when trying to get out of the car after it landed
in the lake.
Huey was talking to Dewey in hushed tones, and Ray could see Mitchell
giving Walker some physical support due to the ordeal. My god, what
an ordeal, Ray thought.
-----
The next day, the precinct was buzzing with its usual activity. The
detectives had gotten the rest of the previous day off to recover from
the ordeal. That day, all of them were back, as was Rachael. Stanley
had brought her with him because she wanted to keep him and everyone
else company.
"So where did they put Mycroft?" Stanley asked Welsh.
"He's in the hospital for the time being," said Welsh. "In addition
to giving him time for his injuries to heal, they're going to run a series
of psychological tests on him, to see if he's mentally fit to stand trial."
"And if he isn't?"
"Then he'll be committed to a state hospital."
"Works for me."
Welsh voiced a rather deep concern. "Does Stella know about Rachael?"
"Yes," said Stanley. "She confessed to me that when she and I had that
separation, she had shacked up with an old boyfriend. Unlike me, the
guy had used some form of birth control, because Stella didn't get pregnant.
She was a bit alarmed when she heard about Rachael, but she's okay with
it." Stanley paused. "She gave me her condolences concerning Jenna."
Welsh sighed. "When's the funeral?"
Stanley took a deep breath. "Tomorrow."
"Her parents arranged everything that quickly?"
"Yes."
"Do they know who Rachael's real father was?"
"Yes. They were there when Rachael was born."
"How do they feel toward you?"
"They called me and at first they were angry, but we talked for a while,
and they trust me now. I don't know if they like me, but at least they
know I won't walk out on Rachael."
"Who's Rachael?" a voice asked.
Welsh and Stanley turned around. Standing in the doorway was Constable
Benton Fraser. He wasn't wearing his RCMP uniform, but a pair of jeans
and a forest green long sleeved Henley top. His Stetson was nowhere
to be seen.
"Rachael is my daughter, Fraser," said Stanley.
"Your daughter?" asked Fraser. "I wasn't aware that you had a daughter,
Stanley."
"Long story."
"Have any of you guys seen Fraser around?" Ray asked as he walked into
Welsh's office.
"Hi, Steve," said Fraser.
Ray's heart skipped a beat before he figured out that Fraser was playing
with him. "Hey, Benny," he said.
"I was just kidding, Ray."
"I know." Ray smiled. "I've got some good news and some bad news.
I'll start with the bad."
"Does this have anything to do with Stanley's daughter?" asked Fraser.
"Yes," said Ray. "The reason that Stanley knew about his daughter was
that he was hired to apprehend her mother's killer."
Fraser breathed heavily. "I can understand how she feels right now."
"The funeral is tomorrow," said Stanley.
"Then I'll be there." Fraser paused. "What's the good news?"
"I did a little detective work on your Juliet, Romeo," said Ray.
"Ray, you know that Walker and I are currently in a state of limbo concerning
how we feel toward each other." Fraser paused. "What did you find out?"
"She's a military assassin masquerading as a detective."
"Where did you come up with that, Vecchio?" Stanley asked.
"She came in the other day wearing a tee shirt with the initials 'USAFA'
on the left breast."
"USAFA," said Fraser. "The United States Air Force Academy?"
"Right-o, Benny."
"Vecchio," said Welsh, "I was aware of the fact that Walker had graduated
from the Air Force Academy when I contacted her in the Victoria case.
She has also gone through the Police Academy and advanced without relying
on unfair or unjust methods. Just because she graduated from a top military
college doesn't mean she's out for blood or something."
"Okay, fine, ruin my witch hunt," joked Ray. "I was just suspicious
as to why she kept it to herself."
"Maybe she doesn't want others to think that she thinks she's better
than everyone," said Stanley. "Things like that can have an adverse
effect on one's adjustment. I mean, Walker is still considerably new
here."
"True." Ray suddenly groaned. "Have you ever eaten a caterpillar, Benny?"
"What kind?" Fraser asked. "There are many different kinds."
Ray groaned again. "Maybe you and Walker should hook up after all."
-----
The funeral of Jenna Wilkes began as a somber occasion. It wasn't exactly
huge, but the turnout of friends, coworkers, and family who had come
to pay their final respects was admirable. The entire working body of
the 27th precinct had come to show their support for Rachael and her
father.
When Rachael had started singing "Amazing Grace," she was surprised to
hear Mitchell and Walker singing with her. Soon, her grandmother had
joined in, and her grandfather, Ray, Fraser, and Stanley found themselves
singing along not long after that.
As Rachael delivered the eulogy toward the end of the funeral, the mourners
found themselves smiling a bit as she shared her mother's love with them.
Even through the final prayer at the gravesite, they maintained a smile
on their faces.
Rachael knew her mom's grace had shone through the clouds when she saw
her grandparents embracing Stanley. The sight of Linda and Jerry Wilkes
sharing their daughter's and their own love with Stanley Kowalski--and
vice versa--warmed everyone's heart.
At the service afterwards, the atmosphere had turned from borderline
somber to joyous as the congregation pushed aside the tragic circumstances
of Jenna's death, choosing instead to celebrate her life. It was an
impressive celebration indeed. By the end of the day, everybody was
smiling as Jenna was now, watching over them all.
-----
The next day at the precinct saw Rachael once again accompanying her
dad to work. She had slept off the mild effects of the champagne she
had drunk in toasting her mother's life. She was mildly fatigued, but
she felt okay. Her mom was gone and it still hurt, but she was watching
over her, and she had also entrusted her into the care of a good and
caring father. Not just a friend of her mom's, but her real flesh-and-blood
father.
She joined everybody in the conversation in the break room, the topic
of which was Walker's experiences in the Air Force Academy.
"So your roommate and your neighbors were the ones who found the body
behind the residence hall?" Stanley asked.
"Yes," said Walker.
"Is that why you turned green when Ray mentioned it the other day?" Mitchell
asked.
"Yes." Walker shuddered a bit. "It was my junior year at the Academy,
and I was residing in Sijan Hall. My roommate Marina kept complaining
about the smell from outside. At first I thought it was just the farmers
using their fertilizer, but after a few days I noticed the smell, and
I could tell beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was not. My neighbors--Summer
and Autumn, I loved their names--got sick whenever they opened their
windows, and the doctors there couldn't figure out what the hell it was.
"So one night Summer, Autumn, Marina, and I sneak out of old Sijan, and
we search the grounds around the place. We're walking around the building,
which is pretty big, trying to find out where the hell the smell is coming
from. Suddenly Marina steps in something squishy and the smell gets
so strong that we all throw up. I look down, and much to my horror and
mortification is a real live dead body." Walker shuddered a bit at the
memory, then continued. "The flesh was turning the color of human waste
and the smell was even worse. Summer began screaming so loud that the
security guys on duty rushed to where we were. However, instead of asking
if we were okay, they bitched us out for being outside our dormitory
after lights out. We explained what we were doing out there, and that's
when they began comforting us." She rolled her eyes and continued.
"They called the state police, who came with their entire forensics staff.
It was so bad that some of the forensics guys were puking up their dinner."
"Damn," said Rachael. "What does it smell like?"
"Trust me, Rachael, you don't want to know!" Walker shouted.
"Where does all that stuff about eating insects come in?" asked Ray.
"You mentioned something about how caterpillars tasted."
"Oh, yeah," said Walker. "That's part of Survival, Evasion, Resistance
and Escape training, also known as SERE," said Walker. "You're camping
out for three weeks in the middle of nowhere the summer before your sophomore
year, and you have to rely on nature to survive. Yes, it includes insect
consumption."
"What was your favorite insect?" Huey asked.
"The monarch butterfly," said Walker. "Two guys on my team--their names
were Sullivan and Gillespie--considered it a delicacy." Walker smiled.
"When SERE was over, they put a book together called The Military
Cadet's Arthropod Gourmet. It was sick."
"Why?" asked Dewey.
"You wouldn't believe half the stuff they put in there. Mealybug lasagna,
earthworm fettuccine, caterpillar tartare, wasp noodle soup, centipede
en brochette--I was cracking up when I was done reading it." She paused
to catch her breath. "They even had a chapter devoted to the art of
wine selection. Let's see--according to those guys, one should never
eat a bumblebee cocktail without a vintage Merlot, and...come on, what
was the other one?" Walker thought for a minute. "Oh, yeah! My favorite!
Deerflies for your Dearest! 'Boil a dozen deerflies in water
for twenty minutes to get rid of contaminants and disease, then serve
in a consomm bowl with a pinch of salt. Best enjoyed with a glass of
Chardonnay.'"
"Gee, I'm hungry," said Dewey. "What say we go out for some deerfly
consomm, Jack?"
"I'll stick to my donuts, thanks," said Huey.
"It was intended to be a gag," said Walker. "After we got back from
SERE, Gillespie called his parents and asked for a ton of junk food,
and then he stashed it all over his side of the room when it arrived.
Sullivan was hoarding cookies, drinks, and donuts outside Mitchell Hall
for a month after we got back." She laughed a bit at this memory. "I
remember gorging myself on salmon cakes, minestrone soup, French silk
pie, and cheesecake when we returned to civilization, but those two guys
took the trophy in the gastronomics division. I also remember Knickerson
trying to steal a few donuts from Sullivan's stash. He nearly lost both
his hands in the process."
She was cut off by the ringing of Ray's cell phone. Ray picked it up.
"What?...Oh, hey, Benny...Now?...What? Can't you tell me?...Oh, okay."
He hung up.
"What was that about?" asked Mitchell.
"That was Benny," said Ray. "He wants me to come outside. He said he
had a surprise for me."
"I wonder what it could be." Rachael laughed a bit as everyone left
the break room and headed outside the precinct.
The six of them walked outside to the parking lot, but Fraser met them
halfway there. "Hello, Ray," he said.
"What's this big surprise?" Ray asked.
"Follow me."
The detectives followed Fraser into the parking lot. They were soon
astonished by what lay before their eyes.
"Well, Ray, what do you think?" said Fraser. The car he was leaning
against was a 1971 green Buick Riviera. It looked exactly like the one
that Fraser and Stanley had driven into Lake Michigan.
Ray stood there staring. "But how...where...it..." he stammered.
"It's yours." Fraser tossed him the keys.
Ray barely managed to catch the keys as they flew through the air. He
couldn't think of anything to say. That was, until Rachael broke up
laughing at this point. "You knew about this, didn't you?"
Rachael nodded. "Fraser told me two days ago," she said. That's why
he went away for a week--he has a friend in Canada who deals in vintage
cars." She paused. "I don't get why he got you the car, though."
"Well," said Ray, "your father and Fraser burned my last one and drove
it into Lake Michigan."
"It was actually the arsonist who rigged it to catch fire," said Fraser.
"So, I guess Fraser felt he owed you another one," said Rachael.
"Yeah," said Ray. "I guess he did." He paused for a minute before turning
to Stanley. "If anything causes this machine to blow up, I better be
the one blowing it up, okay?"
"Okay," said Stanley. "And don't even think of rigging my GTO to explode.
Deal?"
"Deal."
THE END
Copyright 1999 by Black Magic Woman and Amaroq Wolf
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