Russian roulette	AN INCH AN HOUR 

by Chris Lark    cql@hopper.unh.edu 
 RATED: PG  

Well, folks, here it is; one way I'd like to see the third season end.
Big-time drama. As usual, the story title and those of the parts are from
some cool Tragically Hip and Sarah McLachlan songs. Y'know, I never
thought I'd find myself writing a story with Kowalski in it, but if I was
going to write this story, he'd have to be in it, wouldn't he? Well,
anyway, here it is. Before you find the standard disclaimer at the end of
the story, enjoy it first!  

They say that a Mountie always gets his man. But when a legendary Mountie
was murdered, it was left to his son to track the killer...even to the
ends of the earth.  

Now, Canada's best is teamed with Chicago's finest, and the city will
never be the same again.  

With a little help from a supernatural source, they could become the
greatest crimefighting duo ever...if they can only keep from killing each
other. 

--CBS Introduction to Due South 
 ********** 
 Intro: Let's Stay Engaged  

"Until we meet again, let's stay engaged; until then, let's stay engaged."


AH, SPRINGTIME IN CHICAGO. Ah, the sounds of shouts and loud music blaring
from the apartment houses on the way to the police station. Ah, the thrill
of chasing the occasional purse-snatcher he happened to pass by. Constable
Benton Fraser, RCMP, was rarely happier than he was now as he walked
briskly from the Canadian consulate to the 27th Precinct of the Chicago
P.D. The one thing that could make this morning better would be if he
could get his deaf wolf, Diefenbaker, to keep running along behind him
instead of lazing along behind like the laggard he'd been since coming to
Chicago.  

Fraser reached the police station and marched in the front doors, starting
for the stairs to the squad room. He'd become a familiar enough sight
hereabouts that not many people paid much attention to him, except perhaps
for the occasional rookie who had never seen him around the station
before. At the top of the stairs, he cut around the squad room and came in
the side door, turning toward the back corner near the lieutenant's
office.  

" 'Morning, Ray," he called cheerfully.  

Detective Stan Kowalski looked up from his desk, giving a short wave in
reply. "How you doing, Fraser," he answered, somewhat apathetically. He
went back to his desk work, and Fraser couldn't help thinking how much he
missed his old partner's cheerfully sarcastic responses. Detective Ray
Vecchio had been gone for almost eight months now, working very deep
undercover with the mob. Fraser had no idea how he was doing; it had taken
him days to discover that Kowalski had assumed Ray's identity to protect
him. Good thing Kowalski's middle name was Ray, and that was the name he
preferred to go by, or else Fraser might have had a hard time adjusting.  

"And how are you doing this fine morning?" Fraser asked, plopping down in
front of the desk.  

Seeing Diefenbaker trotting quickly toward him, Kowalski snatched the
jelly doughnut sitting at the side of his desk and moved it over to the
other side. Diefenbaker growled deeply, frustrated that his prize had been
so abruptly whisked away. "Well, I'd be doing a lot better if that wolf of
yours wouldn't keep targeting my doughnuts for his breakfast," Kowalski
said irritably. At least his attitude made him a good impersonator for
Ray, even if his appearance and dialogue didn't.  

"Hm, I think Inspector Thatcher and Constable Turnbull are more than happy
that they don't have much of a liking for jelly doughnuts," Fraser said.  

Kowalski raised his finger, pulled open one of his desk drawers, and
withdrew a postcard from it, handing it over to Fraser. "Oh, by the way.
This came for you in the mail yesterday afternoon."  

"Ah. Thank you, Ray." Fraser took the postcard, and he first looked at the
picture on the front of it. It was a picture of a city street at night,
and almost every square inch of the picture was occupied by a neon sign.
It looked very much like Las Vegas to him. Turning it over, Fraser saw
that it was indeed addressed to him. The note read: SOLSBURY HILL LIVE.
Fraser's eyebrows rose, and he lifted his head to Kowalski, who shoved a
slip of paper into a file folder on his desktop.  

"Ray," he said. "I believe you'd be interested in this."  

"What?" Kowalski took the postcard and looked at it again. "So it's a
picture of Las Vegas in the middle of the night. So what?"  

"Well," Fraser said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "the note
says 'Solsbury Hill Live', which is a song by Sarah McLachlan. If I
remember correctly, it deals with returning home."  

Kowalski's eyebrows knitted together. Something about this was very
familiar. Something he hadn't told Fraser before, something that ought to
gratify him big-time. He reached into his desk drawer again, pulled out a
cigarette lighter, and stuck it in his pocket, getting to his feet.
"C'mon, Fraser, we need to talk about something."  

Eyebrows up again, Fraser got to his feet, and he followed Kowalski out
the side door of the squad room. They walked down the hall a short
distance, and Fraser excused himself to the janitor who was mopping the
floor near the doorway. Down the hall they went till they reached the
closet, and after glancing furtively around to make sure that nobody was
watching them, they slipped inside.  

Fraser turned the light on, and Kowalski stopped short just before
tripping over a bucket. He turned to Fraser, took the cigarette lighter
from his pocket, and handed it and the postcard over to him. "I think it's
another subliminal message, Fraser. Remember when we were dealing with
those Russians who were smuggling weapons into the port, and that guy Pike
kept rescuing us from those tough scrapes?"  

"Indeed I do. He must still be out there searching for the Nautilus
woman."  

"Yeah, maybe." Kowalski lowered his voice to just above a whisper, and he
leaned over near Fraser's ear. "But see, when he saved me from being shot
by that Nada lady, he knew exactly who I was."	

"Oh, he did?" Fraser said.  

"Yeah, it's like he knew everything about me, height, weight, my
graduating average in high school, all that. Anyway, he knew where Ray
Vecchio was. See, there was this mob guy named Armando Langoustini who got
killed in a car crash. Vecchio was a dead ringer for him, so he went in as
that guy. He's been working in Vegas for the last few months now."  

"I see!" Fraser said. "So you think that perhaps..."  

"Let's find out," Kowalski said, pointing at the lighter in Fraser's hand.
 

Fraser flipped the lighter open, sprang the flame, and held it under the
postcard. As he waved it underneath the card, the image of the Las Vegas
street melted away. It was the same technique Ray had gotten him to use
last time; there was another image beneath that one. It was a picture of
his greatest friend, Raymond Ignazzio Vecchio, leaning against his late
1971 Buick Riviera with his arms folded and his classic smirk on his face.
Fraser felt like crying--itm had been so long since he'd seen Ray.  

"I think Ray's on his way home," he said to Kowalski in a quiet voice, a
smile growing.	

*****************************************************  

Part 1: Witness  

"Vecchio, just the man I wanted to see," Lieutenant Harding Welsh called
out from his office when Fraser and Kowalski returned to the squad room.
"In here." He beckoned with his finger, and Fraser detoured toward
Kowalski's desk while Kowalski crossed the squad room to the office.
Fraser had barely sat down in front of the desk when he saw a movement in
his peripheral vision. Fixing his gaze, he spotted the woman whose
presence he always dreaded coming toward him.  

"Hi, Fraser," Francesca Vecchio said, leaning seductively on the desk. She
was wearing her customary leather miniskirt with her "uniform" shirt tied
shut in the front, sleeves rolled up.  

"Francesca," Fraser said nervously. "I don't suppose Ray has spoken to you
recently."  

"Are you kidding? He's my brother, what do we have to speak about besides
libel and slander on each other?"  

In reply, Fraser pulled out the postcard from his jacket pocket. He handed
it to Francesca, who was nearly revolted at the sight of her brother--her
real brother--smirking at her from the card. She turned it over and saw
the note on the back of it, and her eyebrows arched.  

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.  

"It means he should be speaking to you again in a day or two," Fraser
said. "Only, as you know, don't tell anyone. I'm not entirely secure in my
mind about that janitor who came to the station almost at the same time as
Ray stopped talking to you." Fraser quickly glanced around to be sure that
said janitor was nowhere in sight.  

"Don't worry, I got you there," Francesca smiled, pointing her finger at
him. She was tempted to add that she'd do just about anything that would
make him happy, but by some unfathomable method, she restrained herself.  

"Thank you kindly," Fraser said, turning his attention to the goings-on in
Welsh's office.  

Welsh was pacing back and forth behind his desk and occasionally staring
across it at Kowalski, who was standing motionless on the other side.
"Just one piece of advice," Welsh was saying. "This happened within a
couple of blocks of you-know-who's neighbourhood."  

"Zuko?" Kowalski guessed, and Welsh nodded. Oh, great. Kowalski detested
mob guys, and Zuko was the worst one in Chicago that he knew of.  

"So you'd better stay away from him," Welsh said. "I don't want him
finding out about this and leaning on us to find who did it, because when
he starts leaning on us, you can bet he'll get his mob after the
perpetrator while he's sweet-talking us."  

"Yeah, I've heard about that, sir," Kowalski said. 
   
 Welsh had finished what he had to say, and now was his time to listen to
what Kowalski had to say. Welsh didn't know about the postcard Ray had
sent, so Kowalski was pretty sure he would have a pleased reaction to
this.  

"Constable Fraser and I got a little piece of mail today, sir," Kowalski 
 said.	

"In the form of?" Welsh inquired.  

"It was a postcard, sir." Kowalski beckoned and leaned on Welsh's desk,
and Welsh leaned toward him from the other side. Kowalski dropped his
voice very low and informed Welsh: "It was from Vecchio. He's on his way
back."	

"Wait, wait," Welsh said. "Vecchio sent you mail when he's supposed to be
keeping his location and identity a secret."  

"I don't know how he did it, sir, but I know he left a cryptic message
that Constable Fraser and I deciphered and he's coming back here. That's
all he wrote, sir, nothing about how he did down there or if he got into
any big trouble."  

"Any idea when?"  

"Nothing there, sir. Nothing about where, either. I guess we'll know when
he just waltzes into the precinct and starts bragging about taking down
the mob."  

"I see," Welsh said. "All right, why don't you go down to Diversey and ask
the booze-store owner what he saw. Chicago is not New York, Vecchio, and
I've got no intention of letting it get that way."  

"You got it, sir," Kowalski said, turning around and marching briskly out
of the office.	

********** 
 It was about time he got out of Las Vegas and back home to Chicago. About
time he saw his old row townhouse and his good old Riv. Just generally
about time to get away from the mob and all this other scum he'd been
seeing around Las Vegas for eight friggin' months. After hanging around
with Fraser for three years, it was hard not to try and respond to the
crimes he'd witnessed on the streets, much less what the mob had been up
to. He considered himself damned lucky--whenever the mob found cops
within, he knew what happened to those cops: they were taken for a dip in
the Great Salt Lake. Not an especially good way to die.  

At the airport concourse, Ray Vecchio turned to the two mob guys who had
driven him over here. He'd been allowed a little summer sabbatical, and he
was supposed to spy on another mob in Chicago, one he was more familiar
with. This one was headed up by Frank Zuko. But in reality, Ray would be
returning to the good old police station to report to Welsh and the powers
that be, who would make a major raid on the mob and put it to sleep for a
nice long period of time.  

"So, Armando." This from Vinnie Mercurio, who had been one of Ray's close
associates during his time with the mob. "How long you thinking on being
away?"	

"Oh, a month, maybe," Ray shrugged. "Just long enough to start a mob war."
He snickered, and Mercurio and his buddy, Al Rossi, laughed along with
him.  

"You call if you need any help up there," Rossi said. "We can have a guy
up with you before the day's out."  

"Maybe I won't need that," Ray said. "I'll be in touch, though." He stuck
out his hand, and Mercurio was the first to take it and shake it.  

"Be seeing you guys," Ray said, shaking hands with him and Rossi.  

"So long, Armando," Rossi said, waving. He and Mercurio turned around and
ambled away from the concourse, walking out of the airport. Ray glared at
their backs, wishing he could just shoot them in the back right here. Oh,
well, he didn't have a gun on him, so that took care of that. He heard the
public address announce that his flight was preparing to board, so he
picked up his bags and walked off toward the gate.  

Half an hour later, his plane was cruising at 30,000 feet, heading
east-northeast, destination: Chicago. Home. Frannie. Fraser. Everybody Ray
knew and was close to, they had all been waiting anxiously for him to
return. He turned around to make sure that nobody he recognised was on the
plane with him; he was lucky once again to have a seat at the front of the
plane, where he could turn and see if anybody from the mob was riding
behind him. None of them were, but even if they had been, he didn't care;
he was going home to Chicago, and there were no mob guys on his tail. It
would be great to see Fraser again. He hadn't seen him since the Mountie
went on working vacation, and he hadn't heard from him since he called
him. The last time he'd been in touch with Benny was when he'd sent him
the postcard, and before that, not since that first postcard. Altering
photographs had been a pretty cool trick he'd learned while with the mob. 


The pilot gave the word that they were at cruising altitude and, in so
many words, that they could do whatever they damn well pleased. That
suited Ray fine. He unbuckled his seat belt, stretched his legs out and
pulled a small cell phone out of his bag, turning it on. He dialed a quick
number and listened to the ring, waiting for the reply.  

The phone on his old desk in the precinct rang, and Fraser, sitting right
there as he brushed away some of Kowalski's paperwork, was there to pick
it up. "Detective Vecchio's desk," he answered.  

"Man, it's kinda weird for me to be calling my own work number, huh?"  

Fraser's eyes grew to twice their normal size, and his mouth dropped open.
"Ray!" he exclaimed.  

"Hey, Benny, how's it going?" Ray said with a broad grin. "Just thought
you'd like to know I'm on my way. You got my postcard, right?"	

"Yes, Ray, I sure did," Fraser said. "Where am I meeting you?"	

"We should be landing at O'Hare in a couple of hours," Ray said. "Listen,
I've got some great news for the gang. For you, too."  

"Oh, really," Fraser said. "And what might that be, Ray?"  

"Well, why don't I tell you when I get there, huh? I don't want to risk
this call being traced. I'll see you at the airport."  

"All right, Ray," Fraser said. It was great to be able to call the real
Ray by that name! "We'll be there to meet you. See you then." He hung up
the phone, leaning back in his chair and letting a surge of exhilaration
flow through him. Ray was on his way home. Fraser couldn't wait to get to
the airport and meet him, but he had to restrain himself from going over
there right away. There were other things he could do with himself till
Ray arrived.  

********** 
 Kowalski arrived back at the station from questioning the owner of a
liquour store, who had witnessed a robbery and homicide near his store. He
hadn't been much help, and Kowalski had a feeling that it had something to
do with Zuko's mob activity. He plunked down behind his desk and leaned on
it, staring at the desktop with a sigh.  

"Not much luck, Ray?" Fraser gathered.	

"You're not kidding, Fraser."  

"Well, our friend is on his way in, should be here in a little while."	

Just a short time after Fraser finished speaking, a new character arrived.
He stood for a short time, glancing around, then looked down and saw
Fraser sitting in front of Kowalski's desk. With a grin, he walked over to
him.  

"This your friend, Fraser?" Kowalski gathered.	

"I was just going to ask the same question," Frank Zuko said, motioning at
Kowalski. "Who's this fella, Constable, mind if I ask?"  

Fraser faltered. Zuko must not have known about the Ray/Kowalski
deception. Communication in the department, as well as that between the
department and those acquainted with it, left something to be desired for
certain. He got to his feet and cleared his throat. "Mr. Zuko, I'm sorry,
but I need to talk to you for a second. Would you mind?"  

"No, I just want to know where Ray Vecchio is," Zuko said.  

"*I'm* Ray Vecchio," Kowalski informed him. "Who is this guy, Fraser?"	

"No, no," Zuko said firmly, pointing at him. "You are not Ray Vecchio. I
don't know who you are, but you're not him." Zuko caught a glimpse of the
postcard still lying on Kowalski's desktop, and he snatched it and
displayed it to Kowalski and Fraser. "*This* is Ray Vecchio. See?
Recognise him, Constable? I dunno who this guy is, but does he even
remotely resemble Ray Vecchio? I'm astounded that you could mistake him
for your best friend."	

"Mr. Zuko, we really do need to talk," Fraser said. "Would you mind?" He
took Zuko by the arm and led him out the squad room's back door, and
Kowalski stared after them. Jack Huey and Tom Dewey, two of Ray's
associates, were also watching them, their attention diverted from the
janitor slowly dipping his mop back into his bucket and pushing it out of
the squad room. He hastened down the hall to the nearest pay phone and dug
into his pants pocket for a dime.  

********** 
 Ray might as well have been the happiest man alive when his plane landed
at O'Hare International. Bags in hands, he flowed along with the concourse
and into the airport. Home, sweet home; precinct, sweet precinct. He
wasn't looking forward to all the debriefing, but he was looking much
forward to seeing his house, his car, his police station, and his friend
again.	

He ambled off the flight concourse, collected his luggage from the
detector's conveyor belt, and headed for the doors of the airport. Fraser
ought to be here somewhere, awaiting his arrival. Just how close a
friendship had Fraser formed with Kowalski in Ray's absence? Ray didn't
know Kowalski that well, but Fraser could make friends with almost anybody
if given enough time. After all, he'd made buddies with Frank Zuko, hadn't
he? Oh, great, Zuko. Ray would doubtless be running into him, too, now
that he was back. What had Frankie been up to while he was away?  

A short distance from the doors, Ray heard a voice calling from somewhere
out of sight. "Hey, Armando!" the voice called.  

Ray turned around, and he saw another mobster he recognised coming toward
him. "Yeah, what's up?" he asked, on his toes in an instant. What was
another mob guy doing here to meet him?  

"Give you a ride?" the mob guy offered.  

"Oh, no thanks," Ray said. "I'm getting a lift outside." He forced his
smile, and he started to move toward the airport entrance again.  

"Uh, hate to burst the ol' bubble, Armando," the mob guy said. "But we
think you really could use a ride down to Halsted with us."  

Ray turned around to glare at him, and that was when he became conscious
of the other mob guy coming up on his other side and shoving a gun into
him, just below the ribs. Ray spun around and stared in shock--his cover
must have been blown somehow. How didn't matter; all that mattered was
that he was as good as dead.  

"Who'd our man in the department say you were?" the second mob guy asked.
"Ray Vecchio, wasn't it? We were wondering why Stan Kowalski up and
disappeared into thin air about eight months ago. C'mon, somebody's gonna
be pleased to meet you."  

******************************************************* 
 Part 2: Emergency  

"It's an endless emergency, without end." 

After Ray was hauled off by the two mob guys, Fraser and Kowalski were
still waiting in one of the various vehicles Kowalski had procured from
the city motor pool. Ever since the burning up of Ray's 1971 Buick
Riviera--which had seemed to suffer twice as much damage as it previously
had since Ray met Fraser--Kowalski had had to use a number of motor pool
cars to get around. That is, until his father finally showed up with a
1967 black GTO, and he and Fraser were sitting in its front seat, waiting
for Ray to appear from the airport's main doors.  

"Where the hell is he?" Kowalski wondered.  

"Not a clue," Fraser admitted. He looked at his watch, and so did
Kowalski. "He called me about two hours ago, which means that his plane
would have landed about ten minutes ago. He collects his luggage from the
detector..."  

"...gets over his jet lag by going to the can..." Kowalski picked up.  

"...comes off the flight concourse and walks at a brisk pace toward the
airport's main gate..."  

"Something must've happened," Kowalski said, not wanting to think about
what. He and Fraser both got out of the car, mounted the steps leading to
the main doors, and marched into the airport, striding toward the arrival
gate. On reaching this gate, they paused to speak to each of the agents at
the gate.  

"Excuse me," Fraser said to the first one in the line. "Has a man named
Raymond Vecchio entered the airport here in the last half hour?"  

The agent glanced down at the roster lying on the desk, flipping through
its pages for a brief time before shaking her head. "Sorry," she said. "No
one by that name came by here."  

"Okay, how about a guy named Armando Langoustini?" Kowalski asked.  

Right away, the agent nodded vigorously. It was hard to forget a name like
that. "Yes, he did come through here about twenty minutes ago," she said. 


"Thank you kindly," Fraser said. "Ray?" He led Kowalski away from the
desk, and they returned to the flight concourses and made a beeline for
one of the waiting areas.  

"Twenty minutes," Kowalski said. "Unless he's got diarrhea, there's no way
he could still be in this airport."  

"Indeed," Fraser said. "He hates flying and he hates airports even worse.
We'd better make a few calls."	

On his cell phone, Kowalski made his first call, and he and Fraser
puttered around the waiting area for about five minutes while waiting for
a return call. When the phone rang, Kowalski was rather hasty to pull it
out of his pocket, and he quickly flipped it open and tugged the aerial to
full extent. "Hello," he said.	

"Yeah. 'Kay.  

"Okay, right. Thanks." He turned the phone off again, and he turned to
Fraser and shook his head. "Cab company says none of the cabbies who were
at the airport picked up anybody answering that description."  

"I see," Fraser said. "They're absolutely certain?"  

"Yeah. But get this. All of those cabbies but one reported back on it."
Kowalski's grin was stretching further and further with every word, and he
took some pleasure in Fraser's surprised look. "The dispatcher was able to
give us the name of that cabbie and the number of the taxi he was
driving."  

"Oh, really," Fraser said. "Well, then, I think it would be a good idea if
we inquired with Francesca on the driver's address."  

"Just what I was thinking," Kowalski said as the pair marched toward the
airport doors.	

"Were you really?" Fraser said with interest.  

"Was I what?"  

"Thinking the same thing I was."  

"Of course, Fraser, in the last eight months I've learned to second-guess
almost your every thought. I'm kind of a fast learner."  

"Ah. Well, then, if our friend is indeed being held captive by the mob
somewhere in this city, and if we are successful in retrieving him, then
what do you suppose the outcome would be?"  

"I think maybe I'd be glad to have him back too, 'cause then you can go
back to working with him while I get my own life back."  

"Well, there, you're not second-guessing my every thought. What I'm
thinking is a debate on who I'm going to call Ray if we succeed."  

"Oh, that's easy enough, isn't it?"  

"There you go again, you believe it'll be a snap while I'm having a
serious inner dilemma."  

"Fraser, how hard can it be to figure out whose name is whose?"  

"Extremely hard when you have two people named Ray, Ray."  

********** 
 Once back in the car, Fraser and Kowalski got onto the radio with
Francesca, instructing her to come up with the address of the cabbie. At
least, Kowalski did the instructing; Fraser did more of the persuading, of
which very little was necessary. Francesca got back to them inside of five
minutes.  

"Here we are, Victor Vincenzo, employed by the Yellow Cab Company,"
Francesca announced. "Twelve seventy-one South Halsted."  

"How about priors, he have any?" Kowalski asked.  

"Six counts of possession of illegal guns," Francesca answered.  

"Weapons, Frannie," Kowalski said irritably. "Illegal weapons. Get it
straight for once, willya?"  

There was an obvious note of complaint, maybe even a bit of whining, in
Francesca's voice as she replied. "Weapons, guns, what's the difference?"
she griped. "Why don't you be a little more flexible."	

"She does have a point, Ray," Fraser said. "There is indeed very little
difference."  

"I knew you'd come to my side, Frase," Francesca said, sounding seductive
even over the radio.  

"I'm not, strictly speaking, at your side, Francesca, I'm merely
reinforcing your opinion," Fraser corrected gently.  

"Yeah, and you're both making pains in the ass out of yourselves,"
Kowalski broke in. "Frannie, you get back to work, and Fraser, next time
we have a chat, you stay out of it."  

"Understood," Fraser capitulated.  

********** 
 "So you have what reason to believe that Ray Vecchio has been captured by
the mob and is being held hostage somewhere in this city?" Welsh demanded,
pacing around behind his desk.	

"Leftenant, this is a matter I feared ever since I discovered that Ray was
undercover," Fraser said. "I have reason to believe that there was a mob
spy in this department somewhere, and when Mr. Zuko came in today and
essentially blew Ray's cover, this spy lost no time letting his
co-conspirators know who to look for. Also, Detective..." Fraser almost
said "Vecchio", but remembering that Ray Vecchio was the subject of this
conversation, he caught himself in the nick of time. "Kowalski made a call
to the taxi companies, and only one driver didn't report in on picking up
a man answering Ray's description. Francesca was able to give us an
address on this man, so Detective Kowalski and I would like to inquire
about the possibility of a stakeout."  

There was a knock on the door, which then opened, and in sashayed
Francesca. "Hi, Fraser," she bubbled.  

"Francesca," Fraser answered nervously.  

"That cabbie who didn't report in? They spotted his cab parked a few
blocks from his place. No sign of him anywhere in the vicinity."  

"All right," Welsh said, now convinced. "Let's maintain the charade till
we have confirmation that the mob has its hooks on Vecchio."  

"What?" Francesca asked, her eyes growing.  

Welsh, taking no notice of her query, went on doling out his instructions.
"Take Huey and Dewey and stake out this guy's apartment. Put some
undercover officers all around the outside of the building. You've got
till Monday next week to get confirmation, but that confirmation had
better not come in the form of a dead body."  

"What?!" Francesca yelped.  

Fraser cleared his throat, and he took her by the arm and led her over
into one corner of the office. "Francesca, I meant to tell you this later
on, but this is something of a serious matter. We'd best go someplace
where we can speak in private."  

"No, no!" Francesca protested. "You tell me now! What's going on with Ray,
what trouble is he in this time?"  

Fraser sighed and scratched his forehead with his thumb. She wasn't going
to give up, was she? "All right," he said. "Stan and I have reason to
believe that Ray has been captured by the mob and is being held hostage
somewhere on the south side."  

Francesca was speechless, and her eyes strayed away from Fraser and past
him at Welsh. "Oh, God," she gasped. "I knew something had to go wrong! If
we don't get to him soon, they could sock him!"  

"Sock him?" Kowalski repeated in exasperation. "Frannie, it's whack him,
not sock him!"	

"Sock, whack, belt, slug, smack, klock, what does it matter?!" Francesca
demanded. "The operative word is 'kill', we've got to move on finding him
now!"  

"All right, already, we are!" Kowalski snapped. "If it'll just shut you up
if nothing else, you can come with us and see how we do."  

"That's better," Francesca said, but her voice was still a tad shaky.  

"But first," Kowalski clarified, "I need you to look up some stuff. Your
brother's been working against a guy named Gabriel Spinale."  

"What, he doesn't have one of those dorky nicknames that all the other mob
guys have?" Francesca placed some sarcastic emphasis on "guys",
remembering when Kowalski had pulled a street-cop vocabulary test on her
involving that term.  

"Of course he does, but nobody wants to know what it is. I need to know
what he owns and where it is. Think you can do that before you start
playing cop with us?"  

Reluctantly, Francesca agreed to do the research Kowalski was after before
she joined them on the stakeout. Kowalski's stomach was starting to make
noises, so while he ambled off to the lunch room to grab a snack, Fraser
made a beeline for the pay phone in the corridor. As he passed the
janitor, he gave him a very dirty look from behind, certain that he was
the one who had alerted the mob to Ray's presence. Evidence was the only
requirement.  

At the phone, Fraser dropped his dime in, and he dialed a number and
awaited the reply. "Yes, hello, Mr. Zuko?" he said. "It's Constable
Fraser. Listen, Ray is having a little problem, and we need your help."  

********** 
 Kowalski assembled a team of police officers to stake out Victor
Vincenzo's apartment building, Among them was none other than Elaine
Besbriss, who had once held a Civilian Aid job before she went to the
police academy. She was still a beat cop, picking up a little overtime or
an undercover assignment here and there. At Kowalski's request, Welsh
pulled her off her present beat and gave her a new one, this one along the
street across from Vincenzo's apartment. For the most part, the rest of
the officers he had stationed here were posing as street bums, lying
drunkenly around on the sidewalk or in the alleys. They would occasionally
change positions, since Elaine was shooing them off the sidewalks to make
it look good, after which another cop would come in to take the place. On
top of the building where Kowalski, Fraser and Francesca were setting up
their command post, three more cops were posing as construction workers
repairing the roof.  

Fraser didn't dare tell Kowalski about the call he had made to Frank Zuko
earlier that day, since it would involve some pretty serious trouble for
him. Perhaps it was a good thing Kowalski had allowed Francesca along,
since they needed two spotters at all times and Fraser still had the
consulate to worry about. Not only was it his home now, but all three of
them knew that Inspector Thatcher would crucify him if he missed one
nanosecond of work. In any case, he was able to get to the command post
along with Kowalski and Francesca.  

They entered the slightly dumpy apartment across the street from
Vincenzo's place, and they dropped the heavy cases carrying their
observation equipment on the floor. Francesca took a look around, taking
in the bare room and the slightly musty smell. There was some sparse
furniture in here, just enough for a command post and some austere living
conditions. Francesca might have a hard time adjusting, but Fraser and
Kowalski had both seen worse.  

"Well, here's the joint," Kowalski said, waving his hand around the
apartment.  

"Hm," Fraser said. "Rather roomy, I think. Of course, it's not the
consulate, but then, very few places are."  

"Almost reminds me of our cabin in Nelson Port," his father interjected
from behind him, moving into the room. "Would you take a look at the
whitewash on the walls, son? I must have used up four cans of the stuff
making that old cabin livable."  

"Shh," Fraser muttered, giving him a look.  

"So," Francesca spoke up, smiling at Fraser and cosying uncomfortably
close to him. "What do we have for sleeping arrangements in here?"  

Seeing that bedroom look on her face, Fraser cleared his throat. This was
one instance when he was glad to have his father around, because Fraser
Sr. provided a good distraction at this point: "Why not build a loft at
one end? Oh, those lofts were no great shakes with your mother--perishing
cold in winter, like a woodstove in the summer."  

"Um, would you excuse me for a moment?" Fraser said to Francesca and
Kowalski. He hurried across the room and disappeared through a door,
closing it behind him. Whether it was a bedroom or a closet or whatever,
neither of them was certain. Ah well, they might as well start setting up
till he returned.  

"All right, Dad," Fraser said after closing the door. "You have your
version of an ideal home, I have mine."  

"Oh, I wouldn't call this the ideal home even from your point of view,
son," Fraser Sr. advised. "I'm sure your Yank friends in there would
agree. Mind if I offer a bit of fatherly advice?"  

"It seems inevitable."	

"She wants you bad, son. Believe me, I know from personal experience that
one of these days, the easy way out will be to just give up and let her
in."  

"Ray will never have that, Dad, and you know it as well as I do," Fraser
countered.  

"Which one? The old one, or the new one? I shudder to think of the
possibilities if the new one had any sisters. Of course, considering how
this will most likely turn out, I don't think the old one will be too
capable of worrying."  

Fraser Sr. could just be so cryptic sometimes that it threatened to drive
Fraser off the deep end--but what was it he'd said? Ray couldn't be too
capable of worrying? He had better not mean what Fraser thought he meant.
"Dad, do you know something I don't?" he asked.  

"Just that one of these days, you'll have to capitulate to some feminine
wiles somewhere," Fraser Sr. shrugged.	

"No, I mean about Ray. What do you mean by that?"  

"I'm not sure, son. It makes me wish I had more experience with organised
crime."  

There was a sharp knock on the door, which then opened. Francesca poked
her head inside, and she peered around the room at the arrangements
inside, such as they were. There was a cot sitting on one side of the
room, a small nightstand containing a wind-up alarm clock, and one bare
light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Fraser was initially afraid that
Francesca had heard him from outside, but all she did was smile, seeing
that there was only one bed in here.  

"Well, this doesn't look too bad, Frase," she observed.  

"No, I suppose not," Fraser said. "Of course, I'll just be on my bedroll
outside, but if you'd like to take the bed, that's quite all right by me.
I think Stan brought his sleeping bag along."  

"Actually, I wouldn't mind if you take the bed," Francesca said
seductively, closing the door.	

"Well...where would you sleep, in that case?"  

"In the bed." Francesca gave Fraser a smile he didn't like one smidgin.
Now she was walking slowly toward him, and the closer she moved, the
further backward Fraser stepped.  

"Um..." Fraser cleared his throat, which seemed to be closing
involuntarily on him. "I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding
here. You see, there's only room for one person there, and I do have my
own sleeping arrangements planned."  

Francesca shrugged carelessly. "Oh," she snorted. "Well. A little change
now and then can't be all bad, can it?"  

"Well, in this case..."  

Fraser silently thanked God when the door swung open, and Kowalski stuck
his head into the room. "Hey, Fraser, we've got cameras and radios to set
up, you want to get a move on?"  

"Gladly," Fraser answered. Hastily, he excused himself to Francesca and
nearly ran around her, following Kowalski out of the room. Francesca
watched them go, sighing in disappointment. No matter what she did, it
seemed as if Fraser was never going to know what she was trying to do for
him.  

"He's never gonna realise what you want, you know."  

Francesca turned around, and her forehead creased at the man she saw
standing in the corner of the room. "Dad, what are you doing here?" she
asked in confusion.  

"I'm telling you to give it up. Bad enough your thickhead brother has to
go risk getting himself killed, but I won't have you risking more than
that for this moron."  

"He's not a moron!" Francesca snapped. "He's a sweet, sensitive guy, he
gets concerned whenever something's the matter--let me put it to you this
way, Dad. He's a helluva lot more caring than you ever were. Than you ever
will be. And quite frankly, I don't care what you think about Ray. I mean,
you don't, do you?" With that, she turned on her heel and marched out of
the room, gambling that her father was too boozed to come up with a
comeback fast enough. "I'm not as think as you drunk I am, ociffer," she
muttered under her breath, almost certain that he told that to one too
many cops who pulled him over in the past.  

******************************************************** 
 Part 3: Apartment Song  

"Eliminate the obvious, it's standing right here in front of us; what our
apartment does when we're not around does not concern us." 

And so began the first day of the stakeout. Nothing much happened, but
then, not much ever did on a stakeout. Kowalski and Fraser spent the first
day working two hours each, spending their off hours reading magazines or
doing exercises. Or at least, Fraser exercised and Kowalski lay around on
the floor doing nothing. Normally he hated stakeouts, but he knew that it
was the only way to protect a fellow officer.  

Down on the sidewalk, Elaine and a few other beat cops patrolled the
sidewalks, changing their shifts every once and so often. They kept a
close eye on Vincenzo's building to see if he went in or out, and Fraser,
Kowalski, Huey and Dewey watched the apartment itself like hawks. Often
enough, Fraser would try entertaining Kowalski with stories of past
stakeouts he'd been on, but it was only after the tenth story that he
realised Kowalski didn't want to hear a word of it.  

In the afternoon, Kowalski was listening to the transmissions among the
stakeout cops, which came in every ten or so minutes. Fraser sat across
the table from him, reading a book of Robert Service poetry. Francesca was
at the police station right now, reading up on Gabriel Spinale's real
estate for Kowalski and Fraser, and Kowalski himself periodically glanced
at his watch and wondered where the heck Francesca could be.  

The next radio message he heard came from Elaine, who had received this
over the open frequency: "Ray, I just got a call from the dispatcher,
there was just an attempted drive-by shooting about a block from here."  

"Well, I wouldn't abandon the stakeout if I were you, Elaine," Kowalski
replied. "Wait a second, you did say 'drive-by', didn't you?"  

"That's right."  

"Okay, good, thanks," Kowalski said, turning the radio off. He took one of
the earphones from his ear, and he turned to Fraser, who gazed
questioningly at him.  

"Elaine says there was a drive-by just now, about a block from here,"
Kowalski said.	

"Hm," Fraser said. "Is that indicative of something we should know?"  

"Well, nine out of ten drive-bys are mob hits. I'll have to keep an open
mike with Elaine and see if it was Vecchio, which I do sincerely doubt, by
the way."  

"I hope you're right," Fraser said quietly, looking out the window. He
knew exactly what was behind that hit. There was no way it could be Ray,
unless Zuko had had a change of heart and decided that he really did want
Ray dead.  

Early on the second morning of the stakeout, Fraser awoke with quite a
start--Francesca was in his face. She was a tad disappointed that he woke
up before she was able to initiate first contact, but she did have some
information for him and Kowalski.  

"I got what you wanted about Gabriel Spinale's property," Francesca said
after Kowalski had rather groggily woken up. "Get this. He owns a big
stupid-corporation warehouse just a few blocks away from here."  

"It's a dummy corporation, not a stupid corporation. But so what?"
Kowalski mumbled. "Just 'cause it's a few blocks away doesn't mean he's
holding Vecchio there."  

"On the contrary, Ray," Fraser said, "as I once told Ray--er, that is, the
real Ray--keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. It was one of
my father's more often repeated words of wisdom. Vincenzo lives here, he
captured Ray, I think he brought him someplace close to home."	

"I guess it explains why Vincenzo hasn't been to his apartment for the
past two days," Kowalski said.	

"Indeed. Thank you kindly, Francesca."	

"Anything else you need, I'm right here," Francesca said sweetly, patting
him on the knee. Good thing, Fraser considered, that his bare legs were
still beneath the covers.  

********** 
 Ray had been expecting his surroundings, so he could more or less live
with them: he was sitting in a hard metal chair in a little-too-warm
boiler room in Gabe Spinale's warehouse, and Spinale's thugs had
handcuffed him to a vertical pipe beside him. At least they'd left one
hand free so he could at least eat, although he hadn't done much of that
either. Most of the previous day, the lights had been off and the room had
been hot, and he'd found a way to get his coat off down to his elbow.
Okay, so the bottom half of his left arm was roasting, but at least he was
a little more comfortable. God alone knew what Spinale and his thugs were
scheming out there.  

The door banged open, and Gabe "Nosey" Spinale, flanked by two of his mob
guys, entered the room. Spinale took his nickname from a nose that looked
like an eagle's beak, a feature that reminded Ray of a crackpot arsonist
he and Fraser had run into during a special assignment in San Francisco
last year.  

"You know, it's sacrilegious," Spinale said to his goons. "Poor ol'
Bookman Langoustini can't even rest in peace without some cop tryin' to be
him."  

"Sacrilegious, shmacrilegious," Ray scoffed. "What do you think, Gabe, God
doesn't give a damn about what you've been doing the last eight months?"  

"Might ask you the same question, Vecchio."  

"Well, here's my answer. God doesn't mind. I've been working to stop it
and you don't know what I've learned yet."  

"Well, I'd love to know," Spinale said with a sarcastic half-grin.  

Ray chortled and shook his head. "Sorry, pal. I'll be long gone before you
even start in on me."  

"Oh, yeah, how do you figure that? Look around you, cop, there's no way
out of here, I got a guard outside the door, I got guys who can hunt you
down no matter where you go, and I'll pay off anybody who can find you for
me."  

"You need a clue? He wears a red coat and a big Smokey Bear hat and he
goes around saying 'thank you kindly' to everything that moves."  

Spinale regarded Ray in bafflement for a moment, and he decided just to
dismiss that line and continue with his threats. "You know what else I can
do with you," he said, folding his arms.  

"Yep," Ray said nonchalantly. "When the Mountie gets here and pounds the
guts out of every living thing in this building, you can let me go with
him."  

"Hey, Nosey," a third voice called from outside the room. Spinale turned
around, and into the  boiler room came another mob guy, whom Ray
recognised as Vic "V-Chip" Vincenzo. Ray had gone to high school with him,
and he'd been voted the most likely to wind up behind bars. If only his
classmates had known how right they were, because Ray had every confidence
that Fraser would be by for him in no time at all.  

"Hey, guess what, Viccy, you're gonna make good on your high school
superlative," Ray called to him, grinning sardonically. His dry wit cost
him, for one of Spinale's goons swung the butt of a small pistol across
his cheek. There was a brief moment of pain, but it passed quickly, and
Ray didn't lose a bit of hope.	

"What's up, V-Chip?" Spinale asked.  

"First a drive-by up the block, and now this," Vincenzo said. "Frank Zuko
just gave us a buzz and said he was gonna torch our place on Water
Street."  

"Water Street?" Spinale repeated. "I got a half a ton of heroin in that
place! That bastard Zuko ain't getting away with this!" He tore his cell
phone out of his pocket, turned it on, and started punching in a number.
Ray's eyebrows rose at the mention of the half ton of heroin, but when
Spinale mentioned Zuko, his forehead creased. What business did Zuko have
picking a fight with Spinale all of a sudden? Surely it couldn't have
anything to do with him, could it?  

"What do you want to bet Zuko was behind the drive-by, too?" Vincenzo
asked.	

"Crate of heroin," Spinale said, slapping Vincenzo's hand to seal the bet.
Then he turned his undivided attention to his phone. "Yeah, it's Nosey.
How's our place on Water Street?  

"What the hell--! Okay, thanks, call me back if anything else comes up."
Spinale slammed the phone shut and jammed it back into his pocket. "Damn
it, Zuko already hit the place, it's burning to a crisp. Vic, you go over
to your place and grab that pipe bomb you've been working on. You know
where Zuko's favourite cigar shop is?"	

Vincenzo nodded. "Good, go make like you're trying to make a business
deal, then leave the bomb in there," Spinale said. "I'm going over and see
what the warehouse looks like."  

"What about him?" one of the goons asked, nodding at Ray.  

"We'll take care of him later. I've got better things to do, c'mon."
Spinale marched toward the door of the boiler room and led Vincenzo and
his goons outside, shutting the door behind them and locking it. Just in
case of another hit from Zuko, he told both of his henchmen to accompany
him, rather than leaving one behind to guard the door.	

Within five minutes, Spinale was on his way to Water Street, and Vincenzo
was walking from the warehouse to his apartment. He came around the
corner, and Elaine, trotting along on the other side of the street after
shooing away two more cops posing as bums, spotted him right away. She
kept a close eye on him, watching him make a beeline for the apartment
house and start up the steps to the door.  

Elaine immediately thumbed the button on her radio mike. "Detective
Vecchio," she hailed.  

"Go ahead, Elaine," Kowalski answered from up above.  

"Vincenzo just entered the building," Elaine reported.	

"Yeah, we got him," Kowalski said. He had taken a picture of Vincenzo's
entrance into the building, and Fraser, sitting next to him, lifted his
own radio.  

"Detective Huey, you saw?"  

"We caught him coming around the corner and all the way to the door," Huey
responded from the apartment house next door.  

Kowalski, keeping the camera trained on the windows of Vincenzo's
apartment, waited for him to appear and start collecting evidence. Fraser
was watching the same windows through his small telescope, and he saw the
door open and admit Vincenzo to the apartment.	

"There he is," he observed.  

"I see him," Kowalski said, taking a picture. Vincenzo started to move
through the apartment, and Kowalski and Fraser both followed his movements
with their respective devices. He entered another room, probably the
bedroom, and paused at the window, bending down. Kowalski took another
picture, then another of what seemed to be Vincenzo opening a trunk or
something like that.  

"Looks like he's rooting around for a gun or something," Kowalski said.
Fraser silently nodded in agreement, and he saw Vincenzo straighten up.
Now the mob guy had a large plastic, silver-coloured case in his hand, and
he left the bedroom and started out of the apartment.  

"You don't need a suitcase that big to carry a gun, Ray," Fraser said as
Kowalski took another picture. He took one more of Vincenzo leaving the
apartment, then grabbed his radio. "All units, Vincenzo's on his way out,
keep your eyes open. Huey, Dewey, you guys stay there and keep taking
snapshots if he tries to get away." With that, he and Fraser jumped to
their feet and hastened out of the apartment with Francesca at their
heels. Down the stairs they went to the front door, and they hit the
sidewalk near Elaine almost simultaneously with Vincenzo on the other side
of the street.	

"Police, hold it!" Kowalski yelled, holding his badge aloft. In response,
Vincenzo reached into his belt, yanked a .357 Magnum out of the holster
and took a shot at the three cops across the street. Francesca promptly
ducked back indoors, but Kowalski and Elaine both drew their own guns and
returned fire, inciting Vincenzo to duck as he ran for the next alley
over. He was already under heavy fire from the officers posing as street
bums nearby, so he continued shooting back as he entered the alley. To
facilitate his getaway, he flung the case to the sidewalk. Fraser was
promptly on his tail, and Kowalski was glad for the opportunity to pause
and get his glasses on.  

"Elaine, call it in, backup at eleven-eighty South Ashland!" he yelled,
dashing across the street. "Go grab that case and get someone to take it
in!" Elaine yanked her radio mike off her shoulder and obeyed Kowalski's
instructions, watching him enter an alley running parallel to the one
Fraser and Vincenzo were in.  

Fraser knew that Ray--and Kowalski, for that matter--would often yell at a
perp to give it up if they were chasing him on foot, but he was aware that
yelling would be a waste of breath. He pounded up the alley on Vincenzo's
tail, wishing he was at least licenced to carry his gun in these parts so
he could take a pot shot at his leg. After all, Vincenzo *had* shot at him
and his associates first, and God knew what he had done to Ray.  

At the other end of the alley, Vincenzo cannoned out into the street,
forcing a dead halt on all traffic coming his way. He slowed down but
didn't stop, jumping over a car's hood at one point. Then, the traffic had
just started moving again when Fraser showed up, forcing another halt. He
never even heard the noise of a car rear-ending the vehicle in front of
it; he was concentrating solely on Vincenzo, pounding into another alley
and starting up a nearby fire escape. Vincenzo leaped up the bottom ladder
leading to the first platform, and Fraser nearly vaulted up the rungs
after him, climbing the stair flights rapidly.	

Kowalksi had just seen Fraser disappear into the alley by the time he got
to Ashland Street, so he dashed across the street--at least there was more
of a gap between him and the traffic--and made it to the opposite
sidewalk, sprinting for the warehouse where he knew Spinale was holed up.
As he passed the alley where he'd last seen Fraser and Vincenzo, he looked
into it long enough to see them at the top of the fire escape, striking
out across the roof. Spinale's joint was just a couple of blocks away, and
Kowalski wasn't such a bad runner. With any luck, he'd beat them to it.  

Now Fraser and Vincenzo were jumping roofs. This side of the street was
lined with apartment buildings, which were all pretty much the same
height, although there was one that was a tad lower than the rest.
Vincenzo, on hitting that roof, toppled to his side and rolled a few feet
before getting up, dashing on. Fraser had no such problem, hitting the
roof with both feet and stepping off on his left one. The next roof was
slightly higher than this one, and when Vincenzo leaped across the gap,
his waist was level with the next roof by the time he hit it. He heaved
himself up onto the roof before he dropped too far, and Fraser did the
same, just missing catching him. This time, Vincenzo didn't go for the
next roof over; he altered his course and ran for a door close by. In he
went, and he started down the stairs with Fraser still on his tail.  

Too late, Fraser realised why he was chasing Vincenzo to this particular
building; it was the one where Ray was being held. No doubt Vincenzo would
use Ray as a human shield whenever Fraser and Kowalski caught up with him.
Fraser would have to take a look at the bigger picture whenever he did
catch up with him, and he pounded down the stairs after Vincenzo and to
the structure's basement.  

Sure enough, he followed Vincenzo into a dark, humid boiler room in the
corner of the building, and just before entering the room behind him,
Fraser spotted Kowalski running toward the same door with his gun in his
hand. They burst into the boiler room together just in time to see
Vincenzo disappearing behind an oil tank while snapping out his own gun
again. Fraser and Kowalski sprinted after him, and within seconds, they
were obliged to stop dead in their tracks. Vincenzo was dragging Ray out
from behind the oil tank, holding the gun to his neck.	

"Back off, both of you," Vincenzo growled. "Lose the iron."  

Slowly and stiffly, Kowalski complied, lowering his gun to the floor.
Fraser, as impassive as ever, shook his head once and stared steely-eyed
at Vincenzo. "I'm afraid I don't have a gun."  

"I said, lose it, before I blow his head off," Vincenzo snarled.  

"He doesn't have one, Vic," Ray said. And to prove it, Fraser turned
halfway around and opened his holster to display its emptiness.  

"As you can see, I don't have one," Fraser said. "And you're not going to
blow Detective Vecchio's, or anybody else's, head off. You're going to
surrender your weapon and yourself and come with us, and you're going to
give us the rest of the mob."  

"What the hell you talking about?" Vincenzo demanded. "I've got a gun and
I've got a hostage! What do you got, an empty holster and a cop who needs
glasses to shoot his gun?!"  

"It's the only outcome I can see at this point," Fraser said. Vincenzo had
no idea why Kowalski wasn't dissenting--Kowalski hadn't said a word
throughout the confrontation, he was just glaring at Vincenzo as if he
didn't care that his colleague's life was in danger.  

"Well, I see another one, I see us walking right between you two and out
of here," Vincenzo said. "So move aside."  

"That won't be necessary," Fraser said.  

A split second later, Vincenzo felt the sensation of cold metal against
the side of his neck, just behind and below his ear. His eyes cocked to
the right, but the newcomer was out of his line of vision.  

"Gun, now," Frank Zuko ordered, moving his own weapon into Vincenzo's ear.
Ever so slowly, Vincenzo lifted his gun away from Ray's neck and held it
away from him. Zuko grabbed it, and Vincenzo removed his arm from around
Ray, who was more than glad to shove him away. Kowalski picked up his gun,
catching the one Zuko tossed to him, and he moved in on Vincenzo, reaching
for his handcuffs.  

"You oughta pay more attention to your basement windows," Zuko said smugly
to Vincenzo, jerking his thumb at the open window through which he had
come.  

Ray turned to Fraser, who watched the smile growing on his own friend's
face, feeling his own smile stretch almost painfully. He took a step
toward him and threw his arms around Ray, who returned the embrace
tightly, patting Fraser on the back.  

"Damn, Benny, it's good to see you again!" Ray said ecstatically.  

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Fraser said. "Welcome back, Ray.
I think the entire Chicago Police Department welcomes you back."  

Ray released him, standing back. He never thought he'd be so overjoyed to
see that Damn Red Suit and the big hat again, much less Fraser's boyish
half-smile and his nutty sayings. He'd almost be happy to hear all the
"thank you kindlies" and "oh, dears" and "ahs" and "hmms" and
"mynameisconstablebentonfraserroyalcanadianmountedpoliceifirstcametochicag
oonthetrailof 

thekillersofmyfatherandforreasonsthatdontneedexploringinthisjunctureiverem
ainedattachedasliaisonwiththecanadianconsulates" that had made Fraser as
annoying as he'd always been.  

"How'd you get through the mob and get to me, anyway?" Ray asked.  

"Well, Ray, I don't think we can take credit for getting through. It's Mr.
Zuko that you should thank for making that possible." Fraser motioned
toward Zuko, who had a knowing smile and raised eyebrows.  

"I owed him some favours, what better way to even the score?" he shrugged.
 

"I suppose I should say thank you," Ray said without smiling.  

"Yeah, you should," Zuko said. "Okay, fellas, now that you've done what
you had to do, I'm out of here. I've got to call off my boys."	

"Well, it's gonna be a lot harder to get Spinale under control, you know
that better than anybody else here," Kowalski said. "Listen, Vecchio, when
we get back to the precinct I've got a little news I've got to deliver.
Better talk about it in private, though." He shoved Vincenzo to the door
of the boiler room, and Ray watched him go and turned back to Fraser,
frowning.  

"Any input on that, Benny?" he asked.  

"I'm afraid I'm not sure what he's talking about," Fraser said, although
he had the uneasy feeling that it had something to do with the burning of
Ray's house and car.  

"Frank?" Ray said.  

"Just met him the other day, I dunno," Zuko said. "Listen, I've got a lot
of work to do. My boys are all over the city, working Spinale's places.
I've got to pull them off without pissing them off."  

"Okay, then just tell them you think the cops are getting onto you and you
want them to call it off before they trace anything to you," Ray said.
"Believe me, they'll buy it. Happened a couple of times down in Vegas when
we were knocking joints over."	

"All right, I'll try it," Zuko said, giving him a rather hard pat on the
shoulder. "Glad you're back, Ray." He trailed after Kowalski, and Fraser
wore a wide, if lopsided smile as he turned to his friend.  

"So am I, arguably more than anybody else who knows you," he said. "C'mon,
Ray. I think we have a lot of catching up to do."  

"That we do," Ray agreed. "Say, Benny, how's it been going with Kowalski
and everything else? Frannie working Civilian Aid?"  

"Oh, you knew about that?" Fraser said, eyebrows raised. He was suddenly
nervous, knowing just how it had been going with Francesca working
Civilian Aid.  

"Yeah, I got her the job when Elaine was getting close to graduation," Ray
said. "So how's it been?"  

"Well, if you really want to hear the story, Ray..." Fraser anxiously
awaited the reply as they left the room to return to the stakeout.  

*********************************************************** 
 Part 4: Looking For A Place To Happen	

"Looking for a place to happen, making stops along the way." 

Francesca and Elaine were both waiting outside the building when Fraser,
Ray and Kowalski returned, and when she saw her brother approaching in the
flesh and in one piece, Francesca couldn't help herself. Shouting his
name, she bounded across the street, and Ray yelled in return and strode
forward to meet her. Francesca slammed into Ray and wrapped her arms
tightly around him, and he had no idea why he did this--he hugged her back
and exchanged a kiss on the cheek with her.  

"My God, when I heard what happened, I thought you were a goner,"
Francesca gibbered.  

"Frannie, after thirty-one years of living with me, you oughta know one
thing: No criminal, mob guy or otherwise, ever gets to me. And when we set
out to stop this mob war before it starts, that makes us the next
generation of the Untouchables." He smiled knowingly, but then he allowed
his eyes to shift downward. It was then that he noticed the alterations
she'd made to the civilian-aide uniform.  

"What the hell..." he muttered in disbelief. "Kowalski!"  

Kowalski glanced up from shoving a stick of gum into his mouth, and he
raised his eyebrows at Ray, who glared. The glare still didn't nullify
Kowalski's joy at being called by his own name.  

"Did you encourage this?" Ray demanded, indicating Francesca's outfit.	

"No, I did not encourage that, Vecchio, no sane cop encourages someone to
be out of uniform," Kowalski retorted. "Besides, I was supposed to be
pretending she was my sister, what do you think I thought of it? I mean,
if any one person encouraged it..." Kowalski lifted an accusing finger
behind Fraser's back. "He did."  

Ray's glare shifted to Fraser, who was giving him the classic big-eyed
Mountie look. Ray always thought he looked so dumb when he looked like
this, but that didn't matter to him now. He took a threatening step
forward, growling, "Fraser..."	

"Um..." Fraser stammered. "I...I imagine that perhaps I did encourage it,
Ray, but I assure you, it was completely unintentional. Wouldn't you
agree, Francesca?"  

She shrugged and smiled, and Fraser didn't like that look one bit. "Well,
you know, a little leather here, a chain there, it's not always pure
coincidence..."  

"Leather and chains?!" Ray exploded, and this time both Fraser and
Kowalski got the full fury of his temper.  

"Vecchio, why don't you hold off for a couple of days and take a look and
see for yourself!" Kowalski said.  

"Nothing doing, pal, she's my little sister and I outrank you and in both
capacities I say back off!"  

"Oh, geez, I've heard of fighting over a woman before, but this is
ridiculous!" Kowalski snarled, throwing up his hands.  

"Yeah, well, I'd like to know how many times you've done it since you took
my place!" Ray shot back.  

Fraser couldn't listen to this any longer. He had to step in before this
degenerated any further, especially considering who the subject of the
argument was and the fact that she was standing right behind them. He
moved in, and in a loud voice, he said, "Ray!"	

Both Ray and Kowalski turned toward him and barked, "What?!" At this, they
turned back and stared at each other in surprise, then returned to
complete hostility. "Oh, great, he still thinks he's me!" Ray snapped.
"You know, maybe I should just change my name to Stanley Kowalski and
everybody can go away happy!"  

"ENOUGH!" Francesca screamed suddenly. All three men whirled toward her,
and she was standing, hands on hips, feet apart, giving the trio an
astonished look. "I can't believe you people!" she said. "It wasn't
anybody's fault that I wanted to look like this, there's no need to start
slinging dirt at each other over it!"  

"Slinging MUD, Frannie, we're slinging mud, not dirt!" Kowalski snapped.  

"Oh, right, like there's a difference," Ray scoffed. "Well, so much for
the homecoming, huh, Fraser? That's a good idea. I think I'll go home." He
turned around and started marching to nowhere in particular. Fraser and
Kowalski both gulped and looked at each other, knowing what had happened
to Ray's home.	

Ray stopped and turned around, and his look showed that he wasn't ready to
get too friendly with Kowalski just yet. "Okay, Kowalski, where'd you hide
my car? And how've you been treating it?"  

Fraser and Kowalski both gulped and looked at each other again, knowing
what had happened to Ray's car. "We'll get the car later, Ray," Fraser
said. "Right now, I think you're being awaited at the precinct."  

********** 
 When Fraser, Ray, Francesca and Kowalski entered the squad room, all four
of them were taken aback by the throng of police officers waiting inside
for them. As they entered, a roaring cheer and an explosion of applause
went up from the multitude and nearly deafened the three of them. Huey and
Dewey were amongst the first to come forward and pat Ray on the back,
welcoming him home; Welsh, predictably, was the next. If anything, they
were all happy to see him back--especially Diefenbaker, who leaped up and
pawed at Ray's waist and stomach with excitement. Needless to say, Ray was
surprised at this, but eventually he incited Diefenbaker to stay on all
fours where he belonged.  

It took a while for the cheering and clapping to die down, and when it at
last did, Welsh was the first to speak. "On behalf of the entire Chicago
P.D.," he announced, "I'd like to welcome Detective Vecchio back to the
fold."	

"Thanks, Lieutenant," Ray said. "And thanks to everybody who got together
today to welcome me back. But right now, I've got a little personal
business to take care of."  

Naturally, there was some private speculation as to what this personal
business was. When they saw the dangerous look on Ray's face, the
occupants of the squad room concluded that it wasn't bathroom-related. Ray
seemed to be marching toward his desk; then as he drew closer, it became
evident that he was headed for the side door of the room.  

Just in front of that door, the janitor was slowly mopping away, dipping
the mop into the bucket time and again. Noting the silence except for the
three pairs of footsteps, he turned around to see what was what. Ray was
almost on top of him, and Ray did not look the least bit happy.  

Immediately the janitor threw his mop to the floor, and he bolted out of
the squad room and ran down the hall in sheer desperation, shoving anybody
out of the way who happened to be in it. Ray was on his heels, gun in
hand, and Fraser and Kowalski had already gone out the squad room's main
doors and were circling around to head him off.  

Ray had no intentions of yelling at anybody else to stop the janitor; the
guy belonged to him, and he wasn't going to let anybody else near him.
Except possibly for Fraser, who abruptly appeared around a bend up ahead,
fist ready. He let it fly, and it rammed into the janitor's face and
stopped him short, sending him sprawling on his back.  

Ray and Kowalski were both aiming their guns straight down at him, and
letting Kowalski keep him covered, Ray shoved his gun into his belt and
dragged the janitor to his feet. Taking out his handcuffs, he shoved the
janitor against the wall and started to slap them on. "You are under
arrest, you mopheaded bastard," he snarled. "And I'm not gonna read you
your rights, 'cause you don't deserve 'em." He roughly spun the janitor
around and held him by the lapels, glaring eye-to-eye at him, just
centimeters from his face. "You want to sue for malicious prosecution, you
better start thinkin' up an amount, 'cause every damn body in this
department is gonna prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law."
Dragging him away from the wall, he shoved him inclemently toward the
holding cells without sparing Fraser and Kowalski a second glance.  

"Good call about that janitor, Fraser," Kowalski said.	

"I was hoping he wouldn't give him the same treatment as he gave Frank
Zuko once," Fraser said. "I'm glad my hopes came true."  

While Ray was booking the janitor and taking him to the holding cells,
Kowalski accompanied him while Fraser returned to the squad room. It had
returned to its usual bustle after the news got back about the janitor, so
Fraser steered clear of Francesca, plopped down by Ray's desk, and waited
for his two friends to return. When they reentered the squad room, Ray
looked a little more doleful than he had before, and Fraser knew what
Kowalski had told him. He got to his feet, and Kowalski ducked out the
side door of the squad room, leaving Fraser and Ray to discuss things
together.  

"So how did you know, Ray?" Fraser asked.  

"About the janitor? Well, you told me on the way back here that you knew
he was probably the one who blew my cover. Just before you and I went over
to Alameda last year, I heard about a mob guy at the bottom of the food
chain whose nickname was the Mophead. Wasn't hard to make the connection."
 

Fraser raised a pair of approving eyebrows. Not bad for Ray, but Fraser
hoped that it wouldn't be that easy for him to figure this one out ahead
of time. "Uh, Ray," he said, "there's a little matter we need to discuss.
It's a matter you may not like."  

"It's okay, Benny," Ray said. "Kowalski already told me what happened to
your apartment and my house, I don't mind as long as everybody's safe."  

"Actually, Ray, I'm afraid everybody's not safe," Fraser said in a subdued
tone. "You see, we were being stalked by a serial arsonist who knew where
she could catch us both. Now, I did my best to locate the igniter before
it went off, but...well, let's just say your car may be salvageable this
time."	

Ray's eyes widened. They turned momentarily up to the ceiling, then moved
back down and glared straight into Fraser's. "You did it again, didn't
you?" Ray demanded with a very heavy sigh.  

"Um, yes..." Fraser said, bowing his head.  

"You blew up my car again, didn't you?!"  

"Ray, it didn't blow up, it just burned. As I said, I tried to locate the
igniter, but it was on Stan's side beneath the dashboard, so I was unable
to get to it, and we were forced to ditch the car in the lake they call
Michigan. Or to be more precise, forty-three degrees, fifty minutes and
seventeen seconds north, and eighty-seven degrees, fifty-five minutes and
thirty-two seconds west--"  

Ray's nostrils flared, and he threw up his hands. "North, west, dashboard,
back seat, I don't give a damn, my car has been destroyed again!" he
ranted. "Now you go back over to that lake, and don't you set foot in this
station again until my car is back on dry land, do you understand me?!"  

"Understood, Ray, I'm on my way," Fraser said, hurrying around Ray. He
ducked out the side door and hastened off to find Kowalski.  

**********  

Within the hour, Kowalski had whipped up a story that the Riviera was
evidence needed for an investigation, and it worked like a charm on the
salvage team. Kowalski directed them over to the pier off of which he had
driven the car at Fraser's urging, and Fraser decided he would likely be
surprised if Ray even looked in his direction while they were heading over
there.	

While the three were heading over to the pier, they wound up near the end
of a line at a traffic light. Kowalski drummed his fingers on the wheel,
Ray just sighed impatiently and stared out the window, and Fraser also
looked out the window, seeing an alley across the sidewalk from them. It
wasn't the alley that got his attention; it was what was lying in the
alley.	

"Stan, pull the car over," Fraser said.  

"What?" Kowalski said. "And quit calling me Stan."  

"Sorry, but I think I see something in that alley." Fraser pointed, and
Kowalski and Ray followed his gaze and saw the same thing. Kowalski
complied, pulling the car out of the line and up alongside the curb. The
trio got out of the car and strode toward the alley, Ray taking his cell
phone along to call it in if it was what he thought it was.  

"Great, another stiff, like we don't get enough of those in this city,"
Kowalski observed, taking a look at the dead body lying next to a stack of
crates and garbage bags on one side of the alley.  

Fraser knelt down beside the corpse, rolling it over. Instinctively, Ray
recoiled, almost bumping into Kowalski. "Oh, my God," he said
incredulously. "It's Steve West!"  

"Wasn't he an associate of Zuko's?" Fraser said.  

"Yeah," Ray said.  

Fraser scanned the body for a sign of the cause of death, seeing none.
"There are no bullet or knife wounds," he observed, shaking his head.
"We'd better have Mort look him over."	

"Okay, just remind me to be in the squad room when Mort starts in on him,"
Kowalski said.	

"First things first, Fraser," Ray said, pointing his finger.  

"Understood." Fraser rose to his feet, and Ray turned on his cell phone to
call for a hearse.  

********** 
 Once the hearse had dropped by and carted the corpse back to the morgue,
Fraser, Ray and Kowalski proceeded to the pier. The salvage team was a few
minutes ahead of them with a yard crane on the waterfront, and when they
arrived, its cable was in the water and taut. Evidently it had latched
onto something, and the threesome stood on the edge of the pier and
listened to the crane hoisting the car out of the lake.  

"Great," Ray grumbled, watching the Riviera rise back into the light. "The
thing's been lying in there for eight months, it'll probably be about
eighty percent rust. We'll be lucky if we can find enough primer to even
get started."  

"Actually, Ray, rust isn't much of a problem in this case," Fraser said.
"You see, metal objects only become prone to rust when they're exposed to
moisture and then to open air. Your car, on the other hand, has been
completely immersed in water without being exposed to the air, so it
shouldn't be as rusted as you fear."  

"Okay, do me a favour, Benny. I'm going to have to take it to Al for the
repair job. Do one of those nitpicky inspections of yours, okay? I want to
know how much I can take off the final price if he does a typical job."  

"As you wish, Ray." Fraser watched the crane and suspended car swiveling
from above the lake over to the dock, and with a ninety-degree turn
completed, the cable unraveled and lowered the car to the dock. Its front
bumper hit the pavement a little too hard for Ray's peace of mind, and he
winced.  

"Easy on the car, bozo," he muttered in the direction of the crane's
control cabin.	

"Well, he's not really raising the Titanic, Vecchio," Kowalski scoffed.  

"He is to me," Ray shot back. The crane lowered the car's rear end to the
dock in its own sweet time, and immediately Ray hastened forward with
Fraser and Kowalski on his heels. Ray mumbled something under his breath
before reaching the car, and he leaned on the passenger door, which was
still open after Fraser and Kowalski's escape from the car. He peered
inside, shaking his head and sighing in annoyance.  

"There, you see, Ray?" Fraser said. "Very little damage, only to the paint
job and the upholstery. A little drying-out, some primer, and a bit of
metal and upholstery rehabilitation and new paint job, and it'll be as
good as new."  

"Tell that to Al," Ray muttered. He raised his voice and called to one of
the salvage team members, "Okay, get it over to the impound, we'll be
right there." Taking Fraser and Kowalski aside, he mumbled to them, "Let's
make it quick, pretend to get the evidence we need and then go to a
garage, okay?"	

"No trouble, Ray," Fraser said.  

"As long as this isn't on my conscience anymore," Kowalski tossed in, no
matter how hard he tried to blame it on Fraser. After all, he'd been the
one who hit the horn and ignited the fire.  

********** 
 It took them less than two hours to haul the Riviera over to the impound,
pretend to collect evidence, and then convey the car to a garage owned by
Ray's cousin. At least for Ray, Al Grosso was awfully easy to push when it
came to car repairs. Whenever the Riviera had needed repairs, Ray would
often get Fraser to inspect the car closely, and he would then order Al to
lop a certain amount off the price for each discrepancy Fraser found. Ray
was smugly confident that Al wouldn't get out of this one easily--at the
garage, Al told him that it would take him a few days working overtime, so
Ray told him to take the overtime and he'd pay a little extra. That
convinced Al, and having made sure that he got to work, Ray went with
Fraser and Kowalski back to the precinct.  

In the basement, the trio found their way to the morgue. Dr. Mort
Gustafson, the coroner, was ready and waiting for them with the body of
Steve West on his operating table. Mort was no doubt Scandinavian, which
showed through in his appearance and his accent. He was also a little on
the weird side of eccentric, with a penchant for singing opera while he
examined the myriad stiffs that came to him daily.  

Fraser, Ray and Kowalski entered the morgue, and Mort looked up from
behind his microphone and smiled at them. "Ray," Fraser said, "may I
present Dr. Mort Gustafson, who took Dr. Pearson's place as medical
examiner shortly after you left for Las Vegas."  

Mort, Ray thought as he shook Mort's outstretched hand. Not too bad a name
for a mortician. "A pleasure to meet you, and welcome back," Mort smiled
in his deep, rolling bass on which he prided himself, and always kept
honed while he did his job.  

"Yeah, thanks," Ray said, beginning to get a little sick of hearing that.
Okay, he was back, it didn't mean everybody had to make that big a deal
out of it. "Okay, so what's the story with this one?"  

"Well, let's find out, shall we?" Mort said, pulling on his latex gloves. 


As he did so, Fraser turned to Kowalski, who was staring intently at the
floor and hardly daring to look up at the body on the table. "Stan, didn't
you want to be in the squad room during this?"	

"Fraser, don't call me Stan," Kowalski muttered. "And no, I changed my
mind."	

"Ah." Fraser shrugged; far be it from him to try and change either man's
mind once it was made up. He turned his attention back to Mort, who was
now tossing back the cover from the body. Now the three observers could
see that West's body was covered with bruises, such that it looked like
he'd almost been beaten to death. Oddly, though, his face wasn't that
badly banged up, but Kowalski was still sickened enough by the sight to
turn away with his fist over his mouth. He backed off and hovered near the
sink.  

"Looks like he's been beaten to death," Ray observed, taking a look over
the bruises.  

"No, his face would be cut if he'd been beaten up," Fraser contradicted.  

Mort began to probe, and then he began to sing. Fraser recognised the tune
instantly--Beethoven's 9th Symphony, the Ode to Joy. He bobbed his head
quietly to it as Mort sang, and then at the second verse, he joined in.
Ray's already incredulous look turned downright disbelieving as he stared
at Fraser, while Kowalski just sighed and shook his head in annoyance. It
drove him nuts when Mort sang over a dead body, but with Fraser joining
in--argh.  

"Hmm," Mort said. "I'd say the time of death was between eleven o'clock
this morning and two o'clock this afternoon. Notice how badly the flesh is
bruised on his elbows."  

"Hm," Fraser repeated. Ray snapped his head up and glared momentarily,
then turned away and snorted a quick laugh up his sleeve. As Fraser took a
pair of latex gloves for himself and donned them, he raised his eyebrows.
"What's so funny, Ray?"  

"You," Ray snickered. "I can't believe I forgot about that 'hm' of yours.
Hey, Kowalski, how many times has he said 'hm' or 'ah' to you since I
left?"	

"You think I've been counting?" Kowalski said over his shoulder.  

"Good answer," Ray said.  

"Mort, could you give me a hand?" Fraser asked. Mort, seeing what Fraser
was getting at, took the body by the left shoulder and started to roll it
halfway over. Fraser placed his hands on the back and pushed, and he
peered closely at the skin on the back.  

"Aha," he said. "Nearly identical bruises on the back of his head and
along his spine. I may be getting rusty, but offhand, I'd say he was
thrown out of a window up above and landed on his back, hard enough to
bounce and roll a little."  

"Oh, yeah," Ray said. "That's one of Spinale's beefs, throwing guys out
the window. Let me guess, more than two dozen broken bones?"  

"Indeed," Mort informed him. "He hit the ground hard. It's a surprise his
neck wasn't broken on impact."	

Ray's cell phone rang, and he pulled it from his coat pocket and turned it
on. "Vecchio," he said, moving away from the others.  

"Hey, Ray, it's me."  

Ray glowered down at the phone before answering. "What do you want,
Frankie?"  

"You know Steve West?"	

Ray's brow furrowed. Why did he get the feeling that Zuko had something to
do with this--but no, West was one of Zuko's boys. But then, Ray wouldn't
put it past Zuko to off one of his own gang if it occurred to him. "Uh,
why do you ask?"  

"Well, he's gotten me some really useful information I'd like to share,"
Zuko said. "Want to meet me at my place in oh, say, half an hour?"  

"What's the information about?"  

"Look, let's talk about it when you get here. God knows when one of our
phones is being traced."  

"Well, the only reason I ask is because about five feet behind me, our
coroner is examining West and gradually concluding that somebody threw him
out a window about three hours ago."  

********** 
 With that bit of news in mind, Fraser, Ray and Kowalski met Zuko at his
house, and they conferred in Zuko's study. Ray was content to remain on
his feet--he felt it gave him a more dominant position--while Fraser and
Kowalski sat in front of the desk. Zuko leaned back in his chair behind
it, his hand resting on a piece of paper on the desktop.  

"Positive I.D. on West, I'm sure," Zuko said.  

"No doubt," Fraser answered.  

Zuko shook his head and stared off to one side, sighing. "Damn," he
muttered. "Spinale's going to hear about this, believe you me."  

"In the form of what?" Kowalski asked suspiciously, slouching in his seat.
 

"Well," Fraser said conversationally, "far be it from me to accuse Mr.
Zuko of mob activity, but those who do dabble in it tend to be partial to
perhaps a drive-by shooting, a bomb, concrete clodhoppers would be among
first picks."  

"Concrete clodhoppers? What's that, synonymous with cement overshoes?"
Kowalski scoffed.  

"Oh yes, right you are," Fraser said, and repeated to himself in a mutter,
"Cement overshoes, cement overshoes, perhaps in the form of cement
overshoes."  

"Hey, I don't do hits," Zuko said defensively. "Okay, maybe I extort a
little, maybe I cause some property damage as a form of retaliation, but
the word 'hit' means nothing to me or my boys."  

"This time, we'll take your word for it," Ray said, arms folded. "Okay, so
what did our snitch have to say for himself?"  

"Plenty," Zuko said. "He's been in with Spinale for weeks now. Here's what
he was able to tell me before they got him, but I think you'd better hurry
up. First attempt's going to be evening rush hour." He handed the piece of
paper to Ray, who took it and read the line at the top of it.  

"Colby's Ol' Place," he observed. "You know anybody who regularly goes
there, Frank?"	

"None that I know of, but if Spinale's going to make a hit there, you can
bet one of my boys is the target," Zuko said. "You better get this guy,
Ray."  

"That better not be a threat," Ray advised, shoving the paper into his
coat pocket and marching out of the office. Fraser watched him go, then
thanked Zuko kindly and departed with Kowalski on his heels.  

**********  

To keep a low profile, Kowalski left his red dashlight off while he drove
to the bar, but he did drive a little faster than the limit, since there
was no telling when the hit would take place. When they arrived at the
bar, there were no bullet holes in the windows, and that was a good sign.
There didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary (at least, ordinary
at a scuzzy tavern) either, so it presently looked tame. Fraser, Ray and
Kowalski got out of the car, and Diefenbaker, wondering about the
possibility of a peanut or three in the bar, followed them across the
sidewalk and into the bar.  

Before they even entered the place, Ray knew who the target was supposed
to be: a character named Cabrini who was sitting at one end of the bar,
sipping at a vodka. Ray headed over and stood next to him, knocking loudly
on the surface of the bar. "Hey, Davey, how's it going," he said with a
forced grin.  

"What do you want, Vecchio?" Cabrini demanded.	

"To keep Gabe Spinale from whacking you," Ray said.  

"Me?" Cabrini scoffed. "You kidding? All I am is one of Frank's
acquaintances, that's it. What business does Spinale have tryin' to hit
me?"  

Kowalski just shrugged, tossing up his hands. "Okay, fine, you want to get
your head blown off the second you step out of this bar, that's great by
me, we'll be less one more mob guy. C'mon, Fraser, I've got better things
to do."  

"Stan," Fraser said, putting his hand on Kowalski's shoulder and stopping
him. "We have no choice."  

"I thought you were the one who always said you can make your own choices
no matter what the situation is," Kowalski shot back, "and I thought I was
always the one who said to quit calling me Stan."  

"Look, Dave," Ray said to Cabrini. "Why don't we just go talk to Frank and
see what he can do for you. I've been in deep with Spinale, I know how he
works. He won't leave you alone, man. Frank could probably do more for you
than even we could."  

Cabrini stared at Ray for a long moment before his attention was broken by
the ringing of Ray's cell phone. Digging into his pocket and wondering who
the hell had the nerve to call him at a time like this, Ray excavated the
phone and turned it on. "Vecchio," he said.  

"Yeah, he's right here, hold on." He handed the phone to Cabrini, who
answered, and Ray didn't bother doing what Fraser would usually do by
leaning close to the phone and trying to eavesdrop. Fraser did, however,
until a glare from Ray compelled him to back off.  

"Yeah, okay," Cabrini said to the caller. "All right, fine. I'll be
there." He shut the phone off and handed it back to Ray.  

"Coming from Frankie himself, I guess that settles it," Ray said. "C'mon."
Cabrini polished off his drink, tossed a few dollar bills onto the bar and
left with the three cops, walking outside to the car.  

"Mind you, we still have no idea when the hit is scheduled to take place,"
Fraser rubbed it in.  

"Well, doesn't look like it'll happen any time soon," Ray said. "The
later, the better."  

Ray had barely finished speaking when they heard a loud scream from
nearby. All three spun in the direction of the scream, and they saw a
slovenly dressed teenager ripping a purse from a little old lady's
shoulder. The mugger immediately started racing away, and it was while
Kowalski was watching him run that he saw the sun glint off an enormous
twelve-gauge pointing out of a passing car.  

"Fraser!" he shouted. "Down, everybody get down!" Leaping into Fraser and
Cabrini from behind, he knocked them both to the ground just as two
booming shots rang out. The shells smashed through the windows of the bar,
and the wheelman floored it, sending the car screeching away from the
scene.	

"Everybody stay down, stay down!" Kowalski roared, getting back to his
feet with his gun in his hands. Racing for his own car, he took up a
firing position across its roof and ripped off six shots. The escaping
car's back window disintegrated, and it screeched around a corner and 
 vanished.  

"Ray, you go after the mugger!" Fraser yelled, racing out into the street.
He ran after the car, and Kowalski got into his, revved the engine and
peeled out in a U-turn. Soon enough, he raced past Fraser just as the
latter was turning the corner, and Fraser, seeing that Kowalski had this
situation well in hand, turned around to back Ray up.  

Ray himself was running through an alley after the mugger, knowing why
Fraser had told him to pursue. The mugger had acted as a diversion so that
the hit could be made. At least Cabrini was unhurt, so there was no reason
for Zuko to come after anybody besides Spinale and his gang; but all that
concerned Ray right this moment was catching the perp. Wishing he could at
least get a steady aim at the mugger's leg, he laboured on after him and
followed him into an intersecting alley.  

Fraser got to the first alley just in time to see Ray disappear around the
corner, and he sprinted toward it and soon arrived. Looking down the
intersecting alley, he couldn't see Ray anywhere, so Fraser concluded that
he and the perp must now be on the side street at the other end. Fraser
looked around rapidly, and he saw something that should come in more than
handy, so he ran to grab it.  

Ray had tailed the mugger into another alley off the side street, and up
the alley they ran. Ray was so busy concentrating on the perp that he
didn't even give a second thought to how Kowalski was doing with shooters,
so he was unaware that Kowalski had long since lost them and was circling
around to back up him and Fraser. The end of the alley was in sight, and a
somewhat busy street was at that end. The kid headed straight for it,
intending to lose Ray in the traffic; but he couldn't yet see the car
coming around the corner about ten meters away. Unsuspecting, he raced to
the mouth of the alley as the car passed it. As far as the perp was
concerned, he was home free--or maybe not.  

Benton Fraser let go of the rear of the car, speeding toward the kid on
the discarded skateboard he'd found in the alley. By the time the mugger
saw Fraser, he was too close, and Fraser slammed into him and knocked him
off his feet. Jumping off the skateboard, Fraser stood over the perp and
planted one foot on his chest.	

Ray arrived and shoved his gun into his belt, and he bent down and dragged
the kid to his feet. "Okay, punk, let's go," he said. "I'm not gonna give
you the right to remain silent, because I want to know who you're working
for." Fraser turned around to see Kowalski's car pulling up alongside
them, and Ray slapped the cuffs on the mugger and grabbed him by the
scruff of the neck.  

"Lost 'em before I even saw 'em," Kowalski grumbled. "I took a full turn
around the area and didn't see a damn thing."  

"Well, here, it wasn't a total loss, get this slimebag out of my sight,"
Ray said, shoving the mugger toward him. Glad to comply, Kowalski took
hold of the mugger and took him off Ray's hands, cramming him into the
back seat of his car. Ray sighed and stared at Fraser, who was looking
down at the ground.  

"Ray," Fraser muttered, lifting his head, "you wouldn't happen to have
another pair of handcuffs, would you?"	

"For who?" Ray asked in confusion.  

"Me."  

Ray snorted and gave Fraser an unbelieving look. "For what?"  

"Well, although my acts did result in the arrest of a criminal who
facilitated an attempted mob hit, I'm afraid they weren't entirely legal,"
Fraser said. "You see, it's a traffic violation to cling to the rear of a
moving vehicle while riding a skateboard, and I'm afraid that's exactly
what I was doing."  

They started to walk back to the bar as Kowalski pulled away with the
perp. "Well, Fraser, you did classify it as a traffic violation, right?"  

"Well, yes, Ray, although I can't say as I'm accustomed to it, since it's
very unusual in the north."  

"That's 'cause up there, you'd never see anybody riding a skateboard and
clinging to the back of a dog sled. Besides, they have ice-skate boards up
there, not roller-skate boards."  

"Be that as it may, I still committed an infraction of the law, that
requires you to read me my rights."  

"Okay, Benny, you've got the right to remain silent and the right to an
attorney, but that doesn't mean you're under arrest."  

"But you have to, Ray."  

"Well, you never arrest me for running a stop sign or breaking the limit
or turning without signaling, do you?"	

"Of course not, but I'm not in my jurisdiction down here, you are.
Although there was one time when Stan was framed for murder, so he took
refuge in the consulate, and since strictly speaking that's Canadian soil,
I was within my rights to place him under arrest..."  

***********************************************************  

Part 5: Uphill Battle  

"So does Zuko have any ideas as to the next likely target, Ray?"  

"Yeah, I let Kowalski know, he's organising the stakeout right now."  

"And where might it be?"  

"Some warehouse up on the west side. I've never been sure what Zuko keeps
there, whether it's illegal weapons or crack or what-all."  

"Well, you know, Ray, since Zuko did have the sense to create confusion
enough for us to rescue you, I think you could easily return the favour by
not arresting him on evidence you find of any criminal activities." Fraser
rolled out from underneath the Riviera, turned his flashlight off, and got
to his feet. He glanced obliquely at Al Grosso, who stood by the garage
door and waited to hear what sorts of things would encourage Ray to try
and bust him.  

"Well?" Ray said.  

Fraser nodded once and drew a deep breath. "The front axle has a cracked
bearing, and I believe the wignut on the crank case is missing its washer.
Also, the firewall still has a few spots of corrosion, although I don't
believe it's anything a little body filler won't fix, and I discovered
several tangles of weed around the rear axle. I was able to take care of
those, though." Fraser held up the weeds, but Ray wasn't even looking at
him. During Fraser's speech, Ray had slowly turned his head to glower at
Al, who didn't look anything but sheepish.  

"This car is my pride and joy, Al," Ray growled, pointing at the Riviera.
"Since you did better than a half-assed repair job this time, that's why I
won't take you in for fraud. But let me tell you something, pal, you've
got fifteen minutes to correct every problem he found, or else I pay you
less than half price on every inspection and repair job from now on."  

"Oh, no problem, Ray," Fraser said, having gathered together everything
he'd need while Ray had been talking. "I'll be with you in a minute." Ray
turned around to stare quizzically at him just as Fraser dropped back to
the floor and shoved himself under the Riviera.  

For the next five or ten minutes, all Ray and Al could see was Fraser's
legs sticking out from under the car as he rolled and slid around
underneath it, pinging and banging and squeaking around with the tools.
God knew what he was doing down there--Ray somehow got the feeling he
didn't want to kneel down and see. All in good time, Fraser finished down
there, and he rolled out from under the car and hopped to his feet.  

"All right, Ray," he said. "I think that should about do it. Ready?"  

Ray was more than ready, so while Al moved over and opened the garage door
in front of the Riviera, Ray marched over to stand in front of him. "How
much was it again?" he queried.  

"Thirty-five hundred," Al said.  

"Two thousand or nothing," Ray shot back. "I still don't show mercy when
you do a sub-standard job. But right now, I'm busy, so I'll be back." With
that, Ray turned on his heel and strode over to the car.  

"Ray, come on!" Al protested. "I didn't notice any of that stuff! Gimme a
break, huh?"  

"Better move out of my way, Al, or I'll be giving you a break, all right."
 

Al hastily moved aside, and his now-deepest hope came true--the engine
roared to life as if the car was brand new. "So," Fraser said. "We're off
to the warehouse."  

"Yep," Ray answered. "But let me think about my decision if it's really a
crack house." With that, he revved up, put the car in gear and peeled his
customary inch or so of rubber leaving the garage. Al watched the Riviera
make haste out into the street, turn left and zoom off to the west side.
At least it was running well so far--the two and a half days he'd spent
working on the car had better pay off, or he'd never hear the end of it
from Ray.  

**********  

By the time Fraser and Ray arrived at the warehouse, Kowalski had put
together a pretty good-sized SWAT team in the area. He had also put out
the word to the lookouts--when a green '71 Riviera with a Mountie in the
passenger seat showed up, they were not to make so much as a twitch toward
their weapons. Somehow that made Ray feel much safer as he and Fraser
proceeded through the stakeout perimeter to the warehouse.  

Kowalski was waiting outside the building when the Riviera pulled up, and
he beckoned for Ray to follow him. Ray drove along slowly behind him, and
Kowalski led the way on foot through a loading-bay door. He waved Ray on
to the far end of the bay, and Ray drove to that end and stopped the car. 


"I'd say it's running just fine, Ray," Fraser said as he and Ray got out
of the car.  

"Yeah, looks like Al's gotten lucky this time," Ray concurred. "What's up,
Kowalski?"  

"Got the whole perimeter under guard," Kowalski answered, walking over to
shut the door to the bay. "I've got two snipers on the roof and on the
building across the alley. One guy at every other window on every floor of
this place."  

"Sounds good," Ray said. "Roadblocks?"	

"Cruising around waiting for the word to hit the alleys," Kowalski said.  

"Okay." Ray moved a little closer and lowered his voice. "Has anybody
around here found anything...like, you know, out of the ordinary?"  

Kowalski sighed, rolling his eyes and wondering when Ray would get off the
stick about this. "No, Vecchio, we haven't found so much as a snowflake in
here," he said sharply.  

"Just making sure," Ray said.  

"Yeah, right."	

Ray glowered and pointed his finger at the other detective. "Hey, look,
Kowalski, if you knew Zuko as well as I do, you'd probably be takin' the
same precautions whenever you got anywhere near one of his places."  

Seeing that this was beginning to shape up very much like their argument
over Francesca's attire, Fraser felt it necessary to jump in right about
here and offer his two cents. "Um, fellas, I could be mistaken, but I'm
not sure this is the ideal time to be discussing the possible presence of
narcotics. Spinale will be here momentarily, we need to straighten out our
priorities."  

"Okay, I'm going to keep an eye on the alley," Kowalski said. Glowering at
Ray, he turned around and stalked off to another room to take up his
watch.	

Waiting till he was out of earshot, Ray motioned after him. "You've been
putting up with this for the last eight months?" he said to Fraser,
disbelieving.  

"It's not that hard to get used to," Fraser shrugged. "Hang on one second,
I want to make sure the car is still in good shape." Fraser turned around
and hurried over to the Riviera, pretending to look for problems that
might have cropped up during the drive from the garage.  

**********  

While Kowalski stood by the window and stared continuously into the alley
through a pair of binoculars, Fraser and Ray sat back at the rear of the
room and waited quietly for the gang to show up. Most likely they'd arrive
in a massive black limo--most mob guys did--so Kowalski made a point to
keep an eye out for those anywhere in the area. Ray watched him for a
while, and he looked over at Fraser, who sat on a pair of crates against
the wall.  

"So what else has gone on between you two besides that thing at the
consulate?" Ray asked.	

"Well," Fraser said, remembering one of his less liked recollections from
his days with Kowalski, "would you believe that there was a time when we
actually got into a fight. We were trying to escape a group of
perpetrators, and the only way to do that was to jump about fifteen 
 meters, ten centimeters and eighteen millimeters into Lake Michigan. It
was the only way to escape, but apparently, Stan didn't perceive it as
fun."  

"Please don't tell me he hit you," Ray said with a mocking snicker. He was
positive that if Kowalski was supposed to be impersonating him, he
wouldn't hit Fraser if his life depended on it. At least Ray knew he
wouldn't.  

"As a matter of fact, he did," Fraser said.  

Ray turned his head toward Fraser, wide-eyed, and Fraser continued. "After
a long and heated argument over whether or not jumping and swimming for it
was the right thing to do, Stan did indeed punch me in the face."  

Ray snickered, still a little disbelieving. "And you, being the perfectly
forgiving and unflappable Mountie, didn't hit him back."  

"Actually, Ray, I did."  

This was even more of a shocker than Fraser's previous statement, and this
time Ray's mouth just plain dropped open. "Naturally," Fraser continued
quickly, "it was only after a strong urging from Stan that I did it. If he
hadn't insisted, we both could have walked away perfectly happy--or
anyway, I could have walked away content to leave well enough alone while
he...well, I'm not sure what he would have done."  

"I would've taken the transfer, that's what," Kowalski said over his
shoulder.  

Both Ray and Fraser chose to ignore this; Ray had other topics on his
mind. He leaned back against a rolled-up bolt of grubby cloth propped
against the wall, and he glanced obliquely in Fraser's direction. "You
know, Benny," he said reflectively. "When I left for Vegas, I wasn't sure
if I was going to miss you or if I'd be glad to get rid of you. Then when
I called you up in the north country, I knew I'd miss you. I'd miss
everyone and everything else around here. I kept thinking to myself, why
couldn't they find some other cop somewhere in this country? I mean, just
because they sent me from Chicago to Vegas, doesn't that mean they could
have sent somebody else from New York or L.A. or anywhere else? For all
they knew, there could have been a hundred guys out there who looked just
like Langoustini, and yet I was the one they asked to risk my neck by
going that close to the middle of the mob. I have dependents, for God's
sake. It's like they didn't even care."  

Fraser was silent while he considered. He knew Ray was right, that the
Feds really had no business sending him in there almost on the spur of the
moment when he had dependents. It was nice to know, though, that Ray had
missed him. "Well, I'm sure I wasn't the only one who missed you too,
Ray," he said.	

"It's good to be back," Ray sighed with a contented look around the room. 


"Good to have you back. Although, you know, it was something of a
spur-of-the-moment decision to send you in. Perhaps if Langoustini had
disappeared for too long before suddenly popping back up out of nowhere,
it could have aroused suspicion."  

"Say, Fraser, that reminds me," Kowalski spoke up without looking away
from the window.  

"Of what?" Fraser asked.  

"When Pike was telling me how he knew so much about the thing with me and
Vecchio, he told me about Langoustini and how he got in a car crash and
got killed on impact. And he tells me, quote-unquote, 'Accident? You be
the judge!' "  

Fraser's eyebrows rose straight to his hair. Could the Feds actually have
pulled off something like that, just for the sake of getting Ray in there
to work against the Mob? After some of his experiences with the Feds,
Fraser wouldn't put it past him. "That's very interesting, Stan," he said.
"Yeah, and so is your pr...predetection with calling me Stan," Kowalski
grouched, faltering on "predetection".	

"Ah, do you mean 'predilection'?" Fraser said. "Well, that's not
important. What is important is that somebody in the nation's federal
police forces may be guilty of planning and perhaps committing a murder." 


"Anything to declare, Vecchio?" Kowalski asked.  

"If that's an accusation, no," Ray fired back. "If that's a query, no.
Either way, no, no, no." For once he was glad to hear his cell phone
ring--he wasn't looking forward to getting into an argument with Kowalski
every time he turned around, especially considering what Fraser had told
him about their fight. "Vecchio," he said, turning the phone on.  

"Ray," Francesca's voice crackled at him, "another one of Zuko's snits
just called in to the precinct."  

"Snits," Ray said, giving the phone a dirty look. "Is that supposed to
mean 'snitches' in some foreign language?"  

"Snitch, snit, there's only so many letters in the alphabet," Francesca
said sarcastically. "He's got an idea about the next target after the
warehouse. Says it might be the consulate."  

"The consulate?" Ray repeated in disbelief. Fraser looked at him in shock,
but then his attention was once again drawn by Kowalski.  

"Hey, guys, I got something," he said. "One of the perimeter guards just
called in about a Chevy van coming our way. They took out a few of its
windows and one tire after it got past them, but it's on its way in."  

"Frannie, I'll get back to you, I gotta go," Ray said hurriedly, shutting
the phone off. He drew his gun, and he and Fraser both joined Kowalski at
the window to observe the approach of the van.	

Within seconds, the van had appeared, racing up the alley to the
warehouse. It hadn't quite gotten past the lookouts in one piece--its
right rear tire was flat, and there were two bullet holes in its
windshield and some pockmarks in its sides. Ray and Kowalski both had
their guns in their hands, and Kowalski glanced at Ray. "Take 'em out?"  

"Snipers get first bite," Ray instructed.  

Kowalski lifted his radio and squeezed the button. "Okay, snipers take a
shot," he said.  

The three heard shots ringing out from the roofs of their building and the
one across the alley, and the van, bullets striking its top and side,
continued to race past and headed for a corner. It took the corner on two
wheels, losing its two back windows in the process, and Kowalski hit the
radio button again. "Okay, units one and two, they're heading your way,
block 'em off!"  

Although Fraser was aware that Kowalski had ordered the roadblocks into
place, he was uneasy about what he'd seen when the van passed. "There was
only one man in that van, Ray," he observed.  

"So?" Ray said.  

"Well, there wouldn't be only one man in the van in a typical plan. And
I'm sure that in the Spinale clan, they'd plan to have more than one man
in the van."  

"Probably a solo effort," Kowalski said.  

"There was only one man in that van, Stan, it's not a good plan. Ray?"	

"Typical Spinale-clan plan," Ray said. "They probably ran from the van to
the warehouse over here and then left one man in the van to decoy us
before it hit the fan."  

"Well, too late, their man in the van's gonna hit the fan anyway,"
Kowalski said. "And don't call me Stan."  

Before Fraser was able to apologise, a shot unlike the ones they'd been
hearing from the snipers rang out. A bullet punctured a window a couple of
meters away from them, followed by another, and then a hail of gunshots
coming from across the alley.  

"It's a move, all right!" Ray said. "They know there are cops at the
perimeter and on the roof, they know we're in here!"  

Kowalski's finger was already on the radio button, and he was yelling,
"All units, they made us, start returning fire across the alley!" Shoving
the radio into his pocket, he excavated his glasses from his other pocket
and put them on as Ray hastened over to another window. Glass was now
breaking regularly in their building, and it created plenty of excellent
shooting holes. Kowalski used one of the larger ones to his advantage,
popping off a few shots before the thugs' fire drove him back under cover.
 

"I'm going up on the second floor!" Ray shouted to Fraser and Kowalski,
heading out of the room and to a stairwell. He took the steps two at a
time, listening to the gunshots, till he reached the second floor and ran
to a window. There were a few other cops at windows along this floor, and
none of them noticed Ray, who used a cinder block to smash out the window
and grab some good vantage points for shooting. It reminded him of what
he'd told Fraser one time about what Chicago was like--"The only reason to
open a window is to get a better aim." And get a better aim he did, firing
down on the thugs on the first floor of the opposite structure. When the
heat got to be too much from its second floor, Ray switched back and forth
between the two, firing blind some of the time.  

Down below, Fraser, for once, didn't take too kindly to the regulation
that he wasn't allowed to use a gun down here. Kowalski, on the other
hand, was blasting away like Han Solo at the hoodlums across the alley,
although he wasn't achieving too many results.	

Across the alley, the chief thug ripped off four shots at the second floor
of Zuko's building, and he moved away from his window and waved to one of
his boys across the room. The other hoodlum grabbed the rag bag and the
can of gasoline he'd brought with him from the van, and he ran for the
door through which they'd come. With any luck, the cops would be so busy
shooting that they wouldn't notice him crossing the alley.  

Fraser had been attempting to ascertain the mobster positions, types of
weapons in use, and possibly the number of bullets fired thus far by each
weapon, and he was just starting to have some success. Then he noted that
one of the weapons had ceased fire, and looking briefly
outside--fortunately he was out of all lines of fire at this angle--he saw
that a number of windows on the opposing edifice's two floors were totally
smashed out. At all but one of these windows, there was a mobster firing
into Zuko's place, and Fraser was immediately alert on seeing the vacant
window.  

"Stan!" he yelled. "One of the men is away from his post!"  

"Good, maybe they got him, and maybe you'll wind up the same way if you
don't stop calling me Stan!" Kowalski laid down another pattern of bullets
across the first floor of the mobsters' line of defense.  

"No, I think he may be on his way over here to set the warehouse on fire
in the confusion!" Fraser responded. "I'm going out and catch him!"
Running past Kowalski, Fraser left the room by the opposite door and
dashed through the building. However, he had to take a roundabout route to
the nearest outside door--there was no straight pathway through the
building to that door, which itself was a hike from where he'd been with
Kowalski. Timing was everything.  

Ray, up on the second floor, held his fire long enough to look out the
window, staying under cover. Sure enough, a long way down the alley, he
could barely see a man hurrying across it with two objects in his hand,
both of which looked rather large and bulky. Ray fired a couple more
shots, then ran to the stairs and shouted down.  

"Fraser!" he yelled. "Fraser!"	

"He thinks he's going out to catch a mob guy coming our way!" Kowalski
shouted back.  

"Well, he's right, somebody just ran across the alley with a gas can in
his hand!" Ray apprised him.  

Oh, great, Kowalski thought. Why did Fraser have to be so right all the
time?  

Probably because it often prevented the commission of a crime when Fraser
was right. Listening to the non-stop gunfire, he raced around to the door
nearest the mobster's position and booted it open, looking up the alley.
Sure enough, the mobster had just smashed out one of the basement windows,
and he had emptied out the gas can and was now taking out a matchbook.
Fraser bolted toward him, and as the perp was trying to strike a match,
Fraser arrived in the nick of time and kicked the matchbook out of his
hand. In surprise, the torcher toppled onto his side, and as he stared up
at Fraser, his peripheral vision showed him that Ray had arrived at a
window above him.  

"Freeze!" Ray roared, pointing his gun down at the mobster. Climbing over
the windowsill, he jumped to the ground and dragged the crook to his feet.
"Okay, pal, one blink and you're history," he barked. "Now we're going in
there, and you're gonna make your cronies lose the iron before I blow you
away, you understand?" Without waiting for a reply, Ray dragged the mob
guy away from the wall, shoving him toward the door of the edifice across
the alley.  

"I'll go find Stan," Fraser said, running back inside.	

As it turned out, Kowalski had a different surprise on him, and when he
and Fraser showed up across the alley, Ray stared quizzically at the
object in Kowalski's hand. "What's that?"  

"Smoke bomb," Kowalski said. "Fraser and I took an ore freighter with a
couple of these."  

"Tell me later, Benny," Ray said. "Okay, let's go!" In they went, and
Kowalski took the lead, his finger on the smoke bomb's catch. They hurried
through the building, Ray shoving the mob guy in front of him, and Fraser
listened to the sound of the gunfire to be sure of when they had come to
the right room. He ran up beside Kowalski, and at the next door, he
removed his hat and put his ear to it.	

"This is it," he said.	

"Okay, stand back," Kowalski said. Fingering the smoke bomb, he booted the
door open, yanked the catch from the bomb and threw it inside. Immediately
the bomb started gushing thick gray smoke, and the cops jumped away from
the door, Ray dragging the mob guy with him. Kowalski closed the door
over, and they allowed a reasonable interval of time for the smoke to
spread through the room and for the shooters inside to be overcome by it. 


With that space of time over, Kowalski reopened the door, and Ray pushed
the mobster inside, shouting for all inside to hold it. He yelled for
every mob guy in the room to come forward from the smoke with their hands
up, and while waiting, he turned to Kowalski.  

"Got another one of those bombs on you?" he asked.  

"One more," Kowalski replied, digging into his jacket pocket for a fresh
one.  

"Okay, take one of these jerks and secure the second floor," Ray said.
Kowalski nodded once, now seeing the silhouettes of their adversaries
moving out of the smoke. Most of them were staggering and trying to keep
their hands up without coughing or rubbing their eyes, and as Ray had
expected, several of them were still carrying their weapons. However, when
they saw that the cops had one of their own, albeit not holding a gun to
his head, they were obliged to let all iron drop to the floor and keep
their hands above their heads.	

"You, come here," Kowalski said, pointing at one mob guy and crooking his
finger. The crook obeyed, and Kowalski took him by the scruff of the neck
and made a beeline for the stairs to the second floor.	

Kowalski secured the second floor just as easily as the first, and he
called half the SWAT team over to guard the gang, telling the rest to keep
an eye out for reinforcements. One of the SWAT team officers headed to the
storage bay in Zuko's building to collect a paddy wagon, and while all
members except the leader of the gang were packed into it, Fraser and the
detectives had a chat with the gang boss.  

"In case you didn't notice, pal," Ray was saying loudly as he circled the
gang boss, "you're the only one of your team who's not in that paddy wagon
heading back to the precinct for booking and incarceration. Now why don't
you make things easy on yourself and on me and tell us what we want to
know."	

"What if I can't tell you what you want to know?" the gang boss said
sullenly.  

"Then I kick you in the head repeatedly till you remember it," Kowalski
snapped. "Now what's the story with the Canadian consulate?"  

"I don't know nothing about the Canadian consulate."  

"Okay, that's it." With a vicious glare on his face, Kowalski clenched his
fists, balanced on his right foot and lifted his left leg off the floor,
pivoting in a definite kick-in-the-head motion.  

"All right!" the gang boss shouted fearfully, throwing up his cuffed
hands. "All right, all right, I'll tell you."  

"Better," Kowalski said.  

"A bomb," the boss explained. "Guy on Nosey's list works for an electric
company. He knows how to make an electric-triggered car bomb. He's going
over to the consulate this afternoon to stick one in the fuse box. Next
time someone turns on the lights in the hallway upstairs, they level the
place."  

"Thank you kindly," Fraser said. "Ray, we'd better get over to the
consulate right away. Do you have your phone?" He started for the door,
and Kowalski hauled the crook to his feet and shoved him out toward the
paddy wagon.  

Ray handed his phone to Fraser, who turned it on and dialed the number of
Inspector Thatcher's cell phone as he and Ray got into the Riviera.
Starting up, Ray shifted into reverse, turned around and backed the car
out of the storage bay, setting a course for the consulate at high speed
and calling for backup.  

Once Ray had finished his radio call and received confirmation that backup
was on the way, Fraser frowned at the phone and turned it off. "I think
her cell phone's off," he said. "I'll try her office." Dialing that
number, he held the phone back to his ear and listened for the ringing
tone. All he got, though, was the busy signal.	

"Perfect, now the line is busy," Fraser sighed.  

"Why not call the front office?"  

"I don't dare tell Turnbull that there's a bomb attack planned on the
consulate over the phone. We'd better hurry, Ray."  

"I am hurrying," Ray said sharply. "And I've done enough talking about
traffic violations to last me the week, okay?"	

Ray was obviously hurrying, though, because the Riviera pulled up in front
of the consulate only about ten minutes after leaving the warehouse.
Fraser lost no time mincing words about Ray's recollection of where the
new consulate was--he just leaped out of the car, dashed up the front
walk, and entered the consulate. He stopped in front of the desk, where
Turnbull sat calmly typing away on his computer with his feet very close
together.  

"Turnbull, I need to talk to the inspector," Fraser puffed.  

"I'm sorry, sir, but she's in a highly confidential phone conversation,"
Turnbull said.	

"Turnbull, no matter how confidential it is, I'm sure this is infinitely
more important," Fraser insisted.  

"I can't let anyone in or out of the office while the inspector is on the
phone, sir," Turnbull answered stubbornly. "I can't even let the inspector
out of the office while the inspector is on the phone."  

Fraser scratched his head impatiently, and he whirled toward the door of
Thatcher's office. "Never mind," he said, making haste over to Thatcher's
office.  

"No, sir!" Turnbull yelled after him. "I can't let you go in there--"  

Too late. Fraser was already inside the office, and Thatcher was looking
up from her phone, not even realising that her glasses were still on.  

"Fraser!" she said indignantly, putting a hand over the mouthpiece.  

"My apologies for barging in, Inspector, but I have reason to believe that
the consulate is about to be attacked," Fraser said.  

"While I'm talking with my fath--uh, my associate in New York City?"
Thatcher demanded. "Don't be ridiculous!"  

"I'm not being ridiculous, sir, a mobster has given us a tip that a car
bomb will be planted in the consulate within the hour."  

"A bomb!" Turnbull yelped. "This would never happen in Canada! And this
*is* Canada! Therefore it can't possibly happen here!"	

"Nonetheless, it is about to happen, and we need to evacuate this building
immediately," Fraser pressed. "The police are waiting outside for the
bomber to show up."  

A look out the window told Thatcher that Fraser wasn't kidding--there were
two police cruisers visible, and God knew how many more were out of her
line of vision. "I'll have to call you back," she said into the phone,
then hung up. She got to her feet, and Turnbull hastily stood aside as she
left the office and moved to the front doors of the consulate.	

"You'd better be right about this, Fraser," she said sternly.  

"Understood," Fraser replied, holding the door open for her. Ray and
Kowalski were waiting on the steps to escort her and Turnbull to a waiting
police cruiser, whose driver had been ordered to take Thatcher and
Turnbull to the nearest police precinct until everything was under 
 control.  

Taking a cue from Fraser, Ray held the door for Thatcher and waited for
her and Turnbull to get in, but neither one of them moved. Turnbull just
stood with his hands behind his back, eyebrows up.  

"Constable," Thatcher said, folding her arms, "what are we entering?"  

"Ah," Turnbull said. "Well, this would be a police cruiser of the Chicago
Police Department. Unless I'm mistaken, it's a nineteen ninety-four
Chevrolet Caprice Classic, with a wheelbase of--"  

"A vehicle," Thatcher cut him off testily. "And how do we proceed as
such?"	

With a horrified expression, Turnbull jerked and leaped into the car,
losing his hat in the process. Ray rolled his eyes as Turnbull ducked back
out of the car to retrieve his hat, and Thatcher glowered at the
detectives before getting into the car. Ray shut the door and bent down by
the driver's window.  

"Okay, you know where to go," he said.	

"Nearest precinct and wait for the all-clear signal," the cop said.  

Ray nodded, but Thatcher begged to differ. "I don't think so," she said.
"This is my consulate, it's about to be attacked, I'm staying right here
until it's been prevented, understood?"  

Ray leaned on the car, smirking at Thatcher. "Tell me, Meg, where are we?"
 

Incensed at being called Meg by a Chicago detective, Thatcher glowered
again. "In a police cruiser," she growled, hoping she wouldn't have to go
through another Turnbull routine.  

"And where is that police cruiser?"  

"On the street in front of my consulate, which is about to be attacked--" 


"So in other words," Ray said, still smirking, "it's not on consulate
grounds."  

Thatcher looked around him, getting a bad feeling that she knew what he
was getting at. "Apparently not," she said.  

"Right. It's not in Canada," Ray said as his smile began to disappear and
his classic glare took over, "it's in Chicago, which puts you out of your
jurisdiction, makes me the ranking officer on this block and means that I
give the orders here. You're going to the precinct till this is done." He
pointed his finger at her to make sure his point got across, and
anticipating what she would next demand, he added, "But Fraser stays here
to oversee the safety of the consulate."  

"Fine," Thatcher grumbled. Kowalski just shook his head with a respectful
look at Ray.  

"Okay, beat it," Ray said to the cop, patting the cruiser's roof. The
cruiser moved away from the curb, and Kowalski and Ray headed over to the
Riviera to wait.  

"Hey, that wasn't too bad, Vecchio," Kowalski admitted. "Melting down the
Ice Queen."  

"Always gives me a charge to douse the Dragon Lady," Ray said. "Hey,
Benny, you get a good gander at the old bat before they shipped her off?" 


Fraser turned around from where he was watching the consulate like a hawk,
and he shook his head. "Was there something I should have noticed?"  

"The glasses?" Ray smirked.  

"Yes, I'm aware she wears glasses, Ray."  

"Hey, hey," Kowalski said. "Do you guys know something I don't?"  

"Oh, just that the Dragon Lady forgot all about her glasses this time,"
Ray said.  

"She was wearing them, Ray," Fraser said in confusion, scratching under
his ear. "What makes you think she forgot about them?"	

"Yeah, that's what I'd like to know, along with what the story is with the
glasses, when this mob guy is gonna show up, and why you keep calling me
Stan," Kowalski said sharply.  

"Well, although I'm aware that the inspector wears glasses, she seems to
have some sort of habit of taking them off whenever I show up," Fraser
said.  

"Oh, ha-ha!" Kowalski said. "I knew that had to be it. You know what they
say, Fraser, guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses."  

"Well, why would I want to make a pass at the inspector, Stan?" Fraser
asked, turning around to head over to the Riviera.  

"Because if you do, maybe she'll kill you and you can't call me Stan
anymore," Kowalski suggested. Ray said nothing, knowing exactly what
Kowalski had meant.  

By the time Thatcher and Turnbull were at the nearest precinct, the entire
consulate was staked out. Some cops were on roofs, some in cruisers
(including Elaine) driving around the area, and some inside buildings
watching through the windows. Fraser and Ray were in the Riviera across
the street, and Kowalski was leaning against the driver's side of the car,
watching the sides of the building for anybody suspicious. Fraser peered
through his small telescope at the front doors of the consulate, and Ray
just sat still in the driver's seat, waiting for somebody to show up.  

"Ah, Stan?" Fraser said.  

Rolling his eyes, Kowalski leaned down and glowered into Fraser's
telescope lens. "Fraser, how many times do I have to tell you?" he said
irritably. "Don't call me Stan, call me Ray."  

"Well, Stan, I'm afraid I have to distinguish between the two of you
somehow, and Ray flatly refuses to tell me what his middle name is.
Therefore, I'm afraid I have little choice but to call him Ray and you
Stan." Ray briefly glanced at Fraser, smirking with satisfaction.  

Kowalski sighed, and he angled his eyes away from the telescope and toward
his colleague in the driver's seat. "Vecchio, tell him what your middle
name is, willya?" He straightened up, glaring at the consulate again.  

"Nothing doing, Kowalski," Ray retorted. "I'm not telling my middle name
to him, you, or anybody else but the Man Upstairs."  

"Would you rather I kept impersonating you even though you're back?"
Kowalski said with a twinge of smugness.  

"Okay, okay," Ray grumbled. "My middle name begins with I, but that's all
I'm gonna tell either of you."	

Kowalski, reflecting on that letter and its place in Ray's initials,
raised his eyebrows momentarily and smirked. "I always wondered why you
had such a thing for this car."  

"As did I," Fraser said. "So, are we all set on whose name is whose?"  

Ray pointed at him, himself, and then Kowalski. "Benny, Ray, Stan," he
said firmly.  

"Look, either call me Ray or call me nothing at all," Kowalski said in
exasperation. Sometimes he thought it might actually be nice to keep
impersonating Vecchio for a while.  

"All right, Nothing At All," Fraser smiled. "That works fine for me. At
any rate, I was just wondering why they've picked the consulate for their
next hit. No one affiliated with Zuko works here."  

"Maybe they know you're a buddy of his, they figure you can't defend him
from anything if you're out of the way," Ray suggested.  

Kowalski was turning his head to stoop again and make a sarcastic
suggestion, but as he did so, he spotted a huge old forest-green
Oldsmobile approaching, pulling over on the side of the road before the
consulate.  

"Hey, guys," he said, pointing. Fraser trained his telescope on the driver
of the car, and his eye was drawn from there to the lettering on the door.
 

"Electricians Anonymous," he read aloud. "And there are three men in that
car."  

"Let's wait a minute and see what they take with them," Ray said. Kowalski
fingered his badge, and he saw the driver's door open. The driver got out
of the car, and Kowalski looked at the case in his hand--it was almost
identical to the one he and Fraser had seen Vic Vincenzo carrying just
before they retrieved Ray.  

Taking his badge from his gunbelt, Kowalski held it aloft as he crossed
the street. "Chicago P.D.!" he yelled at the driver, who spun around to
face him. Instantly he leaped back into his car and threw the case to the
floor, putting the car in gear. He peeled an inch or so of rubber leaving
the consulate, and Kowalski whipped out his gun and opened fire,
pockmarking the car's side. By the time he'd drawn the gun, Ray had
already started the Riviera and was screeching around in a U-turn as
Fraser turned on the red dashlight.  

"All units, they're on the road, move it!" Ray roared into his radio.
Kowalski holstered his gun and ran for his own car, which was parked down
the street, and he heard sirens beginning to wail in the distance.  

Ray had already pursued the Olds around the first right past the
consulate, and the Olds sped down the street with the Riviera hot on its
tail. The wheelman looked in his rearview mirror and thoroughly
established that he was being pursued by cops, and he didn't have to tell
his partners to grab hold of something stationary. Two police cruisers,
one coming down the road behind them and another which had joined in from
the other side of the intersection, were now in the chase, which took
another right to head behind the consulate. The battered appearance of the
Olds provided a deceiving appearance--it was damned fast, and Ray could
already tell as he sped after it. Fraser was clinging to the dashboard
with one hand and the door grip with the other, squinting in the sunlight
that shined in his eyes as the Olds hung a left toward the waterfront.
Here was where Kowalski and Elaine joined in, slipping in between the
Riviera and the cruiser behind it. Elaine hadn't enjoyed her
aggressive-driving test that much, but she saw this as a practical
application, hoping that this one wouldn't be depicted in the next part of
"World's Scariest Police Chases".  

The street, which already contained its share of traffic to dodge as the
Olds swerved and veered, took a gradual curve past a scrap yard on the
lake shore. Fraser and Ray had been through there once in another chase,
only they were chasing an arson conspirator rather than a mob guy. At
least they weren't going in there this time, but Ray personally didn't
give a damn, preferring to concentrate every sense and bit of attention he
had on the Olds in front of him. He was so focused on it that he just
followed its every move dodging traffic, which worked fine for him,
although it was a little harrowing for Kowalski to try to follow him.  

The Olds, moving on into the downtown area, raced up a hill that was steep
enough for the car to fly into the air when it reached the top. It was
three feet in the air by the time it reached its apex and thudded back to
the surface, scratching the pavement and spraying sparks from its
undercarriage. Ray did the exact same maneuver, and Fraser winced as the
Riviera landed, hoping the front right bearing had sustained the crash.
Ray bombed down the hill after the Olds, not doubting for a second that
Kowalski had slowed down a little before taking that hill. Indeed he had,
almost losing his edge to another cruiser that had gotten ahead of Elaine
when she herself slowed down to take the hill.	

This part of the city was densely populated enough that they were now
dodging pedestrians as well as traffic, and Ray allowed a little of his
concentration off the Olds and onto his surroundings. He still kept the
pedal on the metal, and it stayed there when the Olds reached a traffic
circle that circumvented a fountain. It went the long way around, and Ray
went the other way around the fountain, driving right up on the small
circle of grass on which it was erected. Kowalski followed almost right on
the Riviera's tire tracks, and once past the traffic circle, they started
into the 'burbs. The wheelman in the Olds increased his speed to almost
ninety miles an hour on the relatively clear street ahead, and Ray
imitated him almost to the inch an hour. They hung another right onto a
side street that crossed a tributary of Lake Michigan, and they sped
toward another main street that led back into the downtown area. Kowalski
took the opportunity of the tangent and the absence of traffic to look in
his rearview mirror; the count had now run up to three unmarked cars, four
cruisers, and two motorcycles on the Olds's behind. But the chase wasn't
yet over, not unless there was some way to cut the Olds off.  

Another right turn lay at the other end of the road, and the Olds took it,
speeding diagonally across this street toward another side street leading
to a school parking lot. Oh, great, school had better not be out for the
day, Ray thought. Fortunately it wasn't, although the buses were already
parked in front of the school. The Olds took a sharp turn around the lot's
perimeter, its driver hoping that at least one or two of the pursuing
vehicles might do a roll-over trying to emulate his move. None did, and
the wheelman took another side street that led back to the main street.
Kowalski knew this area--in a few seconds at this speed, they would come
to a highway bypass. He knew what he would do when they got there.  

Sure enough, the Olds bounced left back onto the main street, with the
Riviera and the rest of the cop cars remaining in hot pursuit. The Olds
sped up onto the bypass, and Kowalski grinned broadly as he saw that it
had played right into his hands. He gestured widely enough for Elaine to
see him, and she followed him onto the regular route, breaking away from
the rest of the chase. Kowalski poured some more lead into his right foot
and shot along the emergency lane past the cars ahead, and Elaine, seeing
where he was going with this, followed his example to a tee.  

In the meantime, the rest of the chase had lost a little speed going up
the hill onto the bypass, and it had just passed over the hump and was now
heading back down to the main route. The wheelman saw immediately that
Kowalski and Elaine would be beating him to the other end of the bypass,
and he tried to push the car a little harder to edge ahead of them, but
the car was too old to go much faster. At the exit of the bypass, Kowalski
spun his car around in a 180- degree turn and skidded to a halt across one
half of the exit, while Elaine brought her cruiser to a screeching stop
across the other half, nose to nose with Kowalski's car. The Olds promptly
spun sideways and desisted its run, and Kowalski and Elaine both got out
of their cars and bolted toward the Olds.  

Ray stopped the Riviera right behind it, and he and Fraser approached from
the other side, with the multitude of cops behind them doing the same.
Ray, Kowalski and Elaine had their weapons ready, each of them aiming at
one of the car's occupants. "Okay, freeze!" Ray shouted. Simultaneously,
Kowalski yelled "Chicago P.D.!" as if it wasn't already obvious.  

"Outta the car, now!" Ray bellowed, yanking the driver's door open. He
shoved his gun into the wheelman's neck and yanked him out of the car,
shoving him up against it. While two lesser lights covered the mobster,
Ray cuffed him, and the procedure was repeated with the other two mob guys
on the other side, Kowalski and Elaine doing the cuffing.  

"Pretty good, Elaine," Ray said. "Your first high-profile arrest."  

As Elaine turned her man over to two other cops for transport back to the
precinct, she gave Ray a quizzical look. "He's just a gang member. What's
so high-profile about that?"  

"Hey, if it's a mob guy, it's high-profile," Ray supplied. He pointed at
Fraser and Kowalski. "But let's just clear up the fact that Spinale is all
mine, understand?"  

"Understood," Fraser answered.	

"Yeah, whatever," Kowalski shrugged apathetically, walking back to his
car. Fraser patted Ray on the shoulder as he turned and ambled back to the
Riviera. Ray allowed himself a smile of satisfaction--just as he'd told
Francesca, he and Fraser and Kowalski really were the second generation of
the Untouchables. At any rate, Ray was sure that Eliot Ness would have
been proud of him (and not just because he'd recovered Ness's gun from a
hidden treasure vault a couple of years ago).  

***********************************************************************  

Part 6: On The Verge  

"Well, I don't know what came over me, I'm too dumb for words; well, I
didn't say I'd like it here at all, but I swear, I swear I'm on the
verge." 

Since Ray was, in effect, the senior officer of the gathering, he ordered
the mobsters taken to the 27th Precinct for interrogation. At Fraser's
suggestion and some of Kowalski's persuading, Ray allowed Kowalski to do
the solo interrogating while he and Fraser hung around in the squad room
and awaited the results. Fraser somehow expected Thatcher to come bombing
into the squad room any second now, although Francesca had agreed to keep
her busy if she should show up. God knew Francesca could keep Thatcher
busy for a while.  

"Why so glum, Ray?" Fraser asked, noting Ray's downcast look and folded
arms.  

"Well, how long have we been at this?"	

"Since you were captured by the mob, it's been about six days," Fraser
said.  

"And how many have we taken down?"  

"Well, let's see..." Fraser stared up at the ceiling while he thought back
over those six days, counting up the number they'd taken each day.
"Vincenzo was the first, followed by the janitor, and then if you count
the mugger, that's three. Then we arrested a total of eight at the
warehouse, three after the chase, which comes to a total of fourteen
members of Spinale's gang."  

"Yeah, but we haven't even gotten close to Spinale himself," Ray grumbled.
"We're moving at an inch an hour, Benny, we gotta push it if we're gonna
get him before he succeeds at one of these hits."  

Kowalski now showed up through the side door of the squad room, and he
wore a wide grin that he directed at Fraser and Ray. "Did they talk?"
Fraser asked.  

"I told you," Kowalski said proudly. "Telling them you'll kick 'em in the
head. It works every time."  

"Oh, I'll remember to tell my cranial surgeon," Ray said with a twinge of
sarcasm. "So where's the next hit?"  

********** 
 "I don't believe it!"	

Gabe Spinale slammed the phone into the cradle, and he pounded his fist on
the desk in front of him. He sat heavily back in his chair and snarled to
himself, shaking his head. All of a sudden, the lounge room in his
townhouse didn't seem so safe anymore.	

"Don't believe what, Nosey?" This from Al Sapienza, a tall, craggy-faced,
rough-voiced character with a cigarette usually hanging out of his mouth.
He was one of Spinale's favoured hitmen, as well as a good friend.  

"That's three more," Spinale snapped. "The cops chased three more of my
guys from the consulate to some plaza halfway across town and cut 'em
off."  

"God, that's three times in a row they've cut us off," Sapienza observed.
"West must have gotten a lot more than we thought before I whacked him."  

"At least you got him before I thought up the next hit. Somebody's gonna
catch it for this, Al."  

"Like Vecchio," Sapienza suggested.  

"Fourteen," Spinale growled. "Vecchio's busted fourteen of my guys and I
ain't even close to taking him down. You know where to go, Al."  

"I know where to go is right," Sapienza nodded once, stubbing the
cigarette in an ashtray on the desktop.  

**********  

"Union Station," Fraser said to Ray and Kowalski as they bombed toward the
station. "I remember what happened the last time we attempted to apprehend
a criminal there."  

"Not another word, Fraser," Ray said sternly.  

"Understood." Far be it from Fraser to cause Ray the pain of remembering
shooting Fraser in the back.  

"Why don't I want to know?" Kowalski asked.  

"Let's just say if Fraser goes after the perp, keep your gun in the
holster," Ray said.  

Kowalski was right, he didn't want to know. Watching his flashing red
light in the corner of his eye, Ray pushed the car a little harder on the
way to the station.  

As they approached, Ray took the mike from his radio. "Dispatch, this is
one-one-seven requesting backup at Union Station," he said. "Possible
homicide in progress, two officers on scene."  

"And no one shoots the guy in the hat," Kowalski tossed in before Ray
released the button. Ray gave him a weird stare as he hung the mike back
on the radio.  

"Ten-four," the dispatcher answered. Ray stopped the car, and he and
Kowalski grabbed walkie-talkies, got out and waited for Fraser to get out
of the back seat. Fraser got out of the car and headed for the front steps
of the station with Kowalski and Ray.  

"Okay, boom-boom-boom, we case the joint and find the perp," Kowalski
said, swinging his fists.  

"And how do you propose we do that?" Ray asked.  

"Hey, you're the one who can always tell a guy by his nose, and you've
been in with them the last eight months," Kowalski said.  

"He does have a point, Ray," Fraser tossed in.	

"All right, fine," Ray grumbled, wondering when Fraser would get over the
practise of making fun of his more esoteric methods. "You guys stay up
here and look around. I'll take the lower level." Into the station they
went, and they split up. Fraser and Kowalski started circulating around
the main room of the station while Ray headed for the ramp to the lower
level.	

"He can't really identify a guy by his nose, can he?" Kowalski said to
Fraser. He knew Fraser had told him that one time, but it had been a
little difficult to believe.  

"I'm not too sure," Fraser said. "He only did it once, and then I'm not
even sure if we had the right suspect."  

"Well, let's get the right suspect this time, then."  

"Yes, indeed. However, with thirty tracks, numerous commuter trains and
nearly a thousand people occupying this station at the moment, we may
encounter some difficulty."  

Ray wasn't even sure if he'd get the right suspect. Spinale had so many
assassins up his sleeve that Ray had no idea who would be assigned to pull
this off, even if fourteen of his number had been arrested, and there were
a couple hundred people milling around on the lower level. Ray made his
way to the platforms and started crossing them, searching all over for a
sign of a familiar nose.  

No familiar noses down here, but one familiar hairline and set of eyes
came into view. Ray knew right away who it was, and he lifted the
walkie-talkie. "Fraser, I think I've found the target," he reported. "It's
Charlie Giacomo. He's on the track twelve platform."  

"Stick with him, Ray," Fraser said. "The hit man should come into view
before long. Stan and I are on the way."  

"No, you and Stan aren't on the way," Kowalski snapped, hurrying after
him. "You and Ray are on the way. We got it straight?"	

"Oh," Fraser said approvingly. "I didn't know you were much of a poet."  

Following Zuko's right-hand man down the platform, Ray kept a close eye
out for familiar-looking Spinale hitmen. The locomotive was sitting in the
mouth of the tunnel ahead, so Ray figured that the hitman would probably
follow Charlie onto the train, then throw him out of a car while the train
was at high speed. In that tunnel, anyone thrown out of a car would more
than likely bounce off the wall and land right under the train. Even
though Charlie was close to that S.O.B. Zuko, Ray felt that he could
return Zuko's favour by preventing the hit.  

Charlie boarded the train, and Ray increased his pace a little bit,
following. He paused at the door of the car and looked around one more
time for a possible assassin. One good thing, anyway, was that his
eyesight was a lot sharper than Kowalski's, enabling him to see Al
Sapienza at the other end of the platform.  

"Fraser!" Ray called out into his radio. "Mob guy at twelve o'clock, I'm
after him!"  

"Is he following Charlie?" Fraser replied.  

"No, Charlie's on the train at track twelve, our man's heading over to
track thirteen, meet me down there." Ray ran toward the end of the train,
following Sapienza across to the next platform over. Fraser and Kowalski
were now on the lower level and making haste to track thirteen, and Fraser
felt increasingly uneasy about the outcome of this attempted hit.  

Ray followed Sapienza around the rear of the train, then up the platform,
keeping his distance. Sapienza seemed to be making no moves to board the
train, which baffled Ray at first; then he figured that Sapienza might be
entering the tunnel and then returning to track twelve just to throw off
any possible followers. Or...what if? Union Station had a pretty close
proximity to Gabe Spinale's townhouse. Unless Ray missed his guess, the
tunnels out of the station's lower level had some sort of connection with
that place, probably a sewer passage. Sapienza could be heading for home
turf that way. Well, well, nothing suited Ray better.  

Sure enough, Sapienza glanced around briefly, and Ray quickly hid behind a
couple of other commuters until enough time had passed for his quarry to
slink into the tunnel. When Ray looked again, sure enough, there was no
sign of Sapienza. Ray increased his pace, and he hurried toward the
tunnel's mouth. He'd just have to be sure he was right about Sapienza's
destination before he apprised Fraser and Kowalski.  

Sapienza reached the end of the platform, jumped onto the tracks in front
of the engine, and didn't spare it a second glance as he flicked his
present cigarette butt to the side of the tunnel. Taking another cigarette
from his jacket pocket, he loped nonchalantly up the tunnel, lighting up
and not giving a second thought to the idling juggernaut behind him.  

Having ensured that nobody was watching, Ray entered the tunnel behind
Sapienza and sidled past the engine. At the end of the platform, he found
himself right next to the engine's nose, so he leaped off onto the tracks
and glanced obliquely at the towering nose of the engine before crossing
the tracks. Once on the other side, he stood on his toes and looked back
onto the platform on the other side of the train, seeing no one familiar.
Striding forward, he hit the walkie-talkie button.  

"Fraser, he's in the tunnel," he said. "I'm still with him."  

"All right, be careful, Ray," Fraser said. "Watch out for the third rail."
 

Ray paused and stared down at the radio, snorting. "Fraser, there is no
third rail, this is a diesel locomotive, in case you can't hear it in the
background?"  

"Well, in that case, Ray, make sure you're elsewhere when the train starts

 moving."  

"No duh, Sherlock. I'll get back to you when I spot him again." Ray turned
the radio down just in case Fraser decided to bug him with another
warning, and up the tunnel he went. He rounded a corner, and now he was on
the main track that was adjoined by the other departure tracks in the
station. It was too dark to see Sapienza, so he paused long enough to turn
the radio off altogether, lest Fraser hail him again and alert the mob guy
to his presence. He shoved it in his pocket and made haste along the
tracks, watching his step.  

Fraser and Kowalski had arrived at track twelve, and here they elected to
pause while they searched around for Charlie Giacomo. Kowalski searched up
and down the platform while Fraser peered through the windows of the
train, and Fraser spotted Charlie in the second car. He waved to Kowalski,
and they headed toward each other and met back up.  

"Charlie's on the train, but I don't see anybody near him who seems intent
on killing him," Fraser said.  

"Well, Vecchio said the mob guy was going into the tunnel," Kowalski said.
"Maybe he's cutting around to come back up here, get aboard the train and
whack the guy."  

"I hope you're right," Fraser said. "I don't like this, Stan. I don't like

 it at all."  

"Well, you probably like it better than I like you calling me Stan,"
Kowalski said irritably. "C'mon, let's try and find a way to cut him off."
As they were heading for track thirteen, they heard the whistle of that
train as it started pulling out.  

The whistle echoed up the tunnel to where Ray was walking, and he turned
around as he heard the sound of the engine rising in pitch. His eyes had
adjusted to the darkness and allowed him to see Sapienza up ahead, and
knowing that he was on the right track, so to speak, he'd followed him
this far. Here a switch was in place, and a shunt split off from the
switch, entering another tunnel to Ray's right. The shunt was a dead end,
probably a storage track for cars or engines in need of repair. He passed
the switch, and Sapienza was still on the main track, walking calmly ahead
as if nothing was going down. Ray looked behind him to see the train
coming off its departure track onto the main one, so he hastened back to
the switch and went around the corner onto the shunt.  

The train was picking up speed rapidly as it headed up the grade to the
tunnel exit, and Ray, watched Sapienza walk almost jauntily along the main
track without even moving to get off. Not that he had anyplace to go,
since Ray couldn't see any side tunnels nearby. He looked around the
corner, and the train was now halfway to the switch and approaching even
faster. Confused, Ray shifted his glance between the two constantly, and
in less than a minute, the train was at the switch and speeding past Ray
at about fifty miles an hour. Ray shot his glance back to Sapienza, whom
he now couldn't see because of the train. As for Sapienza himself, he just
glanced over his shoulder to see the train fifteen seconds from overtaking
him. Not bad timing, he thought to himself; he stepped off the tracks and
moved up to the right side of the tunnel.  

 The last car rushed past Ray, and then the train was roaring away from
him and continuing up the tunnel to the next bend. It passed the point
where Ray had last seen Sapienza--except that there was now no Sapienza to
be seen.  

Puzzled, Ray walked off the shunt and crossed the switch onto the main
track, walking toward the spot. He couldn't see a body anywhere in the
tunnel, although he seriously doubted that Sapienza had deliberately let
himself be run over by a train to avoid arrest. Up ahead, the train 
 vanished around the bend, clearing this block for the next train to
depart.  

Fraser was now in the thirteenth tunnel, walking at a stride to the main
track, while Kowalski waited on the twelfth platform to make sure nothing
happened while Fraser was in the tunnel. Something had been eating
Kowalski since Ray last reported in, and he'd tried to figure it out while
he waited for Fraser to get there. But surprise, surprise, Fraser hadn't
even thought of it, or so it appeared.	

He crossed the switch onto the main track and made haste up to track
twelve, where he entered that tunnel and saw the train still sitting in
the mouth of the tunnel. To get this over with before the train pulled
out, he ran toward it and reached the platform, looking out over it to 
 spot Kowalski.  

Seeing Fraser in the tunnel mouth, Kowalski threw up his hands and shook
his head, and Fraser beckoned. Kowalski hurried over, and he entered the
tunnel, moved past the engine and jumped off the platform onto the tracks
with Fraser. "No sign of him anywhere in the tunnels," Fraser said. "Any
luck on your end?"  

"Nothing," Kowalski said. "Wait a second, Fraser. If the mob guy was here
to hit Giacomo, then why'd he go into the tunnel if he wasn't going to
come back out here and get on the train with him?"  

"I'm not sure..." Fraser's voice trailed off as the reason came to him.
"What if Charlie wasn't his real target?"  

"What if..." Kowalski's eyes widened, and the shock of the real reason hit
him like a bullet. "Oh, my God," he breathed. "Vecchio! He's been the real
target of these hits all along!"  

"That explains the attempt on the consulate," Fraser said, grabbing for
his walkie-talkie. "Ray, come in, this is Fraser. Ray, are you there?"
Little did Fraser know that he was talking to a turned-off radio. He
continued shouting for Ray to answer as he led Kowalski running toward the
main track.  

Ray had reached the spot where he'd last seen Sapienza. Even before he got
there, he was able to see where the hit man had gone; there was a side
tunnel cut into the wall. Ray knew about these; nicknamed "rat holes",
they were there for easy access by maintenance crews to work on the track
and electrical systems in the tunnel. Aha, Ray thought to himself. This
side tunnel had to lead to Spinale's present hideout. He started inside,
but just as he was entering, he saw a shadow on the wall. Somebody was
approaching--maybe Sapienza.  

Ray backed out of the tunnel and flattened himself against the wall to its
left, waiting. He held his gun in one hand and stared at the mouth of the
side tunnel, waiting for Sapienza to appear and make himself available for
arrest.  

As Ray was waiting, he heard the whistle from the train pulling off of
track twelve. Fraser and Kowalski were at the shunt, and hearing the
whistle, they turned around to see the train heading toward them. Quickly
they hopped around the corner and onto the shunt, neither of them seeing
Ray up the tunnel.  

The train rushed closer to the side tunnel, picking up speed. Ray had seen
the width of the tunnel compared to the width of the train--unless he got
into that side tunnel soon, there wouldn't be nearly enough space between
him and the train for him to survive. He could see and especially hear the
engine speeding closer with every second, and his pulse increased as he
waited impatiently for Sapienza to exit the side tunnel. But wait--why the
hell would a mob guy leave the side tunnel if he knew the train was
coming? At that, Ray knew that he was probably heading back toward the
hideout, so it should be clear by now. Peeking inside, Ray found himself
mistaken. Sapienza was still in there, close.  

Oh, great, now he knows I'm here! Ray thought angrily to himself as he
recoiled. On the other hand, it might be good, now the guy should come out
and try to pop him.  

But he didn't.	

Only then did Ray realise the truth.  

The train was awfully close to the side tunnel by now, but that mattered
not. Ray just had to get out of here and run for it; there was no way he
was going back into that side tunnel to be met by a bullet. He jumped down
onto the tracks and sprinted, looking desperately from one side of the
tunnel to the other to try and spot another side tunnel anywhere near him.
 

Fraser and Kowalski looked around the corner to see the train just a few
meters from the shunt, and it rocketed toward them, then sped across the
switch. A split second before it cut into his line of vision, Fraser saw
Ray running down the tracks. "Stan!" he yelled, pointing down the line.
For once, Kowalski didn't try to correct him. But he was still well aware
that Vecchio was a dead man.  

Ray looked over his shoulder, and his panic at seeing the train bearing
down on him at the very least seventy miles per hour caused him to
increase his speed even more. But then all forward motion came to an
abrupt halt; he tripped over something between the rails, and he cried out
in surprise as he fell forward.  

In the same second as the last car passed them, Fraser and Kowalski bolted
off the shunt and ran after the train, watching it pass Ray's last known
position. Fraser shouted frantically into his radio for Ray to respond,
but he got nothing. Either Ray or his radio was dead--or maybe both.  

They ran up the tunnel at a record speed, and halfway to the spot where
they'd last seen Ray, they heard an odd squeaking noise. Stopping short,
they watched a metal cover open upward from the tunnel's floor between the
rails. Who should poke his head out of the maintenance pit beneath the
cover but Ray! It was the maintenance pit that he'd tripped over, and just
before the train got there, he'd shot away the padlock on the cover and
leaped into the pit, ducking in there while the train thundered overhead.
Now it was safe, and he looked in both directions to be sure of that.  

"Benny! Kowalski!" he called, heaving himself up out of the pit.  

"Ray!" Fraser shouted, overjoyed that Ray was indeed alive. He raced
toward him, and Ray shut the cover and hastened down to meet him.  

"Thank God!" Fraser exclaimed. "We thought you were--"	

"Dead?" Ray said. "Hell, Benny, anywhere around mob property, I'm anything
but. C'mon, let me show you what I mean."  

As Ray was leading Fraser and Kowalski into the side tunnel to show them
what he meant, Al Sapienza was entering Spinale's townhouse about a block
away from Union Station. From the side tunnel, he'd made his way to a
sewer passageway that had an exit in the townhouse, and now he went into
the lounge room wearing a knowing grin. "That takes care of that," he said
to Spinale.  

"You pulled it off?" Spinale asked.  

"Last time I saw Vecchio, he was trying to get away from the train,"
Sapienza said. "He didn't want to risk coming into the same side tunnel
with me, so he let himself get run over by a train instead." Sapienza
shook his head and chortled. "Cops."  

"Okay, guys," Spinale said to Sapienza and his other henchman, Don Clark.
"That's one down, two to go."  

"Two?" Clark asked in confusion.  

"We got Vecchio, now we just got his pals to deal with," Spinale said.
"Notice how he hasn't been alone on a single one of these busts?"  

"Yeah, the Mountie who sticks to him like glue," Clark said. "But who's
this other guy?"  

"Just think about it," Spinale said. "What cop was right in the middle of
us the last eight months?"  

"Ray Vecchio," Sapienza shrugged.  

"And what cop up and disappeared right at the same time as the guy we
thought was the Bookman got out of the hospital in Vegas?"  

"Stan Kowalski," Clark answered.  

Spinale nodded shortly, and he gave both of them a cold, hard stare.
"Nineteen seventy-one Buick Riviera. The licence number is LCV
seven-oh-five. You take that pipe bomb and you shove it under his gas tank
and wire it to the starter, then hang around and make sure it's the
Mountie and/or Kowalski that gets it."	

"No problem," Sapienza said with a sinister grin. He picked up the case
containing the ingredients of the pipe bomb they would build and plant
under the Riviera, and he and Clark headed for the door. Clark reached
forward and pulled both doors open--and he and Sapienza both stopped dead
in their tracks, the latter dropping the case as they found themselves
staring down the barrels of two .45 handguns.  

"Please stop right there--" Fraser began.  

"--get up against the wall--" Ray picked up.  

"--and keep the hands where we can see 'em," Kowalski finished.  

Ray and Kowalski each took on a perp, waving their guns to the side. Clark
and Sapienza were obliged to move in that direction and walk slowly over
to the wall, spreading their hands and feet apart.  

"That goes for you, too, Gabe," Ray added to Spinale, walking toward him.
He tossed his spare set of handcuffs to Fraser, who moved in on Clark with
them, and he wore a sardonic grin as he moved in on Spinale and maintained
his aim, taking his own handcuffs out. Kowalski was already cuffing
Sapienza, and Fraser was taking care of Clark.	

"If it was me, Mr. Spinale," Fraser said, "I'd say your mob days are
over."	

***********************************************************************  

Coda: Home  

Francesca, Welsh, Huey, Dewey, and the rest of the usual crowd were at the
precinct by the time Fraser, Ray and Kowalski returned with Spinale and
his goons. On seeing them through the front-door windows of the squad
room, Francesca got to her feet, wide-eyed. Was she actually seeing
Gabriel Spinale being escorted into the squad room with his hands cuffed
behind him? She got to her feet, and as Ray shoved Spinale into the squad
room, Francesca moved over to him with an expression of total amazement.  

"You got Spinale?" she breathed.  

"Yes, Frannie, we got Spinale," Ray grinned. "Ain't that right, Gabe? You
just remember the guy who busted you for good."  

"There's these things called lawyers, maybe you've heard some references
to them?" Spinale snapped.  

"Yeah, and maybe no lawyer in his right mind wants to defend a mob guy
unless he's got dollar signs in his eyes," Ray shot back.  

Welsh was standing motionless outside his office, and his look indicated
that he'd just found an even deeper level of respect for Ray than he ever
had thought possible. "I don't believe it," he said tonelessly. "Gabriel
Spinale on his way to the lockup."  

"Yep, and you've got good ol' Raymond Vecchio to thank for it, sir," Ray
said.  

"Yeah, I know," a new voice spoke up from right next to him. "That's why I
want to say thanks to you, Ray. Thanks a heap." Frank Zuko stuck out his
hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Ray shook it.  

"Well, what can I say," Ray said. "If it wasn't for you, I could have been
whacked by a mob guy myself."  

"Yeah, then we'd all be a lot better off," Spinale scoffed.  

"What's that I detect, Nosey?" Zuko demanded, getting in Spinale's face.
"Huh? Little sarcasm there? A little disrespect for my good friend Ray?"
With that, Zuko slapped Spinale upside the head, a love tap but enough to
keep Spinale from saying anything further. "Well, you asked for it, pal." 


Ray just nodded once to Zuko before he shoved Spinale off to the holding
cells, and Kowalski just spared Zuko a second glance while pushing
Sapienza along behind. Fraser nodded and smiled to Zuko on his way to the
cells with Clark, and with his heart contented, Zuko sighed and walked off
to the side door of the squad room. To think that he had Ray to thank for
taking down one of his biggest enemies. Maybe after the Irene incident,
they could actually bury the hatchet now.  

********** 
 Ray wasn't expecting Zuko to show up at the homecoming celebration that
evening, so he didn't mind not seeing him there. It was almost literally a
homecoming--the repairs on Ray's house were getting close to completion,
and the celebration took place behind it with a backyard barbecue. Fraser,
Kowalski, Welsh, Huey, Dewey, Elaine, and of course Ray's entire family
attended, and Fraser and Francesca were a little uneasy about who else was
going to show up.  

Fraser had volunteered to stand guard and make sure that Diefenbaker
didn't get anywhere near the barbecue till it was ready (and probably
after that), so he sat on a stool by the grill and watched Ray having a
few laughs with his mother and some friends. Kowalski was boring Huey,
Dewey and Welsh to death with the story of how he'd smoke-bombed the
warehouse, so Fraser was content to sit there and watch the goings-on.	

"Last homecoming celebration I remember was almost ten years ago," Fraser
Sr. spoke up, coming up to stand beside his son. "Your Uncle Purvis was
back from a business trip in Fort Nelson, so there we were, roasting a
lovely big caribou over a pile of hot coal. Reminded me of the time when I
went to a Greek Easter celebration with Charlie Kolios. One thing was for
sure, I wouldn't be caught dead looking at that lamb, not even now."  

"Nice party, isn't it, Dad?" Fraser said. "After all, Ray's been away for
eight months. I think he pretty much deserved a party such as this."  

"Well, Yank or no Yank, any man who's spent eight months foiling organised
crime deserves any kind of celebration, son. Remember that when you
transfer back north." Fraser turned to give his father a glare and tell
him that he had no immediate intentions of transferring back north,
but--what else?--Fraser Sr. had vanished.  

Francesca, meanwhile, was gulping a ginger ale after chatting with Ray and
her mother, and she stood off to the side and looked around for Fraser.
There he was, sitting by himself next to the grill, and as far as
Francesca was concerned, he'd look lonely even if he had Ray or
Diefenbaker standing next to him. An early evening in late spring, at a
backyard barbecue--what venue could be better? She immediately started
over his way.  

"What, no Scotch?" her father's voice broke in from behind her.  

"This is a welcome-home party, not a drinking party, Dad," Francesca said
in an exasperated tone.  

"Still, your lowlife brother's been in with the Mob the last eight months,
you'd think he'd bring something worthwhile back with him," Vecchio Sr.
said grumpily.	

"What, his life isn't enough?" Francesca scoffed. Ducking between a couple
of cousins, she broke free of her father and made her latest move on her
man in red.  

********** 
 The following day, Ray wasn't sure if Thatcher had assigned Fraser to
guard duty outside the consulate as punishment for booting her off the
phone. Well, if she was going to bitch about it, let her bitch about it,
he and Kowalski didn't have to listen to it all. They were standing on
either side of Fraser, talking to each other pretty much through his ears.
 

"Say, Fraser," Kowalski said. "What do you think happens if Welsh wants me
and Vecchio as partners?"  

"I think I can answer that for him," Ray said. "What happens is that soon
enough, he calls you Stan one too many times, you kick him in the head and
fracture his skull, and then you don't have to listen to him anymore."	

"Naah, can't do it," Kowalski said. "Much as I'd like to, I can't. What do
you think, Fraser?"  

As always, Fraser didn't reply, he just stood motionless at parade rest
and stared off into space. Kowalski frowned and leaned a little closer,
waving his hand in front of Fraser's face; Fraser didn't even blink. Ray
just stood on the other side, smirking.  

"Does he always do this?" Kowalski asked.  

"Every day," Ray said. "Or at least, every day that Thatcher's pissed off
at him, which pretty much means every day."  

"And he doesn't get sick of it?"  

"Who are we talking about here?"  

"Gotcha." Kowalski looked away, and he spotted a couple on the sidewalk,
one of them holding a camera. Kowalski grinned, and he pointed them out to
Ray, who also smiled and gestured at Fraser with his thumb with a "can you
believe this guy" look. Kowalski put his arm around Fraser's shoulders,
and he wore a wide smile as the man took his picture and waved to them.
Kowalski waved back, and then he patted Fraser on the back and headed for
the steps. "Be seeing you, Fraser," he said.  

Ray stood there for another brief second and smirked again. "Well, I know
what you're gonna say to this, Benny, but it's good to be back and it's
good to be working with you again."  

Fraser remained silent without moving or blinking, and Ray just nodded
once. "I knew you'd say that," he said, going down the steps. He rejoined
Kowalski on the walk back to the Riviera.  

"He looks like a fire hydrant standing there," Kowalski said, gesturing
over his shoulder.  

"Yeah, well, Francesca's gonna be the only one who'll try to get him to
expand on that appearance, so whatever you do, don't mention it to her."  

No doubt about it; Ray was back, just in time for summer in the city.
Chicago, look out.  

finis 
 _______________________________________________________________________
 Copyright 1998 by Chris Lark. All rights to Due South, on which no
infringement in the least is meant, are reserved by Alliance
Communications and CTV. Please do not reproduce this work for any purpose
but personal, or copy to any other Web pages, without author's permission.
Please do feel free to E-mail me at cql@hopper.unh.edu with any questions
you've got. 
 ______________________________________________________________________  
    

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