The Coverman

A young Stanley Raymond Kowalski sauntered into the 18th precinct on the South Side of Chicago as he had been doing for years. He inhaled the bustle of the station and a faint smile played across his lips. His station was one place that he could call safe, and not just because it was full armed police officers. It was a refuge, from the complications in his personal life, from his wife, his parents, from all the fun that had metamorphosed into problems. When life got too strenuous outside, it was time to dive into work and find some suspects to kick in the head. Stan as he was called at the station, although he had always called himself Ray, sat down at his desk and lifted up a manilla folder. What bad guys could he catch today? The thoughts from his domestic life drifted to the back of his mind.

Stan leaned in the doorway of his bedroom watching his wife get ready to sleep. He closed his eyes for just a moment and allowed himself to remember when he and Stella first got married. Things were much different then. No quarrels on a constant basis, dinners together every night, and no sleeping on the couch. Stan opened his eyes and ran a hand through his spiky hair. Stella was changing her into her nightshirt and Stan traced the curves of her body with his eyes. A glimmer of longing stirred inside him, but quickly let it pass, knowing his mate was too angry tonight. He couldn't mark the day or the night when things had begun to turn sour in the relationship. Only that the concept of a family was at the root of the problem. Stan wanted kids, little replicas of Stella he could raise better than his father had raised him. Stella on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with children. Her job was too important. And what kind of family would they be bringing a child into? One parent a cop and the other a state's attorney. They'd be bringing the child into a house surrounded by violence. But it'd be filled with love, Stella. Stan thought to himself.

"Think of it Stella," Stan began. "It'd be like having more of me running around." He presented a lop-sided grin to show his good humor in the statement, but Stella just returned an empty stare.

"I'm tired of dealing with just you, Stan." With that she walked over to where the detective was standing and pushed him out of the doorway with a mild shove. The bedroom door closed shortly after.

Stanley sighed and looked at the couch contemplatively. The pillow and sheets were still laying on the sofa in an unkempt manner from last night. "Day three" he muttered to himself.

The morning of Day Four started earlier than usual. The bedroom door opened and Stella walked out, dressed for the day's work. She walked over to her husband who was snoring softly where he had fallen asleep last night.

"Stan." He shook him gently to wake him. "Stan."

A soft moan came from underneath the blankets. Stella yanked back the cover and Stan stirred, rubbing a hand over his eyes sleepily.

     "What Stelly?" he asked groggily and sat up.
     "I think I want a divorce." 

Stan's head dropped and his eyes closed. It was a dream right? A nightmare. Somewhere in the back of his head, a small voice scolded Stan for being so surprised. He knew this day was coming. But even further back, a different voice reminded him that he loved this woman. More than he could love any other. "Stella, please." Weariness and defeat crept into his voice. "I love you."

It was a scarcely above a whisper, but Stella heard. Mist crept into her eyes, but she kept herself together. "I know Stanley. And I love you, but we can't live together. You and I both know it's not healthy for either of us."

Stan said nothing as Stella got up, kissed him lightly on the head and left out the door. He didn't move for a long time after he could hear the footsteps disappearing down the hall. "But what about the kids?"

The 18th was once again a comforting place to loose himself in. Depression still ran rampant through Stan's system, but it was toned down in the station. As the young detective walked in, his captain called for him to come into his office.

"It's a funny thing detective," Captain Walsh began. "I have some big news for you and you're a full three hours late."

"I'm sorry, sir. I had some problems with Stella." Stan tried to excuse his tardiness but knew it was futile.

"Funny Kowalski, crime doesn't cease because you had another fight." Walsh grabbed a folder off his desk and tossed it to Stan who idly began to rifle through it. The very first sheet yelled in bold red letters 'CLASSIFIED.' His interest was piqued and the detective began to read each page. His brow furrowed. Why was Walsh giving him a record of some other cop in a different district?

"Was it bad?" Walsh asked as Kowalski read.

"Uhm, apparently we're uh, getting a divorce." Stan didn't take his eyes off the papers in front of him.

"I'm sorry to hear that." The Captain leaned back in his chair and let his subordinate finish reading.

Stan read with some interest. Detective First Grade Ray Vecchio, an officer of the 27th on the West Side. Decorations, awards, family, friends. A Mountie? Stan closed the folder and looked up. "Sir, what is this?"

Walsh let out a sigh. "This man, Ray Vecchio, has gone deep, deep undercover with the mob. We don't and can't know where he is and what he's doing. We leave that stuff to the feds. We do know, however, that this man, without someone covering him, will be quickly found out, and killed."

Stan sat down across from his superior, somewhat confused. What did this man have to do with him?

"You have been selected to be the coverman for this detective Vecchio. This means leaving the 18th, and transferring to the 27th..."

Stan interrupted quickly. "You're saying I've been asked to take over this man's life while he's undercover? His name? His family?"

Walsh nodded. "The pay is better, so don't worry about that. And I know the Lieu at the 27th. A fellow by the name of Welsh. Good man."

A new life. Stan ran through the possibilities. No Stella. But is that good or bad? But she always tells me about working on the West Side. He'd get to see her, but not live with her. His father couldn't disown him, because he wouldn't be a Kowalski. The life seemed to have more and more attraction. "How long? How long would I be this Vecchio."

"There isn't a fixed period of time. Until Vecchio returns, or..." The captain let his sentence trail off, alluding to other possibilities. "Look, Kowalski. The feds need someone. I know things aren't great at home for you. Get away for a bit. Take a breather."

Stan tossed the folder on the desk. "I'll do it."

Stella was already home and had eaten when Stan arrived back. He had to work late due to his late arrival, and because he had a lot on his mind. He tossed his coat on the sofa and sat down next to Stella who was reading on the couch. She set her book down and looked at her husband squarely.

"Have you thought about what I said this morning?" she asked with some iceyness in her voice. It seemed Stan hadn't been the only one doing some thinking during the day.

Hey Stella, don't worry about it. I'm not me much longer. Stan looked at her, his blue eyes pleading for her to understand. Would she understand? Or be hurt by his sudden flight to another life? He cleared his throat and began. "Walsh called me into his office today..." He told her the story, about Ray Vecchio, the mob, and the coverman position. She sat quietly through the whole thing and Stan wondered what she was thinking. It used to be he would know, just a glance and she was an open book to him. Not anymore. "I told Walsh I'd take the job. I thought it'd be best considering the divorce and all."

She nodded, almost imperceptibly. "I think it would be too."

One week later, Stan stood outside his apartment building, his car loaded with the items he could claim as his own. His pet turtle sat in its container in the front seat, belt buckled to keep the temporary cage from shifting. Stella watched as Stan shoved the last suitcase into the trunk. He closed the trunk and turned to her, not wanting to provoke her before he left. But to his surprise, her eyes were wet. In a moment he had embraced her in a hug.

"It's for the best," she whispered in Stan's ear.

He nodded. "I think it is." Stan looked down and studied her face. It was so familiar, so perfect. He lowered his head and kissed her passionately. Because I'll always love you Stella. Although he hadn't said it out loud, he felt Stella's understanding. After a moment she placed a hand on his chest and gently broke the embrace.

Enough had been communicated. Stan looked down at the ground once thoughtfully then walked around to the driver's side of the car. With one last look, he got in and started the ignition. As he drove to the 27th precinct, his old life began to fall away from him like dead skin being shed. It was time to go be Ray Vecchio.