Collecting Debts    Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me; they
belong to Alliance, et al. This for entertainment purposes only. No
infringements intended. Please don't archive or copy without my
permission. 

 Collecting Debts 

 Ray shrugged his shoulder, a nervous tic he'd never really noticed
before, and stared at the two-story brick house in front of him. He might
as well get it over with. 

 He climbed the steps rapidly, embarrassed in case anyone should see him
going inside Frank Zuko's house. Of course, he thought, that assumed Zuko
would even let him in the door, and after what happened the last time he'd
been in Zuko's house, there were no guarantees. He rapped heavily on the
front door. It was a cop's knock and one he would have to lose if he were
to do what the feds wanted. That, though, depended on Frankie. 

 Charlie answered the door, much to Ray's surprise. "Thought you went to
Florida," Ray snapped out. 

 "Did," Charlie rasped back. "Too hot." 

 "I got an appointment." 

 "I know." 

 The other man stepped aside and motioned for Ray to follow him. Inside,
the Zuko house hadn't changed much. New carpet ran up the stairs, and Ray
tried not to look upward. He did, though, and it all rushed back with a
sharp, slicing pain in his chest. He didn't have to close his eyes to see
it all again: the shots, the blood, the oddly disbelieving look on Irene's
face, the horror on Frankie's. 

 Maybe some good had come of it. In the nearly two years since Irene's
death, Frank Zuko had quietly gone legit. He'd sold the crooked businesses
to "associates" and kept the legal ones. He stayed out of family fighting.
Ray suspected he'd made the sizable donations to a victim's rights group
and to Sister Corretta's shelter for battered women in Irene Zuko's name.
These days Zuko lived quietly, went to work during business hours, spent
his evenings with his wife and daughter, took his family to church on
Sundays. It was like Frankie turned in Ward Cleaver overnight. If it was
guilt, Ray figured it was doing some good. He didn't think it was entirely
a matter of Frankie having second thoughts. 

 Charlie showed him into the study and left him facing Frank. Ray stared
his distaste at his former friend, his enemy for many years. He tried to
hide it, but he knew it showed. He tried to remind himself he needed a
favor and making Frank angry wasn't a good way to get it. It galled him to
have to do this, and he wished he didn't need Frank to make it work.
Hopefully the price wouldn't be too high. 

 "Ray," Frank said. 

 "Frankie." 

 "Long time," the other man said. 

 "Yeah." 

 Frankie shifted uncomfortably. "You said you wanted to talk," he said. 

 Ray nodded, folded his hands together in front of him. Now that the time
had come, he found it harder than he'd expected to force the words out. "I
need a favor, Frank." 

 Zuko laughed, but it didn't sound like he found the joke very amusing.
"I'm not in the business of doing favors anymore, Ray." 

 "Yeah," Ray drawled, the anger building at having the request denied
without Frankie knowing what the favor was, "but you're going to do this
one." 

 Silence stretched between the two men. Ray stared back at Frankie,
feeling juvenile for entering into a staring match and knowing he had to
do it. The law of the neighborhood--don't be the one who looks away first.
It shows you're weak. Where did he learn that? he wondered as the quiet
grew so that he could hear the faint sounds of a television upstairs. The
old man? His friends? 

 "And why am I going to do you a favor?" Frankie finally ground out. 

 In the old days, Zuko would have laughed, Ray reflected. He would have
flashed that wide I'm-better-than-you smile tinged with cruelty. Life had
been a big joke to Frankie Zuko when he'd been able to bend the world and
the neighborhood to his will. "Because you owe me," Ray said. 

 Frankie blinked--several times. "Yeah," he said quietly, "I guess I do." 

 "I could have lied, put you behind bars where you belong," Ray said, "and
every cop in the place would have backed me up." Ray schooled his features
not to cringe. This wasn't the way to get Frank to grant him the favor,
and it wasn't true. There was one policeman who wouldn't have backed him,
but Ray didn't hold the grudge. Fraser would have done what was right, and
Ray would have got over it--eventually. Zuko gave a barely perceptible nod
of agreement. "I'm calling in the marker, Frankie." 

 Leaning back in his chair, Frank stared up at him. "What do you want?" 

 "I hear you've been placing some of your men with other families around
the country." 

 "I'm legit," Frank snarled, "and I'm not crazy enough to sell out 

 men who were loyal to me." 

 "I know, and I'm not asking you to," Ray conceded, "but I hear you've
been shipping the talent." 

 "What if I have?" Frankie asked, and Ray heard the echo of Mr. Zuko. 

 "Send me to the Gianellos in Kansas City." 

 "What?!" Frank exploded. He gave an incredulous laugh. 

 "You heard me," Ray said. 

 Zuko stared. "I'm supposed to send them a cop? Do you know how fast I'd
wind up dead? And my family? No. No way." 

 Ray planted his hands on the desk and leaned forward. "You aren't sending
them a cop, Frankie. You're sending an employee." 

 Frank sat forward, lay his arms on the desktop. Ray watched him, fully
aware that his future and his life depended on Frank's help. He didn't
like it. He didn't like it at all, but when he'd been asked to take the
assignment, it had been the logical solution to how to infiltrate the
Gianellos. Frankie could get him in, and Ray hoped he wouldn't sell him
out once he did. "Let me ask you something, Vecchio." 

 "Shoot," Ray replied. 

 "Why the Gianellos? Why Kansas City?" 

 "The feds are after Giani Gianello." 

 Frank smirked. "Tell me something I don't know. And you aren't a fed." 

 "He killed two cops and a kid here in Chicago. The kid was an
accident--wrong place, wrong time. Every time the feds send someone inside
the Gianello family, the guy gets fingered and winds up fishbait. The
Gianellos haven't taken any of your guys yet, so there isn't anyone there
who'll recognize me. Chicago's a little out of their ballpark, so I'm not
a familiar face. I'm not a fed, so whoever's fingering the agents won't be
able to shop me to Giani. The murders weren't in the 27th, and it's been
kept quiet that we're going to do the investigation. My lieutenant and the
agent in charge are the only ones who know. And you." Ray sighed and
dropped into a chair opposite Zuko. "In short, you're going to send me in
as one of your men who needs to relocate for his health." 

 "What if I told you I haven't sent the Gianellos any men because we don't
exactly have a friendly relationship?" 

 "I don't want to call you a liar in your own home, Frankie, but you've
talked shop with the Gianellos--I've read wiretap transcripts. You went to
Richie Gianello's wedding. I'd say they'd take someone you sent them." 

 Another awkard silence dropped between them. "You and I have a history,
Ray." Frank said at last. 

 "Don't make like a Hollywood gangster, Frankie," Ray said. "Yeah, we got
history. Too much history. I did you a favor when Irene--died--now I need
you to do me one. Do it for Irene." 

 For a moment, Ray thought he'd overdone it when Zuko looked away. Ray
felt small. He was trading on Frankie's love his sister, but this case was
important to him. It could make his career. Frankie could help. "She loved
you, you know," Frank said softly. 

 "I loved her, too," Ray said with equal softness. 

 "What's to stop me from sending you and then telling them what you really
are?" Frank asked. "They won't trust you, anyway. It would just take one
phone call, one tale of how you forced me to do this, and you'd be a dead
man." 

 Ray stared back at Frank. "There's nothing stopping you, Frankie. It's
your choice. If I wind up dead, though, you'll be an accessory to murder.
Fraser will make sure you're caught." It was a bluff since the Mountie had
no jurisdiction in the States and didn't know what Ray was up to.
Furthermore, Fraser would never know more than that Ray was going deep
undercover somewhere on a case. He couldn't be allowed to know more. 

 "So how will this work?" Frank asked. "They won't trust you, not even
with my recommendation. The first time you call home, write or telegram,
they'll grind you into filler." 

 Ray nodded. "That's why you're going to be my contact." Before Zuko could
object, he quickly sketched the plan. It wouldn't be unusual for him to
check in with his former "employer" from time to time. All they had to do
was agree on a code for information. "I won't be able to talk to Ma or the
girls, but your mother and mine still talk. You can make sure she doesn't
need to worry about me." Ray squashed the unease. He was playing on
Frank's sense of family again. 

 Frank studied his own hands a moment. Apparently, he wasn't completely
convinced, for he said, "The first time I talk to a cop, I'll be dead, and
so will you." 

 "Yeah, well, that's where the Mountie comes in." 

 Zuko's forehead puckered. "Fraser?" 

 "No," Ray replied, still amazed at how life took weird little tangents
sometimes with the most surprising results. "An Inspector Margaret
Thatcher." It had taken some fast talking to convince the Dragon Lady to
not only act as his contact with Zuko but also to get her not to 

 tell Fraser. "She looks a lot like Irene, in a way, so I thought maybe
she could pass for your cousin Daria. You tell her what I tell you, she
tells my boss, and vice versa." 

 "Won't the red suit give her away?" Frankie asked with a smirk. 

 "She doesn't wear it," Ray snapped. "When I pass the information, you two
have lunch." 

 "Don't you think they'll notice that everytime I have lunch with my
'cousin' it follows a call from you? Or that what follows next is a bust?"


 Ray frowned. "We've worked that out. There'll be no busts until I get all
the necessary information and am out of there." 

 Frank studied him. "How are you supposed to get out, Ray? And after it's
all over, you'll wind up with the witness protection program because you
sure as hell won't be able to work as a detective again." 

 "I'll deal with it when I have to," Ray snapped. He'd already been warned
that the program was a probable necessity for him. 

 "You're insane, Vecchio." 

 "Maybe." 

 "I'm going to have to think about this," Frank said. 

 "You've got five minutes, Frankie." 

 Ray watched him, and it didn't take long for him to realize Frank wasn't
going to need the hard sell after all. It was Frank's motives that worried
him. He was glad he wouldn't have to appeal to Frank's sense of honor
because he still wasn't sure he had one. "Okay," Frank said, "but I'll
have to have a little time to set it up." 

 "I can do that," Ray said, "but I need to be in as soon as possible." 

 "I'm doing this because of Irene." 

 Suspicious, Ray wondered what that was supposed to mean, but Frank's gaze
didn't waver. He'd have to make of it what he could. Ray nodded and stood.
"I didn't think you were doing for any other reason, Frankie." 

 Outside again, Ray turned, looked up at the dark windows where Irene's
room was. He wondered if her things were still there or if Frank's wife or
mother had removed them, packed them away. How many times had he climbed
up to her window? How many times had he driven by to see if she was home?
He felt a little dirty, cheap, for using Irene. He'd have done anything
for her, and she didn't deserve to become a tool to get what he wanted
from Frank. For the first time, he wondered if Frankie ever felt this way,
if he'd ever been sickened by what he'd done in the name of family. 

 Ray said his final goodbyes to the window which had opened so much to him
and headed home to begin less permanent ones. 

 Leigh A. Adams adderlygirl@yahoo.com 

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