AN INCH AN HOUR

by Chris Lark    cql@hopper.unh.edu
RATED: PG

Well, folks, here it is; one way I'd like to see the third season end. Big-time drama. As usual, the story title and those of the parts are from some cool Tragically Hip and Sarah McLachlan songs. Y'know, I never thought I'd find myself writing a story with Kowalski in it, but if I was going to write this story, he'd have to be in it, wouldn't he? Well, anyway, here it is. Before you find the standard disclaimer at the end of the story, enjoy it first!

--CBS Introduction to Due South
**********
Intro: Let's Stay Engaged

AH, SPRINGTIME IN CHICAGO. Ah, the sounds of shouts and loud music blaring from the apartment houses on the way to the police station. Ah, the thrill of chasing the occasional purse-snatcher he happened to pass by. Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, was rarely happier than he was now as he walked briskly from the Canadian consulate to the 27th Precinct of the Chicago P.D. The one thing that could make this morning better would be if he could get his deaf wolf, Diefenbaker, to keep running along behind him instead of lazing along behind like the laggard he'd been since coming to Chicago.

Fraser reached the police station and marched in the front doors, starting for the stairs to the squad room. He'd become a familiar enough sight hereabouts that not many people paid much attention to him, except perhaps for the occasional rookie who had never seen him around the station before. At the top of the stairs, he cut around the squad room and came in the side door, turning toward the back corner near the lieutenant's office.

" 'Morning, Ray," he called cheerfully.

Detective Stan Kowalski looked up from his desk, giving a short wave in reply. "How you doing, Fraser," he answered, somewhat apathetically. He went back to his desk work, and Fraser couldn't help thinking how much he missed his old partner's cheerfully sarcastic responses. Detective Ray Vecchio had been gone for almost eight months now, working very deep undercover with the mob. Fraser had no idea how he was doing; it had taken him days to discover that Kowalski had assumed Ray's identity to protect him. Good thing Kowalski's middle name was Ray, and that was the name he preferred to go by, or else Fraser might have had a hard time adjusting.

"And how are you doing this fine morning?" Fraser asked, plopping down in front of the desk.

Seeing Diefenbaker trotting quickly toward him, Kowalski snatched the jelly doughnut sitting at the side of his desk and moved it over to the other side. Diefenbaker growled deeply, frustrated that his prize had been so abruptly whisked away. "Well, I'd be doing a lot better if that wolf of yours wouldn't keep targeting my doughnuts for his breakfast," Kowalski said irritably. At least his attitude made him a good impersonator for Ray, even if his appearance and dialogue didn't.

"Hm, I think Inspector Thatcher and Constable Turnbull are more than happy that they don't have much of a liking for jelly doughnuts," Fraser said.

Kowalski raised his finger, pulled open one of his desk drawers, and withdrew a postcard from it, handing it over to Fraser. "Oh, by the way. This came for you in the mail yesterday afternoon."

"Ah. Thank you, Ray." Fraser took the postcard, and he first looked at the picture on the front of it. It was a picture of a city street at night, and almost every square inch of the picture was occupied by a neon sign. It looked very much like Las Vegas to him. Turning it over, Fraser saw that it was indeed addressed to him. The note read: SOLSBURY HILL LIVE. Fraser's eyebrows rose, and he lifted his head to Kowalski, who shoved a slip of paper into a file folder on his desktop.

"Ray," he said. "I believe you'd be interested in this."

"What?" Kowalski took the postcard and looked at it again. "So it's a picture of Las Vegas in the middle of the night. So what?"

"Well," Fraser said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "the note says 'Solsbury Hill Live', which is a song by Sarah McLachlan. If I remember correctly, it deals with returning home."

Kowalski's eyebrows knitted together. Something about this was very familiar. Something he hadn't told Fraser before, something that ought to gratify him big-time. He reached into his desk drawer again, pulled out a cigarette lighter, and stuck it in his pocket, getting to his feet. "C'mon, Fraser, we need to talk about something."

Eyebrows up again, Fraser got to his feet, and he followed Kowalski out the side door of the squad room. They walked down the hall a short distance, and Fraser excused himself to the janitor who was mopping the floor near the doorway. Down the hall they went till they reached the closet, and after glancing furtively around to make sure that nobody was watching them, they slipped inside.

Fraser turned the light on, and Kowalski stopped short just before tripping over a bucket. He turned to Fraser, took the cigarette lighter from his pocket, and handed it and the postcard over to him. "I think it's another subliminal message, Fraser. Remember when we were dealing with those Russians who were smuggling weapons into the port, and that guy Pike kept rescuing us from those tough scrapes?"

"Indeed I do. He must still be out there searching for the Nautilus woman."

"Yeah, maybe." Kowalski lowered his voice to just above a whisper, and he leaned over near Fraser's ear. "But see, when he saved me from being shot by that Nada lady, he knew exactly who I was."

"Oh, he did?" Fraser said.

"Yeah, it's like he knew everything about me, height, weight, my graduating average in high school, all that. Anyway, he knew where Ray Vecchio was. See, there was this mob guy named Armando Langoustini who got killed in a car crash. Vecchio was a dead ringer for him, so he went in as that guy. He's been working in Vegas for the last few months now."

"I see!" Fraser said. "So you think that perhaps..."

"Let's find out," Kowalski said, pointing at the lighter in Fraser's hand.

Fraser flipped the lighter open, sprang the flame, and held it under the postcard. As he waved it underneath the card, the image of the Las Vegas street melted away. It was the same technique Ray had gotten him to use last time; there was another image beneath that one. It was a picture of his greatest friend, Raymond Ignazzio Vecchio, leaning against his late 1971 Buick Riviera with his arms folded and his classic smirk on his face. Fraser felt like crying--itm had been so long since he'd seen Ray.

"I think Ray's on his way home," he said to Kowalski in a quiet voice, a smile growing.

*****************************************************

Part 1: Witness

"Vecchio, just the man I wanted to see," Lieutenant Harding Welsh called out from his office when Fraser and Kowalski returned to the squad room. "In here." He beckoned with his finger, and Fraser detoured toward Kowalski's desk while Kowalski crossed the squad room to the office. Fraser had barely sat down in front of the desk when he saw a movement in his peripheral vision. Fixing his gaze, he spotted the woman whose presence he always dreaded coming toward him.

"Hi, Fraser," Francesca Vecchio said, leaning seductively on the desk. She was wearing her customary leather miniskirt with her "uniform" shirt tied shut in the front, sleeves rolled up.

"Francesca," Fraser said nervously. "I don't suppose Ray has spoken to you recently."

"Are you kidding? He's my brother, what do we have to speak about besides libel and slander on each other?"

In reply, Fraser pulled out the postcard from his jacket pocket. He handed it to Francesca, who was nearly revolted at the sight of her brother--her real brother--smirking at her from the card. She turned it over and saw the note on the back of it, and her eyebrows arched.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"It means he should be speaking to you again in a day or two," Fraser said. "Only, as you know, don't tell anyone. I'm not entirely secure in my mind about that janitor who came to the station almost at the same time as Ray stopped talking to you." Fraser quickly glanced around to be sure that said janitor was nowhere in sight.

"Don't worry, I got you there," Francesca smiled, pointing her finger at him. She was tempted to add that she'd do just about anything that would make him happy, but by some unfathomable method, she restrained herself.

"Thank you kindly," Fraser said, turning his attention to the goings-on in Welsh's office.

Welsh was pacing back and forth behind his desk and occasionally staring across it at Kowalski, who was standing motionless on the other side. "Just one piece of advice," Welsh was saying. "This happened within a couple of blocks of you-know-who's neighbourhood."

"Zuko?" Kowalski guessed, and Welsh nodded. Oh, great. Kowalski detested mob guys, and Zuko was the worst one in Chicago that he knew of.

"So you'd better stay away from him," Welsh said. "I don't want him finding out about this and leaning on us to find who did it, because when he starts leaning on us, you can bet he'll get his mob after the perpetrator while he's sweet-talking us."

"Yeah, I've heard about that, sir," Kowalski said.
 
Welsh had finished what he had to say, and now was his time to listen to what Kowalski had to say. Welsh didn't know about the postcard Ray had sent, so Kowalski was pretty sure he would have a pleased reaction to this.

"Constable Fraser and I got a little piece of mail today, sir," Kowalski
said.

"In the form of?" Welsh inquired.

"It was a postcard, sir." Kowalski beckoned and leaned on Welsh's desk, and Welsh leaned toward him from the other side. Kowalski dropped his voice very low and informed Welsh: "It was from Vecchio. He's on his way back."

"Wait, wait," Welsh said. "Vecchio sent you mail when he's supposed to be keeping his location and identity a secret."

"I don't know how he did it, sir, but I know he left a cryptic message that Constable Fraser and I deciphered and he's coming back here. That's all he wrote, sir, nothing about how he did down there or if he got into any big trouble."

"Any idea when?"

"Nothing there, sir. Nothing about where, either. I guess we'll know when he just waltzes into the precinct and starts bragging about taking down the mob."

"I see," Welsh said. "All right, why don't you go down to Diversey and ask the booze-store owner what he saw. Chicago is not New York, Vecchio, and I've got no intention of letting it get that way."

"You got it, sir," Kowalski said, turning around and marching briskly out of the office.

**********
It was about time he got out of Las Vegas and back home to Chicago. About time he saw his old row townhouse and his good old Riv. Just generally about time to get away from the mob and all this other scum he'd been seeing around Las Vegas for eight friggin' months. After hanging around with Fraser for three years, it was hard not to try and respond to the crimes he'd witnessed on the streets, much less what the mob had been up to. He considered himself damned lucky--whenever the mob found cops within, he knew what happened to those cops: they were taken for a dip in the Great Salt Lake. Not an especially good way to die.

At the airport concourse, Ray Vecchio turned to the two mob guys who had driven him over here. He'd been allowed a little summer sabbatical, and he was supposed to spy on another mob in Chicago, one he was more familiar with. This one was headed up by Frank Zuko. But in reality, Ray would be returning to the good old police station to report to Welsh and the powers that be, who would make a major raid on the mob and put it to sleep for a nice long period of time.

"So, Armando." This from Vinnie Mercurio, who had been one of Ray's close associates during his time with the mob. "How long you thinking on being away?"

"Oh, a month, maybe," Ray shrugged. "Just long enough to start a mob war." He snickered, and Mercurio and his buddy, Al Rossi, laughed along with him.

"You call if you need any help up there," Rossi said. "We can have a guy up with you before the day's out."

"Maybe I won't need that," Ray said. "I'll be in touch, though." He stuck out his hand, and Mercurio was the first to take it and shake it.

"Be seeing you guys," Ray said, shaking hands with him and Rossi.

"So long, Armando," Rossi said, waving. He and Mercurio turned around and ambled away from the concourse, walking out of the airport. Ray glared at their backs, wishing he could just shoot them in the back right here. Oh, well, he didn't have a gun on him, so that took care of that. He heard the public address announce that his flight was preparing to board, so he picked up his bags and walked off toward the gate.

Half an hour later, his plane was cruising at 30,000 feet, heading east-northeast, destination: Chicago. Home. Frannie. Fraser. Everybody Ray knew and was close to, they had all been waiting anxiously for him to return. He turned around to make sure that nobody he recognised was on the plane with him; he was lucky once again to have a seat at the front of the plane, where he could turn and see if anybody from the mob was riding behind him. None of them were, but even if they had been, he didn't care; he was going home to Chicago, and there were no mob guys on his tail. It would be great to see Fraser again. He hadn't seen him since the Mountie went on working vacation, and he hadn't heard from him since he called him. The last time he'd been in touch with Benny was when he'd sent him the postcard, and before that, not since that first postcard. Altering photographs had been a pretty cool trick he'd learned while with the mob.

The pilot gave the word that they were at cruising altitude and, in so many words, that they could do whatever they damn well pleased. That suited Ray fine. He unbuckled his seat belt, stretched his legs out and pulled a small cell phone out of his bag, turning it on. He dialed a quick number and listened to the ring, waiting for the reply.

The phone on his old desk in the precinct rang, and Fraser, sitting right there as he brushed away some of Kowalski's paperwork, was there to pick it up. "Detective Vecchio's desk," he answered.

"Man, it's kinda weird for me to be calling my own work number, huh?"

Fraser's eyes grew to twice their normal size, and his mouth dropped open. "Ray!" he exclaimed.

"Hey, Benny, how's it going?" Ray said with a broad grin. "Just thought you'd like to know I'm on my way. You got my postcard, right?"

"Yes, Ray, I sure did," Fraser said. "Where am I meeting you?"

"We should be landing at O'Hare in a couple of hours," Ray said. "Listen, I've got some great news for the gang. For you, too."

"Oh, really," Fraser said. "And what might that be, Ray?"

"Well, why don't I tell you when I get there, huh? I don't want to risk this call being traced. I'll see you at the airport."

"All right, Ray," Fraser said. It was great to be able to call the real Ray by that name! "We'll be there to meet you. See you then." He hung up the phone, leaning back in his chair and letting a surge of exhilaration flow through him. Ray was on his way home. Fraser couldn't wait to get to the airport and meet him, but he had to restrain himself from going over there right away. There were other things he could do with himself till Ray arrived.

**********
Kowalski arrived back at the station from questioning the owner of a liquour store, who had witnessed a robbery and homicide near his store. He hadn't been much help, and Kowalski had a feeling that it had something to do with Zuko's mob activity. He plunked down behind his desk and leaned on it, staring at the desktop with a sigh.

"Not much luck, Ray?" Fraser gathered.

"You're not kidding, Fraser."

"Well, our friend is on his way in, should be here in a little while."

Just a short time after Fraser finished speaking, a new character arrived. He stood for a short time, glancing around, then looked down and saw Fraser sitting in front of Kowalski's desk. With a grin, he walked over to him.

"This your friend, Fraser?" Kowalski gathered.

"I was just going to ask the same question," Frank Zuko said, motioning at Kowalski. "Who's this fella, Constable, mind if I ask?"

Fraser faltered. Zuko must not have known about the Ray/Kowalski deception. Communication in the department, as well as that between the department and those acquainted with it, left something to be desired for certain. He got to his feet and cleared his throat. "Mr. Zuko, I'm sorry, but I need to talk to you for a second. Would you mind?"

"No, I just want to know where Ray Vecchio is," Zuko said.

"*I'm* Ray Vecchio," Kowalski informed him. "Who is this guy, Fraser?"

"No, no," Zuko said firmly, pointing at him. "You are not Ray Vecchio. I don't know who you are, but you're not him." Zuko caught a glimpse of the postcard still lying on Kowalski's desktop, and he snatched it and displayed it to Kowalski and Fraser. "*This* is Ray Vecchio. See? Recognise him, Constable? I dunno who this guy is, but does he even remotely resemble Ray Vecchio? I'm astounded that you could mistake him for your best friend."

"Mr. Zuko, we really do need to talk," Fraser said. "Would you mind?" He took Zuko by the arm and led him out the squad room's back door, and Kowalski stared after them. Jack Huey and Tom Dewey, two of Ray's associates, were also watching them, their attention diverted from the janitor slowly dipping his mop back into his bucket and pushing it out of the squad room. He hastened down the hall to the nearest pay phone and dug into his pants pocket for a dime.

**********
Ray might as well have been the happiest man alive when his plane landed at O'Hare International. Bags in hands, he flowed along with the concourse and into the airport. Home, sweet home; precinct, sweet precinct. He wasn't looking forward to all the debriefing, but he was looking much forward to seeing his house, his car, his police station, and his friend again.

He ambled off the flight concourse, collected his luggage from the detector's conveyor belt, and headed for the doors of the airport. Fraser ought to be here somewhere, awaiting his arrival. Just how close a friendship had Fraser formed with Kowalski in Ray's absence? Ray didn't know Kowalski that well, but Fraser could make friends with almost anybody if given enough time. After all, he'd made buddies with Frank Zuko, hadn't he? Oh, great, Zuko. Ray would doubtless be running into him, too, now that he was back. What had Frankie been up to while he was away?

A short distance from the doors, Ray heard a voice calling from somewhere out of sight. "Hey, Armando!" the voice called.

Ray turned around, and he saw another mobster he recognised coming toward him. "Yeah, what's up?" he asked, on his toes in an instant. What was another mob guy doing here to meet him?

"Give you a ride?" the mob guy offered.

"Oh, no thanks," Ray said. "I'm getting a lift outside." He forced his smile, and he started to move toward the airport entrance again.

"Uh, hate to burst the ol' bubble, Armando," the mob guy said. "But we think you really could use a ride down to Halsted with us."

Ray turned around to glare at him, and that was when he became conscious of the other mob guy coming up on his other side and shoving a gun into him, just below the ribs. Ray spun around and stared in shock--his cover must have been blown somehow. How didn't matter; all that mattered was that he was as good as dead.

"Who'd our man in the department say you were?" the second mob guy asked. "Ray Vecchio, wasn't it? We were wondering why Stan Kowalski up and disappeared into thin air about eight months ago. C'mon, somebody's gonna be pleased to meet you."

*******************************************************
Part 2: Emergency

After Ray was hauled off by the two mob guys, Fraser and Kowalski were still waiting in one of the various vehicles Kowalski had procured from the city motor pool. Ever since the burning up of Ray's 1971 Buick Riviera--which had seemed to suffer twice as much damage as it previously had since Ray met Fraser--Kowalski had had to use a number of motor pool cars to get around. That is, until his father finally showed up with a 1967 black GTO, and he and Fraser were sitting in its front seat, waiting for Ray to appear from the airport's main doors.

"Where the hell is he?" Kowalski wondered.

"Not a clue," Fraser admitted. He looked at his watch, and so did Kowalski. "He called me about two hours ago, which means that his plane would have landed about ten minutes ago. He collects his luggage from the detector..."

"...gets over his jet lag by going to the can..." Kowalski picked up.

"...comes off the flight concourse and walks at a brisk pace toward the airport's main gate..."

"Something must've happened," Kowalski said, not wanting to think about what. He and Fraser both got out of the car, mounted the steps leading to the main doors, and marched into the airport, striding toward the arrival gate. On reaching this gate, they paused to speak to each of the agents at the gate.

"Excuse me," Fraser said to the first one in the line. "Has a man named Raymond Vecchio entered the airport here in the last half hour?"

The agent glanced down at the roster lying on the desk, flipping through its pages for a brief time before shaking her head. "Sorry," she said. "No one by that name came by here."

"Okay, how about a guy named Armando Langoustini?" Kowalski asked.

Right away, the agent nodded vigorously. It was hard to forget a name like that. "Yes, he did come through here about twenty minutes ago," she said.

"Thank you kindly," Fraser said. "Ray?" He led Kowalski away from the desk, and they returned to the flight concourses and made a beeline for one of the waiting areas.

"Twenty minutes," Kowalski said. "Unless he's got diarrhea, there's no way he could still be in this airport."

"Indeed," Fraser said. "He hates flying and he hates airports even worse. We'd better make a few calls."

On his cell phone, Kowalski made his first call, and he and Fraser puttered around the waiting area for about five minutes while waiting for a return call. When the phone rang, Kowalski was rather hasty to pull it out of his pocket, and he quickly flipped it open and tugged the aerial to full extent. "Hello," he said.

"Yeah. 'Kay.

"Okay, right. Thanks." He turned the phone off again, and he turned to Fraser and shook his head. "Cab company says none of the cabbies who were at the airport picked up anybody answering that description."

"I see," Fraser said. "They're absolutely certain?"

"Yeah. But get this. All of those cabbies but one reported back on it." Kowalski's grin was stretching further and further with every word, and he took some pleasure in Fraser's surprised look. "The dispatcher was able to give us the name of that cabbie and the number of the taxi he was driving."

"Oh, really," Fraser said. "Well, then, I think it would be a good idea if we inquired with Francesca on the driver's address."

"Just what I was thinking," Kowalski said as the pair marched toward the airport doors.

"Were you really?" Fraser said with interest.

"Was I what?"

"Thinking the same thing I was."

"Of course, Fraser, in the last eight months I've learned to second-guess almost your every thought. I'm kind of a fast learner."

"Ah. Well, then, if our friend is indeed being held captive by the mob somewhere in this city, and if we are successful in retrieving him, then what do you suppose the outcome would be?"

"I think maybe I'd be glad to have him back too, 'cause then you can go back to working with him while I get my own life back."

"Well, there, you're not second-guessing my every thought. What I'm thinking is a debate on who I'm going to call Ray if we succeed."

"Oh, that's easy enough, isn't it?"

"There you go again, you believe it'll be a snap while I'm having a serious inner dilemma."

"Fraser, how hard can it be to figure out whose name is whose?"

"Extremely hard when you have two people named Ray, Ray."

**********
Once back in the car, Fraser and Kowalski got onto the radio with Francesca, instructing her to come up with the address of the cabbie. At least, Kowalski did the instructing; Fraser did more of the persuading, of which very little was necessary. Francesca got back to them inside of five minutes.

"Here we are, Victor Vincenzo, employed by the Yellow Cab Company," Francesca announced. "Twelve seventy-one South Halsted."

"How about priors, he have any?" Kowalski asked.

"Six counts of possession of illegal guns," Francesca answered.

"Weapons, Frannie," Kowalski said irritably. "Illegal weapons. Get it straight for once, willya?"

There was an obvious note of complaint, maybe even a bit of whining, in Francesca's voice as she replied. "Weapons, guns, what's the difference?" she griped. "Why don't you be a little more flexible."

"She does have a point, Ray," Fraser said. "There is indeed very little difference."

"I knew you'd come to my side, Frase," Francesca said, sounding seductive even over the radio.

"I'm not, strictly speaking, at your side, Francesca, I'm merely reinforcing your opinion," Fraser corrected gently.

"Yeah, and you're both making pains in the ass out of yourselves," Kowalski broke in. "Frannie, you get back to work, and Fraser, next time we have a chat, you stay out of it."

"Understood," Fraser capitulated.

**********
"So you have what reason to believe that Ray Vecchio has been captured by the mob and is being held hostage somewhere in this city?" Welsh demanded, pacing around behind his desk.

"Leftenant, this is a matter I feared ever since I discovered that Ray was undercover," Fraser said. "I have reason to believe that there was a mob spy in this department somewhere, and when Mr. Zuko came in today and essentially blew Ray's cover, this spy lost no time letting his co-conspirators know who to look for. Also, Detective..." Fraser almost said "Vecchio", but remembering that Ray Vecchio was the subject of this conversation, he caught himself in the nick of time. "Kowalski made a call to the taxi companies, and only one driver didn't report in on picking up a man answering Ray's description. Francesca was able to give us an address on this man, so Detective Kowalski and I would like to inquire about the possibility of a stakeout."

There was a knock on the door, which then opened, and in sashayed Francesca. "Hi, Fraser," she bubbled.

"Francesca," Fraser answered nervously.

"That cabbie who didn't report in? They spotted his cab parked a few blocks from his place. No sign of him anywhere in the vicinity."

"All right," Welsh said, now convinced. "Let's maintain the charade till we have confirmation that the mob has its hooks on Vecchio."

"What?" Francesca asked, her eyes growing.

Welsh, taking no notice of her query, went on doling out his instructions. "Take Huey and Dewey and stake out this guy's apartment. Put some undercover officers all around the outside of the building. You've got till Monday next week to get confirmation, but that confirmation had better not come in the form of a dead body."

"What?!" Francesca yelped.

Fraser cleared his throat, and he took her by the arm and led her over into one corner of the office. "Francesca, I meant to tell you this later on, but this is something of a serious matter. We'd best go someplace where we can speak in private."

"No, no!" Francesca protested. "You tell me now! What's going on with Ray, what trouble is he in this time?"

Fraser sighed and scratched his forehead with his thumb. She wasn't going to give up, was she? "All right," he said. "Stan and I have reason to believe that Ray has been captured by the mob and is being held hostage somewhere on the south side."

Francesca was speechless, and her eyes strayed away from Fraser and past him at Welsh. "Oh, God," she gasped. "I knew something had to go wrong! If we don't get to him soon, they could sock him!"

"Sock him?" Kowalski repeated in exasperation. "Frannie, it's whack him, not sock him!"

"Sock, whack, belt, slug, smack, klock, what does it matter?!" Francesca demanded. "The operative word is 'kill', we've got to move on finding him now!"

"All right, already, we are!" Kowalski snapped. "If it'll just shut you up if nothing else, you can come with us and see how we do."

"That's better," Francesca said, but her voice was still a tad shaky.

"But first," Kowalski clarified, "I need you to look up some stuff. Your brother's been working against a guy named Gabriel Spinale."

"What, he doesn't have one of those dorky nicknames that all the other mob guys have?" Francesca placed some sarcastic emphasis on "guys", remembering when Kowalski had pulled a street-cop vocabulary test on her involving that term.

"Of course he does, but nobody wants to know what it is. I need to know what he owns and where it is. Think you can do that before you start playing cop with us?"

Reluctantly, Francesca agreed to do the research Kowalski was after before she joined them on the stakeout. Kowalski's stomach was starting to make noises, so while he ambled off to the lunch room to grab a snack, Fraser made a beeline for the pay phone in the corridor. As he passed the janitor, he gave him a very dirty look from behind, certain that he was the one who had alerted the mob to Ray's presence. Evidence was the only requirement.

At the phone, Fraser dropped his dime in, and he dialed a number and awaited the reply. "Yes, hello, Mr. Zuko?" he said. "It's Constable Fraser. Listen, Ray is having a little problem, and we need your help."

**********
Kowalski assembled a team of police officers to stake out Victor Vincenzo's apartment building, Among them was none other than Elaine Besbriss, who had once held a Civilian Aid job before she went to the police academy. She was still a beat cop, picking up a little overtime or an undercover assignment here and there. At Kowalski's request, Welsh pulled her off her present beat and gave her a new one, this one along the street across from Vincenzo's apartment. For the most part, the rest of the officers he had stationed here were posing as street bums, lying drunkenly around on the sidewalk or in the alleys. They would occasionally change positions, since Elaine was shooing them off the sidewalks to make it look good, after which another cop would come in to take the place. On top of the building where Kowalski, Fraser and Francesca were setting up their command post, three more cops were posing as construction workers repairing the roof.

Fraser didn't dare tell Kowalski about the call he had made to Frank Zuko earlier that day, since it would involve some pretty serious trouble for him. Perhaps it was a good thing Kowalski had allowed Francesca along, since they needed two spotters at all times and Fraser still had the consulate to worry about. Not only was it his home now, but all three of them knew that Inspector Thatcher would crucify him if he missed one nanosecond of work. In any case, he was able to get to the command post along with Kowalski and Francesca.

They entered the slightly dumpy apartment across the street from Vincenzo's place, and they dropped the heavy cases carrying their observation equipment on the floor. Francesca took a look around, taking in the bare room and the slightly musty smell. There was some sparse furniture in here, just enough for a command post and some austere living conditions. Francesca might have a hard time adjusting, but Fraser and Kowalski had both seen worse.

"Well, here's the joint," Kowalski said, waving his hand around the apartment.

"Hm," Fraser said. "Rather roomy, I think. Of course, it's not the consulate, but then, very few places are."

"Almost reminds me of our cabin in Nelson Port," his father interjected from behind him, moving into the room. "Would you take a look at the whitewash on the walls, son? I must have used up four cans of the stuff making that old cabin livable."

"Shh," Fraser muttered, giving him a look.

"So," Francesca spoke up, smiling at Fraser and cosying uncomfortably close to him. "What do we have for sleeping arrangements in here?"

Seeing that bedroom look on her face, Fraser cleared his throat. This was one instance when he was glad to have his father around, because Fraser Sr. provided a good distraction at this point: "Why not build a loft at one end? Oh, those lofts were no great shakes with your mother--perishing cold in winter, like a woodstove in the summer."

"Um, would you excuse me for a moment?" Fraser said to Francesca and Kowalski. He hurried across the room and disappeared through a door, closing it behind him. Whether it was a bedroom or a closet or whatever, neither of them was certain. Ah well, they might as well start setting up till he returned.

"All right, Dad," Fraser said after closing the door. "You have your version of an ideal home, I have mine."

"Oh, I wouldn't call this the ideal home even from your point of view, son," Fraser Sr. advised. "I'm sure your Yank friends in there would agree. Mind if I offer a bit of fatherly advice?"

"It seems inevitable."

"She wants you bad, son. Believe me, I know from personal experience that one of these days, the easy way out will be to just give up and let her in."

"Ray will never have that, Dad, and you know it as well as I do," Fraser countered.

"Which one? The old one, or the new one? I shudder to think of the possibilities if the new one had any sisters. Of course, considering how this will most likely turn out, I don't think the old one will be too capable of worrying."

Fraser Sr. could just be so cryptic sometimes that it threatened to drive Fraser off the deep end--but what was it he'd said? Ray couldn't be too capable of worrying? He had better not mean what Fraser thought he meant. "Dad, do you know something I don't?" he asked.

"Just that one of these days, you'll have to capitulate to some feminine wiles somewhere," Fraser Sr. shrugged.

"No, I mean about Ray. What do you mean by that?"

"I'm not sure, son. It makes me wish I had more experience with organised crime."

There was a sharp knock on the door, which then opened. Francesca poked her head inside, and she peered around the room at the arrangements inside, such as they were. There was a cot sitting on one side of the room, a small nightstand containing a wind-up alarm clock, and one bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Fraser was initially afraid that Francesca had heard him from outside, but all she did was smile, seeing that there was only one bed in here.

"Well, this doesn't look too bad, Frase," she observed.

"No, I suppose not," Fraser said. "Of course, I'll just be on my bedroll outside, but if you'd like to take the bed, that's quite all right by me. I think Stan brought his sleeping bag along."

"Actually, I wouldn't mind if you take the bed," Francesca said seductively, closing the door.

"Well...where would you sleep, in that case?"

"In the bed." Francesca gave Fraser a smile he didn't like one smidgin. Now she was walking slowly toward him, and the closer she moved, the further backward Fraser stepped.

"Um..." Fraser cleared his throat, which seemed to be closing involuntarily on him. "I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding here. You see, there's only room for one person there, and I do have my own sleeping arrangements planned."

Francesca shrugged carelessly. "Oh," she snorted. "Well. A little change now and then can't be all bad, can it?"

"Well, in this case..."

Fraser silently thanked God when the door swung open, and Kowalski stuck his head into the room. "Hey, Fraser, we've got cameras and radios to set up, you want to get a move on?"

"Gladly," Fraser answered. Hastily, he excused himself to Francesca and nearly ran around her, following Kowalski out of the room. Francesca watched them go, sighing in disappointment. No matter what she did, it seemed as if Fraser was never going to know what she was trying to do for him.

"He's never gonna realise what you want, you know."

Francesca turned around, and her forehead creased at the man she saw standing in the corner of the room. "Dad, what are you doing here?" she asked in confusion.

"I'm telling you to give it up. Bad enough your thickhead brother has to go risk getting himself killed, but I won't have you risking more than that for this moron."

"He's not a moron!" Francesca snapped. "He's a sweet, sensitive guy, he gets concerned whenever something's the matter--let me put it to you this way, Dad. He's a helluva lot more caring than you ever were. Than you ever will be. And quite frankly, I don't care what you think about Ray. I mean, you don't, do you?" With that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room, gambling that her father was too boozed to come up with a comeback fast enough. "I'm not as think as you drunk I am, ociffer," she muttered under her breath, almost certain that he told that to one too many cops who pulled him over in the past.

********************************************************
Part 3: Apartment Song

And so began the first day of the stakeout. Nothing much happened, but then, not much ever did on a stakeout. Kowalski and Fraser spent the first day working two hours each, spending their off hours reading magazines or doing exercises. Or at least, Fraser exercised and Kowalski lay around on the floor doing nothing. Normally he hated stakeouts, but he knew that it was the only way to protect a fellow officer.

Down on the sidewalk, Elaine and a few other beat cops patrolled the sidewalks, changing their shifts every once and so often. They kept a close eye on Vincenzo's building to see if he went in or out, and Fraser, Kowalski, Huey and Dewey watched the apartment itself like hawks. Often enough, Fraser would try entertaining Kowalski with stories of past stakeouts he'd been on, but it was only after the tenth story that he realised Kowalski didn't want to hear a word of it.

In the afternoon, Kowalski was listening to the transmissions among the stakeout cops, which came in every ten or so minutes. Fraser sat across the table from him, reading a book of Robert Service poetry. Francesca was at the police station right now, reading up on Gabriel Spinale's real estate for Kowalski and Fraser, and Kowalski himself periodically glanced at his watch and wondered where the heck Francesca could be.

The next radio message he heard came from Elaine, who had received this over the open frequency: "Ray, I just got a call from the dispatcher, there was just an attempted drive-by shooting about a block from here."

"Well, I wouldn't abandon the stakeout if I were you, Elaine," Kowalski replied. "Wait a second, you did say 'drive-by', didn't you?"

"That's right."

"Okay, good, thanks," Kowalski said, turning the radio off. He took one of the earphones from his ear, and he turned to Fraser, who gazed questioningly at him.

"Elaine says there was a drive-by just now, about a block from here," Kowalski said.

"Hm," Fraser said. "Is that indicative of something we should know?"

"Well, nine out of ten drive-bys are mob hits. I'll have to keep an open mike with Elaine and see if it was Vecchio, which I do sincerely doubt, by the way."

"I hope you're right," Fraser said quietly, looking out the window. He knew exactly what was behind that hit. There was no way it could be Ray, unless Zuko had had a change of heart and decided that he really did want Ray dead.

Early on the second morning of the stakeout, Fraser awoke with quite a start--Francesca was in his face. She was a tad disappointed that he woke up before she was able to initiate first contact, but she did have some information for him and Kowalski.

"I got what you wanted about Gabriel Spinale's property," Francesca said after Kowalski had rather groggily woken up. "Get this. He owns a big stupid-corporation warehouse just a few blocks away from here."

"It's a dummy corporation, not a stupid corporation. But so what?" Kowalski mumbled. "Just 'cause it's a few blocks away doesn't mean he's holding Vecchio there."

"On the contrary, Ray," Fraser said, "as I once told Ray--er, that is, the real Ray--keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. It was one of my father's more often repeated words of wisdom. Vincenzo lives here, he captured Ray, I think he brought him someplace close to home."

"I guess it explains why Vincenzo hasn't been to his apartment for the past two days," Kowalski said.

"Indeed. Thank you kindly, Francesca."

"Anything else you need, I'm right here," Francesca said sweetly, patting him on the knee. Good thing, Fraser considered, that his bare legs were still beneath the covers.

**********
Ray had been expecting his surroundings, so he could more or less live with them: he was sitting in a hard metal chair in a little-too-warm boiler room in Gabe Spinale's warehouse, and Spinale's thugs had handcuffed him to a vertical pipe beside him. At least they'd left one hand free so he could at least eat, although he hadn't done much of that either. Most of the previous day, the lights had been off and the room had been hot, and he'd found a way to get his coat off down to his elbow. Okay, so the bottom half of his left arm was roasting, but at least he was a little more comfortable. God alone knew what Spinale and his thugs were scheming out there.

The door banged open, and Gabe "Nosey" Spinale, flanked by two of his mob guys, entered the room. Spinale took his nickname from a nose that looked like an eagle's beak, a feature that reminded Ray of a crackpot arsonist he and Fraser had run into during a special assignment in San Francisco last year.

"You know, it's sacrilegious," Spinale said to his goons. "Poor ol' Bookman Langoustini can't even rest in peace without some cop tryin' to be him."

"Sacrilegious, shmacrilegious," Ray scoffed. "What do you think, Gabe, God doesn't give a damn about what you've been doing the last eight months?"

"Might ask you the same question, Vecchio."

"Well, here's my answer. God doesn't mind. I've been working to stop it and you don't know what I've learned yet."

"Well, I'd love to know," Spinale said with a sarcastic half-grin.

Ray chortled and shook his head. "Sorry, pal. I'll be long gone before you even start in on me."

"Oh, yeah, how do you figure that? Look around you, cop, there's no way out of here, I got a guard outside the door, I got guys who can hunt you down no matter where you go, and I'll pay off anybody who can find you for me."

"You need a clue? He wears a red coat and a big Smokey Bear hat and he goes around saying 'thank you kindly' to everything that moves."

Spinale regarded Ray in bafflement for a moment, and he decided just to dismiss that line and continue with his threats. "You know what else I can do with you," he said, folding his arms.

"Yep," Ray said nonchalantly. "When the Mountie gets here and pounds the guts out of every living thing in this building, you can let me go with him."

"Hey, Nosey," a third voice called from outside the room. Spinale turned around, and into the  boiler room came another mob guy, whom Ray recognised as Vic "V-Chip" Vincenzo. Ray had gone to high school with him, and he'd been voted the most likely to wind up behind bars. If only his classmates had known how right they were, because Ray had every confidence that Fraser would be by for him in no time at all.

"Hey, guess what, Viccy, you're gonna make good on your high school superlative," Ray called to him, grinning sardonically. His dry wit cost him, for one of Spinale's goons swung the butt of a small pistol across his cheek. There was a brief moment of pain, but it passed quickly, and Ray didn't lose a bit of hope.

"What's up, V-Chip?" Spinale asked.

"First a drive-by up the block, and now this," Vincenzo said. "Frank Zuko just gave us a buzz and said he was gonna torch our place on Water Street."

"Water Street?" Spinale repeated. "I got a half a ton of heroin in that place! That bastard Zuko ain't getting away with this!" He tore his cell phone out of his pocket, turned it on, and started punching in a number. Ray's eyebrows rose at the mention of the half ton of heroin, but when Spinale mentioned Zuko, his forehead creased. What business did Zuko have picking a fight with Spinale all of a sudden? Surely it couldn't have anything to do with him, could it?

"What do you want to bet Zuko was behind the drive-by, too?" Vincenzo asked.

"Crate of heroin," Spinale said, slapping Vincenzo's hand to seal the bet. Then he turned his undivided attention to his phone. "Yeah, it's Nosey. How's our place on Water Street?

"What the hell--! Okay, thanks, call me back if anything else comes up." Spinale slammed the phone shut and jammed it back into his pocket. "Damn it, Zuko already hit the place, it's burning to a crisp. Vic, you go over to your place and grab that pipe bomb you've been working on. You know where Zuko's favourite cigar shop is?"

Vincenzo nodded. "Good, go make like you're trying to make a business deal, then leave the bomb in there," Spinale said. "I'm going over and see what the warehouse looks like."

"What about him?" one of the goons asked, nodding at Ray.

"We'll take care of him later. I've got better things to do, c'mon." Spinale marched toward the door of the boiler room and led Vincenzo and his goons outside, shutting the door behind them and locking it. Just in case of another hit from Zuko, he told both of his henchmen to accompany him, rather than leaving one behind to guard the door.

Within five minutes, Spinale was on his way to Water Street, and Vincenzo was walking from the warehouse to his apartment. He came around the corner, and Elaine, trotting along on the other side of the street after shooing away two more cops posing as bums, spotted him right away. She kept a close eye on him, watching him make a beeline for the apartment house and start up the steps to the door.

Elaine immediately thumbed the button on her radio mike. "Detective Vecchio," she hailed.

"Go ahead, Elaine," Kowalski answered from up above.

"Vincenzo just entered the building," Elaine reported.

"Yeah, we got him," Kowalski said. He had taken a picture of Vincenzo's entrance into the building, and Fraser, sitting next to him, lifted his own radio.

"Detective Huey, you saw?"

"We caught him coming around the corner and all the way to the door," Huey responded from the apartment house next door.

Kowalski, keeping the camera trained on the windows of Vincenzo's apartment, waited for him to appear and start collecting evidence. Fraser was watching the same windows through his small telescope, and he saw the door open and admit Vincenzo to the apartment.

"There he is," he observed.

"I see him," Kowalski said, taking a picture. Vincenzo started to move through the apartment, and Kowalski and Fraser both followed his movements with their respective devices. He entered another room, probably the bedroom, and paused at the window, bending down. Kowalski took another picture, then another of what seemed to be Vincenzo opening a trunk or something like that.

"Looks like he's rooting around for a gun or something," Kowalski said. Fraser silently nodded in agreement, and he saw Vincenzo straighten up. Now the mob guy had a large plastic, silver-coloured case in his hand, and he left the bedroom and started out of the apartment.

"You don't need a suitcase that big to carry a gun, Ray," Fraser said as Kowalski took another picture. He took one more of Vincenzo leaving the apartment, then grabbed his radio. "All units, Vincenzo's on his way out, keep your eyes open. Huey, Dewey, you guys stay there and keep taking snapshots if he tries to get away." With that, he and Fraser jumped to their feet and hastened out of the apartment with Francesca at their heels. Down the stairs they went to the front door, and they hit the sidewalk near Elaine almost simultaneously with Vincenzo on the other side of the street.

"Police, hold it!" Kowalski yelled, holding his badge aloft. In response, Vincenzo reached into his belt, yanked a .357 Magnum out of the holster and took a shot at the three cops across the street. Francesca promptly ducked back indoors, but Kowalski and Elaine both drew their own guns and returned fire, inciting Vincenzo to duck as he ran for the next alley over. He was already under heavy fire from the officers posing as street bums nearby, so he continued shooting back as he entered the alley. To facilitate his getaway, he flung the case to the sidewalk. Fraser was promptly on his tail, and Kowalski was glad for the opportunity to pause and get his glasses on.

"Elaine, call it in, backup at eleven-eighty South Ashland!" he yelled, dashing across the street. "Go grab that case and get someone to take it in!" Elaine yanked her radio mike off her shoulder and obeyed Kowalski's instructions, watching him enter an alley running parallel to the one Fraser and Vincenzo were in.

Fraser knew that Ray--and Kowalski, for that matter--would often yell at a perp to give it up if they were chasing him on foot, but he was aware that yelling would be a waste of breath. He pounded up the alley on Vincenzo's tail, wishing he was at least licenced to carry his gun in these parts so he could take a pot shot at his leg. After all, Vincenzo *had* shot at him and his associates first, and God knew what he had done to Ray.

At the other end of the alley, Vincenzo cannoned out into the street, forcing a dead halt on all traffic coming his way. He slowed down but didn't stop, jumping over a car's hood at one point. Then, the traffic had just started moving again when Fraser showed up, forcing another halt. He never even heard the noise of a car rear-ending the vehicle in front of it; he was concentrating solely on Vincenzo, pounding into another alley and starting up a nearby fire escape. Vincenzo leaped up the bottom ladder leading to the first platform, and Fraser nearly vaulted up the rungs after him, climbing the stair flights rapidly.

Kowalksi had just seen Fraser disappear into the alley by the time he got to Ashland Street, so he dashed across the street--at least there was more of a gap between him and the traffic--and made it to the opposite sidewalk, sprinting for the warehouse where he knew Spinale was holed up. As he passed the alley where he'd last seen Fraser and Vincenzo, he looked into it long enough to see them at the top of the fire escape, striking out across the roof. Spinale's joint was just a couple of blocks away, and Kowalski wasn't such a bad runner. With any luck, he'd beat them to it.

Now Fraser and Vincenzo were jumping roofs. This side of the street was lined with apartment buildings, which were all pretty much the same height, although there was one that was a tad lower than the rest. Vincenzo, on hitting that roof, toppled to his side and rolled a few feet before getting up, dashing on. Fraser had no such problem, hitting the roof with both feet and stepping off on his left one. The next roof was slightly higher than this one, and when Vincenzo leaped across the gap, his waist was level with the next roof by the time he hit it. He heaved himself up onto the roof before he dropped too far, and Fraser did the same, just missing catching him. This time, Vincenzo didn't go for the next roof over; he altered his course and ran for a door close by. In he went, and he started down the stairs with Fraser still on his tail.

Too late, Fraser realised why he was chasing Vincenzo to this particular building; it was the one where Ray was being held. No doubt Vincenzo would use Ray as a human shield whenever Fraser and Kowalski caught up with him. Fraser would have to take a look at the bigger picture whenever he did catch up with him, and he pounded down the stairs after Vincenzo and to the structure's basement.

Sure enough, he followed Vincenzo into a dark, humid boiler room in the corner of the building, and just before entering the room behind him, Fraser spotted Kowalski running toward the same door with his gun in his hand. They burst into the boiler room together just in time to see Vincenzo disappearing behind an oil tank while snapping out his own gun again. Fraser and Kowalski sprinted after him, and within seconds, they were obliged to stop dead in their tracks. Vincenzo was dragging Ray out from behind the oil tank, holding the gun to his neck.

"Back off, both of you," Vincenzo growled. "Lose the iron."

Slowly and stiffly, Kowalski complied, lowering his gun to the floor. Fraser, as impassive as ever, shook his head once and stared steely-eyed at Vincenzo. "I'm afraid I don't have a gun."

"I said, lose it, before I blow his head off," Vincenzo snarled.

"He doesn't have one, Vic," Ray said. And to prove it, Fraser turned halfway around and opened his holster to display its emptiness.

"As you can see, I don't have one," Fraser said. "And you're not going to blow Detective Vecchio's, or anybody else's, head off. You're going to surrender your weapon and yourself and come with us, and you're going to give us the rest of the mob."

"What the hell you talking about?" Vincenzo demanded. "I've got a gun and I've got a hostage! What do you got, an empty holster and a cop who needs glasses to shoot his gun?!"

"It's the only outcome I can see at this point," Fraser said. Vincenzo had no idea why Kowalski wasn't dissenting--Kowalski hadn't said a word throughout the confrontation, he was just glaring at Vincenzo as if he didn't care that his colleague's life was in danger.

"Well, I see another one, I see us walking right between you two and out of here," Vincenzo said. "So move aside."

"That won't be necessary," Fraser said.

A split second later, Vincenzo felt the sensation of cold metal against the side of his neck, just behind and below his ear. His eyes cocked to the right, but the newcomer was out of his line of vision.

"Gun, now," Frank Zuko ordered, moving his own weapon into Vincenzo's ear. Ever so slowly, Vincenzo lifted his gun away from Ray's neck and held it away from him. Zuko grabbed it, and Vincenzo removed his arm from around Ray, who was more than glad to shove him away. Kowalski picked up his gun, catching the one Zuko tossed to him, and he moved in on Vincenzo, reaching for his handcuffs.

"You oughta pay more attention to your basement windows," Zuko said smugly to Vincenzo, jerking his thumb at the open window through which he had come.

Ray turned to Fraser, who watched the smile growing on his own friend's face, feeling his own smile stretch almost painfully. He took a step toward him and threw his arms around Ray, who returned the embrace tightly, patting Fraser on the back.

"Damn, Benny, it's good to see you again!" Ray said ecstatically.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Fraser said. "Welcome back, Ray. I think the entire Chicago Police Department welcomes you back."

Ray released him, standing back. He never thought he'd be so overjoyed to see that Damn Red Suit and the big hat again, much less Fraser's boyish half-smile and his nutty sayings. He'd almost be happy to hear all the "thank you kindlies" and "oh, dears" and "ahs" and "hmms" and "mynameisconstablebentonfraserroyalcanadianmountedpoliceifirstcametochicagoonthetrailof
thekillersofmyfatherandforreasonsthatdontneedexploringinthisjunctureiveremainedattachedasliaisonwiththecanadianconsulates" that had made Fraser as annoying as he'd always been.

"How'd you get through the mob and get to me, anyway?" Ray asked.

"Well, Ray, I don't think we can take credit for getting through. It's Mr. Zuko that you should thank for making that possible." Fraser motioned toward Zuko, who had a knowing smile and raised eyebrows.

"I owed him some favours, what better way to even the score?" he shrugged.

"I suppose I should say thank you," Ray said without smiling.

"Yeah, you should," Zuko said. "Okay, fellas, now that you've done what you had to do, I'm out of here. I've got to call off my boys."

"Well, it's gonna be a lot harder to get Spinale under control, you know that better than anybody else here," Kowalski said. "Listen, Vecchio, when we get back to the precinct I've got a little news I've got to deliver. Better talk about it in private, though." He shoved Vincenzo to the door of the boiler room, and Ray watched him go and turned back to Fraser, frowning.

"Any input on that, Benny?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I'm not sure what he's talking about," Fraser said, although he had the uneasy feeling that it had something to do with the burning of Ray's house and car.

"Frank?" Ray said.

"Just met him the other day, I dunno," Zuko said. "Listen, I've got a lot of work to do. My boys are all over the city, working Spinale's places. I've got to pull them off without pissing them off."

"Okay, then just tell them you think the cops are getting onto you and you want them to call it off before they trace anything to you," Ray said. "Believe me, they'll buy it. Happened a couple of times down in Vegas when we were knocking joints over."

"All right, I'll try it," Zuko said, giving him a rather hard pat on the shoulder. "Glad you're back, Ray." He trailed after Kowalski, and Fraser wore a wide, if lopsided smile as he turned to his friend.

"So am I, arguably more than anybody else who knows you," he said. "C'mon, Ray. I think we have a lot of catching up to do."

"That we do," Ray agreed. "Say, Benny, how's it been going with Kowalski and everything else? Frannie working Civilian Aid?"

"Oh, you knew about that?" Fraser said, eyebrows raised. He was suddenly nervous, knowing just how it had been going with Francesca working Civilian Aid.

"Yeah, I got her the job when Elaine was getting close to graduation," Ray said. "So how's it been?"

"Well, if you really want to hear the story, Ray..." Fraser anxiously awaited the reply as they left the room to return to the stakeout.

***********************************************************
Part 4: Looking For A Place To Happen

Francesca and Elaine were both waiting outside the building when Fraser, Ray and Kowalski returned, and when she saw her brother approaching in the flesh and in one piece, Francesca couldn't help herself. Shouting his name, she bounded across the street, and Ray yelled in return and strode forward to meet her. Francesca slammed into Ray and wrapped her arms tightly around him, and he had no idea why he did this--he hugged her back and exchanged a kiss on the cheek with her.

"My God, when I heard what happened, I thought you were a goner," Francesca gibbered.

"Frannie, after thirty-one years of living with me, you oughta know one thing: No criminal, mob guy or otherwise, ever gets to me. And when we set out to stop this mob war before it starts, that makes us the next generation of the Untouchables." He smiled knowingly, but then he allowed his eyes to shift downward. It was then that he noticed the alterations she'd made to the civilian-aide uniform.

"What the hell..." he muttered in disbelief. "Kowalski!"

Kowalski glanced up from shoving a stick of gum into his mouth, and he raised his eyebrows at Ray, who glared. The glare still didn't nullify Kowalski's joy at being called by his own name.

"Did you encourage this?" Ray demanded, indicating Francesca's outfit.

"No, I did not encourage that, Vecchio, no sane cop encourages someone to be out of uniform," Kowalski retorted. "Besides, I was supposed to be pretending she was my sister, what do you think I thought of it? I mean, if any one person encouraged it..." Kowalski lifted an accusing finger behind Fraser's back. "He did."

Ray's glare shifted to Fraser, who was giving him the classic big-eyed Mountie look. Ray always thought he looked so dumb when he looked like this, but that didn't matter to him now. He took a threatening step forward, growling, "Fraser..."

"Um..." Fraser stammered. "I...I imagine that perhaps I did encourage it, Ray, but I assure you, it was completely unintentional. Wouldn't you agree, Francesca?"

She shrugged and smiled, and Fraser didn't like that look one bit. "Well, you know, a little leather here, a chain there, it's not always pure coincidence..."

"Leather and chains?!" Ray exploded, and this time both Fraser and Kowalski got the full fury of his temper.

"Vecchio, why don't you hold off for a couple of days and take a look and see for yourself!" Kowalski said.

"Nothing doing, pal, she's my little sister and I outrank you and in both capacities I say back off!"

"Oh, geez, I've heard of fighting over a woman before, but this is ridiculous!" Kowalski snarled, throwing up his hands.

"Yeah, well, I'd like to know how many times you've done it since you took my place!" Ray shot back.

Fraser couldn't listen to this any longer. He had to step in before this degenerated any further, especially considering who the subject of the argument was and the fact that she was standing right behind them. He moved in, and in a loud voice, he said, "Ray!"

Both Ray and Kowalski turned toward him and barked, "What?!" At this, they turned back and stared at each other in surprise, then returned to complete hostility. "Oh, great, he still thinks he's me!" Ray snapped. "You know, maybe I should just change my name to Stanley Kowalski and everybody can go away happy!"

"ENOUGH!" Francesca screamed suddenly. All three men whirled toward her, and she was standing, hands on hips, feet apart, giving the trio an astonished look. "I can't believe you people!" she said. "It wasn't anybody's fault that I wanted to look like this, there's no need to start slinging dirt at each other over it!"

"Slinging MUD, Frannie, we're slinging mud, not dirt!" Kowalski snapped.

"Oh, right, like there's a difference," Ray scoffed. "Well, so much for the homecoming, huh, Fraser? That's a good idea. I think I'll go home." He turned around and started marching to nowhere in particular. Fraser and Kowalski both gulped and looked at each other, knowing what had happened to Ray's home.

Ray stopped and turned around, and his look showed that he wasn't ready to get too friendly with Kowalski just yet. "Okay, Kowalski, where'd you hide my car? And how've you been treating it?"

Fraser and Kowalski both gulped and looked at each other again, knowing what had happened to Ray's car. "We'll get the car later, Ray," Fraser said. "Right now, I think you're being awaited at the precinct."

**********
When Fraser, Ray, Francesca and Kowalski entered the squad room, all four of them were taken aback by the throng of police officers waiting inside for them. As they entered, a roaring cheer and an explosion of applause went up from the multitude and nearly deafened the three of them. Huey and Dewey were amongst the first to come forward and pat Ray on the back, welcoming him home; Welsh, predictably, was the next. If anything, they were all happy to see him back--especially Diefenbaker, who leaped up and pawed at Ray's waist and stomach with excitement. Needless to say, Ray was surprised at this, but eventually he incited Diefenbaker to stay on all fours where he belonged.

It took a while for the cheering and clapping to die down, and when it at last did, Welsh was the first to speak. "On behalf of the entire Chicago P.D.," he announced, "I'd like to welcome Detective Vecchio back to the fold."

"Thanks, Lieutenant," Ray said. "And thanks to everybody who got together today to welcome me back. But right now, I've got a little personal business to take care of."

Naturally, there was some private speculation as to what this personal business was. When they saw the dangerous look on Ray's face, the occupants of the squad room concluded that it wasn't bathroom-related. Ray seemed to be marching toward his desk; then as he drew closer, it became evident that he was headed for the side door of the room.

Just in front of that door, the janitor was slowly mopping away, dipping the mop into the bucket time and again. Noting the silence except for the three pairs of footsteps, he turned around to see what was what. Ray was almost on top of him, and Ray did not look the least bit happy.

Immediately the janitor threw his mop to the floor, and he bolted out of the squad room and ran down the hall in sheer desperation, shoving anybody out of the way who happened to be in it. Ray was on his heels, gun in hand, and Fraser and Kowalski had already gone out the squad room's main doors and were circling around to head him off.

Ray had no intentions of yelling at anybody else to stop the janitor; the guy belonged to him, and he wasn't going to let anybody else near him. Except possibly for Fraser, who abruptly appeared around a bend up ahead, fist ready. He let it fly, and it rammed into the janitor's face and stopped him short, sending him sprawling on his back.

Ray and Kowalski were both aiming their guns straight down at him, and letting Kowalski keep him covered, Ray shoved his gun into his belt and dragged the janitor to his feet. Taking out his handcuffs, he shoved the janitor against the wall and started to slap them on. "You are under arrest, you mopheaded bastard," he snarled. "And I'm not gonna read you your rights, 'cause you don't deserve 'em." He roughly spun the janitor around and held him by the lapels, glaring eye-to-eye at him, just centimeters from his face. "You want to sue for malicious prosecution, you better start thinkin' up an amount, 'cause every damn body in this department is gonna prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law." Dragging him away from the wall, he shoved him inclemently toward the holding cells without sparing Fraser and Kowalski a second glance.

"Good call about that janitor, Fraser," Kowalski said.

"I was hoping he wouldn't give him the same treatment as he gave Frank Zuko once," Fraser said. "I'm glad my hopes came true."

While Ray was booking the janitor and taking him to the holding cells, Kowalski accompanied him while Fraser returned to the squad room. It had returned to its usual bustle after the news got back about the janitor, so Fraser steered clear of Francesca, plopped down by Ray's desk, and waited for his two friends to return. When they reentered the squad room, Ray looked a little more doleful than he had before, and Fraser knew what Kowalski had told him. He got to his feet, and Kowalski ducked out the side door of the squad room, leaving Fraser and Ray to discuss things together.

"So how did you know, Ray?" Fraser asked.

"About the janitor? Well, you told me on the way back here that you knew he was probably the one who blew my cover. Just before you and I went over to Alameda last year, I heard about a mob guy at the bottom of the food chain whose nickname was the Mophead. Wasn't hard to make the connection."

Fraser raised a pair of approving eyebrows. Not bad for Ray, but Fraser hoped that it wouldn't be that easy for him to figure this one out ahead of time. "Uh, Ray," he said, "there's a little matter we need to discuss. It's a matter you may not like."

"It's okay, Benny," Ray said. "Kowalski already told me what happened to your apartment and my house, I don't mind as long as everybody's safe."

"Actually, Ray, I'm afraid everybody's not safe," Fraser said in a subdued tone. "You see, we were being stalked by a serial arsonist who knew where she could catch us both. Now, I did my best to locate the igniter before it went off, but...well, let's just say your car may be salvageable this time."

Ray's eyes widened. They turned momentarily up to the ceiling, then moved back down and glared straight into Fraser's. "You did it again, didn't you?" Ray demanded with a very heavy sigh.

"Um, yes..." Fraser said, bowing his head.

"You blew up my car again, didn't you?!"

"Ray, it didn't blow up, it just burned. As I said, I tried to locate the igniter, but it was on Stan's side beneath the dashboard, so I was unable to get to it, and we were forced to ditch the car in the lake they call Michigan. Or to be more precise, forty-three degrees, fifty minutes and seventeen seconds north, and eighty-seven degrees, fifty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds west--"

Ray's nostrils flared, and he threw up his hands. "North, west, dashboard, back seat, I don't give a damn, my car has been destroyed again!" he ranted. "Now you go back over to that lake, and don't you set foot in this station again until my car is back on dry land, do you understand me?!"

"Understood, Ray, I'm on my way," Fraser said, hurrying around Ray. He ducked out the side door and hastened off to find Kowalski.

**********

Within the hour, Kowalski had whipped up a story that the Riviera was evidence needed for an investigation, and it worked like a charm on the salvage team. Kowalski directed them over to the pier off of which he had driven the car at Fraser's urging, and Fraser decided he would likely be surprised if Ray even looked in his direction while they were heading over there.

While the three were heading over to the pier, they wound up near the end of a line at a traffic light. Kowalski drummed his fingers on the wheel, Ray just sighed impatiently and stared out the window, and Fraser also looked out the window, seeing an alley across the sidewalk from them. It wasn't the alley that got his attention; it was what was lying in the alley.

"Stan, pull the car over," Fraser said.

"What?" Kowalski said. "And quit calling me Stan."

"Sorry, but I think I see something in that alley." Fraser pointed, and Kowalski and Ray followed his gaze and saw the same thing. Kowalski complied, pulling the car out of the line and up alongside the curb. The trio got out of the car and strode toward the alley, Ray taking his cell phone along to call it in if it was what he thought it was.

"Great, another stiff, like we don't get enough of those in this city," Kowalski observed, taking a look at the dead body lying next to a stack of crates and garbage bags on one side of the alley.

Fraser knelt down beside the corpse, rolling it over. Instinctively, Ray recoiled, almost bumping into Kowalski. "Oh, my God," he said incredulously. "It's Steve West!"

"Wasn't he an associate of Zuko's?" Fraser said.

"Yeah," Ray said.

Fraser scanned the body for a sign of the cause of death, seeing none. "There are no bullet or knife wounds," he observed, shaking his head. "We'd better have Mort look him over."

"Okay, just remind me to be in the squad room when Mort starts in on him," Kowalski said.

"First things first, Fraser," Ray said, pointing his finger.

"Understood." Fraser rose to his feet, and Ray turned on his cell phone to call for a hearse.

**********
Once the hearse had dropped by and carted the corpse back to the morgue, Fraser, Ray and Kowalski proceeded to the pier. The salvage team was a few minutes ahead of them with a yard crane on the waterfront, and when they arrived, its cable was in the water and taut. Evidently it had latched onto something, and the threesome stood on the edge of the pier and listened to the crane hoisting the car out of the lake.

"Great," Ray grumbled, watching the Riviera rise back into the light. "The thing's been lying in there for eight months, it'll probably be about eighty percent rust. We'll be lucky if we can find enough primer to even get started."

"Actually, Ray, rust isn't much of a problem in this case," Fraser said. "You see, metal objects only become prone to rust when they're exposed to moisture and then to open air. Your car, on the other hand, has been completely immersed in water without being exposed to the air, so it shouldn't be as rusted as you fear."

"Okay, do me a favour, Benny. I'm going to have to take it to Al for the repair job. Do one of those nitpicky inspections of yours, okay? I want to know how much I can take off the final price if he does a typical job."

"As you wish, Ray." Fraser watched the crane and suspended car swiveling from above the lake over to the dock, and with a ninety-degree turn completed, the cable unraveled and lowered the car to the dock. Its front bumper hit the pavement a little too hard for Ray's peace of mind, and he winced.

"Easy on the car, bozo," he muttered in the direction of the crane's control cabin.

"Well, he's not really raising the Titanic, Vecchio," Kowalski scoffed.

"He is to me," Ray shot back. The crane lowered the car's rear end to the dock in its own sweet time, and immediately Ray hastened forward with Fraser and Kowalski on his heels. Ray mumbled something under his breath before reaching the car, and he leaned on the passenger door, which was still open after Fraser and Kowalski's escape from the car. He peered inside, shaking his head and sighing in annoyance.

"There, you see, Ray?" Fraser said. "Very little damage, only to the paint job and the upholstery. A little drying-out, some primer, and a bit of metal and upholstery rehabilitation and new paint job, and it'll be as good as new."

"Tell that to Al," Ray muttered. He raised his voice and called to one of the salvage team members, "Okay, get it over to the impound, we'll be right there." Taking Fraser and Kowalski aside, he mumbled to them, "Let's make it quick, pretend to get the evidence we need and then go to a garage, okay?"

"No trouble, Ray," Fraser said.

"As long as this isn't on my conscience anymore," Kowalski tossed in, no matter how hard he tried to blame it on Fraser. After all, he'd been the one who hit the horn and ignited the fire.

**********
It took them less than two hours to haul the Riviera over to the impound, pretend to collect evidence, and then convey the car to a garage owned by Ray's cousin. At least for Ray, Al Grosso was awfully easy to push when it came to car repairs. Whenever the Riviera had needed repairs, Ray would often get Fraser to inspect the car closely, and he would then order Al to lop a certain amount off the price for each discrepancy Fraser found. Ray was smugly confident that Al wouldn't get out of this one easily--at the garage, Al told him that it would take him a few days working overtime, so Ray told him to take the overtime and he'd pay a little extra. That convinced Al, and having made sure that he got to work, Ray went with Fraser and Kowalski back to the precinct.

In the basement, the trio found their way to the morgue. Dr. Mort Gustafson, the coroner, was ready and waiting for them with the body of Steve West on his operating table. Mort was no doubt Scandinavian, which showed through in his appearance and his accent. He was also a little on the weird side of eccentric, with a penchant for singing opera while he examined the myriad stiffs that came to him daily.

Fraser, Ray and Kowalski entered the morgue, and Mort looked up from behind his microphone and smiled at them. "Ray," Fraser said, "may I present Dr. Mort Gustafson, who took Dr. Pearson's place as medical examiner shortly after you left for Las Vegas."

Mort, Ray thought as he shook Mort's outstretched hand. Not too bad a name for a mortician. "A pleasure to meet you, and welcome back," Mort smiled in his deep, rolling bass on which he prided himself, and always kept honed while he did his job.

"Yeah, thanks," Ray said, beginning to get a little sick of hearing that. Okay, he was back, it didn't mean everybody had to make that big a deal out of it. "Okay, so what's the story with this one?"

"Well, let's find out, shall we?" Mort said, pulling on his latex gloves.

As he did so, Fraser turned to Kowalski, who was staring intently at the floor and hardly daring to look up at the body on the table. "Stan, didn't you want to be in the squad room during this?"

"Fraser, don't call me Stan," Kowalski muttered. "And no, I changed my mind."

"Ah." Fraser shrugged; far be it from him to try and change either man's mind once it was made up. He turned his attention back to Mort, who was now tossing back the cover from the body. Now the three observers could see that West's body was covered with bruises, such that it looked like he'd almost been beaten to death. Oddly, though, his face wasn't that badly banged up, but Kowalski was still sickened enough by the sight to turn away with his fist over his mouth. He backed off and hovered near the sink.

"Looks like he's been beaten to death," Ray observed, taking a look over the bruises.

"No, his face would be cut if he'd been beaten up," Fraser contradicted.

Mort began to probe, and then he began to sing. Fraser recognised the tune instantly--Beethoven's 9th Symphony, the Ode to Joy. He bobbed his head quietly to it as Mort sang, and then at the second verse, he joined in. Ray's already incredulous look turned downright disbelieving as he stared at Fraser, while Kowalski just sighed and shook his head in annoyance. It drove him nuts when Mort sang over a dead body, but with Fraser joining in--argh.

"Hmm," Mort said. "I'd say the time of death was between eleven o'clock this morning and two o'clock this afternoon. Notice how badly the flesh is bruised on his elbows."

"Hm," Fraser repeated. Ray snapped his head up and glared momentarily, then turned away and snorted a quick laugh up his sleeve. As Fraser took a pair of latex gloves for himself and donned them, he raised his eyebrows. "What's so funny, Ray?"

"You," Ray snickered. "I can't believe I forgot about that 'hm' of yours. Hey, Kowalski, how many times has he said 'hm' or 'ah' to you since I left?"

"You think I've been counting?" Kowalski said over his shoulder.

"Good answer," Ray said.

"Mort, could you give me a hand?" Fraser asked. Mort, seeing what Fraser was getting at, took the body by the left shoulder and started to roll it halfway over. Fraser placed his hands on the back and pushed, and he peered closely at the skin on the back.

"Aha," he said. "Nearly identical bruises on the back of his head and along his spine. I may be getting rusty, but offhand, I'd say he was thrown out of a window up above and landed on his back, hard enough to bounce and roll a little."

"Oh, yeah," Ray said. "That's one of Spinale's beefs, throwing guys out the window. Let me guess, more than two dozen broken bones?"

"Indeed," Mort informed him. "He hit the ground hard. It's a surprise his neck wasn't broken on impact."

Ray's cell phone rang, and he pulled it from his coat pocket and turned it on. "Vecchio," he said, moving away from the others.

"Hey, Ray, it's me."

Ray glowered down at the phone before answering. "What do you want, Frankie?"

"You know Steve West?"

Ray's brow furrowed. Why did he get the feeling that Zuko had something to do with this--but no, West was one of Zuko's boys. But then, Ray wouldn't put it past Zuko to off one of his own gang if it occurred to him. "Uh, why do you ask?"

"Well, he's gotten me some really useful information I'd like to share," Zuko said. "Want to meet me at my place in oh, say, half an hour?"

"What's the information about?"

"Look, let's talk about it when you get here. God knows when one of our phones is being traced."

"Well, the only reason I ask is because about five feet behind me, our coroner is examining West and gradually concluding that somebody threw him out a window about three hours ago."

**********
With that bit of news in mind, Fraser, Ray and Kowalski met Zuko at his house, and they conferred in Zuko's study. Ray was content to remain on his feet--he felt it gave him a more dominant position--while Fraser and Kowalski sat in front of the desk. Zuko leaned back in his chair behind it, his hand resting on a piece of paper on the desktop.

"Positive I.D. on West, I'm sure," Zuko said.

"No doubt," Fraser answered.

Zuko shook his head and stared off to one side, sighing. "Damn," he muttered. "Spinale's going to hear about this, believe you me."

"In the form of what?" Kowalski asked suspiciously, slouching in his seat.

"Well," Fraser said conversationally, "far be it from me to accuse Mr. Zuko of mob activity, but those who do dabble in it tend to be partial to perhaps a drive-by shooting, a bomb, concrete clodhoppers would be among first picks."

"Concrete clodhoppers? What's that, synonymous with cement overshoes?" Kowalski scoffed.

"Oh yes, right you are," Fraser said, and repeated to himself in a mutter, "Cement overshoes, cement overshoes, perhaps in the form of cement overshoes."

"Hey, I don't do hits," Zuko said defensively. "Okay, maybe I extort a little, maybe I cause some property damage as a form of retaliation, but the word 'hit' means nothing to me or my boys."

"This time, we'll take your word for it," Ray said, arms folded. "Okay, so what did our snitch have to say for himself?"

"Plenty," Zuko said. "He's been in with Spinale for weeks now. Here's what he was able to tell me before they got him, but I think you'd better hurry up. First attempt's going to be evening rush hour." He handed the piece of paper to Ray, who took it and read the line at the top of it.

"Colby's Ol' Place," he observed. "You know anybody who regularly goes there, Frank?"

"None that I know of, but if Spinale's going to make a hit there, you can bet one of my boys is the target," Zuko said. "You better get this guy, Ray."

"That better not be a threat," Ray advised, shoving the paper into his coat pocket and marching out of the office. Fraser watched him go, then thanked Zuko kindly and departed with Kowalski on his heels.

**********

To keep a low profile, Kowalski left his red dashlight off while he drove to the bar, but he did drive a little faster than the limit, since there was no telling when the hit would take place. When they arrived at the bar, there were no bullet holes in the windows, and that was a good sign. There didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary (at least, ordinary at a scuzzy tavern) either, so it presently looked tame. Fraser, Ray and Kowalski got out of the car, and Diefenbaker, wondering about the possibility of a peanut or three in the bar, followed them across the sidewalk and into the bar.

Before they even entered the place, Ray knew who the target was supposed to be: a character named Cabrini who was sitting at one end of the bar, sipping at a vodka. Ray headed over and stood next to him, knocking loudly on the surface of the bar. "Hey, Davey, how's it going," he said with a forced grin.

"What do you want, Vecchio?" Cabrini demanded.

"To keep Gabe Spinale from whacking you," Ray said.

"Me?" Cabrini scoffed. "You kidding? All I am is one of Frank's acquaintances, that's it. What business does Spinale have tryin' to hit me?"

Kowalski just shrugged, tossing up his hands. "Okay, fine, you want to get your head blown off the second you step out of this bar, that's great by me, we'll be less one more mob guy. C'mon, Fraser, I've got better things to do."

"Stan," Fraser said, putting his hand on Kowalski's shoulder and stopping him. "We have no choice."

"I thought you were the one who always said you can make your own choices no matter what the situation is," Kowalski shot back, "and I thought I was always the one who said to quit calling me Stan."

"Look, Dave," Ray said to Cabrini. "Why don't we just go talk to Frank and see what he can do for you. I've been in deep with Spinale, I know how he works. He won't leave you alone, man. Frank could probably do more for you than even we could."

Cabrini stared at Ray for a long moment before his attention was broken by the ringing of Ray's cell phone. Digging into his pocket and wondering who the hell had the nerve to call him at a time like this, Ray excavated the phone and turned it on. "Vecchio," he said.

"Yeah, he's right here, hold on." He handed the phone to Cabrini, who answered, and Ray didn't bother doing what Fraser would usually do by leaning close to the phone and trying to eavesdrop. Fraser did, however, until a glare from Ray compelled him to back off.

"Yeah, okay," Cabrini said to the caller. "All right, fine. I'll be there." He shut the phone off and handed it back to Ray.

"Coming from Frankie himself, I guess that settles it," Ray said. "C'mon." Cabrini polished off his drink, tossed a few dollar bills onto the bar and left with the three cops, walking outside to the car.

"Mind you, we still have no idea when the hit is scheduled to take place," Fraser rubbed it in.

"Well, doesn't look like it'll happen any time soon," Ray said. "The later, the better."

Ray had barely finished speaking when they heard a loud scream from nearby. All three spun in the direction of the scream, and they saw a slovenly dressed teenager ripping a purse from a little old lady's shoulder. The mugger immediately started racing away, and it was while Kowalski was watching him run that he saw the sun glint off an enormous twelve-gauge pointing out of a passing car.

"Fraser!" he shouted. "Down, everybody get down!" Leaping into Fraser and Cabrini from behind, he knocked them both to the ground just as two booming shots rang out. The shells smashed through the windows of the bar, and the wheelman floored it, sending the car screeching away from the scene.

"Everybody stay down, stay down!" Kowalski roared, getting back to his feet with his gun in his hands. Racing for his own car, he took up a firing position across its roof and ripped off six shots. The escaping car's back window disintegrated, and it screeched around a corner and
vanished.

"Ray, you go after the mugger!" Fraser yelled, racing out into the street. He ran after the car, and Kowalski got into his, revved the engine and peeled out in a U-turn. Soon enough, he raced past Fraser just as the latter was turning the corner, and Fraser, seeing that Kowalski had this situation well in hand, turned around to back Ray up.

Ray himself was running through an alley after the mugger, knowing why Fraser had told him to pursue. The mugger had acted as a diversion so that the hit could be made. At least Cabrini was unhurt, so there was no reason for Zuko to come after anybody besides Spinale and his gang; but all that concerned Ray right this moment was catching the perp. Wishing he could at least get a steady aim at the mugger's leg, he laboured on after him and followed him into an intersecting alley.

Fraser got to the first alley just in time to see Ray disappear around the corner, and he sprinted toward it and soon arrived. Looking down the intersecting alley, he couldn't see Ray anywhere, so Fraser concluded that he and the perp must now be on the side street at the other end. Fraser looked around rapidly, and he saw something that should come in more than handy, so he ran to grab it.

Ray had tailed the mugger into another alley off the side street, and up the alley they ran. Ray was so busy concentrating on the perp that he didn't even give a second thought to how Kowalski was doing with shooters, so he was unaware that Kowalski had long since lost them and was circling around to back up him and Fraser. The end of the alley was in sight, and a somewhat busy street was at that end. The kid headed straight for it, intending to lose Ray in the traffic; but he couldn't yet see the car coming around the corner about ten meters away. Unsuspecting, he raced to the mouth of the alley as the car passed it. As far as the perp was concerned, he was home free--or maybe not.

Benton Fraser let go of the rear of the car, speeding toward the kid on the discarded skateboard he'd found in the alley. By the time the mugger saw Fraser, he was too close, and Fraser slammed into him and knocked him off his feet. Jumping off the skateboard, Fraser stood over the perp and planted one foot on his chest.

Ray arrived and shoved his gun into his belt, and he bent down and dragged the kid to his feet. "Okay, punk, let's go," he said. "I'm not gonna give you the right to remain silent, because I want to know who you're working for." Fraser turned around to see Kowalski's car pulling up alongside them, and Ray slapped the cuffs on the mugger and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.

"Lost 'em before I even saw 'em," Kowalski grumbled. "I took a full turn around the area and didn't see a damn thing."

"Well, here, it wasn't a total loss, get this slimebag out of my sight," Ray said, shoving the mugger toward him. Glad to comply, Kowalski took hold of the mugger and took him off Ray's hands, cramming him into the back seat of his car. Ray sighed and stared at Fraser, who was looking down at the ground.

"Ray," Fraser muttered, lifting his head, "you wouldn't happen to have another pair of handcuffs, would you?"

"For who?" Ray asked in confusion.

"Me."

Ray snorted and gave Fraser an unbelieving look. "For what?"

"Well, although my acts did result in the arrest of a criminal who facilitated an attempted mob hit, I'm afraid they weren't entirely legal," Fraser said. "You see, it's a traffic violation to cling to the rear of a moving vehicle while riding a skateboard, and I'm afraid that's exactly what I was doing."

They started to walk back to the bar as Kowalski pulled away with the perp. "Well, Fraser, you did classify it as a traffic violation, right?"

"Well, yes, Ray, although I can't say as I'm accustomed to it, since it's very unusual in the north."

"That's 'cause up there, you'd never see anybody riding a skateboard and clinging to the back of a dog sled. Besides, they have ice-skate boards up there, not roller-skate boards."

"Be that as it may, I still committed an infraction of the law, that requires you to read me my rights."

"Okay, Benny, you've got the right to remain silent and the right to an attorney, but that doesn't mean you're under arrest."

"But you have to, Ray."

"Well, you never arrest me for running a stop sign or breaking the limit or turning without signaling, do you?"

"Of course not, but I'm not in my jurisdiction down here, you are. Although there was one time when Stan was framed for murder, so he took refuge in the consulate, and since strictly speaking that's Canadian soil, I was within my rights to place him under arrest..."

***********************************************************

Part 5: Uphill Battle

"So does Zuko have any ideas as to the next likely target, Ray?"

"Yeah, I let Kowalski know, he's organising the stakeout right now."

"And where might it be?"

"Some warehouse up on the west side. I've never been sure what Zuko keeps there, whether it's illegal weapons or crack or what-all."

"Well, you know, Ray, since Zuko did have the sense to create confusion enough for us to rescue you, I think you could easily return the favour by not arresting him on evidence you find of any criminal activities." Fraser rolled out from underneath the Riviera, turned his flashlight off, and got to his feet. He glanced obliquely at Al Grosso, who stood by the garage door and waited to hear what sorts of things would encourage Ray to try and bust him.

"Well?" Ray said.

Fraser nodded once and drew a deep breath. "The front axle has a cracked bearing, and I believe the wignut on the crank case is missing its washer. Also, the firewall still has a few spots of corrosion, although I don't believe it's anything a little body filler won't fix, and I discovered several tangles of weed around the rear axle. I was able to take care of those, though." Fraser held up the weeds, but Ray wasn't even looking at him. During Fraser's speech, Ray had slowly turned his head to glower at Al, who didn't look anything but sheepish.

"This car is my pride and joy, Al," Ray growled, pointing at the Riviera. "Since you did better than a half-assed repair job this time, that's why I won't take you in for fraud. But let me tell you something, pal, you've got fifteen minutes to correct every problem he found, or else I pay you less than half price on every inspection and repair job from now on."

"Oh, no problem, Ray," Fraser said, having gathered together everything he'd need while Ray had been talking. "I'll be with you in a minute." Ray turned around to stare quizzically at him just as Fraser dropped back to the floor and shoved himself under the Riviera.

For the next five or ten minutes, all Ray and Al could see was Fraser's legs sticking out from under the car as he rolled and slid around underneath it, pinging and banging and squeaking around with the tools. God knew what he was doing down there--Ray somehow got the feeling he didn't want to kneel down and see. All in good time, Fraser finished down there, and he rolled out from under the car and hopped to his feet.

"All right, Ray," he said. "I think that should about do it. Ready?"

Ray was more than ready, so while Al moved over and opened the garage door in front of the Riviera, Ray marched over to stand in front of him. "How much was it again?" he queried.

"Thirty-five hundred," Al said.

"Two thousand or nothing," Ray shot back. "I still don't show mercy when you do a sub-standard job. But right now, I'm busy, so I'll be back." With that, Ray turned on his heel and strode over to the car.

"Ray, come on!" Al protested. "I didn't notice any of that stuff! Gimme a break, huh?"

"Better move out of my way, Al, or I'll be giving you a break, all right."

Al hastily moved aside, and his now-deepest hope came true--the engine roared to life as if the car was brand new. "So," Fraser said. "We're off to the warehouse."

"Yep," Ray answered. "But let me think about my decision if it's really a crack house." With that, he revved up, put the car in gear and peeled his customary inch or so of rubber leaving the garage. Al watched the Riviera make haste out into the street, turn left and zoom off to the west side. At least it was running well so far--the two and a half days he'd spent working on the car had better pay off, or he'd never hear the end of it from Ray.

**********

By the time Fraser and Ray arrived at the warehouse, Kowalski had put together a pretty good-sized SWAT team in the area. He had also put out the word to the lookouts--when a green '71 Riviera with a Mountie in the passenger seat showed up, they were not to make so much as a twitch toward their weapons. Somehow that made Ray feel much safer as he and Fraser proceeded through the stakeout perimeter to the warehouse.

Kowalski was waiting outside the building when the Riviera pulled up, and he beckoned for Ray to follow him. Ray drove along slowly behind him, and Kowalski led the way on foot through a loading-bay door. He waved Ray on to the far end of the bay, and Ray drove to that end and stopped the car.

"I'd say it's running just fine, Ray," Fraser said as he and Ray got out of the car.

"Yeah, looks like Al's gotten lucky this time," Ray concurred. "What's up, Kowalski?"

"Got the whole perimeter under guard," Kowalski answered, walking over to shut the door to the bay. "I've got two snipers on the roof and on the building across the alley. One guy at every other window on every floor of this place."

"Sounds good," Ray said. "Roadblocks?"

"Cruising around waiting for the word to hit the alleys," Kowalski said.

"Okay." Ray moved a little closer and lowered his voice. "Has anybody around here found anything...like, you know, out of the ordinary?"

Kowalski sighed, rolling his eyes and wondering when Ray would get off the stick about this. "No, Vecchio, we haven't found so much as a snowflake in here," he said sharply.

"Just making sure," Ray said.

"Yeah, right."

Ray glowered and pointed his finger at the other detective. "Hey, look, Kowalski, if you knew Zuko as well as I do, you'd probably be takin' the same precautions whenever you got anywhere near one of his places."

Seeing that this was beginning to shape up very much like their argument over Francesca's attire, Fraser felt it necessary to jump in right about here and offer his two cents. "Um, fellas, I could be mistaken, but I'm not sure this is the ideal time to be discussing the possible presence of narcotics. Spinale will be here momentarily, we need to straighten out our priorities."

"Okay, I'm going to keep an eye on the alley," Kowalski said. Glowering at Ray, he turned around and stalked off to another room to take up his watch.

Waiting till he was out of earshot, Ray motioned after him. "You've been putting up with this for the last eight months?" he said to Fraser, disbelieving.

"It's not that hard to get used to," Fraser shrugged. "Hang on one second, I want to make sure the car is still in good shape." Fraser turned around and hurried over to the Riviera, pretending to look for problems that might have cropped up during the drive from the garage.

**********

While Kowalski stood by the window and stared continuously into the alley through a pair of binoculars, Fraser and Ray sat back at the rear of the room and waited quietly for the gang to show up. Most likely they'd arrive in a massive black limo--most mob guys did--so Kowalski made a point to keep an eye out for those anywhere in the area. Ray watched him for a while, and he looked over at Fraser, who sat on a pair of crates against the wall.

"So what else has gone on between you two besides that thing at the consulate?" Ray asked.

"Well," Fraser said, remembering one of his less liked recollections from his days with Kowalski, "would you believe that there was a time when we actually got into a fight. We were trying to escape a group of perpetrators, and the only way to do that was to jump about fifteen
meters, ten centimeters and eighteen millimeters into Lake Michigan. It was the only way to escape, but apparently, Stan didn't perceive it as fun."

"Please don't tell me he hit you," Ray said with a mocking snicker. He was positive that if Kowalski was supposed to be impersonating him, he wouldn't hit Fraser if his life depended on it. At least Ray knew he wouldn't.

"As a matter of fact, he did," Fraser said.

Ray turned his head toward Fraser, wide-eyed, and Fraser continued. "After a long and heated argument over whether or not jumping and swimming for it was the right thing to do, Stan did indeed punch me in the face."

Ray snickered, still a little disbelieving. "And you, being the perfectly forgiving and unflappable Mountie, didn't hit him back."

"Actually, Ray, I did."

This was even more of a shocker than Fraser's previous statement, and this time Ray's mouth just plain dropped open. "Naturally," Fraser continued quickly, "it was only after a strong urging from Stan that I did it. If he hadn't insisted, we both could have walked away perfectly happy--or anyway, I could have walked away content to leave well enough alone while he...well, I'm not sure what he would have done."

"I would've taken the transfer, that's what," Kowalski said over his shoulder.

Both Ray and Fraser chose to ignore this; Ray had other topics on his mind. He leaned back against a rolled-up bolt of grubby cloth propped against the wall, and he glanced obliquely in Fraser's direction. "You know, Benny," he said reflectively. "When I left for Vegas, I wasn't sure if I was going to miss you or if I'd be glad to get rid of you. Then when I called you up in the north country, I knew I'd miss you. I'd miss everyone and everything else around here. I kept thinking to myself, why couldn't they find some other cop somewhere in this country? I mean, just because they sent me from Chicago to Vegas, doesn't that mean they could have sent somebody else from New York or L.A. or anywhere else? For all they knew, there could have been a hundred guys out there who looked just like Langoustini, and yet I was the one they asked to risk my neck by going that close to the middle of the mob. I have dependents, for God's sake. It's like they didn't even care."

Fraser was silent while he considered. He knew Ray was right, that the Feds really had no business sending him in there almost on the spur of the moment when he had dependents. It was nice to know, though, that Ray had missed him. "Well, I'm sure I wasn't the only one who missed you too, Ray," he said.

"It's good to be back," Ray sighed with a contented look around the room.

"Good to have you back. Although, you know, it was something of a spur-of-the-moment decision to send you in. Perhaps if Langoustini had disappeared for too long before suddenly popping back up out of nowhere, it could have aroused suspicion."

"Say, Fraser, that reminds me," Kowalski spoke up without looking away from the window.

"Of what?" Fraser asked.

"When Pike was telling me how he knew so much about the thing with me and Vecchio, he told me about Langoustini and how he got in a car crash and got killed on impact. And he tells me, quote-unquote, 'Accident? You be the judge!' "

Fraser's eyebrows rose straight to his hair. Could the Feds actually have pulled off something like that, just for the sake of getting Ray in there to work against the Mob? After some of his experiences with the Feds, Fraser wouldn't put it past him. "That's very interesting, Stan," he said. "Yeah, and so is your pr...predetection with calling me Stan," Kowalski grouched, faltering on "predetection".

"Ah, do you mean 'predilection'?" Fraser said. "Well, that's not important. What is important is that somebody in the nation's federal police forces may be guilty of planning and perhaps committing a murder."

"Anything to declare, Vecchio?" Kowalski asked.

"If that's an accusation, no," Ray fired back. "If that's a query, no. Either way, no, no, no." For once he was glad to hear his cell phone ring--he wasn't looking forward to getting into an argument with Kowalski every time he turned around, especially considering what Fraser had told him about their fight. "Vecchio," he said, turning the phone on.

"Ray," Francesca's voice crackled at him, "another one of Zuko's snits just called in to the precinct."

"Snits," Ray said, giving the phone a dirty look. "Is that supposed to mean 'snitches' in some foreign language?"

"Snitch, snit, there's only so many letters in the alphabet," Francesca said sarcastically. "He's got an idea about the next target after the warehouse. Says it might be the consulate."

"The consulate?" Ray repeated in disbelief. Fraser looked at him in shock, but then his attention was once again drawn by Kowalski.

"Hey, guys, I got something," he said. "One of the perimeter guards just called in about a Chevy van coming our way. They took out a few of its windows and one tire after it got past them, but it's on its way in."

"Frannie, I'll get back to you, I gotta go," Ray said hurriedly, shutting the phone off. He drew his gun, and he and Fraser both joined Kowalski at the window to observe the approach of the van.

Within seconds, the van had appeared, racing up the alley to the warehouse. It hadn't quite gotten past the lookouts in one piece--its right rear tire was flat, and there were two bullet holes in its windshield and some pockmarks in its sides. Ray and Kowalski both had their guns in their hands, and Kowalski glanced at Ray. "Take 'em out?"

"Snipers get first bite," Ray instructed.

Kowalski lifted his radio and squeezed the button. "Okay, snipers take a shot," he said.

The three heard shots ringing out from the roofs of their building and the one across the alley, and the van, bullets striking its top and side, continued to race past and headed for a corner. It took the corner on two wheels, losing its two back windows in the process, and Kowalski hit the radio button again. "Okay, units one and two, they're heading your way, block 'em off!"

Although Fraser was aware that Kowalski had ordered the roadblocks into place, he was uneasy about what he'd seen when the van passed. "There was only one man in that van, Ray," he observed.

"So?" Ray said.

"Well, there wouldn't be only one man in the van in a typical plan. And I'm sure that in the Spinale clan, they'd plan to have more than one man in the van."

"Probably a solo effort," Kowalski said.

"There was only one man in that van, Stan, it's not a good plan. Ray?"

"Typical Spinale-clan plan," Ray said. "They probably ran from the van to the warehouse over here and then left one man in the van to decoy us before it hit the fan."

"Well, too late, their man in the van's gonna hit the fan anyway," Kowalski said. "And don't call me Stan."

Before Fraser was able to apologise, a shot unlike the ones they'd been hearing from the snipers rang out. A bullet punctured a window a couple of meters away from them, followed by another, and then a hail of gunshots coming from across the alley.

"It's a move, all right!" Ray said. "They know there are cops at the perimeter and on the roof, they know we're in here!"

Kowalski's finger was already on the radio button, and he was yelling, "All units, they made us, start returning fire across the alley!" Shoving the radio into his pocket, he excavated his glasses from his other pocket and put them on as Ray hastened over to another window. Glass was now breaking regularly in their building, and it created plenty of excellent shooting holes. Kowalski used one of the larger ones to his advantage, popping off a few shots before the thugs' fire drove him back under cover.

"I'm going up on the second floor!" Ray shouted to Fraser and Kowalski, heading out of the room and to a stairwell. He took the steps two at a time, listening to the gunshots, till he reached the second floor and ran to a window. There were a few other cops at windows along this floor, and none of them noticed Ray, who used a cinder block to smash out the window and grab some good vantage points for shooting. It reminded him of what he'd told Fraser one time about what Chicago was like--"The only reason to open a window is to get a better aim." And get a better aim he did, firing down on the thugs on the first floor of the opposite structure. When the heat got to be too much from its second floor, Ray switched back and forth between the two, firing blind some of the time.

Down below, Fraser, for once, didn't take too kindly to the regulation that he wasn't allowed to use a gun down here. Kowalski, on the other hand, was blasting away like Han Solo at the hoodlums across the alley, although he wasn't achieving too many results.

Across the alley, the chief thug ripped off four shots at the second floor of Zuko's building, and he moved away from his window and waved to one of his boys across the room. The other hoodlum grabbed the rag bag and the can of gasoline he'd brought with him from the van, and he ran for the door through which they'd come. With any luck, the cops would be so busy shooting that they wouldn't notice him crossing the alley.

Fraser had been attempting to ascertain the mobster positions, types of weapons in use, and possibly the number of bullets fired thus far by each weapon, and he was just starting to have some success. Then he noted that one of the weapons had ceased fire, and looking briefly outside--fortunately he was out of all lines of fire at this angle--he saw that a number of windows on the opposing edifice's two floors were totally smashed out. At all but one of these windows, there was a mobster firing into Zuko's place, and Fraser was immediately alert on seeing the vacant window.

"Stan!" he yelled. "One of the men is away from his post!"

"Good, maybe they got him, and maybe you'll wind up the same way if you don't stop calling me Stan!" Kowalski laid down another pattern of bullets across the first floor of the mobsters' line of defense.

"No, I think he may be on his way over here to set the warehouse on fire in the confusion!" Fraser responded. "I'm going out and catch him!" Running past Kowalski, Fraser left the room by the opposite door and dashed through the building. However, he had to take a roundabout route to the nearest outside door--there was no straight pathway through the building to that door, which itself was a hike from where he'd been with Kowalski. Timing was everything.

Ray, up on the second floor, held his fire long enough to look out the window, staying under cover. Sure enough, a long way down the alley, he could barely see a man hurrying across it with two objects in his hand, both of which looked rather large and bulky. Ray fired a couple more shots, then ran to the stairs and shouted down.

"Fraser!" he yelled. "Fraser!"

"He thinks he's going out to catch a mob guy coming our way!" Kowalski shouted back.

"Well, he's right, somebody just ran across the alley with a gas can in his hand!" Ray apprised him.

Oh, great, Kowalski thought. Why did Fraser have to be so right all the time?

Probably because it often prevented the commission of a crime when Fraser was right. Listening to the non-stop gunfire, he raced around to the door nearest the mobster's position and booted it open, looking up the alley. Sure enough, the mobster had just smashed out one of the basement windows, and he had emptied out the gas can and was now taking out a matchbook. Fraser bolted toward him, and as the perp was trying to strike a match, Fraser arrived in the nick of time and kicked the matchbook out of his hand. In surprise, the torcher toppled onto his side, and as he stared up at Fraser, his peripheral vision showed him that Ray had arrived at a window above him.

"Freeze!" Ray roared, pointing his gun down at the mobster. Climbing over the windowsill, he jumped to the ground and dragged the crook to his feet. "Okay, pal, one blink and you're history," he barked. "Now we're going in there, and you're gonna make your cronies lose the iron before I blow you away, you understand?" Without waiting for a reply, Ray dragged the mob guy away from the wall, shoving him toward the door of the edifice across the alley.

"I'll go find Stan," Fraser said, running back inside.

As it turned out, Kowalski had a different surprise on him, and when he and Fraser showed up across the alley, Ray stared quizzically at the object in Kowalski's hand. "What's that?"

"Smoke bomb," Kowalski said. "Fraser and I took an ore freighter with a couple of these."

"Tell me later, Benny," Ray said. "Okay, let's go!" In they went, and Kowalski took the lead, his finger on the smoke bomb's catch. They hurried through the building, Ray shoving the mob guy in front of him, and Fraser listened to the sound of the gunfire to be sure of when they had come to the right room. He ran up beside Kowalski, and at the next door, he removed his hat and put his ear to it.

"This is it," he said.

"Okay, stand back," Kowalski said. Fingering the smoke bomb, he booted the door open, yanked the catch from the bomb and threw it inside. Immediately the bomb started gushing thick gray smoke, and the cops jumped away from the door, Ray dragging the mob guy with him. Kowalski closed the door over, and they allowed a reasonable interval of time for the smoke to spread through the room and for the shooters inside to be overcome by it.

With that space of time over, Kowalski reopened the door, and Ray pushed the mobster inside, shouting for all inside to hold it. He yelled for every mob guy in the room to come forward from the smoke with their hands up, and while waiting, he turned to Kowalski.

"Got another one of those bombs on you?" he asked.

"One more," Kowalski replied, digging into his jacket pocket for a fresh one.

"Okay, take one of these jerks and secure the second floor," Ray said. Kowalski nodded once, now seeing the silhouettes of their adversaries moving out of the smoke. Most of them were staggering and trying to keep their hands up without coughing or rubbing their eyes, and as Ray had expected, several of them were still carrying their weapons. However, when they saw that the cops had one of their own, albeit not holding a gun to his head, they were obliged to let all iron drop to the floor and keep their hands above their heads.

"You, come here," Kowalski said, pointing at one mob guy and crooking his finger. The crook obeyed, and Kowalski took him by the scruff of the neck and made a beeline for the stairs to the second floor.

Kowalski secured the second floor just as easily as the first, and he called half the SWAT team over to guard the gang, telling the rest to keep an eye out for reinforcements. One of the SWAT team officers headed to the storage bay in Zuko's building to collect a paddy wagon, and while all members except the leader of the gang were packed into it, Fraser and the detectives had a chat with the gang boss.

"In case you didn't notice, pal," Ray was saying loudly as he circled the gang boss, "you're the only one of your team who's not in that paddy wagon heading back to the precinct for booking and incarceration. Now why don't you make things easy on yourself and on me and tell us what we want to know."

"What if I can't tell you what you want to know?" the gang boss said sullenly.

"Then I kick you in the head repeatedly till you remember it," Kowalski snapped. "Now what's the story with the Canadian consulate?"

"I don't know nothing about the Canadian consulate."

"Okay, that's it." With a vicious glare on his face, Kowalski clenched his fists, balanced on his right foot and lifted his left leg off the floor, pivoting in a definite kick-in-the-head motion.

"All right!" the gang boss shouted fearfully, throwing up his cuffed hands. "All right, all right, I'll tell you."

"Better," Kowalski said.

"A bomb," the boss explained. "Guy on Nosey's list works for an electric company. He knows how to make an electric-triggered car bomb. He's going over to the consulate this afternoon to stick one in the fuse box. Next time someone turns on the lights in the hallway upstairs, they level the place."

"Thank you kindly," Fraser said. "Ray, we'd better get over to the consulate right away. Do you have your phone?" He started for the door, and Kowalski hauled the crook to his feet and shoved him out toward the paddy wagon.

Ray handed his phone to Fraser, who turned it on and dialed the number of Inspector Thatcher's cell phone as he and Ray got into the Riviera. Starting up, Ray shifted into reverse, turned around and backed the car out of the storage bay, setting a course for the consulate at high speed and calling for backup.

Once Ray had finished his radio call and received confirmation that backup was on the way, Fraser frowned at the phone and turned it off. "I think her cell phone's off," he said. "I'll try her office." Dialing that number, he held the phone back to his ear and listened for the ringing tone. All he got, though, was the busy signal.

"Perfect, now the line is busy," Fraser sighed.

"Why not call the front office?"

"I don't dare tell Turnbull that there's a bomb attack planned on the consulate over the phone. We'd better hurry, Ray."

"I am hurrying," Ray said sharply. "And I've done enough talking about traffic violations to last me the week, okay?"

Ray was obviously hurrying, though, because the Riviera pulled up in front of the consulate only about ten minutes after leaving the warehouse. Fraser lost no time mincing words about Ray's recollection of where the new consulate was--he just leaped out of the car, dashed up the front walk, and entered the consulate. He stopped in front of the desk, where Turnbull sat calmly typing away on his computer with his feet very close together.

"Turnbull, I need to talk to the inspector," Fraser puffed.

"I'm sorry, sir, but she's in a highly confidential phone conversation," Turnbull said.

"Turnbull, no matter how confidential it is, I'm sure this is infinitely more important," Fraser insisted.

"I can't let anyone in or out of the office while the inspector is on the phone, sir," Turnbull answered stubbornly. "I can't even let the inspector out of the office while the inspector is on the phone."

Fraser scratched his head impatiently, and he whirled toward the door of Thatcher's office. "Never mind," he said, making haste over to Thatcher's office.

"No, sir!" Turnbull yelled after him. "I can't let you go in there--"

Too late. Fraser was already inside the office, and Thatcher was looking up from her phone, not even realising that her glasses were still on.

"Fraser!" she said indignantly, putting a hand over the mouthpiece.

"My apologies for barging in, Inspector, but I have reason to believe that the consulate is about to be attacked," Fraser said.

"While I'm talking with my fath--uh, my associate in New York City?" Thatcher demanded. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"I'm not being ridiculous, sir, a mobster has given us a tip that a car bomb will be planted in the consulate within the hour."

"A bomb!" Turnbull yelped. "This would never happen in Canada! And this *is* Canada! Therefore it can't possibly happen here!"

"Nonetheless, it is about to happen, and we need to evacuate this building immediately," Fraser pressed. "The police are waiting outside for the bomber to show up."

A look out the window told Thatcher that Fraser wasn't kidding--there were two police cruisers visible, and God knew how many more were out of her line of vision. "I'll have to call you back," she said into the phone, then hung up. She got to her feet, and Turnbull hastily stood aside as she left the office and moved to the front doors of the consulate.

"You'd better be right about this, Fraser," she said sternly.

"Understood," Fraser replied, holding the door open for her. Ray and Kowalski were waiting on the steps to escort her and Turnbull to a waiting police cruiser, whose driver had been ordered to take Thatcher and Turnbull to the nearest police precinct until everything was under
control.

Taking a cue from Fraser, Ray held the door for Thatcher and waited for her and Turnbull to get in, but neither one of them moved. Turnbull just stood with his hands behind his back, eyebrows up.

"Constable," Thatcher said, folding her arms, "what are we entering?"

"Ah," Turnbull said. "Well, this would be a police cruiser of the Chicago Police Department. Unless I'm mistaken, it's a nineteen ninety-four Chevrolet Caprice Classic, with a wheelbase of--"

"A vehicle," Thatcher cut him off testily. "And how do we proceed as such?"

With a horrified expression, Turnbull jerked and leaped into the car, losing his hat in the process. Ray rolled his eyes as Turnbull ducked back out of the car to retrieve his hat, and Thatcher glowered at the detectives before getting into the car. Ray shut the door and bent down by the driver's window.

"Okay, you know where to go," he said.

"Nearest precinct and wait for the all-clear signal," the cop said.

Ray nodded, but Thatcher begged to differ. "I don't think so," she said. "This is my consulate, it's about to be attacked, I'm staying right here until it's been prevented, understood?"

Ray leaned on the car, smirking at Thatcher. "Tell me, Meg, where are we?"

Incensed at being called Meg by a Chicago detective, Thatcher glowered again. "In a police cruiser," she growled, hoping she wouldn't have to go through another Turnbull routine.

"And where is that police cruiser?"

"On the street in front of my consulate, which is about to be attacked--"

"So in other words," Ray said, still smirking, "it's not on consulate grounds."

Thatcher looked around him, getting a bad feeling that she knew what he was getting at. "Apparently not," she said.

"Right. It's not in Canada," Ray said as his smile began to disappear and his classic glare took over, "it's in Chicago, which puts you out of your jurisdiction, makes me the ranking officer on this block and means that I give the orders here. You're going to the precinct till this is done." He pointed his finger at her to make sure his point got across, and anticipating what she would next demand, he added, "But Fraser stays here to oversee the safety of the consulate."

"Fine," Thatcher grumbled. Kowalski just shook his head with a respectful look at Ray.

"Okay, beat it," Ray said to the cop, patting the cruiser's roof. The cruiser moved away from the curb, and Kowalski and Ray headed over to the Riviera to wait.

"Hey, that wasn't too bad, Vecchio," Kowalski admitted. "Melting down the Ice Queen."

"Always gives me a charge to douse the Dragon Lady," Ray said. "Hey, Benny, you get a good gander at the old bat before they shipped her off?"

Fraser turned around from where he was watching the consulate like a hawk, and he shook his head. "Was there something I should have noticed?"

"The glasses?" Ray smirked.

"Yes, I'm aware she wears glasses, Ray."

"Hey, hey," Kowalski said. "Do you guys know something I don't?"

"Oh, just that the Dragon Lady forgot all about her glasses this time," Ray said.

"She was wearing them, Ray," Fraser said in confusion, scratching under his ear. "What makes you think she forgot about them?"

"Yeah, that's what I'd like to know, along with what the story is with the glasses, when this mob guy is gonna show up, and why you keep calling me Stan," Kowalski said sharply.

"Well, although I'm aware that the inspector wears glasses, she seems to have some sort of habit of taking them off whenever I show up," Fraser said.

"Oh, ha-ha!" Kowalski said. "I knew that had to be it. You know what they say, Fraser, guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses."

"Well, why would I want to make a pass at the inspector, Stan?" Fraser asked, turning around to head over to the Riviera.

"Because if you do, maybe she'll kill you and you can't call me Stan anymore," Kowalski suggested. Ray said nothing, knowing exactly what Kowalski had meant.

By the time Thatcher and Turnbull were at the nearest precinct, the entire consulate was staked out. Some cops were on roofs, some in cruisers (including Elaine) driving around the area, and some inside buildings watching through the windows. Fraser and Ray were in the Riviera across the street, and Kowalski was leaning against the driver's side of the car, watching the sides of the building for anybody suspicious. Fraser peered through his small telescope at the front doors of the consulate, and Ray just sat still in the driver's seat, waiting for somebody to show up.

"Ah, Stan?" Fraser said.

Rolling his eyes, Kowalski leaned down and glowered into Fraser's telescope lens. "Fraser, how many times do I have to tell you?" he said irritably. "Don't call me Stan, call me Ray."

"Well, Stan, I'm afraid I have to distinguish between the two of you somehow, and Ray flatly refuses to tell me what his middle name is. Therefore, I'm afraid I have little choice but to call him Ray and you Stan." Ray briefly glanced at Fraser, smirking with satisfaction.

Kowalski sighed, and he angled his eyes away from the telescope and toward his colleague in the driver's seat. "Vecchio, tell him what your middle name is, willya?" He straightened up, glaring at the consulate again.

"Nothing doing, Kowalski," Ray retorted. "I'm not telling my middle name to him, you, or anybody else but the Man Upstairs."

"Would you rather I kept impersonating you even though you're back?" Kowalski said with a twinge of smugness.

"Okay, okay," Ray grumbled. "My middle name begins with I, but that's all I'm gonna tell either of you."

Kowalski, reflecting on that letter and its place in Ray's initials, raised his eyebrows momentarily and smirked. "I always wondered why you had such a thing for this car."

"As did I," Fraser said. "So, are we all set on whose name is whose?"

Ray pointed at him, himself, and then Kowalski. "Benny, Ray, Stan," he said firmly.

"Look, either call me Ray or call me nothing at all," Kowalski said in exasperation. Sometimes he thought it might actually be nice to keep impersonating Vecchio for a while.

"All right, Nothing At All," Fraser smiled. "That works fine for me. At any rate, I was just wondering why they've picked the consulate for their next hit. No one affiliated with Zuko works here."

"Maybe they know you're a buddy of his, they figure you can't defend him from anything if you're out of the way," Ray suggested.

Kowalski was turning his head to stoop again and make a sarcastic suggestion, but as he did so, he spotted a huge old forest-green Oldsmobile approaching, pulling over on the side of the road before the consulate.

"Hey, guys," he said, pointing. Fraser trained his telescope on the driver of the car, and his eye was drawn from there to the lettering on the door.

"Electricians Anonymous," he read aloud. "And there are three men in that car."

"Let's wait a minute and see what they take with them," Ray said. Kowalski fingered his badge, and he saw the driver's door open. The driver got out of the car, and Kowalski looked at the case in his hand--it was almost identical to the one he and Fraser had seen Vic Vincenzo carrying just before they retrieved Ray.

Taking his badge from his gunbelt, Kowalski held it aloft as he crossed the street. "Chicago P.D.!" he yelled at the driver, who spun around to face him. Instantly he leaped back into his car and threw the case to the floor, putting the car in gear. He peeled an inch or so of rubber leaving the consulate, and Kowalski whipped out his gun and opened fire, pockmarking the car's side. By the time he'd drawn the gun, Ray had already started the Riviera and was screeching around in a U-turn as Fraser turned on the red dashlight.

"All units, they're on the road, move it!" Ray roared into his radio. Kowalski holstered his gun and ran for his own car, which was parked down the street, and he heard sirens beginning to wail in the distance.

Ray had already pursued the Olds around the first right past the consulate, and the Olds sped down the street with the Riviera hot on its tail. The wheelman looked in his rearview mirror and thoroughly established that he was being pursued by cops, and he didn't have to tell his partners to grab hold of something stationary. Two police cruisers, one coming down the road behind them and another which had joined in from the other side of the intersection, were now in the chase, which took another right to head behind the consulate. The battered appearance of the Olds provided a deceiving appearance--it was damned fast, and Ray could already tell as he sped after it. Fraser was clinging to the dashboard with one hand and the door grip with the other, squinting in the sunlight that shined in his eyes as the Olds hung a left toward the waterfront. Here was where Kowalski and Elaine joined in, slipping in between the Riviera and the cruiser behind it. Elaine hadn't enjoyed her aggressive-driving test that much, but she saw this as a practical application, hoping that this one wouldn't be depicted in the next part of "World's Scariest Police Chases".

The street, which already contained its share of traffic to dodge as the Olds swerved and veered, took a gradual curve past a scrap yard on the lake shore. Fraser and Ray had been through there once in another chase, only they were chasing an arson conspirator rather than a mob guy. At least they weren't going in there this time, but Ray personally didn't give a damn, preferring to concentrate every sense and bit of attention he had on the Olds in front of him. He was so focused on it that he just followed its every move dodging traffic, which worked fine for him, although it was a little harrowing for Kowalski to try to follow him.

The Olds, moving on into the downtown area, raced up a hill that was steep enough for the car to fly into the air when it reached the top. It was three feet in the air by the time it reached its apex and thudded back to the surface, scratching the pavement and spraying sparks from its undercarriage. Ray did the exact same maneuver, and Fraser winced as the Riviera landed, hoping the front right bearing had sustained the crash. Ray bombed down the hill after the Olds, not doubting for a second that Kowalski had slowed down a little before taking that hill. Indeed he had, almost losing his edge to another cruiser that had gotten ahead of Elaine when she herself slowed down to take the hill.

This part of the city was densely populated enough that they were now dodging pedestrians as well as traffic, and Ray allowed a little of his concentration off the Olds and onto his surroundings. He still kept the pedal on the metal, and it stayed there when the Olds reached a traffic circle that circumvented a fountain. It went the long way around, and Ray went the other way around the fountain, driving right up on the small circle of grass on which it was erected. Kowalski followed almost right on the Riviera's tire tracks, and once past the traffic circle, they started into the 'burbs. The wheelman in the Olds increased his speed to almost ninety miles an hour on the relatively clear street ahead, and Ray imitated him almost to the inch an hour. They hung another right onto a side street that crossed a tributary of Lake Michigan, and they sped toward another main street that led back into the downtown area. Kowalski took the opportunity of the tangent and the absence of traffic to look in his rearview mirror; the count had now run up to three unmarked cars, four cruisers, and two motorcycles on the Olds's behind. But the chase wasn't yet over, not unless there was some way to cut the Olds off.

Another right turn lay at the other end of the road, and the Olds took it, speeding diagonally across this street toward another side street leading to a school parking lot. Oh, great, school had better not be out for the day, Ray thought. Fortunately it wasn't, although the buses were already parked in front of the school. The Olds took a sharp turn around the lot's perimeter, its driver hoping that at least one or two of the pursuing vehicles might do a roll-over trying to emulate his move. None did, and the wheelman took another side street that led back to the main street. Kowalski knew this area--in a few seconds at this speed, they would come to a highway bypass. He knew what he would do when they got there.

Sure enough, the Olds bounced left back onto the main street, with the Riviera and the rest of the cop cars remaining in hot pursuit. The Olds sped up onto the bypass, and Kowalski grinned broadly as he saw that it had played right into his hands. He gestured widely enough for Elaine to see him, and she followed him onto the regular route, breaking away from the rest of the chase. Kowalski poured some more lead into his right foot and shot along the emergency lane past the cars ahead, and Elaine, seeing where he was going with this, followed his example to a tee.

In the meantime, the rest of the chase had lost a little speed going up the hill onto the bypass, and it had just passed over the hump and was now heading back down to the main route. The wheelman saw immediately that Kowalski and Elaine would be beating him to the other end of the bypass, and he tried to push the car a little harder to edge ahead of them, but the car was too old to go much faster. At the exit of the bypass, Kowalski spun his car around in a 180- degree turn and skidded to a halt across one half of the exit, while Elaine brought her cruiser to a screeching stop across the other half, nose to nose with Kowalski's car. The Olds promptly spun sideways and desisted its run, and Kowalski and Elaine both got out of their cars and bolted toward the Olds.

Ray stopped the Riviera right behind it, and he and Fraser approached from the other side, with the multitude of cops behind them doing the same. Ray, Kowalski and Elaine had their weapons ready, each of them aiming at one of the car's occupants. "Okay, freeze!" Ray shouted. Simultaneously, Kowalski yelled "Chicago P.D.!" as if it wasn't already obvious.

"Outta the car, now!" Ray bellowed, yanking the driver's door open. He shoved his gun into the wheelman's neck and yanked him out of the car, shoving him up against it. While two lesser lights covered the mobster, Ray cuffed him, and the procedure was repeated with the other two mob guys on the other side, Kowalski and Elaine doing the cuffing.

"Pretty good, Elaine," Ray said. "Your first high-profile arrest."

As Elaine turned her man over to two other cops for transport back to the precinct, she gave Ray a quizzical look. "He's just a gang member. What's so high-profile about that?"

"Hey, if it's a mob guy, it's high-profile," Ray supplied. He pointed at Fraser and Kowalski. "But let's just clear up the fact that Spinale is all mine, understand?"

"Understood," Fraser answered.

"Yeah, whatever," Kowalski shrugged apathetically, walking back to his car. Fraser patted Ray on the shoulder as he turned and ambled back to the Riviera. Ray allowed himself a smile of satisfaction--just as he'd told Francesca, he and Fraser and Kowalski really were the second generation of the Untouchables. At any rate, Ray was sure that Eliot Ness would have been proud of him (and not just because he'd recovered Ness's gun from a hidden treasure vault a couple of years ago).

***********************************************************************

Part 6: On The Verge

Since Ray was, in effect, the senior officer of the gathering, he ordered the mobsters taken to the 27th Precinct for interrogation. At Fraser's suggestion and some of Kowalski's persuading, Ray allowed Kowalski to do the solo interrogating while he and Fraser hung around in the squad room and awaited the results. Fraser somehow expected Thatcher to come bombing into the squad room any second now, although Francesca had agreed to keep her busy if she should show up. God knew Francesca could keep Thatcher busy for a while.

"Why so glum, Ray?" Fraser asked, noting Ray's downcast look and folded arms.

"Well, how long have we been at this?"

"Since you were captured by the mob, it's been about six days," Fraser said.

"And how many have we taken down?"

"Well, let's see..." Fraser stared up at the ceiling while he thought back over those six days, counting up the number they'd taken each day. "Vincenzo was the first, followed by the janitor, and then if you count the mugger, that's three. Then we arrested a total of eight at the warehouse, three after the chase, which comes to a total of fourteen members of Spinale's gang."

"Yeah, but we haven't even gotten close to Spinale himself," Ray grumbled. "We're moving at an inch an hour, Benny, we gotta push it if we're gonna get him before he succeeds at one of these hits."

Kowalski now showed up through the side door of the squad room, and he wore a wide grin that he directed at Fraser and Ray. "Did they talk?" Fraser asked.

"I told you," Kowalski said proudly. "Telling them you'll kick 'em in the head. It works every time."

"Oh, I'll remember to tell my cranial surgeon," Ray said with a twinge of sarcasm. "So where's the next hit?"

**********
"I don't believe it!"

Gabe Spinale slammed the phone into the cradle, and he pounded his fist on the desk in front of him. He sat heavily back in his chair and snarled to himself, shaking his head. All of a sudden, the lounge room in his townhouse didn't seem so safe anymore.

"Don't believe what, Nosey?" This from Al Sapienza, a tall, craggy-faced, rough-voiced character with a cigarette usually hanging out of his mouth. He was one of Spinale's favoured hitmen, as well as a good friend.

"That's three more," Spinale snapped. "The cops chased three more of my guys from the consulate to some plaza halfway across town and cut 'em off."

"God, that's three times in a row they've cut us off," Sapienza observed. "West must have gotten a lot more than we thought before I whacked him."

"At least you got him before I thought up the next hit. Somebody's gonna catch it for this, Al."

"Like Vecchio," Sapienza suggested.

"Fourteen," Spinale growled. "Vecchio's busted fourteen of my guys and I ain't even close to taking him down. You know where to go, Al."

"I know where to go is right," Sapienza nodded once, stubbing the cigarette in an ashtray on the desktop.

**********

"Union Station," Fraser said to Ray and Kowalski as they bombed toward the station. "I remember what happened the last time we attempted to apprehend a criminal there."

"Not another word, Fraser," Ray said sternly.

"Understood." Far be it from Fraser to cause Ray the pain of remembering shooting Fraser in the back.

"Why don't I want to know?" Kowalski asked.

"Let's just say if Fraser goes after the perp, keep your gun in the holster," Ray said.

Kowalski was right, he didn't want to know. Watching his flashing red light in the corner of his eye, Ray pushed the car a little harder on the way to the station.

As they approached, Ray took the mike from his radio. "Dispatch, this is one-one-seven requesting backup at Union Station," he said. "Possible homicide in progress, two officers on scene."

"And no one shoots the guy in the hat," Kowalski tossed in before Ray released the button. Ray gave him a weird stare as he hung the mike back on the radio.

"Ten-four," the dispatcher answered. Ray stopped the car, and he and Kowalski grabbed walkie-talkies, got out and waited for Fraser to get out of the back seat. Fraser got out of the car and headed for the front steps of the station with Kowalski and Ray.

"Okay, boom-boom-boom, we case the joint and find the perp," Kowalski said, swinging his fists.

"And how do you propose we do that?" Ray asked.

"Hey, you're the one who can always tell a guy by his nose, and you've been in with them the last eight months," Kowalski said.

"He does have a point, Ray," Fraser tossed in.

"All right, fine," Ray grumbled, wondering when Fraser would get over the practise of making fun of his more esoteric methods. "You guys stay up here and look around. I'll take the lower level." Into the station they went, and they split up. Fraser and Kowalski started circulating around the main room of the station while Ray headed for the ramp to the lower level.

"He can't really identify a guy by his nose, can he?" Kowalski said to Fraser. He knew Fraser had told him that one time, but it had been a little difficult to believe.

"I'm not too sure," Fraser said. "He only did it once, and then I'm not even sure if we had the right suspect."

"Well, let's get the right suspect this time, then."

"Yes, indeed. However, with thirty tracks, numerous commuter trains and nearly a thousand people occupying this station at the moment, we may encounter some difficulty."

Ray wasn't even sure if he'd get the right suspect. Spinale had so many assassins up his sleeve that Ray had no idea who would be assigned to pull this off, even if fourteen of his number had been arrested, and there were a couple hundred people milling around on the lower level. Ray made his way to the platforms and started crossing them, searching all over for a sign of a familiar nose.

No familiar noses down here, but one familiar hairline and set of eyes came into view. Ray knew right away who it was, and he lifted the walkie-talkie. "Fraser, I think I've found the target," he reported. "It's Charlie Giacomo. He's on the track twelve platform."

"Stick with him, Ray," Fraser said. "The hit man should come into view before long. Stan and I are on the way."

"No, you and Stan aren't on the way," Kowalski snapped, hurrying after him. "You and Ray are on the way. We got it straight?"

"Oh," Fraser said approvingly. "I didn't know you were much of a poet."

Following Zuko's right-hand man down the platform, Ray kept a close eye out for familiar-looking Spinale hitmen. The locomotive was sitting in the mouth of the tunnel ahead, so Ray figured that the hitman would probably follow Charlie onto the train, then throw him out of a car while the train was at high speed. In that tunnel, anyone thrown out of a car would more than likely bounce off the wall and land right under the train. Even though Charlie was close to that S.O.B. Zuko, Ray felt that he could return Zuko's favour by preventing the hit.

Charlie boarded the train, and Ray increased his pace a little bit, following. He paused at the door of the car and looked around one more time for a possible assassin. One good thing, anyway, was that his eyesight was a lot sharper than Kowalski's, enabling him to see Al Sapienza at the other end of the platform.

"Fraser!" Ray called out into his radio. "Mob guy at twelve o'clock, I'm after him!"

"Is he following Charlie?" Fraser replied.

"No, Charlie's on the train at track twelve, our man's heading over to track thirteen, meet me down there." Ray ran toward the end of the train, following Sapienza across to the next platform over. Fraser and Kowalski were now on the lower level and making haste to track thirteen, and Fraser felt increasingly uneasy about the outcome of this attempted hit.

Ray followed Sapienza around the rear of the train, then up the platform, keeping his distance. Sapienza seemed to be making no moves to board the train, which baffled Ray at first; then he figured that Sapienza might be entering the tunnel and then returning to track twelve just to throw off any possible followers. Or...what if? Union Station had a pretty close proximity to Gabe Spinale's townhouse. Unless Ray missed his guess, the tunnels out of the station's lower level had some sort of connection with that place, probably a sewer passage. Sapienza could be heading for home turf that way. Well, well, nothing suited Ray better.

Sure enough, Sapienza glanced around briefly, and Ray quickly hid behind a couple of other commuters until enough time had passed for his quarry to slink into the tunnel. When Ray looked again, sure enough, there was no sign of Sapienza. Ray increased his pace, and he hurried toward the tunnel's mouth. He'd just have to be sure he was right about Sapienza's destination before he apprised Fraser and Kowalski.

Sapienza reached the end of the platform, jumped onto the tracks in front of the engine, and didn't spare it a second glance as he flicked his present cigarette butt to the side of the tunnel. Taking another cigarette from his jacket pocket, he loped nonchalantly up the tunnel, lighting up and not giving a second thought to the idling juggernaut behind him.

Having ensured that nobody was watching, Ray entered the tunnel behind Sapienza and sidled past the engine. At the end of the platform, he found himself right next to the engine's nose, so he leaped off onto the tracks and glanced obliquely at the towering nose of the engine before crossing the tracks. Once on the other side, he stood on his toes and looked back onto the platform on the other side of the train, seeing no one familiar. Striding forward, he hit the walkie-talkie button.

"Fraser, he's in the tunnel," he said. "I'm still with him."

"All right, be careful, Ray," Fraser said. "Watch out for the third rail."

Ray paused and stared down at the radio, snorting. "Fraser, there is no third rail, this is a diesel locomotive, in case you can't hear it in the background?"

"Well, in that case, Ray, make sure you're elsewhere when the train starts
moving."

"No duh, Sherlock. I'll get back to you when I spot him again." Ray turned the radio down just in case Fraser decided to bug him with another warning, and up the tunnel he went. He rounded a corner, and now he was on the main track that was adjoined by the other departure tracks in the station. It was too dark to see Sapienza, so he paused long enough to turn the radio off altogether, lest Fraser hail him again and alert the mob guy to his presence. He shoved it in his pocket and made haste along the tracks, watching his step.

Fraser and Kowalski had arrived at track twelve, and here they elected to pause while they searched around for Charlie Giacomo. Kowalski searched up and down the platform while Fraser peered through the windows of the train, and Fraser spotted Charlie in the second car. He waved to Kowalski, and they headed toward each other and met back up.

"Charlie's on the train, but I don't see anybody near him who seems intent on killing him," Fraser said.

"Well, Vecchio said the mob guy was going into the tunnel," Kowalski said. "Maybe he's cutting around to come back up here, get aboard the train and whack the guy."

"I hope you're right," Fraser said. "I don't like this, Stan. I don't like
it at all."

"Well, you probably like it better than I like you calling me Stan," Kowalski said irritably. "C'mon, let's try and find a way to cut him off." As they were heading for track thirteen, they heard the whistle of that train as it started pulling out.

The whistle echoed up the tunnel to where Ray was walking, and he turned around as he heard the sound of the engine rising in pitch. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and allowed him to see Sapienza up ahead, and knowing that he was on the right track, so to speak, he'd followed him this far. Here a switch was in place, and a shunt split off from the switch, entering another tunnel to Ray's right. The shunt was a dead end, probably a storage track for cars or engines in need of repair. He passed the switch, and Sapienza was still on the main track, walking calmly ahead as if nothing was going down. Ray looked behind him to see the train coming off its departure track onto the main one, so he hastened back to the switch and went around the corner onto the shunt.

The train was picking up speed rapidly as it headed up the grade to the tunnel exit, and Ray, watched Sapienza walk almost jauntily along the main track without even moving to get off. Not that he had anyplace to go, since Ray couldn't see any side tunnels nearby. He looked around the corner, and the train was now halfway to the switch and approaching even faster. Confused, Ray shifted his glance between the two constantly, and in less than a minute, the train was at the switch and speeding past Ray at about fifty miles an hour. Ray shot his glance back to Sapienza, whom he now couldn't see because of the train. As for Sapienza himself, he just glanced over his shoulder to see the train fifteen seconds from overtaking him. Not bad timing, he thought to himself; he stepped off the tracks and moved up to the right side of the tunnel.

 The last car rushed past Ray, and then the train was roaring away from him and continuing up the tunnel to the next bend. It passed the point where Ray had last seen Sapienza--except that there was now no Sapienza to be seen.

Puzzled, Ray walked off the shunt and crossed the switch onto the main track, walking toward the spot. He couldn't see a body anywhere in the tunnel, although he seriously doubted that Sapienza had deliberately let himself be run over by a train to avoid arrest. Up ahead, the train
vanished around the bend, clearing this block for the next train to depart.

Fraser was now in the thirteenth tunnel, walking at a stride to the main track, while Kowalski waited on the twelfth platform to make sure nothing happened while Fraser was in the tunnel. Something had been eating Kowalski since Ray last reported in, and he'd tried to figure it out while he waited for Fraser to get there. But surprise, surprise, Fraser hadn't even thought of it, or so it appeared.

He crossed the switch onto the main track and made haste up to track twelve, where he entered that tunnel and saw the train still sitting in the mouth of the tunnel. To get this over with before the train pulled out, he ran toward it and reached the platform, looking out over it to
spot Kowalski.

Seeing Fraser in the tunnel mouth, Kowalski threw up his hands and shook his head, and Fraser beckoned. Kowalski hurried over, and he entered the tunnel, moved past the engine and jumped off the platform onto the tracks with Fraser. "No sign of him anywhere in the tunnels," Fraser said. "Any luck on your end?"

"Nothing," Kowalski said. "Wait a second, Fraser. If the mob guy was here to hit Giacomo, then why'd he go into the tunnel if he wasn't going to come back out here and get on the train with him?"

"I'm not sure..." Fraser's voice trailed off as the reason came to him. "What if Charlie wasn't his real target?"

"What if..." Kowalski's eyes widened, and the shock of the real reason hit him like a bullet. "Oh, my God," he breathed. "Vecchio! He's been the real target of these hits all along!"

"That explains the attempt on the consulate," Fraser said, grabbing for his walkie-talkie. "Ray, come in, this is Fraser. Ray, are you there?" Little did Fraser know that he was talking to a turned-off radio. He continued shouting for Ray to answer as he led Kowalski running toward the main track.

Ray had reached the spot where he'd last seen Sapienza. Even before he got there, he was able to see where the hit man had gone; there was a side tunnel cut into the wall. Ray knew about these; nicknamed "rat holes", they were there for easy access by maintenance crews to work on the track and electrical systems in the tunnel. Aha, Ray thought to himself. This side tunnel had to lead to Spinale's present hideout. He started inside, but just as he was entering, he saw a shadow on the wall. Somebody was approaching--maybe Sapienza.

Ray backed out of the tunnel and flattened himself against the wall to its left, waiting. He held his gun in one hand and stared at the mouth of the side tunnel, waiting for Sapienza to appear and make himself available for arrest.

As Ray was waiting, he heard the whistle from the train pulling off of track twelve. Fraser and Kowalski were at the shunt, and hearing the whistle, they turned around to see the train heading toward them. Quickly they hopped around the corner and onto the shunt, neither of them seeing Ray up the tunnel.

The train rushed closer to the side tunnel, picking up speed. Ray had seen the width of the tunnel compared to the width of the train--unless he got into that side tunnel soon, there wouldn't be nearly enough space between him and the train for him to survive. He could see and especially hear the engine speeding closer with every second, and his pulse increased as he waited impatiently for Sapienza to exit the side tunnel. But wait--why the hell would a mob guy leave the side tunnel if he knew the train was coming? At that, Ray knew that he was probably heading back toward the hideout, so it should be clear by now. Peeking inside, Ray found himself mistaken. Sapienza was still in there, close.

Oh, great, now he knows I'm here! Ray thought angrily to himself as he recoiled. On the other hand, it might be good, now the guy should come out and try to pop him.

But he didn't.

Only then did Ray realise the truth.

The train was awfully close to the side tunnel by now, but that mattered not. Ray just had to get out of here and run for it; there was no way he was going back into that side tunnel to be met by a bullet. He jumped down onto the tracks and sprinted, looking desperately from one side of the tunnel to the other to try and spot another side tunnel anywhere near him.

Fraser and Kowalski looked around the corner to see the train just a few meters from the shunt, and it rocketed toward them, then sped across the switch. A split second before it cut into his line of vision, Fraser saw Ray running down the tracks. "Stan!" he yelled, pointing down the line. For once, Kowalski didn't try to correct him. But he was still well aware that Vecchio was a dead man.

Ray looked over his shoulder, and his panic at seeing the train bearing down on him at the very least seventy miles per hour caused him to increase his speed even more. But then all forward motion came to an abrupt halt; he tripped over something between the rails, and he cried out in surprise as he fell forward.

In the same second as the last car passed them, Fraser and Kowalski bolted off the shunt and ran after the train, watching it pass Ray's last known position. Fraser shouted frantically into his radio for Ray to respond, but he got nothing. Either Ray or his radio was dead--or maybe both.

They ran up the tunnel at a record speed, and halfway to the spot where they'd last seen Ray, they heard an odd squeaking noise. Stopping short, they watched a metal cover open upward from the tunnel's floor between the rails. Who should poke his head out of the maintenance pit beneath the cover but Ray! It was the maintenance pit that he'd tripped over, and just before the train got there, he'd shot away the padlock on the cover and leaped into the pit, ducking in there while the train thundered overhead. Now it was safe, and he looked in both directions to be sure of that.

"Benny! Kowalski!" he called, heaving himself up out of the pit.

"Ray!" Fraser shouted, overjoyed that Ray was indeed alive. He raced toward him, and Ray shut the cover and hastened down to meet him.

"Thank God!" Fraser exclaimed. "We thought you were--"

"Dead?" Ray said. "Hell, Benny, anywhere around mob property, I'm anything but. C'mon, let me show you what I mean."

As Ray was leading Fraser and Kowalski into the side tunnel to show them what he meant, Al Sapienza was entering Spinale's townhouse about a block away from Union Station. From the side tunnel, he'd made his way to a sewer passageway that had an exit in the townhouse, and now he went into the lounge room wearing a knowing grin. "That takes care of that," he said to Spinale.

"You pulled it off?" Spinale asked.

"Last time I saw Vecchio, he was trying to get away from the train," Sapienza said. "He didn't want to risk coming into the same side tunnel with me, so he let himself get run over by a train instead." Sapienza shook his head and chortled. "Cops."

"Okay, guys," Spinale said to Sapienza and his other henchman, Don Clark. "That's one down, two to go."

"Two?" Clark asked in confusion.

"We got Vecchio, now we just got his pals to deal with," Spinale said. "Notice how he hasn't been alone on a single one of these busts?"

"Yeah, the Mountie who sticks to him like glue," Clark said. "But who's this other guy?"

"Just think about it," Spinale said. "What cop was right in the middle of us the last eight months?"

"Ray Vecchio," Sapienza shrugged.

"And what cop up and disappeared right at the same time as the guy we thought was the Bookman got out of the hospital in Vegas?"

"Stan Kowalski," Clark answered.

Spinale nodded shortly, and he gave both of them a cold, hard stare. "Nineteen seventy-one Buick Riviera. The licence number is LCV seven-oh-five. You take that pipe bomb and you shove it under his gas tank and wire it to the starter, then hang around and make sure it's the Mountie and/or Kowalski that gets it."

"No problem," Sapienza said with a sinister grin. He picked up the case containing the ingredients of the pipe bomb they would build and plant under the Riviera, and he and Clark headed for the door. Clark reached forward and pulled both doors open--and he and Sapienza both stopped dead in their tracks, the latter dropping the case as they found themselves staring down the barrels of two .45 handguns.

"Please stop right there--" Fraser began.

"--get up against the wall--" Ray picked up.

"--and keep the hands where we can see 'em," Kowalski finished.

Ray and Kowalski each took on a perp, waving their guns to the side. Clark and Sapienza were obliged to move in that direction and walk slowly over to the wall, spreading their hands and feet apart.

"That goes for you, too, Gabe," Ray added to Spinale, walking toward him. He tossed his spare set of handcuffs to Fraser, who moved in on Clark with them, and he wore a sardonic grin as he moved in on Spinale and maintained his aim, taking his own handcuffs out. Kowalski was already cuffing Sapienza, and Fraser was taking care of Clark.

"If it was me, Mr. Spinale," Fraser said, "I'd say your mob days are over."

***********************************************************************

Coda: Home

Francesca, Welsh, Huey, Dewey, and the rest of the usual crowd were at the precinct by the time Fraser, Ray and Kowalski returned with Spinale and his goons. On seeing them through the front-door windows of the squad room, Francesca got to her feet, wide-eyed. Was she actually seeing Gabriel Spinale being escorted into the squad room with his hands cuffed behind him? She got to her feet, and as Ray shoved Spinale into the squad room, Francesca moved over to him with an expression of total amazement.

"You got Spinale?" she breathed.

"Yes, Frannie, we got Spinale," Ray grinned. "Ain't that right, Gabe? You just remember the guy who busted you for good."

"There's these things called lawyers, maybe you've heard some references to them?" Spinale snapped.

"Yeah, and maybe no lawyer in his right mind wants to defend a mob guy unless he's got dollar signs in his eyes," Ray shot back.

Welsh was standing motionless outside his office, and his look indicated that he'd just found an even deeper level of respect for Ray than he ever had thought possible. "I don't believe it," he said tonelessly. "Gabriel Spinale on his way to the lockup."

"Yep, and you've got good ol' Raymond Vecchio to thank for it, sir," Ray said.

"Yeah, I know," a new voice spoke up from right next to him. "That's why I want to say thanks to you, Ray. Thanks a heap." Frank Zuko stuck out his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Ray shook it.

"Well, what can I say," Ray said. "If it wasn't for you, I could have been whacked by a mob guy myself."

"Yeah, then we'd all be a lot better off," Spinale scoffed.

"What's that I detect, Nosey?" Zuko demanded, getting in Spinale's face. "Huh? Little sarcasm there? A little disrespect for my good friend Ray?" With that, Zuko slapped Spinale upside the head, a love tap but enough to keep Spinale from saying anything further. "Well, you asked for it, pal."

Ray just nodded once to Zuko before he shoved Spinale off to the holding cells, and Kowalski just spared Zuko a second glance while pushing Sapienza along behind. Fraser nodded and smiled to Zuko on his way to the cells with Clark, and with his heart contented, Zuko sighed and walked off to the side door of the squad room. To think that he had Ray to thank for taking down one of his biggest enemies. Maybe after the Irene incident, they could actually bury the hatchet now.

**********
Ray wasn't expecting Zuko to show up at the homecoming celebration that evening, so he didn't mind not seeing him there. It was almost literally a homecoming--the repairs on Ray's house were getting close to completion, and the celebration took place behind it with a backyard barbecue. Fraser, Kowalski, Welsh, Huey, Dewey, Elaine, and of course Ray's entire family attended, and Fraser and Francesca were a little uneasy about who else was going to show up.

Fraser had volunteered to stand guard and make sure that Diefenbaker didn't get anywhere near the barbecue till it was ready (and probably after that), so he sat on a stool by the grill and watched Ray having a few laughs with his mother and some friends. Kowalski was boring Huey, Dewey and Welsh to death with the story of how he'd smoke-bombed the warehouse, so Fraser was content to sit there and watch the goings-on.

"Last homecoming celebration I remember was almost ten years ago," Fraser Sr. spoke up, coming up to stand beside his son. "Your Uncle Purvis was back from a business trip in Fort Nelson, so there we were, roasting a lovely big caribou over a pile of hot coal. Reminded me of the time when I went to a Greek Easter celebration with Charlie Kolios. One thing was for sure, I wouldn't be caught dead looking at that lamb, not even now."

"Nice party, isn't it, Dad?" Fraser said. "After all, Ray's been away for eight months. I think he pretty much deserved a party such as this."

"Well, Yank or no Yank, any man who's spent eight months foiling organised crime deserves any kind of celebration, son. Remember that when you transfer back north." Fraser turned to give his father a glare and tell him that he had no immediate intentions of transferring back north, but--what else?--Fraser Sr. had vanished.

Francesca, meanwhile, was gulping a ginger ale after chatting with Ray and her mother, and she stood off to the side and looked around for Fraser. There he was, sitting by himself next to the grill, and as far as Francesca was concerned, he'd look lonely even if he had Ray or Diefenbaker standing next to him. An early evening in late spring, at a backyard barbecue--what venue could be better? She immediately started over his way.

"What, no Scotch?" her father's voice broke in from behind her.

"This is a welcome-home party, not a drinking party, Dad," Francesca said in an exasperated tone.

"Still, your lowlife brother's been in with the Mob the last eight months, you'd think he'd bring something worthwhile back with him," Vecchio Sr. said grumpily.

"What, his life isn't enough?" Francesca scoffed. Ducking between a couple of cousins, she broke free of her father and made her latest move on her man in red.

**********
The following day, Ray wasn't sure if Thatcher had assigned Fraser to guard duty outside the consulate as punishment for booting her off the phone. Well, if she was going to bitch about it, let her bitch about it, he and Kowalski didn't have to listen to it all. They were standing on either side of Fraser, talking to each other pretty much through his ears.

"Say, Fraser," Kowalski said. "What do you think happens if Welsh wants me and Vecchio as partners?"

"I think I can answer that for him," Ray said. "What happens is that soon enough, he calls you Stan one too many times, you kick him in the head and fracture his skull, and then you don't have to listen to him anymore."

"Naah, can't do it," Kowalski said. "Much as I'd like to, I can't. What do you think, Fraser?"

As always, Fraser didn't reply, he just stood motionless at parade rest and stared off into space. Kowalski frowned and leaned a little closer, waving his hand in front of Fraser's face; Fraser didn't even blink. Ray just stood on the other side, smirking.

"Does he always do this?" Kowalski asked.

"Every day," Ray said. "Or at least, every day that Thatcher's pissed off at him, which pretty much means every day."

"And he doesn't get sick of it?"

"Who are we talking about here?"

"Gotcha." Kowalski looked away, and he spotted a couple on the sidewalk, one of them holding a camera. Kowalski grinned, and he pointed them out to Ray, who also smiled and gestured at Fraser with his thumb with a "can you believe this guy" look. Kowalski put his arm around Fraser's shoulders, and he wore a wide smile as the man took his picture and waved to them. Kowalski waved back, and then he patted Fraser on the back and headed for the steps. "Be seeing you, Fraser," he said.

Ray stood there for another brief second and smirked again. "Well, I know what you're gonna say to this, Benny, but it's good to be back and it's good to be working with you again."

Fraser remained silent without moving or blinking, and Ray just nodded once. "I knew you'd say that," he said, going down the steps. He rejoined Kowalski on the walk back to the Riviera.

"He looks like a fire hydrant standing there," Kowalski said, gesturing over his shoulder.

"Yeah, well, Francesca's gonna be the only one who'll try to get him to expand on that appearance, so whatever you do, don't mention it to her."

No doubt about it; Ray was back, just in time for summer in the city. Chicago, look out.

finis
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Copyright 1998 by Chris Lark. All rights to Due South, on which no infringement in the least is meant, are reserved by Alliance Communications and CTV. Please do not reproduce this work for any purpose but personal, or copy to any other Web pages, without author's permission. Please do feel free to E-mail me at cql@hopper.unh.edu with any questions you've got.
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