Constable Benton Fraser sat at his embassy office desk, drumming his fingers repeatedly on it's polished mahogany veneer surface. Monotonously his fingers beat out a rhythm, over and over and over. It had been a particularly stressful day at the embassy. In preparation for the Canadian Prime Minister's visit, Inspector Thatcher had been even more demanding than usual. Fraser was exhausted.
Fraser muttered softly, under his breath, "I can beat this, I can, I am a Mountie. I can do this." Fraser's fingers slipped slowly down to the shiny brass drawer pull on the front of his desk. His fingers played lovingly over it. "I can do this, I can, I can! I am a Mountie!" He sighed wearily. " I don't need them. I don't." He pulled the drawer open sharply, thrust his hand in and pulled out a small white plastic container with a brightly colored flip top. He set the container carefully upright on the desktop and slid the drawer shut. He stared quietly at the white container for some time. Then he slowly took it in his fingers, lifted it, and shook it a little. He could hear the small tablets rattle around inside. Only a few left. Thank God. He was almost out. He could do this, he could. The fact that his supply was severely diminished only added to his certainty. He would do this. He would throw them out. He grabbed the container and moved his hand towards his trash basket. No, that wouldn't work. He would first flush the contents down the toilet and then he would throw the container out. His probing fingers rubbed slowly over the colored dispenser top. His thumbnail found the small crack between the sides of the container and the top. Just a gentle flick and it would be open. He sighed again and slowly, carefully, moved his thumb upwards...
Just then, his office door burst inward and slammed loudly against the opposite wall. Fraser jumped. The vibrations from the crash knocked several books off of a nearby bookshelf. Constable Turnbull burst through the door, his arms loaded with boxes. His uniform was dusty, his hair disheveled and he was panting.
"Fraser, help!" he yelped. Some of the boxes teetered precariously then slid sideways, striking the small bookshelf and rocking it.
Fraser hurriedly grabbed the white plastic container and thrust it into his uniform pocket. He jumped up swiftly to grab the remaining cascading boxes before they did any more damage. He set them slowly on the floor.
"Turnbull! What is all this!"
"Inspector Thatcher'" Turnbull babbled " she's on a rampage. She wants the office all tidied up for the Prime Minister's visit. And she wants it cleaned now! I had no room for these, they've been stacked on my shelves. I didn't know where to put them...there's no room anywhere else. She said NOW!. May I put them in here? I don't what else to do...!"
Fraser held up his hand to Turnbull's face. His babbling trickled off to a mutter. Turnbull's body trembled, his eyes goggled, the whites huge around his dark blue iris. His hair stood straight up from the top of his head. He looked for all the world like a terrified horse. Fraser wouldn't have been surprised to see Turnbull rear back on his legs and whinny.
"Of course you can. Here stack them over here on the floor behind my desk. There. Now. Again. WHAT IS ALL THIS?!"
"I told you, it's Inspector Thatcher! She wants things in readiness for the PM's visit."
"But the Prime Minister isn't coming till next week!"
"But she said now! And you know what she means when she says now! She means N NOW!" Turnbull started sobbing and babbling incoherently again.
Turnbull was terrified of Inspector Meg Thatcher. Every inch of his six foot four inch frame was mortally afraid of the petite, dark haired Inspector. He goggled again at Fraser.
Just then, he heard the Inspectorís voice from the outer office. "Turnbull! Fraser! Where is everyone! Turnbull!"
Turnbull quailed. His eyes pleaded with Fraser's.
"I can't, I can't, can you?" He stuttered wildly, his nostrils flaring as he shook uncontrollably.
"Certainly." He patted Turnbull on the shoulder. "Calm down, Turnbull! I'll talk to her. You stay here."
"Don't tell her where I am, please!"
"Turnbull!"
Fraser straightened his tunic, threw back his shoulders and stepped through the open office door. Once through, he quickly pulled it shut behind him.
"Yes, Inspector Thatcher? Did you need something?"
Inspector Margaret Thatcher stood in the middle of the front office arms across her chest, tapping her foot impatiently. Her dark brown eyes were snapping angrily. Her nickname at the embassy of The Dragon Lady never fit her better than it did now. She was breathing fire.
"Fraser! Where is Constable Turnbull?"
Diefenbaker, Fraser's Arctic wolf, who had been dozing peacefully on the floor next to the reception desk, awoke with a start. He raised his head to stare at the Inspector for a moment, then laid his head back down on the floor. He rolled his eyes warily back and forth, watching the inspector's every move.
"Turnbull, sir?" Fraser answered.
"Yes, Turnbull. Where is he?"
Fraser hesitated. His hand stole to his pocket. "Er, Constable Turnbull is currently engaged in disposing of some extraneous material, Inspector." Fraser heard Turnbull moving around stealthily, behind the closed door. The door bumped slightly as the young Constable leaned against the door from the inside.
"Do you mean that he is throwing out the trash, Constable?" Thatcher asked impatiently.
"Er, yes, sir, that is what I meant."
"Then why didnít you say so, Fraser?" Thatcher crossed her arms firmly across her chest. Her foot tapped even faster.
"I thought that I did so, Inspector."
Fraser's hand slid surreptitiously into his trouser pocket. His fingers found the white plastic vial, there at the bottom. He grasped it and then held onto it tightly.
"How long does it take the Constable to throw out the trash, Fraser?"
"I'm sure I don't know, sir." A slight rattle came from the door behind him.
Turnbull shook like a nervous Chihuahua on the other side. Fraser raised his voice to cover the noise. "I'm sure he will be back shortly, Inspector." Fraser's thumb began rubbing the vial in his pocket like a worry stone. His voice shook slightly and little beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. His thumbnail went to the vial lid.
"Shouldn't he be back by now?" She looked at Fraser suspiciously. "Constable, are you hiding something?"
Fraser's face had the wide-eyed look of perfect innocence. "Er, hiding something, Inspector? I shouldn't think so, no."
"Then what is taking Turnbull so long?"
Drops of perspiration started rolling down the nape of Fraserís neck. His thumb started to pry the lid off the vial in his pocket. He could handle this, he could.
"Fraser! Where is Turnbull?"
Constable Benton Fraser gulped. His fingers played over the small white vial even faster. He began to feel a little light-headed. He was a Mountie. He was. He could handle this. He was in complete control of everything.
"Answer me, Fraser! WHERE IS TURNBULL?" Fraser's office door rattled like a 7.5 earthquake had struck. Dief slunk over to the reception desk and crawled quickly underneath it, all the way to the back. He laid his head down on the rug and put his paws over his face.
"He had rather a lot of, er, extraneous material to dispose of, Inspector."
"I need him back now! He's supposed to be preparing the office for the PM's visit next week! I had instructed him to have the office finished by this evening. It looks as if he hasn't even begun!" She swept her eyes over the litter on the reception desk and floor.
The door behind Fraser rattled even louder. The lid from the vial in Fraser's pocket popped open and the tablets tumbled into his hand. He nearly jumped. His eyes opened very wide. "I'll let him know as soon as he returns, Inspector," he said, his voice shaking harder now.
Meg stared closely at Fraser's face. She shook her head in exasperation, then turned sharply on her heel and walked away. "See that you do," she threw back over her retreating shoulder. "As soon as he gets back from wherever he is!" She shut her office door firmly behind her.
That was it. If he was going to kick this habit, he had to do something now. He turned to re-enter his office. The violent rattling of the door reminded him of Turnbull's hideout. Instead, he headed down the hall to the men's room. He'd flush them down the toilet and hide the vial in the trash. Pushing open the door he was greeted by two embassy employees, washing their hands and chatting together. He backed out quickly, apologizing, as the men looked up at him curiously.
"Sorry, wrong, uh, sorry."
Fraser started to sweat even more. His hand shook. He had to do this now. He had to kick this habit. He just needed a place to get rid of the, uh, evidence. Back-pedaling quickly out the men's room door, he bumped into the large potted ficus tree standing on the opposite side of the hall, nearly knocking it over. He grasped at it quickly, before it toppled. The pot! Perfect! He'd just slip the tablets in the pot. He brought his hand out of his pocket, holding the vial and it's contents. He swiftly reached for the plant.
Just then, Inspector Thatcher emerged from her office again. She glanced up at Fraser who swiftly plunged his hand back into his pocket again. He looked around him wildly, then careened down the hall towards the rear corridor. He glanced back over his shoulder. Thatcher was staring at him, open-mouthed. He plunged down the hall to the right. Halfway down the hall, he spotted it. The supply cabinet. He rushed to it, wrenched the door open and nearly fell into it's cool interior. In the dimness of the closet he soon became entangled in the hanging jackets and sweaters. The staff also used this room as a coat closet.
His feet became entangled in the cord of the vacuum cleaner left there. "I can handle this, I am a Mountie, I AM!"
He tripped on the cords and fell hard, landing in a corner of the closet, clothing falling down on top of him. His hand still grasped the vial and tablets.
"Oh no...!" He couldn't do this! He just needed one, and then he'd quit forever, he lied to himself frantically. Just one more and then I'll quit! He brought the vial up to his lips, dropping the loose tablets into his mouth. He crunched them once contently, sighed and stopped shaking. The closet door opened suddenly. There in the doorway was Inspector Thatcher, with Dief right behind her.
"Fraser! Something IS going on! What are you doing in the closet! What do you have in your mouth? And WHERE'S TURNBULL!"
Fraser sputtered, trying to extricate himself from the clothing and cords, but the crumbled tablets in his mouth choked him. They spit out of his mouth as he stuttered.
"Inspector! I can explain...!" he mumbled messily.
Meg's eyes spotted the vial in his hand. "Constable? Isn't that...?" She took a closer look and gasped. "BEN! Isn't that...!î
Just then, Dief growled and bounded through the door past the Inspector. He grabbed the vial out of Benís hand and took off with it down the hall. "Dief!" cried Fraser, tablet pieces flying everywhere. He loosened himself from the mess in the closet and bounded out after him. Meg stood flabbergasted in the hall, staring after them. The PM was coming, the office was a mess and now this!
She cried loudly and irritatedly after the fleeing Constable's back. "Well, that's not very helpful!"
Fraser followed Dief out to the front of the embassy. He burst through its front door just soon enough to see Dief disappear around a corner. He took off in hot pursuit.
He tracked Dief for what seemed like hours, stopping every now and then to catch his breath and let his heart stop pounding. Several times he thought he had lost Diefenbaker entirely, but then would pick up his trail again. Eventually he came to a neighborhood he recognized. Now, he knew where Dief was headed. Ray's house!
A short while later, Fraser found himself running down a street lined with neat, clapboard houses. He finally stopped, panting heavily, in front of a large well-kept brown clapboard house. Night had come on swiftly, and lights glowed warmly through the lace curtained windows. Fraser saw Ray's dark green Riviera, parked in the driveway. Oh dear, Ray was home. He heard the bustle of people from within the house. The family must be at dinner. Maybe they wouldn't hear him. Fraser heard a soft scratching coming from the rear of the home. Dief must have gotten into the backyard. If he thinks he can hide back from me back there...! he thought. Ben quietly opened the wooden gate to the rear yard and slipped through it. He edged his way along the side of the house, ducking out of sight as he passed through the light from the dining room window. He could hear the family, within, at dinner. He crept out in to the backyard, searching for Dief in the darkness. He heard the scratching again, coming from the rear of the well-kept yard.
In the dark, he could see Dief, digging frantically at the dirt in Mrs. Vecchio's prized vegetable garden with his forepaws.
"Diefenbaker! What are you doing?! You'll ruin Mrs. Vecchio's garden!" he said as he came closer. Dief was digging a hole next to a large tomato plant. Fraser saw the flash of some yellow in the hole Dief was digging.
"What!" Fraser grabbed a shovel that had been left leaning up against the side of the garage. He began to dig. Dief growled at him, but he continued anyway. Dief whined, then gave in and backed off. Fraser continued to dig. His shovel suddenly hit something odd, not dirt, not tomatoes, but boxes?! He uncovered more of them. Dief whined again and crouched down in the dirt, watching Fraser's face.
Fraser moved the shovel to one side and picked up one of the boxes. It was small, yellow and empty. He dug a little deeper, more cartons! There were dozens of them, mixed in with empty white plastic containers, each with a gaily-colored flip top, buried in Mrs. Vecchio's vegetable garden.
"Aha! So this is your hiding place Diefenbaker! I should have known! Trying to hide the evidence! You're an Arctic wolf for God's sakes. You should be ashamed ofyourself!"
Dief growled and nosed one of the plastic vials. He flipped it over and over till it came to rest at Ben's feet. Then he barked at Ben, twice.
Ben flushed guiltily. "Yes, well...."
Just then the wooden screen door of the house burst open with a loud clatter.
"FREEZE!"
Startled, Fraser jumped. He slipped on the loose dirt and tumbled backward into the small hole, where he landed splayed out on his back over the pile of boxes.
Ray Vecchio stood in the open door, feet apart, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, a large carving knife raised high in his hand. A large white napkin flapped from his shirt collar where it had been tucked in. The lights from within the service porch silhouetted him against the room behind him. Fraser heard Mrs. Vecchio's voice as her head popped out from around Ray's shoulder.
"Who is it Raimondo? Is it a burglar?"
Fraser heard the chatter of excited voices as more faces appeared behind Ray. Maria, Tony, the kids, and oh no...Francesca. Fraser squirmed, then struggled to get up.
"I SAID, FREEZE!"
Fraser froze.
"Ma, turn on the porch light," Ray bellowed over his shoulder.
"I'm right here, Raimondo, don't yell, it's not polite!" remonstrated Mrs. Vecchio as she flipped on the light switch.
The light flooded the backyard suddenly, in a large amber pool. It stabbed at Fraser, spread-eagled on the ground, like a pin sticking a butterfly to a display board.
"Polite! Ma! We got a burglar here! Don't worry about polite, call the cops, we got a...FRASER?!" Ray nearly yelped.
Fraser groaned.
"Fraser, what the hell! What are you doing in my yard?"
Ben heard Frannie coming from behind Ray. "Fraser? Fraser's here?! Look out Maria!" And Frannie pushed violently, shoving Maria out of her way and nearly pushing Ray off the step of the small porch. She stuck her head out from underneath Ray's upraised arm. "Ben! Well, hello!" she said in a voice dripping with syrup.
"How nice of you to drop by!" Frannie smiled and batted her false eyelashes at the discomfited Constable. Ray dropped his arm, accidentally pinning Frannie's head against his ribs.
"Frannie, get the hell back in the house! Fraser, what are you doing here? Tony, put the phone down," he barked out orders. Maria's husband Tony had been lifting the phone in the service porch to call the cops. He dropped the receiver with a clatter, and went back to munching on the chicken leg held in his hand. Frannie struggled to free her head from Ray's arm, pushing furiously with one hand against his back and one on the doorframe.
Ray lifted his arm to let her loose and Frannie flew backwards, smacking into Maria who was peering over Frannie's shoulder. The two bumped heads.
"Ow, Maria, watch what you're doing!" Frannie yelled.
"Me! Watch what YOU'RE doing!" Maria shoved Frannie slightly.
They started bickering loudly together, hands flying about wildly. Every now and then Frannie stopped to turn and smile at Fraser and bat her eyelashes, one of which now hung loose and dangled precariously from the corner of an eye. She then turned back to give Maria another piece of her mind.
"Knock it off you two. Everybody, back in the house." Ray turned his attention to Fraser again. "Benny, what the hell are you doin' in my mom's vegetable garden at this time of night? Have you got Dief diggin' up my mom's tomatoes? Ma'll kill him! What the hell are you up to?"
Fraser, bug eyed and mute, stared at Ray. He gulped. He could do this, he could, he was a Mountie.
Dief whined behind him, and pushed Fraser's head with his muzzle, as if to say, go ahead, explain this!
Ray set the knife down carefully on the top porch step, walked down the rest of the steps and out into the garden. "You're not trainin' Dief to track in Ma's escarole patch are you? She'll have your head!" He held out his hand to Ben, who hesitantly grabbed it.
Ray pulled Ben upright. "So, whatís going on? Huh?"
Ray stared at Ben. Ben stared at Ray. Dief whined in the background, then growled at Ben, pawing at the ground. Fraser started to babble.
"Uh, Ray, we were just..." Dief growled. "Uh...I was just...uh."
Dief pawed furiously at the ground this time. Ray peered around Fraser to see what Dief was up to.
"What is all that stuff?"
"Uh, Ray, I can explain. Ray!"
None too gently, Ray pushed Ben to one side. The light from the porch shone out onto the boxes and vials scattered around the bottom of the hole.
"Uh, Ray..."
Ray picked up a yellow box. "Milk Duds?!" he said incredulously. "What the hell?!"
Then he picked up one of the small white plastic vials. He stared at the colored plastic top, flipped it open and sniffed the interior. There were still a few tablets inside. Ray turned his head slowly to stare at Ben. He saw the tablet crumbs still stuck to Fraser's tunic.
"Benny, BENNY! You promised you'd kicked it! Pez! Benny, you're eatin' Pez again!" he said in a shocked tone. "And you've been burying your empties in my Mom's vegetable garden! No wonder her zucchini wasn't doing so good! Jeez, Benny." Ray shook his head sadly at him and sighed.
"Well, now Ray, that's not exactly true," Ben protested. Dief barked.
"And Milk Duds! See what kind of example you're givin' to Dief! And you a Mountie! And in my own yard!" Ray shook his head sadly.
Ben sighed audibly and hung his head.
Slowly a small hand reached out of the darkness and tugged gently on Ray's sleeve. "Raimondo," said Mrs. Vecchio softly. "Is Constable Fraser staying for dinner?"
Later, in his apartment, Ben, stretched out on his bed, watching television on Mr. Mustafi's borrowed set. Dief was curled up at his feet. The television screen glowed in the darkness of his room. Ben sighed. Dinner with the Vecchio's had been delicious but uncomfortable, with Frannie smiling sweetly and ogling him through her drooping eyelashes whenever she thought he wasn't looking.
Mrs. Vecchio had been very gracious about the mess he and Dief had made of her vegetable garden. He had promised to repair the damage this coming weekend. But it had been a tremendous relief telling Ray of his problem. Facing your humiliation is much easier with a friend, he thought.
His thoughts whirled as he watched the silent flickering lights. Being a Mountie could be terribly stressful sometimes. He had just needed a little boost to help him through the rough times. All those weeks out on the tundra, with no one to rely upon except himself and Dief, Pez had come to be his best friend. He smiled down at Dief. Well, second best friend, maybe. The little sweet tablets had been as addicting as any drug, and the plastic vials with the colorful lids: clowns, lions, tigers, even a Santa Claus, never failed to amuse him. He liked to flip the tops up and down at each other and pretend they were carrying on a conversation together. He sometimes used one as a ventriloquist's dummy.
His cabin in the territories could some times be a cold and lonely place. Having someone to talk to could keep you sane, even if it was only a plastic candy dispenser. Ray had promised to help with that. He knew of a good rehab clinic that would help and keep Fraser's confidentiality. He would call them tomorrow. Ben smiled. Ray was a good friend. He wouldn't need the Pez again.
Ben watched the glowing, silent television screen, mesmerized. His hand stole surreptitiously to a wooden case on his footlocker next to his pillow. He flipped open the case and pulled out a small white plastic vial with a brightly colored clown head. Dief lifted his head quickly, stared at Ben and gave a low growl.
"All right, all right." Ben patted him on the head.
Dief was just trying to save Ben from himself. Ben reached into the case a second time and drew out a box of Milk Duds. He tossed it to Dief who whined his thanks and promptly started chewing on the box, whole. He'd call the rehab clinic tomorrow, he thought, as he popped a Pez into his mouth.
The End
Disclaimer-The characters used in this story do not belong to me.
They are the property of Paul Haggis and Alliance Communication. No harm
is intended and the characters are being returned none the worse for
wear. Pez is a registered trademark of Pez Candy Orange, CT.