Disclaimer: AA ownes 'em, though they aren't going to do anything with 'em anymore.

Author's Notes:

Story Notes: Set about 2.5 years after the series and slightly AU, with an OC in a major role. Ray K and Fraser are in Canada, Ray V is back on the beat after a disasterous marrige to Stella.

This story is a sequel to: Taking out the Trash 1/?

Taking out the Trash 2
"Vecchio!" Welsh bellowed leaning in his doorway and rattling everybody's brains with the volume. Ray Vecchio groaned; the shit was rolling downhill and there he was at the bottom. Shoving his chair back, he walked into the Lieu's office and took his place.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"The Spanetti case?"

"I just got it Lieu!"

"Yes, you got it and you better get it." Welsh looked like he'd swallowed a bad pickle. "The mayor's mother-in-law lives next door to the Spanetti's and the mayor wants the case closed so mommy dearest can sleep at night. And we, as fine protectors of the citizenry of Chicago, are here to make that possible."

Vecchio sighed. He'd seen the evidence, he knew the case--he knew it from both sides; as a detective and from his time as Armando. Mob hit--inside job--and he was more likely to solve the Gordian knot than this case. "Got it," he said glumly.

"Good, go get it," Welsh said. "And keep me posted."

"Sure, boss."

His partner was sitting at their desk with an autopsy report, looking kinda sick. O'Brian was as bad as Kowalski with the blood and guts and Vecchio got a kick out of sending him down to deal with Mort. There were some days when petty satisfaction was all you had. "So, what's the deal?" He slung himself into his chair and straightened his tie.

"Well, he's dead, Jim." O'Brian tossed the folder over. Vecchio rolled his eyes. "And he got his last wish, I guess. Mort says he got laid right before the curtain went down for Papa Spanetti."

"I don't want to know how Mort figures that stuff out," Vecchio muttered, flipping the paperwork over to get to the summary. Dead is dead and Spanetti was dead. "So who's on the list of usual suspects?"

O'Brian grunted and fiddled with that damn pink triangle on his lapel. "What you mean besides half the wise guy's in Chicago?"

"Funny, yeah, real funny." Vecchio knew what that pin was and did he have a sign on his back nowadays? Give me the queer partner? He hadn't even known Fraser was queer-- gay--until Kowalski showed up to screw everything up. He still didn't like to think of it, though he figured if anyone could make being queer--gay--a good thing, Benny could. Why he decided to shack up with Kowalski, that was what Vecchio couldn't figure. The guy was certifiable, crazy and Benny was crazy but it was a whole different kind of crazy. O'Brian didn't even look queer, he looked like a detective; bit of a paunch, starting to lose that sandy hair--Vecchio rubbed his hand over his mostly smooth scalp--the same old, tired eyes that stared back at Vecchio every morning in the mirror. Five years ago, Vecchio would have given O'Brian all kinds of problems. Five years ago, he hadn't met Benny and he hadn't been Armando and Canada must have rubbed off on him, because O'Brian was a good detective and that was all he was going to think about. Vecchio just ignored the whole queer part and hoped that O'Brian wouldn't bring his boyfriend to the Christmas party.

"So, all of Spanetti's servants are deaf, dumb and blind right?" Vecchio asked after looking over the initial statements and, no surprise, everyone had been 'soundly sleeping'. "Spanetti must put sedatives in their dinners, the way everyone was out cold through the whole twenty-five bullets being shot off. Any sign of the hooker?"

"Hooker?" O'Brian looked up from his chunk of the file, coffee cup at his elbow and circles already dark under his eyes. The afternoon had gone to bed and they were in their own little pool of light with their own little case while the janitor made a racket with the garbage pails.

"Yeah, the one who did Spanetti a favor before he got killed."

"Um--" O'Brian shifted uncomfortably then took a breath and fumbled through the file. "Vecchio, it probably was a guy."

"The Familia doesn't like queers," Vecchio said flatly, then winced but O'Brian only glanced at him like someone who'd heard that kind of thing way too often. Vecchio scrubbed at his face again and drank some cold coffee. If he was Benny, he'd apologize-- well, he'd have never said that in the first place--Vecchio figured the best he could do was not make a jerk of himself next time. Apology wasnt in his nature.

"I know," O'Brian pushed over a page of the evidence log. "But not so many hookers wear men's briefs--size 28."

"Men's briefs," Vecchio muttered. "Men's socks. Skinny guy."

They had their little map and their list of evidence and crushed bushes and bullets in the ground outside the bathroom window. "You know, O'Brian, it looks like we got ourselves a witness."

"Maybe, if he's still alive." O'Brian tapped a smoke stained finger over the log of bullets dug up from the ground outside the house. "Want me to check for John Doe's?"

"Yeah." Vecchio grabbed his coat. "Tomorrow, though. And I'll check with Mort to see if we can get a blood type or something from this hustler."

Vecchio paused, buttoning up his coat, scratched his chin and thought of Benny and partners and watched O'Brian zip his jacket. "O'Brian, want to swing by and pick up something from Halleran's? I don't know about you but Doritos for dinner isn't going to last me the night."

O'Brian looked up, surprise making it's way past his detective face. "Sure--sure, that'd be great, Vecchio."

"Ah," Vecchio shrugged. "It's Ray."

"Right. And it's Sean."

I was rattling down the highway at 80 miles an hour with everything I owned in a duffel at my feet. Hitch hiking and my ass had gotten me from Arizona to Chicago and I was hoping it would get me to Yellowknife too. But smuggling me across the border was something I figured wasn't going to be for free, so, on the last pitstop I'd bought a bottle of pop.

So, I was leaning on the door and watching the trucker from the corner of my eye--I'd already scoped him out at the truck stop last night and figured him for a good bet. He had an international plate on his truck and didn't look psycho and told me to call him Dale. I ran the edge of the bottle along my lip, then licked it, letting my tongue slide into the opening. It was all about advertising.

"That mouth must get you in trouble," Dale sounded like he was strangling behind the wheel there and I smiled, rubbing the bottle over my lower lip.

"In and out, y'know," I said lazily. "In and out."

"I bet," he breathed. I could see him looking around for a place to pull over.

"How far north are you going?" I asked, giving the bottle a nice, long lick. "Over the border?"

Dale shot me a more wary glance, thinking with his brains instead of his head. "Maybe, why?"

"I wanna go to Canada."

"You got a passport?"

"No."

"Birth certificate? Driver's license?"

"No."
He drummed his fingers on his wheel while the miles went away behind us. "Breaking the law, that."

I just shrugged. It wasn't like I could make him take me across and if he dumped me, I'd find someone--just like I found him. "I'm not trying to get into heaven, just Canada. Like there are a ton of people wanting to go there anyway." I looked at the empty sky, talking to my own reflection 'cause, even though I was used to it, I didn't like to look at a guy's face when I told them I'd do trade with them. "I'll give you a blow-job now."

"I want to fuck you." Dale said roughly.

"Over the border," I told him. "You can fuck me in Canada."

With a little help from Classic Coke, we had a deal.

Dale packed me under his little sleeping bench in back--good thing I was skinny--and smuggled me over the border. I slept through most of it; feeling cold, then hot, then cold and hugging my hurt arm to my chest. I woke up, struggling out of the blanket, when the truck rattled to a stop. Dale switched on the roof light and grinned at my dazed face. "Welcome to Canada."

"Okay," I muttered, kicking the blanket off. "Okay."

I slid out of the truck and shuddered. It was spring and it was damn cold but I was sweating anyway. "W-where are we?"

"Edmonton," Dale got something from his glove compartment and zipped his coat. "End of my line, kid."

All there was around us was a big stretch of asphalt with snow blowing across it and an industrial size truckstop across the deserted highway. It was quiet and that was different enough to be weird after Chicago and the noise of all the trucks I'd been riding in for the past week. Looked like pretty much every other truck stop I'd seen, except for the brand of gas. "This is Canada?"

Dale laughed. "Yup, wait till you see the money. C'mon kid, I'll buy you a meal."

"Great," I gave him a smile, almost a real one, and trailed after him. All I had was American money.

Dale bought me a burger (I stuffed the fries in my jacket for later) and then took me into the men's room so I could pay up for my ride. Shivering, I unzipped and turned around to lean one arm against the tiles and push my jeans down to my thighs. My teeth chattered at the cold and the sound of Dale working himself up for my ass and putting on a condom. His hands were hot when he pulled me back and--nice guy--pushed some lube into me instead of just ramming home. I flinched when he pushed in and hugged my bad arm to my chest, trying to keep it from banging into the wall while he banged into me.

I'd spent good money on bandages and even antiseptic cream but my arm was still messed up, half-healed and half-disgusting. I knew I was sick and was tired as hell and could hardly keep my feet until Dale was done with me; I was a pretty lame fuck but it was too late for him to back out now, I was over the border. I guess he figured it was better than jerking off in his truck.

When he finished and I was resting against the wall, panting, he squeezed my shoulder. "Take care, kid."

"Sure," I breathed as the door swung shut behind him, feeling sick and tired and like all I wanted to do was just lie down and sleep for a year. "Sure."

Yellowknife wasn't close to Edmonton and by the time I stumbled out of a small time hauler I wasn't going any farther--wherever the hell I was. I was done. Wherever I was, it was gonna have to do, for now. It was April and there was still snow on the ground and the sun was so bright I couldn't see a damn thing and I hadn't eaten in a day and this was the stupidest thing I'd ever fucking done. I liked my cracked lips and looked over my shoulder at the woman who'd brought me this far. "This it?"

"Yup," she gave me a smile and a concerned look, leaning on the door and trying to catch my eyes. "You going to be alright there? Have a place to stay?"

That concern got me moving like nothing else and I waved at her even as I walked off. I knew better than to let anyone get their hooks into me. "Sure, I'm good." I gave her another lying smile and she drove off in a spray of stinging snow, not looking too happy about it. I turned in a slow circle. This was downtown Yellowknife, and it looked like an industrial park, except for the snowmobiles everywhere. My knees were shaking and I wanted to sit down but I was scared if I sat, I'd never get up again. My arm hurt so fucking much and I was tired of trucks and blowjobs and being cold. So, I didn't sit down, I managed to get my bag over my shoulder and went to find a phone book.

The good thing was, Yellowknife didn't have a lot of people and there was only one Kowalski. The bad thing was, he didn't live in the city proper. According to the map in the book, he lived a little out of town. Tears squeezing past my lids, I rested my face against the wall beside the public phone. I didn't even have a quarter--Canadian quarter-- to call him. I didn't want to do anymore and there wasn't anyone, anywhere who'd do for me. So, I turned my back to the rest of the hotel lobby where I'd found a phone, ripped the map from the book, stuffed it in my pocket and left before anyone came over to ask why the skanky homeless guy was in their nice place. It felt even colder now, after the blast of heat in the hotel and the water from my eyes froze on my lashes.

It was getting dark early, real early--like 2 in the afternoon. If I though it was cold before, I was freezing my ass off now. I was wheezing like a pack-a-day smoker with big clouds of steam freezing on my face with every breath I took stumbling every other step. Hearing a car, I stuck out a desperate thumb and it pulled over, snow squealing under chained tires. A big, stupid hat stuck out the window with a pale face underneath it. "Where are you headed?"

"Um--" I pointed up the road, hand shaking hard with cold. "That way."

"Yes, clearly," whoever it was sounded like someone too polite to be annoyed, even when the wanted too. "Where that way?"

"What's it matter to you?"

"I can drop you off," the guy reversed the car--one of those big, four wheel things that were stupid back in Chicago but made sense here, I guess. "You're not really dressed adequately for the weather, you know."

"No shit," I muttered, shuddering. The guy looked just like Ranger Rick, with a brown uniform and brass buttons and a pretty, dumb face. And a very stupid hat. Maybe a hotel clerk? Or, like, a park ranger or something. Whatever, I just needed a ride.

"There's no need for foul language," he said.

"Okay," I said and gave him a good smile, somewhere between 'I'm a nice kid' and 'I'll do something for you if you do something for me', figuring I could get a ride and find out if this whole trip had been a stupid idea. "I'm trying to get to the--um--Kowalski place."

"Ah," he said, which meant nothing but he nodded to the other door and I went around and climbed inside. It was warm and I started to shake so hard I was afraid I was going to lose my teeth. "Well, my name is Leftanant Fraser, RCMP and this is the road to the--Kowalski place as you said--but I'm not quite sure walking is the best idea."

"Well, see, I'm getting a ride now, right?" My nose defrosted and started running, I sat there listening to him waiting for me to say something else. I just wiped my nose and avoided his eyes.

"And you are?" He finally asked.

"Josh."

"Ah." More waiting. "And you're from Chicago? Visiting perhaps? Mr. Kowalski didn't mention expecting any guests last time I spoke with him."

"Yeah, well, maybe he didn't tell you, all right?" There was nothing but snow and dimming sunlight outside and how'd he know I was from Chicago anyway? The car rolled to a halt.

"I rather doubt that," the guy said, turning in his seat to look at me and there was still that politeness all over his face but those blue eyes were sharp--cop eyes--and they wanted answers. I curled the stiff fingers of my bad hand over the doorknob, scared, wondering how he knew I was from Chicago and wondering if the mob had connections up here-- that they'd found me somehow. Wondering, pulse kicking hard in my ears, if I was gonna get shot right here, right now. "Josh, who are you and why are you looking for Ray Kowalski?"

"Fuck you," I wrenched the door open, throat closing up tight in a rush of fear and disappointment. He tried to grab me and I jumped the hell out of there. Stumbling back, I dragged my bag with me and looked around for lights, buildings, anything. "Never fucking mind! Leave me the hell alone!"

There wasn't a thing out here beside me and the Fraser guy and the truck. There wasn't a place to go, anyway to get away and he was getting out of the car too. My shoulders slumped and I stood there, squinting in the cold, 'cause I didn't have a choice. No where to run and no one to care. "I was looking for Stanley Kowalski," I whispered miserably. I'd fucked up and I must've found the only other Kowalski in Canada besides the one I was looking for.

"Ah," he said again, sidling up to me like I was gonna bolt on him but was pretty clear I didn't have a place to run too. I knew it and he did too.

"Fuck the 'ah'," I had to rub my eyes, the cold was making them water and the cold was making me shake and I sat down in the snow 'cause I was too tired to stand. Then Fraser was crouching next to me and he was big--a big guy--and trying to get me to stand again. I shoved at him like a stupid little kid, like I could stop him from doing whatever he wanted to me. "Leave me alone. I'm tired."

"You're sick," he said, inhaling next to my ear.

"Whatever, leave me alone."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he hauled and I wiggled free. "You're not prepared for a night outdoors, Josh."

"It's not your probl--"

Fraser grabbed my bad arm and I shrieked and he dropped me like a bomb. All I could do was curl up in the snow with lights flashing behind my eyes, it hurt so bad.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed and scooped me up and I was in the car whether I wanted to be or not. I couldn't do anything about it, couldn't even talk, just grit my teeth and try not to puke from the pain. I hadn't moved my arm, hadn't touched it, for a couple of days--it hurt way too much for that. The truck was hurtling over the snow and everything was kind of swimming and blurry. I just wished I'd pass out already.

The truck stopped and Ranger Rick dragged me out of the car. Things stopped being a big dark blur and were a big bright blur, with voices. Then there were hands on me, in my clothes, and I kicked and struggled. I didn't want to be messed with and I sure as hell didn't want to be naked with anybody right now. When they tried to peel my coat off my arm, I finally did pass out.

TBC

End Taking out the Trash 2/? by XTricks: x_tricks2000@yahoo.com

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