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     �	  B:Overtime 
 by Dee Gilles	

 Disclaimer: For amusement only

 

 Benny & Ray 35 Overtime Dee Gilles Rated G

 Micky Doyle had hunkered down to spend at least a couple more hours
catching up on paperwork. There was a ton of it. The good news was that he
and Ray were down to only twenty-six open cases. Too bad it generated so
many reports, affidavits, subpoenas, and court appearances in its wake.
Overtime sucked.

 Over the past couple of years, he and Ray had worked out a nice working
system to their mutual benefit; Ray led them through the investigations
and field work, which he was much better at than he was, and Micky often
took care of the paperwork and the follow-up phone calls, which Ray
despised. It had taken them a few months to mesh, initially. Micky knew
that Ray was impatient with him at first, and not at all tolerant of any
mistakes. He had been worried he wasn't cutting it. Detective Huey was
astute enough to pull him aside one day and assure him he was doing fine.
It was just that Ray had gotten spoiled with having "The Mountie" helping
him out, solving his cases for him. 

 Jack had then smirked and made some stupid remark about the Mountie
helping him out in more ways than one, "if you get my drift," inviting him
to join in on the joke. Doyle was well aware of the whole "outing" thing
that occurred just before his arrival at the 27th. His sister, of all
people, ratted them out. He heard plenty of comments about "the fag cops"
back at his precinct; News that racy traveled pretty fast. He had called
Lt. Welsh the next day to ask if Ray needed a partner, because he was
available if he could square it with his commanding officer. Somebody in
Vecchio's predicament was going to need somebody watching his back now.
Two days later, Doyle was officially issued his detective's badge, and his
partner assignment was switched from Detective Stanley Kowalski to
Detective Raymond Vecchio.

 Doyle refused to `get Jack's drift.' "Hey," he had warned him, "that's my
partner you're talking about, pal." Doyle especially hated it when people
ridiculed others. Like they were so goddamned perfect. Sure, pick on the
gay guys; what an easy target.

 Doyle first met Vecchio while Doyle was still on patrol. Ray had
apprehended the arsonist Greta Garbo, but certainly he knew who Vecchio
was prior to that. Ray was the cop that worked with "the crazy Mountie"
for several years, and the two of them had taken down a lot of major
players by joining forces. The two of them made great partners. What they
did together between the sheets and after hours wasn't his business or
anyone else's. 

 Doyle finished up typing form G-99 on the Uptown Jeweler's "smash and
grab" burglary from this morning. Thankfully, nobody got killed. The
security guard did take a crow bar to the face when he tried to interfere,
but it resulted only in a broken nose, lucky for him. This same group had
killed a guard last month, and they had also been tied to a string of
similar robberies throughout the mid-west. This time, he and Vecchio were
going to make sure they went away for a long time.

 He slipped another 99 into the computer, carefully aligning to the right
line. He couldn't wait until they got their new computer system. Lt. Welsh
had announced to them last month that the city finally was going to put
some money into this old place. They were getting a new squad room next
summer, with cubicles and office furniture from this decade. The staff was
getting desk top computers, linked together on a network with all city,
state, and federal law enforcement. The detectives were to be issued
laptops for increased mobility. All reports would be filled out online and
stored on a shared drive. Halleluiah, he thought, as he hit a typo and
reached for the white-out. There was hardly any space left in this
building or at county records to stockpile any more paperwork. He blew the
white-out dry and resumed. He quickly completed the form and whipped it
out to start another one when he heard a soft male voice at his left ear.

 "Detective Doyle?"

 Micky startled. He hadn't been aware at all that a man stood at his
elbow. He turned and looked into the inquisitive eyes of Constable Benton
Fraser. He was carrying a couple of sub sandwiches in clear plastic
sleeves. He was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, one of the few times
he had seen him out of uniform. A blue canvas back pack was slung over one
shoulder. Doyle immediately rose. He always stood in Ben's presence; he
never knew why. "Hi there, Fraser, how's it going?"

 "It's going well, thank you. How about yourself?"

 "Can't complain. Just finishing up the reports on the Alverez case so we
can close it."

 "Ah! I know that was a challenging one. Congratulations!"

 "Thanks, man. Hey, uh, I thought Ray told me that you had a class on
Thursday nights," he asked with some puzzlement. 

 "Normally I do, but my professor called out sick last minute, so class
was cancelled. I thought I'd surprise Ray, and we could have dinner
together since he was working late."

 "Ah... Well, I'm afraid you've missed him," Doyle said. "He must be at
home."

 "He told me he'd be here for several hours past his shift."

 "Ah, yeah, ah...Ray left here around 4:50, I think it was." He
automatically checked his watch. It was 6:15.

 Ben furrowed his brow. "Did you say anything to indicate where he was
going?" 

 "Afraid not. Want me to call him?"

 Ben looked off into the distance as he spoke. "No thanks, I have my cell
phone." He forced a smile, eyes back on Doyle. "Well, thank you kindly.
Have a good evening."

 "You too, buddy."

 He looked after the retreating man, contemplating. He wondered if he
should do the buddy thing and give Ray the heads up that Ben was just here
looking for him. 

 No. He'd learned his lesson the hard way on personal matters like this.
He'd stuck his nose in the middle of things like this a couple of times
before, and both times it ended in disaster for all parties. 

 Where ever he was that Fraser didn't know about, Fraser was going to have
to ask and Ray was going to have to explain himself. He hoped Ray hadn't
gone off and done something stupid. He had a good thing going with Fraser
as far as he could see. A real good thing. He hoped that Ray remembered
that when he needed to.

 Doyle shook his head and he went back to typing his report. Four more to
go after this. He heaved a sigh, thinking how he'd love to be home in
front of his TV right now, drinking a beer. Overtime sucked.

 Finis

  
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End B:Overtime by Dee Gilles 

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