Dealing with the Past      Dealing with the Past

 by Laura Mason

  

 Author's website: http://lauramason.slashcity.net

 Disclaimer: 

 Author's Notes: Thanks to Linda, who valiantly beta-read the first 2/3 of
this. Any errors are my fault for not waiting for her to see 
the rest.

 Story Notes: 

 This story is a sequel to: Dealings 

 

 Dealing with the Past (sequel to Dealings) by Laura Mason
 Prologue: An American in Inuvik
 The Vecchios aren't outdoor people. I mean, the closest I got to camping
was in my own backyard in a homemade
 tent, back when I was 10 or so. We never traveled, didn't take vacations.
Driving to visit out-of-town family was
 rare. So? It didn't seem important. Important was making ends meet, food
on the table, getting shoes for growing
 kids. Those were my Ma's priorities, and the old man wasn't much but he
managed to do that. But I'm beginning to see why people like to get away
from it all. To travel and see a new part of the world. When
 it's quiet like it gets here, you can hear all kinds of things. Sometimes
at night I think the stars are making noise --
 at least, I think that once all the millions of animals who wake up once
the sun goes down just to make an
 incredible racket in the darkness finally shut up. Being out here with
Benny has been totally different from being at
 home. There's time to think, to just sit and do nothing. It's nice. Yet
in a lot of ways, it's just like being at home, too. I see my own family
and neighbors in the tribe. It seems that
 no matter where ya go, people are just the same. Well, most people. I
don't think there's anyone else, anywhere
 else, who's like Benny. That's a good thing. I mean, it's not that the
world couldn't use more really good, thoughtful
 people like him. But I mean it's good because there's nothing wrong with
Benny being unique. And he is.
 In Chicago, everyone is playing the angles, out for what they can get,
any way they can get it. Doesn't matter who
 it hurts as long as they get theirs. After prison, I was sure no one
played by the rules except chumps like me who
 couldn't afford to get sent up again. And even I bent some rules, where I
thought I wouldn't be caught. Just to do
 my job. Get a gun. Survive.
 Then Zuko calls with another hard-luck case, and this Mountie walks in my
door. Lectures Frannie about "propriety."
 Too polite, too good-looking, the guy couldn't be for real. Except he was
human enough, desperate enough to go to
 Zuko, right? Still, this isn't the usual kind of guy I deal with, someone
who's comprised so often that he doesn't
 even remember the word "ideals." This Mountie still has ideals, still
believes in them, and the longer I know him the
 more it becomes clear that he's from another planet. Well, he was raised
by his grandparents, so he's a little old-fashioned. And his father...
Benny idolized the guy. It
 sounds like Robert Fraser was even more upright and do-gooding than 20
Mounties. But if you ask me, Benny's
 doing enough all by himself. Everyone in his building knows his name and
comes to him for help with every
 injustice, every repair bill, every my-baby-sitter-isn't-here-yet --
everything. Is that enough? Of course not. Benny
 is out there helping strangers on the street, too. But the funniest thing
was when Benny decided to help me. I mean, I wasn't looking for help. I'm
not some damsel
 in distress. I didn't ask for his help. He just popped up ready to give
it, deciding all by himself that I'd been
 framed and setting out to prove it. Defying Zuko while he was at it and
nearly getting himself killed.
 What do you do with someone like that? Damned if I knew. So we became
friends. And now we're here in his homeland. Benny's himself here. It's
fascinating and wonderful to
 see. So I watch him. I really can't help myself, he draws my eye. And
Eric and the other Tsimshian, they watch me
 watching him. I guess they haven't decided yet whether I'm trustworthy or
not. Good for Benny or not. But they've
 made me welcome anyway, for Benny's sake. In Chicago Benny seemed so
alone. And when I brought him around my family, he seemed kind of
overwhelmed. I
 mean, I know we're loud, but Benny acted like he'd never seen that many
people at once before. But it's not true.
 These people are an even bigger family than the Vecchios, and he's known
them most of his life. Despite the normal
 Benny shyness, he's comfortable and happy here, talking with these people
and sharing their daily lives.
 They consider Benny one of the tribe. I don't know if it's for his
father's sake, or if they just love him for who he is.
 But their love and protectiveness have been apparent from the moment we
arrived. Eric treats him like a brother.
 And I consider Benny one of the family; my family. So maybe we all want
the same thing. Whatever is best for him,
 whatever makes him happy.
 I wonder if he realizes how many people care about him, here and in
Chicago? Probably not. Even now, among
 these people, I think Benny believes he's alone. They've made us at home
here. We arrived expecting to camp out near the ruins of his father's
cabin. Instead we
 were met by Eric as we left town, and brought here. I met so many people
that first evening that I thought I'd never
 keep them straight. But it really hasn't been that hard. Living with them
every day, seeing them as individuals, I
 learned names and family relations.
 Benny and I were installed in the midst of their homes, in our own tent,
but part of the tribe nonetheless. Most of
 the tent is full of my luggage, but there's room for our bedrolls, as
Benny likes to call them. Sleeping bags in
 Chicagoese, thank you kindly. But except for the time we're asleep, we
are really among the tribe more than
 separate. I thought it was pretty interesting how they managed to host us
among them and give us privacy at the
 same time, but Benny said that it's a common way of keeping adolescent
boys in line. They'll often spend time out
 of their family house, camping in the tribe like this. The thought that
they considered me -- us -- like kids, that kind of bothered me at first.
But then I figured out that
 to these people unattached males, no matter how old, are like boys. They
don't care for a family, they don't need to
 hunt or otherwise provide for others. And they don't have any women to
cook for them. So it does make sense. And
 it really doesn't bother me. Much. At least at home, I know I'm not like
that. I take care of Ma and the girls. For a
 single guy, I'm about as attached as you can get. At least, I want to
believe that I'm responsible. I suppose someone else would look at Ma,
cooking and doing for
 me, and figure that I'm immature. Still living in my father's house. No,
my house now. I've paid the bills. And paid
 the Zukos, too, with my life. Money would have been easier. But I don't
want to think about Frankie now, here. Being among the Tsimshian, it's
kind of fun to be a boy again. Oh, we work. This isn't a relax-by-the-pool
vacation.
 Benny and I spent days clearing debris at his father's cabin, and then
Eric offered to help us cut some logs to start
 rebuilding the walls that were completely burned. Thank God, Eric
believes in power tools instead of chopping
 everything down by hand. I wonder where Benny gets that? He goes off with
an axe while Eric and I are revving the
 big two-man saw. Okay, it's quite a sight when Benny starts swinging that
axe. But I'm just as happy -- and still
 very tired at the end of the day -- using all the gas-powered help I can
get. Eric's not the only person from the tribe who's come to the cabin to
help us. Every day a few people are there,
 carrying and cutting and nailing. They all know more about this than I
do. When I volunteered to come up here and
 help Benny, I really had no idea what I was getting into. If I had to
build even a simple shelter, it would be comical.
 Or I'd die. But these people know how to construct a house that's rock
solid -- nothing could knock it over. So I
 watch them and learn a little, and mostly do grunt work. I suppose that
does make me just about as useful as an
 adolescent boy, actually.
 Some of the women offered to do our laundry, but Benny insisted that we'd
do it ourselves. So we went along with
 them, helping to carry their baskets, and spent a morning by the water. I
learned how valuable Ma's Kenmore really
 is. I'll never complain about repair bills again. The tribe cooks and we
eat with them. After enjoying their hospitality for two weeks, I wanted to
cook. So Benny
 took me to town to see what supplies I could scare up. Pasta -- okay,
noodles I made fresh and dried over a branch
 Benny rigged -- with caribou meat and homemade sauce, made in a tub large
enough to hold Benny. I've helped Ma
 at the holidays, but I've never cooked for that many people before!
Still, they seemed to enjoy the "exotic" food,
 though I wasn't invited to be part of the regular rotation of cooks.
Actually, I don't suppose we'll be here long
 enough to join it. We should be heading back south in a day or two. So
all in all, it's been more pleasant than I thought this trip would be,
particularly once we heard the news about
 the fire. It was so odd, something like that happening right before we
left Chicago. But it didn't ruin the trip. Of
 course Benny was upset to see his cabin damaged, but he's been very
matter-of-fact about fixing it up. These
 things happen, and Benny isn't one to feel sorry for himself. The RCMP
sent someone to see us and talk about the fire. They thought it might be
arson, but no one can figure out
 any motive for that. So the official report chalked it up to "possible
lightning strike," and we went back to work. But
 I kept turning it over in my mind. The cabin wasn't insured, and it
contained nothing of value to anyone but Benny.
 When the officer asked him, Benny said he didn't have any enemies. But he
does, though I doubt Frankie would be content with lighting a log cabin in
Northwest Bumblefuck for his
 revenge. That's just not enough. No, there's going to be a move someday,
but a lot closer to home. Hopefully,
 against me and not Benny or my family. But I don't want to think about
that now, either. Benny is so very happy and at home up here that I
couldn't understand why he hasn't put in a transfer request to
 get back here permanently. But when we were talking with the RCMP
officer, I began to understand. They're polite
 to him. Hey, it's Canada. Even I'm polite up here. But that's all they
are, polite. There's no warmth, no fellow-officer
 attitude like you'd expect. Even a Chicago cop like Gardino gives Benny
more respect and camaraderie than these
 guys. Until that changes, I guess he'll be staying at the Chicago
Consulate, no matter how much the assignment
 wastes his talents.
 Guard duty. That idiot Inspector keeps putting this wonderfully talented
officer on guard duty. Benny takes it very
 well, though, and I suppose after living up here, with all this space and
quiet, guard duty might be the only time he
 gets to organize his thoughts and feel like he's alone. Stupid as it is,
I kind of enjoy when Benny's on guard duty, too. It's a good time to get
things off my chest without
 him interrupting. Who knows? Maybe someday I'll tell him about Joliet,
how it really was. Or something even more
 far-fetched. Like how I came up here and had time to think and feel
again. How he came into my life and changed it
 for the better. Benny changes everyone he meets for the better. What do
you do with a guy like Benny? Once we got here I finally puzzled out the
answer to that question. You fall
 head over heels in love with the jerk.  Canadian Sunset: July 2, 1996
Benny has moved out of sight, talking with Betty and Sarah. So I'm just
sitting here, staring at the beauty around me. Yes, I'm a city boy, but I
can appreciate this place. Particularly when it's a little warmer than my
last trip. I'll never forget freezing my ass off under that cabin in that
snowsuit. But today I'm just in a turtleneck, jeans, flannel shirt,
jacket, gloves, and work boots. And I'm almost comfortable. I'd like to
put on my parka, but I'd never hear the end of it. At least there'll be a
fire later tonight. "Vecchio." I try not to jump a foot, though Eric has
snuck up behind me again. He seems to love doing that; I've seen the
twinkle in his eyes. But there isn't one today, he looks dead serious. Uh
oh. Have they decided I'm a bad influence on their Benny? "Hi Eric. Sorry,
I was just daydreaming." "You appreciate the land." "Yeah, I guess I do.
It's a little ... empty, compared to what I'm used to, but it's very
clean. Peaceful." Eric nods and motions for me to follow him. So I do,
wondering what's going on. We walk for a while, away from the tribe's
houses and past the areas I recognize. When it feels like we're in the
middle of nowhere, surrounded only by young trees, Eric stops and sits on
a rock. There's a fallen tree across from him. Our first day in the woods
I fell when I stepped on a rotted log, so I move to test it before sitting
down, facing Eric. "You've learned a lot since you came here." Yeah, even
a stupid American can learn not to put his big ass on a rotted log, Eric.
"Yes. It's very different from Chicago." "And from the jail?" I don't
bother to ask how he knew. Probably Benny told him, figuring they should
know before they let me live among them. I just nod at him. Eric's not
much of a talker, which usually makes me babble. Not today. Let him wonder
for a change. "You watch him." Well, that's to the point, I guess.
Deflect, deflect. "So do you, Eric. It seems like you've been watching out
for him for years." "You watch him." Okay, can't keep avoiding the
question. Even though it isn't a question. "He's my friend." I stand up
and pace around Eric's rock and he doesn't move or even bother to follow
me with his eyes. "He's a good man. People take advantage of him
sometimes." Of course, that's not why I'm watching him, either. But
thankfully Eric doesn't push it, just nods. I'm still pacing when he
continues. "There was a stranger at the cabin. Before the fire. We heard
about them." I stop dead and turn to stare at him. "You didn't tell the
police that," I accuse, but he calmly answers. "No." "So it was arson?
But..." I shake my head. It just doesn't fit. Benny has no enemies,
according to him. Frankie wouldn't do this, it isn't his style. So what
stranger would come to this remote place to set a fire and watch it burn?
"Do you know who it was? Did you see them?" Eric shakes his head in reply.
"We should tell the RCMP, see if they can find ... Jeeze, Eric, we've been
all over the place since then. If there were any clues, they're destroyed
by now!" We've been all over the cabin, we've moved the wreckage, and
we've been tromping through the woods destroying footprints, too. We
couldn't have done a better cover-up for whoever did this if we'd planned
it. But Eric shakes his head again, then stands and moves to the log I was
sitting on a minute ago. He crouches down and reaches under it with both
hands, pulling out a metal box that looks sooty. Eric holds a finger to
his lips, and I'm quiet as I move beside him and crouch down. Eric opens
it, it's not locked, and shows me: money. Piles of it. I make sure that my
gloves are still on before I pick up a stack of the bills and look at
them. U.S. currency, still in the paper binding. Sequentially numbered. I
look to Eric, who stares back at me impassively. "This isn't Benny's," I
begin. "We know that," Eric replies. "And it's not from that frame-up of
his dad, either. That money was all in a bank..." I'm trying to figure out
what this means. "This is money from a robbery." Eric nods at me again,
solemnly. "It was left in the cabin, to be found by the authorities. But
we found it first." And they brought it here and hid it, to protect Benny.
"He's never stolen anything in his life." I don't need to see Eric nod.
"But someone wants to get him in trouble." Shit! I stand up and pace,
angry now. "They burned his father's cabin just to get everyone's
attention." His family's heritage, destroyed, just to hurt him. I'm
boiling now, but I have to really think. "Eric, we need to destroy this."
There won't be any fingerprints on the box, I'm sure of that. And the
money's gotta go, it's too dangerous to keep it. "We agreed you'd decide.
Do you need the numbers?" and he points to the bills. Damn. I'm supposed
to be the experienced investigator, and I would have burned this without
noting the serial numbers? Somehow I forgot that burning the money isn't
the only way to protect Benny. Figuring out who did this will help him
even more. "Thanks, Eric. Yeah, let me write these down." We sit in the
woods, going through stacks of cash, getting ready to burn money. I think
about my own depleted savings account, and Benny's hole-in-the-wall in
Chicago. How much indoor plumbing this could buy for the cabin. Hell, the
tribe could probably use the money pretty badly, for so many things Except
that if any of us tried to use it, we'd wind up in jail. So instead Eric
reads off serial numbers, and I count as we talk about Chicago, and my
family, and how different the world is in cities. And the money, ten
thousand in thirteen-year-old twenty-dollar greenbacks, goes up in smoke
here in these woods.  Ray returns to the village at last, with Eric, and I
smile at them both. I'm so glad that Eric has finally decided to accept
Ray. It's obvious as they come fill their plates, laughing a little. Ray
gets dragged off by some of the children and I hear them asking if Ray can
tell a story while he eats. It's amazing how well he gets along with these
children, who would seem to be very different from his nieces and nephew.
No one in the tribe holds Ray's prison time against him. Even before I
told them he'd been wrongly convicted, he was welcomed here. Eric choosing
to become his friend makes that complete, and I smile happily as Eric
comes to sit beside me. "I told you he's a good man," I say, still
watching Ray moving away from the adults, relaxed and happy. "You did,
Mountie. And you said he's your friend." I nod and take another mouthful
of Betty's stew, tasting the herbs we gathered just a few hours ago. "A
very good friend. I don't know how I managed in Chicago before I knew
him." "He says you're part of his family." I'm quiet for a moment, but
that's never bothered Eric. It's nice to be with people who allow time to
ponder, to formulate a reply. In Chicago things move so quickly. "Yes, I
suppose I am. Ray and his family took me in and made me welcome. Very much
like you have done." Eric smiles, and then we eat in companionable
silence. It is time to leave here. Ray is needed back in Chicago, and
while I still have leave time available to me, I'm not planning to stay
without him. It has been very good to be here. Good to do work, physical
labor, instead of the inaction of my duties in Chicago. Although the loss
of my father's cabin was distressing, the tribe has made my time here
pleasant as well as productive. I can never repay this kind of generosity,
extended to me as an old acquaintance and to Ray simply because he's my
friend. Hours later we sit beside the embers of the cooking fire. Ray, of
course, sits closer than anyone else. I think he'd actually be building up
the fire if he could; Ray is always cold. The children are in bed now, and
the adult fireside conversation is usually stories of the old days, told
by the elders. Ray listens to them, his eyes wide, but if I ask him later
he'll pretend that he was sleeping, or that the stories were meaningless
to him. But tonight the stories are different. An elder has brought out
the talking stick, and everyone takes turns telling stories of the
Trickster. Ray surprises me, for tonight instead of simply listening, he
actually accepts the stick and tells his own story. I shouldn't wonder at
this, for the children of the tribe named him storyteller immediately, and
they clamor for stories of his nieces' and nephew's adventures. Ray
invents stories, and re-tells ones I recognize from books I cherished in
my own childhood. Though I doubt my grandmother would have approved of
Ray's versions of these classics, and the way Ray changes the parts he
doesn't like. When I asked him about one story, he shrugged, then said
"Kids have to face real life soon enough, Benny. Why not make it a happy
ending for them now?" Ray has been listening carefully and understands the
type of story being shared tonight, and his story is definitely adult, a
tale of a man who pretends to be what he is not. I listen and idly wonder
if he is speaking of Frank Zuko, or possibly his own father. Or himself.
I've seen the masks Ray can wear. I love it when Ray is himself, without
disguise, as he is with his family. I've always felt privileged that he
remains that way when he's with me, with only the occasional -- well,
daily -- grouching to cover his feelings. And here among the tribe, Ray
has been himself, relaxed and funny. Though tonight the mantle of
storyteller changes him, makes him less approachable. More mystical,
though Ray would deny it. Ray has seemed very happy in our time here, and
that has made my joy in being home complete. I suppose Ray would laugh if
I told him that I feel it is my duty to protect him and, indeed, this
whole tribe. The land itself seems vulnerable to me, and not just to the
ill-conceived schemes of those who'd exploit it for profit, like the men
who built that dam. The air is being poisoned, and the water too. Nature
itself destroys, with lightning strikes like the one that must have hit
the cabin. How much damage could that have done in the woods? The tribe is
at risk for living off this dangerous, endangered land. And Ray? Ray is
the most vulnerable of all. Benton Fraser, RCMP, guardian of everything?
That is presumptuous, and Ray must never know how I fear his open, loving
nature being used against him. How I dread Frank Zuko's power in Chicago,
and wish I could move all the Vecchios here, to become part of the
Tsimshian instead. Thinking about Ray cooking for the tribe makes me
smile. I can imagine Mrs. Vecchio's horror over the lack of a proper
kitchen, and no butcher on the corner. And even imagining that, I can see
her feeding her people here, just as Betty does. Serving up love and care
as easily as she serves the stew. The embers barely glow now, and the
stories have stopped, though no one moves to leave the fireside, to end
the evening by heading for bed. We sip beverages, count the stars, and
think. I love having the time to contemplate rather than simply react. To
cherish these people I love, who are all so kind to me. I notice Eric
staring at me intently, looking for something in my face. Then he turns
and shares a look with Ray, who smiles and shrugs at him. Eric shakes his
head, smiling back. Tomorrow morning we'll strike our tent and prepare to
leave. Eric said he would drive us to town. Whatever is on his mind, we'll
have time to discuss it tomorrow. The beauty of the night burns my eyes.
Jet Plane Most of the luggage was re-checked in Winnipeg, though Ray still
insisted on carrying three bags. Fortunately Fraser didn't feel the need
to carry anything with him, so they'd managed to get all three past the
gate attendant and stuff all of the bags under their seats or in an
overhead compartment without complaint. Fraser insisted that prescription
medication was the only item that had to be carried in-hand, but Ray was
firm in his belief that he needed to have a full change of clothes with
him, just in case. Along with granola bars, water bottles, and what seemed
like an impressive array of toiletries for a man with so little hair. One
of the bags was entirely devoted to gifts from the Tsimshian, so it could
truly be said to be Fraser's carry-on. Except that more than half of the
gifts were for Ray. Betty had sent along recipes and a chunk of warm
cornbread for the two men. Evidently she shared Ray's fears about airplane
and airport food. When she said goodbye to them, she'd told Ray that he
was a good cook, but needed practice rolling out noodles. Ray had laughed
and kissed the woman's cheek, and kept to himself his thoughts that soon
he'd be able to find stacks of ready-made pasta at home in a "real" store.
Sarah had made them both medicine bags to wear around their necks, for
protection. They'd kept them on for the first flight, Ray admitting as
he'd fingered the soft suede which hung next to his crucifix that in such
a tiny plane, he was glad to have extra protection. But once they'd
arrived in Calgary, they'd both felt self-conscious about their backwoods
look. The boots and jeans that had been so comfortable and socially
acceptable in Eagle Crest seemed kind of ratty in a city. So the bags were
unknotted and removed from their necks, then carefully stored in the
duffel bag. Along with the carving from Eric, the pipe from Albert,
moccasins from Eddie for both of them, and the pictures the children had
drawn for Ray, illustrating the stories he'd told them. Now at O'Hare,
many hours later, Ray was suddenly back to his Chicago persona. He walked
faster, complained louder, and used his bags as a weapon to move other
pedestrians out of their path. They'd just hopped off of the people-mover,
Fraser apologizing to everyone they passed. Ray was past the next gate
before he realized Fraser wasn't beside him. He must have stopped. Ray
halted his own pugilistic progress and turned to find his friend. "Benny?
You okay?" Fraser was standing completely still in the midst of the
typical O'Hare crowds of businesspeople, vacationers, and students. Then
he turned and ran back in the direction they'd come. Ray swore under his
breath and took off after the Mountie, bags swinging off his shoulders.
"What did he see this time?" Ray muttered breathlessly as a woman swung
after him with her briefcase, gesturing angrily at the dripping Starbucks
cup in her other hand. "A little old lady getting mugged? Drug sales?"
Another shouted curse followed him down the terminal. "Why do I try to
keep up with SuperMountie?" Fraser had reached the split for terminals F
and G and was looking both ways. Then he took off down the G concourse,
and Ray skidded around the corner after him. To stop, dead, when he hit
the broad back of his friend. "Fraser?" he whined. But the Mountie hadn't
even felt the impact. "It's really you," he whispered. Then, louder,
"Victoria." "Hello, Ben. What are you doing in Chicago?" She was
beautiful, a vision of dark curls and a sweet face. And Benny chased
through an airport to follow her, Ray realized. "I was going to ask the
same of you." Fraser smiled warmly at her. "Perhaps you could tell me
while we have some coffee?" "I'd love to, Ben, but I'm on my way to catch
a connecting flight. I was in Arizona, visiting my sister, and the only
flight to Toronto connected here." "Oh." Fraser's whole body shrunk with
disappointment, and both Ray and the woman observed it. "Maybe I could
change the flight for a later one?" She smiled, and Fraser smiled back.
Ray smiled, too, his face stiff. He'd been forgotten completely, for the
mope he was. But he couldn't just leave without a word, like some jealous
kid on the playground. At least, not after the three weeks they'd just
spent together. Ray tried to keep his tone very, very light. "Hey listen,
Benny, I've gotta get going. I'll see you over the weekend, okay?" "Oh,
Ray. This is Victoria Metcalfe. An old acquaintance of mine." The
introduction was polite enough, but Fraser's eyes never left Victoria's
face. "Victoria, this is my friend Ray Vecchio." "Nice to meet you," and
her elegant hand was extended to him. Ray shook it, feeling more of a
doofus than usual as he smiled, unable to think of any polite words. Then
they came to him. "Any friend of Benny's," and as their hands parted, Ray
saw a flicker of something in her eyes that put him on the defensive
immediately. Benny was head over heels; he was glowing at her -- people
boarding planes in the other terminal could see it. Yet it looked like
this woman was jealous? Ray told himself he'd misread her look. Still, it
was as if she resented being introduced... Of course, now they were back
to staring and smiling at each other, and Ray knew it was past time to
make his exit. "Well, you two have fun. Benny? Thanks for everything. That
was a great trip." Those words somehow reached through the visible haze of
lust around the Mountie. "Ah, yes, Ray. Thank you, very much, for all your
assistance." But then he was gone again, staring at the lovely woman, a
radiant smile on his face as she took his arm and they walked away. Ray
Vecchio stumbled through the airport, claimed their checked baggage and
threw himself into a cab, feeling more alone than he'd felt in years. Or
at least, in the last six months.  The whine from beside his chair was
nothing new; Dief had been upset for three days, since Ray came home
without Benny. Ray had thought the Mountie could never forget his wolf,
the faithful companion who'd saved his life. He'd thought wrong, and he
was about ready to howl himself. Ray drove to Benny's apartment yesterday,
but he hadn't managed to go up and knock. The old building's halls were
cleaner than Ray remembered them being, and a few of the neighbors were
there, working on various projects. Mrs. Gamez recognized Ray and
confirmed that the Mountie had brought home a lovely girl, very polite
just like him. She then went on to tell Ray all about the work they were
doing, how Benton had proposed before his vacation that they all work to
fix up the building, to show their new landlord what excellent tenants
they were. Ray tried to be polite, knowing Benny cared about his
neighbors. It was a typical Benny idea, fixing up the slum someone'd
bought. The landlord was just as likely to raise the rents in response to
their hard work instead of extending their leases. Ray left feeling very
depressed, and kicking himself for it. How childish was he, anyway? Benny
was just his friend, and friends don't see each other every day. Ray was
spoiled by all those weeks when Benny had no one better to spend the
weekend hanging out with. He climbed into his car, glad he'd left Dief
with his mom, and took a long drive. But today he'd gone to his office to
run her name through the computer, even though he knew that Benny would
never forgive him for such an action. Ray told himself he was being
foolish, overprotective, jealous. But it wasn't foolish, was it? For
Victoria Metcalfe was a convicted criminal who'd been released from prison
just eight months ago. Ray stared at the file for a moment, wondering if
Benny knew. Then he scrolled back and saw the name of the arresting
officer, the Mountie who'd chased her into a blizzard and come back with
his man -- oops, woman. Of course there was more to the story than the
bare facts in the report, and Ray's imagination was ready to fill in those
details. Benny, intently tracking the mysterious figure, then rescuing her
from a bear or an avalanche or something like that. The heroic figure
finally seeing the face of the woman he'd pursued, revealed as he held her
close, sheltering her from whatever danger there'd been. The perfect face,
the dark curls, the wide eyes. Staring into each other's eyes, then
finding shelter in some remote area, and huddling together by the fire to
stay warm and alive... Ray snorted at himself and decided he should be
writing romance novels instead of chasing after runaways and cheating
spouses. The only thing he couldn't imagine was the scene where Benny
turned in the woman he loved to face trial for her crimes. Hmm, armed
robbery with a guard killed. She'd driven the getaway car for the man,
supposedly unaware of his plan. The defense's case presented her as an
unwitting accomplice, someone who got involved with the wrong man and
trusted him, to her own ruin. And Benny knew all this. He'd no doubt heard
her story before the blizzard was over. Ray thought about Benny a little
longer, and realized exactly how it had happened. Benny had probably hired
a lawyer for her himself, then told her that she had to face her actions
or she'd be running away forever. Preserving his duty and doing what he
believed was best for her, no matter how hard it had been. Ray shut down
the computer and headed home. Victoria was an ex-con. So? Ray was one,
too. How could he mistrust someone over that? Lots of people in jail had
simply made mistakes, not understood the consequences of their actions, or
trusted the wrong person. Ray couldn't treat Benny like a child or tell
him to be more cautious. Benny knew this woman -- at least, he knew her
more than Ray did. If Benny had accepted Victoria's version of the robbery
based solely on her word, well, that was how Benny was. The Mountie had
believed in Ray's innocence without proof, too. Any way he looked at it,
if he tried to talk to Benny then Ray would seem like the childish,
jealous jerk he truly was. It wasn't right to hurt Benny's happiness with
Ray's nebulous suspicions. But Ray knew the real reason he'd stay quiet.
He couldn't risk losing the best friend he'd ever had. So Ray took Dief to
the park with Maria's kids, and tried to be happy for his friend. They
were still friends, and would be even if Victoria became a permanent part
of Benny's life. She'd probably get him to move from that rat trap of a
building, anyway. The wolf and the kids chased around until they were
exhausted, and they all returned home for a loud and long family dinner.
It was midnight before Ray climbed into bed, Diefenbaker stretched out
under his window. He was just beginning to drop off when it hit him.
"Shit!" Ray leaped out of bed and the wolf barked at him. He was too busy
re-dressing himself to care. "Dief, I'm such an idiot." Ten minutes later
he was still rummaging his dresser for the paper, car keys in hand. "I
know it's here... aha!" He tucked a slip of paper in his pocket and headed
for the door, calling "C'mon, boy, I need some company." Two hours later
Ray had the confirmation. The money Eric found in the cabin, the money
he'd burned, was from the robbery Victoria took part in. According to all
official reports, none of the cash had ever been recovered. Ray stared at
the screen until his eyes blurred, then shut down the computer and tried
to think it through. It was hours later, time that had passed unnoted in
the windowless office, when Ray felt he'd sorted out his mind enough to go
home. He didn't believe Benny had helped Victoria hide the money there, no
matter how damning the evidence. He'd been with Benny that whole trip, and
the Mountie had never looked for anything in the wreckage. No, Benny was
blameless, he was as sure of that as he'd been the day Eric showed him the
box. Victoria must have hidden the money there herself. Perhaps Benny had
taken her to the cabin, on their way to the RCMP station. Or perhaps he'd
just told her about it, and while she'd been out on bail, still awaiting
trial, she'd somehow gotten there with her share of the loot. Of course
Benny would have bailed her out; even if he'd been the one who turned her
in, he wouldn't have wanted her to rot in jail. The other possibility was
that Victoria had somehow made off with all of the robbery money, and
hidden it in Benny's cabin. The mysterious figure who'd been there before
the fire might have been the other robber. Maybe he'd recovered the rest
of the cash, then burned the cabin and left the ten grand there in hopes
of covering his tracks. Ray made a few notes, things to check about the
other bank robber. Notes to talk to a snitch about the current rates for
bills that could be traced, like the ones Eric found. He wondered how to
find out about people in Canada who did such laundering. That was assuming
that the robber stayed in Canada; he might have hopped a plane anywhere.
The same technology that made it so much harder to use the money from the
robbery made it a whole lot easier to physically escape. When Ray
finished, he took Dief back to his house for breakfast. He listened to
everyone chatter, knowing he was being too quiet but unable to get his
mind away from Victoria. She'd seemed genuinely happy to see Benny despite
what he'd done, though it must have felt like a betrayal when he turned
her in. And she seemed smart enough to know that Fraser wasn't responsible
for the length of her sentence. There must have been circumstances that
made the sentencing so harsh. Politics, maybe, and of course that dead
guard. And the other robber still being at large. Lots of things could
affect sentencing. But any way you looked at it, ten years is a very long
time. It had been almost unendurable for Ray, and he wasn't beautiful like
Victoria. How did she handle watching herself age and change, locked away
from life and everyone she cared for? Ray thought the women's prisons
might be a little better than Joliet. Maybe she hadn't been treated like a
punching bag, the way he had. But still, it was prison and that wasn't
good. But she'd really looked at Benny with love; Ray couldn't have
imagined that. Hell, it was the last thing he wanted to see. Second to
last, really. Seeing the love for her in Benny's eyes, that was worse. Not
that Ray had any claim on Benny. His feeling were his own problem, and
even if he wasn't lusting after someone completely uninterested in men --
or him -- there'd been a couple guys at prison who'd made sure that Ray
could never seek out a physical relationship with a man. He was fucked up
and fucked over. Ray told himself he had to stop obsessing about Benny's
life. And then the doorbell rang, and there was the happy couple in
person, come to claim the wolf. Top of the World: July 17 Benton Fraser
was the happiest he'd ever been in his life, and he cherished the
unfamiliar feeling. Even the eviction notice in his pocket as he stood
guard wasn't able to dim his joy. He would be off duty in another hour,
and then he'd be going home. Not going to an empty apartment with only
Diefenbaker for company. No, to a home, where there would be hot food,
warm lights glowing in the windows no matter how late he arrived. Home to
Victoria. Only two weeks since that chance meeting at O'Hare, and his life
was completely different. He had a true partner, a helpmeet. Someone he
could count on to fight the eviction with him, someone to stand by him no
matter what. Someone to love. That was the most important thing, what
truly made the difference. Still, Fraser was being unfair if he tried to
claim he'd never had someone to rely on before Victoria came back into his
life. After all, Ray had been there, working alongside him, believing in
him. Ray had even believed in his father's innocence without proof, and
Ben knew Ray would also help him fight the new landlord's plans to
demolish his apartment building. Even though he hadn't been seeing much of
Ray the last few weeks because of this miraculous reunion with Victoria,
Fraser knew he could count on the Italian's friendship. Diefenbaker didn't
seem very fond of Victoria. Ben attributed it to jealousy. The wolf had
never shared Ben's time or attention before. For heaven's sake, Fraser had
been so wrapped up in Victoria that he hadn't even thought of Diefenbaker
for days. Of course the wolf had a right to growl at Victoria a little.
Thank heavens the Vecchios were so understanding, and that Ray was so
reliable. Certainly everyone else was just as enamored of Victoria as Ben
was. Why wouldn't they be? She was charming with his neighbors, never
condescending or superior. She didn't complain about his tiny apartment,
or the lack of luxuries. When they'd gone to Ray's home, she'd been
friendly and attentive to the whole family. And they'd all been their
usual loud and welcoming selves. Except Dief, and perhaps Ray. Ray had
been quiet that day, friendly but ... wary. Ray watched Fraser and
Victoria talking together, and there was something in his eyes. Doubt?
Fraser used the remainder of his time on guard outside the Consulate to
ponder this riddle of Ray, and shortly before he went off duty he reached
a satisfactory conclusion. Unfortunately, unless Fraser wanted to confront
Ray directly, he'd never know if it was the correct conclusion. Ray, with
his investigative skills, had found out about Victoria's past. And Ray was
still processing this information. Ray probably was aware of Fraser's own
role in her arrest, which might lead to questions about how well they knew
each other. Still, being an ex-convict himself, Ray would never be
unforgiving or assume all the facts were precisely as stated. In fact,
just those prison memories being invoked might account for Ray's moodiness
that afternoon. He hadn't seen Ray once since then, and Fraser decided to
invite Ray to lunch tomorrow, to discuss the eviction notice. Perhaps,
once they both relaxed for a while, Fraser could tell Ray the full story
of his first meeting with Victoria, and thus allay some of his friend's
worries.  "Sure, Frannie can ask that lawyer she's dating to help you
write testimony for the City Council meeting. And I can call some
reporters I know and try to get you some publicity. But evictions happen
all the time, Fraser." Lunch was finished, and they'd been discussing the
landlord's eviction notice for most of the meal. Fraser had almost
forgotten how much he enjoyed spending time with Ray, just talking and
eating together. "I understand, Ray." The Mountie toyed with his cup of
coffee a moment. "I simply can't give up without a fight. It's not for me,
you understand. My neighbors cannot afford other housing." "Victoria
wouldn't mind moving, eh?" "Why would you say that, Ray?" Ben blushed even
as he asked. "She just seems a little out of place in that building,
Benny, that's all." It was the first time Ray had called him 'Benny' all
afternoon. "No, you're wrong. She's fit in wonderfully. Better than I
expected she would, frankly. She's been working alongside me, painting in
the hallways. And today she's downtown, leading the picket in front of the
landlord's office building." Fraser was so proud of her, proud to be seen
with her. Victoria was an exceptional woman, as he'd always known. The
robbery had been a youthful mistake, a matter of trusting the wrong man
because he'd said he loved her -- surely that was the kind of mistake one
forgave without question. "That's great, really terrific. I guess I
misjudged her." Ray's voice wasn't right, and Fraser wasn't convinced. "I
realize my relationship with Victoria must seem sudden to you, Ray, but I
can assure you I know her better than you might think." "Sure." "Ray, I'm
familiar with your investigative skills, but the bare facts are not the
whole story. I saved her life, and she saved mine." "Yeah, okay, I get
it." Ray's voice rose to a louder tone, one Fraser'd only heard directed
at others, like those drivers who cut Ray off. He'd never before used that
rude tone to Fraser. "I have an imagination, Fraser. You don't need to
roll the whole movie." "I don't understand." Oh, that came out very cold
and prim. Well, Ray's abruptness did bother him, no sense pretending
otherwise. "I was there at O'Hare when you found her; I saw your face. I
know you love her, that you've always loved her and there'll never be
anyone else like her, okay?" Ray was still quite loud, sarcastic -- and
angry, Fraser realized, though he wasn't sure why. People at nearby tables
were staring. "That's very true, Ray, but certainly there's no need for
you to mock my feelings. I thought we were friends." "Aw, Fraser...
Jeeze!" Ray slammed his fist down on the table, and everyone else in the
tiny restaurant turned to look at them. Ray's head was down, he somehow
looked defeated, and Fraser didn't know what to do. "Perhaps I should
leave now, Ray." He'd just started to rise when Ray's hand came down over
his own. He looked down into burning green eyes, intensely searching his
face. "Please, Fraser, sit down. I'm sorry. I was out of line saying
anything about your feelings for her. I apologize." He sat and cleared his
throat. "Apology accepted, Ray. I don't know what I've done to distress
you, but ..." "It's not you, Fraser. It's this -- case I'm working on.
Just ignore me." But Ray's voice still wasn't right, and Fraser didn't
believe he'd told the truth. At least, not the entire truth. Still, there
might be a case bothering him. "Can I assist with your case in any way?"
"No, I don't think so. This guy came to see me today, on his own. No more
Zuko referrals, you know, and I need some business if I want to keep
eating. But the guy gives me the creeps, Benny. I can't put my finger on
it, but there's something wrong with him or his story." "What are you
investigating for him?" "He said he's trying to track his birth mother.
Gave me a story about being adopted after his dad died, back in the early
sixties. But it doesn't ring true." "You've always trusted your hunches,
Ray. Perhaps you should refuse the job." "Too late for that, I've already
taken his deposit money. I did run a check on the name he gave me. Found a
couple of leads, too. Nothing fishy there; at least not yet." "It is time
for me to get back to the Consulate, Ray." "Sure, Fraser. Here, you go pay
and I'll leave the tip." Ray pulled out a rather large roll of cash and
Fraser felt his eyebrows rising even as he took the bills Ray held out to
him. "Aw, don't give me that look. I don't usually carry this much cash,
but that nutcase today paid in cash. And Ma was asking for grocery money,
so I didn't deposit it." "I'm sure you're very careful and aware of the
best way to handle yourself in your city, Ray." "Yeah, yeah." Ray waved
him away, and Fraser headed toward the cashier to pay their bill. However,
he wasn't quite far enough away to avoid hearing Ray's quiet: "Just like
I'm sure you know what you're doing with her, Benny."  Dennis, the
superintendent of the building, held up his lease again and the small
crowd erupted into applause for the cameras surrounding them. Victoria was
still right beside him, and she squeezed him as she spoke into his ear,
trying to be heard over the din. "It's like a fairy tale, Ben." "Indeed."
Fraser turned to her and kissed her forehead, for once not caring if he
was being indecorous in such a public place. Victoria handed him a folded
slip of paper. "We should have a celebration tonight. You pick these up on
the way home. I'll be waiting for you." Then lights were on them as
Mackenzie King and the news crew she'd brought to the meeting found him.
He answered her questions, smiled into the camera, and when he looked for
Victoria, she'd vanished into the crowd -- no doubt headed home. Half an
hour later, after the news crews were finished and the crowd of tenants
and total strangers had dispersed, Fraser headed back to his apartment
with Diefenbaker. He wasn't surprised to see Ray waiting at the corner in
his car. "Ray! Did you hear the news?" Fraser held the door and seat for
the wolf, then climbed in next to his friend. "Yeah, I was actually here
for most of it. Makes a good story for Mac, too. Who knew Dennis had any
guts?" "You may have misjudged him in the past, Ray, but he's shown that
one good man can make a difference in many lives." Fraser shifted in his
seat and felt the folded paper in his pocket. "Oh, Ray, I just remembered
-- I need to run an errand. Perhaps you could drop me at the next corner?"
"What is it, Benny?" "Victoria asked me to pick up some food for a
celebration. She gave me a list," he pulled the paper and unfolded it, and
money fell out. Fraser put the folded bills inside in his pocket.
"Champaign -- well, it is a special occasion. Truffles, pate..." The
Mountie's voice trailed off. "Ray, I have no idea where to purchase such
items." "Well, not in your neighborhood, Benny. But there's a gourmet
market on Webster." Ray turned the car and they drove in silence for a
while. "I thought you said Vicky doesn't mind living simply." "Victoria
has never once made me feel that my home or my lifestyle is inadequate,
Ray. And I don't believe that was her intent tonight." Fraser could feel
himself blushing. "She merely said that a celebration was in order, and I
agreed with her." "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Though I gotta warn
you, Fraser, I don't have a lot of cash with me." Fraser turned to look at
him, and Ray waved a hand airily between them. "Just in case you're only
carrying pink and purple money tonight." "I have U.S. greenbacks, Ray.
Victoria tucked the money in with the list." "Great." The rest of the ride
was silent, and Fraser realized he missed the usual Vecchio style of
offering driving tips to other drivers at the top of his lungs. Ray was
still subdued. Things really hadn't eased between them. They bought
everything on Victoria's list, and Fraser happily added a tin of Scottish
oats, just like he used to get at home. They finished just as the store
was closing for the night. As they loaded the bags in Ray's car and
Diefenbaker rejoined them for the ride back to the apartment, Fraser
finally thought of a way to make Ray relax and behave normally. "Ray,
would you join us for our celebration?" He hoped this was the way to prove
to Ray that his friendship was important. That having Victoria in his life
wouldn't change their relationship. "What?" Ray sounded scandalized. "Will
you come up with me and have some champaign? After all, you brought Ms.
King and her press connections into our struggle." Ray swerved, then
pulled the car over. He turned in his seat, eyes blazing. "Fraser,
Victoria just sent you to buy two sacks of romantic food and wine, and
you're inviting me up to your apartment to share them? With the two of
you?" "Certainly, Ray." Fraser kept his best poker face in place as Ray
shook his head and blustered a little longer. Then he smiled. "Plus,
you'll be able to help me carry everything upstairs." "Ah, now the truth
comes out. You're bribing me with fancy Canadian stuff to get help
carrying groceries." But Ray was smiling, and the next car that cut him
off received the usual Vecchio hand signals, horn blowing, and shouted
advice. So the two men trooped up the stairs together, carrying loaded
bags and accompanied by the clicking of Dief's nails on the bare
floorboards. It was comfortable and wonderful, Fraser thought. Then they
entered the apartment, and Ray's eyes widened in surprise. Fraser realized
Ray hadn't been here since Victoria came to Chicago. "It's a little more
homey now, don't you agree?" Aside from the glowing lights, the tiny room
sparkled with new paint, new curtains, and luxurious new linens and
pillows on the bed. Victoria came out of the kitchen area in time to hear
Ray's heartfelt, "Yeah, it sure is." "Ben, you're finally home." She
brushed past Ray and his bag of groceries to kiss Fraser and take his bag.
"Did you find everything?" "Yes, Ray took me to the correct establishment
for celebratory foodstuffs." Ray didn't even comment on Canadian
vocabulary; he was still staring at the lit candles on every surface of
the room. "I'd bought in bulk, in case of power failure," Fraser explained
to him, but Ray remained silent. "You sit down and relax for a bit, Ben.
I'll make a snack for us, and chill the wine." Victoria looked over at
Ray, who finally met her glance. "Ray, are you staying?" "Yes, for a glass
of champaign," Fraser spoke up quickly. "After all, Ray brought the media
to the hearing." "Great." Her voice wasn't very enthusiastic, though, and
Fraser wondered if Ray had been correct and Victoria had been anticipating
a romantic evening. Then he put the thought aside. They'd had three weeks
of romantic evenings alone. Eventually they had to make room for a friend
in their lives. Fraser loved Victoria more than anything or anyone, but
surely they could be with Ray tonight, and regularly. Sharing their
interests with others would only strengthen their love. Fraser thought
back to his grandparents, the only marriage he could remember observing.
They'd always had housefuls of friends, people who loved books or who
organized the dances and club meetings that frequently were held in their
village. Even with the burden of a young child, they'd never asked for
less to do, or more time alone. Instead, they'd taken on more and more
together, always there to support each other. His fight for the future of
this building was like that. Victoria had been there, strengthening him
and making the battle even more important because of her belief in it.
Fraser felt elated, thinking of the years ahead with such a partner and
lover. What couldn't they accomplish? And surely, as their love kept
growing stronger, it would extend to include others. Not just Ray, but new
friends they'd make together. And children, Fraser hoped. Ray wasn't at
the window any longer, he realized with a start, but then Fraser placed
his friend's voice in the kitchen, talking calmly with Victoria. Once he
concentrated he could hear their words. "I make Ben happy," Victoria was
saying, "and that's all that matters, isn't it?" "Yes, you do." Ray
sounded flat, Fraser thought. "That's the important thing. Not what you
did or didn't do twelve years ago. Still, I think it's fair to warn you.
You hurt him and I'll kill you." "I consider myself warned," was
Victoria's cool answer. Fraser shook his head, appalled at Ray's
overprotectiveness, but there was a smile on his face, too. Ray would
relax now, and time would prove to Ray that Victoria loved Fraser, just as
much as he loved her. Victoria re-entered the room with a plate of hors
d'oeuvres, and Ray followed with three glasses. Fraser smiled at them
both, knowing himself loved. Desperado: August 1 Ray kept asking for a
phone call, but the cops interviewing him just ignored his request and
kept asking questions. "You're saying this money was from a client?" This
from blue shirt. Ray thought the name was Huey. "It must be his. The money
I spent at Nikko's was from the deposit he paid me on his case." "Tell us
again who this client is." "The guy, Edgar Jolly, came to my office last
week, looking for someone to investigate his adoption records and locate
his birth mother." "Do you have an address for him?" "Sure, at my office."
"You'd never seen him before that time?" This from Gardino, who'd
evidently been assigned 'bad cop' duty today. Ray remembered him from the
Drake arrest and knew the cop didn't normally behave like a hard-ass.
"Never heard of him, never saw him until he walked in the door. It was a
routine case." "Yet you took a twenty-five thousand dollar deposit from
him for this work?" "What?" Ray burst out laughing. "Jeeze, if I could
charge rates like that would I be living in this city? No, Jolly gave me
two hundred. Cash, like I said." "Yet your bank records show a deposit
last week of twenty-five thousand, cash. With serial numbers that match
those reported from a bank robbery twelve years ago," Huey replied. Ray
felt his blood turn cold, even as he tried to keep his face impassive.
Victoria, or her partner. He'd been set up, just like one or both of them
had tried to do with Benny in Canada. But who were they really after?
Benny, of course. Ray forced his attention back to the detectives. "Was
this bank job in my neighborhood or something? 'Cause I gotta tell you
that doesn't mean a thing to me." "Wise guy. It might mean something to
your Mountie friend," Gardino parried. "He arrested one of the scum who
did the job. Maybe he caught them both, but let the other one go. And now
he's sharing the gratitude with you." Shit, they'd put it all together.
Fast. And it looked convincing, even to Gardino who knew Benny and had
worked with him on his father's case. "I want an attorney." "Fine. But
before we get you a public defender, Vecchio, let me read you this. 'You
are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent..." Ray tried to
blank his mind as he was fingerprinted, photographed, and put in a holding
cell at the precinct. He'd been framed; now there was an original idea.
Not. But Benny was in danger now, too. Ray knew he should call home, tell
his family what was going on. For that matter, he should call Frank Zuko
and crawl on his belly for help. But when he shook the bars and yelled
that he wanted to make a phone call, Ray knew he would call Benny. And say
what? Watch your back? You're going to be in jail with me soon? Ray was
almost relieved when they ignored him.	Fraser was yanked off guard duty
when the Chicago police came to see Inspector Thatcher. They questioned
him in front of her, and Fraser knew he'd never forget her face when she
heard him admit to living with one ex-convict and being friends with
another. They eventually hustled him down to the station, "for further
questioning," but he still asked Thatcher to call his neighbor and get a
message to Victoria. Fraser was a law enforcement officer; he knew that
questioning was often a prelude to an arrest. The interrogation seemed to
go on forever, endlessly repeating the same things. No, he never accepted
any cash from a robbery. Yes, his girlfriend... well, fiancee really...
was involved in a robbery twelve years ago, but she had done her time in
jail and paid for her crime. Yes, he had bought some items at Le Bon
Gourmet. No, Ray Vecchio did not give him stolen money, nor did he "pay"
Vecchio in stolen money. Pay Ray for what -- being his friend? When
Inspector Thatcher came in with a cup of tea and the policemen left,
Fraser was exhausted. Still, he looked up at her with hope in his eyes.
"Constable Fraser, I've been to your apartment. There is no woman there.
Nor is there any sign that anyone else has been staying there. Your
neighbors did confirm that a woman you introduced as Victoria has been
there, but she is gone." "There must be some mistake. Or a
misunderstanding. Victoria is probably afraid. She already did jail time
for a crime which she did not commit..." Thanks to me, his mind added, and
Fraser stood up, ready to leave and go find poor, frightened Victoria.
She'd be frantic for him... "Perhaps. Please sit down, Fraser." Thatcher
handed him the tea, and sat in the wooden chair across the table from him.
"I've shared my brief investigation with the Chicago police, and they were
kind enough to tell me more about this situation. Fraser, it looks very
bad. The police have a warrant to search your apartment. Perhaps you
should cooperate with them." "Inspector, I am cooperating. I've told them
everything I know, which is nothing. I cannot explain why they think I've
been spending stolen money." "They were investigating an anonymous tip
which led to the arrest of your friend, Vecchio. They're searching his
home and office, too. But you're the connection between the money and
Vecchio." "No." Fraser sat back, feeling stricken. Poor Ray. "What
evidence do they have against him?" "Like you, he allegedly spent a small
amount of tainted money. However, he's under arrest because there was a
large deposit into his bank account. Cash from an armed robbery, one which
you investigated twelve years ago." "Not..." But it was, it was Victoria,
and it was all his own fault, wasn't it? She'd come back to him, but
Fraser remembered her anger, that first night back at his apartment, how
she'd hit him and cried. She couldn't really forgive his betrayal, even
though she loved him. How had he ever thought she would? "Yes, the robbery
Metcalfe was involved in. The police believe you were hiding the money,
because you double-crossed her when you sent her to jail. They think you
asked Ray to launder the money." "Inspector, if I did double-cross her,
what could have prevented Victoria from telling the authorities at the
time? And why would Ray be foolish enough to deposit stolen cash into his
own account? This is a street smart Chicagoan." "An ex-convict." Her mouth
was pursed as she said the words. "There is more to that story than you
know. Ray knows better than to go shopping with the proceeds of a robbery.
In this city there are many safer ways to get rid of the cash." Fraser saw
the belief in her eyes, right behind the disappointment. He supposed that
he'd never been quite real to anyone he worked with at the Consulate. They
tended to see him as a dutiful Mountie, and not as a man. Certainly not as
someone torn by grief, vengeance, or love. Only Ray had truly accepted all
of him, though Fraser believed that Victoria understood... "Fraser, I
think you should have an attorney present during the rest of this
questioning. I'll arrange for one." She tried to smile at him, and he
nodded in resignation. "Thank you, Inspector."	Fraser had been released,
but it was only a temporary reprieve. They refused to let him talk to Ray,
and he was too ashamed of what he'd brought on the Vecchios to go to Ray's
home. So Fraser walked home, still worried about Victoria and staring at
every dark-haired woman he passed. If he could only find her, he'd explain
it all and make it right. They'd clear Ray, and he'd stay with Victoria,
show her that he'd never make the same mistake, never betray her again.
When he entered his apartment building, the Police were waiting for him.
"Benton Fraser, you're under arrest for the murder of Edgar Jolly." They
cuffed him and led him away. He managed to get Willy's promise to keep
Dief as they took him outside. The police wouldn't answer any of his
questions, and Fraser spent the ride back to the precinct trying to recall
any cases involving that name, Jolly. He was held in another interrogation
room until Inspector Thatcher arrived with his attorney, a mountain of a
man in a dark suit. "Constable Fraser, this is Howard Wilkerson. The
Consulate has retained his services for you." "Thank you, Inspector. Sir."
He shook the man's hand and looked into the dark eyes that were assessing
him. Wilkerson seemed intelligent. Probably more competent than whatever
attorney they'd assigned to Ray. Even though Francesca worked for a legal
firm and currently was dating an attorney, Fraser knew Ray was once again
at the mercy of the Public Defender's office. Francesca worked for a
patent law firm, not criminal attorneys. "I'll leave you to discuss the
case." Thatcher seemed subdued. No, it was almost flirtatious. Wilkerson's
rugged looks must appeal to her. Either that or the money behind his
well-tailored suit and expensive briefcase. "Inspector, before you leave,
may I ask a favor?" "What is it, Fraser?" That was much more in her normal
annoyed tone. "Ray Vecchio. I haven't been allowed to visit him. Could you
please see him, just for a moment, and tell him I regret that he was
pulled into this situation." Thatcher curtly nodded and left the room.
"Constable Fraser, I must tell you that the police have a very good case
here." Wilkinson seated himself comfortably and pulled out a notepad from
his case. Fraser liked his voice, very gruff and straightforward. "I don't
see how that is possible, Mr. Wilkerson, since I have done none of the
things they are accusing me of." "Ben -- may I call you Ben? -- they found
Jolly dead in Ray Vecchio's outer office. The bullet is a .38, the same
caliber as your service revolver. Which was found in your apartment and
apparently has been recently fired. Which has no one else's fingerprints
on it. Are ballistics tests going to show that your gun is the murder
weapon?" "I honestly don't know, sir. It may be possible. As I'm sure the
police reports indicate, the door to my apartment does not lock. Although
the trunk in which I keep my gun is usually locked, I believe someone
could easily open it with the correct implements." Fraser stood and paced
the room. "May I ask you some questions, Mr. Wilkerson?" "Certainly."
Wilkinson smiled up at him, and Fraser hoped he would be believed by this
man he didn't know. "Thank you. Who was Edgar Jolly, and why would I have
motive to shoot him?" "Jolly was a regular low-life. Suspected of fraud,
suspected of armed robbery in several states and wanted in Canada as well
for questioning on a robbery. One which I believe you're familiar with,
since you captured his partner. Of course, at her trial Metcalfe referred
to him as Eddie Jay, which was his alias at the time. He's been convicted
of several small-scale crimes and done some time, but nothing recently."
So Victoria had been in contact with her old partner, too? Looking for her
share of the robbery. Perhaps not -- maybe it was just the opposite, and
he'd tracked her down instead. Maybe Victoria had hidden most of the
money, and then when Jolly found her she'd acted in self defense. Of
course she'd be terrified, then run. She must be unaware that Fraser and
Ray had been implicated... These thoughts flashed through his mind even as
Wilkinson was speaking. Logic kept reminding him there were no prints on
the gun, which had been carefully placed back inside his trunk. And why
would Jolly's body be at Ray's office? For that matter, why would Victoria
or her partner want to implicate Ray with some of the stolen money? That
sounded more like something Zuko would do... "I see." Fraser continued to
pace and took his time to phrase a reply to Wilkinson. "It seems that I --
and my friend -- have been set up. Though I do not wish to believe her
capable of murder, it seems apparent that Victoria Metcalfe has killed her
ex-partner, probably in self defense. I'm sure she had no idea she'd
incriminated me." "The police think you were working with Jolly and
Metcalfe back in '84. They'll be trying to prove that you ran off with the
money, then killed Jolly when he finally caught up with you." Fraser sat
down and looked Wilkerson in the eye. "Mr. Wilkerson, I know it must
appear that I am guilty. But a complete investigation will prove my
innocence." "I'll put some people to work verifying your story, Ben. And
please, call me Wil." At the Mountie's confused look, he continued, "It's
a nickname." "Ah. It seem to me, Wil, that the first vital step is to
locate Victoria Metcalfe. She can attest to the truth, and I'm positive
she'll be cooperative once she realizes what has happened." "Ben, there's
one problem with that avenue of investigation. Victoria Metcalfe died six
months ago in Alaska."	Ray walked down the hallway which was becoming
familiar to him at the Cook County lockup. He'd been shocked to see
Inspector Thatcher waiting for him yesterday, but the news she shared with
him was completely unbelievable. Benny was in this damn place, too, and
accused of murder. Ray could only remember the look in Fraser's eyes when
he saw her at O'Hare -- God, was that only a little over a month ago? That
whole trip to Canada seemed so long ago. It had a dream-like quality now.
Surely Ray had seen love in her eyes as she stared back at Benny. Hadn't
he? Hadn't Benny, for that matter? But no, that woman, that bitch, had
murdered someone and framed Benton Fraser for the crime. Not, of course,
that Benny would believe it. He'd be making excuses for her, Ray was sure
of that. Ray clenched his hands into fists as he was ushered into the
booth where Frannie was waiting, grateful that his sister would come but
still embarrassed at being seen here. He'd let them all down so terribly.
He looked through the glass and saw a second person -- Maria? It was
Maria's coat and sunglasses, but this woman was taller and thinner, and
her dark hair was straighter... "Irene?" He croaked, and Frannie waved the
phone at him angrily, her eyes blazing. He picked up the receiver and
listened to her, staring at Frank Zuko's sister, who he hadn't seen since
high school. God, those days in gym class, dancing with her... "Maria and
I came to see you together." Frannie's eyes clearly shouted 'she's
disguised as Maria and don't ruin it you mope.' "She drove me here, since
I don't like traffic downtown." "That's really nice of both of you." Ray
waved to Irene, who smiled at him and handed Frannie a sheet of paper. "So
Ma's all worried you're not eating," Francesca continued as she slid the
paper to where Ray could read it. She kept talking, a soothing blur of
sound, as he quickly scanned the typewritten sheet. 'Frank Zuko met with a
man and woman on June 25th this year to discuss buying some cash from a
robbery. The woman was very attractive with long, curly dark hair. The man
was blonde, also with long hair. Zuko and the woman haggled over price,
Zuko stating that the rate on the streets for such bills would be 20 cents
on the dollar and the woman insisting on more. They settled on 35 cents on
the dollar, that price including some services to be performed at Zuko's
direction. Zuko put the robbery money in his home safe.' Ray looked at
Frannie, who smiled tremulously even as she continued her story about Tony
Jr. Then he looked at Irene, who had removed her sunglasses and was
crying. "She can't... Frannie, let me talk to Maria. Please." Francesca
moved and Irene took the seat, holding up a plain envelope addressed to
the 27th Precinct. Ray shook his head and smiled at her, waving the phone
as Frannie had done to him. Irene finally wiped her eyes and picked up. "I
heard you were back in the neighborhood." "Since June." "I never thought
you'd leave France. It was all you talked about, seeing Paris..." She just
smiled at him as another tear rolled down her cheek. "How are you?"
"Okay... I'm divorced now. I have a little boy. Vinnie." Her husky,
oh-so-familiar voice made Ray feel 20 years younger. "For your father," he
whispered, nodding. "Yes. I'm looking for a school for him, here in the
States." Irene was trying to fold up the note and put it in the envelope,
but her hands were shaking too badly. "You can't do this. He'll kill you."
Ray put a hand on the glass, and Irene put hers opposite it. "I have to,
Ray. I watched you sent to jail once before for a crime you didn't commit.
Back then, I couldn't do anything. This time -- the robbery money they
claim you have -- that's what Frank bought from that woman back in July,
isn't it?" "Probably. Sure sounds like her," Ray pointed to the paper.
"Better put that away now." "She knew he wanted it, that's why he
overpaid." "We know he hates me. Please, think about what you're doing."
"I'm not a little girl any more, Ray. I don't know everything that's
happened between you two, but I know what Frank is doing to you and your
family is wrong." "That doesn't matter. What if you get hurt? What happens
to Vinnie? You have to look out for yourself." "Ray, I never thought I'd
hear you sound that much like our fathers." Irene's beautiful eyes were so
intense as she smiled at him. "Ray Vecchio used to sit with me and tell me
his dreams. Someday, he'd be protecting people from bullies and criminals.
Someday, he'd make sure that our neighborhood wasn't run by crooks. He
didn't look out for number one." "Yeah. Well we all know what happened to
that kid." She just shook her head with that wistful smile as the guard
came in to take Ray back to his cell. As he left, he stared back at the
two women watching him. He mouthed 'I love you' at them both.  Howard
Wilkinson had two investigators from his staff trying to find evidence of
Victoria's presence in Chicago. The airlines had no record of her arrival
in Chicago on the date Fraser first saw her at O'Hare. Though the tenants
in Fraser's building all identified her photo in a photo lineup of
dark-haired women, there were no fingerprints anywhere in Fraser's
apartment except his own and Vecchio's. Francesca visited Fraser and told
him that the Vecchios had claimed Diefenbaker from Willy, for the
duration. She tried to be upbeat about his case and Ray's, but the visit
had ended with her in tears. Inspector Thatcher had also visited once,
reported to him on the meager information she'd been given on Ray's case,
and then left. Wilkinson's people reported that Victoria's body had been
identified after the automobile accident by her sister, Elizabeth, a
resident of Bald Eagle, Alaska. The local police, and an investigator who
was hired in the area, had been unable to locate Elizabeth Metcalfe. Her
house was abandoned and her bank accounts were empty. Fraser remembered
Victoria's remark about visiting her sister in Arizona, but there was no
record of an Elizabeth Metcalfe in that state, either. "If we had some
evidence of Victoria's presence here in Chicago, we could exhume the body
and check the dental records. But the judge won't do it solely on the
identification by your neighbors." Wilkinson looked frustrated, and Fraser
thought that perhaps the man finally believed his story. "I spoke with
Vecchio and his attorney yesterday. He supports your story completely,
which is good for you but not so good for him. I'm afraid, given where
Jolly's body was found, that he is going to be charged as an accessory to
the murder."  "All these women visiting you, Romeo. I'll bet it was a
broad got you here in the first place." Fraser didn't respond, but he
nodded his head as he was once again led into the visiting room. If only
he could see Ray. Then he saw a dark head in the visitor's area and a part
of his brain immediately knew Victoria was there, come to free him and
explain it all. Tell him it hadn't been a deliberate, cold-blooded plot
but a misunderstanding... Then the woman turned and he saw Mrs. Gamez
there, smiling at him shyly. They both sat, and Fraser tried to smile back
at her despite the pain in his heart. Victoria wasn't coming back. She'd
erased her presence deliberately. He was a fool. "Benton, we're all very
worried about you." "I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Gamez." "That
investigator, he says he's working for your lawyer. He's been all over the
building, talking to all the neighbors and showing her picture." "Yes, and
thank you for your assistance to him. We're trying to prove that Victoria
was here. The authorities believe she died in an accident months ago."
"Well, as long as he's really working for you. None of us wanted to tell
him anything unless you said so." "Anything you say can only help me,
since the truth is what needs to be heard." "Then I'll go see him and give
him this." She pulled a foil-encrusted object from her purse. "I haven't
opened it -- it was in my freezer like you said, remember?" He had no idea
what she meant -- and then, suddenly, he did remember. They were painting
in the hallway, Victoria and him and the Gamez children. Margarita had
stepped out to admire their work, and she'd mentioned that when the meter
reader came, the utility room door sometimes left a gouge in the paint on
the opposite wall. Victoria set down her brush and took a quick break,
stretching gracefully as she headed down the hall toward the restroom. She
usually wore gloves for all the work, to protect her hands, but today it
was humid and they were stuck in her back pocket, Fraser noted as he
followed her with his eyes. When she disappeared from view, Fraser
realized someone was speaking to him, and he met Margarita's amused glance
with a blush. He requested a large sheet of foil. When she brought it, he
picked up the brush Victoria had left on the edge of the paint can, dipped
it to add paint, then wrapped it securely in the foil. "Freeze this and
you can retouch the scrapes whenever you need to. Just pull it out to thaw
when you need it." He didn't remember Victoria making any fuss when she
came back to work. But by then, he'd replaced her brush with his own,
hadn't he? And Victoria was always the one to wash up the painting
equipment when they were done... Fraser came back to the present and
stared at Margarita Gamez, calmly sitting there holding such vital
evidence. She smiled back at him, reflecting the dawning hope on his own
face. "You... I cannot possibly repay you for thinking of this. It could
be crucial..." "I'm glad to help, Benton. I'll go call that man right
now." She stood to leave with a last smile. "We miss you and Diefenbaker
at home. It will be good to have you back." Not a Day Goes By: September
1996 Fraser stood waiting outside the room where Ray was being questioned
yet again, his public defender present at Ray's request. In the weeks
since their release Ray had been jumpy and terribly quiet. Fraser had been
there with the entire Vecchio clan to take Ray home, and he'd seen a Ray
Vecchio he didn't recognize. Not just the dark circles under his eyes, or
the loss of weight Ray couldn't afford -- this man was dangerous, angry
and wound tight. Fraser knew he'd seen glimpses of this hard, cold part of
Ray before, but never so out-of-control. And never for so long. Fraser
kept waiting for Ray's anger to ease. But even as their routine resumed
and Ray began driving him to the Consulate again, Ray still barely spoke.
Fraser talked, all the time it seemed. Filled Ray in on the fingerprints
Mrs. Gamez provided, which led to the disinterment of Victoria's alleged
body. Dental records proved it was Elizabeth Metcalfe who'd died, not her
sister. With that small piece of the truth uncovered, the case against
them both started to fall apart. Both men had solid alibis for the time
period when Jolly had been shot, corroborated by witnesses. The money in
Ray's bank account had been deposited in person, but no one working that
day could identify Ray Vecchio as the man who'd made the deposit. Fraser
was released first, and graciously accepted all the apologies of the
Chicago P.D. with Inspector Thatcher and Wilkinson at his side. Ray's
release took longer, though Fraser was frustrated in trying to determine
why exactly that was true. The only logical conclusion was that Ray didn't
have the Canadian government on his side, breathing down the detectives'
backs. They took Ray home, Fraser apologizing to him and to his family
over and over as Francesca drove them in the station wagon. Ray's only
comment was a terse "Forget it," as the car stopped and he jumped out and
vanished down the street on foot. Ray reappeared at dinner time and
announced that he hadn't paid rent on his office this month, and he wasn't
going to pay it now. The landlord could have his computer and furniture
for the back rent. Ray was going to find a real job, a normal job that
would bring in money regularly. The whole family -- and Fraser -- listened
to Ray's pronouncement quietly. They weren't back to normal either. Mrs.
Vecchio's eyes were just as red and teary as they'd been while Ray was
locked up. Francesca, too, was silent and jumpy. Maria and Tony couldn't
even argue, which Fraser had observed was normally their main form of
communication with each other. Only the children behaved normally around
Ray, and only with the children did Ray seem at peace. Two days later Ray
had two jobs, one as a janitor at a grocery store and the other as night
watchman at a warehouse. Fraser, who'd been spending all his free time at
the Vecchio home, became aware that Ray spoke to no one, ate, worked, and
slept in a haze. When he wasn't eating a meal, Ray was in his room. Weeks
went past and still nothing changed. Fraser didn't know how much longer
Ray could maintain that level of tension without hurting himself. Today,
in an effort to get Ray to relax, Fraser planned a Saturday afternoon at
the local park with the children and Diefenbaker. Then Detectives Gardino
and Huey had shown up at the Vecchio home, asking them to come downtown
and answer a few questions. Ray froze for a moment, and turned so white
that Fraser was afraid his friend would pass out. Then, suddenly, Ray was
back, and he had Frannie calling his lawyer before they left the house.
Ray also insisted on driving his own car, rather than riding with the
police. Fraser rode with him, and found himself calmly talking to Ray as
if his friend were on a ledge, about to jump. "I'm sure this is just
routine, Ray, nothing to be so worried about. We've both been cleared of
any wrongdoing." His assurances didn't even seem to register on the man,
who drove with the wheel clutched so tightly his knuckles were white.
"Constable Fraser?" Detective Huey's voice brought Fraser back to the
present and he turned. "Yes, Detective?" "We have a few questions for you,
too, if you'll join us." Fraser followed the man back in the room. Ray's
lawyer looked bored, Ray looked like he wanted to take a swing at
Detective Gardino, and there was a third policeman in the room. One Fraser
hadn't met before. The unknown man rose. "Constable, I'm Lieutenant Welch.
We've been trying to get your friend to cooperate with us. I hope you'll
be more helpful." Fraser didn't reply, just stood at parade rest. "Please,
have a seat." Fraser sat next to Ray, who was scraping the paint off a
pencil with his fingernail now, eyes down, jaw clenched. "We received this
letter anonymously last month." A plastic-covered sheet of notepaper was
spread in front of Fraser, who read the paragraph carefully, his mind
racing. "Any idea who sent this, Constable?" "It appears to describe...
Victoria Metcalfe." He was so disappointed in himself. He still couldn't
manage to just say her name, and he knew Ray heard the hesitation, too, as
a flash of angry green eyes burned him briefly before returning to the
table. "Yes, and the blonde man's description matches Jolly. We're not
idiots." Gardino rose as he spoke, but at a glance from the Lieutenant
sank back down in his chair. "Constable, we want to prove Zuko's
involvement in money laundering -- and possibly in framing you and
Vecchio, too." The lieutenant paused for a moment, but Fraser didn't
speak. "Now, an anonymous letter like this one isn't enough to get us any
kind of a warrant. But if you have anything else you can tell us, maybe we
can get an order for surveillance on his home. It might lead to finally
putting Frank Zuko in jail, where he belongs." Welsh's eyes were honest,
Fraser decided as he stared back at him. Then Fraser looked to Ray, who
remained silent, his head down. Why on earth wouldn't Ray cooperate with
them to incriminate Zuko? "Lieutenant, I'm afraid I have no idea who sent
you this tip. Though it would seem to be someone inside Zuko's home, or
who is in his confidence. Perhaps one of his men is trying to take over
his operations?" "We already checked that out, but no one we pulled in
admits to knowing anything about Metcalfe," Huey said from his post at the
door. "If she's still in this area, Constable, she might be in contact
with Zuko again. Your best chance of bringing Metcalfe to justice is to
cooperate with us." Fraser sat very still, thinking about that
possibility. Ray believed Victoria had fled the United States, but why
would she need to do that when she'd covered her tracks so completely?
When officially she was dead? But if she'd stayed in Chicago, then she
must know Fraser was now free. So where was she? Wouldn't she be coming
back to continue her revenge somehow? Detective Huey was correct, Frank
Zuko was the best connection they had to her at this point. Involving Ray
in the scheme was Zuko's idea, the anonymous letter he'd just read proved
that. Victoria had merely wanted to punish Fraser. If he could find her,
speak to her, apologize to her again... If he forgave her for what she'd
done, would she finally knew his love was real? Fraser spoke without
further thought. "Frank Zuko verbally threatened both our lives back in
May, Lieutenant. It wouldn't surprise me that instead of sending his men
after us again, he decided to frame us both for robbery and murder. I
spent time in Cook County hospital after the 'message' from Mr. Zuko, if
you need corroboration, although at the time I merely reported a mugging.
I felt it best not to mention Zuko's involvement." Gardino and Huey were
out the door as soon as Fraser finished speaking. "Thank you, Constable.
We'll get someone in here to type up your statement, and once you sign it
we should be able to get our warrants." "That's it, then." Ray's attorney
stood. "I'm leaving now, Vecchio. Thanks for wasting my time here." Fraser
nodded, watching the Lieutenant and Ray's attorney leave. Ray still sat,
one hand clenched around that pencil, his jaw twitching with stress. He
wouldn't meet Fraser's eyes. "Ray?" "God damn it, Benny." Ray's voice was
soft, but he was shaking with anger. "I don't understand what's wrong."
"Of course you don't. All you needed to hear was that you might find her
again, and you can't even wait to talk to me first." Ray stood and shouted
at the Mountie, not caring that he might be overheard. "You just spill
your guts, hoping that bitch will come back to you and wave her magic
wand, make it all okay." "I.." Fraser paused, trying to control himself.
That wasn't true. Ray was behaving irrationally. "Was there some reason
you didn't want Frank Zuko implicated?" He couldn't bring himself to ask
if Ray was somehow indebted to Zuko again. Ray looked at Fraser, his mouth
twisted bitterly. "Now you ask? That's great, Fraser. Of course there is a
reason, or I would have told them what that bastard did to us." Ray
stalked out of the room, leaving Fraser alone, waiting for the
stenographer.  Ray tossed another pebble at Irene's window, then began
climbing the vine as he'd done 18 years ago. Hell, as he'd done a few
weeks ago, as soon as he'd been released. Now, as then, Ray knew if he was
caught he was dead. It didn't matter. He needed to see Irene, to talk to
her. Tonight wasn't about adolescent hormones, it was life and death.
"Ray." The soft whisper didn't startle him, much. "Here, let me help you."
Irene helped pull him in the window, smiling at him as she gasped, "I
didn't expect to see you tonight." "There's trouble..." Ray began, but she
stopped him with a gentle finger on his lips. "Shh, just catch your breath
for a minute. You're not seventeen, you know." She moved to her dresser
and flicked on the tiny coffee maker sitting there. Ray looked at her long
bare legs and a shiver went through him. She was still beautiful, all
these years later. But he wasn't here to stare at her. "Irene, you've got
to leave here. It's getting more dangerous. The cops are going to put
Frank under surveillance." "But why?" She moved to sit next to Ray, on the
floor behind her bed. It was their place, where Ray's long-ago self had
spun idealistic dreams and stolen kisses from her. "What danger am I in if
they're watching Frank? I'm not doing anything wrong, Ray." "I know,
but... Is Vinnie still here?" "No, he's in Vermont. The term starts next
week, and he's boarding at the school." "Good, that's good." "Oh, you're
freezing. Here..." She rose and brought him her own mug, still half full
of warm coffee. "Drink that, more will be ready soon. Since Vinnie's out
east, I'm looking for an apartment in New York." "Will you be safe there?"
"From what, Ray? You know the family business doesn't involve women. Why
are you so worried about me?" Irene's warm hand cupped his cheek, and Ray
turned his head to kiss her palm. Time for honesty. "The police are trying
to find out who sent an anonymous note to them about Frank meeting
Victoria Metcalfe." "No..." "They want Frank, Irene. This is the best
angle they have -- maybe the best information they've ever had." "But they
can't trace it." "No, but when Frank realizes the heat is on, he's going
to try to find out why. He must have people inside the force, informants."
"But..." Irene's face turned white. "I was here, and he'll know that no
one else could have heard them." Ray put his arms around her, rubbing her
back as he tried to reassure her. "It's okay, it'll be all right." He
prayed that was the truth. "You're leaving soon." Irene pulled away from
him, her eyes blazing. "Where do you think I can go, Ray, where Frank
won't find me?" "There's got to be a way. Take Vinnie and run away. You've
got money. Get a new name and never look back." "I couldn't do that to my
son." She sounded shocked at the suggestion. "He deserves a good
education, a real family -- his heritage." "Heritage?" Ray hissed as he
stood, trying not to scream his frustration, and turned away from her.
"What heritage is that? Besides being afraid of your own father, your own
brother?" "Frank won't hurt me." Irene stood, picked up the mug, and
walked to her dresser to refill it. "I'm getting upset over nothing. Even
if Frank finds out what I did, he'll understand. He'll know I wanted to
protect you." "And you think he'll forgive a betrayal that brings the cops
here?" "They won't be here. Frank is too smart for them." "Oh, that's
lovely. Defend him." "I don't defend what he does and you know that. But
we're blood, and I know Frank. He is smart. And he won't hurt his own
family." Ray looked at her, and realized that Irene was still the girl
he'd known so many years ago. Despite having her own child, despite a
failed marriage and years of living in the midst of the Zuko brutality,
Irene still believed there was honor among thieves. Still thought her
brother had a code beyond 'cover your ass.' And Ray didn't believe any of
it, but he didn't want her to change, either. She was beautiful and naive,
and she reminded him of Fraser. He wondered if he always fell in love with
people who needed protecting from harsh reality. And what was wrong with
him, that Ray couldn't keep a core of innocence the way they had? He'd let
prison and life knock all his dreams out of him, and turn him into someone
he didn't want to be. Ray sank back to the floor, his arms around his
knees. "Oh, God, this is all my fault. You never should have sent that
note. I should have stopped you..." He dropped his head to his knees.
"Ray, no one can stop me from doing what is right. Not any more." Irene
set down her coffee and moved back beside him, pushing his head up, and
then she kissed his wet face. "I do what I want, Ray." She kissed him
again, and comfort slowly turned to heat. Irene maneuvered Ray back until
he was lying on the floor, and held him there with the full length of her
body. They kissed until Ray was dizzy, and Irene was moaning as she rubbed
against him. "Irene... love. We can't." He tried to sit up, but she pushed
him back. "Ray, you do love me. You always have." She was wild-eyed, her
hair a mess and her mouth swollen. "Of course I do, but..." "Then give me
what I need, Ray. I'm so alone. Since the divorce -- please, Ray." She
kissed him again, gently and slowly. "Just as a friend who loves me. I
won't ask for more. No strings..." Her mouth was on his again, hot and
sweet, and the pain of their mutual loneliness brought tears to Ray's eyes
as he kissed her eyes, her neck, her breasts.  Ray carefully entered his
house in the grey light of pre-dawn. The house was silent and his family
was evidently asleep. He crept up the stairs and there, blocking his door,
was Diefenbaker. The wolf silently came forward to greet him, and followed
Ray inside the dark room. "Benny?" Ray called softly as he closed the door
behind them both. The Mountie was there, asleep in the armchair by the
window, the street lights outside gently highlighting his face. Ray didn't
want to wake him -- he wanted to just stand there, watching him sleep --
but something important must have brought Fraser here in the middle of the
night. "Benny." Ray touched his friend's arm gently. "Ray?" Fraser was
awake immediately, though he looked confused. "Yeah, Benny, I'm here.
What's wrong?" Silence followed the question, and Ray braced himself for
another disaster: more betrayal from Victoria, more threats from Zuko.
"Ray, why didn't you tell me about Irene Zuko's involvement before the
police questioned us?" Ray froze for a moment, staring at the pain in
Benny's face. It was quite a contrast to the peace that had been there
moments earlier, and Ray knew he had only himself to blame. He sighed and
sat on the floor in front of Fraser, looking up into his friend's face. "I
wasn't trying to hide anything from you... I'm sorry. I've been so scared,
Fraser, I'm still afraid -- but it wasn't right to take it out on you."
"Ray, I'm not here to demand an apology." "Fraser, let me finish. Please.
I was unfair to you, and even though I swore I wouldn't do it again, I
brought up your feelings for Victoria and used them against you. I had no
right." Fraser's eyes were solemn as he said, "You were correct, however.
I do want to find her, and that's all I was thinking about today." "I
know, Fraser. It's okay." They sat quietly for a few minutes,
Diefenbaker's panting the only sound in the dark room. "Did you follow
me?" "Actually, Francesca talked to me tonight when I came to see you and
you weren't at home. We discussed the questioning, and how you've been out
walking in the neighborhood for hours at a time." "Seems like quite a
leap." "Well, I do know that the Zuko home is within walking distance,
Ray. But actually, I didn't make the connection until Francesca informed
me that Irene Zuko had visited you at the jail, and that you were old
friends. It wasn't difficult to deduce that she'd written the letter, and
that you were protecting her, not shielding Frank Zuko." "You really
thought I'd keep quiet for Frank Zuko's sake?" Ray was mildly upset by the
thought. "I was afraid he had a hold over you again, Ray. Though I didn't
understand what it could be." Fraser's earnest face brought him instant
forgiveness for the thought. "That's it, Benny, we've gotta start talking
again. We kind of lost the habit, but I promise I'll try to tell you
what's going on if you'll do the same." "Agreed, Ray." Fraser's smile was
like sunshine, even in the darkness around them. "I'm never owing Zuko
anything again, Fraser. Period. No matter what. I didn't call him when I
was in jail, and I'd spend the rest of my life there before I would." Ray
looked down at his hands, then out the window. "Irene wrote that damn
note, Fraser, even though I asked her to leave it alone. And she doesn't
believe Frank could hurt her..." "She must care for you a great deal,"
Fraser said, looking a little afraid. "We were good friends in high
school, Fraser. She's nothing like her brother." Ray relaxed as he spoke
about Irene. "We were so young -- I can't believe I was ever that young.
I'd sneak up to her room and we'd talk for hours. Or make out." "Wasn't
that dangerous, given her family's attitude?" "Probably part of the
attraction, Benny. Just like that darkness in Vic..." Ray stopped himself.
"It appeals to me, yes, I suppose that's true." Fraser looked like he'd be
sentenced to death for loving her, and Ray quickly spoke to reassure him.
"It's human nature, Benny, not a crime." Ray knelt and caught Fraser's
face, making sure he met his eyes. "That's exactly what we did, too. I
wanted to prove I wasn't afraid of Frankie or his family, and I used
Irene. She wanted to defy her father, and I was a good way to do that."
"That sounds... cold, Ray." "In a way, yes. But that's not the whole
story, either. We really are friends, Benny. She tried to get me out of
jail, and I'm trying to protect her from Frank." Ray sank back down,
wondering if Fraser could understand something he barely understood
himself. "We genuinely care about each other, even though we're not in
love with each other." "You're not in love?" That seemed to bother Fraser
even more. "But you were with her tonight. Weren't you?" "I went there to
warn her, to get her out of town. She won't listen to me..." Ray stared
out the window again, until he felt Fraser's hand on his shoulder. He
looked up and smiled sadly. "She's lonely, Fraser. And I've been alone so
long..." Fraser said nothing, but he seemed to understand. Ray wondered
again if Victoria had been the Mountie's one-and-only. Fraser, too, was
isolated and very alone. Ray knew his friendship and his family's easy
affection didn't change that fact. Fraser didn't belong in Chicago. Maybe,
with Victoria, he'd felt that he finally did belong somewhere. No wonder
he still loved her, still wanted to find her. Ray looked down as he
continued, "It was just comfort, Benny, and we both knew it. Not true
love. Not even lust, really." "Understood, Ray." Ray smiled up at Fraser
at that. Such a typical Fraser remark. God, he loved this guy. "So, to
answer your first question, Benny, I should have told you about Irene
sooner. If they'd left us alone for a few minutes, I would have filled you
in. I knew you would help me protect her." "Of course, Ray." "I'm just
sorry you can't count on me the same way. I haven't been very
understanding about Victoria." "Being incarcerated again must have been
very frustrating and upsetting, Ray." "Yeah, but as soon as Irene showed
me that note I knew who'd put me there -- and it wasn't Victoria. But you
were still locked up, charged with murder... I can't forgive her for
hurting you, Fraser." "Ray..." "I know you forgive her, Benny. I know you
want to find her again, and not to arrest her. But you love her, Benny. I
don't. I just see she's hurt -- deliberately betrayed -- someone very
important to me." "Ray!" Fraser looked at him as if Ray had two heads, and
Ray looked away, knowing he'd revealed too much. "Oh, Ray," Fraser
repeated, his voice filled with affection. "That's overwhelming. Thank
you." Ray dared a glance and saw Benny smiling at him, looking more
relaxed that he'd been in months. "You're a very generous friend.
Protective. I admire that very much in you." "Thanks, Fraser." Ray's face
twisted as he rose and walked to the closet. Of course Benny was too
innocent to be threatened by Ray's love. Hell, people being in love with
Fraser was nothing new. Ray's love was accepted -- no, taken for granted
-- and Ray only loved him more for it. Even if Fraser understood that Ray
loved him as more than a friend, the big hunk of a Canadian wouldn't feel
threatened. He'd never been held down by bigger guys, forced... Ray stood
perfectly still for a long moment, trying to breathe deeply. Well, that
was over. None of it mattered, except that his anger and jealousy over
Victoria had been hurting Fraser, and Ray didn't want to do that any more.
He opened the closet and began rummaging. "I should probably go, Ray."
Fraser rose, too, though he didn't move away from the window. "Nah, don't
leave, Benny." Ray pulled blankets and an extra pillow down from the
shelf. "It's very late." "It's very early, but we can still get a few
hours of sleep." He handed his armload to the Mountie standing by the
doorway. "Here, knock yourself out -- make up a bedroll for yourself."
Despite a few token protests, Fraser eventually settled down on Ray's
carpet, wrapped in blankets with Dief at his feet. Ray watched him as the
Mountie's breathing deepened, thinking about other times he'd watched over
Fraser's sleep. He couldn't protect Fraser from Zuko back then, and Ray
was afraid Fraser was in even more danger now. But how can you protect
someone from love, or make them see it's a destructive love? All Ray's
street smarts, his skills, his gun -- all his weapons were useless against
Victoria. And his own love for Fraser was worse than useless; it couldn't
possibly protect the Mountie. Ray fell asleep wondering if Fraser would
ever be truly safe. I'm a Fool to Want You - October 1996 Fraser was once
again standing guard outside the Consulate, a duty which had become more
onerous in the past month. Although it was gratifying to see Diefenbaker
enjoying being out-of-doors, Fraser himself longed for a more mentally
stimulating duty. Of course, since he was being disciplined for lying in
his reports, as revealed when he admitted to the Chicago police that he'd
been beaten by Zuko's men, the endless guard duty was meant as a
punishment -- and was Fraser's only duty. Fraser loved the RCMP, was proud
to be a Mountie, and he knew he deserved sanctions for going to Zuko in
the first place. Still, he couldn't help feeling that the RCMP had let him
down, first with their lukewarm investigation of his father's death, and
later with their indifference after he caught Gerrard. Fraser had turned
in one of his own, and officially that seemed to be as serious a crime as
Gerrard's corruption, betrayal and murders. Guard duty had become
unpleasant because Fraser's thoughts seemed to chase in circles, and the
long periods of tedious watch dragged on forever under the influence of
such companions. Fraser had always found remaining alert and watchful an
easy part of the duty, but the force of emotions his thoughts now carried
made even that basic task more difficult. Victoria -- memories of her were
always first to arrive in his weary brain. He could still see the look in
her eyes while they made love, feel the softness of her dusky curls, hear
the music of her voice. He remembered walking home with such anticipation,
knowing she'd be waiting there, heating a pot of soup, a smile on her face
as he entered the tiny apartment... But it had all been a lie, hadn't it?
Fraser thought, sometimes, that it wasn't. Perhaps Victoria did love him,
perhaps she hadn't been acting. But if she loved him she also hated him,
and hate won out. Victoria could have lived simply with him, working
cheerfully and honestly -- but she wanted more, and she wanted it any way
she could get it, even illegally. No matter who it hurt. With her beauty
and brains, she'd never had to struggle for long. There had always been
men who were willing to help her, unscrupulous men who were also after
easy money. Zuko might be one of those men now, Fraser believed. How
they'd found each other didn't matter; with Frank Zuko's involvement in so
many criminal dealings in Chicago, it truly wasn't surprising they had
discovered their mutual interests. Those interests were what would keep
them working together, Fraser thought. They both hated him, and no doubt
both hated Ray, too. Zuko would never forgive Ray's defiance, and Victoria
would harm Ray simply because Fraser was his friend. She'd no sooner
located Fraser than she'd met Ray, and Ray's friendship was a rock Fraser
leaned upon -- that had to be obvious in the time she'd spent with Fraser.
Ray -- thoughts of Ray were a torment and a relief. Fraser couldn't
imagine how he would have dealt with Victoria's betrayal without Ray there
to lean on. While he knew their friendship was important to Ray, too, the
cost of it seemed too high. Because Ray was always the one paying that
price. Though Ray had finally broken through the fear and anger he'd been
hiding behind, he was still working at menial jobs with no future,
struggling to pay bills that had only grown during his time in jail.
Despite that, Ray was obviously happier, and his mother and the rest of
his family were also visibly relieved, smiling at Fraser as if he'd worked
a miracle. Fraser thought about the time he'd spent behind bars, and those
thoughts led back to Victoria. He'd spent less than a month incarcerated,
while she'd spent ten years in jail. As had Ray -- and Ray, Fraser knew,
was completely innocent. Victoria, while he'd always believed her claim of
innocence, probably deserved her sentence. After all, she'd had the
proceeds of the crime to sell to Zuko. And she'd been in contact with her
ex-partner, too. Though the evidence was all circumstantial, it did appear
she'd murdered Jolly. Not in self defense or panic, either. Deliberately
taking Fraser's gun, carefully leaving no prints, luring Jolly to Ray's
office -- those were premeditated acts, not a crime of passion or fear.
Knowing all this, finally seeing Victoria clearly, Fraser still loved her.
Still wanted her back. He sometimes spent the night at his window, staring
at the street, watching for her. Longing for her. He was sure that she was
still in the area, now working with Frank Zuko. He could picture the two
of them together and felt certain Zuko was the key to finding Victoria
again. Bound by their hatred for Fraser, but Victoria would also be
attracted to Zuko's power and money. She would stay, offering Zuko her
body. Few men would be able to refuse Victoria's beauty, but Zuko would
also appreciate her intelligence. Fraser knew they were still together, a
menace to him, to Ray and his family, and all the honest citizens of
Chicago. And none of that truly mattered to Fraser, except that it might
lead him to finding her again. Even more incomprehensible, Ray understood
those feelings. Ray didn't share any admiration or love for Victoria, yet
he could still be Fraser's friend despite the hold she had on the Mountie.
Ray didn't condemn Fraser for his confused yearnings; he told Fraser it
was natural and tried to support him. Ray and his family were wonderful
people, proof that even in this noisy, filthy city there was goodness.
Fraser wished yet again that the Vecchios could all become part of Eric's
tribe, where they would be surrounded by other good people and their
kindness would be honored, not exploited. Some nights when Fraser sat at
the Vecchio dinner table, he clearly saw the house as a fortress, where
warm food and loud voices held evil at bay. It didn't seem possible that
they could prevail for another night, yet alone forever. But Fraser vowed
he'd make sure they stayed safe in their fortress, able to love and live
in peace. If Zuko threatened Ray again, Fraser would do anything necessary
to protect his friend. He never dared ask himself what he would do if
Victoria threatened Ray. The clock on the bank building sounded, and
Fraser was relieved of his duty by Constable Turnbull. As he re-entered
the Consulate, Ovitz announced that Inspector Thatcher wished to see him.
Fraser knocked on her office door, then entered when she spoke to him. He
approached her desk, and was surprised when the Inspector stopped her work
and rose to speak to him. "Constable Fraser, the Chicago police department
has asked that you be assigned temporarily as liaison to work with two of
their detectives, as part of a surveillance team observing Frank Zuko."
She rose and walked around the desk, closer to Fraser. "Is this change in
duty acceptable to you?" "It sounds challenging, sir. Uhh, M'am." This was
an opportunity he hadn't dared hope for. Thatcher nodded, then spoke very
softly. "The Chicago police feel that your experiences with Mr. Zuko in
the past may enable you to identify some of his associates for them. They
also know that you will be able to identify Victoria Metcalfe, should she
still be associating with Mr. Zuko." "That seems probable, sir." "At ease,
Fraser, at ease. For God's sake." Thatcher was annoyed now, her usual
state with Fraser, but he relaxed as bid and she moved back behind her
desk. "I don't want to ask the government of our country to hire another
attorney for you, Fraser." "Understood." "You will cooperate with the
Chicago police, you will keep your nose clean, and you will report back
here once your duty with them is complete. I still expect weekly reports
of your activities, turned in to me each Monday before noon." "Certainly,
Inspector." "Dismissed, Fraser." Thatcher sat back down, and Fraser left
her office, excitement in his heart. He would find Victoria.  A month of
surveillance at the Zuko home, listening to Frank's daily routine, had not
produced any evidence of wrongdoing. Nor had Fraser been able to identify
any "associates" though he spent most days and nights at the listening
post, and reviewed the surveillance photos every morning. Most
disappointing, though, was the inescapable fact that Victoria had not been
anywhere near Frank Zuko. While the Chicago police officers had been bored
from the second day of the job, Fraser had his secret hope to buoy his
spirits and keep him alert. The police officers he worked with didn't know
him well enough to recognize just how nervous and jumpy Fraser felt. Of
course, that didn't apply to Ray. Ray had noticed the change in him almost
immediately, and as time passed Ray seemed very concerned about Fraser.
Finally, Fraser explained his new assignment to Ray, reassuring him that
he was well. Later that night, alone in his apartment after a 12-hour day,
Fraser realized that he had waited a full week to tell Ray he'd been
assigned to the Chicago PD. Since the men still saw each other daily, and
since Fraser and Ray had both promised to communicate more effectively
with each other, that was an unacceptable delay. Fraser considered his
motives, and finally realized that he'd been afraid of hurting Ray, or of
somehow losing his esteem when Ray realized how besotted Fraser still was.
Of course, Ray had shown him over and over that he knew and understood
Fraser's feelings, though he didn't share them. Fraser chastised himself
for doubting Ray's friendship yet again. Ray had shown more understanding
than Fraser ever expected regarding his infatuation with Victoria. Unlike
the police, Ray wanted to hear about Fraser's hopes and disappointments.
And now that weeks had gone by, Fraser was truly disappointed. He was
finally just as bored and restless as the others in the van. He skimmed
through the surveillance photographs yet again, an endless parade of men
in dark coats and dark sunglasses, supplicants and sycophants. All against
the backdrop of Zuko's large, well-kept home. Fraser closed his eyes and
pictured the Vecchio house, in need of paint and with curling roof tiles.
He remembered the autumn afternoon when Ray had climbed to the roof with
his brother-in-law, repairing a few of the worst areas. Then Ray raked the
small lawn, while Tony put up storm windows and Fraser (with Diefenbaker)
entertained the children. Both Francesca and Maria had part-time jobs now,
to help with household expenses, and while they'd never say so to her
face, no one wanted Mrs. Vecchio to have to watch her very energetic
grandchildren all by herself. The vision of Ray in the sunlight, laughing
with Tony as they took a break to watch the children running with Dief,
remained in Fraser's mind. Ray was such a good man, despite the surface
gruffness. Such a fierce, loving friend. Fraser wished he had Ray's
ability to express his emotions, to show his feelings. To return the
affection that so often helped sooth Fraser through his disappointments in
life. Fraser had failed miserably at being that kind of friend after Ray's
release from jail. Oh, he'd been present whenever possible, but he hadn't
actually assisted Ray. Though Mrs. Vecchio seemed to give him the credit,
Fraser believed Irene Zuko's friendship had done more good for Ray. Though
it did seem that Ray's improvement dated from that night they'd finally
talked. Well, maybe Mrs. Vecchio saw more than Fraser realized. She
probably knew about Irene, too. There weren't many secrets in the Vecchio
household. Even as he was thinking of her, Irene's voice came over the
monitoring equipment. "You wanted to see me, Frank?" "Come on in, Irene.
Have a seat." "Frank, I'm busy." "Packing?" "As a matter of fact, yes. I
told you I'm going east, to be near Vinnie's school. I don't like being
this far away in case there's an emergency." "Ah, New York. Great city."
Although Frank's voice remained even, there was an edge in everything he
said. "Frank, was there something you wanted?" Irene's voice was annoyed
now. "Yeah, Irene, I want a sister who won't lie to me. Who won't betray
our family behind my back." A scraping sound, and Fraser imagined Frank
rising to move closer to his sister. "A sister who isn't a whore for every
ex-con loser in the neighborhood." A smack, followed by another, louder
impact. A cry, quickly cut off, and the sound of a body hitting --
furniture? the floor? "You sorry slut." For the first time Fraser noted a
slurring in Zuko's speech, and wondered if the man had been drinking. "Hit
me again, big man, if it makes you feel better. You're just proving he was
right about you." Irene laughed. "I told him you'd never hurt me! But I
guess a man who'd frame his friend will do anything." "Friend? When was
that nobody my friend?" Zuko stomped around the room, and they could hear
him slamming possessions on his desk. "He's nothing! Only you would
disgrace this family with such a man." "Disgrace the family? How could I
bring us any lower, Frank? You and Poppa made our family name dirty." "How
can you say that. People respect us!" "People fear you, Frank. No one
respects you." The men in the truck waited anxiously. There was no sound,
nothing for a long minute. Then Zuko's voice came again. "Get out. Get out
before I kill you." The words were almost whispered, and the hatred in his
voice was terrifying to Fraser. "I'll finish packing." Irene, somehow,
sounded completely normal. "No, go now. You only take what's on your back,
whore. Go to your damned nobody. If he doesn't have enough money to take
care of you he can put you on the streets to earn a living for yourself."
"Frank, you can't..." "I can do whatever I want, Irene. Your father always
spoiled and indulged you. I won't. Get the hell out and never darken my
door again. You're not my sister." Another long pause, and then the sound
of a door. Fraser was on his feet, out of the van before Huey stopped him.
"Where are you going?" the detective asked, grabbing Fraser's sleeve. "She
can't be left unprotected." Fraser could tell he wasn't communicating
effectively, but he was too upset to frame a careful response. "Why not?
We're trying to get something on Zuko. The sister is useless. Let her go."
"She's the one who sent the note," Fraser gasped, knowing Ray would be
angry. But not as angry as he'd be if Irene were harmed. "So? If she
didn't come forward, she's not going to testify now. This is some kind of
family fight, something about her lover. It's not our business." "Her
lover is Ray Vecchio!" Fraser cried, desperate to escape the tall
detective's grasp. Detective Gardino jumped out of the van beside them.
"Let him go, Jack, and saddle up. Fraser's right." "What?" "Zuko just left
the house, and according to Marty he's packing. Zuko actually pulled the
gun out when he climbed into the car." "Where's Irene?" Fraser asked. "Is
someone watching her?" "She went off on foot, heading south." "She's going
to Vecchio's house, isn't she?" Huey asked. Fraser only nodded. "Shit.
Let's move." While the two detectives ran to their car, two blocks away,
Fraser took off on foot in the direction of Ray's home.  Ray was restless,
and so he'd been standing on the front porch despite the cold. When he saw
a woman walking down the street without a coat, he sighed and wondered if
Ma still had a Goodwill package in the basement. Then she came closer, and
he recognized Irene. A half-frozen Irene with tears on her white face. He
ran to her, pulling off his jacket. "Irene?" "Ray." That was all she
managed before she burst into tears. He put his coat around her and tried
to hold it, and her, as she shook with emotion, finally sinking to her
knees on the frost-touched grass of Mrs. DiNunzio's lawn. "What's
happened? Is Vinnie alright?" Ray couldn't imagine what had sent her out
of her brother's house in this state. "Frank--" she choked out, turning
her face up to him. "Frank hit me, Ray." He saw the redness now, in the
lights from the house. Irene would have a bruise later; she needed some
ice. But she was so cold. "Honey, come in the house. Let me take care of
you, get you warm." Ray knew he'd feel rage later, once she was calm and
could tell him exactly what Frank had done to her. But right now he was
just worried, simply anxious. Until he heard the voice from behind him.
"Yeah, slut, let the jailbird warm you up." Ray turned to see Frank
swaying on his feet, a gun in his right hand. His car was at the curb,
still running with the driver's door wide open. The tinny sound of its
alarm was somehow loud in the dusk. As was Frank's breathing. "Frank," Ray
acknowledged. "Shut up, asshole," Zuko replied, waving the gun in Ray and
Irene's general direction. "I wanna talk to my sister." "You have no
sister, Frank. You said it yourself." Irene was calm again, now that
danger was here. Ray tried to match her coolness, but it fell apart when
he saw Benny approaching from behind Zuko. He must have telegraphed it,
because Zuko whirled around, gun following his erratic movement. Ray tried
to move for his arm, but Irene pulled him back even as Frank spun back to
face them, then settled on a position that let him watch both Fraser and
the other two. "Constable Fraser. Now Dudley Do-Right is here, now we'll
get somewhere." Zuko laughed. "The upright Mountie who's too good to do
business with me is here. If I'd had tits, though, I suppose we'd have
gotten along just fine. You don't care how dirty your bitches are." Ray
saw Fraser's face tighten with anger, but his friend remained motionless
and silent. "She was one hot tamale, Constable. Can't blame a guy for
letting his dick run his life, can I? Oh, wait, I can -- 'cause I blew the
bitch's head off when she tried to double-cross me." Zuko's wild laughter
started again, and Fraser moved toward him. Ray saw Zuko's hand come up
and somehow knew that no matter how much he'd drunk, Frank could still
shoot straight. Ray moved forward, trying to put himself between Fraser
and Frankie. "Fraser!" Ray screamed, panic in his voice, and he saw Benny
turn. Then Ray felt someone behind him, and realized -- too late -- that
Irene had moved with him. The first gunshot seemed incredibly loud. So
loud that Ray couldn't hear the others, though he saw Frankie pulling the
trigger and saw the cops running up behind him, their own weapons
extended. Ray saw Fraser falling, then felt the impact in Irene's body as
she slammed into him. Ray moved, frantically trying to cover them both, to
block Frankie's line of fire. Then Frankie jerked, his gun dropping from
his hand, and fell. Ray lurched toward him, reaching for Frankie's gun,
which he managed to push out of Zuko's reach. The cops were there, too,
Gardino telling him to back away and Huey on the phone calling for an
ambulance. Ray froze where he was, one hand on Frankie's shoulder. Zuko
was crying, grabbing at his arm. "Step back, Vecchio." Ray tried to stand
up and realized something was wrong. He swayed, dizzy, then fell back onto
Zuko, who screamed. Ray's left shoulder throbbed when he tried to push
himself away. "Goddamn it, he's trying to kill me," Zuko yelled. Then Huey
was there, carefully helping Ray move back while Gardino cuffed Zuko. Ray
heard sirens, heard voices and realized the neighbors were there, had
heard or seen some of what happened. "Benny?" he asked, trying to look for
his friend. "Calm down, help is here." Huey was being nice to him, it
seemed, and Ray was even more confused. Huey led him over to one of the
ambulances that had pulled up, and made him sit down. Fraser and Irene
were both on gurneys already, being loaded into the vehicles. Uniformed
police were everywhere, holding back nosy crowds. Ray was so dizzy.
"Raimondo! Oh my God." "Ma?" Yes, his mother was over there, along with
the rest of the family, trying to get past the officers. "I'll talk to
her," Gardino offered. "Tell her which hospital to go to." Why did Ma need
to go to the hospital? Ray wanted to ask, but he was having a hard time
getting the words out. A paramedic was talking to him, but Ray just passed
out. Where Do We Go From Here? January 3, 1997 Irene Zuko had been moved
to an east coast hospital, closer to her son, for her extended recovery
from the gunshot wound to her abdomen. Ray Vecchio, neighborhood folk
hero, was home now with his arm in a sling, recovering from the damage to
his left shoulder. His jobs were both waiting for him -- no local business
wanted to fire him after all the great publicity over the shooting. Only
Fraser was still at St. Luke's, still recovering from the bullet that had
torn through his side and lodged dangerously close to his spine. He tried
not to feel mistreated. After all, Ray's family all visited, as did his
neighbors and his coworkers. They'd even tried to bring some holiday
spirit to his room, as the tiny potted Christmas tree attested. Still, it
was not enjoyable to be enduring physical therapy, feeling like an infant
as he re-learned how to walk. Worse was the boredom of his tiny room.
Fraser's window faced a blank wall. And for all Ray's good points, the man
could not pick books, and neither could anyone else in Fraser's
acquaintance. Fraser read the simplistic mysteries and thrillers they
brought him in one long stretch, and they didn't engage his imagination
nearly enough. He had even tried to get Francesca to go to the library, to
find him something more challenging. Fraser felt he craved some good
nonfiction. But she didn't have a library card and didn't even know where
the local library was located. Still, it was wrong to complain. Things
were finally looking up. The arrest of Frank Zuko for attempted murder was
a hopeful thing, though Fraser doubted Zuko would get the kind of sentence
he deserved. Too much influence, too many wealthy lawyers. Still, the
Chicago police informed him that Zuko's own mob associates didn't
appreciate the publicity and frowned on the kind of drunken behavior that
had led to this arrest. Even if Zuko went free, it seemed his power and
influence were gone. Fraser sighed. Sadly, there would always be those
ready to step in to fill any void of power in the underworld. Still,
Zuko's vendetta against Ray, Irene, and Fraser would be practically
meaningless. Of more immediate concern to Fraser, Lieutenant Welch had --
quite generously -- offered to clear Ray's name thanks to Irene's
testimony against her brother. It seemed she knew more about the incident
that led to Ray's jail sentence than anyone had ever suspected. Fraser
found himself quite indignant that she'd never said anything at the time,
never stood up for her friend. He couldn't forgive her for letting an
innocent 17-year-old go to jail for ten years. Yet from what Fraser
understood, this revelation hadn't affected Ray and Irene's friendship.
They weren't in love, just as Ray had said, but they were staying in touch
as old friends. Ray might not be in love, but he still cared for Irene.
And Ray was a forgiving person, Fraser thought. Maybe too forgiving. Then
he remembered how what Ray felt about Victoria, and how he couldn't
forgive her for hurting Fraser. Maybe they were both better at forgiving
on their own behalf than when another person hurt a friend. Fraser's
thoughts stalled on Victoria. He wondered if she was dead, if Zuko had
been telling the truth that horrible night. Somehow, Fraser couldn't
believe it. But then again, he'd deluded himself regarding Victoria
before. Frank Zuko wasn't being charged with her death despite boasting
that he'd murdered her in front of witnesses. Fraser had read the long,
depressing transcript of Zuko's formal questioning, again courtesy of
Lieutenant Welch. The Lieutenant, who'd been the one to get Fraser
assigned to the Zuko investigation, was becoming a good friend. In the
transcript, Zuko claimed he'd been drunk and didn't remember what he'd
said. Zuko's attorney spouted legalese about statements while impaired.
When questions moved on to Ms. Metcalfe's current whereabouts, Zuko's
answer was particularly enlightening -- at least to Fraser. "You think she
stayed in Chicago? That woman high-tailed it out of here as soon as she
killed her partner. She's no fool. Is that why Constable Fraser was still
hanging around my house? Did he really think she'd come back to him?"
Fraser wondered if everyone in the world knew how little he meant to
Victoria, except him. He had believed she would stay close, if only to
watch her revenge. Now he began to realize that hurting him was just one
aspect of the plan that ended with her having all the robbery profits and
walking away free. A knock on the door pulled Fraser from his thoughts.
"Can I come in?" "Ray? Ray, it's good to see you." "Yeah, I finally
convinced Ma I could manage to get here in a cab. Still can't drive with
this sling." Ray looked very well. His coloring was finally normal, he was
dressed in casual, comfortable clothes, and he had a huge smile on his
face. "I appreciate this very much, Ray." "A little bored, Fraser?" "I'm
afraid so, Ray." "Why aren't you watching TV? There's a Bulls game." "I'm
afraid I don't care much for basketball, Ray." "Hmm, the Hawks don't play
till tomorrow. Well, then, how about some new books?" Ray lifted a satchel
to Fraser's bed. "Books?" "I got the librarian to help me pick some out
for you. That library isn't so bad. Pretty quiet, though." "Ray, these are
wonderful." There were five books, all of them new to Fraser, and included
the biography of a Chicago policeman, essays, and a collection of true
crime stories. "I'm glad you like them. They're not due back for two
weeks." Ray rubbed Diefenbaker's head as he continued, "Down, furface. I
need that chair." He eased into the chair beside Fraser's bed, his smile
still in place. Fraser suddenly realized that Ray had missed him, too.
"Thank you. For these, and for saving my life." "Benny, I didn't save
anybody's life. Gardino and Huey saved us all." "That may be true, but I
know why you were in the line of fire, Ray." Fraser was determined to say
this, and he saw Ray recognize that determination, and stop whatever
deprecating remark had been on his tongue. "You're very welcome, Benny. I
just wish I could have protected you and Irene a little better." Ray might
never understand why the neighbors who'd seen the shooting had made him
sound so heroic in the press. As he told Fraser, they all looked down on
him for his jail record. So why were they so impressed that he'd tried to
take a gun away from Frank Zuko? Fraser saw Ray's embarrassment and
changed the subject as gracefully as he could. "Is your family well?"
"They're all fine. Tony's back to work, the layoff really was just
seasonal. And Maria's quit her part-time job. Frannie's still working on
the weekends, though. She says she likes it." "Your mother called
yesterday. She sounded happy." "Well, she enjoys feeding me. She wants you
to come to our house when they release you so she can do the same for
you." "That would be very nice, if it's not too much trouble." "Benny.
You're family," Ray scolded gently. "Thank you kindly, Ray. Are you going
back to work soon?" "The doctor says I can start at the warehouse next
week. The sling should be gone by then. And in another two weeks, I can go
back to Lund's Market." Ray sat back, a tiny smile on his face. "I'm just
not sure if I will. I've been offered a new job, downtown, working on for
a security agency. They have an opening in the department that handles
museums and the Art Institute." "I beg your pardon?" Fraser thought he'd
misheard Ray. "Yeah, since the official pardon came through I no longer
have a criminal record. So Nash Security can hire me. And since that
writeup in the paper made me sound like some kind of hero..." He trailed
off, watching Fraser's face, seeing the understanding dawn. "Ray, that's
so wonderful." Fraser knew what it meant to his friend to be able to hold
up his head among his neighbors. No wonder Ray looked so happy, and Mrs.
Vecchio had sounded so joyful when they spoke. "The thing is, Benny, I
wonder if that line of work is really up my alley." Ray put his head down
and Fraser couldn't read his expression. But he sounded quite serious.
"Ray, why wouldn't it be interesting to you? And it sounds like you'd be
using a lot of the skills you developed when you had your own business."
Fraser had to convince Ray to take this chance to change his life for the
better. "Yeah, but I probably need a partner. Someone who maybe can talk
intelligently with those museum types, someone who appreciates their point
of view. But who knows about security, and has police experience." "Have
you discussed this with Nash Security? They probably have people on their
staff." "No, their people all have their own assignments. That leaves it
up to me to find someone." Ray smiled at him. "So what do you think of
Detective Huey?" Feeling somehow hurt, Fraser carefully answered. "I
believe most of the Chicago officers I've encountered are very busy with
an extensive backlog of cases, Ray." "That's very true, Benny. But you're
not very busy." Ray looked directly at him with a big, silly grin. "Me?"
"Yep. I thought it'd be perfect for you." Fraser had to pause for a
moment. Did Ray know him at all? Did Fraser himself know what he really
wanted? "Ray, are you asking me to leave the RCMP?" "Well, I'd be real
tired of endless grief and guard duty, but I know you're built
differently, Benny. So I could talk to Inspector Thatcher about having you
assigned to us as a liaison officer, assisting Nash Security, with a
stipend paid to the RCMP for your unique services." Ray's smile as he
spoke was like sunshine, and Fraser was sure that same radiance was being
reflected back at his friend, though he couldn't speak. "Of course, you've
got to get out of this hospital first. So how's your therapy going,
Benny?" Fraser settled back against his pillows, accepted the glass of
water Ray poured for him, and paused for a moment before he began to
update his best friend -- soon to be his partner -- on his progress.
Having something to anticipate was the best medicine he'd received all
month. As he looked at the glowing face beside him, Fraser knew that was
true for Ray as well.  One year later -- January 1998 Ray's voice was a
never-ceasing arpeggio as he drove his "new" 1971 Buick Riviera through
the city he loved. Fraser sat beside him, Diefenbaker in the rear seat --
the only animal privileged to ride in the car Ray had always wanted to own
-- and they enjoyed the view through the windows. Fraser sometimes thought
Dief understood Ray just as well as he did on days like this. Ray's words
were complaints, but the tone of his voice showed plainly just how happy
Ray truly was. The car was the most obvious change, but Fraser knew that
since his promotion, Ray was also dressing more formally in
finely-tailored suits. While Fraser also knew that the person who tailored
them was a friend of Mrs. Vecchio who did the work inexpensively, that
really didn't matter. The results, that Ray looked professional and
debonnaire, did. Ray's voice rose in an uncomplimentary remark as he
exchanged rude hand gestures with a fellow driver on Lake Shore Drive,
heading the Riviera north from the Museum Campus. Of course, Fraser
reflected, the entire Vecchio family was happier, and certainly more
prosperous. The past Christmas had been an incredible week of
overindulgence, over eating, and true Vecchio-style joy. Joy that included
more drinking, spending, arguing, and more people than Fraser thought
appropriate at every meal. Ray had truly meant it when he said Fraser was
part of the family, and so he'd been present for all the merry-making. And
Fraser had been part of the shopping trips for the endless stream of
elaborate presents for the whole family, too. "Benny, are you listening to
me at all?" "Of course, Ray," Fraser lied. He knew Ray wouldn't call him
on it, through a flash of a green-eyed glance showed that Ray wasn't
fooled. "So how about it? You want to have dinner tonight at Al's?"
"Actually, Ray, I'd prefer we order a meal for carryout and go back to my
apartment." "Really?" Ray wondered. "I thought you didn't approve of
styrofoam containers." "Normally I don't. But I'd like to discuss
something with you, Ray, and I think it might be more appropriate in the
privacy of my home." Now there was a definite pause, and Ray looked over
at Fraser for a long moment. "Sure, Benny." Fraser turned to look out his
window and allowed himself a smile. Ray wouldn't ask, and he wasn't about
to give any further information. While Ray might be slightly uneasy now,
Fraser didn't believe the subject he wished to discuss would be unwelcome.
It was time to acknowledge all that they meant to each other. Time to move
their friendship to a new level by admitting their love. Though it seemed
an odd way to reach an epiphany, just over four weeks ago, while they were
testing alarms at a new account, Fraser had looked over at Ray. He was
immediately assaulted with the memory of a hundred such looks, all vividly
recalled. All plainly showing Ray's love for him. And, Fraser suddenly
realized, remembered because of his own love for Ray. Fraser wondered how
he'd remained willfully blind for so long. He realized that the Vecchios
already knew Ray loved him -- and probably knew he loved Ray, though he'd
only admitted it to himself last month. Even Eric, during one of their
infrequent phone calls, asked how "his Italian" was. Looking back, Fraser
blushed to remember how Victoria disrupted their lives. Helped blind him
to the real love right in front of him. How besotted he'd been. Well, it
had taken a full month to forgive himself, even though he knew Ray had
forgiven him long ago. But he wasn't going to let Victoria remove any joy
from his life, or waste any more of his precious time with Ray. "Look at
that sunset, Benny," Ray instructed as they reached an intersection with a
wide parkway stretching west. "Lovely, Ray," Fraser replied, looking at
his rose-tinted friend as they drove on.  

End Dealing with the Past by Laura Mason: lauramasonlcs@yahoo.com

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