Serendipity Style 1      Serendipity Style 1

 by Jonah in the Whale

  

 

 Disclaimer: I have no right to these characters, they belong to Alliance
and some people called Paul. 
PLEASE NOTE: While the characters in no way belong to me, the main event
that is described here is my own idea and you are NOT PERMITTED to use it
in your high school exam (don't laugh, it happened to me in another
fandom) or in any other form. 

 Author's Notes: I got a tooth filled the other day. My first filling
ever. To cheer myself up, I wrote this. 

 Story Notes: Technically, this and the sequel is just one story; however,
when I read the story back, the tone changed so glaringly half-way through
that I decided it made more sense to separate them. 

 

 

 Fraser stood in the doorway of the bullpen, at a loss. Detectives worked
at their desks, heads down, phonecalls were conducted in unobtrusive
tones, and no alarming thumps emanated from the interview rooms. He had
never seen the precinct so orderly. Ray himself was nowhere to be seen, or
heard--which might go some way towards explaining the peace and quiet-- 

 "Hi, Frase!" called Francesca. 

 He moved over to her desk, eyes on Ray's empty one. "Francesca. Is Ray
here?" 

 "Oh! You haven't heard?" she said, her tone evincing surprise. 

 "Has something happened?" 

 She snorted. "He's only been going on about it for a week now, folding
everyone's ears about it." 

 "Folding people's ears?" asked Fraser. 

 "Bending," said Detective Huey, passing by. 

 "Bending people's ears," repeated Fraser, still none the wiser. 

 "Whatever," said Francesca. "The point is, everybody knows, like, a
thousand times over, and--I can't believe he didn't tell you!" 

 "Tell me what, Francesca?" 

 She shook her head, smiling tolerantly. "He had to go to the dentist. He
was getting a tooth drilled or something. Hard to tell, he made it sound
like he was getting the afternoon special at the torture chamber." 

 "I see. When is he due back?" 

 "Soon, I think. You can go over, make yourself comfortable. You want
anything to drink? Tea?" 

 "No, thank you. I'll just..." he waved towards Ray's desk, and left in
that direction. Diefenbaker, unsurprisingly, elected to stay with
Francesca. 

 As he settled at Ray's desk, Lieutenant Welsh approached. "Constable. He
not back yet?" 

 "Apparently not, sir." 

 The Lieutenant handed a sheet of fax paper to him. "Tell him to get his
ass into gear on this when you see him. It's the pharmaceutical knock-over
case, the one that's been hanging around for a while. This just came in." 

 Fraser perused it. "It's an arrest record, dated yesterday." 

 "They picked this guy up in Minneapolis for something. For some bizarre
reason he's confessed to knocking over several pharmacies down here, and
he's named a fellow called Arnold Schultz as his accomplice. I'll try to
get more information out of the Minneapolis PD, but in the meantime I want
you two to find Schultz. According to the guy he's the mastermind, if can
use that term for these two foul-ups." 

 "Of course." 

 While he waited, Fraser quickly refreshed his memory on the case,
involving a string of late-night raids on pharmacies targeting particular
constituents of certain popular street drugs. The theory Ray and the
Lieutenant had formed was that several small-timers involved in the lower
end of the illicit drugs trade were trying their hand at manufacturing. 

 As he approached Francesca in order to request her assistance in
searching the database for Schultz, he happened to glance at the doorway
to see Ray shuffle in, shoulders hunched, hand on his jaw. 

 "Oh dear," he said to himself. 

 "What?" asked Francesca, remarkably tuned towards him as always, even if
she was never remotely attuned to him. "Oh, you're back, Ray." 

 Ray made a soft moaning sound, not raising his head. 

 "Oh, you big baby! How bad could it be?" 

 Ray looked at her, and took his hand away to speak. "Blood," he said.
"Blood everywhere. And bits of teeth, flying. They had to give me about
fifty needles." 

 "Surely you exaggerate, Ray," said Fraser. 

 "I'm not. There was this gigantic long needle, and they had to jab," Ray
demonstrated with his fist, "and jab, and jab." 

 "They always do that," said Francesca. "They have to make sure the whole
area is numb. I mean, if someone has to leap up in pain halfway through,
they could get a hole in their tongue, or something. What's that on your
face?" 

 "What?" asked Ray, feeling. "I can't feel anything, I'm all numb." 

 "Something pink. On your cheek." 

 "Blood," said Ray. "I told you there was lots of blood." 

 "It's bright pink!" 

 Ray presented his face to Fraser. "What is it?" 

 Fraser examined the spot, touching it carefully. "Well, without tasting
it--" 

 "You're not licking me in public, Fraser." 

 Fraser resisted smiling. The manner in which Ray qualified his words--'do
not touch my inner thigh or calf' sticking in his mind particularly--could
lead to amusing interpretations. "I think it's dye," he told Ray. "I
believe dentists often use this particular color in a preparation used to
detect bacteria." 

 "The dentist put pink dye on my cheek?" 

 "Not deliberately, I'm sure." 

 "Can you get it off?" demanded Ray. 

 "I'm not allowed to lick you in public." 

 "Fraser!" Ray licked his own fingers and rubbed at his face. "Where is
it? Did I get it?" 

 "It's dye. I don't think-" Francesca handed him a tissue, which he
licked, and then rubbed at Ray's face. Ray didn't seem to object to a
third party intervening in the licking process, but the dye remained, a
flamingo-pink smudge near the corner of his mouth. "I wouldn't worry about
it, Ray," he reassured. "Most people would assume it's lipstick." 

 "Oh yeah, that's so much better," grumbled Ray. "Walking around with a
big pink mark on my cheek... day gets better and better. Hey, you wanna
see?" 

 "We can see," said Francesca. "It's practically fluorescent." 

 "No, I mean, my tooth. My restoration. Here, look." He opened his mouth
wide at Francesca, but she pushed him away. 

 "Gross! I don't want to look in your mouth!" 

 "Why not? Fraser, look at my tooth." 

 "Ah..." Politely, he cocked his head and investigated Ray's molars.
"Which one is it?" Ray's tongue jounced as he garbled something with his
mouth still fully open. "Ray-" 

 Ray pulled back for an instant. "Bottom left," he said, and opened up
again. 

 "Ah. Yes, I see... it's seamless," said Fraser. Indeed, the filling was
virtually undetectable. 

 "Yeah, well, I asked for electric blue," explained Ray, "but they said
they could only do white." 

 Thank goodness for small mercies. "White or blue, you have very nice
teeth." 

 "Thank you," grinned Ray. 

 "It's not sore, then?" 

 "No, it's numb. I just feel like half my face is falling off." Ray put
his hand back up to his jaw and held it. "It's weird." 

 "Bill Rabbitfoot once lost a tooth in a fight with a bear," began Fraser.


 "Uh huh. Is this gonna be one of those stories that have nothing to do
with anything except it's got a tooth in it?" 

 "Yes. Now, the interesting thing about teeth is that if you should happen
to lose one, you can simply put it back in. They take root again very
easily. In any case, Bill Rabbitfoot fought off the bear, and searched
about in the snow for his tooth. He found it, popped it back in, was
careful not to eat on that side for a few days, and then forgot all about
it, until he came back into town one day." 

 "Don't tell me," said Ray, rolling his eyes, "he'd stuck it in
backwards." 

 "No, actually it seems that the bear must have lost a tooth in the fight
as well, and Bill Rabbitfoot discovered that he had, in fact, picked up
the wrong tooth and replaced his own missing tooth with one of the
bear's." 

 "So he had a big bear's tooth in the front of his mouth instead." 

 "Yes," said Fraser. "He said it came in quite handy for opening cans and
the like." 

 Ray glared looked at him, not quite managing to hide a smile. "You're
making that up." 

 "I assure you, I'm not." 

 "You know the greatest stories," said Francesca admiringly. 

 "Thank you." 

 "Yeah, well, storytime's over, we got work to do," said Ray, taking his
arm and pulling him possessively away from Francesca. Normally, Fraser
would welcome the avenue of escape, but at the moment... 

 "Ray. Ray. Ray!" 

 "What?" Ray let go and grabbed his jaw again. "Am I speaking funny?" 

 "No. I simply mean that we require Francesca's assistance with one of
your cases." 

 "Feel's like I'm speaking funny. Why, what can Frannie do for me that you
can't?" He looked at Francesca, and jumped back into Fraser's personal
space. "No, forget I asked that. I don't wanna know." 

 "Don't flatter yourself, Ray," said Francesca disdainfully, before
smiling at Fraser. "You have something for me?" 

 "Yes. If you would be so kind as to-" 

 "It's her job, Fraser, kind doesn't come into it." Receiving discouraging
looks from both, Ray subsided with a muttered, "My mouth's numb, okay?
Doesn't know what it's saying." 

 Fraser explained to Francesca his requirements, and she executed a search
while Fraser explained to Ray the nature of the Lieutenant's new
information. 

 Ray was unimpressed. "That's all they gave us? He must have said
something else." His voice began to rise. "How about how they decided
which stores to knock over, did someone tell them which ones, did someone
write their shopping list or is it all their idea, where did they take the
stuff, how--" 

 "Ray, Ray, I'm certain--" 

 "Ray," interrupted Francesca, "if you'd stop yelling for a moment--or is
your voicebox numb too?--I've got the information you wanted." As they
leaned over her, she continued, "Arnold Schultz, aka Arnie, aka Arnold
Schwarzenegger." 

 "You're kidding," said Ray, sniggering. "What a pop tart." 

 The three of them perused the contents of the screen, Ray and Francesca
reading aloud over the top of one another as was their habit, the reason
for which was a mystery, although it befitted their role as brother and
sister perfectly. Arnold Schultz, it was apparent, had a minor possession
charge against his name which hadn't involved prison time. Fraser
recognised his listed address as a tenement that had been demolished some
time ago. 

 "Demolished?" said Ray. "That's great. That's real helpful. Okay, let's
check out known associates." He poked his finger at the screen and
Francesca slapped him away. "There. Known associates," read Ray. 

 "Robert Delphi," read Francesca. 

 "The fly." 

 "No, you say it 'Delphi', not 'De Fly', brainbox." 

 "I didn't say 'de fly', I said 'the fly'." 

 "'De fly', that's what I said you said. And I'm telling you, it's
Delphi." 

 "Frannie-" 

 "Ray-" 

 "-you don't know what you're talking about." 

 "Oh, excuse me-" 

 Fraser could understand the confusion--Ray did have a habit of
substituting the phoneme 'd' for 'th'. 

 "Please," he said. "Francesca, what I think Ray means to say is that the
aforementioned Robert Delphi is known to his associates as 'The Fly'." 

 "Thank you, Fraser, go to the top of the class. Frannie, get out of the
class." 

 "YOU shouldn't drop your consonants, then people might understand you,"
retorted Frannie. 

 "I got a numb mouth!" 

 "You do it all the time!" 

 "You can't even say Fraser properly!" 

 "What is going on here?" demanded Lieutenant Welsh. "Detective Vecchio, I
swear I've never known someone who can turn a room quite like you. You
should go on stage, son." 

 "What do you mean, turn a room?" 

 "I mean, detective, that everyone was getting along together and doing
their work diligently, and then you show up and suddenly a person can't
hear himself think around here." 

 "The Lieu drops his consonants too," Ray informed Frannie smugly. 

 "Consonants, who needs them?" said Welsh dismissively. "You can drop as
many consonants as you like, as long as you're quiet about it. Now I want
you out on that street, following up that lead I so thoughtfully provided
for you." 

 "I'd be doing that, if Frannie-" 

 "Right here," said Francesca, waving the freshly printed page
flamboyantly. 

 Welsh snatched it from her hands and shoved it at Ray. "There. Now get
going. I want my quiet department back." 

 "You want to see my tooth?" Ray offered. 

 "No, I do not want to see your tooth. Got plenty of holes in my own if I
want to look. Vamoose!"  

 Once inside the GTO, Ray fell silent once again, presumably thinking
about the case and the new evidence they had been given. After a suitable
period, Fraser interrupted his thoughts. "I presume you have a plan." 

 "Yeah, wait it out. What else can I do?" 

 "Ah." That didn't appear to make a great deal of sense in the context.
"You plan to drive around aimlessly until the end of your shift?" 

 "Huh?" Ray, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, glanced in Fraser's direction.


 "Well, you said, 'wait it out'." 

 "My tooth, Fraser." 

 "Of course. I should have realised that would be uppermost in your mind."


 "There's no need for that," said Ray, in an injured tone. "My tooth
happens to be in my jaw, which happens to be in my head, which happens to
have my brain in it. I can't help that it's uppermost in my mind, it's
biology, its-" the rest of his erudite logic was lost as a Mercedes
swerved suddenly in front of the GTO. Ray swore. "See that idiot?" 

 "I did, indeed." 

 "He's lucky I hate traffic enforcement." Ray cut the GTO alongside the
Mercedes, and flashed his badge. 

 "You're pulling him over?" asked Fraser. 

 "No, I'm just giving him a visual warning," said Ray, beeping his horn. 

 The driver glanced at Ray and blanched. For some reason, he spun the
steering wheel and the Mercedes slid sideways, hit the curb, and impaled
itself on a fire hydrant. 

 "What the fuck!" said Ray, looking over his shoulder and continuing.
"What the hell kind of dangerous driving is that?" 

 "Ray-" 

 "Did he hit anyone? Any car, any pedestrian?" 

 "Not that I saw-" 

 "Shit. This is... fucking unbelievable, is what it is." Ray turned up the
police radio. 

 "Are we stopping?" enquired Fraser. 

 "Thought I saw a squad car a way back earlier..." 

 "Ray, we're witnesses, not to mention your status as a police officer. We
should go back." 

 "I don't feel like it," said Ray. "Hear that, the radio, that's the squad
car I saw, calling it in. It's under control." 

 "What's going to happen when the driver explains about the policeman in
the black GTO who flashed a badge at him?" 

 "What if it hadn't been a policeman in a black GTO? What if I'd been an
ordinary guy and I waved something at him? What kind of hair-trigger has
that guy got, crashing like that? Guy shouldn't be on the road. He was all
over it. You saw him. He's dangerous." 

 "I agree, and I'm not suggesting you are to blame in any way." 

 "Oh. Thought you were." 

 "Don't be silly, Ray. I'm simply saying-" 

 "Okay. I'm gonna radio in." Ray spoke to the despatch controller and
arranged to provide a full statement when he returned to the station.
"There. Happy now?" 

 "Very. Thank you." 

 "No problem, Fraser," Ray replied magnanimously, sitting back in his
seat. Diefenbaker hung his head over his shoulder. 

 "Now that's sorted out," said Fraser, "might I enquire as to our
destination?" 

 "Sure. We're looking for Robert The Fly." 

 "And where will we find him?" 

 Ray eyed Diefenbaker before turning back to the road. "I dunno, where do
flies hang out? Dumpster, dead things, uh, dog shit..." He grinned
brightly at Fraser. "Think I'm kidding?" 

 "I rather hoped you were. I don't fancy a tour of Chicago's sidewalks
looking for deposits left behind by the city's dogs." 

 "No do I, because you'd probably feel the need to lick each one and I
would die of being totally grossed-out. No, we'll go with the dumpster." 

 Given that Ray continued to smile to himself, Fraser guessed there was
something he was missing. However, at least it seemed to have taken Ray's
mind off his tooth. 

 A short time later Ray pulled up in a spare space at the curb and turned
the engine off. He made no move to get out, but pushed his sunglasses to
the top of his head and glanced again at Diefenbaker, before turning to
Fraser. 

 "Fraser?" 

 Seeing Ray's earnest expression, Fraser swung the passenger door shut
again. 

 "Yes, Ray?" 

 "Fraser, am I drooling?" 

 Fraser looked him over. "No, Ray." 

 "You'd tell me if I was drooling, wouldn't you?" 

 "Well, that would depend." 

 "On what?" 

 "The circumstance." 

 "Fraser," said Ray, jabbing a finger emphatically, "if you ever see me
drooling, you tell me straight away, doesn't matter what circumstance,
okay?" 

 Fraser scratched his head. "Well..." 

 "What?" 

 "Are you sure? I mean, I would have to awaken you every five minutes-" 

 "I do NOT drool every five minutes!" 

 "If you would let me finish. You drool most prodigiously when you sleep."


 Ray looked defensive. "How would you know that?" 

 "I've observed this tendency in you on any number of occasions. The times
you've stayed at the consulate, for instance. The times I've stayed with
you. And stakeouts, naturally. I remember once you fell asleep on my
shoulder during a stakeout, and I had to hang my uniform out to dry when I
arrived back at the consulate." 

 Ray seemed to like this. "Hey, cool, now I'm an anecdote. I'm right up
there with all the Inuits. You gonna tell that story to other people when
you need a drooling anecdote?" 

 "If you don't mind." 

 "Go right ahead." Ray dropped his sunglasses over his eyes again. "Cool,"
he murmured to himself, nodding and looking pleased, and got out of the
car. Fraser, shaking his head indulgently, followed suit. 

 Diefenbaker lumbered out and grumbled at Fraser. 

 "No," Fraser explained to the wolf, "I don't think he means there's
anything wrong with drooling per se, he's just very particular about those
in whose presence he drools. It appears both you and I are privileged in
this regard as being people in front of whom Ray is comfortable drooling."


 With that misunderstanding cleared up, Dief bounded over to Ray--who had
been studiously ignoring them from further down the path--and licked his
hand soundly. 

 "Hey!" said Ray. "Okay, okay, so you love my hand. Let's get at it,
Fraser, come on!" 

 "What exactly," said Fraser, drawing alongside, "is the 'it' we must get
at?" 

 As they walked down the sidewalk, Ray explained. "See that building here
on the corner? One that looks like it's about to fall into the street?
That's the Dumpster. It's a little piss-pot where Robbie the Fly and his
little gang hangs out." 

 "He's a gang member?" 

 "No. Not involved with any of the chapters in Chicago. He's just a
wannabe, a weekend gangsta, he's staked out his little turf here where no
one cares and he can play at being King of the Castle. I mean, I'm sure he
deals, but it's strictly small-time, he's not cutting in on anyone's turf.
We're gonna talk to him, ask him if he knows where Schultz is at." 

 "Will he tell us?" 

 "No." 

 "I see." 

 "Good." Ray folded up his sunglasses and pushed open the door. 

 The room was small, and smelt mouldy and medieval. Two pool tables
squeezed against one wall, while directly in front of them was the bar
itself. A barkeep observed them languidly. 

 "No dogs in here," he said. 

 "It's a wolf," said Ray, eyes on three young men seated at a table near
the pool tables. They broke off their conversation and looked back at him.


 "You want something to drink?" insisted the barkeep. 

 "No," answered Ray, walking unhurriedly towards the three young men. 

 "No thank you, thank you kindly," Fraser told the barkeep, before
following Ray. 

 Ray stopped across the small table from the three youths. "Robbie the
Fly," he said. 

 The tall boy in a bright red button down shirt and black jacket, sitting
in line of sight to the door, met his eyes. "Whassup?" 

 "Depends who you talk to." 

 "I remember you," said Robbie. "Still a cop? Still locking us up?" He
slapped palms with the other two boys seated at the table. 

 "Yeah, that was real genius, there," said Ray. "Here's the big one. You
seen Arnie Schultz, aka Schwarzenegger?" 

 "No, but if you do, tell him he owes me fifty bucks." 

 "Ha ha ha, see how I'm laughing?" 

 "I ain't seen Schultz," elucidated Robbie. "Besides, he's not
Schwarzenegger no more. He's Van Damme." 

 "As in Jean Claude?" 

 "Who knows? I was never into all those movies. Hey," he said, waving at
Fraser. "Cool jacket. Where can I get me one of those?" 

 "You'd have to first become a Canadian citizen," said Fraser, "and then
join the RCMP." 

 Robbie grinned. "Or I could just break into your home." 

 "No you couldn't," said Ray. "He doesn't have a home." 

 "No home? Where do you live?" asked Robbie. 

 "Well, for the past year and a half, I've-" 

 "No, Fraser. Do not tell him. It is none of his business." 

 "Understood." 

 "You guys got anything to say?" Ray asked the two silent partners. "No?
Look, you guys see Schultz, you tell him he's in a shitload of trouble and
if he's smart he'll get himself down to the nearest police station. Tell
him that little violin is playing just for him." 

 "Woo-hoo-hoo," said Robbie, sounding impressed. 

 "Excuse me," said a voice behind Fraser. He turned to discover the
barkeep. "I've thought about it," said the man, "and I don't reckon a
wolf's allowed in a bar any more than a dog." 

 "We're leaving," said Ray, and strode out ahead of Fraser and
Diefenbaker. 

 "Hey, Red," called Robbie. "I'll swap you, my jacket for yours. This
jacket cost me $200, I bet you can get yours for free. No contest. Come
on." 

 "No, thank you, but thank you for the offer," said Fraser, beckoning to
Diefenbaker. 

 "That really a wolf?" 

 "Half-wolf, to be precise. Good day, gentlemen." 

 "Yeah, good day, mister!" 

 Diefenbaker snorted and shook his head, following Fraser out the door.
They caught up with Ray at the car, where Ray was holding his jaw once
again. 

 "I swear to God, Fraser, I really feel like I'm drooling and gibbering
like an idiot," he said unhappily. 

 "You needn't worry, Ray, everything you said was perfectly elucidated in
your own inimitable way." 

 "That's a good thing?" 

 "Of course." 

 "Uh huh. You know, you could be telling me I was gibbering like an idiot
and I wouldn't even know." 

 "There is one thing I'd like to ask you about, however-" 

 "Look, hotdogs!" announced Ray, pointing to a vendor on the far corner.
"What? What do you want to ask me about?" 

 "Well... if I'm correct, that obscure reference you made to violins was
intended to convey the fact to Robert Delphi and his friends that Arnold
Schultz is wanted by the police." 

 "That's it? Yes, that was what I intended." 

 "No, that's not it. I'm curious as to why you made this known. In some
instances you do, in others you don't. Why in this case did you reveal
this information?" 

 Ray narrowed a gaze at him. "You're not questioning my judgement?" 

 "No," said Fraser, sincerely. "I'm interested." 

 "Okay. Let's go get a hotdog." Walking in an odd sideways gait, his
attention continually turning towards the bar they had just left, Ray
explained. "Okay, I remember Schultz from a couple of dealings I had with
Robbie, he was an acquaintance of Robbie's, kinda hung in the background.
Customer. Now, like I said, Robbie's never been down. He's smart, he's
careful. But now we've got the goods on Schultz, and if Robbie's involved,
then he's worrying now if I know something about him too. If something's
been said about him. So he's going to want to secure things. That means,
paying Schultz a visit." 

 "He could simply phone Schultz," Fraser pointed out. 

 "That's a risk. If he's not involved, then he can phone Schultz, and
Schultz will run. Thing is, we're no worse off if that happens, since
we're more likely to know where Schultz will run TO, than where he is
now." 

 "And if he is involved?" 

 "Then, if I know Robbie, he's guessing that if we haven't picked up
Schultz by now, we don't know where he is. One dog with the lot," Ray told
the hotdog vendor. He stepped away from the vendor, moved in close to
Fraser, whispered, "So he'll pay Schultz a visit, in person, take care of
business." 

 "Murder him?" murmured Fraser. 

 "No, I don't think Robbie's the type. No, he'll go to Schultz, warn him,
get hold of any material evidence pointing to him at the same time." 

 "So your plan is to follow him." 

 "Got it." Ray pulled away and fished for his money with much jangling of
keys, coins and trinkets in his pockets. "You want one, Frase?" 

 "No, thank you." At a familiar whine, he added, "Nor does Diefenbaker." 

 "You can share some of mine," Ray murmured to Dief. Accepting the hotdog,
he walked between Fraser and Dief back down to the GTO. "No one's come
out, have they?" he said to Fraser, biting into his hotdog. 

 "Not that I've observed." 

 Ray tore off a chunk, chewed, grimaced. "Ungh," he said. 

 "I beg your pardon?" 

 "Nothing." He swallowed, frowning, and took another bite. Still frowning,
chewing, he offered it to Fraser. "Have some." 

 "I'm not hungry." 

 "Tastes funny." 

 "Oh. In that case..." Fraser steadied the hotdog, and took a cautious
bite. It tasted, as much as hotdogs could, perfectly fine to him. 

 "Well?" Ray's anxious eyes studied him. 

 "There's nothing wrong with it," Fraser told him. 

 Ray took a deep breath, before braving another bite. Aware that two sets
of eyes were on him--Dief's covetous ones, and Fraser's concerned ones--he
hunched a little, and chewed more and more slowly. Then he stopped, and,
with a grimace, swallowed hugely, panting for breath afterwards. 

 "Ray." 

 "Fraser... it's horrible. It tastes funny." 

 "It's probably just the after-effects of the anaesthetic the dentist
used." 

 "Yeah, but... it's not just the taste. The sausage... it's got this
texture, like tongue." Ray screwed up his eyes. "I can't tell if I'm
eating the hotdog or chewing on my own tongue." 

 "Ah. That would be unpleasant." 

 "Yeah. Can I give it to Dief?" 

 Dief, who had moved in front of Ray to regard him hungrily, perked up at
this. 

 "Really, Ray... " Fraser eyed Dief's shamelessly soliciting performance.
"You should have thought." 

 "I was hungry," said Ray. "You know me and food. I don't get hungry that
much, I have to eat when I do. How could I know it was gonna freak me out?
I don't want to throw it out, I don't like wasting stuff-" 

 "I know. Here." Fraser held out a hand, and Ray handed the hotdog over.
Fraser held it in front of Dief, and moved his lips clearly. "If you eat
this, you will be on dog food rations for the next two days, is that
clear?" 

 Dief yipped. 

 "No, repeat what I said back to me," insisted Fraser. 

 Dief shook his head, but repeated the dog food condition. Satisfied,
Fraser gave him the rest of the hotdog. He idly noticed that Ray didn't
question the authenticity of his communications with Diefenbaker any more.
It was a good sign. 

 They had arrived at the car, one morose detective, one satisfied wolf,
and one long-suffering mountie, when the long-suffering mountie felt a tug
on his sleeve. He looked down to see a bright-eyed old lady in a crocheted
shawl. 

 "Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked. 

 "Oh, I do hope so," she told him. "They--they've come in again. Into my
home." 

 "Who, ma'am? Who are they?" 

 "The ghosts," she said earnestly. 

 "I see." 

 "Fraser!" called Ray from the other side of the GTO. "You're like a
beacon, standing there! If Robbie comes out-" 

 "I'm sorry, Ray." He turned towards the elderly lady, stepped into the
shade of the nearest building's overhang. "You were saying, ma'am?" 

 "The ghosts! They've come back, they won't leave. Ooh, I don't like
them." 

 "Would you like me to have a word with them?" asked Fraser. 

 "Please. If you wouldn't mind, dear." 

 "Where do you live?" 

 She pointed to the large tenement building near the hotdog vendor.
"Apartment 302." 

 "Just a moment." Fraser stepped back to the GTO and opened the passenger
door. "Ray, I'll be a few minutes." 

 "Why?" 

 "This lady has a problem at her place of residence, and-" 

 "What sort of problem?" 

 "Ah... ghosts." At Ray's blank look, he elaborated. "She's being harassed
by ghosts." 

 "She's nuts," said Ray. 

 "I don't think we should jump to that conclusion, Ray-" 

 "She's nuts!" 

 "Nevertheless, I think we should investigate." 

 "We're not the Ghostbusters, Fraser." 

 "The Ghostbusters are not real, Ray; therefore, the duty falls to us." He
began to close the door. "I shouldn't be too long." 

 "Wait! Fraser! Where's her apartment?" 

 Fraser gave the details, and closed the door, bowing a little to the lady
and signalling to Dief to accompany them. He glanced back to see Ray
hitting the steering wheel with a fist, whilst holding his cell phone up
to his ear in his other hand.  

 Mrs Johannis--as she introduced herself--led Fraser with careful steps to
her apartment block. Once inside she turned towards the stairs. 

 "You wouldn't prefer the elevator, ma'am?" he asked her. 

 "I don't trust elevators," she told him. 

 "I understand." 

 "May I take your arm? I'm not as good with stairs as I used to be." 

 "Of course." 

 As they slowly climbed the stairs, Fraser extracted more information
about the ghosts. Apparently they manifested from time to time but didn't
bother Mrs Johannis overly much. In fact, sometimes she welcomed the
company. However, this time they were interfering with her television and
this was most upsetting to her as she didn't want to miss her favourite
game show at 4:00pm. 

 "I'm sure they'll listen to you," she told him. "And if not, your wolf
can bare his teeth at them." 

 Her apartment was small but cheery, with bright mismatched rugs on the
floorboards and a worn floral print couch taking up much of the front
room. The TV, which was on with the sound down, showed static. 

 "They're still here, the ghosts?" Fraser asked. 

 "Oh, yes." 

 "You can see them?" 

 "Indeed I can." 

 Good. He had established that the ghosts were not real flesh-and-blood
people, at any rate. After requesting permission to look around, he
quickly perused the bedroom, bathroom and kitchenette, to make doubly
certain, while pondering the problem of how to exorcise hallucinatory
ghosts. If only his father would appear... 

 "Ghosts, is it, son?" 

 Fraser turned to find his father standing beside him in Mrs Johannis'
kitchenette. "For once, your timing is opportune," he told him. 

 "It's opportune more times than you're willing to admit," his father
responded dryly. 

 Mrs Johannis poked her head through the breakfast bar. "Who are you
talking to, dear?" 

 "No one," he told her. "Well, actually, I have a friend who is a ghost. I
was just soliciting his assistance." 

 "By all means, go ahead," she said, and disappeared again. 

 "Is she seeing genuine ghosts?" his father asked him. 

 "I was hoping you could answer that." 

 His father drew himself up. "Let's investigate, then. Where's the Yank?" 

 "Otherwise engaged." 

 "A skeptic, that one." 

 "I haven't made up my mind yet, either," Fraser informed him
meaningfully. 

 In the front room, Mrs Johannis watched with interest as he continued his
conversation with his father, trying to disguise in his words his father's
assertion that there was no ghosts to be found in the apartment. 

 "I always know if there's one of us about," his father informed him, "and
I'm afraid the poor old girl is seeing things that aren't there. You
should find out if she has a relative nearby and call them." 

 "Yes. Thank you for the advice," said Fraser. 

 "What does your friend say?" asked Mrs Johannis. 

 "Can you still see the ghosts?" Fraser asked her hopefully. 

 "Yes, dear, they're still here." 

 "Ah." He was saved from a difficult situation by a knock on the door and
a familiar voice calling his name. "My partner," Fraser told Mrs Johannis,
and opened the door. 

 "Okay, I'm here," said Ray, striding in. "Where're the ghosts?" 

 "Still here," said Fraser. "I thought you were..." 

 "Got someone else to take care of it. Couldn't leave you without backup."
Ray turned to introduce himself to Mrs Johannis. "I'm Detective Ray
Vecchio, I'm Fraser's partner, and I ain't afraid of no ghosts. So if
they've been bothering you, they're in a heap of trouble, and since
trouble is my middle name, I'm the guy for the job." 

 "Ray-" 

 "Excuse me, just got to confer with my partner." He leaned towards
Fraser's ear and whispered, "You haven't seen any ghosts, have you?" 

 "Well, not exactly, not the ones Mrs Johannis means, anyway." 

 "Don't go kooky on me, the answer's no, right?" 

 "Right." 

 "Okay." He pulled away, and announced to the room. "Listen up, you
ghosts. I won't have you bothering--what's your name, ma'am?" 

 "Mrs Johannis." 

 "Your Highness?" 

 "That will do fine, dear." 

 "Okay, I won't have you bothering Her Highness here with your stupid
games. You go pick on someone your own size." Ray stalked about the room,
waving his arms dramatically. "Go on, get out. Out, I said. I don't want
to ever see you back here again, you got that?" 

 "He's convincing," said Fraser senior. "I'm half inclined to vanish
myself." 

 After a bit more shouting and windmilling, Ray stopped in front of Mrs
Johannis. "There you go," he said, "ghosts are gone." 

 Mrs Johannis pointed. "But what about the three sitting on the couch?" 

 "The three on the--uh huh." Ray raised his eyebrows at Fraser, and
flipped his sunglasses down before looking at the couch. "Okay, engaging
special ghost-vision. Okay, I see them. Yeah, nasty customers alright. How
we gonna deal with this lot, Fraser?" 

 Fraser beckoned him over, and whispered in his ear, "It seems their
presence has something to do with the television not working." 

 "Right. You know anything about TVs?" 

 "To be perfectly honest, I'm not even certain I know how to turn that
particular one off." 

 "Okay, I expected that." He straightened, before returning to 'shout'
mode. "Right, I want everyone into the kitchen. That includes you, Fraser.
Go have a cup of tea or something. I got some ghost banishing to do. Dief,
you stay with me." 

 "Tea sounds nice," agreed Mrs Johannis. 

 "Shut the door," ordered Ray. "And close that drape over the breakfast
bar." 

 In the kitchenette, while Mrs Johannis made tea, Fraser closed the drape
and tried to ignore his father, who appeared to find the moment opportune
for a chat. 

 "What's the Yank up to now, I wonder? I hope it doesn't involve any more
shouting. I have to say, Benton, he's exceeded my expectations. From what
I've seen of the Chicago Police Department, most of the officers would
have laughed at Mrs Johannis and called her a crazy old fool." 

 "Well, he did do that, earlier," said Fraser. 

 "What's that, dear?" asked Mrs Johannis. 

 "Ah, one sugar, please." 

 "Nevertheless," said Fraser senior, "he's put aside his prejudices in
order to deal with the situation. Of course, I still think calling a
relative would be an easier solution, however I give the Yank points for
creativity." 

 The drape over the breakfast bar flicked open. "I need a screw-driver,"
said Ray. "And some sticky tape. And some biscuits." 

 "Try the bottom drawer," Mrs Johannis told Fraser, before turning back to
Ray. "Chocolate or plain, dear?" 

 "Chocolate," said Ray. "If you don't have a screwdriver, a small knife
will do." 

 "Would you like a cup of tea?" 

 "No thanks, I'm on duty." 

 His requests filled, he disappeared again. The sound of a wolf lavishly
enjoying chocolate biscuits could immediately afterwards be heard from the
next room, and Fraser sighed in resignation. "Ray!" he called. "Chocolate
is bad for a wolf's digestion." 

 "I know I know. He snatched it out of my hands!" 

 Mrs Johannis handed him a cup of tea. "Has the detective done many ghost
removals before?" she asked him. 

 "Er... no, he's very new to this line of work," said Fraser. 

 "I thought so. Tricky creatures, ghosts. Just when you think you're rid
of them, they sneak up behind you again." 

 Fraser looked across at his father, who looked back with an injured
expression. 

 A yelp came from the next room, followed by much swearing. 

 "I wonder what he's doing?" said Mrs Johannis. 

 Electrocuting himself, probably, thought Fraser wryly. "I believe he's
chanting a sort of invocation." 

 "Cursing like a sailor, more like it," snorted Fraser senior. "Want me to
investigate?" 

 Just then the door opened, and Diefenbaker appeared, looking downcast, as
Ray hung back. "He's picking up your bad habits," Ray informed Fraser.
"Such as, licking electrical sockets." 

 "Oh dear. Are you alright, Dief?" Fraser asked him. 

 "He's fine, dumb mutt. I'll just be a minute more, Your Highness, and you
should be ghost-free." With that, Ray disappeared again. 

 "Why did you lick the electrical socket?" asked Fraser. 

 Dief groaned in response. 

 "I'm sorry, I don't follow." 

 "If I'm correct," said Fraser's father, "the Yank was fiddling with the
electrical socket when the wolf attempted to lick chocolate biscuit crumbs
off the Yank's mouth." 

 "I see," said Fraser to Dief. "Let this be a lesson to you." 

 "He talks?" asked Mrs Johannis. 

 "Diefenbaker? Yes. He's been my friend for many years." As they had some
time, Fraser told Mrs Johannis the story of his meeting with Diefenbaker.
At the end of it Ray reappeared, beckoning to Fraser. He went with Ray
into the next room, where Ray waved a hand at the restored television
picture. 

 "How about that?" he said, proudly. 

 "That's very well done, Ray." 

 "You think it's enough? I mean, to convince Her Highness that the ghosts
are gone?" 

 Fraser thought for a moment. "Perhaps we should sit on the couch. That's
where she saw the ghosts, so perhaps if she sees us sitting there
instead..." 

 "Good idea." Moving to the kitchenette, Ray called, "Your Highness? You
can come out now." Then he jogged quickly to the couch and flung himself
down beside Fraser. 

 They both smiled with desperate hopefulness as Mrs Johannis entered the
room. She looked from the couch, to the television, back to the couch,
finally turning her attention to the rest of the room. Her eyes passed
over Fraser's father standing beside the couch. 

 "So, uh... no ghosts, right?" said Ray. 

 Putting her hands together, Mrs Johannis smiled. "Thank you, young man.
Whatever you did, it did the trick." 

 "All right!" Ray bounced on the couch, before jumping to his feet. "If we
could just take a few details, you know, for our report; your full name,
etcetera... " He motioned to Fraser. "Actually, Fraser, could you--I want
to make a call." 

 "Go ahead," said Fraser, and pulled out his notebook and pen while Mrs
Johannis sat beside him. As he took her details, he kept one ear on Ray's
conversation. It seemed Robert Delphi had not yet made a move. 

 "Check he's still in there," said Ray into his cellphone. No, I'm not
doubting you, I mean he might have climbed out the bathroom window or
something." 

 "Is there someone you'd like me to contact, a relative for instance?"
Fraser asked Mrs Johannis. 

 "Oh no, dear. I don't want to bother anyone. I'm quite all right now,
thanks to Detective Vecchio." 

 "Well..." Fraser saw his father beckoning to him from the front door. "If
you'll excuse me a moment." He rose to his feet and went over to his
father. 

 "What is it?" he murmured, trying not to move his mouth. 

 "I must be going," said his father. "I have a lot of work to do, you
know." 

 "Then go," whispered Fraser. 

 "I'd appreciate if you'd open the door for me." 

 "Dad, you're dead. You don't need the door to be open in order to leave."


 "What's up, Frase?" called Ray. 

 "Just a moment," Fraser called back. "All right," he whispered to his
father, and opened the front door. 

 "Thank you. I may be dead, but I still have my dignity," said Fraser
senior, before leaving. 

 Fraser sighed with relief, and shut the door again. Noticing two pairs of
eyes on him, he explained, "I was just, ah, making certain the ghosts
weren't loitering." 

 "I got rid of them, Fraser, there's no ghosts," said Ray, sounding
offended. 

 "Of course. My apologies." 

 "We good to go?" 

 "Just a minute," said Mrs Johannis, shuffling in the direction of her
bedroom. Sounds of drawers opening and closing could be heard, before she
came back, something clutched in her hands. "As a thank you," she told
Ray, presenting him with a haircomb. "It's not much, but I have a spare
one, and you do look as though you need it." 

 "Oh, um, thanks," said Ray, accepting it. "That's nice." 

 "Now make sure you use it," Fraser told Ray. 

 Just before Fraser withered to a crisp under Ray's look, a minor
earthquake erupted next door, resolving quickly into a monotonous and
penetrating bass beat. 

 "That's that boy next door," said Mrs Johannis, shaking her head. "I have
told him and told him to turn his music down..." 

 "Don't worry, we'll have a word to him on our way out," Ray assured her,
pocketing the comb. "We better be on our way." 

 After thanking them gratefully once again, Mrs Johannis let them out. 

 "Whew," said Ray to Fraser in the hallway. "We've done some weird things
in our time together, but ghosts?... that one takes the prize." 

 "So it's-" Fraser switched to Ray's parlance "-weirder than a wooden ship
full of mounties?" 

 Ray considered. "No, okay, that one was weirder. But this one is second
on the list." He knocked on the door of the next apartment. "All I know
is, Welsh'll take one look at my report and ask if I took too much
laughing gas at the dentist." As the door opened, he turned his attention
away from Fraser. "Chicago PD. I want to speak to you about-" 

 The door slammed shut in their faces. 

 "Hey. Hey!" yelled Ray. "Open this back up! This is the Chicago PD, open
this door right now!" 

 "Ray." 

 "Yes, Fraser." 

 "Do you have that picture of Arnold Schultz with you?" 

 "Yeah, why?" But Ray fished it out of his back pocket and handed it over.


 Fraser glanced at it quickly. "I believe the man at the door was Arnold
Schultz." 

 "Yeah? I didn't get that good a look... you sure?" 

 "Positive." 

 Ray pointed at him. "Fire escape." 

 "Done," said Fraser, taking off down the hall towards the stairs. Behind
him, he heard the sound of wood splintering as Ray broke down the door. As
he took the three flights in long bounds, Diefenbaker chafing at his
heels, he pondered on the serendipity of events. By taking the time to
assist someone in need, he and Ray had been blessed with a short-cut to
their primary objective. Remarkable how often this proved to be the case.
He would have to make that point to Ray later--or perhaps not. Ray, in his
hypersensitive way, would probably interpret it as a criticism of his
detective skills, which would not be his intention at all. 

 The street was empty. Fraser ran to the side of the building, where
someone was just dropping off the bottom rung of the fire escape further
down. Seeing Fraser running towards him, he darted across the street.
Fraser and Diefenbaker chased after him. Dief, naturally, caught up to him
first, cutting in front of the young man and tripping him up. Fraser
arrived a few moments later, halting in front of the scrabbling man. 

 "I advise you to stay where you are," he told Schultz. 

 "You kidding me. He's gonna eat me!" 

 "I assure you, Diefenbaker would no sooner eat a human than you would." 

 Schultz raised himself to his feet slowly, glancing further down the
path. Although shorter than Fraser, he had an agile muscularity about him.
"Who are you, anyway? What you want with me?" 

 "Is your name Arnold Schultz?" 

 "I don't gotta answer no questions." Schultz continued to back away,
looking all around. 

 "Again, I advise you to remain still. If you attempt to escape,
Diefenbaker will bring you down again." Fraser looked over his shoulder to
check on the whereabouts of Ray; ah, there he was, jogging up the sidewalk
in a somewhat leisurely fashion. He waved at Fraser. In his unzipped
bombardier-style jacket and dark blue jeans, the lines of his body in
motion were clear. His running style at full-flight was a little awkward,
yet aggressive; at this pace, he was still awkward, turning his knees out
too much, yet his arms pumped fluidly, his head holding a graceful line
with his spine. There was something elegant about the overall effect of
Ray moving quickly through space. 

 Dief barked, and Fraser spun back. Schultz had taken advantage of his
lapse to dive into the nearby Italian cafe. Fraser motioned, and followed
Dief through the shopfront. Assailed by multifarious scents, Dief whirled
amongst the tables, momentarily overwhelmed. Fraser skidded to a halt. 

 "Excuse me," he asked the nearest waitress, "but did a young man just-" 

 "He went that way," she said, pointing behind the counter. 

 "Thank you kindly," said Fraser, and waved Dief in that direction.
"Excuse me, sorry, my apologies," he said, as he pushed past several
people on his way to the rear of the cafe. 

 Once in the kitchen, he saw the flapping back door. "That way," pointed
the chef, and Fraser, thanking him, raced to the door, holding it open for
Dief before following. He found himself in a small courtyard, and glimpsed
a figure racing out into the alley. "Stop right there!" he heard a
familiar voice call, and moments later arrived to see Ray grappling with
Schultz. Clearly Ray had circled via the laneway to meet up with them. 

 Schultz tried to make for the brick wall opposite--possibly intending to
climb it into the yard behind--but Ray hauled him back by his jacket,
while Diefenbaker leapt around, barking. 

 "Chicago PD!" Ray yelled, several times. Schultz, shaking him off, rammed
a full-shouldered punch into Ray's jaw. Fraser winced--that would be
painful. Ray, however, bounced straight back, threw himself at Schultz,
bought them both crashing to the pavement. Dief completed the act by
sticking his muzzle into Schultz's face, growling and drooling to the best
of his ability. 

 "Okay okay!" said Schultz. "I give up! Get the dog outta my face!" 

 "You're under arrest," Ray informed him, and read him his Miranda Rights
while lying on top of him and shouting into his face. "Do you understand
these rights? Do you?" 

 "Yeah, okay! Get off me!" 

 Ray cuffed him before getting to his feet. Carefully, one eye on Dief,
Schultz followed suit. 

 "Ray," said Fraser. 

 "Yeah?" 

 "That was quite a punch he threw." Already he could see an angry red mark
spreading on Ray's jaw. 

 "Huh?" 

 "The punch. It doesn't hurt?" 

 "I'm still numb from the dentist, Fraser." 

 "Probably just as well," said Fraser, reaching out, carefully
manipulating Ray's jaw. "It's not broken, at least, but I suspect you'll
have a hell of a bruise by tomorrow." 

 "Hell of a bruise?" repeated Ray in a teasing tone. "There's a handcart
with your name on it, Fraser..." 

 "Well, using 'hell' as a figurative adjective is not, strictly speaking-"


 "Would you say it in front of the Queen?" 

 "No." 

 "There you go," said Ray. He took hold of Schultz and started walking him
down the alley. "Schultz. Okay if someone takes a look around your
apartment?" 

 "No, it's not okay," said Schultz. "You get a warrant." 

 "Fine," said Ray. "In the meantime, well, your door's broken down, and
you've got that megawatt stereo system just waiting for someone to come
along and take it-" 

 "Alright alright! Go through my apartment. What's it matter, huh? And
you'll probably say the stereo is the profits of crime or something and
take it off me anyway-" 

 Ray's phone rang, and Fraser took charge of Schultz as Ray dropped back
to answer it. "Vecchio. Where? Yeah, figured... you follow him, you follow
him right up... no, right up, I'm not kidding. We were just there, we got
Schultz in custody... Apartment 304. One with the broken door... ha ha,
very funny." Ray reeled off detailed instructions for what action to take
depending on what move Robert Delphi made after seeing the door, then
signed off. "Wish I could be there," he told Fraser. "I could know, just
by looking into Robbie's eyes, whether he was involved or not." 

 "Or you could just ask me," said Schultz. 

 "You gonna tell me?" 

 "Depends what kind of deal I can get." 

 "That sound like a 'yes' to you?" Ray asked Fraser. 

 "Well, it wouldn't hold up in a court of law, but-" 

 Ray dialled. 

 "Wait," said Schultz. "That wasn't a yes. That wasn't a yes!" 

 "All that stuff I was saying?" said Ray into the phone. "Forget it.
Arrest him." 

 "That wasn't a yes!" 

 Ray, ignoring Schultz's protestations, nodded at Fraser. "We did good." 

 Fraser, about to protest that it had been mostly Ray's work, found
himself thinking of something Ray had said to him when they first met. "I
set them up, you knock them down," remembered Fraser. 

 They turned onto the street. 

 "Exactly," said Ray, grinning ear to ear.  

 It was evening by the time they interviewed the arrestees and wrapped up
the most pressing matters surrounding the afternoon's events. By that
stage, everyone had somehow heard the full story, ghostbusting included. 

 "Fraser, look at this." Ray waved a crude drawing at him. "Someone stuck
it on the front of my desk." 

 Looking up from his jotting, Fraser examined it. "What is it?" 

 "It's the Ghostbusters sign-thing. You know, from the movie. Ghost in a
circle with a line through it." 

 "Oh." 

 "And people keep saying things like, 'He slimed me', whenever I walk
past. Telling me there's a ghost in the soda machine, and stuff." Ray
leaned over Fraser. "Fraser, how come everyone knows about the ghosts?" 

 "Well, naturally I had to include it in my statement." 

 "Oh, you did, did you?" 

 "Yes. I had to explain how we came to be in Mrs Johannis' apartment.
Secondly, I had to account for the considerable time that elapsed between
entering her apartment, and arresting Mr Schultz." 

 "It's not 'Mr Schultz', it's Mr Scumbag." 

 "In sum," continued Fraser, "noting that this time was employed by you
and Diefenbaker wrestling over chocolate biscuits would have made your
actions seem frivolous without the appropriate context. How is your jaw,
by the way?" 

 "Starting to hurt," admitted Ray. "Anaesthetic's worn off." 

 "Hey, Vecchio," called Dewey, swaggering past. "You know, I got a little
problem at home, with my TV. I get a lot of static. You think it might be
a ghost?" 

 "Rrrr, that's it," said Ray, darting for Dewey's throat. Fraser grabbed
Ray's belt hastily, without considering the consequences. The consequences
being that Ray's arrested lunge catapulted him back into Fraser's lap. The
chair tipped backwards, and Fraser and Ray crashed to the floor, just
missing the filing cabinets and Diefenbaker. 

 "Fraser!" gasped Ray, wriggling mightily on top of him. 

 "Ray, stop, you're squashing me." 

 "You're lying on my jacket." 

 "You're lying on my arm. And my legs. And-" 

 Eventually they extracted themselves and got to their feet, far apart
from each other, both red-faced and breathing heavily. Watching with
varying degrees of amusement were Diefenbaker, Detectives Huey and Dewey,
the cleaning lady, and Lieutenant Welsh. 

 "Vecchio, I swear," said Lieutenant Welsh, "when I said you could corrupt
a saint, I meant it as a joke." 

 "It was Dewey's fault," said Ray, blushing redder. 

 "Makes perfect sense to me," said Welsh. "Huey, Dewey, you can go home.
Margaret, I've finished with my office, so go right ahead." As his shadows
peeled off, he turned to the two remaining. 

 "It's been a long day, sir," said Fraser. 

 "It has," agreed Welsh. "And you both did good. More than good. You
arrested Schultz, your detective work led to the arrest of Robbie the Fly
who I confess has been in my ointment for quite some time; you banished a
herd of wild ghosts and fixed an old lady's TV; all this, in one
afternoon. I'm impressed." 

 "Ray also acquired a haircomb, sir," said Fraser. 

 "A comb? You know how to use it, Vecchio? I'd be happy to demonstrate." 

 "I know how to use a comb," said Ray. 

 "Let me give you a hint; you brush down, not up." 

 "Har de har." 

 "Don't sulk, Vecchio; you want to roll around the floor with Fraser, I
don't care, as long as you keep collaring the scumbags. Hell, I'll even
provide the margarine." 

 "Can we go, sir?" begged Ray. 

 "By all means, detective, constable." 

 Ray shot out of the vicinity immediately, not even stopping for his
jacket. 

 "Good night, sir," Fraser said to the Lieutenant, picked up Ray's jacket,
and hastened after Ray, pondering the cryptic reference to margarine. He
rather thought that providing two grown men with enough margarine to roll
around in seemed an excessive waste of margarine. Therefore it must be a
cultural shorthand for some other practice involving two men, and
requiring margarine in more usual quantities. Two men, margarine.
Margarine was a... oh. 

 They had similar references in Canada; the further north one went, the
stranger the creatures whose body fat could be sacrificed to the joke.
Margarine, Fraser considered, was quite tame by comparison. 

End Serendipity Style 1 by Jonah in the Whale: jonakay@upnaway.com

Author and story notes above.