Ben's Song
				~~~~~~~~~~
				By L.M Griffin	

	Bars in Las Vegas were more then often two things. Dark, and
usually
filled with types that were _less_ then pillars in the community. The
bar sitting baking on the outskirts of the bright lights and broken
promises
was no exception to this rule. A dark-haired woman, the curls cut into
a bob, worked behind the counter that late afternoon. Her blue eyes were
ringed with circles, and the porcelin skin she was so proud of was
sunburnt
from the heavy exposure to the harsh sunlight of the desert. Dressed
in a rather skimpy outfit that outfitted her slim figure, she waited
on customers with a wan smile, and a voice that could tempt an angel.
And it had. Oh yes, the woman reflected bitterly, it had.  

	The jukebox clicked songs over, but the woman didn't notice.
Excepting
it was something by Sarah Maclachlan, the sultry singer from her own
country. She wiped down the bar, humming along mindlessly with the music,
her thoughts of snowdrifts and poems whispered into the ear of the man
she loved. Behind her the door opened to the bar, letting in warm gust
of air, and the voices of three men. Mafioso, by the looks of the clothes.
The woman couldn't make out their faces as she turned to look, but the
gold chains and two bright tone suits sort of gave them away.

	And the song grinded along from the first notes...

		On the hills of fire the darkest hour
		I was dreaming of my true love's power

	The man in the middle, tall and thin, dressed with a simple
elegance
that somehow made amends for the brightness of his suit. He was the
'Leader',
but that was only for show, for surface appearances. Again and again
the thought sat in his brain that he was only pretending with these other
men, who thought him to be someone else entirely. In the end, he would
betray them, and send them all up the river for the crimes they committed.
Crimes so bloody, thet made him wince. Crimes they didn't even blink
at. Sometimes they struck him as less then human, because they simply
didn't think it mattered. Human life; not mattering. He felt the bile
rise in his throat once more. He missed morals. He missed boundaries.
He missed the smell of his mother's Sunday dinner, and his green Riv.
He missed a deaf wolf, and his kindhearted master. A -real- man, the
hazel-eyed man reflected, who proved he was such without having to raise
a gun or a fist. Unlike the men he travelled with now. 

	And the song went on....

		Who will bring a light to stoke the fire
		fear not for you're still breathing
		on a winter's day

	It was he who offered to get the drinks for the other two. It was
he
who strode over to the bar in a loose walk that sounded something in
familiar in the dark haired woman's mind. Their eyes met, and the reaction
was instantaneous. He reached for his gun beneath his carefully tailored
suit, and she slipped her hand under the counter for hers. Both movements
were done with such skill that the other two men and the bar's only other
patron, an elderly man in clothing stinking of gin, hadn't even noticed.

	And the song went on...
		
		I saw the life blood drained away
		a cold wind blows on a windless day

	The woman's voice was an iced over glacier, "_Ray_...what a
_pleasant_
surprise."
	
	The man voice, on the other hand, was hot barely controlled rage,
"The
pleasure's all mine, _Victoria_. Or really, it'll be mine when I fill
you full of slugs..."

	A dark smirk filled her blue eyes, "You shoot, I go down screaming
you're
a pig cop."

	He matched her smirk, his eyes blazing with venom, "You're
thinkin'
you'll have _time_ to scream? How optimistic of you."
	
	And the song went on....
	
		Hear the cry for new life the morning's flame
		you were the brightest light that burned too soon in vain

	"Bastard...lousy mother-fucking bastard. He would of gone with
me.."
she cursed at him, "We would of been happy together...but you had to
shoot him. You selfish asshole..." Her nails clenched together; she wanted
to rip his face open, scratch out his eyes and feel the cold satisfaction
of his screams. 

	A flicker of guilt showed on his face, but died with cold
contempt.
"First of all, I was aiming for you. He just stood in the way. Second,
he woulda left you the first chance he had when he realized you wouldn't
change. Once a murdering seductress, always a murdering seductress...",
his voice was a low, vicious whisper as he  leaned on the counter, his
hand still on the gun, "He doesn't want anything to do with you now.
I'd be givin' him the biggest birthday present ever if I put a plug
between
those deceitful blue eyes of yours..."

	She shook with pain and anger. "He -loves- me. He was leaving you,
and
everything else behind, for -me-.  And -you- couldn't handle it, so -you-
shot him. He'll always be mine, and there's nothing you can do about
it... bet that makes you pretty mad, doesn't _Detective_ Vecchio?", she
said with malicious glee. Her slender fingers slipped around the gun,
rubbing it for comfort and solace.

	She didn't get the reaction she hoped for. He just smirked again,
"Not
any more, sister. Not any more. He's found someone else. A really pretty
Inspector...who, by the way, never tried to frame him for robbery and
murder.. ..and I bet that makes you pretty mad too, hm?"

	She saw red, as her voice trembled low,"You're lying..." Something
in
her chest hurt as she thought of Ben's blue eyes glowing with such
helpless
love for someone else.

	His smug smile told her that he wasn't, "Ahhhh, the rantings of a
delusional
madwoman. You might find this sadistic, Victoria...but I actually -enjoy-
hearing you in pain. Actually makes up for the fact that I nearly lost
my job, my house, and my best friend because of you. Well, almost.."

	Blinding red anger poured into her veins as she suddenly lifted
her
gun from beneath, and aimed it at the man's stomach. "You...you fucking
son of a bitch. It's your fault! He never would of even looked back if
it hadn't been for you. You took him from me. He'd still love me if it
wasn't for -you-!" The rest of her words were a silent hiss, "I didn't
kill him, but I'll kill you, with no regrets..."

	"I wouldn't put any solid bets on that one, sister. He saw through
you.
He was just too blinded by -lust-." he scoffed, pulling his own gun.

	Both actions were hidden from the others; there was only the two
of
them, eye to eye, their hatred like a living thing. They would kill each
other right there right then, right now. One in blind rage over the
heartaches
the woman had wrought to his family and his dearest friend. The other
in enraged jealousy and pain as she thought of her lover in the arms
of another. Two soft clicks pronouncing the removal of safeties seemed
all the louder to the pair, standing there, filled with the killing rage.

	From behind them, the song swelled, filling the cool bar with the
sweet
singing of a young woman thousand miles away from this little dusty
establishment.

		...Who will bring you back from where there's no return?
		Fear not for you're just dreaming on a winter's day

	Both of them stopped, and listened for a moment. Listened to notes
and words, that this young woman had blended together to form an image
in their brains. Of a man-like angel, wearing a bright red coat and his
heart on his sleeve. He had a mind as sharp as a razor, and a naivety
that touched the coldest of souls. The woman turned away, tears sparkling
her eyes, whispering harshly, "At least I didn't shoot him...at least
I didn't try to kill him to keep him away from you..." 

	The man said nothing for a moment, then his hand moved away from
the
weapon. He couldn't do this; he'd be no better then the men he was with
right now. He'd be no better then her. He could almost see the accusing
look in those ice blue eyes of his friend.

	The man looked at the woman for a long, harsh moment. Then he
spoke,
his words like knives, "I may of been the one with the gun, but you were
one who pulled the trigger. You pulled it when you betrayed him, and
his love for you. I was tryin' to save him from making the biggest mistake
of his life. You were tryin' to drag him down with you. But he was too
pure for that, wasn't he? He -let- himself be shot, then live this life
with you. That's why you hate me so much...because you saw that look
in his eyes before he fell from your arms. That look of quiet relief
that it was over, in one form or another. That he was glad that he would
never see you again.." The look of silent despair that filled her eyes
told the man that was -exactly- what she had seen on that cold winter
evening. But this time, he didn't smile. No, not now.

	He took a step backwards, still talking low, "He was too good for
you
then, and he always will be. I -should- kill you for trying to taking
him from the only family he's ever known, from everything he loves. But
the worst thing I can do to you...is let you live. Live and think about
that every day. Think about how -you- shot him in the back."  Then he
walked back towards the door calling out to his 'lackeys', "C'mon...let's
blow this cesspool." 

	One of the two men came up to him, asking, "Why, what's wrong
Boss?"
His pug-like face was confused, as was that of his reed-like companion.

	The man turned to look back at the bar, at the woman who was just
looking at him, half mournful, half hateful. He said quietly, still
looking
at her	still moving towards the door, "An old friend asked me to leave.
A very good, very old friend asked me to leave. And not look back." 

	The door swung open, and the gangsters were gone. Then the woman
slipped to the ground, sobbing harshly, her knees brought up to her chest,
as she whimpering his name, quietly at first, then slowly louder,
"..benton...
Benton... BENTON!" 

	She rose to her feet once more and moved the gun towards her chin.
She
couldn't live like that, knowing that in the end, he realized he never
loved her. Had let her go not to save her life, but to save himself from
her. It was a hard, heart-ripping realization. She couldn't live with
it. She wouldn't. Still screaming his name, she looked towards the
ceiling.
She felt the poem they shared rushing inside her brain, and for a moment
all was as clear as the snow on the pass that day. Tears slowly trickled
down her chin as she choked on her last words, "I still love you...I'm
so sorry..." And then there was a loud bang, something acrid filled her
nose and mouth. Then a red blaze over took the white of the snow.
Blackness
overtook her. 

	The man didn't even stop when he heard the gun shot from the bar,
the frightened yells from the old man. He didn't turn back even when
his own men went back to look at a killing they had nothing to do with.
The hot sun slanted down on his head, and he thought of a cold train
station. He thought of the look he saw that night in those blue eyes;
that horrible, still look. He thought of the true price of love, that
sometimes, it just cost too much. He kept walking. Just kept walking.

	The record did its last turn in the jukebox, now coated with
flecks
of fresh blood. The song finished...
		
		I saw the life blood drained away
		a cold wind blows on a windless day

		Fini