Move Fast	Move Fast by Peaulp Deault

  

 Move Fast By Peaulp Deault
 peaulp.deault@sympatico.ca 

 Hi. This is an oldie. I began it about three years ago and worked on it
sporadically since. It's a had a few million lives and the following is
the final version. It is, as usual, PG for language and story. Enjoy! 

 MOVE FAST 

 * 

 "Fraser, you forgot your hat." 

 The surprised voice on the other end of the line paused. "I did?" There
was a moment of silence, just long enough for Fraser to pass his hand over
his head. "Oh dear." 

 "Yeah, whatever. You want me to drop it off at the consulate on my way
home?" 

 Then there was another pause. Very un-Fraser like. He was carrying on
another conversation with someone else and he wasn't doing it very well.
"Yes. No. I mean, would it be too much trouble to meet me at..." More
silence was broken by the odd whisper while Fraser got his directions
straight. "Sorry, Ray. Could you meet me at Strenger Park? By the
underground parking lot entrance." 

 "What the hell are you doing in that part of town? Please don't say
'apartment hunting'." 

 "All right, I won't." 

 "Fraser, what did I tell you about looking in crappy neighbourhoods?" He
answered his own question with a sigh; this was Fraser he was talking to.
"Couldn't I just drop the hat off at the consulate? I'm beat, I wanna get
the hell out of here. Besides, that park is kinda out of your way, isn't
it? Actually, it's out of my way, but who cares about that--" 

 "Thanks, Ray. Thirty minutes all right?" 

 Ray sighed and gave in. "Sure. If I'm early, I'll wait at the corner,
like those airport limo drivers do ---" The sarcasm was lost when the dial
tone returned to the line. Ray put the receiver back in the cradle and
mumbled, 'Freak.' with the usual good humour that went with it. 

 * 

 Kowalski was five minutes late by the time he got to the park. He was two
minutes late when he forgot his car keys and he became three minutes late
because he forgot to bring Fraser's hat - the same hat Fraser had left on
the desk when he flew out the door after an urgent call from Thatcher. 

 Ray was at the car by the time he remembered to bring it. "Shit." He was
putting the key in the lock when the sight of the empty dashboard reminded
him of the hat sitting on top of his filing cabinet. 

 "I shouldn't have called, I shouldn't have called," he moaned over and
over to himself for making the good-deed phone call, because now he had to
go back for the bloody thing. For a moment, Ray considered leaving without
the hat. He could tell Fraser that he forgot it. It had been a long day,
he was tired and, shit, it was only a hat. 

 * 

 Ray arrived at the park, carrying the Stetson in his hand and wondered
why the hell Fraser always had to choose the dumbest places to meet. This
one had a small crowd gathering by the parking lot and Ray, more out of
boredom than interest, wandered over to see what the attraction was. 

 Two ambulance attendants were unloading a stretcher while one officer
tried to move the audience of on-lookers away from the accident scene. A
squad car was parked a few yards away. Ray could see the figure of a man
in the back seat of the car but what caught his attention was the woman
sitting in the open side of the driver's seat, talking into the car radio.
It was Meg Thatcher. Dewey was standing next to her and neither of them
noticed Ray running towards the ambulance until it was too late. 

 "Outa the way," Ray barked to the circle of zombies who tried to peer
over each other's shoulders for a better view of the victim on the
pavement. One by one they backed away and Ray saw the beaten and bleeding
head of Fraser. "What the hell---" 

 A hand landed on his shoulder and he heard Huey say quietly, "We've been
trying to find you--" 

 "What happened?" Ray stood back and stared dumbfounded as the paramedics
pushed past him and began to work on Fraser. "Hey, Frase---" 

 "Come on, let's hang back and let them do their job." 

 But Ray didn't budge and didn't take his eyes off Fraser. He could hear
the voices of the curious telling one another what they thought they saw
or what must be going on because they thought they knew. Ray watched the
paramedics strap a neck brace on to Fraser, then a blanket and everything
else that wrapped him up and turned him into someone else. He listened to
Huey recite fractions of the various reports from bystanders: Fraser had
been waiting for someone, two men came up to him, one of them called him
by name; Fraser tried to step away and then there was a scuffle, one guy
fell off, other pushed him. A woman was there, but one of the men held her
back. She got away but she only caught one of the bad guys and boy can she
throw a punch and so on and so on. 

 Ray pointed to the squad car. "Who did it? Is that him in the car?" 

 Huey nodded. "He's one of them. Thatcher nailed him by the corner. The
other one got away. We don't know everything yet cause this one isn't
talking." 

 Ray looked back at the car. He saw Dewey lead Thatcher into the front
seat of the squad car and drive away. "Where they going?" 

 "Welsh wants a statement. I don't know any more than that. I just got
here myself. She's pretty shaken up." 

 "She okay, though, right?" 

 "Yeah. One of the guys kept her out of the way while the other started in
on Fraser." 

 "I called the ambulance," a pleased voice offered from the crowd. 

 Someone else spoke up and claimed that, no, he had called the ambulance.
A minor dispute erupted over who called what emergency force first and but
Ray wasn't as interested as they were. "You idiots just stand there and
watch a guy get the crap beat out of him?" 

 "Shut up, please," Huey insisted and pulled him back. 

 "You morons get a good look? Didja?" 

 The witnesses turned away from the madman and looked to the calmer Huey
for support. Not one of them bothered to look at the man lying unconscious
on the pavement to see if he was all right. 

 + 

 To his own amazement, Ray kept his cool. He rode with Huey to the
hospital, gave all the right answers to the questions about Fraser at
Administration and didn't yell at one person for anything. He watched
Fraser being wheeled away and he waited by the doors with his hands jammed
tightly in his pockets. He didn't move for the next forty minutes. 

 It seemed like forever until someone spoke to him. It was only an orderly
who mumbled, "S'cuse me" after bumping him with a cart but it was still
conversation, a voice to remind him that nothing had ended yet. 

 Down the hall a group of familiar faces were walking towards him --
Welsh, Huey, Dewy even Inspector Thatcher -- and they looked grave and
oddly determined. She tried looked more composed than any of them but
there was something in her face that gave it all away. 

 "Let's talk," Welsh said and calmly tried to steer Kowalski away from the
waiting room. 

 Kowalski backed away. "No, not until I know how he is." 

 Inspector Thatcher moved towards him and said kindly, "He's fine for now,
Ray. Please, we need to talk to you for a minute." She put her hand on his
arm and led him away, just like that. 

 The others wordlessly followed. They went into an empty office and Ray
kept just composed enough until the door closed behind them. He stepped
back from them again. "He's dead, isn't he?" His eyes were wide and
frightened. 

 "No," Welsh corrected. "He's serious but not dead. The doctors are
looking after him. We have to move fast and I need you to listen to me.
Ray, are you with me?" 

 Ray looked back and forth between Welsh and Thatcher. "He's not dead." 

 "No," Thatcher looked at the others and continued. "He's in surgery right
now - he has internal bleeding but they think they can stop it." This time
her composure disappeared and the fear finally showed through. "He's still
unconscious. He's got a bad concussion. They don't know how he'll be ...
not yet." 

 Why were they letting her deliver the worst when she was barely able to
keep herself together? Ray glared at the others. "Jesus, do you guys
really not give a shit or is this just some reaction they teach in
Group-Hug School?" 

 "Ray," the Lieutenant tried to interrupt. 

 But Ray turned on him next. "And why the hell aren't those two--" For the
first time he acknowledged the presence of Huey and Dewey by the door,
"out looking for the little bastards that did this? There's a whole list
of creeps with rap sheets out there." Then he looked down and realized he
was still clutching Fraser's hat in his hand. "The guy keeps his money in
his hat, for crissakes. He probably didn't even have a dime on him." 

 "Are you done?" Welsh's patience was dying quickly. "Listen up, Ray. As I
said, we're short on time so please pay attention. It wasn't random and it
wasn't a mugging. They weren't even looking for Fraser in particular." He
paused a moment before delivering the worst. "They just got Fraser by
mistake. We think they may have been after you." 

 "What?" 

 "Just before they started in on him, one of the witnesses heard one of
the assailants call Fraser 'Kowalski' a couple of times. We don't know for
sure - it's likely this is connected with the real Ray Vecchio. A phone
call came into the station a half-hour ago. It didn't make sense at the
time but it warned that the 'Phony Ray' was the first and the real one was
next. The message was loud and clear but it also tells us that whoever is
responsible for working over Fraser got the wrong man because they think
they got you." 

 "What the hell does that mean? I don't believe this - this is Fraser, not
me. Fraser doesn't look like me, he..." Ray was losing steam and losing
fast. 

 "We found a bug in your office phone," Huey added grimly. "They knew
where you were going to be tonight." 

 "So? How in the hell do they get Fraser for me, for crying out loud?" 

 Welsh shrugged. "It's not impossible. They heard you make plans to meet
the Mountie and they waited. So, of course they expect you with some guy
in all his Mountie grandeur but Fraser wasn't wearing his uniform and
instead, they saw a tall guy waiting around. He's your age, your build,
wearing a leather jacket and jeans. These guys are out-of-towners and they
probably didn't have a photo ID to go by. This is where we have to move
fast if we want to keep a step ahead. If they put it together that they
got the wrong guy then you, Fraser and Ray Vecchio are in trouble." 

 Dewey added, "We've identified the guy from the park and he belongs to
certain gang of hired by organized crime when they need someone 'dealt
with'. He isn't talking but the beating they gave Fraser has all the signs
of being one of theirs, like a calling card. The ensignia on their jackets
is same gang that does that kind of work. One of the witnesses got a good
look when he tried to get a close up with his camera." 

 "There's one more thing..." Huey cleared his throat to catch Welsh's eye.
He wasn't told to shut up so he continued reluctantly. "Apparently, Fraser
looked confused for a second but he didn't correct them. It sounds like he
realized they were lying in wait for you and he didn't - most likely, he
was trying to protect you." 

 Ray tightened and slid his fists into his pockets. He heard Thatcher
swear under her breath and sit down next to him on the corner of the desk.
He suddenly wondered why she wasn't screaming at him for doing this to
Fraser, for being responsible and alive. Her Fraser wasn't responsible for
this and he was barely alive because of it but she stayed close to Ray
while the other three stood across from them and she didn't budge. 

 Welsh continued. "They think they got Kowalski, so we have to make sure
they keep on thinking that. Ray, you're going to go out of sight as You
and surface as Fraser. They have to think he's healthy and walking around.
They also have to think that Kowalski is in critical condition, and may or
may not make it." Both Meg and Ray's heads shot up at the bluntness. "I'm
sorry. Bad choice of words but that's what they have to think. Ray, you
can't go home. We'll have someone go over to your place, pretend to feed
your cat, get anything you need out of there first thing in the morning." 

 "Forgetting that I don't have a cat, where the hell am I supposed to go?"


 "Consulate, same as where Fraser lives. You'll contact me and any one of
us from there." 

 "You can't shut me out of this." 

 "I don't intend to remove you from this case but you've got to follow the
plan for everyone's safety. We'll check the phones, you can work out of
the Consulate but you can't do anything overt or stupid or else three
lives are in jeopardy not just one. You don't set foot near the precinct;
when you visit Fraser, you go with Thatcher. And if you have to go any
place you take Huey or Dewey with you. I'm not going to cut you off but
you have to follow these rules until we know who is watching or listening
and from where. Business as usual. Anyone asks about 'Ray' or 'Kowalski',
we say, 'He's not well'. They may double check to see that they did the
right guy and as long as we're evasive about giving too much information,
they'll think they got their guy. I'm going to put a cop on duty at
Fraser's door, all calls coming in and out of the station and the
consulate are going to be monitored. Nothing's going to get missed." 

 The room was oddly silent. There was nothing more to say because it would
appear that Welsh had said it all and left no room for problems. He looked
at everyone. "Are we all clear on this?" There were the usual nods and
looks. "Okay. We help each other on this. Anyone hears anything, you tell
me right away." Welsh cleared his throat. "Now, about the reason we're
actually here. The doctor doesn't want Fraser knowing that any of this is
going on for obvious reasons, so anyone visiting him - and that too is
limited to those in this room - doesn't speak to him about it. No
conversations amongst yourselves, nothing." He looked pointedly at Ray.
"You understand the rules, Detective? I want you set up in the Consulate
and out of sight as soon as possible." 

 "I'm not going anywhere until I see Fraser for myself." 

 "He's still in surgery, it'll be a while." 

 "I don't care." 

 "Neither do I," Thatcher quietly added. "I'm staying too." 

 Welsh glanced at the other two officers and nodded. "Fine. I don't
suppose there's anyone we should call, should he get...worse." 

 "No one to call," Ray answered matter of factly. This was Fraser they
were talking about, the man with no family, no friends but the ones right
here. "Let's go." Ray nudged Thatcher and they both stood up. "We're going
to see Fraser. You guys do what you want." The two of them left the room,
almost in unison of fatigue and concern. 

 Welsh turned to the silent duo by the door. "You keep an eye on him
because he's a few sentences away from cracking, and when he stops
cracking he's going to be out for blood." 

 * 

 Fraser was taken to intensive care several hours later. There were
machines beeping, tubes in and out of every part of him. There was a cast
on his right arm and he was out cold. At three-thirty that morning, Ray
jolted awake and saw Welsh in the doorway of Fraser's room. Meg was
sleeping in the chair next to his and Ray carefully got up and followed
Welsh into the hall. 

 He rubbed his finger into his eyes and looked around. "Anybody find
anything out yet?" 

 "Nothing so far but it's still early. How's he doing?" 

 Ray shrugged. "Same. Not any worse, at least. Doctor says he could be
like that for a while, whatever that means. I think they got their own
language." 

 "Any idea on what the hell they were doing in that neck of the woods? She
said they were apartment hunting but I kinda doubt that. And if she was,
what would she be doing with him? Hey, you don't think there's a little
hanky panky going on between those two, do you?" 

 "Those two? Yeah, right. Hell frozen over yet? Anyway, I'm the guy who's
been carting him around town looking for his damn apartment." 

 Welsh remembered one more thing. "Someone should see about the wolf. I
take it he wasn't with Fraser when this happened." 

 Ray's head dropped at the thought of one more detail that felt too
overwhelming to deal with right now. "He's probably at the consulate." 

 "Someone's got to look after him for ... trips and whatnot." 

 "Can't one of those boneheads from the Consulate do it?" 

 "Maybe but given the severity of the situation, I suspect Fraser would be
happier knowing that you were looking after the little guy. He knows you
better than anyone else, other than Fraser. Why don't you get out of here?
The wolf's probably aching for a little trip to the tree. If she's not
ready to leave yet, I'll drive you over." 

 A sleepy, irritated voice by the door interrupted. "She's ready to go
now. And I can look after Diefenbaker." Thatcher had that look on her face
again, the look from hell that threatened anyone in her way. 

 "I'll do it," Ray corrected. 

 "He's under my command. I'll look after him." 

 "You have a wolf under your command? What about the office furniture,
that under your command too?" 

 "If it's Canadian, it is." 

 The earlier understanding between the two had silently disappeared and
the hostility returned. Welsh stepped in between them. "You two want to
knock it off, please? One of you look after the wolf and I suggest that
both of you get out of here for a few hours. I got a man posted at the
door - if anything changes, we'll have you on the phone ASAP. Okay?" Welsh
looked back and forth between them and answered the question for them.
"All right, then, get the hell out of here. Both of you keep your cell
phones on, and Ray, don't you dare answer unless you're talking through
three handkerchiefs." 

 They both glared at each other, almost daring the other to leave first.
It was childish but it was late and it had been the kind of evening that
neither of them felt like living through again. Welsh solved the standoff
by shoving them both in the direction of the elevators. He watched them
walk away, snarling things at each other and he sighed to himself, "God
help that poor wolf." 

 * 

 Thatcher drove and Ray sat slumped down in the passenger seat. He broke
the silence of the drive with an unexpected question. "What'd you call
Fraser about on the phone today?" 

 "Pardon?" 

 "This afternoon. About five-thirty. Fraser was at my desk, you called him
about something and he flew out of there like a bat out of hell. What'd
you call him about?" 

 She looked at him, irritated and tired, and replied flatly, "That's not
your business." 

 "You got him so panicked that he ran back to the Consulate and forgot his
hat. He never forgets his hat. It's like it's part of his hair. He'd never
forget his hat unless something rattled his cage, so I repeat, what was
that phone call about?" 

 "And I repeat, it's none of your business." 

 "And I think it is some of my business. If he hadn't left that damn hat,
I wouldn't have had to return it to him and then gone and forgotten it and
if I hadn't done that, I would have been there in time, and Fraser
wouldn't have had the crap beaten out of him, so maybe it is my business."
His identity, his keys, his hat. His fault. Ray had used his time to work
this all out logically. "He's my friend so that kind of makes it my
business," he battled back. 

 "Fine, it's your business. Can you be quiet now?" 

 "Did you see the guys approach him? Did they wait for him?" 

 "I don't want to talk about this, please." 

 "I want to talk about it now." he stormed back. "I need to know why they
thought Fraser was me and anything else that'll help get those
shit-for-brains who did this." 

 "Because they were too stupid to ask. That's why they thought you were
him, isn't that enough? They thought he was you. That's it. Fraser didn't
tell them otherwise and he took the blows and like it or not, that's the
only way this would have turned out, even if he'd seen you coming, which
he didn't." 

 "He was apartment hunting, wasn't he? I told him to stay outa those kinda
neighbourhoods. You should have told him, too. And what were you doing,
I'm the one who's been hauling him hell and back over this city. That's my
job." 

 "Jesus, Kowalski!" 

 "It's that goddamned hat," Ray mumbled to himself angrily. "I shouldn't
have forgotten to bring that stupid thing. Shit." 

 Thatcher knew it was the wrong time to overreact, she knew he wasn't
thinking any clearer than she was but she bolted ahead anyway. "I don't
want to hear anymore about that stupid hat, is that understood?" Her voice
eased into something resembling fatigue. "Please, can we talk about this
another time." 

 Ray gave up and slouched down further into the seat. He tilted his head
tilted against the car window and didn't say anything more because he
didn't trust himself. It wasn't the time of night for self-censorship or
deciphering the codes of what she was and wasn't telling him. 

 * 

 Unlocking the door of the Consulate was like unlocking the chambers of
horrifying silence. Things rattled and clanged and footsteps echoed far
longer then they needed to. 

 Thatcher silently opened the door to Fraser's office and pointed to the
cot in the corner of the office. "He sleeps there." 

 "Fine," Ray yawned as he walked past her. 

 "Shouldn't you see to the wolf?" The question was more of a dare. 

 "I'll take him out in a second," Ray promised just before he dove onto
the cot. He was out cold within seconds. 

 Ray didn't hear the office door close gently behind him, he didn't hear
Thatcher take Diefenbaker outside. He didn't hear Diefenbaker sniff from
shrub to shrub while Thatcher tried to explain Fraser's situation to him
in the most dignified voice she could find considering who she was talking
to. 

 Ray also didn't hear her hesitate at the Consulate door and walk back to
her car, with Diefenbaker in tow. 

 * 

 The next morning Turnbull stood at the door to Fraser's office and
cleared his throat loudly. Nothing happened to the man on the cot and
Turnbull tried three more times before braving an all-out, "Excuse me?" 

 Ray stirred once and bolted to life. For three kind seconds, he had no
idea where he was. Then he remembered where, why, and the rest of the
details and wished to hell he hadn't. 

 Turnbull bravely continued. "Excuse me...but I was looking for ... I
usually take Diefenbaker with me to the coffee shop." 

 "Yeah, so?" Ray dragged his legs over the cot and rubbed his face into
his hands. "What time is it?" 

 "Six-thirty, Sir. If you don't mind my asking, is there any reason that
you're here and Constable Fraser isn't?" 

 "Yeah. Where's Thatcher?" 

 "Right here." The Inspector appeared magically behind Turnbull.
Diefenbaker was at her side, alert and ready to begin his day. 

 "I've got Constable Fraser's wolf, Turnbull, I took him home with me." 

 "You took Constable Fraser home with you?" Turnbull's eyes did the dance
of confusion. 

 "What the hell did you do that for?" Ray complained. "I'm supposed to
look after him. We decided that last night." 

 "And when was this confirmed? When your head hit the pillow or was it
sometime after? He needed a walk and since you didn't seem like you were
going to be any use, I took him home with me. Why should he have to stay
here and listen to you snore?" 

 "Constable Fraser," Turnbull tried to understand. 

 "I don't snore!" 

 Meg ignored this illusion. "And not that it's any of your business,
Detective, but I didn't want to be on my own. Now, if you're done whining,
I suggest Turnbull show you to the showers and then we can go see Fraser."


 "That would be at your place," Turnbull, unsuccessfully, tried to follow.


 Thatcher put him out of his misery. "Turnbull, Fraser won't be into work
for a few days and I have had to enlist Detective Vecchio's help on
another matter, so I would like you to ignore him and play along if you
hear him identify himself to anyone as 'Constable Fraser'. Understood?" 

 "Well, actually, not really--" 

 "Fine. Dismissed." Her eyes darted back to Ray. "Well?" 

 "Well what," he groaned. 

 "Shower and let's go!" 

 He looked up at her with wonder. "You always this sweet in the morning?" 

 "You'll never know." She whirled around and disappeared as discretely as
she appeared. 

 * 

 They drove to the hospital in a mutually respected silence. As Welsh
instructed, their entry to the building was to be swift and non-descript.
There was a bag of Ray's things waiting for him inside Fraser's room. He
ignored it and walked tentatively to the bed. Thatcher was close behind,
guarding her every gesture so that nothing would betray her the way it had
the night before. She pretended not to think twice about letting Ray go
ahead of her. Ray was the best friend. She was just the boss. 

 "How's he doing?" Ray asked across the bed at the nurse who was taking
Fraser's pulse. 

 She ignored his question. "Should you be in here?" 

 Thatcher cautiously put a hand on Ray's arm before he lashed out with
something insulting. Politely, she informed the nurse that they were both
immediate family. 

 "Cousins?" the nurse smirked and charted the pulse. 

 "Brother and Sister," Ray smirked back and pointed to his face. "My
eyes." 

 He could have sworn her heard her grumble, 'My ass' as she passed him but
it was hard to tell under the flat thud of the rubber-soled shoes. 

 Fraser wasn't any better and they knew it. He was still unconscious, his
face was bruised and tubes were coming from his arm, the one that wasn't
broken. He didn't look much better than when they left the hospital five
hours ago. 

 "I hate this," Ray snarled from his chair. "I mean, I really hate this.
He's not getting any better, those boneheads out there aren't doing
anything. Christ, I hate this." 

 "Please shut up," Meg asked from the chair next to him. 

 But he didn't hear her. "Fraser's the King of Wait. He could sit through
anything and not want to punch a wall." 

 "Not now, Ray." 

 This time he heard her and looked at her. If she wasn't about to start
crying, then she was seconds away from it. He said, "Sorry," quietly and
shut up. 

 * 

 "I don't understand this, Son." 

 Fraser looked over and saw his father trying to untangle a phone cord
from the jack in the wall. He couldn't move with his arm in the sling and
he didn't want to disturb the two guests in the corner of his hospital
room but he took a chance. "Dad, will you put that down. If you take it
out like that you'll break it." 

 "So? It's not like you're expecting any calls. That's one thing I've
never understood. Phones in hospital rooms. If you're well enough to be
taking calls, you're well enough to be up and out of here." 

 "Fine. I agree. You're right, again. Now, will you please leave the cord
alone---" 

 Bob Fraser stood up with the broken phone cord in his hands. "Oops. I
shouldn't have done that." 

 "Perhaps you should leave and come back another time. I don't suppose you
could take those two with you. They don't look very well." He indicated
Ray and Meg sitting in opposite chairs in the corner of his room and
wished he knew what, specifically, had them looking so irritated at each
other. 

 "Of course not," his father was saying. He sat down on the side of the
bed, nudged his son over and made himself more comfortable. "They're
worried about you." 

 "Well, I can see that, but you'd think they could take a moment out of
their mutual irritation and be... nicer to each other" 

 "Ah, leave them alone. You're just sore cause they're doing something
without you." 

 "No, I'm just sore because I was beaten up last night, if you haven't
noticed. Perhaps you could come back a little later. Say, when I'm
asleep." 

 "Oh, that's what you are now, Son. So I might just as well stay around
and keep you company. They have company, why shouldn't you?" 

 "But I don't want company." 

 "Sure you do." 

 "No, I don't. I want all of this to go away, that's what I want." 

 "It's all right, you know. It's over." his father told him. He noticed
the look on his son's face. "She's fine, Son. Let them do the worrying
about you this time." 

 "I'm fine." 

 "Do you want to talk about what happened at that park?" 

 "No!" 

 "Well, don't go snapping my head off, then. As it stands, I'm the only
company you've got. Don't kill the messenger, that sort of thing. Or is it
'don't feed the hand that bites you'. It's one of those, I think." 

 "Whatever." Fraser glanced over at the visitors and sighed. "I wish he
wouldn't be so severe. He's not like that. I know he's probably tired, but
so is she." 

 "Leave him alone, Son. He's hurting right now, more than you want to
know." 

 * 

 By mutual decision, Ray and Thatcher decided to stager their visits and
spare each other the agony of spending more time together. Ray took the
first shift and dragged his chair over to the side of Fraser's bed. 

 "You could wake up any time," he begged evenly. "I know you're probably
sleeping and it's killing you not to interrupt me about something. They
say you can probably hear deep down in there and if you were awake I'd ask
you how in the hell you put up with that woman and you'd say something
polite like, 'Now Ray..." but that wouldn't work 'cause she's driving me
up the wall. One minute she's actually nice, then the next she's like the
Ice Lady--" 

 "Isn't it 'Dragon Lady?'" Fraser corrected. 

 Fraser Senior sighed at his son. "Where on earth did you ever pick up
such an annoying habit? Stop correcting him all the time. You do that a
lot, you know." 

 Fraser looked at him incredulously. "Well, if I do, it's easy to see who
I learned it from." 

 Ray draped his arms on the bar of the bed and rested his chin on them.
"I'm sorry, Fraser, I know the guys who did this were looking for me and I
wish to hell that you hadn't said nothing. They might have let you go." 

 "He would have done the same thing for you, " Bob Fraser remarked. 

 "I know that." Fraser looked over at his father. "You're correcting
again." 

 "Am I?" 

 "Yes, you are." 

 "Annoying, isn't it, Son." 

 Ray sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. "What a dump. For crissakes,
come out of this so you can get the hell out of here. Even your office is
better than this place. Hell, I'll even buy you a new cot. That one you
sleep on is five inches too short for anyone over five-foot six." 

 "How does he know that?" Fraser asked his father. 

 Bob Fraser shrugged. "You got me. Maybe his place burned down too. Could
be the RCMP is more desperate than we think and Thatcher's had to take in
borders to make ends meet." 

 "I'm sorry, Fraser." Ray sighed. 

 "It's not your fault." 

 "You know he can't hear you." Bob pointed out. 

 "Yes, dad, I guessed that much. I just wish he wouldn't blame himself." 

 "If there was something I could do for you I'd do it but I'm not any damn
doctor and I don't know what to do, except yell 'Wake Up' or something in
your face but you'd probably go deaf and they wouldn't let me come back
and see you." He didn't tell him that whenever he came to the hospital he
had to be escorted by Thatcher, he had to live in Thatcher's consulate, he
had to work out of Thatcher's consulate and, that for reasons he couldn't
say, he had to work with Thatcher. She was angry and cold and not playing
well with others. 

 " Diefenbaker's fine. He doesn't know you're here. I mean, he does, but
not why. I'm looking after him for you, unless she takes him away again.
Like I'm not capable of looking after a wolf. I said I'd look after him
and she takes him to her place last night the minute I fall asleep." 

 "Excuse me?" Both Fraser's' eyes widened. 

 "And when I woke up this morning, low and behold, there she was with
Diefenbaker right there in the doorway. She's so anal she makes you look
normal." 

 Fraser glanced up at his father. "That wasn't a compliment, was it?" 

 "Oh, I shouldn't think so, Son." 

 Ray sighed again, this time longer and sadder. "I'm so sorry about this,
Fraser." 

 * 

 That night, Ray was asleep seconds after hitting the bed. He fell fast
and hard and right into sleep. He was dreaming of something moving,
something making a sound. The door opened, letting in a sliver of light
from the hall, and something heavily landed on the floor next to him. 

 Ray yelled, something barked and Ray lost ten years on his life. He
reached for the light and saw Diefenbaker sitting next to him on the
floor. 

 "Jesus," Ray slapped his heart in shock. 

 Diefenbaker sat where he was and made his particular noises. 

 Ray shook his head. "No way, I just took you out." 

 That was over four hours ago but who was counting. A polite growl
followed. Some of us don't have indoor plumbing, the message implied. 

 Ray looked at his watch and tried to fathom the unfathomable. "You're
kidding, right? It's almost three-thirty." 

 No, Diefenbaker insinuated as he pointed his nuzzle towards the window.
'I'm not kidding.' 

 Ray gave in to the inevitable and took Diefenbaker outside. Ray waited in
bare feet while Diefenbaker hunted for the perfect place, listening to the
winds howl around them. Ray was wearing a T-shirt and track pants and
wondered why something that seemed so routine to a wolf should be sheer
hell to humans. 

 Another few minutes of windy eternity passed. "Come on, you don't have to
smell everything. Let's go." He waited for some kind of recognition and
snorted appropriately. "It's some trick, isn't it. Screw it, I'm cold.
Let's go." Ray turned and went back into the Consulate. He was debating
closing the door behind him to lure the animal back into the building but
the wolf solved the dilemma by slipping through the shrinking space at the
last second. 

 'Okay, goodnight," Ray yawned and stumbled back down the long hall. He
stopped at the door and saw Diefenbaker sitting there, looking at him.
"What? It's not breakfast and you know it." 

 The wolf stood up and walked delicately over the tile towards the office.
 "You can't sleep in here. Go sleep wherever it is you sleep. I'm going to
bed." Ray crawled back under the covers. In a second, the unthinkable  

 happened and the dog jumped onto Ray's stomach, nudged him out of the way
and lay down next to him. 

 "No, no, this isn't what I meant --- You don't have to sleep up here,
right?" But the wolf had no intention of moving. "Okay - well..." Ray
wasn't used to finding four legged creatures in bed with him. "Okay, well,
fine. Stay." He gave up and lay down. "G'night." 

 * 

 In the waiting area by Fraser's room, Thatcher was in the middle of
talking to an unidentified officer about the assault. She had tried to
avoid him when she left the room but he cornered her, on Welsh's orders.
The more they knew, the more they could find out, he tried to explain -
again, on Welsh's orders. 

 "So you have no idea about what he might have been doing in that part of
town?" 

 "Didn't I just say that?" 

 Ray quietly stood to the side and smiled to himself. Now she was barking
at total strangers. At least it took the pressure off him for a while. 

 "Yes, Ma'am, you did but ..." The officer sighed and closed his notebook.
"Never mind. I didn't think this was going to go anywhere. Sorry to bother
you." 

 Ray waited for him to leave before he flopped down next to Thatcher on
the couch. "What's up?" 

 "Nothing. He was just trying to fill in the blanks. How's Fraser?" 

 "The same. Welsh been by with anything new yet?" 

 "One of the stores in the neighbourhood had their surveillance camera
running. He's looking through it to see if there's anything of use on it."
Thatcher glanced at her watch and stood up. "I'm going back to the
consulate for a few hours." 

 "How come?" 

 She chose not to answer this. "Other business. You'll be all right on
your own here for a while?" 

 Ray leaned back and smiled up at her. "Well, I'll miss you yelling at me,
but other than that you mean?" 

 This time her face softened. "Other than that, I mean." 

 "Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. Maybe I'll tag along with you. This place is
starting to give me the creeps." 

 "I thought the Consulate gave you the creeps." 

 "No, Turnbull gives me the creeps." 

 Ray started to get up but she pushed him back down again. "One of us
should stay. Perhaps they could find you a bed to take a nap in. I don't
suspect you slept very well on Fraser's cot." 

 "Would you?" 

 "No comment. I'll be back later." 

 "No, hold on. What's so urgent back there? Or is it hanging around here?"
With me. 

 Her defenses began to regroup. "There's nothing urgent. I have things to
do. I'll see you later." 

 Ray watched her walk away and wondered what kind of other business was so
non-descript. The edginess of before returned. What was she up to, what
was anyone up to? What the hell was Fraser doing there in the first place?
The hell with them all. 

 An orderly called to him, "How's the big guy?" Ray looked over. It was
one of the good guys, not the ones that said you weren't allowed to sleep
in the waiting area. Ray's feet were already on the other end of the
couch. 

 "He's good, thanks. Hey, you guys got a gift shop in here? Fer like
T'shirts and hats, that kinda thing?" 

 "First floor, west wing." 

 "Thanks." 

 "Don't let Stewart catch you sleeping here, he's on the warpath." 

 Ray swung his feet over to the floor. "Gotcha." But Stewart wasn't what
was most on his mind. 

 * 

 "I think I'll be heading on my way," Robert Fraser announced without any
warning. 

 Fraser looked at him oddly. "Now you decide to leave? I've only been
suggesting it for the last day." 

 "I can take a hint, you know. Why are you looking so funny." 

 "I'm not." 

 His father pointed to him. "You are. You winced. Just then." 

 "No, I didn't" 

 "Yes, you did." 

 Fraser sighed. "Fine, I winced. Sue me." 

 "You're starting to feel some pain, aren't you?" 

 He shrugged. "Maybe a little. I think I've got a headache coming on." 

 "That'll be the understatement of the day." 

 Now, Fraser gave in and winced again. "What do you mean?" 

 "Nothing." Bob Fraser stood up and smoothed his uniform. "I think I'll
let you get back to your friends and your real life. I wish there was
something I could do about how you're going to feel but I can't, son.
You'll be all right. I won't let anything happen to you." 

 A searing pain soared across his forehead and landed in his shoulder.
"What do you mean?" He was getting worried. His father never stepped
across this line when he spoke to him. 

 Bob Fraser just patted his other shoulder and smiled kindly. "I'll drop
in on you a little later. I just thought you'd need some company after the
accident for a while." 

 "Wait a minute --- Owww." A ball of pain hit with a fury and Fraser
closed his eyes tightly. 

 * 

 By the time he got to the park, the same one he was forbidden to go near,
Ray was drenched by the rain and wind. There weren't many people around
the area where Fraser was attacked and Ray was able to get closer to the
exact spot. He walked over to the bench, near where Fraser was beaten up,
and picked up a business card that someone had used to wrap a piece of gum
in before throwing it away. Typical, he thought; littering, no problem,
but make sure that ol' gum is wrapped up good and tight so no one gets any
stuck to their shoe. Actually, this was more like a Fraser observation
than anything Ray would have come up with by himself. 

 "Christ, I'm turning into him," Ray mumbled as he delicately pocketed the
item. The business card had an unusual emblem on it, one he remembered
from somewhere else. 

 He went to the end of the tunnel, but it was blocked off by an old, heavy
grate. It was taller than Ray and at least three times the width and it
had no intention of being moved anywhere. Ray was trying to shake the
grate loose when something suddenly jammed into his kidneys at the same
time a voice warned, "Don't budge." 

 He didn't try and turn around, he barely even tried to raise his hands. A
hand landed on his shoulder and roughly swung him around. Lieutenant Welsh
was aiming his gun at Ray's throat. 

 "What the f--- are you doing?" Welsh yelled at the top of his lungs when
he saw who it was. "Jesus, I could have killed you!" 

 "Me? What the fuck are you doing?" 

 Welsh regained his composure first and shoved Kowalski against the wall.
"You'd better have a bloody good reason for being down here, Detective. I
could have killed you, you know that?" 

 "So what?" Ray barked out for no apparent reason other than he had no
leverage whatsoever. "Okay, fine, so ya coulda shot me." 

 "I'm not hearing you, Ray, what the hell are you doing here?" 

 "Detecting, same as you. What the hell else would I be doing here!" 

 Welsh didn't bother answering. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket,
hammered in some numbers and barked into the other end, "Get a car over
here, I got something I need shipped back to the consulate, ASAP!." 

 He turned back to Ray. "Anyone could have recognized you in that idiot
cap, Ray. Anyone." The cap was red and had 'University Hospital'
splattered over the front. 

 "You didn't." 

 "Not for long, I didn't. Christ, you know what's at stake here. Do not
try anything like this again. You got me?" 

 "Yeah, I got you," Ray yelled back before he realized who he was yelling
at. Oddly enough, it didn't matter. He would have yelled at shrubbery
right then if it would have yelled back. 

 Welsh didn't say anything else. He didn't move except when Ray gave the
impression that he was going to move first. When Dewey arrived with the
car, Welsh pulled Kowalski by the ball cap and handed him over to Dewey. 

 "Keep him the hell out of here." 

 * 

 Ray was in the shower on the second floor. He was angry, he was tired and
he was ready to punch out a wall, a person, anything that would hurt him
more than he could know. He was towed over to Dewey's car and driven home
like a juvenile delinquent caught at the porn shop by the old man. He had
to put up with Dewey's polite conversation on the way home. No insults, no
idiotic jokes. Polite conversation. This was what his life had come to in
the last twenty-four hours. 

 Now, he was shivering in an old cast-iron tub, in a bathroom that must
have been the servants' quarters for very short people. The hot water had
died minutes ago, the top window wouldn't close and he had forgotten to
bring a fresh change of clothes upstairs with him. Now, with only a towel
around his waist, he had to return to Fraser's office and not run into the
Queen of Mean while doing it. She was snapping at him for anything now,
and a naked appearance, towel not withstanding, would finish him off for
good. 

 He tiptoed down the back stairs, dripping water behind him. He would have
made a clean dash into the office if he hadn't heard a sharp German accent
coming out of Thatcher's office. She was snapping at strangers now, and
oddly enough it pleased him to hear someone other than him being on the
receiving end of her temper. 

 "I can't do anything more," she was ranting. "The matter is out of my
hands." 

 "And that's that? Your government may not agree. My friend came to you
for help and I haven't seen him since. Your Constable was supposed to meet
him at the water fountain and as far as I'm concerned, the matter is still
in your hands." 

 "What are you talking about? What meeting?" 

 "I hope you're not playing dumb with me on this matter." 

 Meg skated near the end of her patience and sighed loudly.
"What-are-you-talking about? I don't know about any meeting." 

 "The one I spoke to your Constable about. He was supposed to meet George
and myself but he backed out of our arrangement. He never showed up when
he promised he would and that makes us wonder if your Canadian government
is supporting us." 

 The obvious began to seep into her mind. "When did you plan to meet with
Fraser?" 

 "Three days ago. I called your office but he answered and said he'd meet
with us. Don't you people talk?" 

 "No, I guess not." Thatcher's confusion made way for clarity. "Was this
at the park on Kenwood?" 

 "How do you know that if you didn't know about the---?" 

 "Fraser was attacked that day, where he was supposed to meet you. He's
been unconscious in the hospital ever since. I didn't know that he'd
arranged a meeting." And suddenly, one of the mysteries became a little
clearer. 

 "Fraser was attacked?" The man, Bernard, sighed. "I see. That would
explain our mutual confusion. But I still need your help in locating my
friend." 

 "I can't help you any more now, there is too much going on that has my
time." 

 The man's voice rose three notches and took on the insinuating tone of an
all-out threat. "Is that right? Well, it seems like you owe my friend some
of that time." 

 Ray crept closer to the open door, tip-toeing on the wet hardwood floor.
He didn't recognize the German accent but he recognized the tone of voice.
If God had answered his unconscious plea, here was a guy to pick that
fight with. 

 "Anybody seen my hairbrush?" he inquired at the doorway. 

 The Inspector and her guest stopped mid-conversation and looked at the
skinny figure, dressed in only a towel and dripping water on the carpet.
"If you don't mind, Veh-" she was about to say. 

 "Sir?" he interrupted politely, reminiscent of someone else he was
supposed to be. 

 She adjusted. "Please leave. This is a private conversation. And would
you please not roam around the consulate with nothing on. It upsets the
tourists." Upset or not, she caught herself looking the wiry and wet
figure with something resembling interest. 

 But Ray stayed where he was and turned to the tall gentleman in the
Armani jacket. "Is there anything we could help you with?" 

 The man stared at Ray and studied him longer than was usual. "Not unless
your name is Georges." 

 "Do I look like a Georges?" 

 "May I ask your name, Sir?" he continued. There was something of genuine
interest in the question. He didn't stop staring at Ray. 

 "He's nobody," she responded. "And he's leaving." 

 Ray stepped closer to them. "Not until one of you tells me what's going
on." 

 "Move aside," the man snarled. 

 "No." 

 "Fine." He plowed his fist smack into Ray's stomach and sent him
stumbling back to the wall. Ray doubled over and gasped for air long
enough for the man to sucker punch him again. Satisfied, Bernard left, the
detective dropped to the floor and, to Thatcher's relief, the towel stayed
on. 

 Ray sat on the floor and tried to catch his breath. He didn't get up
because, after two days of hell and back, he didn't have any strength
left. He buried his head into his hands, too tired to do anything more but
cough and wonder when the hell this was going to be over. 

 Thatcher suddenly noticed how thin and fragile he looked. "Ray?" 

 No answer. She watched him ram his elbow against the wall, over and over
again. 

 "Ray, stop it!" 

 Ray kept ramming the wall until his elbow was raw and bleeding and the
wall began to crack. When he raised his head, he saw Thatcher staring at
him with a look on her face that he recognized immediately. 

 "Stop it," she repeated, this time quietly, as if it were a plea instead
of an order. "You think it's going to change everything but it won't." 

 "Then tell me what will and I'll do it." 

 "Nothing. There's nothing to do." Thatcher pulled a cloth from the desk
and crouched down beside Ray. Wordlessly, she wrapped Ray's battered elbow
in a cloth and led him to one of the chairs. "It's not your fault," was
all she finally said. 

 "Then why can't I stop feeling so crappy? Those guys were waiting for me,
not him. Me." 

 "You're supposed to feel crappy, you're his friend. It's what you do.
It's what he'd do if your places were switched." 

 "I know." Ray was silent for a moment. He sat back in the chair and saw
her across from him for the first time. She was as tired as he was, maybe
even more. And there was something else in her face that he hadn't been
able to identify for the past week, until now. "You look like you're going
to cry," he said 

 "You sound like you are." 

 Ray just shrugged and looked down at the floor. He could see little tiny
pools of water, still dripping from his hair. It occurred to him that he
still had some grooming to do, or at the very least, some dressing. He
wondered what kind of reaction this woman would have to water stains on
hardwood. 

 "But I won't, if you won't." And that was all she would give him because
that was all she could spare without turning into the basket case she felt
like. Instead, she gently lifted his arm, the one that had met the wall.
"You should clean this before it gets infected." 

 Ray cupped the elbow in his hand. "I'll get someone to look at it when we
go to the hospital. One good thing about living out of there, right. On
the spot medical attention. Who was that guy you were talking to?" 

 "He was a man who was twice your size or didn't you notice. Is that
always the last resort with men? Why use your brains to talk when you can
punch the air out of each other. Maybe if those people had given Fraser a
moment to explain he wasn't who they were looking for --- All you do is
hit and punch and I'm getting sick of it. It's bad enough I have to go in
to that place day after day and see what someone did to him now. I have to
stay here and watch you practically invite some oversized giant to beat
you up. I'm sick of this, I really am getting sick of this." 

 And she was also heading towards her edge. She skidded to a stop before
she dropped off completely. "You shouldn't have come in here, Ray, that
had nothing to do with you. It's Consulate business, that's all you need
to know. Would you like it if I marched into your place of business and
demand to know about every case you're working on?" 

 Ray's eyebrow lifted and he wisely shut up. "No." 

 "Then please respect our business here. It sounded a lot worse than it
was. I've dealt with crankier." 

 "I haven't," Ray mumbled. 

 "Then I'm sorry about the way I've been treating you. If I've been unduly
unkind, it's because, well perhaps against my better judgment I suppose I
may have been worried about Fraser more than I want to admit." 

 "Admit? What's that? Admit that you don't hate the guy?" 

 "I never said I hated him!" 

 "Oh, come on, Inspector, you treat him like dirt most of the time. You
never let up on the guy, you criticize everything he does." 

 The phone rang and saved them both any further discussion on the subject
of Fraser, manors and everything else that was coming between them.
Thatcher answered, listened for a moment, then hung up. 

 "Get dressed quickly," was all she said. "Fraser's awake." 

 * 

 They flew into the hospital, almost wiping out a poor old lady in
crutches when they turned the corner of the entrance. Welsh was waiting
for them at Fraser's door and did a double take. He had never seen the
Inspector wearing anything other than Claiborne suits, let alone jeans and
a sweater. And what Ray was doing dressed in RCMP blue sweats was a
mystery. 

 "You want to slow down please," he muttered and drew them away from the
door. "He's awake but we can't stay too long. I tried to ask him if he
remembered anything but he didn't--" 

 "How is he?" Thatcher interrupted. "Does he know who he is? Is there any
damage?" 

 "Doc thinks' he'll be fine. He's still got a concussion on top of the
broken arm, he'll be okay. The X-rays came back good." 

 Ray pushed past him, or tried to and got pulled back at the door. "We
want to see him." 

 "Okay, just go easy. I can't have him conking out, there's too much I
need to know. I know it sounds heartless but this thing isn't over until
we know who's behind it and that the main players aren't at risk any more
and that still includes you, Ray. Understood?" 

 "He understands," Thatcher promised and dragged Ray into the room behind
her. 

 They skidded to a halt at the end of the bed. Fraser was awake and he was
looking at them. "Hi," he whispered because he couldn't do anything more
than this without any pain. 

 "Hi," they repeated dumbly at the same time. Carefully, they approached
the bed and Meg spoke first. "I'm very relieved to see you awake,
Constable." 

 "Relieved," Ray smirked to himself. "Right." Thatcher threw him a look. 

 Fraser watched them and wondered if something had happened while he was
away. His eyes slowly moved from Thatcher to Ray and back again. They were
still the same with each other but perhaps with less venom. 

 "You look much better," Thatcher lied. 

 Ray looked into the glassy Mountie eyes in front of him and smiled. "You
still got a concussion, huh? You look like you do. Glad you're awake,
here, Buddy." 

 Fraser tried to smile back but it was too difficult. He wondered why Ray
was wearing his RCMP sweatsuit. 

 "That's it for now, folks," a voice interrupted at the door. A nurse was
waving them out of the room and she looked like she meant it. "Come back
tomorrow, but one at a time. He's got to rest." 

 "Okay, okay--" Ray turned back to Fraser. "You take it easy, Frase. Hey,
you think you don't feel well, try spending some quality time with--" 

 "That's enough, Detective," Thatcher interrupted sharply. She smiled at
Fraser and nodded. "Glad to see you back, Constable. We've missed you
around here." 

 He watched them speaking to him, happy to see him see them. Something was
right about that. When they left the room he tried to turn his head and
look for his father. He was alone and that was all right too. 

 Welsh was waiting for them in the hallway. "You two can stop looking so
worried. He's gonna be okay." 

 "Yes," Thatcher nodded, overwhelmed by relief. "He'll be fine. He'll be
off work for a while with that arm, though. I'll have to file sick leave
papers for him to Ottawa, of course..." She realized she was being
patiently listened to by Ray and Welsh. "But that's not important now." 

 "You don't tell him more than you need to about what's been going on.
Depending on how much he remembers about the attack, he may know that they
went for the wrong guy. I'll let you two work that out. You leave the real
Ray Vecchio out of this, no matter what. Fraser's got too much on his
plate. Understood?" 

 "Yeah," Ray mumbled angrily. 

 "Go home. You can drive him back to Consulate, Inspector?" 

 "Yes, Lets go." 

 But the Consulate was the last place he wanted to be; in a big house,
nothing to distract him from how he was feeling. Welsh must have sensed
this because he suggested Ray stay here, help with the investigation
backlog of paperwork and tasks that didn't require any more help. Ray must
have been desperate because he took him up on the offer. 

 Thatcher said carefully, "If I won't be insulting your care-giving
abilities, Ray, I'll take Diefenbaker for a walk. Shall I leave him at the
consulate? One less thing for you to worry about." 

 "Yeah, right, whatever." Ray paused and added, "Thanks." He still
suspected she just wanted to take over and have something to do because
types like her went ape when they didn't have anything important to do.
That explained why he was sitting here, going ape and about to tackle
endless paperwork with Welsh. 

 When she had disappeared into the elevator, Welsh turned to Ray. "I still
haven't forgotten your little trip to the park today." 

 "Yessir, I kinda figured that." 

 "You got any more plans to do something that stupid again?" 

 "Not really." 

 "Good. Then why don't you tell me what it was you picked up from the
ground?" 

 He had stuffed it into his soaking wet jeans. Those jeans were now lying
on the floor of the bathroom, apparently drying by magic. "I don't have it
with me, sir. I changed my pants." 

 "Ah, yes. I'd noticed you'd suddenly become property of the RCMP. Well,
given your actions today, I may have shipped you there myself. What was it
you found?" 

 "I'm not sure. Nothing probably." He wasn't sure why, but he had the
vaguest suspicion that he was covering for the Canadian contingent. "It
looked like money wrapped in glue." He stopped at the look he was getting
from Welsh. "So, I take my money where I can get it. What am I going to
do, wait for a pay raise? Anyway, it wasn't a twenty after all." Well,
that much was true. 

 "You telling me everything, Detective? Right now, you don't seem awake
enough to know left from right." 

 "Left what?" 

 + 

 Ray heard the usual signals, and without even having to open his eyes, he
leaned over and opened the window next to his cot. He felt four paws pass
quickly over his back and dart outside the window. Ray dropped back to
sleep. 

 The next sound was digging, whining and digging, in that order. Ray tried
to avoid the worst - opening his eyes and waking up. He raised his head
and tried to see what in the hell he was hearing but it was too dark and
too wet. The rain had started again. 

 "Yo, Dief, get in here," he called tiredly. 

 There was no answer, just more digging and whining. "You're not coming
back in here if you're wet," he threatened. 

 The whining turned into a single, sharp bark and Ray dragged himself out
of bed and out of the window. He missed his step and landed in the
shrubbery. "Shit!" 

 Woof, woof 

 "Hold on--" Ray found his footing and followed the barking around the
consulate just in time to see Dief standing over a very large and very
recently filled in hole. "What the----" 

 Diefenbaker barked quickly enough for Ray to turn around in time for
something to whack him across the head. Ray missed his footing over the
hole, probably left by some idiot gardener Thatcher hired, and dropped
like a ton of bricks. 

 * 

 At three o'clock in the morning, an officer, cruising in a black and
white, saw a soaking wet and barely dressed man climbing into a window at
the Consulate. He jumped to the logical conclusions and tried to arrest
the angry man with the funny hair for Breaking and Entering. Ray called
Thatcher to come over and the inquisition got longer. 

 "Let me get this straight," the officer began. "You're saying you went
out to 'take a leak'? Don't you have inside plumbing?" 

 "No, I said the dog went out to take a leak, I just followed." Ray kept
the ice pack close to his head in case he decided to he ram it down the
officer's throat. 

 "You follow your dog to the bathroom?" 

 Meg was sitting next to Ray on the couch and she wisely stepped in. "No,
I believe he might have followed the dog out the window when the dog
didn't return and made unusual warning noises. Unfortunately, Detective --
Fraser here, isn't as used to the warning signs as the wolf's previous
owner so he didn't have the presence of mind to duck when the wolf
indicated that 'duck' would be the wisest course of action." 

 The officer and Ray stared at her. Ray because he thought that he'd just
been insulted, and the officer stared at her because, well, he was
probably in love again. He snapped out of it and turned back to Ray. "You
think someone just burst out of nowhere and clanked you on the head with a
shovel. Who'd be digging in the middle of the night in the rain? 

 "Have I told you enough, cause if you aren't going to work on this then I
will," Ray threatened. "Look, I saw something move, the something hit me
and took off. That's all I know, okay?" 

 "But yours are the only foot prints out there, Sir. And there is that
over hanging eaves. It could be that's what hit you on the head when you
turned around so quickly." 

 "And if it wasn't? If there was something out there?" 

 "Perhaps that will be all for now." Thatcher stood up and walked the
officer to the front door. "Thank you for your help. Please let Lieutenant
Welsh know if you find anything out." She saw the man out the door and
returned to Ray on the couch in her office. "You followed the wolf out
while he went to the bathroom?" 

 "Yeah, I just got lonely. You may not want to admit that you got loony
tunes burglars in your neighbourhood but I saw them. Him. Whoever." 

 "Ray, given what's gone on here, I'd be the first to jump to conclusions
and caution, but also given what's happened, I'm also the first to say
don't add to the troubles with imaginary bogeymen." 

 "They weren't imaginary." 

 "Neither are the clumsy gardeners I hired to dig up the flower beds.
That's what you fell into, nothing else. For crying out loud, let's go
outside and I'll show you!" 

 They went outside and had another look. The ground was still wet, it was
too dark on this side of the property to tell anything for sure but what
they saw was answer enough. 

 "Nothing." Thatcher summed up. They were standing in front of a muddy
hole, left by a careless gardener and surrounded by dog and barefoot human
footprints. "You fell into the hole," Thatcher sighed. "It happens. I
think you're making more of it by bringing in a magic shovel that clubbed
you on the head and vanished before you could identify it." 

 Ray wasn't convinced yet but he was getting there. "I could be right." 

 "You could also be wrong. For crying out loud, look at you. It's almost
three thirty in the morning, it's cold out here, and you just think you're
thinking straight." 

 "It could have been a shovel." 

 She sighed and looked up at the overhanging pipe. "It's coming down
tomorrow, happy?" 

 "No. Not for a coupla weeks now." 

 "Go back to bed. I'm going home. We can argue about this tomorrow. Today.
Whenever. You'll be all right here? My guess is you'll be fine. Well, you
seem fine enough, for what it's worth." 

 "Yeah, yeah, I'm good," he snapped faster than he intended to. "Sorry,
force of habit." 

 "So I'm learning." She sighed and looked at the time. "I'm going home. 

 * 

 Fraser drifted in and out of sleep, during which time he was moved to
another private room out of critical care. Towards the end of the
afternoon, he was awake and feeling well enough for visitors. The first,
of course, was Welsh who delicately asked him more questions of the attack
and the moments leading up to it. Fraser was quiet and distant and Welsh
couldn't remember seeing him this reticent since he had known him. 

 Fraser sketchily gave details about arriving early at the park, worrying
about something and making a mental note to call the Inspector from the
first phone booth he found. 

 "The guys that jumped you," Welsh continued. "Did you notice them hanging
around the park when you got there, did they follow you in? Or did they
appear out of nowhere?" 

 To anyone else getting through a serious concussion, this question would
have been unanswerable but this was Fraser and even pain couldn't stop his
unusual sense of recall. "They were there when I got there." 

 "Okay," Welsh mumbled and jotted this into the notebook. 

 "They thought I was Ray," Fraser quietly told him. 

 Welsh looked up. "What?" 

 "The men who attacked me. They thought I was Ray. I couldn't determine
which Ray they were after. I assume they meant the one here." 

 "You remember all that?" 

 "Yes, sir." Fraser paused a moment. "Were you aware of this?" 

 "Yeah. A couple of witnesses said they heard one of the guys call you
'Kowalski'." 

 "Ray knows then, I assume." 

 "Yep. He's not taking it too well. The only thing keeping him from going
out there and killing them with his bare hands is that he's too worried
about you to leave here. And too guilty." 

 "Oh," was all Fraser said. 

 "Until we know which Ray is involved, we've had to put a contingency plan
in place. Ray has assumed your place at the Consulate and the word on Ray
Kowalski on the street is that he's badly hurt and under watch at the
hospital. Ray's been living in your office, traveling with Thatcher. I
don't think they like each other much but you're at stake here, so they're
making the best of it." 

 "And the real Ray Vecchio?" 

 Welsh didn't want to answer for moment because he didn't want to break
his own rule of 'Thou Shalt Not Tell Fraser What He Not Might Be Able To
Handle Until He Was Better'. Fraser seemed to be well enough to provide
details; he could also handle learning some. "No one's heard from him in a
few weeks. There were some anonymous calls to the station referring to
him. Someone bugged the phone at Ray's desk. They knew where and when he
was supposed to meet you that night. You just made the mistake of showing
up first." 

 Fraser shook his head slightly. "It doesn't sound like they were too well
planned." 

 "Uninformed is more like it. It was the work of hired hands, that much we
do know. Their MO is the same as a gang in another city I'm not going to
name. If it is them, they're highly connected with same people as Ray
Vecchio. That's what worries me. One slip that they got the wrong guy and
they might go after the right guy. All three of you." 

 * 

 Thatcher had spent an hour with Fraser after dinner. She watched him, she
listened for clues to how he was feeling, she did everything but fluff up
the pillows because she couldn't do enough. 

 He was quiet, he was probably still coming to terms with what happened,
let alone with left over aches and bruises and, plain and simple, he
didn't want to talk. The rain was pouring down outside and Fraser felt
more homesick that he could remember. The headache and other pains dulled
in comparison. 

 "Are you all right going home tonight, Ma'am?" he finally spoke. "You
seem rather tired." 

 She sat at the side of the bed and tried to resist the urge to move
closer. "Just a little. Thank you for what you tried to do. For offering
to meet Georges at the park. I wish you'd have let me know that you had
intercepted his call to me. I should have been at that meeting, not you." 

 "I didn't want to put you in any more jeopardy than necessary." 

 "No, just yourself," she was quick to reply. 

 "Sir?" 

 "They don't know I followed you out there. Ray and the others think I was
there apartment hunting with you. They don' t know you were there to meet
Georges and Bernard. I didn't tell them, either. Our German problem
doesn't have anything to do with the two Rays but I still couldn't tell
them. I was too ... worried about having that dragged into the open." This
was the heart of her guilt. "And if I had been closer, I may have been
able to help you when---" 

 Fraser didn't want to talk about the assault anymore. "I suppose Georges
may have been scared off by the presence of the men who did this or the
police and ambulance when they arrived. No one has heard from him since?" 

 "No. If he's gone underground, he's done it well. He came to me
frightened and now he's disappeared frightened. And with you being hurt,
and the danger to both Rays, it has been put on the back burner." 

 "I'm sorry." 

 Thatcher sighed and let this drop. "I had a visit from Bernard the other
night. He was angry that I told him our government couldn't help him. He
thought I knew where Georges was. I wish I had never spoken to those men.
Ray walked in towards the end of the meeting and began some macho
tough-guy thing. He doesn't take a punch well, does he?" 

 "Oh dear." 

 "He knows something is up. Ray didn't seem very convinced of my denials.
I wouldn't be either. I'll leave this up to you, Fraser. You tell him what
you think he needs to know." 

 "Yes, Ma'am." 

 * 

 "You looking better, there." It was later that night and Ray had been
sitting across from Fraser, straining his head for anything resembling
normal conversation to occur to him. 

 "Thanks." Fraser took a deep breath and continued. "Ray, about what
happened---" 

 "I don't want to talk about it, Fraser." 

 "It's not your fault. I was early. I was in the wrong place at the wrong
time." 

 "I said I didn't want to talk about it. I mean, I do, but I don't. Least
not now. Not till I find the bozos who did this." "The Lieutenant told me
everything that you've been asked to do. Pose in my name, my work; live in
my home, sleep in my bed ---" 

 "Which, by the way, I'd love to burn because I've shrunk three inches
since sleeping on that thing." 

 "You've looked after my wolf--" 

 "Sure, when she isn't stealing him from under my nose. And how in the
hell do you put up with that woman anyway? You know, they haven't let me
go back to my place in days. Every time I look around that place you call
an office I think that you coulda had your lights punched out for good and
I'd never see you again and it would be my fault cause I was two freakin'
minutes late meeting you at that damn park because of your damn hat. Your
goddamn hat, Fraser, that's what this could have boiled down to. Your
goddamn hat." 

 "You're sure you don't want to talk about it?" 

 "Positive." 

 "Understood." 

 They sat in the silence and listened to the rain pelt against the window.
It had been doing that a lot lately, coming out of nowhere, clouding up
before pouring down, kind of like Ray's mood, Fraser's injuries and
Thatcher's manners. 

 Fraser sighed. "Lets go for a walk. I need to see something other than
this room." 

 "You can do that?" 

 "With a little help from you." 

 He and Ray tried to maneuver an easy walk down the hall; just Ray, Fraser
and Fraser's IV pole. 

 "Fraser, can I ask you something about a couple of nights ago." Ray had
taken to referring the assault as 'A couple of nights ago.' 

 "Okay," Fraser sighed, and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. 

 "Was there anything going on at the consulate before this happened. Like
with German guys or anything." 

 "Any specific German guys?" 

 "Yeah, the obnoxious kind. Well, this one was. He and the Ice Queen were
having it out over something or other and it didn't sound friendly." Ray
stopped to admire a passing nurse. 

 "Oh --- Ray?" 

 Ray bolted the steps necessary to catch up. "You okay?" 

 "Yes. Fine. I think I'm just a little---" Fraser yanked the bottom of his
dressing gown out from under the wheel of the pole. "Stuck. Fine now.
Walking seems to require more concentration than I thought." 

 "Yeah, sure, whatever." Ray gave in and left his questions aside. 

 They continued the walk in silence and returned to Fraser's room. Ray
didn't want to go and he didn't want to stay. He wanted to find out who
and what was behind everything and leave this incident behind forever, and
that wasn't likely to happen any time soon. 

 Thatcher was keeping something from him that had to do with Germans;
Fraser was keeping something from him that had to do with Thatcher; Welsh
was demanding answers from everyone about the safety of the real Ray and
the second Ray couldn't connect one of these theories together to save his
- or Fraser's - life. 

 He carefully helped the Mountie back into the bed and sat down next to
him. "You feeling okay? You look kinda ragged." 

 Fraser shrugged and tried to ease his arm over the rail for support.
"Fine." 

 "Can I ask you something?" 

 "Do you have to?" Fraser looked blankly at him. "That was a joke. Ha ha.
What do you want to ask?" 

 "What it is you're not telling me?" 

 "Nothing." 

 "Bullshit." 

 "Language, Ray." Fraser changed the subject. "Could you drive the
Inspector home tonight?" 

 "Since when can't she drive her own self home?" 

 "I don't think she's feeling very well and I'd feel better knowing she
didn't drive in this weather alone." 

 "Isn't that one of those identical standard things? Like it's too
dangerous for her and not me --" 

 "Double." 

 "What?" 

 "'Double'. Double standard and it's not that. I just worry...I'd feel
better. Would you drive her home?" 

 "Yeah, in a second." He's doing it again, Ray thought. He's correcting
and deflecting at the same time and who the hell cares if it's double or
not. "Something queer's going on with her and these German guys and you
know it." 

 Ignoring this fact completely, Fraser asked about Dief. "He's not giving
you any trouble, is he?" 

 "He's a lot more work than I thought. All that running in and out and
whining and moaning in the middle of the night when you're trying to sleep
but he keeps landing on the blanket and when you try and pull it out from
under him it's like dead weight and you're too tired to kick him off so
you lie there shivering, hoping he'll have to run out the window and go to
the can again. Which, I might add, isn't as easy for me anymore. One trip
to the can and you lose your place." He stopped talking. "What are you
looking at me like that for?" 

 "You've been letting him sleep on the bed?" 

 "Yes. No. Well, he's not exactly my idea of a bed-mate but---" 

 Fraser was smiling. "You've bonded." 

 "Yeah, yeah, we stay up late and laugh about you. Listen, the doctor said
if you keep up the way you have been, you could be out of here tomorrow or
next day but not if you stay at the consulate so I'll pick you up. You
know, you really should think about getting a home one of these days.
Anyway, you can stay at my place for as long as you need to." 

 "Thanks," Fraser said and added that he would just be in the way. What he
really meant is that he didn't want anyone in his way. "About the
Inspector..." 

 "Yeah, yeah, I'll drive her. Why are you so worried? I swear, Fraser,
that woman's made of Teflon sometimes. Anyway, she's better off than you
are these days. " 

 "I know that I'm worrying. I just need to know that she's all right.
You'll keep an eye on her?" 

 "If you tell me what you were doing at the park on Monday." 

 "If I remember." That was the understatement of the day but they both let
it go. 

 Ray promised to see the Inspector to her home where she would be safe
from the worries that had plagued the both of them for the last two
nights. He stopped at the door and turned around. 

 "You okay, Fraser? I mean apart from everything else?" 

 "I'm not feeling very well, that's all. Just tired." 

 "You want me to get a nurse or someone?" 

 Fraser covered his eyes with his good arm and weakly shook his head. "No.
Good night, Ray." 

 Ray stared a moment longer until he was sure. "Okay, sleep good," he
whispered and left. 

 But Fraser wasn't alright, apart from everything else and Ray would stay
close until he could find out why and how to help. Over the last week, Ray
had come to realize this guy was the best friend he had known since
childhood and he was going to look out for him if it killed him. 

 * 

 Ray drove Meg home and wondered again what it was she and Fraser weren't
telling him. But she wouldn't tell him a thing and it wouldn't be worth
the effort it to ask again. 

 "Nice night," he remarked instead, desperate for anyone's voice after
five minutes of automobile silence. 

 "I don't want to talk about it, Detective." 

 "I didn't say a word!" 

 "No, but you're thinking it." 

 "Geeze, you're a mind reader now?" Ray sighed before he blew his stack.
"Listen, I know we're not best buddies or anything but do you think that
we could maybe drop the hostility for more than a minute, at least until
Fraser gets out of the hospital?" 

 Nothing. Then, quietly, "All right. For Fraser." 

 "Thank you." 

 "You're welcome." 

 "I'm gonna take him to my place when they let him out. He's gonna need
some place to stay that's not that broom closet he lives out of." 

 "I can put him up at my home." 

 "I told him I'd do it." 

 "Then un-tell him you'll do it and tell him I'll do it." 

 "Maybe you should let me do it and you could take your anti-nasty pill or
something. Geeze, Inspector, I know you haven't felt too great lately but
do you have to be so bitchy all the time?" 

 That did it. Ray saw her head lower from the corner of his eye. He
couldn't tell if she was crying or not and it was a lousy time to pull
over and find out. "Listen - I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." 

 "This week hasn't exactly been a picnic for me, you know." 

 "I know." 

 "He could have been killed. I probably got us both into more trouble than
we need." 

 "I know. I mean -- I don't mean 'I know'--- Oh hell." 

 "And on top of everything I have strange people are living in my
consulate, my supervisors in Ottawa want to know what's going on and I
can't tell them, and I think the plumbing in my house is about to die, so
I don't really need your sarcasm now, thank you very much." 

 And then something resembling tears hovered at the corners of her eyes.
Ray never considered himself particularly comfortable dealing with other
people's emotional overloads and he usually tried to avoid them if he
could. The last person he tried to offer solace to - a woman who's
suitcase split open as she ran for her train - only stomped on his hand
and told him her life was ruined, as she sobbed into his only Kleenex. 

 This one was trickier. 

 "Hey, Inspector." He pulled the car over and parked behind a mini-van
with a bumpersticker that said, 'Kiss My Ass, I'm a Hondai.' He put a hand
on her arm and wished he was the type who could have done more. Fraser
probably would have had her in a hug by now but he wasn't Fraser. "It's
okay. He's okay and you're okay. It's just been a really shitty week,
that's all. What the hey, you'll probably have even shittier ones than
this." 

 And this got a smile out of her as she tugged on the end of her scarf and
dragged it across her eyes. "I suppose I will," she said. 

 "Well, okay then. See? Not so bad, then. Okay." Ray took the smile as a
sign that he wasn't going to have another stiletto heal impaled into his
hand and resumed driving. He just prayed like hell that he wouldn't say
anything else remotely close to stupid that would set her off again
because he suspected she didn't like showing emotions like this and she
wouldn't be pleased to be caught at it twice in front of him. 

 * 

 Ray saw her into the house and as far as the staircase in the hallway.
She sat down on the second step from the bottom and folded her arms across
her knees. 

 "I can hang around if you want," Ray found himself saying to her. She
looked tired and unusually defeated sitting there in front of him. 

 "No you can't." 

 He leaned over on the post and smiled. "Why can't I?" 

 "I don't know." She put the car keys into his hand. "Take my car and pick
me up in the morning, all right?" She added the house key to the others.
"Could you lock the garage door on your way out and put the key through
the mail slot." 

 The phone rang and she reached over for it. She said 'hello' into the
receiver and listened for a moment before slamming it back down. Ray could
have sworn that the accent on the other end was German. 

 "Friend of yours?" Ray inquired politely. 

 "Wrong number." 

 "Threatening wrong number?" he guessed again. 

 "Wrong number," she repeated. 

 "Okay, who was it, Inspector?" 

 "No one." Thatcher pulled her self to her feet and turned. "I'm going to
sleep. Thanks for the ride, Detective. And the company." She turned and
climbed the stairs. 

 "No problem. You're sure you don't need anything?" 

 "Quite sure," she said over her shoulder and disappeared around the
banister. 

 * 

 Ray did a room by room search of the Consulate until he found Diefenbaker
sleeping under Thatcher's desk, surrounded by a variety of her shoes and
using the leather pumps for a pillow. 

 "You are one sick puppy," he said, disgusted. 

 He fed Diefenbaker, walked him and piled him into the car. "You stay in
that back seat and if you even think about doing any of that doggie
business back there, I swear, she's gonna hear about the shoes." 

 The wolf only made a noise and looked out the window. 

 Ray pointed a sharp finger at him and snapped, "No, don't give me that
crap, I don't need it. I told you, you'll see him tomorrow. Maybe you can
cheer him up. I mean he just seems so ... depressed. Hell, maybe he'll
tell you why he was there cause I know nobody's that stupid to hang around
that part of town without a good reason. And who the hell was that on her
phone? Damnit, I hate this. I mean, sure, I know something's up but when
you know, and they know you know but they play you like you don't know.
You know?" Dief circled the back seat for a moment, looked around once
more for Fraser and settled in for another nap. Ray shook his head,
dejected. "Jesus, I'm talking to a deaf wolf. I swear, I'm really talking
to a deaf wolf. I can never look myself in the eye again." 

 Ray revved up the engine but didn't drive to the Consulate. He slowly
turned down the street Thatcher's house and parked a few doors away. He
opened his hand and showed Diefenbaker the house key in his palm. 

 "She'd kill me if she found out, Dief, but Fraser would kill me if I
didn't. Something's not right." 

 * 

 A sharp pain in his neck jolted Ray from the calm of his dream to the
reality of the next morning. He was sitting in a chair, his neck was sore
and he couldn't remember where he was or why he was there. Then he sat
looked at his watch, realized he was sitting in Inspector Meg Thatcher's
living room and remembered he was supposed to be out of here an hour ago. 

 "Oh, shit," he moaned and flew to his feet. The house was silent until he
made a wrong turn into the dining room. An arm - or steel girder, he
couldn't be sure - plunged into his stomach. 

 "Detective!" he heard a familiar voice scream in true blue anger. Oh,
yeah, she was feeling better. She was delivering deathblows at 06:30 in
the morning and she was feeling better. 

 "What in the hell are you doing here," she yelled as she followed his
doubled up form back to the living room. 

 He couldn't answer right away because, to be honest, he still couldn't
breath and he dropped into the nearest Queen Anne chair that he could
find. 

 "I'm waiting for an answer." And she was hovering over him, waiting for
that answer. 

 "Why'd you hit me?" were his first words, between gasps for air. "I think
you broke all my ribs!" 

 "Stop exaggerating. What the hell are you doing prowling around my
house!" 

 "Nothing. You weren't supposed to know I was here. I just came back last
night to make sure that you were okay, which you were, and you acted so
funny with that call I just figured maybe the safe thing to do would be
sit on the couch and listen for any trouble and get out of here before you
woke up." 

 "May I ask how you decided that I was all right." 

 The guilty, kill-me-now look on his face gave her the answer. 

 "You were upstairs? In my room?" 

 "No, I swear, just at the door. You weren't dead so I came back down
here. Believe what you want but that's the truth. I may not be the nicest
guy on the planet but I'm not some kind of sicko voyeur, okay? Fraser told
me to look out for you so I did. Geeze, you pack a harder punch than that
Bernard guy." 

 "I'm a Black Belt, if you decide to get any other ideas." 

 "Believe me, I won't. You're just lucky I left the wolf in the car
because he's the one you would have found at the end of your bed this
morning. You should know that he has this thing for sleeping next to your
shoes." 

 "That's it." She picked up his jacket and threw it to him. "Thank you for
your attention but I think I can take it from here." 

 "Fine, fine, throw me out. Last time I ever do anyone a favour." 

 "I'm sure I'd appreciate that very much." 

 "Just tell Fraser I did what he asked, all right? Geeze, is that chair
uncomfortable," he tried to crank his neck back into working order as he
opened the front door. "Oh, yeah, here you go." He lifted the house key
from his pocket and handed it to her. "Better keep an eye on this. I hear
a lot of creepy guys are into breaking into houses around here and
sleeping on the most uncomfortable chairs they can find." 

 * 

 Ray looked up just in time to see the front door to the her house open as
a taxi pulled up on front of the house. Thatcher stepped into the cab in a
way that reminded Ray of a spy in the midst of being spirited from one
sanctuary to another. 

 "Keep down," he said to Diefenbaker when the wolf's head appeared in the
rear view mirror. 

 Ray followed the taxi for twenty minutes before it finally pulled up to
the door of the German embassy, across the street from an unfinished
construction site. "Nice neighbourhood," he cracked when he saw
Diefenbaker's face pop back up. "Just like your old one, right? Damnit,
I'm doing it again. I'm talking to you. Damn." 

 Another car arrived, this one with Dutch flags, and man went into the
house. In ten minutes, all three people returned to their vehicles and
drove away. Thatcher's ride returned her to the Consulate. 

 * 

 "Sleep okay?" 

 "Yes." 

 "Feel okay?" 

 "Yes." 

 And that was the extent of Ray's opening conversation with Fraser that
noontime while they waited for him to be discharged. Ray sat and twirled a
yo-yo from the tip of his finger. He had bought it in the hospital gift
shop that morning, stricken by a case of the twitchies and a need to play
with a yo-yo before he turned into one. Besides that, he hoped it would
annoy Thatcher. 

 Fraser was dressed and lying on the bed. He was still pale, his head
still ached but he wanted nothing else than to be out of here. He glanced
once at Ray and the toy in his hand and wished he would put it down.
"Thank you for driving Inspector Thatcher home last night." 

 "She damn near killed me this morning." 

 "Excuse me?" Fraser's tired eyes finally showed some life and he turned
his head towards Ray. "This morning? Would you like to elaborate on that,
please?" 

 "I'd rather not, Fraser, it's embarrassing." Ray continued with the
yo-yo. 

 Fraser wasn't in a good mood this morning and his voice sharpened at the
next question. "What did you do, Ray?" 

 He knew the look and he knew the tone of voice. Ray gave in and told
Fraser about his evening on the couch, ending with his morning wake-up
punch. "There was some funny call she got and I'd swear the guy on the
other end had a German accent but of course she denies it. I wasn't so
comfortable with leaving her alone so I let myself back in with the key
and I slept on a chair in the living room. That's it. Shoot me." 

 "Thank you, Ray. I appreciate you're doing that for me." 

 "You better." 

 "Do you think you could stop playing with that thing, it's getting on my
nerves." 

 Ray held the toy in the air. "This thing?" 

 "That thing," Fraser sighed and turned his head towards the window. 

 Ray rolled it up one last time into his hand. "Whatever." Suddenly, his
mood was turning towards the cranky too. Fraser could have that effect on
people. 

 * 

 "We got the second guy." These were Welsh's first words when Ray answered
his phone. 

 "Sir?" 

 "The other guy who worked Fraser over. We got him. Unfortunately, he's
dead, but we got him." 

 "Oh." Ray had to jog his memory about the second man. 

 "Where the hell were you all night? You're supposed to keep your cellular
on!" 

 Ray's head did a neat little spin while he tried to remember the last
twelve hours of his life. "I wasn't anywhere. I was off duty." 

 "Anyone see you? No one's supposed to see you, you'll recall" 

 "No they didn't, cause I was in Inspector Thatcher's living room for most
of the night and following her for most of the morning." 

 "Stalking again, Detective? I thought you limited that to your ex-wives."


 "I do, sir, but Fraser was worried about her and so was I." 

 "Your ex-wife?" 

 "No, Thatcher." 

 "I understand. Anyone see you there?" 

 "Diefenbaker. Well, he was in the car so I don't know if that counts." 

 "It doesn't. Why were you going to such lengths?" 

 "I was worried. Neither of them would tell me what happened so I thought
I oughta hang around and I guess I had my phone off and I nodded off
and..." 

 "I don't feel like hearing excuses. I got some I.D. on the group our dead
guy belongs to. Turns out it's not directly mob related after all. Goes
more international than that." 

 "You're kidding. So who is it?" 

 "Nothing I can pronounce without mangling it." Welsh mumbled. "Never
could get the hang of foreign names." 

 "What, don't tell me, the guy's German," Ray moaned without any thought
at all. 

 Welsh paused. "Yeah, psychic, he is German." 

 "Oh, dear." 

 * 

 "What did you tell him?" Meg wanted to know. She sat down next to Fraser
on the couch. She was careful not to jolt him. 

 "Nothing. I wasn't feeling very talkative." 

 "I wish this would all go away. I don't know why we had to be dragged
into it in the first place." 

 "I think it has something to do with our Canadian trustworthiness." 

 "Do you thank Ray will leave it alone?" 

 Fraser shrugged. "I doubt it. He's a friend and he knows something is
going on. He'll be back for answers." 

 "Oh, yeah." Ray was standing in the doorway. He stepped into the room.
"You guys got your stories straight yet?" The time for polite silence
about Consulate business was over and they knew it. Ray sat down in front
of them. "It is just a coincidence that this Georges disappears the same
time you get punched out?" 

 "We don't know," the two Canadians lied at the same time. 

 "My ass you don't. Listen, I'm in the fan myself cause I happened to
guess right at the international identify of some dead guy. Welsh gets me
on the phone this morning to tell me about a murder victim they found last
night. I say to Welsh, 'that dead guy, he wouldn't be German or something,
would he?' And Welsh says, 'Yeah, he would how do you know?'. And I say,
'Oh, just an international stab in the dark'. I don't tell him that it
just so happens Thatcher spent the morning with some German guy who at the
German Embassy." He pointed to Thatcher. "Hah- you didn't notice me, did
ya?" 

 "You followed me?" Thatcher blurted out. She turned to Fraser. "He spends
the night in my living room, he spends the morning following me. Doesn't
he have a life?" 

 "Ray, perhaps that might not have been entirely necessary." 

 "Oh, like you wouldn't have done the same? I don't think so, Fraser, so
both of you please ditch the lecture on privacy. You want to know who the
dead German guy turned out to be?" He looked right at Thatcher. "He's the
other guy who worked on Fraser. They found his body in a dumpster
downtown." 

 "The other man? Dead?" Thatcher repeated. 

 "Gone, gone, gone and Welsh wants to know what I know and I didn't want
to say anything until I'd talked to you two, so since we've all got a
little something at stake, like our careers or our lives, maybe we oughta
pull our brain power." He pulled out the card he found by the park. "I
found this near where the other day happened. It's a German Embassy card.
I lied to Welsh about this. You get that? I lied to my Lieutenant because
you two wouldn't tell me what's going on. So you better tell me now which
one of you stepped in it and which one of you is trying to hide it." 

 "She stepped, I'm hiding," Fraser admitted. He glanced once at Meg and
continued. "There was a ground breaking ceremony the other day for the
location of the new German Embassy. When you followed the Inspector you
would have seen it. It's the construction site across the street from the
current German embassy. You'll have noticed it wasn't very bright timing
given that the new building is almost halfway done. Anyway, at the
reception, Inspector Thatcher was approached by a German delegate with the
very fuzzy request to have a meeting with the Canadian government because
he wanted to speak to someone about some irregular German government
selling practices. The day of the accident, I intercepted a message for
the Inspector from Georges to meet her at the park because he had a disk
of information he wanted her to have and he didn't want to risk coming
over here. He felt he was being watched--" 

 "Hold on, " Ray interrupted. "Georges. He's the one that guy I almost
punched out was looking for the other night." 

 "That's right," Meg confirmed. "And Georges was the one who approached me
at the cocktail party." 

 Fraser continued. "He was on the other line when you called about my hat,
Ray." 

 "I thought you sounded a little funny." 

 "Well, to be honest, I never did get the hang of talking to one person on
one line when another call comes through on another, though I think with a
little more practice--" 

 "Fraser!" Thatcher butted in irritably. 

 "Oh, yes, sorry. Anyway, I didn't want to discuss this with you on the
phone, Ray, and I thought it might be good to have you around in case
something went wrong---" He stopped at the irony of his own words. "Which,
well, I guess it did. But that was the only reason I was at the park.
Whoever was looking for 'Ray Kowalski' must have an altogether different
agenda." 

 "Okay," Ray tried to get this straight in his head. He wasn't used to
asking such direct questions without getting his head bitten off by Meg or
being completely ignored by Fraser. But such luxuries shouldn't be taken
for granted and he forged on comfortably. "So why were you there,
Inspector?" 

 "I heard the tail end of Fraser's conversation and I thought I should
trail along in case something went wrong---" The echo of words hit with a
loud din. "Which it did.." 

 "I didn't see her until it was almost too late," Fraser admitted. "I
didn't want the Inspector there in case something went wrong---" 

 The trio fell silent in shared tribute to feeling useless in the face of
Something that Went Wrong Which It Did. 

 "You didn't have to try to protect me," Meg stubbornly pointed out. 

 "Perhaps not, but at the time it seemed like the right thing to do." 

 "And which 'time' might that have been, Fraser. The 'exact moment' you
were getting your head beaten in? May I remind you that had I taken that
meeting as I should have, I would have been the one there and I doubt very
much that I would have been mistaken for--" She paused to throw a
sarcastic look at Ray, "Him." 

 "Perhaps, sir, but I couldn't have known that --" 

 "Next time, Fraser, leave my calls and my meetings to me. I never should
have told you about that man." 

 Ray cleared his throat and waved his hand in both their faces. "Hello.
Hello. Anyone home? Could we stick to the subject, please? Geeze, it's
like listening to my grandparents!" 

 "You know, we'll have to tell the Lieutenant about this," Fraser pointed
out, as only Fraser could at the exact wrong moment. 

 "I'll tell him," Ray volunteered. "He's not gonna like that I held some
stuff back from him." 

 "I appreciate your doing that on our behalves, Ray." 

 Ray only nodded while Thatcher gnawed on her thumbnail nervously trying
to reconcile herself with the delicate fact that she may well have bungled
an International Incident and didn't know how to repair the damage. 

 "He's not going to like being kept out of this." 

 Thatcher stood up. "Fraser, I want you to lay low for a while. You
shouldn't be in your office while you're feeling this way." Out of total
diplomacy, she glanced once at Ray and continued. "Until this has blown
over and you can stay at Rays, you will stay at my home." 

 "No ma'am, I'd like to stick close. I'll be fine here." 

 She shook her head defiantly. "Don't. This is my mess. You shouldn't have
been involved in the first place." 

 Ray coughed loudly. "Look, you two dilly-dally over the details some
other time, okay? We gotta find out who whacked your Scandinavian friend
and why." 

 "He's German." 

 "Who cares." 

 * 

 Ray was at the station and Meg Thatcher was at the Consulate dealing with
new problems and catching up on old ones. Fraser was alone in Thatcher's
home and he wanted to get out of there. He wanted his life and he wanted
his health back. In one moment, someone had taken that and more and he
wanted it back. 

 "Someone's sounding greedy," Bob Fraser observed from across the living
room. He was sitting across the room with his arms tucked comfortably
behind his head. 

 "Oh my," Fraser remarked sarcastically without looking up from his
magazine. He was lying on the couch and trying to read. It wasn't a
particularly interesting article but it gave him an excuse to ignore his
father's presence in the room. "Back again?" 

 "I thought I'd drop by and see how you are." 

 "Great. Never been better. Can you go now?" 

 Bob Fraser chuckled. "You always were cranky when you weren't feeling
well." 

 This got the reaction his father wanted and Fraser put the magazine down
across his chest. "Since when would you remember something like that? I
don't recall you being around much to observe many of my moods." 

 "Poor memory, yours. Why don't you get out of here for a while, go for a
walk, buy a newspaper." 

 "I don't feel like it." 

 "But you can get out for air and, therefore, you should." 

 Fraser glared at him once more and resumed reading the magazine. "I'm not
in the mood." 

 "So I can see. Why don't you call up the Yank, snap at him for a while.
You know, that's one of the things l like about him. He's one of the few
people I ever see you fight back with - well, next to me that is. You see
him stand up for himself and you've learned how to do that too. I like
that." 

 The magazine folded again. "And just what would you like to see me fight
back about?" 

 This did the trick and Fraser Senior raised an eyebrow. "You tell me,
you've got the reasons." 

 "Do you mind butting out, please? There's nothing I can do about anything
and it's making me feel very angry if you need to know. I can't move
without hurting something, and I wouldn't care about that if I could go
and help the police find out where Ray Vecchio is and who is behind all of
this because I'm not supposed to be seen. All of this is going on and I
can't do a damn thing about it." 

 "That's how I feel sometimes." 

 Fraser looked at him oddly. "What would you know about it?" 

 "Plenty, that's what. I'm dead, there is all this life going on in the
world and the closest I can get to any of it anymore is talking to you." 

 "Thanks." Fraser frowned. "I think." 

 "And when things like your accident happen I feel just as powerless when
I can't help you and when I see you feeling like this. Believe me, if
there were some way I could kick you on your rear end and get you moving,
I would. So I do know how you're feeling." 

 Fraser let this pass. "I'm still going to keep looking for a new place to
live. When this whole thing is finished I can't go back to living in the
Consulate. I ought to have a place just for Diefenbaker and myself." He
heard his father clear his throat obviously. "And you." 

 "Thank you, Son. Though I intend to continue using my office at the
Consulate, a new change of scenery might be just the ticket. Perhaps
another office might be in order. Something bigger, even if it is right
across the street." 

 "That it might." 

 "It's decided, then. We find somewhere new to live." 

 "Right, " Fraser said as something lifted from the dark place he was in. 

 "We just made a decision." Bob Fraser remarked proudly. 

 "So we did." Fraser agreed. 

 They enjoyed the moment of triumph in silence. When Fraser looked up
again, his father was gone. 

 Fraser put on his shoes and left the house. He walked to the corner for a
newspaper, the housing section in particular. It was a slow walk -
Fraser's muscles and bones still ached - and the drizzle continued but the
air helped and with Diefenbaker next to him for company he almost felt
normal again. 

 And when he put the quarter in the machine, something he father said
about offices hit him with a thud. 

 * 

 "What!" The voice on the other end of the phone was irritable and
decidedly sleepy. 

 "Did I wake you, Ray?" 

 "Yeah. Whadya want?" There was a pause on the line while Ray gathered
some of his manners and cleared his throat. "Sorry. What's up? You okay?" 

 "Yes, thanks. I need you to drive me somewhere." 

 Another sigh. "Now?" 

 "Sorry, Ray, but the sooner the better." 

 One more sigh, just for good measure. "Okay, I'll pick you up in ten." 

 * 

 Ray kept rolling the yo-yo up and down and up and down until Fraser
thought he was going to scream. They were walking from the car to the
construction site. It was dark, windy and the yo-yo was barely under
control. 

 "Ray, would you mind," he finally spat out. 

 "Oh, yeah. Sorry 'bout that." Ray wound the toy up and passed it to
Fraser. "Have a go." 

 "No, I mean, do you mind not doing that. That up and down motion is
incredibly annoying." 

 "It's a yo-yo, Fraser, it's supposed to go up and down." 

 "Yes, but it doesn't have to continue over and over again." 

 Ray shrugged and pocketed the toy. "Grumpy today, are we?" 

 "No." 

 "Then try to remember it's just a yo-yo and don't bite my head off about
it." 

 Fraser was cranky, he hadn't slept very well. His patience was at an all
time low and he immediately wished he could take the words back when he
heard himself say, "Aren't you a little old for that kind of thing?" 

 Ray stopped and looked at him as if he'd insulted him at the very core
which, coincidentally, he had. "You saying I'm immature, Fraser? Cause if
you are, you might want to take it back." 

 Fraser's eyes did a three fifty and he kept walking. "Never mind." 

 "Don't 'never mind' me, I'm asking a question." 

 Fraser stopped. "It's just juvenile, that's all I'm saying." 

 "It is not." 

 "It is too." 

 "Later, Fraser," Ray called over his shoulder and walked ahead. Ray
wasn't in the mood for this today either. He didn't like waiting when he
couldn't have at least three square feet to pace in. And talking to Fraser
was sometimes like waiting; waiting for the conversation to make sense, or
end, or signal any sign of closure. All it was doing now was turning him
into mental Jell-O because he had to defend the existence of a yo-yo. 

 Ray couldn't help noticing that the building they were at was a deserted,
eight floor building only half way through construction. And it was
directly across the street from the same German Embassy where he followed
Inspector Thatcher . 

 "Okay, I give up. Why are we here?" 

 "I have a suspicion there might be something up there that will help us
locate Georges, or at least tell me more about this whole situation. I'm
just following up on a hunch." 

 He told Ray something he remembered from his mysterious call with Georges
over the phone that day. "Georges said, 'If not here, then the new place.
I could leave it in my new office.' There didn't seem to be much time to
ask him what he meant so I said, 'No, I'll meet you by the park.' Then you
called." 

 "New office," Ray repeated. "I don't get it, the thing hasn't even been
built yet." 

 "Exactly, Ray." 

 * 

 They came to the bottom of the construction and Fraser made one of his
more unpleasant, 'Uh-huh' noises. "I'm afraid you're not going to like
this, Ray." He was referring to a conversation with Ray from a long time
ago, one that had turned to 'High Places'. Ray wasn't particularly fond of
them and he told Fraser that he would go nuts if he had to spend that much
time in a place so high. "It's no big deal, I just don't do well in them.
Kind a like there's no where to go but insane. I don't like feeling
insane, it's not a good thing." 

 "But it's just a matter of telling yourself, you're fine, you're
breathing," Fraser had insisted. "It's all in the mind." 

 "Easy for you to say,'' Ray had concluded flatly. 

 "What?" he snapped back now. 

 "It's at the top." Frase nodded towards the high building. 

 "So?" But Ray winced, nevertheless. 

 "Well, to get up there, we have to take the service elevator." He pointed
to a 3 x 3 cage that passed as an elevator. 

 "Ha," Ray blurted out. "Piece of cake." And that was all he said when he
should have said more. 

 It was dark and the only lights available were from the crane that led to
the service elevator. All they had to do was take the elevator up twelve
floors, pick up the envelope and come back down. 

 "I'll go up, you keep an eye on things down here," Fraser offered. 

 "I think I can handle this fine, thank you very much. What do you take me
for anyway? Besides, you're not in any condition to go wandering around up
there. Just tell me what the hell we're looking for and I'll get it." 

 "I'm in no condition to wander around?" Fraser batted back, oddly
insulted. "I doubt that very much." 

 "Oh, right, that limp-before-you-topple look you've been doing is just an
act to cover for your broken arm. Outa my way." 

 "I'm perfectly capable of going up and finding my object, Ray," Fraser
protested as he tried to edge Ray aside. 

 "And I'm not, right? Not only am I immature but I'm chicken too?" 

 "I never said that, Mr. Sensitive." 

 "Oh, yeah, you're feeling better, aren't you!" 

 "As a matter of fact, I am." Fraser stubbornly led the way to the service
lift. He followed Ray into the cage, closed the door behind them and
pushed the button for the twelfth floor. 

 The door opened at the twelfth and Fraser got out first. "Let's get the
envelope and we'll be on our way." Fraser disappeared behind pillars and
hanging things to look for a small, non-descript envelope that nobody else
on the planet could possibly find. 

 "Ah - here it is," he exclaimed from behind a workbench. Inside the
envelope was a computer disk. It was labeled in German. Fraser put it into
the safe pocket of his sling and stood up. 

 Locating Ray has harder. He followed the sound of coughing and found Ray
crouched over an empty garbage bin, throwing up into it. "Oh dear." 

 "I'm not good at this, Fraser," he gasped. "I can't do heights. I wish I
could but I can't." 

 "You couldn't have told me this, say before you decided to ride up twelve
floors." 

 The explanation dissolved into another round of heaves and Fraser sat
down next to him while the heaving continued and they both sat back
against a pillar when it stopped. 

 "Shit, I hate this," Ray coughed and held his stomach. "I can't go down
there, I'll die, I swear I will. I'll stay up here until I get knocked out
or something but I can't go down." 

 "You can't stay up here either. It's already close to freezing now and
neither of us are exactly dressed for this." 

 "Okay, you go," Ray shivered as he drew his knees up to his chin. His
eyes were red, his face was gray and he couldn't move. "You go and bring
me something from the car but I can't go. You got a leather jacket on,
you'll be fine." 

 "That's not the point." Fraser glanced past the scaffolding down at the
ground. "We can't stay up here." 

 "Well I can't go down there." 

 "And I can't leave you up here." Fraser got to his feet and immediately
wished he hadn't worn jeans. The wind cut through him like a saw. He
leaned over and with his good arm tried to pull Ray to his feet but it was
like lifting a two-ton mass of dead, unforgiving weight. "Perhaps we
should move away from the wind." 

 Ray didn't argue the obvious but it was only when Fraser tried to pull
him from behind that the panic returned. "Don't move me." he kept yelling
into the wind. "I can't do this, Fraser, don't move me." 

 "Ray, calm down," Fraser was crouching right beside him again, talking in
a soothing voice, telling him some nonsense about relaxing. "You're going
to be fine, I promise." 

 Ray nodded and little by little, unclenched his hands. 

 "I won't move you. We'll stay here until you're feeling okay. No
pressure, now. Just relax. I've got a plan." With one good arm, Fraser
tied a rope around himself and began walking back and forth, lifting this
and tying that and moving this. Within a few moments, Fraser had not only
tied a rope around his own waste but Ray's as well. They were tethered to
a pole, sitting under a tent of tarpaulin. It would have been ludicrous if
it hadn't been so genius. 

 "We're okay for now, Ray," Fraser was saying with some pride. He pointed
to a black box by his feet. "I found someone's lunch. I don't suppose
they'll mind if we have some soup. Unfortunately, it's cold but we could
just think of it as vichyssoise." 

 "Not now," Ray interrupted as his hand went to his stomach again. 

 "Of course," Fraser agreed gently and put the soup out of sight. "You're
doing fine. Just think about something relaxing, something soothing." 

 "That's not helping." 

 "Would a song do it?" 

 "Shut up would do it." 

 "Understood." 

 "I'm sorry about this, Fraser. I should have told you this before. I
didn't think I could get this bad." 

 "I understand, Ray." 

 "No you don't but I appreciate the effort." 

 "Anytime." 

 Fraser kept glancing over to see if Ray was looking better, well enough
to make the trek down but it didn't look good. Ray was shaking even harder
now and didn't seem able to stop. Carefully, Fraser removed his own
leather jacket and put it around Ray's shoulders. 

 "You need that, put it back on." Ray ordered. 

 "You need it more. I'm fine. I have a natural ability to deflect cold
from my system. How are you feeling? Still queasy?" 

 "Yeah." 

 "We can wait." 

 Fraser glanced around and this time something caught his interest. The
plaster above them had been cracking and pieces had been dropping. Fraser
had thought this was because of the direct contact with the wind but since
covering it with the tarp, the cracking continued. Fraser leaned over and
picked up a piece. 

 "Hmmm," he said quietly. 

 "Hmmm, what," Ray wanted to know. He lifted his head from the protection
of his arms for a look. 

 "Nothing." 

 "Nothing, what?" 

 Fraser held up the plaster. "It's very shoddy quality for a building,
don't you think?" 

 Ray shook his head. "I don't know. Fraser, maybe you should try and get
that elevator thing going. I might be able to make it from here to there
without up-chucking." 

 "You sure?" 

 "I think so." 

 Fraser was now officially freezing to death and would have walked down
with Ray over his shoulder if he thought it would work. The elevator
wasn't far and if they could make it without flipping, they would be fine.


 He pocketed the plaster and carefully got to his feet. "Okay," he yelled.
"On the count of three, I'm going to help you up. If you think you can't
do it, you tell me and I'll put you back down. One-" 

 "Two-" 

 "Three." Fraser helped Ray to his feet and they made it to the service
elevator. Fraser pushed at the buttons with one hand and held Ray up with
the other and in a few very unpleasant minutes, they landed with an
uncomfortable thump on the ground. 

 "How do I use your car phone?" Fraser asked when they got back to the
car. 

 "Hit the release button. Who the hell are you calling" 

 "A taxi. Given that I can't drive with a broken arm and you ... well, you
shouldn't drive at all, we ought to think about leaving your car here. I
think Inspector Thatcher ought to see this disk as soon as possible and
you ought to see a shower and bed as soon as possible." 

 * 

 "You had to bring him here?" Thatcher whispered out the corner of her
mouth. She and Fraser were sitting on the couch in the living room. Her
laptop computer was open and the mysterious disk Fraser found was loading
up. Upstairs, Ray was in the bathroom, having a shower. 

 "Well, I needed to see you about this letter and I thought Ray should get
to someplace warm and I didn't think he would be comfortable in the
consulate and since his own home is still out of bounds, this seemed to be
the only logical place to take him." 

 "Did you know you sound like a robot when you try to explain yourself?" 

 "Ma'am?" 

 If he hadn't looked so genuinely puzzled she might have pursued the
observation. "Never mind. He really got that sick over heights, did he? I
didn't think he had it in him. Well, so to speak." 

 "Oh, yes. He was a classic example of what a phobia twelve stories above
ground will do to a person. I think he was rather brave in letting me try
to get him down from there." 

 "Given you both could have frozen to death, you might be right. How long
does he have to stay here for? Nothing personal but one houseguest is
enough. And he keeps making those noises." 

 "I assure you, once he showers and lies down he'll be fine. He can use
the guest bed, I'll sleep down here." 

 "You slept down here last night, Fraser," she pointed out sternly. She
didn't want to admit it to herself, but she was still annoyed at her
discomfort, Fraser's as well - about sleeping mere doors apart. When she
woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, she saw the door
to the guestroom open. The bed was empty. Fraser had moved downstairs, and
he was sleeping on the living room floor. 

 "Yes, Ma'am." Again, the puzzled look. "I didn't want to disturb you." 

 'Bull,' she wanted to say on both their behalves. "You---" She aborted
the end of the sentence, her irritation. It wasn't worth the effort. The
file finally opened and they diverted their attention to the computer
screen. It was a ledger chart, full of facts and figures. 

 "These are the costs for the new Embassy site," Meg observed. "What are
the figures in bold?" 

 "It would appear," Fraser began, as he squinted towards the machine... "I
don't know if it's coincidence or not but the numbers in bold seem to be
very low in cost compared to what they might be." He pulled the piece of
plaster from his pocket and showed it to her. "This is the kind of thing
costed on the list. It's very inferior material." 

 "Georges must have caught on to this and kept the disk as a record.
Perhaps that's what he was trying to tell us. Look at the name of the
construction company. It's one of the bottom ten in American companies.
His co-workers were embezzling, by the looks of this." 

 "And if Bernard knew he was trying to tell us this, he might have wanted
to stop him. Bernard wasn't looking to help him, he was looking to stop
him. But why would he try to come to the Canadian Consulate with this
information?" 
 Fraser shook his head. "No idea. But he seemed to think we needed to
know. Why don't we meet with Lieutenant Welsh tomorrow morning and show
him this information before going any further with it." 

 Meg nodded and snapped off the computer. "Fine by me. I've had enough
work and Germans and everything else for one day." 

 They sat in silence on the couch for an uncomfortable moment. Fraser
looked around and said, "I suppose I should check up on Ray. I haven't
heard the shower running yet." He was about to get up when Thatcher spoke
out of the blue. 

 "You know what he did, don't you? He crept back into my house the other
night. I suppose looking back, it was ..." She had to struggle for the
next word. "Nice of him. I'm afraid I repaid him with a left chop to the
stomach." 

 "Yes, he mentioned that. Apparently, you have quite a punch." 

 "He also told me that you told him to keep an eye on me and while I don't
condone that kind of patriarchal behaviour or sentiment, I do appreciate
the..." 

 "Sentiment, Ma'am?" he helped again before trying to lay the subject to
rest once and for all. 

 "Yes," Meg said at last. "You've certainly had enough to worry about
lately." She paused and added, "You know, we haven't talked much about the
park - the attack, whatever you want to call it. In fact, this is the
first time one of us has mentioned it, other than the cause of it, I
mean." 

 She hit him where he lived and he didn't want to go there. He was rescued
by a loud thud from the ceiling above, followed by a burst of swearing
from Ray and one alarmed bark from Diefenbaker. 

 Fraser sprang up and, with one final look to the Inspector, hurried up
the stairs. Ray had fallen between the guestroom and the bathroom and
didn't know which way was up. His timing couldn't have been better. 

 "Perhaps you can shower a little later," Fraser suggested as he gently
helped his friend onto to the guest room bed. He put a pillow under Ray's
head and struggled to untangle the blankets. When he looked up, he saw the
Inspector standing in the doorway, looking at him unusually, almost
appreciatively. 

 Meg stepped into the room and helped Fraser drag the covers over Ray. "Is
he all right?" she whispered. 

 "I think so. He just fell." 

 "I stumbled," Ray corrected as he draped his arm over his eyes. "Why does
this happen to me?" 

 "You really want to know?" Thatcher answered. 

 "Perhaps now isn't not a good time," Fraser politely advised the both of
them. "What can I get for you, Ray?" 

 "Nothing." 

 "Let me know if there's anything you need, I'll be here." 

 "Here?" he wanted to know. "As in this room? Look, Fraser, I appreciate
what you're doing for me but..." 

 "I meant the couch, Ray." Fraser began pulling down the shades and turned
off the lights. "You really ought to let people finish their sentences." 

 "I realize that but your sentences sometimes never seem to end. Geeze, I
feel like hell." 

 "Good. You look like it. You'll feel better in the morning. I'll be
outside if you need anything." 

 Thatcher appeared with an ice pack in her hand. "Don't say I never did
anything for you," she advised, handing it to Ray. "Good night,
Detective." 

 "Good night, Inspector," Ray countered, lifting his head from the pillow.
"Sweet dreams." 

 "As long as you're not in them," she replied over her shoulder and left
the room. 

 "You gotta admit, she's fun to annoy," Ray decided and dropped his head.
"Thanks, Fraser. Like in thanks for not dragging me down off that thing
any sooner." 

 "In that case, thank you for not keeping me up on that thing any longer.
Holler if you need anything." He pointed at Diefenbaker. "Dief, off the
bed. Ray needs his sleep." 

 Diefenbaker raised his head, looked at Fraser and lowered it again. 

 "Excuse me. I believe I just asked you to do something?" 

 "Leave him alone," Ray groaned. 

 "He's practically followed you around since we got back here. It's likely
that he senses your difficulty. He can be very intuitive that way. I'm
right about you two becoming friends, aren't I?" 

 "Whatever. Leave him alone and you go. Night Fraser." 

 * 

 Fraser and Thatcher discussed the next steps before coming to the
conclusion that nothing was going to get done until Georges showed up to
vouch for his case sooner rather than later. "We can't afford later,"
Thatcher concluded and stood up to leave before being alone with Fraser
became any more uncomfortable than it was. She knew he didn't want to talk
about the accident, she suspected why and she didn't have the heart to
push the issue. Besides that, he was also beginning to pick up Ray's aroma
from the evening and it wasn't an alluring one. 

 "Don't take this the wrong way, Fraser, but you might want to think about
taking a shower yourself." She suggested at the door. 

 "Oh." He glanced down at himself and stepped back quickly. "Oh dear. Oh.
Well. Excuse me, I'll do that then." 

 "Fine. I'm going to do some work then go to bed. You have everything you
need down here?" 

 "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you." 

 "Please stop calling me 'Ma'am, when we're here. It's annoying." 

 "Yes, Sir." 

 * 

 When sleeping on the couch proved to be as uncomfortable as the first
night, Fraser grabbed the sleeping bag and made a bed up on the floor.
Much better. He tried watching the television but it didn't help. It also
didn't convince him that the rest of the world was on to something by
owning one of these things. He passed three talk shows, two sports
programs and more infomercials than he knew what to do with. He wished he
could fall into the same automatic sleep he knew at his place but it
hadn't been that kind of a night for staying awake. Fraser needed a trick
to keep his mind from Thatcher's question, the one that bothered him more
than he realized. Why didn't he talk about the accident, the mugging, the
whatever. That's an essay question, isn't it sir, he could have tossed
back. 

 * 

 The cell phone was on the coffee table and it woke Fraser out of a deep
sleep. He grabbed it before it rang a second time. "What - hello-" he
croaked into the receiver. 

 The voice on the other end said simply, "Benny." 

 Fraser wasn't sure what he was hearing and then quickly sat up. "Ray?" 

 "I didn't wake you, did I? What time is it there?" 

 Fraser didn't have a clue. "Uh, midnight, maybe. No, two-thirty. It
doesn't matter. Where are you?" 

 "Hard to say so I won't. Listen, I can't talk long but there were some
phone arrangements made so I got a couple of calls free. Just spoke to the
family. Everything sounds okay over there. You keeping an eye on them?" 

 "Yes, Ray." 

 "You keeping away from my little sister?" 

 Fraser smiled because suddenly something he had missed very much was near
again, even if it was just for a minute. "Yes, Ray." 

 "I heard you had a little trouble the other night. You okay now?" 

 "Pretty much. It wasn't serious." 

 "Welsh thought it was. What's going on, Benny, you don't sound too good.
Welsh got this idea that you're really taking this hard but I said that
was nuts cause you weren't that dumb. You wouldn't do that to yourself,
would you?" Ray knew from the silence on the other end of the line that he
was dead on, even from the thousands of miles away. "You did the best you
could. He said --" 

 "I was scared to death, Ray," he said quietly into the phone. He let the
words sink in without taking them back. "I've never been that frightened
before - When I knew they weren't who I thought, that they were after the
other Ray and that I wasn't going to be able to warn him - then I saw the
Inspector and I was certain they were going to kill her and that I
wouldn't be able to stop them either." 

 "Everyone gets scared but it's about doing something about it, so let
yourself off the hook, will ya? Geeze, I thought you knew that one by
now." 

 "Apparently not." 

 "I leave town for a couple of months and things go to ratshit. How's the
new guy working out? Franny says he's cute and tall and has a mouth on him
worse than me, which I find hard to believe but there you go." 

 "He also drives as well as you do." 

 "That good, huh? How's Dief? Miss me?" 

 "He's lost ten pounds, Ray. I think that should tell you something. I
know you can't talk too clearly from your end but ... things ... the
weather is okay? Safe?" 

 "No bad storms yet, but cloudier these days. Mostly just watching ground
crack, grass grow, that kind of thing. I miss you guys though. Hell, I
even miss the Inspector. You can pass that along to her, if you want. I'm
sure it will make her day." 

 "I'll try to remember." 

 "Listen, I gotta go now, Benny. You'll keep an eye on Franny and my
family, right?" 

 "I will." 

 "You know something - I worry about you more than I worry about them. I
mean, Ma worries and I hate that but they've got each other. But you ...
I'm not around to kick your ass and I don't think you let too many people
do that. This new guy - he's a good guy? He's a friend?" 

 "Yes. He's a good friend." 

 "Good. Talk to him or something, will ya. Tell him what you told me. Tell
Thatcher, tell Dief, just don't plug up. You'll go nuts." 

 "Okay," Fraser says. 

 "Good talking to you, Benny." The line went dead. 

 Fraser hung up the phone and he was alone again. He heard Dief stir under
the coffee table and wondered if he should take him out and get both of
them some air. 

 "Who was that?" Ray was standing in the dark doorway, scratching his
head, and trying not to wake up yet. He had a blanket around his shoulders
and looked far better than he did a while ago. 

 Fraser leaned over and turned on the light. "No one. Just a friend. I'm
sorry, did it wake you?" 

 Ray dropped into the chair and pulled the blanket under his chin. "Yeah.
I didn't know you had any friends." 

 Fraser ignored this unintentional shot. "That was Ray. Your Ray." 

 "My Ray. The Ray?" At least this got both his eyes open. "What'd he
want?" 

 "Just to say hi. He got a safe phone line so he's making the rounds and
... well, never mind. You look a lot better." 

 "Couldn't look any worse. What's wrong, Fraser, you sound ... funny. He's
okay, right? That wasn't one of those ... bad phone calls or anything?" 

 Fraser can't help but smile. Even at his most out-of-it, this Ray was
still ... Ray. "No. He's fine." 

 "Okay. That's good. So what is it - he's coming back and I'm outa here?"
He thought he was kidding but he wondered if he really was. It was a
possibility he had considered. "Maybe I'd hang around... I mean, cause
it's okay here. Wouldn't mind having my own name back. Telling people
you're one person when you're actually another can get you messed up." 

 "Oh, not you, Ray." 

 "Yeah, me Ray." He drags his hand through his hair and thinks about
having a shower. He couldn't possibly smell this bad. "So what's wrong? I
thought I was the one having the bad night." 

 "It's nothing," Fraser said, shaking his head the way he did every time
he wanted to deflect something. For the first time, he saw what Ray
Vecchio had said. 

 "Sure?" 

 "Sure." And this time he caught himself. "Well. Maybe not really sure." 

 "Yeah? Why?" Ray was genuinely interested and listening. And not judging.


 "I guess I'm just thinking about the other night...." 

 "Boom, huh? That musta really scared the shit out of you." 

 Fraser looked at him strangely. "Yes. It did. A lot." 

 "I never figure you for the pissed-off type, you know." 

 "Why would I be pissed off?" Fraser wanted to know. "I thought we were
talking about being scared." 

 "Same thing, isn't it? Something scares you bad enough, you get angry. Or
you should." 

 "Well, I didn't." Now, Fraser was confused. Ray Vecchio didn't mention
this part of fear. 

 "You should be mad, you should be plenty mad. Someone messes with you
like that and you're not pissed off? Geeze, I'd be all over who did that."


 "It's just not a constructive emotion to keep dwelling on." 

 "So? You get mad that someone made you scared and then you don't dwell on
it anymore. Simple." 

 "And you don't think sometimes you get too angry? I've seen you angry and
you cling to a grudge like a pit bull." "Better than keeping it in. You'd
better admit you're pissed off or you'll go nuts." 

 "I was scared to death, Ray." 

 "I know." 

 "I'm not used to feeling like that." 

 "I figured." 

 "Then it's...normal?" 

 "For the rest of the world, yes. For you, no. So welcome to the rest of
the world. You know I spent the first fifteen years of my life being
scared to death of everything. One day I stopped being afraid and just got
mad. A few years later I stopped being mad and became a cop." 

 Fraser smiled. "That explains a lot." 

 "No kidding, I had to work my ass off to get this way. So you okay now? I
thought I saw a smile on your face. Cause if you were feeling better, I
might go back to bed." 

 "Go back to bed. I'm feeling better." 

 "You don't have any more friends who are going to call and wake me up, do
you?" 

 "No, Ray. Well, not unless you phone yourself." 

 Ray got up. "Good. Makes it a lot simpler, you having not friends but me
and that other Ray." 

 "You have no idea." 

 * 

 Ray was the first up the next morning. He hadn't slept well because he
kept dreaming that Fraser was tossing computer disks high into the air and
yelling, "Bonsai!" Ray kept trying to catch them and stay on the diving
board without falling off. By the time he woke up at five o'clock AM, he
decided enough was enough. Ray scribbled out a note thanking Meg Thatcher
for the hospitality and promising to meet them at Welsh's office at nine
o'clock for the debrief. He left the note on the door and called a cab to
take him to his car. The car took him to the consulate and by six o'clock
am, he was crawling into the building by the window because he forgot to
bring the key. 

 "Yo, Dief, you here?" he called as he landed on the floor to Fraser's
office. The wolf hadn't slept on the cot. He wandered out into the hallway
and called again. "Dief......" He remembered that Turnbull had been asked
to retrieve and keep Diefenbaker for the night. 

 It wasn't until he reached the foyer that it occurred to him that
something was wrong. There was a breeze coming from an open window in the
main boardroom. He opened the door to Thatcher's office and saw the entire
room had been ransacked. He pulled his gun out with one hand and reached
for his cell with the other. In the hallway, the door to the basement was
open and the draft was coming from here. As he carefully stepped down the
dark staircase, he wondered if he should have called Thatcher before going
down stairs. That misgiving much was pretty much confirmed when a hand
reached out from under the steps, grabbed his feet and sent him tumbling
into the darkness. 

 * 

 There was a knock on the door at seven-thirty am. Meg Thatcher wasn't
expecting anyone and was surprised to see one of Lieutenant Welsh's
keenest new recruits was standing on her doorstep with an envelope in his
hand. 

 "Morning, Ma'am," he beamed at her like a happy puppy. He didn't get out
much. "The Lieutenant wanted me to make sure this got to you first thing.
He didn't think I'd be waking you at this hour. Do Canadians really rise
before the sun?" He actually wanted to know. Thatcher glanced back over
her shoulder at the living room where another Canadian was still out cold.
"Usually," she answered dryly and took the envelope. 

 There was a note from Welsh on top of a fax that there had been an
identification on one of the silent partners behind Fraser's attack. A
faint copy of a photo was attached. The man circled was Bernard. 

 She hadn't bothered to read the note taped to the inside of the door. Now
she tore it down and opened it. 'Gone back to the Consulate to sleep and
Shower. Meet you in Welsh's office at 9:00 - R." Suddenly, with a
noticeable thud, she was wondering uncontrollably about clumsy gardeners.
No wonder Bernard had looked Ray up and down the other day, as if he'd
seen ghost. 

 * 

 "Ray?" she called from the entrance of the Consulate as Fraser followed
her into the building. They both noticed the door to the basement was
open. "Fraser, you stay here, I'm going to check the side of the house." 

 "Is that wise, Ma'am? Perhaps we should---" 

 "Fraser." She looked at him plainly. "It's a side of a house. I'll be
back in a moment. You keep watch here." 

 "Yes, Ma'am." He was going to have to learn to curtail his over
protectiveness. 

 Meg had had explained the worst of her suspicions to Fraser during the
ride over. "It makes sense. That's why he looked so funny when he saw Ray
in my office." The memory was gliding back with all the ease of a swing.
"I thought it was just because Ray was wearing a towel and dripping wet
and looking like a psychopath." 

 Fraser looked oddly at her. "I beg your pardon?" 

 "Oh, later," she advised. "But now it makes sense. Bernard knows they got
the wrong guy." Thatcher shook her head. "There may have been something
more to the garden incident in the middle of the night." 

 Meg made a quick check of the side of the house while Fraser waited in
the foyer of the Consulate. "Oh, damn," she sighed. The window was broken.
It was only a foot from where Ray had claimed to be hit during that rainy
night. 

 * 

 Bernard was wiping his head with a handkerchief. The basement was hot,
dark and full of more rooms than he imagined. The furnace room, the room
he was in now, was particularly hot. The body by the window had begun to
smell and it wasn't going to get any more pleasant. 

 Thatcher carefully climbed down into the basement. She crept into the
furnace room and saw him sitting against the wall. His head was bleeding
and his hands were tied together on his lap. "Ray," she whispered. 

 Ray looked over and tried to whisper something. He got as far as, "He's
coming ba---" 

 "What?" Thatcher asked, hurrying over to him. 

 "He said, 'He's coming back," Bernard finished from the door. 

 In a moment, Meg Thatcher was sitting next to Ray, with her hands tied
together. Bernard was sitting across the furnace room, riffling through a
file of papers. 

 "I should have figured one of you would show up," he remarked. "I did not
count on two of you. Are you tied to the hip or something?" 

 "Where is Georges," Thatcher demanded. 

 "Ask him for yourself." Bernard nodded towards the far corner of the room
where a body was wrapped in an old tarpaulin. "But he may not be able to
answer." 

 "Glad you asked?" Ray whispered to her. "Now don't go making a citizen's
arrest or anything stupid like that. I already tried the real thing with
my badge and he didn't go for it." 

 "What are you babbling on about?" she snapped before getting a closer
look at him. "And what happened to your head? You look like you've lost
some blood." 

 Ray shrugged. "Head wounds, right? Look a lot worse than they are. Taste
like chicken." 

 "Where is your friend?" Bernard interrupted. "The other one who wears
your uniform." 

 "Sound asleep where he should be after what he went through all he did
from your handy work. I don't suppose you'd find it in your heart to put
something on this man's head, he's still bleeding." 

 Bernard didn't seem interested in Ray's well being at the moment. "You
almost had me going there for a while, Inspector. I almost believed my men
had taken care of the right person at the park. Who knew I had hired
excessively incompetent idiots." 

 "One of whom was found dead last night." 

 "Of course. The other has been scared silent in prison. Until I can reach
him, he'll remain as silent as I need. The poor soul you found downtown
wasn't as confident about that." 

 Thatcher looked at him coolly for a moment. "You aren't looking for a
disk, by any chance, are you?" 

 "He gave it his best shot," Ray said quietly. His head was throbbing and
if Thatcher and Fraser didn't do something to end this soon, he was going
to be in for a very long nap. Before Thatcher conveniently dropped in, he
had been chatting incessantly to himself to make sure he could hear the
sound of his own voice. "You should see your office, Inspector. Torn up
and down. You didn't find it there, did you, Spanky?" 

 "You can shut up anytime," Bernard insisted as he continued to riffle
through the files that Georges had been carrying with him when he was
killed. "I'll find what I need on my own, thank you. And I doubt he would
have had the know how to save anything on a computer disk. Georges was the
least computer literate person I knew." 

 "Perhaps, but he sure knew his way around a spread sheet," Thatcher
offered. "In Excel, too. Lots of numbers, German currency, American that
sort of thing." She waited until she had Bernard's attention before going
on. She could feel his blue eyes tearing into her. "He was quite literate
about computers. We have the disk well hidden away. I wouldn't be stupid
enough to carry it with me. Perhaps you'll let my associate here have some
medical attention and we'll discuss details of the hand-over." 

 "No, I think we'll discuss the hand-over first," Bernard suggested as an
edge crept into his voice. "I can't believe that little man even knew how
to turn a computer on. He was numbers, nothing else." 

 "And he had a conscience," Thatcher added. "After all, he knew enough
right from wrong to want to tell someone about it." 

 "Oh, yes. He was too conscientious for his own good. Georges found out
what was going on with the money. He had known for a while, ever since the
plans for the new Consulate in Chicago were underway. Presumably, he had
planned to talk to the Canadians for a while. We had to silence Georges,
and we were never sure how much - if anything - he actually told you. And
if he had told you about the money laundering, we had to have a back up
plan to ensure your co-operation. We would let you know that we knew about
your two Vecchio officers and threaten to blow the whistle. We are
extremely well connected and can do this if necessary. Even from behind
the bars." 

 "Told ya it wasn't mob related," Ray chimed in. "I tell her and tell her
but she never listens." 

 "No, this was never mob related. Well, not yet. That is contingent upon
how you behave and whom we decide to tell about the other Ray Vecchio." 

 "When your people attacked Fraser. Did they know he was Fraser?" 

 Bernard shook his head. "Never hire incompetents. It was you," he nodded
at Ray "- we had intended to target. First the phony Vecchio, then the
real one. We will get around to doing it." 

 Thatcher spoke in a quieter voice. She made sure she had Bernard's
attention before she continued. "I have made enough of a mess about this
situation and so far my superiors in Ottawa know nothing about it, other
than Constable Fraser was mugged in the park for no apparent reason. I'd
be willing to keep most of what I know silent until you are out of the
country with your precious disk. Do we have a deal?" 

 Bernard wasn't as cool as he wanted to be. He was sitting in a hot
furnace room, rummaging through any files he could find that would get him
off the hook with his own superior officers. He knew when to take his
favours. "It could be arranged." 

 "Then let's not waste time, I'll take you to the disk, you'll leave my
friend here unbound and able to seek medical attention. He knows better
than to do anything while I'm with you." 

 Head wound or no head wound, Ray was impressed. She was good. She was
damned good. 

 "All right," Bernard sighed. He put the pile of paper on the floor.
"There will be nothing funny on your part. I'll see to your friend after
I'm more convinced of your sincerity. 

 Ray leaned his head over and whispered to Meg, "Do that thing you did to
me the other morning." 

 Bernard's interest was tested. "I beg your pardon," 

 "Hey, was I talking to you?" Ray snapped. He leaned closer to Thatcher
and whispered, "What you did to me in the living room - that thing with
your arm." 

 "Kinky," Bernard remarked. 

 "Not now," Thatcher replied to Ray. She remained silent while Bernard
untied her ropes and helped her to her feet. 

 As they turned to leave the room, an unusual sound came from the hall.
Bernard turned and saw a yellow yo-yo roll past the doorway and down the
dark hall. He kept his head turned just long enough for Thatcher to lay
another Black Belt moves on the man and send him to the floor in agony. 

 "Very nice, Inspector," Ray gushed. 

 "Would have killed you," she gloated. 

 Fraser emerged from the shadows, beaming at the punch. "An excellent
move, Inspector." 

 "As was your timing, Fraser." 

 "That my yo-yo?" Ray called out. 

 "Indeed it was, Ray." He jumped over the writhing form of Bernard and
crouched next to Ray. He pulled a set of handcuffs from Ray's pockets and
tossed them to Thatcher. "Ray, what happened to your head?" he calmly
asked as he worked at the ropes around Rays wrists. 

 "Fell down a flight of stairs. Starting to feel a little funny." 

 "Sit tight, I'll have you out in a second. I've called Lieutenant Welsh
and he's sending over some officers to process this gentleman." 

 "He ain't no gentleman," Ray groaned. "Sonovabitch tripped me up and sent
me down those stairs. And had you worked over, and did in those guys who
almost did you in, killed that guy George over in the corner and did some
other stuff with his government's money. That's no gentleman, Fraser. He's
an asswipe, sure, a con-job, road-kill in waiting, but he ain't no---" 

 "Thank you, Ray, I'm getting your meaning." 

 "Well, okay, then. Just so's we're clear on this." 

 * 

 At the station, the disk was handed over to the Lieutenant, and Bernard
was charged with two counts of murder, one assault, and that was just for
this country. He would have embezzling charges to answer for in his own. 

 "Ever hear of extradition?" Bernard smirked. "Diplomatic Privileges?
Hmm?" 

 "Ever hear of spooning out money from your own government?" Welsh sneered
back. "If I were you, I'd be taking my chances with the murder raps,
you'll probably live longer in our prison." 

 "What about the other people?" Thatcher asked the German. "Who are the
others you spoke about? You might as well give the Lieutenant the names." 

 "What other names?" Welsh asked. 

 "Apparently, he's only one of a line of people involved, " she explained.
"Well, that is if he's telling the truth. He seems to think he is able to
reach out to other connections and pull the plug on the identity of Ray
Vecchio." 

 "That is if he's telling the truth," Fraser reminded them. "I don't like
to pass judgment on people, but he does seem like a bit of a psychopath to
me." Bernard looked offended and Fraser corrected himself. "Excuse me - a
psychopath with diplomatic privileges, that is." 

 "Well, what about it?" Welsh wanted to know. "Who are your little
invisible friends out there?" 

 "If I don't tell you, you'll not find out." 

 Welsh rolled his eyes. "Listen, you moron, you think you might want to do
yourself a little favour here? We're getting in touch with your embassy,
your country men are going to be here soon." 

 "May I have a glass of water?" 

 "Jesus, you're a piece of work. I got three people - three police
officers - who are going to personally testify against you for everything
you confessed. There's no way out." 

 He cleared his throat. "The water, please. It's a little arid in here." 

 Welsh sighed and left the room. He returned with a cup of water from the
cooler and handed it to Bernard. Welsh nodded to Thatcher and Fraser to
join him outside for a moment. 

 "Think he's on the level about Vecchio?" Welsh asked once the door had
closed. 

 Thatcher shrugged. "He's ready for the funny farm, that's for certain.
But on the level? It's hard to say." 

 "Fraser, what's your take?" 

 "I agree with the Inspector. Until we have more facts from the embassy
contacts, I don't know what to think. He's dangerous, that much is
obvious. As for connected, who knows." 

 * 

 They had left Bernard alone in the office for a moment, just a moment, no
longer. When they returned, he was slumped down in his chair, dead of an
apparent heart attack. They found the wrapper to the pill lying on the
floor. There was a note in his top pocket. The note read, 'About my people
who still pose a threat to your outcast Detective Vecchio - I know you
would like their names, organizations, whatever. Unfortunately, I'm not at
liberty to say.' 

 THE END