Taking Out the Trash 5
by XTricks
Disclaimer: AA ownes 'em. I make no profit and claim no rights.
Story Notes: Set about 2 yrs after CotW; Vecchio is divorced and back at the 27, Kowalski and Fraser are an item in Canada.
Notes: tweaker is a slang term for a meth addict, they have a lot of twitchy, nervous habits due to the stimulating effect of the drug.
Taking Out the Trash 5
The coffee here was familiar, a flashback to cop world, crappy coffee from a paper cup while he sat and waited in a crappy room and tried to put the facts together before the turned around and bit him in the ass. Fact. okay--his nephew had come all the way up here to get away from . . . something and it wasn't his dad because Joshua had said he'd been a runaway for almost two years. Going on the assumption he was telling the truth. Fact. Child protective services were already here and Ray was going to have to do some slide and shuffle to keep them from whisking Joshua off to some Canadian group home. Fact. He hadn't called his Mum yet, he wasn't looking forward to that conversation. "Fact. This is gonna suck so bad," Ray dropped his head onto his arms with a groan. He only looked up when the door was pushed open and Delores Isuilik came in, file in hand.
"Mr. Kowalski," she said, not at all surprised.
"Ms. Isuilik," he said flatly. He knew Delores, or Ben did, so he did too. She was part of the Child Health and Services front line, a social worker; sent to hospitals and homes to check out accusations of abuse. But this time she was here with his name in a file, suspicious about his family and Ray felt a savage scowl cross his face, could practically hear his father's voice in his head bellowing about nosy parkers. Ray knew, or could guess, what the problem was with Josh, he could take care of it. And he would--damn his brother to hell--still couldn't believe it, believe that his brother would do that to his kid. But Ben trusted her and Ben had already warned him that there was no way Josh's presence was going to stay off the record. If he had to have a social worker poking into his life, at least it was someone halfway decent. Delores was half Inuit and she was pretty up and up on the kinds of shit that could happen in a family because, even in the Northwest Areas, it sucked to be indigenous a lot of the time. He slumped a little, shrugging at the chair across from his at the table. "Heya, Delores."
"Ray," her voice was warm enough, he didn't catch any kind of suspicious, condescending tone. She didn't sound like she was ready to stamp Josh's file done and drag him off to Child Services hell. "The hospital gave me a call--"
"About Josh," he interrupted. "Figured."
"It's procedure, Ray," she said firmly, hands flat on the file, leaving only the Kowa-- visible of 'Kowalksi'. "And a good idea."
"I know," he waved his hands then tucked them around his cold coffee. "I know it. Been on your side often enough, so lets get this show on the road, right? Did ya talk to Josh?"
Dolores' expression made Ray chuckle, yeah, she'd talked to Josh.
"He wasn't very forthcoming," she said dryly. "Do you believe he's your nephew?"
Ray nodded. "With that mouth? Yeah, I believe it." Dolores tucked her smile carefully away, hardly letting any escape.
He fished the picture from his album out of his pocket and slid it across the table. "This is him and my folks, back in Arizona."
Dolores took the photo and studied it, her round, placid looking face hiding the kind of mind that half the detectives Ray knew would've envied. She looked up at him, handing the picture back, questions in her eyes. "Who do you think took the picture?"
He sighed, looking over the room, the blank blue walls, the chairs, anything but the picture--the evidence--or at Delores.
"Mr. Kowalski?"
"Yeah, yeah--his dad," he said softly. It was all there in kodachrome, that half step of extra space, the bland, blank--wary--smile. Josh was looking at the face of someone who scared him. "My brother."
"Yes," she nodded once. "I'd say so. You know . . . I have to report this. The injuries, the border crossing. His age."
"Ben's on it," Ray broke in hopefully. Maybe she'd let it slide, everyone knew Ben was the last true, Dudely Do-Right in the Northwest Areas, maybe she'd let all the tangled threads lie in his hands, this once. "Already on it, checking out missing persons reports from Arizona. I'm gonna--uh--call my Mum, as soon as I get some info on Josh from the docs." The look on Dolores' face wasn't good, wasn't what he wanted to see and Ray leaned forward, trying to get her to go for it, let Ben and him handle the whole fucked-up thing. "Hell, Fraser'd probably get the damn case anyway--'cause Josh jumped the border--just on his experience in Chicago anyway. Not like he's gonna let an 'I' go undotted, Dolores . . . "
"Very true," she said with a wry twist to her mouth. Everybody here knew Fraser, every buttoned up, nit-picking, perfectionist habit of his. Ray was pretty much the only one who saw Ben get unbuttoned and that was the way he liked it. Fraser was his buddy, not everyone in the whole fucking city. "But his personal involvement is an issue."
"C'mon Dolores, it's Fraser, he ain't gonna let anything slide on this, no matter what, no matter who," he urged. "Besides, wouldn't it be--in the kid's best interests to let him settle a bit? Let him hang with Ben and me? I mean, he must have some trust starting here, to come to me at all. There isn't a better eye to watch over him besides a Mountie? And, Josh wanted to be with me, so he'd be less likely to rabbit, right?"
Dolores didn't answer for awhile, looking through the few pages in her file instead while Ray made coffee circles on the table with his empty cup. About the time his knee was jigging under the table, she looked back up. "Did he tell you anything?"
"Not much," Ray said. "Josh was trying to make it to my place, Ben saw him when he was driving home and gave him a lift. Told me he'd run away to Chicago about two years ago, said the wounds weren't from his pop so . . . probably a mugging or--"
"A rape," Dolores said. "The doctors said he has some bruises consistent with sex, I've asked them to run the usual STD series. It's too late for a rape kit. The other injuries . . . the doctor though the wound on his side could have been from a gunshot, that makes Joshua's case potentially criminal in nature. All he's been willing to say to me is that you're his uncle and I should 'fuck off and die'."
"Jeez," Ray dropped his head in his hands, squeezing his scalp and feeling his anger pulse hard in his temples. He'd like to rip a few folks new assholes, starting with his brother and working his way up. Some of the things Josh has been doing suddenly made sense. "He's been--he's been skittish, you know, with Fraser. Fraser's a big guy . . . . But he ain't talking yet." Ray reached out and squeezed Dolores' hand, leaning over the table and fixing her eyes with his urgently. "Let us have a few days, Dolores, see if we can't get him to open up. You know Josh ain't gonna be forht--fortharriving, nah-uh-he ain't gonna spill to some provincial shrink in a group home. If he can talk soon, maybe we can get whoever did him."
"A few days," she said finally, scribbling something on her file. "And Corporal Fraser needs to provide official documentation for our records."
"Yeah, yeah," Ray flopped back in his chair with a grin. "That's good. That's no problem."
A few days was good. Between him and Ben, they'd get Josh to sing and maybe keep him from getting warehoused in some state supplied family home.
If I'd a known my uncle was this easy, I'd've hiked my ass up here years ago. We'd packed the back of Uncle Ray's car with bags and packages, everything from underwear (tighty-whities, but I wasn't in any position to complain), to flannel lined jeans to a parka that made me look like a blueberry peep. As soon as we got a full set of clothes bought, I ducked into a restroom next to the food court, stripped off the too large, borrowed sweats and climbed into a pair of jeans, a green flannel shirt, a brown fleece vest, thick socks and new boots--my Converse weren't cutting it in Popsicle land. My same old scrawny face looked strange on top of all the new clothes, like I was someone different. I clenched my fist, the stabbing ache of my screwed up arm reminded me that I was still the same street trash, underneath all the pretty clothes. Ray stuffed the old sweats into a bag and glanced over at me with a raised brow.
"So? They fit?" He asked.
"I look like Jr. Gepetto," I said, a little freaked by the--the idea that someone would buy all this stuff for me. I knew how much this had cost him and I was wondering what it was gonna cost me. The only thing I could think of was my story. He hadn't asked questions, not yet but it was gonna happen, I knew it and--looking at those pale eyes--he knew it too.
"Yeah," he smirked, slinging the bag over his shoulder while I shrugged back into the hospital sling. The pain was starting to pound through me again and I wished the docs had given me something besides Tylenol but I wasn't surprised they hadn't. People like me could turn up in the hospital with an arm lopped off and the docs would still think you were a junkie there to score some dope to get high. "Know what you mean. Hell of a lot of tartan up here."
The Yellowknife mall wasn't much more than a jumped up version of Sears, Canadian style. Lot's of checkered flannel and useful crap like space heaters and the usual corner of 'all natural sausage and aged cheese', except here the sausage was made of reindeer. My uncle started humming next to me, it took me a few moments to recognize the tune to I'm a Lumberjack and I'm okay . . . ..
"Shit!" I slap a hand over my mouth, hooting behind my hand as my uncle shoots me a smile then breaks into the chorus, in the middle of the damn mall. All the Canadians around us only smiled politely. "Knock it off, we're getting the hairy eyeball."
Ray shrugged and steered us to the a fried chicken stand, his voice getting crisp, like he was used to people doing what he said. "Whatever you want, get it to go, I wanna stop by the RCMP office."
"Okay," I took my time with the food, 'cause my time-out was pretty much going to be over when we hit the cop shop. It was still a trip that the social worker hadn't hauled me away to some group home instead of leaving me with Ray.
The Mountie building wasn't any different from all the other buildings around, solid, hunkered down against the snow piled up around the walls and with small fogged over windows. The sidewalk was neatly shoveled and a Canadian flag shivered in the sunny afternoon breeze. My new parka was a heck of a lot warmer than my old coat, even my feet were warm and . . . I stumbled to a halt just inside the door while Ray waved at the chick at the desk like he saw her every day. It had been so fucking long since I'd been warm, since I'd had real shoes and a warm jacket--my eyes watered and I rubbed them roughly. It was the blast of heat after being outside, that's all. Gritting my teeth, I followed Ray through a maze of short hallways. I didn't want to need this guy--but I did.
Ranger Rick had his own office 'Cpr B. Fraser' on the door and when we walked in I could tell from his face that my number had come up. He rubbed a thumb over his eyebrow and stood up when we came in, Ray lifted his head curiously, like he'd gotten a signal from the guy.
"Ray, Joshua," he said, taking the bag of fried chicken Ray shoved into his hands. His eyes were on me though, steady, watching every move I made. Made me want to bolt for the door just 'cause that was what he expected. I was always ready to sink to everyone's lowest expectations.
"Hey, buddy," Ray said cheerfully and I put my ass in the nearest chair trying to be invisible. "Tuck in, got some fine American KFC there."
"Thank you, Ray," Fraser said and we all sat down in his little office like we were friends. Well, my uncle and this Mountie were friends, trading napkins and exchanging biscuits without a word like they'd eaten a thousand lunches together. When I saw the way my uncle's fingers paused on the Mountie's hand my stomach turned. It wasn't friends they were, which made the whole cabin-bed-car-coffee thing way different. They were fucking.
I kept right on stuffing my face, head down. Didn't matter what I thought, I had to eat and if my uncle was a faggot, I still had to eat. My uncle had bought me clothes, he'd bought me food and I'd slept in the bed they fucked in. Guys had bought me clothes before, bought me food--uncle or not, he was a faggot and now I knew the deal. Nothing was for free and Fraser was big, big guy and I didn't have anywhere else to go. The chicken tasted like shit. I wanted to spit it out but, just like the first time I'd let a guy do me, I knew I had to eat and I knew it was gonna cost me. So I ate.
". . . Joshua, Joshua" It was the Mountie. They'd been talking about me, about the social worker and I let all that just wash on by. The food in my stomach was like a rock. I'd figured--kinda hoped--maybe that this uncle of mine, living all the way up here, was going to be different somehow. Canada was supposed to be some kinda nice place. Should've known better.
"What!"
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fucking fine," I wiped my face with the paper napkin, seeing the wince on the Mountie's face when I talked trash. Screw him. I was wishing the social worker had taken me away. I couldn't stop thinking about this Mountie being so big and Ray being my uncle and the fact that they were a couple of queers and I wasn't nothing to either of them.
"All right," and if Fraser believed me, I'd eat his stupid hat. "I'm afraid I need to . . . ask you a few questions, Joshua."
"What's the deal?" Ray broke in, tapping out a beat with his fingers, jittering with his knees. He looked like a tweaker and made me twitch just watching him.
"I received a call from Ray Vecchio," Fraser said and boy did my uncle's face change. Solid stone, nothing to see there, but his fingers ripping up his napkin like the thing was named Ray Vecchio. The Mountie sighed, soft under his breath like he wasn't surprised but he still didn't like it. "A business call, after a fashion, Ray."
"Uh, okay," Ray said.
"About your family."
"Fuck!" Ray sprang up in a scatter of chicken bones and went to pace by the window. "What? My folks? C'mon Frase, what the did he say? Stella--oh, god--the kid?"
"No," Talking to Ray, Fraser's attention was all on me. I tried on my uncle's stone face for size, wondering why the hell I was here, listening to them talk business. "He called about--Joshua."
"Shit!" Me and my uncle both.
"He's looking for a young man that might be witness to a murder. A young man who's disappeared from his usual street haunts," Fraser went right on over us, steady, sitting still and he was watching me. Staring right into my eyes. "Detective Vecchio is worried because this witness might be in danger."
"Nothing to do with me," I muttered. Even I didn't believe me.
"Ah," Fraser said. "It's unfortunate that murderers are not so concerned with accuracy. Another young man was killed two days ago, probably by the same criminal. Whoever this witness is, running away will neither keep him safe, nor serve justice."
"Fraser, dammit!"
My uncle's voice was angry as the chicken parts in my belly tried to climb right back out. "Who -- who died?" I was clucking like a bird and sick, thinking of someone taking a bullet because of me -- except that who the hell would? I'd left Chicago because there wasn't anyone who'd keep their mouth shut in the face of two fifty dollar bills. "Whos'it who died?"
Probably wasn't anyone I knew. Probably wasn't anything to do with me. Kids die all the time on the street. No one gave a shit and I was here looking after my own ass, just like everybody would. So, it wasn't my fault. Couldn't be. I wasn't going to buy that someone had died for me, I glared at the Mountie, the smell of grease making me sick when a few moments ago I'd been starving. He had to be jerking my chain, trying to get me to say something.
"The only name Detective Vecchio had was Scotty," he said quietly, big hands clasped between his knees, and my uncle scowling and fidgeting at his side. Waiting to see what I did, I figured, both of them. "He's spoken to the boy recently, about . . . this potential witness so was notified when the body was brought in."
Scotty. My meal made a pitch and roll. Scotty was . . . no one had ever gotten to Scotty, not bad dates, not bad dope, not cops, no one. All he gave anyone was fuck you and fuck off and pay me and ... he was dead. He'd kinda showed me the ropes, what was what on the street; everyone knew Scotty.
"Where's the bathroom?" I was gonna lose it and barely made it to the john before I puked up all the food I'd just eaten.
"Hey," my uncle's voice, soft in my ringing ears. "It's okay, it's gonna be okay, Josh. Take it easy, right?"
He was right over me as I rested my face against the cold porcelain seat and shut my eyes, dizzy. I could feel him leaning over me and the smell of puke and public bathrooms was just like too many times before.
"Don't fucking touch me!" I yelled, voice cracking, and kicked back, trapped on my knees in a bathroom floor. I needed some room and he was right over me and I hurt.
"Hey! Hey!" My uncle yelled as my boots hit his shins. He fell against the door to the stall, nearly braining me with it as it swung around, then leapt back. "Knock it off!"
Heart slamming, I twisted around but he wasn't going for me like I expected. He'd backed off, hands up, backing all the way up until he had his back to the wall like I had my back to the hard edge of the toilet. We stared at each other, it felt like I'd run a marathon, I couldn't get any air and my hands were shaking. I was just waiting for him to take a hit on me, 'cause that was what everyone did when I got rowdy. But he slid down the wall, sitting with his ass on the same cold floor I was on and gave me a crooked grin and a wink. "I got the sign there, Josh. Lets take a breather, huh?"
I pulled my knees up and hugged them, trying not to shake -- at least so he could see it. I was freaking out but there wasn't any window here for me to climb out of, no bushes to fall on and no quick getaway. Sudden knocking on the door made me jump, thinking guns, thinking of that night, thinking of someone coming after me.
"Ray? Ray, are you all right?" The Mountie was on the other side. "Joshua?"
"We're just peachy, Frase," my uncle called right back. "Just hanging out, me and my nephew."
"Ah."
"Maybe you could find some soda or something? And take your time, eh?" Ray grimaced and ran a hand through his hair while boots walked away on the other side of the door. "I'm starting to sound Canadian."
He just looked at me and the quiet went on and on, 'till I had to say something, even if it was stupid. "Still rooting for the Cubs?"
"Yeah," he said. "Even got a T-shirt."
"Okay, so you're still a Chicago guy then."
"Can take the guy outta Chicago but you can't take the Cubs outta the guy."
When I didn't say anything, Ray just leaned his head back on the wall, closed his eyes and tapped out a rhythm on his knee. The quiet didn't seem so bad and if it still smelled like a bathroom, at least I could breathe. No one was dragging me anywhere and the big Mountie was on the other side of a door, not staring at me.
"Scotty wasn't a friend of mine," I blurted out. "He didn't have friends."
My uncle only nodded, eyes still closed, kept nodding like he was listening to music somewhere else and didn't ask me questions. It was like I was talking to myself and that was . . . easier. "He just . . . he just was there been around forever. Just another tweaker. He never got caught, you know?"
Except he had. I flexed my bad hand, feeling the ache, feeling the burn of the graze on my side. Somebody had caught him, looking for me and now he was dead.
"He wasn't anybody's friend but he got by . . . we all wanted to get by, wanted to make it on the street, like he did."
"He was a survivor," Ray said quietly.
"Yeah," I leaned my head against my knees and shut my eyes. I was so fucking tired. "Yeah, and now he's dead 'cause somebody was looking for me."
"It's not your fault."
"No," I lied. "It ain't. People die all the time."
"But somebody is looking for you," Soft voice but he got me, that easy. My uncle got me to talk, sitting in some bathroom in buttfuck Canada.
"Yeah," I whispered. People die all the time and Scotty died because of me.
TBC (022605)
End Taking Out the Trash 5 by XTricks
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