Call of the City	

Disclaimer: This story is written for the private entertainment of fans.
The author makes no claims on the characters or their portrayal by the
creation of this story. Fraser, Vecchio, et.al. belong to Alliance. No
infringement of any copyrights held by CBS, Alliance, CTV or any other
copyright holders of DUE SOUTH is intended. This story is not published
for profit, and the author does not give permission for this story to be
reproduced for profit. 

  

Call of the City 

By Cassandra Hope 

(Copyright May 2000) 

  

Armando Langoustini stared at the reflection in the bathroom mirror. If
looks could kill, he'd be a dead man. Fortunately no one could see the
look of hate and loathing he directed at his image. The hazel eyes raked
scornfully over his thinning hair down his patrician nose to the thin
mustache that lined his upper lip. The corner of his mouth twisted with
derision at this reminder of the life he now lived--a life he thoroughly
hated. 

With a growl of suppressed rage, he rifled through the drawers in the
spacious bathroom searching for a razor. Maybe if he removed that narrow
shadow on his upper lip he could remove the larger shadow on his soul.
Cursing loudly, he yanked a drawer from the vanity, spilling its contents
across the floor. A second drawer followed. 'Ain't there a damn razor in
the place?' he snarled to himself as the third drawer fell to the floor. 

"Boss?" the beefy voice from the doorway questioned. 

Armando straightened and ran his fingers through his thinning hair.
Several deep breaths and he was ready to face his manservant, Nero.
Flicking some nonexistent lint from the sleeve of his silk shirt, he
prodded a drawer on the floor with his foot. "Get this mess cleaned up,
Nero." He pushed past Nero into the large, well-appointed bedroom grabbing
the glass of buttermilk as he passed. 

"Sure thing, Boss. Anything else?" Nero followed Armando from the bedroom
into the sitting room.	

"No." Armando gulped down the rich drink and placed the glass on the
corner of the table beside the worn recliner. He reached for the dark
charcoal suit jacket that matched the slim trousers he wore. Pulling the
jacket on, he straightened the subdued grey and rose tie about his neck.
Armando was very conscious of maintaining a certain look to the clothes he
wore. Only the best was good enough for him.  

Nero pivoted on his heels and headed back to the bath to begin the clean
up. He stopped in mid-stride when Armando spoke. "Have Sal bring the car
around and tell Tonio and Vinnie to meet me downstairs in, " Armando
glanced at his Rolex, "fifteen minutes." 

A short nod of his head and Nero was gone, locating Armando's chauffeur
and his bodyguards.  

  * * * 

The cigarette bobbed in his mouth as he talked to the man in the chair.
Georgio Bonotelli liked a good smoke even though his doctor had warned him
about its deleterious effects on his lungs. Shit, he only had one life to
live and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to enjoy it. He'd cut back on
the number of cigarettes he smoked in a day but more than that he was
unwilling to do.  

"Like I told ol' man 'Fredo, it don't take no smarts to see what's goin'
on down there. Those Pollocks been making noises for years an' now they
figger they can just waltz in, what with that hit on Cuzio and all. If it
was up to me, I'd send them a message loud and clear that we don't want
their kind down there. Whatdaya think, Mr. Langoustini?" He carefully
unwrapped the moist towel from the face of the man in his barber chair. 

Affecting an air of boredom, Armando made as if to brush something nasty
away from himself. "I think vermin are best left to the exterminators."  

Bonotelli chuckled sharply. "Vermin. That's a good name for them. I'll
have to remember that." 

"Fine. Could you do it some other time, Georgio? I got a business to get
back to." 

"Sure thing, Mr. Langoustini. The usual?" he asked as he spread a rich
soapy lather across the cheeks and chin of his client. 

"The moustache goes," Armando said as he leaned back and closed his eyes. 

The lathering stopped. Shave the mustache? In all the years he'd been Mr.
Langoustini's barber he'd never touched the mustache except to trim it.
Shave the mustache? Unheard of! "You want I should trim your mustache?"
The voice edged up in confusion. 

Hazel eyes slowly opened and stared at the barber. "The mustache goes,
Georgio. I'm tired of looking like a weasel. Capice?" 

Now that he'd mentioned it, the pencil thin mustache did give Langoustini
the appearance of a weasel--shifty and beady-eyed, a not-to-be-trusted
kind of look. Bonotelli nodded his head and lathered the upper lip. A few
swipes back and forth on the strop and the straight-edged razor was ready
for use. Tipping the chin back Bonotelli set to work.  

The skilled scrape, scrape on his neck was almost hypnotic. Armando closed
his eyes once more, enjoying one of the perks of being a part of 'la
familia'. A good barber was hard to come by in these days of unisex hair
salons where your barber could easily be a blonde bimbo with an attitude.
One slip of the razor and an accident could cut short a productive life.
The Iguana family knew the value of a good barber--a barber that could be
trusted.  

Georgio Bonotelli had barbered the Iguana family for most of the past
forty years. His daughter had married into the family. Life was good to
Georgio Bonotelli. 

All too quickly, the rasp of the razor across his face ended. Armando
waited as Bonotelli wiped the remnants of the lather from his face and
splashed a soothing aftershave on his cheeks. Finally, he opened his eyes
and stared into the mirror gauging the effects of the shave.  

He slowly smiled. Ray Vecchio smiled back at him.  * * * 

Ray leaned back in the high-backed, over-stuffed office chair, its
contours fitting nicely around his lean body. This was definitely a luxury
he would hate to leave. The rest of the stuff associated with this sham
life of his held no claim on him but this chair definitely did. Idly
chewing on the eraser end of a pencil, Ray tried to bring his thoughts
back to the business at hand but the open newspaper on his desk drew his
attention once more. Leaning forward, he flipped to the entertainment
section and quickly scanned down the page to the advertisement in the
lower right hand corner. The Musical Ride was in town. There were Mounties
in Las Vegas.  

Ray pushed his chair back and rose, heading over to the large window that
graced his office. Hands clasped loosely behind him, he stared unseeing
into the distance. Mounties in Las Vegas but not the Mounties he wanted to
see. What he wouldn't give now to see that damn red coat. Chuckling
mirthlessly he admitted to himself that he would even be glad to see that
klutz, Turnbull, but it was Fraser he wanted to see the most. Somewhat
surprised, an image of a woman clad in red forced its way to the forefront
of his thoughts. Damn, he even missed the Dragon Lady. Forcing that
thought to the back of his mind, he tried to focus on his friend but the
image wouldn't leave his thoughts. 'Okay, dammit, I miss her. I miss her
cutting remarks. I miss that smile that I've only seen a couple of times.
I miss her self-assuredness. I miss her...' Ray ran his hands across his
face, shocked by what was filtering through his mind. How could he
possibly miss the woman that made his best friend's life miserable?
Nothing made sense anymore. Why should it surprise him to find himself
lusting after Fraser's boss?  

'Damn, Benny, I miss you. I thought I could handle this stinking job. I
thought it would make you proud of me, but I can't. I can't take this
kinda life anymore,' he thought as he tried to think of a way to extract
himself from this undercover job. Maybe when he could resume his own life
he'd have a chat with Inspector Thatcher and see if there was anything to
what his mind kept imagining. 

"Mr. Langoustini?" 

Ray whipped around. Resenting the interruption of his thoughts, he spoke
abruptly, "What is it, Ellen? It had better be something important." 

"I'm sorry, sir, but this gentleman was most insistent." The words were
barely spoken when a middle-aged man with faded brown hair pushed his way
into the office.  

Ray studied the man who now stood less than three feet away from him. With
the mood he was already in, this man better have a good reason for
interrupting his day unannounced and uninvited. 

"Mr. Langoustini? I'm Cal Watkins." He extended his hand in the centuries
old gesture. 

Ray slowly took his hand and shook it. Conscious of Ellen hovering in the
background and feeling particularly surly, he asked, "What can I do for
you Mr. Watkins?" 

"I've just spoken to Mr. Saldana." Ray's eyebrows rose at the mention of
the nominal head of the southwest branch of the Iguana family. "I decided
not to wait for an appointment." He motioned with his head toward the
secretary. 

"Of course not, Mr. Watkins." Never taking an eye from his visitor, Ray
spoke to his secretary, "Give Mr. Saldana a call, Ellen. Find out what's
going on. Hold everything until you get back with me...and find Tonio." 

"Yes, Mr. Langoustini." Ellen left the office closing the large doors
behind her. 

Strolling over to his desk, Ray motioned with a hand. "Have a seat, Mr.
Watkins, I have a feeling you're going to be here for awhile." 

Watkins settled his ample body in one of the chairs then fished inside the
breast pocket of his suit jacket. Withdrawing a small card, he leaned
forward, presenting it to Ray across the expanse of the large desk. 

Ray took the card--a simple business card--and gasped. In the corner of
the ornately decorated card was a small nondescript symbol, a circle with
a V overlain. Ray recognized the symbol--a symbol he'd memorized before
taking this job. Drawing in a deep breath, he asked, "Does this mean..." 

Watkins quickly interrupted, "I'm simply a dealer in," he paused searching
for the appropriate words, "shall we say, unique merchandise." 

Ray glanced down at the card once more finally reading the inscription:
Calvin Watkins Earthly Treasures Fine Antiques and Other Collectibles "You
Want It, We Can Find It" 

"My company is in the middle of a very large and delicate transaction and
find ourselves in need of a broker," Watkins spoke as he withdrew a pen
and a small pad of paper from the same breast pocket that had housed the
card. He wrote a single word on the tablet then passed it across the desk
to Ray.  

Bugged, Ray read then nodded his head in understanding. How could he have
forgotten the almost paranoid mentality of 'la familia'? Not entirely sure
where this conversation was headed, Ray asked, "And this transaction would
be...?" 

The buzzing of the intercom interrupted Ray's question. He lifted the
receiver and listened as his secretary relayed the information he had
requested. Replacing the handset, he steepled his fingers and half-smiled
at the man across from him. "It seems your story checks out, Mr. Watkins."


"Of course it does, Mr. Langoustini. Would I be stupid enough to come here
with a story like that if it weren't true?" Watkins withdrew a cigar case
from another breast pocket and opened it before glancing at Ray. Holding
the case open he offered it to him.  

Ray waved it away and watched as Watkins took a cigar from the case,
snapped it shut, and replaced it in the pocket. The tip was efficiently
clipped and disposed of, a flick or two and the lighter, and the cigar
blossomed to life. "Cuban...sure you don't want one?" Watkins queried as
he inhaled deeply. 

Ray shook his head. "No, never picked up that habit." 

"That's too bad. It's one of the few indulgences I allow myself. Now to
the business at hand." He glanced around searching for an ashtray. 

Ray pointed behind Watkins to the tray on the table near the door of the
office. He waited while Watkins rose and leisurely strolled over to the
table then returned with the ashtray, placing it on the corner of Ray's
desk. He waited while Watkins contentedly pulled on his cigar. If this was
to be a war of nerves, Ray could wait with the best of them. He'd learned
patience during the time he'd been undercover. Why, he bet he could be as
patient as Fraser ever was. 

Finally, Watkins spoke, "My company was approached by a sister company
over a deal they were brokering between a supplier of unusual military
ordinance and a collector of the same. Unfortunately, both men sent by our
sister company seem to have met with untimely demises." 

Ray leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands in front of him, and
smiled. "You mean the parties you are dealing with didn't trust these men
and eliminated them." 

"In a word, yes, and the man we sent was unsuccessful in establishing
contact with the supplier. The meeting was interrupted by an outside
interest." Watkins wrote cops on the slip of paper. 

Ray nodded in understanding. "And what do you want from the Iguana
family?" 

"I've already discussed this with Mr. Saldana and he has agreed to lend us
your services." 

"My services?" 

"The services of Armando "the Bookman" Langoustini. We need you to broker
our deal. We feel that neither side in this negotiation would question a
member of the Iguana family nor be foolish enough to cross it." 

"And what does the family get in return for my services?" Ray leaned
forward placing his clasped hands on his desk. 

"That has already been discussed and finalized with Mr. Saldana. A
mutually satisfactory settlement has been arrived at. All that needs to be
done is to brief you on the details of the transaction." 

Ray glanced down at the card lying on his desk. Tapping his finger on the
small symbol, he asked, "What about this?" 

Watkins eyes shifted slightly then returned to Ray's face. "The situation
remains the same. There are no plans for a change in the near future.
However, there might be a chance for some interaction on a local level
while you are in Chicago brokering our deal." 

Chicago? The deal was in Chicago? And this local level interaction could
only mean that he might get to visit his family and Benny while there.
But, as far as ending this masquerade, there was nothing in the near
future. Ray nodded his head. "It will be good to visit Chicago. Who knows,
I might just swing by Canada on my way back." 

"That might not be wise, Mr. Langoustini," Watkins knew exactly what Ray
was referring to and it would be unwise for their undercover agent to have
contact with a Mountie. 

'Maybe not,' Ray thought rebelliously, 'maybe not. But that doesn't mean I
won't give it a try!' He needed to see Fraser but a secret part of his
mind also reminded him that he wanted to see Thatcher as well. 

Watkins remained with Ray for little over an hour discussing the deal and
what to expect when he reached Chicago. Ray snarled at Watkins' parting
shot.  

"One more thing, Langoustini. Muldoon is a queer duck. He's expecting
Armando Langoustini--all of Langoustini including his moustache. It's
common knowledge that he killed a man because of his bad breath. I suggest
you do something about that before you leave." * * * 

Ray climbed down the steps of the family's Learjet inhaling the cool, damp
scent of a late Chicago evening. From Chicago Midway Airport he could see
the skyline of the downtown area lit with its familiar nighttime glow. A
pang of homesickness washed over him and he gasped as it reached his
heart. Now more than ever he regretted the decision that had taken him
away from all of this.	

It was good to be home. 

Sal, Vinnie, and Tonio preceded him to the black limo that waited on the
edge of the tarmac. Settling into the back seat, Ray spoke to the driver,
"Hotel California," then leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. 

"You okay, Boss?"  

"Yeah, I'm fine, Tonio, just a little homesick." 

"Gotcha, Boss. I miss Las Vegas, too. It's too cold here for my tastes." 

Ray simply nodded letting his man think that he longed for the desert as
well. It wouldn't do to let him know that it was this cold, blustery
Chicago evening that called to him. 

The traffic was cooperative as the limo threaded its way toward the heart
of the city finally pulling into the private parking garage of the
imposing structure that housed the Hotel California. Maybe it was imposing
by Chicago standards but it couldn't hold a candle to the hotels in Las
Vegas. Tonio closed the door behind Ray and the four men, Vinnie in front,
Ray in the middle, and Tonio and Sal in the rear, entered the hotel.
Glancing around, Ray spotted the elevators and headed toward them. His
small group made a slight detour around a lanky man with spiky blonde
hair. The man turned to stare at them as they passed. 

"You want I should teach him some manners, Boss?" Tonio muttered. 

"Not worth it, Tonio, just typical Chicago hospitality." Tonio grunted in
understanding.	

They continued their journey toward the elevator. Ray shivered, feeling
the hair on the nape of his neck rise as a cold frissen of fear raced up
his spine. It felt as if someone had stepped on his grave. As he entered
the elevator, he half turned searching for something that would explain
his sudden apprehension. A blur caught his eye as he once more saw the
blonde man that had stared so boldly at them. He was talking to someone
but who that might be was lost as the elevator door closed. 'Get a hold of
yourself, Armando, can't afford a slip-up now.' Ray ruthlessly submerged
Ray Vecchio under the persona of Armando Langoustini. 

Ray watched the buttons light and dim as the elevator made its journey
upward casually listening to the conversations flowing around him. A night
at the opera, dinner at La Ciara, Aunt Clare's new boyfriend, and the
pathetic showing of the Bulls that evening wafted around the confines of
the small elevator car. Ray basked in it, inhaled it, absorbed it through
the pores of his skin, committing the sights and sounds of Chicago to his
memory. Maybe he could give his family a call after this meeting. No,
there was no maybe about it--he would give his family a call this very
evening.  

A ding and the doors opened onto the 24th floor. Ray and his entourage
exited the elevator. After the doors closed the silence of the floor
seemed magnified after the lively conversations of a moment ago. "Which
room?" Ray gruffly asked. 

"2409," Vinnie supplied. 

Glancing at the small, engraved plate that showed room numbers, Ray turned
left and strode purposefully down the corridor. Room 2409 appeared on his
right and he nodded to Vinnie. Stepping out of the line of sight, Ray
waited while Vinnie knocked on the door. The door opened, introductions
were made, and Ray followed his men into the room. He ran a measuring eye
over Holloway Muldoon noting the glint of something feral in his eyes. He
instinctively knew that this was one dangerous son-of-a-bitch. 

Before he could speak, another knock sounded on the door of the room.
"Housekeeping," a squeaky voice called. 

Ray glanced back at Muldoon before opening the door. The same blonde man
with the spiky hair that had annoyed him earlier in the foyer stood on the
other side. Next to him stood--'Oh, my God, Benny!' 

Fraser started at him, disbelief plain on his face. Then slowly a smile
lit his features. "Ray!" he cried. 

Puzzled, the blonde man glanced from Ray to Fraser. "Ray?" he asked.  

Ray's eyes grew wide with fear. Was this what he had felt earlier in the
elevator? Had his unconscious mind picked up on Ben's presence here? He
shot Ben a pleading look and barely shook his head. 

Fraser was blind to the slight shake of Ray's head. He was too thrilled to
see his old friend once more. He glanced quickly at his companion then
answered, "Ray Vecchio." It was only after Muldoon stepped up behind Ray
that Ben realized that things were not as they seemed. "Oh dear," slipped
quietly from his lips as the smile slowly died. * * * 

Ray carefully and meticulously removed his heavy winter coat, placing it
over the back of a chair. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror,
shocked at the look on his face. He quickly schooled his features to a
mask of blankness before turning to face Muldoon. 

"What's going on here?" Muldoon demanded. He nervously leaned against a
table, flanked by two of his goons. Fraser and the blonde guy were seated
on a sofa. Turning his head he addressed Ray. "I was under the impression
I was going to meet someone called Armando Langoustini from the Iguana
family, southwest branch." 

Affecting an air of indifference, Ray calmly replied, "You are." Inside,
he was shaking like a leaf in the wind. He just hoped his nervousness
didn't show through his carefully constructed facade. 

"So, who the hell is Ray Vecchio?" Muldoon accused. 

"How the hell should I know?" Ray accused back. 

"Perhaps I should explain..." Fraser began but was quickly cut off by Ray.


"Perhaps you should shut up." Ray spared Fraser a glance before turning
his gaze back on Muldoon. If anyone needed watching it was that bastard. 

"Perhaps he should talk," Muldoon overrode Ray. Turning his attention back
to the man on the sofa, he asked, "Don't I know you?" 

Fraser glanced briefly at Ray, realizing that this probably wasn't the
best of time to reveal his connection to the man known as Armando
Langousitini. Dropping his gaze, he replied, "Not directly, no. I first
came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my.." 

Kowalski softly butted in saying, "Fraser, not now." Ben glanced briefly
at him and stopped. 

Muldoon caught Kowalski's soft utterance. "Fraser?" he asked. 

Alarmed at the intense scrutiny that Muldoon was giving Fraser, Ray
quickly addressed the blonde man, "Who are you?" 

Kowalski glanced up from his fingers. "Who me?" 

Huffing ever so slightly, Ray pressed, "Yeah, you!" 

Kowalski continued to stare at Ray his eyes shifting away then back to the
Italian. So this is the man he was supposed to be imitating. No wonder
Fraser was rattled. "What do ya mean?" he asked. 

A trace of anger entered his voice as Ray again asked, "What do they call
you?" 

"Who?" 

Spreading his hands in a gesture of bafflement, Ray asked the room at
large, "Am I not speaking English here or what?" 

"Yes, Boss, beautiful English," Vinnie quickly replied. 

Skewering Kowalski with his eyes, Ray drew his gun and pointed it at him.
"What's it going to be, funny guy?" 

Staring down the muzzle of the gun, Kowalski answered, "Oh, ya mean my
name? Oh that." He dug in the pocket of his jeans then handed his ID
wallet to Ray. "Here!"	

Ray took the small wallet not sure what he would read when he opened it.
He was little prepared to see his own badge but a completely different ID
card inside of it. He read over the information, then carefully assessed
the blonde man. In a voice devoid of color, he said, "Ray Vecchio. Chicago
PD." He tossed the wallet back at the interloper. 

Muldoon sprang to his feet, his own gun out, and pointing at the two men
on the sofa. "You bring cops to a meet?" he accused. The other men in the
room drew their guns as well. 

Not even sparing Muldoon a glance, Ray countered, "It's your room, pal."
With everything he had he tried to telegraph a message to Fraser. 'Just
play along with me, Benny. I'll get you out of this.' 

"They followed you in," Muldoon continued.  

Fraser stared at Ray shifting his gaze to Muldoon for only a moment then
staring back at his friend. Fraser's eyes moved back and forth between Ray
and Muldoon. He had to trust Ray in this matter. Kowalski remained quietly
beside him, waiting for the move he knew must be coming. 

Ray continued to point his gun at Fraser. Memories of another place and
time crowded into his thoughts and he swore to himself that this time no
harm would come to his friend. A hint of anger crept into his voice as he
asked Muldoon, "Meaning what?" 

Explosively, Muldoon answered, "Meaning this whole set up smelled from the
get go." Cocking his gun, he stuck it in Fraser's face. "Who are you,
buddy? I've seen you before," he spoke in a voice as sharp as a knife. 

Ray knew that this was the moment when he had to take control of the
situation before Muldoon lost it and something happened. Steeling himself,
he stepped into the breach. "Yeah, dead guy, get up," Ray demanded. Fraser
slowly rose to his feet. Ray spoke to Kowalski, ""Let's go, get up!"
Kowalski rose to his feet as well. Ray motioned with his head. "The
bathroom." The two men in front of him, they marched the short distance to
the bathroom and inside. It was the longest march any of them had ever
taken. 

Ray quickly pointed his gun at the juncture of two of the walls of the
room. There should be plenty of support there to prevent the bullet from
entering the adjacent room. Firing the gun, he motioned to Fraser. Fraser
obediently dropped heavily to the floor moving slightly to make room for
Kowalski. Another shot and another body dropped to the floor. Ray grinned
at his friend sitting on the floor and offered a helping hand up. He
leaned closer when Fraser motioned to him. 

Fraser's hand came up and gently flicked something against Ray's cheek.
"For looks," he whispered to Ray. Standing back out of the line of sight,
the two men watched as Ray left the small room. 

Closing the door firmly behind him, Ray was not surprised to find Muldoon
waiting for him. He spoke to Muldoon. "You want to play hard ball with the
Iguana family, you'd better have hard balls. You still in the game?" 

Muldoon smiled approvingly. "I'm always in the game. Okay, back up
location, 9 PM. Remember what I said before, I don't wait." He pushed past
Ray and left the hotel room, his goons following behind. 

Tonio motioned to his cheek. "Hey, Boss, you've still got a little
blood..." 

Blood? "Yeah, right. Clean up the bodies," Ray quickly answered Tonio. Not
even waiting for his men to acknowledge the order, he headed over to the
mirror he'd viewed his image in earlier. To the sounds of an altercation
in the bathroom, Ray took a spotless linen handkerchief from his pocket
and removed the spattered blood from his cheek. 'Now where in hell did
Benny come up with that blood?' he thought then grimaced slightly. He was
talking about Benton Fraser, Superman in a Mountie uniform. Why should it
surprise him that Fraser had some blood to spare? With a sigh, half of
relief, half of frustration, he stared at his image in the mirror. "So
long Armando Langoustini, it's been good knowing you." He peeled the fake
mustache from his upper lip and turned his back to the mirror. Continuing
the turn, he came face to face with his friend, Benton Fraser. Kowalski
threw a punch into the bathroom then joined Fraser who stared at Ray with
a silly grin on his face. 

Running his tongue over dry lips, Ray snarled, "For a full year I'm deep
undercover, never waiting in line, always getting the best tables at the
best restaurants." Hands gesturing wildly, he continued, "I live in a nine
thousand square foot adobe house at the edge of the desert, with a butler
named Nero who brings me buttermilk night and day. And everywhere I go, I
sit in the back of a black limousine, my elbow on the gangster lean and
all this...all this, you wipe out with one word?"  

Fraser's grin grew broader. "It's good to see you, Ray."  

Ray stared in amazement at Fraser then let his pent up breath out in a
huff and grinned to match Fraser's. "It's good to see you too, Benny." He
enveloped his friend in a hug, patting him on the back as he finally
realized that his undercover ordeal was over. He was back in Chicago with
his best friend, Benton Fraser.  

"Oh, Benny, that's cute," Kowalski muttered under his breath as he turned
away from the sight of his best friend hugging the Italian. Now that
Vecchio was back where did that leave him? He settled onto the arm of a
chair. 

Self-consciously, Ray dropped his arms and stepped back from Fraser. "You
realize you could have got us all killed," he said and strolled across the
room to the phone.  

Fraser spoke to Ray's retreating back, "Well, I'm sorry but I was so
pleasantly surprised to see you that I..."  

Ray fumbled with the phone, then turned to smile at Fraser, cutting across
Fraser's apology, "Said something stupid?" 

"Yes." Ben gave a quick nod of agreement the broad smile never leaving his
face. 

Ray turned back to the phone and chuckled as he dialed a number he'd
memorized 'just in case'. "Yes, this is 317, we need a clean up unit at
2409." He listened for a moment then replied, "Right." Dropping the
handset onto the cradle of the phone he turned to stare at Kowalski. He
sighed heavily then asked, "So you're me?"  

Kowalski came to his feet, self consciously aware that Vecchio seemed to
be handling their meeting better than he was. "And you're not you!" he
fired back at the Italian. 

Ray forced a chuckle and ran his eyes up and down his doppelganger.
"That's a good one, unlike the clothes." 

Kowalski glanced down at his leather jacket and faded jeans. "Something
wrong with them?" he asked. 

Ray gestured with his hands and snidely commented, "Well nothing," his
eyes raked over Kowalski once more, "if you're a bag lady." Kowalski
rolled his eyes.  

Placing a hand to his chest, Ray continued, "You see, I had a rep--I was a
slick dresser." 

Stung by the putdown, Kowalski retaliated. "Oh yeah, oh yeah, like a," he
searched for the right word, "like a, a style pig, ya mean." 

Ray again forced a chuckle. "You kill me, funny guy. I see it's going to
take a lot of work to get my reputation back in place." He glanced at
Fraser for support but all he received was that stupid grin on the
Mountie's face. 

Back in place? What did he mean by that snide remark? "What place was
that?" Kowalski asked. 

Ray was all too willing to tell this upstart what place he meant. All
laughter removed from his voice, he said, "Well, you see these three goons
are going to get one call each. They're going to call Vegas and when they
do, Armando Langoustini is going to go up like flash paper." Smugly, he
added, "Time to get my life back." 

"But that's my life!" Kowalski protested. 

Taking pity on the man that had been him for the past year, Ray agreed,
"I'm afraid it is." Glancing over at the Mountie, he noticed that there
was a definite gleam in Fraser's eyes. "What are you grinning about?" he
asked. 

Fraser stepped up to the two men and slapped each on the back. "I knew you
two would hit it off." 

Ray glanced back at the man that was pretending to be him. 'Hit it off?
When hell freezes over!' he thought as he shrugged the hand from his
shoulder. Running a hand over his face, Ray's stomach lurched and he felt
suddenly faint. The hands he brought to his face trembled with a palsy he
couldn't control. Stumbling to a chair, he dropped heavily into it resting
his face in his hands. Bile rose in his throat and he fought to keep it
from rising farther. He didn't want to hurl in the wastebasket because
there was no way in hell he was using that bathroom. 

"Ray? Are you all right?" Fraser asked as he knelt beside him. 

Tilting his head slightly, Ray answered, "Yeah, Benny, I'm fine. Just
delayed reaction. Man, you don't know how close you came to buying the
farm. That Muldoon character is..." 

"I'm quite familiar with Holloway Muldoon, Ray."  

The tone in Fraser's voice elicited an immediate response. Ray
straightened and quirked an eyebrow.  

"He was a friend of my father's before turning to a life of crime." 

Ray snorted in disgust. "Now how did I know something like that was bound
to happen?" 

"Probably because things like that happen around Fraser," Kowalski added. 

Ray glanced at Kowalski. "They do, don't they?" Kowalski grinned and
nodded his head. Maybe they did have something in common after all.  

"Now, Ray...Ray, I'm hurt!" Ben spoke to both men. 

"Yeah, I just bet you are!" Italian response. 

"So what else is new?" Polish response. * * * 

"Now, Vecchio, you understand that ya gotta stay outta sight until we get
this thing taken care of," Kowalski intruded on his thoughts. 

"Yeah, I know all about the program. So..." he stared boldly at the blonde
man, "what do they call you?" 

"Me? What do they call me?" 

"Yeah, you. You do have a name, don't you? I mean a name other than my
name." 

"Yeah, I gotta name. It's Ray...Ray Kowalski." 

"Ray?" Ray tilted his head and questioned Fraser, "His name is Ray?" 

"Yes, Ray. This is Ray Kowalski, the man formerly known as Ray Vecchio."
Turning to Kowalski, Fraser introduced his old friend. "Ray, this is Ray,
the man now known as Ray Vecchio." 

Ray threw up his hands. "I give up." 

Kowalski rolled his eyes. "Me, too." 

The elevator doors opened and the three men entered. Ray shifted his gaze
locking eyes with Kowalski in the mirrored reflection of the same doors.
"What's with the hair?" he asked. 

Not missing a beat, Kowalski replied, "At least I got hair." 

Fraser simply rocked back and forth on his heels, the broad grin still in
place. He just knew his two best friends were on their way to become
friends themselves. 

The cold air of the March evening smote them as they exited the hotel. Ray
drew his coat closer about himself thinking longingly of the desert heat
but that was behind him and he'd better get used to a Chicago spring once
more. Not that he was complaining, mind you. He'd missed the humidity, the
wind, the unpredictable weather, the occasional bouts of pollution, but
most of all he missed his family and friends.  

Kowalski led the way to his black GTO. Ray smiled in admiration. He had a
keen appreciation for a fine set of wheels and if he hadn't already
declared his love for the '71 Buick Riviera, the '67 Pontiac GTO would
have been one of his next choices. "Nice car," he said as he ran an
appreciative hand over the hood. "I have a '71 Buick Riviera," he glanced
across the hood at Kowalski, "but you already know that." 

"Uh, yeah, let's go." Kowalski quickly unlocked the door and slid in
behind the steering wheel. Reaching across he unlocked the passenger side
door. He groaned slightly when Fraser pulled the seat back forward and
flowed into the back seat. Staring straight ahead, he asked, "Where to?" 

Ray situated himself on the leather seat and stretched his legs out. There
was only one place he wanted to go. "Home...I want to go home." 

Fraser leaned forward in the seat and spoke to Ray over the back of the
seat. "Perhaps this isn't a good time to do that, Ray. After all it is
rather late and your family will be asleep..." 

"I don't care, Benny, I haven't seen or spoken to any of my family in over
a year. I have got to go home. Besides, Ma will still be up." 

"At this hour?" Kowalski asked. 

"Yeah, she'll be sitting in the kitchen at the table reading her Bible and
praying for my safe return. She did that while my brother, Nicky, was in
Nam. She prayed for him every night up until the day we got the letter
from the government. Ma took it real hard; Pop just went out and got
drunk." 

"You've never spoken of your brother," Fraser spoke in a subdued voice. 

"What's to tell, Benny. He got drafted and sent overseas. He came home in
a box." 

"Uh, I hate to break up this moment of reminiscing but I think ya should
break the news to him," Kowalski spoke to Fraser. 

"What news would that be?" Fraser asked not sure what Kowalski was
referring to. 

"Yeah, what news?" Ray's ears perked up. 

"You know, Frase, about Motherwell." 

"Motherwell? Zoltan Motherwell? Why would I be interested in news about
that firebug?" Ray leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. 

"Well, Ray, you see, when I returned from my trip north..." Fraser paused,
not sure how to broach the subject of Ray's house. "You remember calling
me and telling me that you wouldn't be there to pick me up?" 

"Ummm." Ray nodded his head. 

"Well, Dief and I walked home and discovered our apartment had burned to
the ground." 

"What?" Ray sat bolt upright and turned to stare at the man in the back
seat. "I thought Motherwell had been committed for good! How'd he get
out?" 

"He didn't," Kowalski interjected. 

"Then what?" 

"Zoltan Motherwell maintained a relationship with a woman...' Fraser
began. 

"He had a girlfriend named Greta Garbo." Ray interrupted once more. 

"Greta Garbo?" 

"She changed her name. Anyway, Ms. Garbo became Motherwell's protege and
took up where he left off." Fraser continued the story. 

"Yeah, she was one sick puppy--all 5 foot 6, 180 pounds of her." 

"A big woman, it seems," Ray commented. 

"Yeah, and a face that would stop a clock." 

"That bad?" 

"Worse." 

"Ray, Ray, I really don't see how Ms. Garbo's physical features are
pertinent to this story." 

"Well, ya would if she'd shot you!" Kowalski complained as he brought the
GTO to a stop at a light. 

"She shot you?" Ray asked. 

"Yeah, right after we climbed out of the lake." 

"Lake Michigan? What were you doing in there?" 

"Well, Ray, you see, we needed a spot that was safe..." 

"Safe to corner the arsonist," Kowalski quickly finished Fraser's
sentence. Now definitely wasn't the time to mention why they had driven
into the lake and especially not in what car. Hitting the gas, Kowalski
sped through the barely changed green light. 

"Okay, so what does Motherwell and his girlfriend have to do with my going
home?" Ray brought the subject back around to the beginning. 

"I just thought you ought to be prepared, ya know, everything has been
repaired but ya might notice some differences. Frannie has a bigger
bedroom and..." 

"They torched my house? Why didn't you say so? Was anyone hurt? Is
everyone all right? Is Ma all right?" 

Fraser placed a hand on Ray's shoulder. "We got there in plenty of time,
Ray. Only Tony and Frannie were in the house and we got them out."
Dragging a thumb across his eyebrow, Fraser apologized, "I'm afraid,
however, that Carla's pet goldfish did not survive." 

"Boiled?" 

"Boiled? That's cute," Kowalski quipped. 

"No, I'm afraid not, Ray. Lord knows I've tried explaining it to him but
he never listens. I'm sure he regrets what he did but in the heat of the
moment it just happened." 

Ray was totally confused. Kowalski simply grinned. "Okay, Benny, what
happened?" 

Gripping the brim of his Stetson, he slowly rotated it as if searching for
the words to explain Dief's deplorable behavior and the circumstances
surrounding the disappearance of the goldfish. "I'm sure he was just
thirsty and the aquarium was convenient and it must have been an accident
but..." 

"The wolf ate the goldfish," Kowalski butted in when it became apparent
that the Mountie was having difficulty finishing the tale. 

"Dief ate Carla's goldfish?" 

"I'm sure he's sorry, Ray, and he did pay to buy her a new one and he has
promised not to drink from any more aquariums..." 

"Your wolf ate my niece's goldfish?" 

"Yeah, and I have to watch him around my turtle," Kowalski added. 

"Your turtle? You have a turtle?" 

"Yeah. You wanna make something of it?" Kowalski half turned on the seat. 

"No," Ray quickly answered then thoughtfully added, "Benny has a wolf and
you have a turtle. Next thing you know Frannie will have a poodle." 

"How did you guess?" Fraser asked. 

"You're kidding me, right?" Ray half joked with Fraser. When Fraser's
expression did not change, Ray blurted out, "Where in hell would Frannie
find a poodle?" 

"Well, there was this lady gambler who spent some time in Fraser's
underwear..." 

"Fraser's underwear?" Ray cut Kowalski short. Images of all sorts flitted
through his mind as he watched the red creep into his friend's cheeks.	

"It wasn't like that, Ray," Fraser quickly added as he tugged at the
collar of his shirt. 

"Like what, Benny?" 

"Like, like, like you're thinking. She had nothing to sleep in and I
simply loaned her my long johns." 

"I see." Ray pursed his lips. "So, she slept in your long johns. Were you
by any chance still in them?"  

A short bark of laughter drew Ray's and Fraser's attention to the other
man in the car. Kowalski shifted his eyes toward his companions and said,
"He's got ya there, Frase." 

"For the record, Ray, I was not in the long johns nor did we have physical
contact of any kind..." his voice sputtered to a halt at the memory of a
certain back massage. 

"No physical contact?" Ray tilted his head, his eyebrows rising in
inquiry. 

"None to speak of." 

"So there was some!" 

"No! I mean yes, I mean, it was nothing." 

"Yeah, nothing," Kowalski muttered. 

Ray glanced from Fraser to Kowalski. The look on the blonde detective's
face brought a smile to his own face. Turning his attention back on his
very brightly hued friend, he requested, "Define nothing." 

"I had a crick in my back and she gave me a quick massage. Nothing more,"
Fraser spit out.  

Ray faced forward for a moment then broke into gales of laughter. After a
few minutes, he wiped the tears from his eyes and, between chuckles, said,
"That doesn't explain how my sister ended up with a dog." 

"After Lady Shoes was booked, Frannie felt sorry for her dog. That poodle
has your sister wrapped around her paws," Kowalski answered. 

Ray shook his head in resignation. "I bet Dief isn't happy about that." 

Kowalski grinned. "Actually the wolf had a crush on the poodle." 

Ray's eyes grew wide as he whipped around to face the Mountie once more.
"I hope that doesn't mean we're going to have wolf-poodle puppies all over
the place!" 

Fraser hastily defended his wolf. "Of course not, Ray. Diefenbaker is the
model of decorum around Ante." 

"Ante? The poodle's named Ante? No, this is not happening." Dropping his
face into his hands, Ray muttered, "No, no, no," into the palms of those
hands. "I'm gone for a little while and everything goes to hell in a hand
basket." 

"Things aren't quite that bad, Ray," Fraser spoke in a conciliatory tone
of voice. 

Kowalski glanced at Ray and grinned evilly. "No, Ray, things aren't that
bad. After all, yur sister could be a Civilian Aid at the station." 

Ray glanced at Kowalski over his fingers. What he had said made sense. At
least that scenario would never happen. His eyes slid to Fraser's face
noticing that the Mountie had difficulty meeting his eyes. "Benny?" 

"Uh, Ray, about your sister..." 

"What about her?" 

"She really is quite capable and has become an integral part of..." 

Ray turned back and faced forward in the seat. Suddenly spineless, he
slumped, dropping his head back on the seat, his mouth hanging open.
"Shoot me, just go ahead and shoot me! Are there any other little
surprises I need to know about?" 

"Well, there is the matter of your car," Fraser began. 

"My car? My car? Where is my baby?" 

"Yur car's fine. It's in a place where no harm can come to it. I
understand how it is with a classic car like that," Kowalski continued to
ramble hoping to shut the Mountie up before he spilled the beans. Now was
not the time to tell Ray about his car. "Maybe ya should ask Frase here
about his sister." 

Car forgotten, Ray turned wide eyes to Fraser. "Sister? Since when do you
got a sister?" 

"Since last fall," Kowalski answered. 

"You've got a sister? How come you didn't know about her? Who is she? How
did you find out about her?" The questions flew fast and furious. 

"Her name is Constable Maggie McKenzie and she first came to Chicago on
the trail of the killers of her husband and, in the course of our
investigation, discovered our mutual parentage." 

"Mutual parentage?" 

"Yeah, Fraser's father shared the fire with Maggie's mother." 

"That's certainly one way of putting it," Ray dryly commented. 

"It's not like that at all, Ray...Ray. My father had suffered a great loss
and Maggie's mother was a good friend." 

"Sounds like she was more than a good friend, Benny." 

Fraser shifted uncomfortably in the back seat. "Oh look, we're home. I bet
you are eager to see your family, Ray," he brightly suggested as the car
turned onto Octavia Street. 

Kowalski pulled the GTO into the drive of the Vecchio home. Ray stared
through the windshield at the brick structure searching for any signs of
the fire. Finding none, he let the pent up breath flow slowing from him in
a lingering sigh. Opening the door of the car, he climbed out and
approached the steps leading to the front door. With a foot on the bottom
step, he stopped and turned a worried eye to the two men following behind
him. "I don't know what to do. I can't just burst in there. Ma would have
a heart attack." 

Kowalski pushed past the Italian, trod the steps, and knocked on the door.
Fraser climbed the steps as well then turned to look back at Ray still at
the bottom of the steps.  

The porch light flickered on then the door opened a crack and a familiar
voice asked, "Ray, Benton, what are you doing here at this hour? Come in,
come in, don't stand out in the cold like that. I'll fix you some hot
cocoa." She held the door open for them. 

"Mrs. Vecchio? We have something for you," Fraser said. Ma Vecchio's face
creased in puzzlement. Kowalski and Fraser stepped aside as Ray came up
behind them. 

"Hello, Ma." 

A hand clutching a rosary came up to flutter in the region of her heart
before, she whispered, "Raymondo? Mi bambino, is it really you? Mi cara,"
she cried as she drew him into her embrace.  

"Ma," Ray choked on his emotions not caring the least that tears flowed
freely down his face. He was home, sheltered once more in the arms of his
mother. The dam that held back all the pent up fears, worries, regrets
he'd accumulated over the past year broke. He sobbed like a little lost
boy in his mother's arms. 

Ma Vecchio drew her only son into her house motioning with her head for
Fraser and Kowalski to come in as well. She cradled Ray, whispering words
of comfort, words of love, ancient words that connected all mothers with
their children.  

Kowalski and Fraser shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, not wanting to
intrude on the prodigal son's return to the bosom of his family. A
scuffling sound from the direction of the stairway drew their attention.
Frannie sleepily descended the stairs. She ran a hand through her hair and
clutched at the front of her robe when she recognized the visitors. "What
is it, Ma? Hello, Benton, Ray." She smiled at the two men before turning
her eyes back to her mother. Her eyes grew wide as a lean form separated
itself from her mother. 

"Frannie?" Ray's voice was little more than a guttural whisper. 

Frannie's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening further. "Ray? Oh my
God, Ray? Ray?" she squealed as she flew into his arms. Her tears of joy
joined those of her brother's. She hugged him fiercely not wanting to
chance his leaving once more. "You're home, Ray," she cried against his
neck. 

"I'm home, Frannie, and I promise you I ain't ever leaving again," he
whispered into her hair. 

"Ray?" floated down to them from the stairs. Maria and Tony slowly
descended. Maria once more questioned, "Ray?" 

Ray pried himself free of Frannie's stranglehold and quickly moved to the
foot of the stairway. "I'm home, Maria." 

The baseball bat slid from her nerveless fingers and rolled, clattering
down the stairs unnoticed by all except Ray who expertly dodged the
lumbering juggernaut. If there were any Vecchios still asleep in the house
it was only by the grace of God.  

Maria flew down the stairs and flung herself onto her brother almost
knocking them both to the floor. Ray staggered then returned his sister's
hug. What Maria lacked in finesse she made up for in strength. For the
second time in less than five minutes, Ray pried himself free of a
sisterly stranglehold. With an arm draped over Maria's shoulder, he
extended a hand to his brother-in-law. "Hiya, Tony," he said. 

"Welcome home, Ray," Tony answered as he pumped Ray's hand. * * * 

It was a anxious group of officers gathered in Lieutenant Harding Welsh's
office. Although Fraser leaned against the doorframe, everyone knew he was
tense as well by the death grip he had on his hat. Kowalski lounged on the
dilapidated sofa that occupied a good third of the office. Huey and Dewey
stood slightly behind Welsh who sat in his accustomed place at his desk.
Ray occupied the chair in front of the desk. The only person in the room
that seemed at all at ease was Frannie. She half-sat, half-reclined on the
corner of Welsh's desk. All attention was directed at Ray. 

"Muldoon has weaponry for sale and a buyer. He just needs somebody to
broker the deal. So the ATF places two agents, a Colill and a Cartwright."
With sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, Ray's hands moved in
classic gestures of communication as he continued his recitation. "Muldoon
makes the agents and kills them both...so, the ATF suspects an inside
leak." He shrugged slightly. "They turn to the FBI who turns to me,
Armando Langoustini. The Mob brokers the deal," Ray finished with a
flourish. 

Welsh rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "How does the deal work?"


Ray answered readily, "Two stages--the first is the nerve gas that you
stumbled upon and all I know about the second is that it's big and it's
scary." 

Welsh leaned slightly forward, staring at his newly returned detective.
"And who's the buyer?" 

Ray barely shook his head. "Again don't know, very cagey, very secret." He
let that sink in before continuing, "The basic idea was that I would
broker the deal and then we'd nail Muldoon and the buyer." Ray's hands
seemed to have a life of their own. 

Huey spoke for the first time, "Which doesn't work out..."  

"Because Fraser and Ray show up and blow the whole thing out of the
water," Dewey finished the thought. 

"Bada shing," Huey ended with an imaginary drum roll. Fraser dropped his
eyes knowing all that had been said was the truth. 

Rolling his eyes, Welsh glanced at the Duck Boys wishing they would leave
the nightclub routine somewhere else. "So what now?" he growled. 

Unaware of the Duck Boys latest hobby, Ray answered Welsh. "The meet with
Muldoon's set for 9. My cover should hold until then. That's our window,"
he emphasized. 

Welsh nodded. "All right! We've got to move." He glanced briefly at
Frannie then turned his full attention on the Duck Boys. Motioning with a
hand, he directed them, "Huey and Dewey, you run down everything on the
location--the whole layout. All right?" 

He waited for their nod of agreement and, with a look, dismissed them.
Glancing at the woman occupying the corner of his desk, he again brought
his hand into motion. "Francesca, pull everything on Muldoon--any possible
connection." Fraser was his next target. "Fraser, you run it from your
end." Fraser straightened and nodded. Welsh rose to his feet. "All right,
we got six hours, let's use them."  

Everyone headed toward the door, the Rays in the rear. Welsh strolled
around to the front of his desk and as an afterthought called, "Oh, Ray...
" 

Both Ray and Kowalski stopped, blocking the door of the office. With a
singular voice they said, "Yeah?" 

Welsh pointed at the two men. "No, I mean, oh I can see this is going to
be confusing, huh?" He scratched his chin thoughtfully. Kowalski glanced
downward not wanting to meet his superior's eyes, afraid of what he might
see there. Welsh pointed to Ray. "Look, you be Ray Vecchio cause you were
Ray Vecchio to start with..." 

Smugly, Ray said, "Right." 

Inwardly flinching, Kowalski asked, "And who am I?" not quite certain he
wanted to hear the answer. 

Welsh stuffed his hands in his pockets. He knew exactly what Kowalski was
going through. "Good question," he glanced sideways not quite wanting to
meet Kowalski stare. The identity Kowalski had had for the past year had
just been thoroughly and irrevocably yanked out from under him. He was a
good man, a good officer, and Welsh had no intention of letting him just
disappear--he was too good an officer for that. But right now, he had to
re-establish the lines of protocol that had been upset with Vecchio's
appearance. He shrugged expansively and addressed the blonde man, "You can
be Stanley Kowalski." 

Ray's eyes widened in surprise. "Stanley Kowalski?" he asked disbelief
plain in his voice. He grinned broadly at Kowalski's obvious discomfort. 

In an offhanded voice, Welsh explained, "His father had a big thing for
Marlon Brando." 

Kowalski had had enough. Ignoring the Italian, he spoke to Welsh,
"So...uh...I just...uh..." He waved his hand in a continuing motion. Welsh
repeated the motion with his hand and nodded his head. Kowalski glanced at
Ray who continued to grin smugly at him stroking his nose as if to stress
the point that he was Italian and Kowalski wasn't. "Okay," Kowalski said
as he turned and left the office.  

Ray couldn't resist a final parting shot. "Later, Stanley," he called to
Kowalski's back. Kowalski spun about and glowered none too friendly at
Ray. Oblivious, Ray stepped back into Welsh's office, his attention all
for his superior officer. "Sir?" he asked.  

Welsh motioned for him to close the door. Ray complied then came to stand
in front of the Lieutenant where he leaned against the desk. "Ray,
contrary to what those FBI guys may have told you, you are still a member
of this police force. If the situation should arise, I expect you to
follow my orders." 

Ray ran a hand over his thinning hair before exhaling explosively.
"Gladly, sir, I just hope you'll tell them that." 

"I will," he motioned toward the door dismissing Ray. At the last moment,
he said, "And Ray, ease up on Kowalski." 

Ray stopped facing the door. Placing his hands on his hips, he slowly
turned and said, "It's my life, Lieutenant, and I plan on taking it back."


"You'll get no argument there, Vecchio. Just remember that Kowalski did
more than an adequate job covering your butt while you were off
gallivanting with the FBI in Vegas." He rose to his feet and stalked to
stand nose to nose with Ray. "If push comes to shove, Detective, it won't
be his tail that gets transferred out of here. Do I make myself clear?" 

Stunned, Ray nodded. "Yes, sir." 

"Good, now haven't you got something you should be doing?" He motioned
toward the bullpen with a hand. 

A final glance at the resolve on Welsh's face and Ray spun about and
quickly left the office careful not to slam the door on his way out. He
stalked through the room avoiding desks and milling personnel with a
practiced expertise which was all for the best since his mind wasn't on
where he was going. The words of Welsh echoed in his mind especially the
part about the transfer. He shook his head wondering if he might have
misjudged his doppelganger. Maybe he was just jealous that Kowalski had
lived the life he himself had given up and if Benny considered the man a
friend, there had to be something there. He silently vowed to give
Kowalski a chance. 

Unerringly, his feet carried him to the corner that housed his desk. He
stared in disbelief tinged with repugnance at the scattered papers, file
folders, empty paper coffee cups, and gum wrappers that were strewn across
the surface of his desk. Seething, he gathered some papers together and
made a pile. More papers were stuffed into a folder and placed atop the
pile. A coffee cup, three gum wrappers, and a half-eaten candy bar went
into the trashcan. He scooped some more papers together and added them to
the growing pile. 

Unnoticed, Kowalski sauntered over catching Ray in the act of rifling
through his files. Angrily, he asked, "What the hell do you think you're
doing?" 

"How can you work in this mess?" Ray growled as he loudly slapped another
file onto the growing pile. 

"No worse than the piles of crap ya left all over the place." Kowalski
spread his hands in emphasis. 

"Yeah? Well my piles of crap were organized," he sneered, dropping another
pile of papers with a thud. He momentarily forgot his vow to try to get
along with this guy. 

"My mess is organized," Kowalski defended as Ray added more files to the
teetering pile.  

"Well why don't you just organize it some place else?" Defiantly, Ray
straightened and placed his hands on his hips. He glared across the
expanse of the desk at the interloper. 

Kowalski sighed heavily, "Okay," and with one fluid motion swept the
tottering pile from the desk, sending it spraying across the room. Glaring
defiantly back at Ray, he snidely asked, "Is that good?"  

Irritated, Ray pushed harder. "Have you got a problem?" 

Anger and a touch of panic boiled just beneath the surface as Kowalski
placed one hand on the desk and punctuated his speech with the other.
"Maybe, just maybe, I don't like the way you're sashaying around trying to
take over everything." 

Ray paused only a moment before placing one of his hands on the same desk
and quietly enunciated, "This is my desk, it's my life." His finger
stressed each point. Kowalski dropped his gaze to follow that finger. Ray
wasn't finished. "Now you get over it," he added with emphasis. 

A mirthless snicker slipped past Kowalski's lips. " Well, you get over
this!" he snarled as he grabbed the neck of Ray's vest with one hand and
drew the other back in a fist. Ray, in turn, grabbed a piece of Kowalski's
vest more than willing to accommodate his wish for a fight. 

Passing by the desk, Frannie spotted the brewing tempest immediately. It
was kind of hard not to see the fists and the angry grimaces. Dropping the
file she carried, she quickly interposed herself between the two men.
"Okay, okay, all right!" she barked. Ray grudgingly dropped his hold on
Kowalski. Glaring at Kowalski, she continued, "Back off, Kowalski." She
motioned with her hands, "that's my brother you're talking to so just stay
out of his face."  

Kowalski reluctantly relaxed his grip on Ray. He pivoted away from the duo
swiftly tossing a hand as if to say, 'I've had it!' 

Turning her attention to her brother, Frannie stared at him until he
dropped his eyes. "And you!" she demanded, "They give you testosterone
shots in the mob or what?"  

Ray stared at the floor resting his hands on his hips. He was surprised at
how easily Kowalski could get under his skin. With a start, he realized
that if he were still in Vegas, the man would be playing hardball with
Tonio or Vinnie by now. Was Frannie right? Had his time with the mob
changed him? 

Frannie stared first at Kowalski then back at her brother. Satisfied that
she'd averted a major brawl, she made mixing motions with her fingers.
"WORK!" she ordered the two men then left them to finish the job they had
interrupted with their macho display.  

Kowalski settled onto the edge of a table. Placing his hands on his knees,
he leaned forward and stared at his boots.  

Ray cleared his throat then apologized. "Listen, I uh..." He took two
steps toward the other man. 

Kowalski's hand flew up. "Hey! Forget about it," he said as he glanced
first at Ray then away. Sighing heavily, he spoke in a softer voice, "It's
just uh..." His hands made circular motions, "you know, so sudden." He
rolled to his feet gesturing wildly. "I mean, I knew...look, I knew ya
were coming back. I just..." Unable to meet Ray's eyes, his voice
faltered. "Didn't think it would be so soon, so.... " He turned away from
the man that was taking away the life he'd grown to love. 

Ray understood all too well what Kowalski meant. "I know," he said, "I
mean, it feels as though you died and you didn't get everything done."	

Surprised to hear something resembling understanding in Vecchio's voice,
Kowalski slowly turned around and nodded his head. He reached for some
papers and began picking up the mess he'd created. 

Ray moved closer to Kowalski. In a reasoning voice, he continued, "You
know that's how I felt when I walked out of here." 

Kowalski gathered together another pile of papers and folders, placing
them on the table. He glanced at Ray. "How's Vegas been?" he asked wanting
to learn something of the man Fraser considered his best friend long
before he'd ever shown up on the scene. 

What could Ray say that would convey the fierce loneliness, the constant
dread that his cover would be blown, the hatred for the life style of the
mob that ate at his guts, his longing for his family and friends? What
could he possibly say that would say all of that? "Undercover's lonely."
He shrugged, wagged his head, and began gathering papers together as well.


Recalling his own situation, Kowalski murmured, "That it is." He continued
picking up loose pieces of paper and placing them on the table. 

Ray heard the soft words. Standing at one end of the table, he studied
Kowalski. Only then did he realize that he wasn't the only one that had
spent the past year undercover. This man had taken his place to protect
his butt. Did it really matter that in the pursuit of that goal he'd also
established himself as a good officer? Did it really matter that his
family had accepted him? And his best friend, Benny? "Well, you got
Fraser," he quipped with a smile in his voice. 

Kowalski straightened and stared across the expanse of the table at Ray.
Something passed between them--something on a gut level, something that
shook them both. Unsure of what had just happened, Kowalski nervously
chuckled. "Right," he drawled. 

Ray's laughter joined Kowalski's as they both cleaned up the mess.  

Ray stretched his back and motioned toward the coffee room. "Care for
another cup?" he asked as he pitched a crumpled one in the trash. 

Kowalski nodded. "Yeah, black." 

Ray nodded once and headed toward the coffee room. As he rounded a corner,
he collided with someone. Reflexively grabbing the woman's arms, he stared
down into Inspector Margaret Thatcher's face.  

Thatcher nervously licked her lips before saying, "You can release me,
Detective." She glanced pointedly down at the fingers crushing the lilac
colored sleeves of her suit. 

Ray uncurled his fingers from around her arms. "I'm sorry, Inspector. I
apologize for not seeing you." Why did his heart rate suddenly speed up? 

"That's quite all right, Detective, I wasn't watching where I was going
myself." Thatcher ran a hand through her hair, not quite understanding why
she hadn't bitten his head off.  

"I was just getting a cup of coffee. Could I interest you in a cup?
Perhaps a cappuccino? I hear we have machine now." Ray waved a hand in the
direction of the coffee room. 

Moistening her lips once more, Thatcher nodded shortly. Ray motioned for
her to precede him and she led the way to the coffee room.  

Entering the room, Ray headed straight for the cappuccino machine. Making
two cups, he carried them over to a small table and invited Thatcher to
join him. He was surprised when she settled into the chair across from
him. Content for the moment to just gaze at his companion, Ray felt a
smile crease his face. "You've cut your hair." 

Thatcher's hand flew to her hair. "It's easier to take care of," she said
as she tucked a strand behind an ear. 

"It looks good." He continued to stare at Thatcher, the smile settling on
his face. 

"May I ask what you find so entertaining, Detective?" Thatcher asked in a
voice edged with ice. 

"No so much entertaining as pleasing, Inspector."  

"And what do you find so pleasing, if I might ask?" 

Ray lowered his eyes to stare into the cup of cappuccino, his smile fading
slightly. "I was just thinking how nice it was to see you again," he spoke
in a barely audible voice. 

"In what way, Detective?" Thatcher pushed. She recalled all too well the
many times that Vecchio had called her the 'Dragon Lady'. Had his stint
with the Mob changed him or was he still the overbearing braggart he'd
been before? 

Ray cleared his throat before glancing away from Thatcher's piercing eyes.
"I seem to have found myself in a difficult position and the prospects are
intriguing as well as rewarding--if I play my cards right."  

"This sounds interesting, Detective." She coolly replied as she sipped her
cappuccino.  

"Call me Ray," Ray invited. 

Thatcher locked eyes with Ray then slowly smiled. "Ray...about this
situation?" 

"This situation, hmmm," Ray pondered for a moment, "I know this fellow
that has been...away for some time." 

"A little over a year?" she asked. 

"About that," Ray agreed. 

"And this fellow has..." her voice rose in a question. 

Ray stared at his fingers as they cradled his cup of coffee. "This fellow
discovered while he was gone that he thought often of a certain woman--a
woman he felt was unattainable, a woman he'd been unkind to, a woman he
discovered he wanted to get to know better." He lifted his eyes to
Thatcher. 

"And this woman, does she think of him?" 

"I don't know, Inspector..." 

"Meg." 

"Meg," Ray agreed, "I don't know if she thinks of him at all except as a
royal pain-in-the-ass." He shrugged helplessly. "During the time he was
gone he often wondered if she ever thought of him." 

Thatcher took another sip. "I would image that this woman had probably
thought of this fellow over the course of their separation." 

"Did she think kindly of him?" Ray held his breath. 

"At first, I imagine, she was a bit perturbed, leaving the way he did. His
friends missed him and he hadn't even said a word," she spoke softly,
hinting at something in her voice. 

"This fellow didn't know that this woman would miss him. How could he tell
her that he was leaving when he didn't even know if she cared?" 

"She cared," Thatcher whispered. 

Ray set his cup down on the table and lowered his face into his hands.
"Damn, if he'd known that he would have never left." 

"Does your fellow wish to approach this woman?" Thatcher casually asked. 

"Yes...yes, he would." Ray whispered as he stared into Thatcher's dark
brown eyes. A slow, secretive smile spread across her face.  

"So, where's my coffee?" Kowalski demanded as he hustled into the coffee
room. 

"Sorry, Kowalski, I got distracted," Ray answered shifting his eyes from
Kowalski back to Thatcher. 

"Uh, hi Inspector," Kowalski said as he headed toward the coffee machine. 

"Kowalski?" she asked. 

"Yeah, his father had a thing for Marlon Brando," Ray supplied. 

"I see," Thatcher replied. 

Kowalski pulled a chair out from the table and after turning it around,
straddled it. "Look, Ray, I've been thinking." 

"Should I be scared, Stan?" Ray quipped and shot Kowalski a glance.
Something passed between them--not as frightening as before but strange
nonetheless.  

"Hardy har har," Kowalski cracked as he pulled a package of Smarties from
his vest pocket and dumped a handful into his cup of coffee. 

"Um, if you gentlemen will excuse me?" Thatcher spoke as she rose from the
table. "I am supposed to meet with Lieutenant Welsh shortly." 

"I'll talk with you later?" Ray queried as he rose from his place. 

Thatcher shifted her eyes to Kowalski who was watching them intently.
Sliding her eyes back to Ray, she shrugged. "I'm sure I can fit you into
my schedule somewhere." Turning on her heels, she strode toward the door
of the coffee room. 

"That's one cold woman," Kowalski murmured. 

Before Ray could reply, Thatcher stopped then turned back to face him.
"Detective, your friend needs to make that approach before too much time
elapses. If he waits too long he may find that circumstances have
transferred what he seeks back to where she came from." She nodded
slightly then left the room. 

"Whoa! What was that all about?" Kowalski asked as he sipped his coffee. 

"We were discussing...what does it matter what we were discussing?" Ray
growled before swallowing the last of his cappuccino.  

Kowalski's eyebrow rose a fraction but he refrained from stating the
obvious. Just 10 minutes earlier he had almost come to blows with this
man. He wasn't quite in the mood to start another fight over something
that involved the Ice Queen. He did, however, have another matter to clear
up. Setting his coffee cup on the table, he splayed his fingers on its
surface. "For the record, Mr. Ray Vecchio, the name's Ray, Ray Kowalski.
Only my mother gets away with calling me Stan or Stanley. So get used to
it!" Staring intently at Ray, he spoke each word bitingly sharp. 

Ray stared at the blonde man sitting across from him. Shrugging
expansively, he replied, "That's fine by me, Ray, although having two of
us might confuse the Duck Boys." 

"Well, it don't take much to do that anyway!" Kowalski grinned over the
rim of his coffee cup. 

"Not if this new guy--Dewey?--is anything like the last one," Ray confided
and returned the grin. 

Chugging the last of his Smartie-enriched coffee, Kowalski wadded the
paper cup into a ball and one-handedly tossed it into the trash bin. "And
he scores!" he crowed, then slapped his hands down onto the surface of the
table. Rising to his feet, he said, "Let's go catch us some bad guys!" 

Not to be outdone, Ray wadded his own cup and lobbed it over his left
shoulder. It hit the rim of the trash bin then fell into it. Rising to his
feet, he cocked an eyebrow at Kowalski. 

Kowalski grimaced slightly before nodding his head. "Nice shot, Ray!
That's gotta be a threebie." 

"Nah, only a twofer, Ray." Motioning toward the door, he continued, "You
said something about bad guys?"  

Kowalski's teeth shone in a broad grin. "Pitter patter, let's get at 'er!"
he said as the two men left the coffee room. * * * 

The parking garage looked just like any other parking garage. There were
cars scattered about, a few trucks making deliveries, an occasional
pedestrian, nothing to mark this particular garage as something out of the
ordinary--not even the fact that some of those cars were occupied and not
by shoppers. Lieutenant Welsh patiently waited behind the wheel of a
nondescript sedan mentally strangling the two men in the back seat.
Unaware of their superior's thoughts, Detectives Huey and Dewey practiced
several comedy routines. In another car not too far away, Kowalski sat
behind the wheel while Inspector Thatcher occupied the passenger seat.
Conversation between the two was desultory and sparse centering mainly on
how self-assured each of them were. The third car of this unlikely trio
contained a Mountie, a cop, and a deaf wolf sharing what they had once had
over a year ago. Somewhere else in the depths of the garage lurked an
unknown number of FBI and ATF agents. They all waited for 9 PM and the
arrival of Holloway Muldoon. 

"You know, Benny," Ray confided as he glanced around the wolf's head to
his friend in the passenger seat, "the desert's okay and Nero does have a
great buttermilk, but this is the stuff I miss!"  

"Like old times, eh?" Fraser nodded slightly before turning his gaze back
to the windshield in front of him. 

"Yeah." A smile slowly played across Ray's face. "You remember that time
you locked us in that vault?" 

Fraser chuckled. "Yeah, and the water kept rising until we," he motioned
with his hand, "we almost drowned?" 

"Yeah," Ray sarcastically admitted. "You know...what I just said about
missing all of this?" 

Fraser turned his head to look at Ray. "Uh huh." 

"Forget I ever said it." 

Fraser smiled. "Understood." 

Ray dug through the pocket of his coat pulling forth something that looked
suspiciously like a fuzzy caterpillar. Adjusting the mirror, he carefully
applied the fake moustache to his upper lip. He sneered slightly at the
sight of Armando in his rear view mirror. Glancing quickly at Fraser, he
said, "Wish me luck."  

Fraser shook his head. "You don't need it." 

Ray opened the door of the sedan and rose to his feet, his overcoat
flapping about his legs. Closing the door behind him, he leisurely
strolled away from the car containing his friend. When he reached the
appointed spot, he stopped, surveying the area around him. He didn't have
long to wait. Muldoon was nothing if not punctual. Placing his hands in
the pockets of his coat, Ray closed the distance between himself and the
group with Muldoon. Before a word could be passed between them, squealing
tires and wailing sirens bore down on them in the shape of two late model
sedans. Ray drew his gun along with Muldoon and the gang. Gunfire erupted
and everyone scattered.  

Ray crouched low, finally catching sight of Fraser and Kowalski following
Muldoon and some of his men through a door of the garage. Moving quickly,
he followed his friend through the door. He found himself in a long, dark
corridor. He followed the sounds of voices coming from the darkness at the
end of the corridor. He approached a T where another corridor joined the
one he was in. With his gun at ready, he carefully stepped into the
corridor. Kowalski and Fraser were about ten feet ahead of him. "Where'd
they go?" he asked in a stage whisper. 

"Huh?" Kowalski jumped and swung around pointing his gun at Ray. Fraser
glanced over his shoulder. 

"Jumpy," Ray snickered as Kowalski and Fraser turned back to face the
other end of the corridor. 

"It's this place," Thatcher said as she rounded the corner. 

"Hey!" Ray barked. All three men stared at Fraser's superior. Only Ray's
face spread into a smile. 

Smugly, Kowalski snickered, "Jumpy." Ray glared at him but said nothing as
the group slowly moved down the darkened corridor. Ray made sure that
Thatcher was behind him at all times.  

Motioning with his head, Fraser noted, "The corridor branches off." 

Diefenbaker shot past them. With his gun at ready, Kowalski followed
closely on his tail. Ray came next while Fraser and Thatcher brought up
the rear. At the intersection, Kowalski glued himself to the wall before
cautiously peeking around the corner. Gunfire erupted lighting the
corridor like strobe lights. Kowalski ducked back and the valiant quartet
huddled against the wall out of the line-of-fire. Ray's eyes locked with
Thatcher's briefly then he turned his attention back to the other men.
With a nod to the others, Kowalski nosed his gun around the corner and
returned fire. The return fire was sporadic as Muldoon and his men used
the gunfire to cover their retreat through another door.  

The foursome hurriedly covered the distance to the door and burst through
it into a stairwell. Echoing footsteps marked the departure of Muldoon and
his men. Glancing up the open space of the stairwell, an occasional hand
or arm could be seen. The small group raced up the stairs catching sight
of their quarry on the level above them. Muldoon and a couple of his goons
continued up the stairs while several men went through the door on that
level. 

Reaching that level, Ray and Kowalski both spoke up, "They split up. We'll
take these guys." They glanced at each other sharing a look of disbelief
with a touch of disgust and worry. They were starting to think alike. Ray
was the first to break eye contact. He eased through the door, gun at
ready. Kowalski followed him. 

Before the door closed, Ray head Fraser say, "Muldoon's this way, sir."
Briefly he thought about following Fraser and Thatcher but discarded that
idea almost immediately. Kowalski needed backup and Fraser and Thatcher
were both quite able to handle whatever they came across. They were both
police officers--Canadian albeit--but police officers nonetheless. 

Ray and Kowalski followed the sound of running feet down the dimly lit
corridor. They paused when they reached the end. Glancing around the
corner, they quickly sprang back from the ambush. The four felons opened
fire. Taking turns Ray and Kowalski fired at their opposition. 

Ray noticed with some apprehension that his nominal partner was having
problems. "It's your shooting--your aim is lousy!" he yelled between
spates of gunfire. 

"I need my glasses," Kowalski explained. 

Sighing in exasperation, Ray snarled, "Forget it! Let's go." 

Shoulder to shoulder, they left the protection of their corner, and firing
continuously, strode confidently down the corridor. The gunmen panicked in
the face of their determination, scattering down the corridor and out of
sight.	

The corridor exited into what could only be the inner workings of several
carnival rides. Empty cars rolled by the two men on tracks that led into
other dim corridors. Several Ferris wheel cars were parked against a far
wall while bumper cars were stashed wherever there was space. A single
workman stared at them. Kowalski flashed his badge. "Which way did they
go?" he yelled. The man pointed toward a tunnel where a group of empty
cars was just entering.  

The two men jumped onto the track and followed the cars through the tunnel
and out into the shopping mall. Moving cautiously forward, they glanced
both left and right but saw no one--at least no one that they wanted to
see. Coming fully out of the tunnel, they followed the empty cars as they
started across a small bridge. Both men ducked as several bullets smashed
into a barricade on their left. Realizing how exposed their position was,
they dove off the bridge and cowered beneath its fake rock supports, knee
deep in chlorinated water.  

Glancing over his shoulder at Kowalski, Ray dug in a pocket of his
overcoat retrieving a clip of bullets. "How's those glasses coming?" he
asked as he reloaded his gun. 

Kowalski edged closer to the opening of their hiding place. Digging
through the inner pockets of his jacket, he produced a pair of glasses. "I
got 'em. They were stuck in the lining of my coat." Settling the glasses
on his face, he in turn reloaded his gun.  

Ray followed Kowalski out as the blonde man threw himself across a pool of
water, firing as he went. Muldoon's men dove for cover and returned fire.
One of them, in a burst of stupidity, rose to his feet and took aim at
Ray. Kowalski nailed him sending him flying backward to land on a train as
it chugged along behind him. Ray quickly dropped down beside the pool of
water; Kowalski rolling over the lip to join him. Water splashed over them
as they huddled against the side of the pool.  

Ray glanced sideways at Kowalski. "Nice job," he whispered. 

"Thanks." Kowalski returned the glance. As before, something passed
between them. This time, however, it didn't frighten them. It felt almost
familiar. A spate of gunfire peppered the edge of the pool above them and
the something was forgotten as the two men returned the fire.  

Ray fired over the rim of the pool then ducked back down to join Kowalski.
His brief glance over the rim of the pool had shown him the men on the
move. If they didn't do something quickly, the gunmen would disappear into
the crowds of people in the mall. Motioning with his head, he yelled,
"Go!" to Kowalski. 

Kowalski's head whipped around. "Huh?" 

Sighing heavily, Ray motioned toward himself. "You want me to go?" 

"No, no, I can go." 

"All right, go!" 

Both men rose to their feet, Kowalski climbing over the lip into the pool
of water. As he splashed across, Ray warily trod around the perimeter of
the pool. The three men they pursued continued to retreat occasionally
stopping to fire at the two detectives following them. One of them
suddenly collapsed into the pool of water, a victim of Kowalski's aim. The
other two finally escaped from the water traps and scurried into the mall
proper. Ray and Kowalski hot on their trail. Not too far ahead of them,
the two remaining men met up with Muldoon. Neither Ray nor Kowalski
witnessed the exchange of guns.  

"How the hell did we ever work this with Fraser?" Ray asked as he covered
Kowalski's advance, then waited for Kowalski to do the same for him.  

"Don't know," Kowalski answered. Checking ahead, he motioned with his
hand, "Go," he said as he covered Ray's advance. Reaching an open area,
they split, Ray going left after Muldoon and Kowalski going right after
the two remaining gunmen.  

Ray slowly tracked Muldoon. Each doorway was investigated, each potted
plant scrutinized. Movement off to the side caught his attention and he
thought he caught a glimpse of Muldoon. Inching forward, Ray tried to draw
a bead on the man but Muldoon backed out of sight. Glancing over his
shoulder, Ray caught sight of what had drawn the man's attention. A Ferris
wheel spun nearby with two Mountie's tangled around the framework. They
seemed to be occupied with something attached to a crosspiece. Ray's head
whipped about. Muldoon had had his gun pointed at the Ferris wheel. He was
aiming at Benny or Meg.  

Sprinting forward, Ray tried to get another line on Muldoon. His heart
almost stopped when he spotted him, legs akimbo aiming at his friends.
Frantically, Ray interposed himself between Muldoon and the Ferris wheel,
getting off a shot at Muldoon. Almost in the same instant a burning,
tearing, consuming pain shot through him and, as he collapsed between the
guardrails of the Ferris wheel, he knew he'd been shot. He clung to the
guardrail, searching for Fraser or Thatcher. Catching a glimpse of his
friends, he let himself slide to the floor. He'd kept his promise. Benny
hadn't been shot again nor had the woman that haunted his dreams been
injured. "Meg," slipped from his lips as his eyes closed. * * * 

Ray floated in a hazy grey monotonous landscape of strange sensations.
He'd been here before and he recognized the aseptic smell of a hospital
room long before his other senses verified his current location. Touch was
the next sensation that greeted him. The hard hospital bed with its too
flat pillow (make that two flat pillows) prodded his back. His hands felt
the heavy softness of a standard hospital blanket. Without moving, he also
knew that he wore one of those detestable backless hospital gowns. Hearing
came next, although he questioned what he was hearing. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" The question hung on the air. Ray knew he should
recognize the voice but it momentarily escaped him. 

The voice continued in what Ray realized was a one-sided conversation. "He
killed my mother. I would have done the same."	

Ray cracked his eyes, blinking rapidly at the brightness of the room. A
hazy shape solidified into his friend. Ray smiled to himself. He was
suddenly fiercely glad some things hadn't changed while he was gone.
Moistening his lips, he spoke, surprised by how weak he sounded. "Still
talking to yourself, Benny?" 

"Ray!" Fraser spun to face the man on the bed, surprise in his voice. He
moved closer to the bed and leaned over his friend. 

Ray smiled tightly and shrugged as best he could. "It's just a flesh
wound." The movement was painful and he winced with the effort. After a
shuddering sigh, he whispered, "God, I've been waiting all my life to say
that. It's not as much fun as I thought it would be." Fraser smiled and
chuckled briefly. "Just like old times, huh?" Ray softly asked. 

Nodding his head in affirmation, Fraser replied, "Unhappily, yes." 

"Do you Mounties still always get your man?"  

"We try to." 

"Go get him, Benny." With that one sentence Ray dismissed Fraser from
having to remain by his side. He knew that Fraser and Kowalski were the
ones to catch Muldoon and finally put an end to his reign of terror. He
also let Fraser know that it was all right with him for Benny to work with
the other Ray. He was an okay guy. Any friend of Benny's had to be. 

 Fraser nodded his head reading the complex messages that Ray sent with
that simple request. He would honor them and bring down Muldoon--not only
for his parents but also for his friends. "I'll be back, Ray," he
whispered. 

"I know you will, Benny. I know you will." * * * 

During the night, Ray's condition deteriorated and he was rushed into
surgery to remove the bullet lodged in his lung. Placed in a narcotic
coma, his body teetered on the brink of life and death not quite sure
which way to go. 

Ray awoke to strange sensations. The hospital smell and the hard hospital
bed were gone. He fingered the flannel sheets and the heavy wool blanket
that covered his lean frame. Slitting his eyes, he cautiously glanced
around the room. A large pot-bellied stove sat off to one side, a couple
of rocking chair waited patiently beside it. A large well-worn desk
occupied another portion of the room. Log walls and rafters overhead
completed the alien scene. It looked like he'd taken a step back in
history to the days of the Wild West. Just where in hell was he? Pushing
himself up on one elbow, he ran fingers through his sparse hair.  

"Finally awake, are you?" 

Ray's head snapped around to the door of the room where a heavily coated
man carrying an armful of wood had entered. Dropping the wood in a bin,
the man pushed back the parka and removed his gloves. Unbuttoning the
coat, he drew it off and hung it over a peg beside the door. He then
strolled across the room to stand beside the bed where Ray now found
himself. 

"Where am I and who are you?" Ray asked, his voice weak and raspy. 

"All in good time, Yank, all in good time. Right now you just need to rest
and get your strength back. You've got a long uphill battle in front of
you and you're gonna need all the rest you can get." Bob Fraser gently
pushed Ray back down onto the small bed. "You rest awhile and I'll fix us
some ptarmigan stew." 

Ray allowed himself to be eased back down. He hated to admit it but he
just didn't have the strength to fight the elderly man. Weakly, he
complained, "I thought it was supposed to be chicken soup." 

"Chickens are a might hard to come by here," Bob replied then chuckled
slightly. "We make do with what we have, son." 

Ray waved a hand indicated the rough interior of the cabin. "Just where is
here?" 

"Oh, this? This is my office," Bob supplied as he stirred a pot that
simmered on the stove. 

Ray followed Bob's image wondering where the pot of stew had come from. It
didn't really matter as the aroma wafted across the small confines of the
room. His stomach growled as he realized just how hungry he was. 

Ladling a bowl full out, Bob carried it over to Ray. Helping the injured
man into a more comfortable position, he spoon-fed the stew to Ray. Ray
weakly protested but when Bob handed him the spoon, he realized he was too
weak to feed himself. Bob reclaimed the spoon and fed the stew to his
son's friend.  

Bob laid the bowl aside and helped Ray recline once more. "You need to
take it easy, Yank. You can't heal overnight." 

Grumbling, Ray agreed with the man. "Just answer one question..." he said.


Bob straightened, then nodded his head. "Go ahead, son." 

"Who are you?" 

"I'm Bob Fraser." 

"Bob Fraser? Bob Fraser?" Ray's brows drew together in puzzlement.
Something clicked and Ray half rose from the bed in a panic. "Bob Fraser,
Benny's dad?" 

"One and the same," Bob agreed as he gently prevented Ray's precipitous
movements. 

"But you're dead!" 

"Have been for nigh on four years now." 

"Then I must be...dead?" 

"Not quite, son, although you've given the doctors and your family quite a
scare there. Nope, you're not dead yet." 

"Then where am I?" Ray queried as he once more glanced around the confines
of the log cabin. 

"This is what we call the Borderlands--that place between life and death."


"What am I doing here?" 

"I brought you here." 

"Why?" 

"Those doctors and that hospital can take good care of your body but what
about your mind? Laying there unconscious, the mind tends to wander and if
you're this far into the Borderlands it might just wander in the wrong
direction." 

"So you're looking out for my mind so that it doesn't go the wrong way?"
Bob nodded his head. "So I'm just imagining all of this?" Ray's hand swept
out in an all-encompassing gesture. 

"Well, there's a bit more to it than that but yes, this is all in your
imagination. Now you rest here while I go and check on Benton and
Ray...the other Ray." Bob patted Ray's shoulder then straightened once
more. Smiling paternally down at Ray, he said, "I'll tell you all about it
when I get back." 

Ray nodded slightly. His impassioned outburst had robbed him of his
strength. All he wanted to do was sleep. He closed his eyes and was asleep
before Bob had a chance to pull on his parka. * * * 

The tinny sound of a Victrola invaded his dreams of grilling suspects and
hitting on a blonde attorney. Ray slowly opened his eyes again surprised
to see the cabin and not a hospital room. Bob Fraser knelt in front of the
stove adding wood to its fiery interior. Glancing over his shoulder, he
smiled at Ray and shoved the last log into the stove. Closing the door, he
brushed his hands off and rose. 

"How are you feeling, Yank?" he asked. 

"Like I've been hit by a bus," Ray muttered. 

Bob chuckled and, when Ray struggled to his elbows, lent a helping hand to
get him to a sitting position. Plumping the pillows behind the Italian, he
asked, "Are you hungry? I'm fixing me a bite of breakfast."  

Ray ran a hand over his face. "Yeah, I guess I could eat something." 

"Good," Bob said and smiled. Straightening up, he strode over to the stove
and filled two bowls from a pot that had mysteriously appeared there. By
the time, Bob returned to Ray's bedside, a banana had joined the bowl of
oatmeal. Once more Ray tried his hand at feeding himself and discovered,
much to his relief, that he could do it--if he took it slow and easy. 

Bob pulled a chair up next to Ray's bed and ate his own breakfast. In
between bites he filled Ray in on the activities of his son and his
friends. 

"You mean he just pushed Ray out of the plane and then jumped?" Ray's
voice rose in disbelief. Bob nodded and took another bite. "What about the
other Mounties--what's their names, Thatcher and Turnbull?" 

Bob quirked an eyebrow before answering, "Inspector Thatcher has joined
the pursuit in the Yukon." Thinking of Buck and his small detachment, he
added as an afterthought, "Although she might not find it to her liking."
He patted Ray's arm, "Don't worry, Yank, Ben will make sure nothing
happens to her." 

Startled, Ray dropped his spoon. It clattered rather loudly in his now
empty bowl. "I don't know what you mean," he stammered.  

Bob simply nodded his head and continued eating his oatmeal. When he was
finished, he took his bowl and Ray's over to the small cabinet-bench that
now occupied the wall beside the open door of a closet. A couple of dress
uniforms along with three brown and one blue uniform hung there. Ray could
see the legs of a pair of red long johns as well. In the spaces between
the clothing he could also see what appeared to be the outlines of another
door. 

"There now, that's done," Bob declared as he wiped his hands on a tea
towel then hung it on a hook behind the pot-bellied stove. Turning back to
Ray he noticed the intense scrutiny that the detective was giving his
office. "I know it's not much but it's home," he said as he came to stand
over Ray. "Do you feel strong enough to sit up in a chair for a bit?" he
asked as he motioned toward a rocking chair that sat beside the stove.
"I've made us a pot of coffee." 

Ray glanced at the chair, the stove, and the blue enamel pot with white
speckles sitting on the edge of the stove. The aroma of freshly brewed
coffee wafted to him and he nodded his head. If it took sitting in that
chair to get a cup of that coffee then he'd gladly do that.  

Bob smiled encouragingly as he opened a wooden footlocker and pulled forth
a large blue and green plaid comforter. He carried it over to the rocking
chair and draped its considerable bulk over the seat, back and arms of the
chair, letting a portion of it settle onto the floor. Turning back to Ray,
he said, "Well, let's get you up." 

Ray tossed back his covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
With Bob's help he shakily rose to his feet and tottered toward the chair.
Glancing down at himself, he realized that he was clothed in a man's
nightshirt--one that was several sizes too large for him. At least it
wasn't opened in the back. Bob eased him around and he dropped into the
chair.	

Bob fussed around him, tucking the comforter around his feet and legs and
wrapping it across his chest. "That'll do you, Yank. I'll get us some
coffee now. How do you take it?" he asked as he poured two mugs full. 

"Black, two sugars," Ray replied and accepted the mug when Bob handed it
to him. He sniffed the aroma then took a small sip. It was hot but not too
hot--just the way he liked. Bob settled onto the other chair in front of
the stove. Together the two men sipped their coffee. 

"This is good," Ray finally broke the silence. 

Bob nodded his head in agreement. "Learned how to make a pot of coffee in
most anything. In fact, when I first became a Mountie all they gave us was
a paper bag and a stick." Ray's eyebrows inquiringly. "The stick was to
kill our food with and the paper bag was to boil water in and if you lost
either one, you had to pay for it." 

"They gave you a stick and a paper bag and expected you to live off the
land with only that?"  

Bob nodded. "Nowadays, these young whippersnappers have it easy." 

"A stick and a paper bag? What if your bag caught fire?" 

"Been there, done that. I was a green recruit out on my first case." Bob
chuckled slightly. "Not only did my bag catch fire but I mistook my stick
for some kindling and burned it, too. I thought I was never going to live
that down."  

Ray chuckled as well.  

"Now, Benton, on the other hand, never had to worry about his bag and
stick. By the time he joined the RCMP things had changed." Bob sighed
deeply. "Those were the good old days." 

Ray's eyes roamed about the cabin once more finally settling on the open
closet. "That looks like another door in the back of your closet," he
motioned with his head. 

"Oh, not quite, Yank. It's more the other way around. That's Benton's
closet and I usually leave my door open so he can visit me whenever he
wants." 

"You live in Benny's closet? I should've guessed those were his clothes.
That blue uniform kind of threw me. I thought he hated it." 

Bob glanced at the offending garment and said, "Oh, he does, but just like
that stick and paper bag, it's RCMP issue and if you lose it..." 

"They make you pay and pay and pay," Ray finished with a wide grin. 

"That they do, son, that they do." Bob grinned back. 

"So, through that closet is Benny's apartment?" 

Bob shook his head. "Benton lives in his office at the Consulate." 

"He what?" Ray almost choked on his sip of coffee.  

"After his apartment burned down, he never got around to finding another
one." 

"He lives in his office? Must be kind of tight in there." 

"In more ways than one, son." 

"Isn't he afraid that someone might walk in when he's, you know, changing
or something?" Ray's shoulders moved up and down in a shrugging motion. 

Bob cocked his head as he spoke, "Oh that's already happened more than
once and it's usually that pretty Inspector of yours." 

"Meg, I mean, Margaret Thatcher?" Ray stammered in surprise. Bob sipped
from his coffee mug and smiled across its thick lip. Ray frantically
glanced around the room searching for something else to talk
about--anything except Margaret Thatcher. "What's out that door?" he
finally asked as he motioned toward a door he'd not seen before. 

Bob leaned back in his chair and cradled his mug in both hands. "That's
the doorway back to your hospital room. When the time is right, I'll take
you back through there." 

"What? We'll come out of the closet in my hospital room?" 

"Something like that," Bob replied. "More coffee?" he asked as he rose
from his chair. 

Ray studied the contents of his mug deciding that he'd had enough coffee
for the moment. "No, thanks, I think I've had enough. Don't want to have
to get up in the middle of the night and go pee. By the way," he turned
his head back and forth, "where's the john? Don't tell me it's outside!" 

"Don't have one. Got no use for them here in the Borderlands. Haven't had
a good pee since I died. As long as you're here with me, you won't have to
worry about those midnight trips," Bob said as he grinned broadly. 

"In that case, I'll take another cup." Ray handed his mug to Bob. "You
know, I had some strange dreams last night." 

"Strange?" Bob asked as he returned with the now filled mug. 

"Yeah, I dreamt I was back at the precinct interrogating a suspect. I
finally got him to talk when I let it be known that I was the 'Bookman'." 

"Good use of a bluff." 

"But that wasn't the strange part." 

"What would that be?" Bob asked as he settled back into his chair. 

"There was this blonde attorney, I think her name was Stella, and I
started hitting on her." 

"Stella Kowalski?" 

"Kowalski?" Ray straightened in his chair. 

"Stan's ex-wife." 

"Stan's ex-wife?" 

"Is there an echo in here? You're repeating everything I say, Yank." 

"Sorry. It was so real. But...thinking back on it, I don't know what it
was I saw in her. She's not my type." 

Bob's eyes strayed to the door he'd said led to Ray's hospital room. "Most
likely, she came to your hospital room to ask you some questions and you
must have heard her." 

"You think so? It sure gives me the willies just thinking about it. What
if she comes back?" 

"You'll probably dream about her again." Bob wagged his eyebrows. "Maybe
you'll run off to Florida with her." 

"Florida?" 

"And open a bowling alley." 

"You've gotta be kidding! A bowling alley? I don't even like it much less
know how to bowl!" 

"You can never tell with dreams." 

"Sounds more like a nightmare, if you ask me," Ray muttered under his
breath. Bob quirked an eyebrow and chuckled softly. 

A few minutes later, Bob helped a tired Ray back into his bed. Tucking the
woolen blanket up under his chin, he said, "I've gotta leave you now,
Yank. Gotta check on Ben and Ray." 

"They'll be all right, Sir. Benny can take care of himself." 

"It's not Benton I'm worried about." 

"Kowalski?" 

"He's like a fish out of water up there. I gotta keep my eye on him at all
times." Bob gazed kindly down on Ray. "Don't you worry none, son, I'll do
my best to bring them back to you. You just get better." He patted Ray's
shoulder then straightened and crossed the room to the row of pegs where
his coat hung. By the time he'd fastened all the catches and pulled the
hood up, Ray had fallen asleep. "I promise," he whispered before leaving
his cabin in the Borderlands. * * * 

A wracking cough shook him into wakefulness. He felt another one rattle
around inside his chest before making the journey up his windpipe and out
his mouth. It was like liquid fire that spread across his chest and ate at
his lungs. Ray knew that if he coughed once more he would surely die. He
had never experienced pain like this before--not even the shot from that
crazy doctor that he'd taken for Ben while he was in the hospital
recovering from the bullet he'd put in his back. He thought he knew what
pain was then but there was no comparison to what he felt now. He moaned
deep in his throat and for a moment felt the touch of something that
tickled the edges of his consciousness. Moaning once more, he begged the
presence to end his pain.  

Was that his mother's voice he heard? 'Ma? Is that you? Ma? I'm afraid,
Ma,' he whimpered. Surely that was his mother's hand that stroked his
forehead and kissed his cheek. Surely that was his mother's voice that
whispered words of comfort and love. Surely that was...the cessation of
pain as the morphine took effect. Ray gratefully slipped back into his
deep sleep only to awaken moments later in Bob's office. 

He lay very still waiting for a cough to squeeze his lungs once more. When
one did not happen, he cautiously levered himself up on one elbow and
glanced around the room. Nothing had changed. Willing strength into his
weakened limbs, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and forced
himself to a standing position. Placing one foot in front of the other, he
staggered over to the closet and pulled a blue-checkered robe from its
depths. Taking careful breaths, he slowly slid his arms into the robe then
tied the belt. He looked for a pair of slippers but finding none decided
he could do without. Besides, the wooden floor seemed plenty warm to his
bare feet. Placing a hand out to the wall, he began a slow circuit of the
room. Each step he took seemed to be easier and by the time he'd reached
the door that led to his hospital room, he felt almost back to normal. 

"Don't over do it, Yank," Bob called as he bustled through the door to the
Borderlands.  

A vista of stark white split by a tall mountain range was all Ray could
see before the door closed behind Bob's rugged shape. He slowly made his
way over to the rocking chair in front of the pot-bellied stove as Bob
removed his coat and hung it on a peg. Settling into the chair, he waited
for the older man to join him. 

Bob filled two cups with coffee from the pot that appeared on the stove.
Handing one to Ray, he dropped down into the other chair. Sighing deeply,
he swallowed a large mouthful of coffee then leaned back in the chair
resting the cup on his stomach. After another sip, he spoke, "I'll be
heading back out in a little bit, Yank. Benton and Ray have got themselves
in quite a pickle." 

Ray lowered his cup. Concerned for the safety of his friend, he queried,
"What happened? Did they get caught in a blizzard or something?" 

"Not quite a blizzard but dangerous enough. They're camped on the side of
a cliff with only a blanket between them. I don't know if Ray will make
it. He doesn't look good." 

Ray thought about the man he'd barely met and realized that he was worried
for his safety as well. Although not sure that the two of them would ever
see eye-to-eye on a lot of things there were other aspects of their
relationship that definitely held possibilities--but only if Kowalski made
it back alive. "I hope he makes it," he whispered into the depths of his
coffee cup. 

Bob leaned forward and patted him on the knee. "He'll manage, just as we
all manage. If he survives this, I have a feeling that he'll discover that
there's more to him that he gives himself credit for. That's one insecure
young man." 

"Insecure? He seemed to be a little over-assured to me." 

"That's just a bluff, son, just a bluff." Bob settled back in his chair
and finished his coffee. A few moments later he rose and stirred a pot
simmering on the back of the stove. 

"How do you do that?" Ray asked. 

"Huh?" Bob glanced over his shoulder at Ray. "Do what?" 

"Make food appear like that?" 

Bob chuckled heartily. "Don't really know, son. It just is. Never figured
it out, never saw the need to ask either. I do surely wish someone would
provide a user's manual on the hereafter." 

"No rules or regulations?" 

"Nope, nothing. We just have to play it by ear. Sometimes it works out and
sometimes it don't." 

"I never knew being dead could have so many problems." 

"You don't know the half of it, son," Bob grimaced and turned back to the
pot of stew. Soon, both men greedily ate the rich fare. Ray was pleased to
note that his expertise with the spoon had improved. Bob noticed it as
well.  

"Looks like you're about ready to return to your life," Bob said and
motioned toward the door that led to Ray's hospital room. "Maybe, when I
come back, we can see about getting you back where you belong." 

"I think I'd like that, Mr. Fraser." 

"Bob...call me Bob," he invited. 

"Sure thing, Bob. Call me Ray." 

The smile split Bob's weathered face. "Ray." An awkward silence fell
between them before Bob rose from his chair and took the now empty bowl
away from Ray. "Let me attend to these and we'll get you back to bed." 

Ray nodded feeling the tiredness seeping into his body like a river in
flood. He watched Bob tend to the dishes and rose to his feet when Bob
approached him. "I think I can make it to the bed by myself, Bob." 

Bob stood aside and let Ray totter to the bed and slowly ease his body
down onto its surface. Ray stared up at the older man. "You haven't said
anything about the other Mounties out there. How are Turnbull and Thatcher
making out?" 

Bob helped Ray remove the checkered bathrobe and settle into the bed.
Pulling the wool blanket up under Ray's chin, he answered the question.
"Constable Turnbull and Inspector Thatcher made it to Buck Frobisher's
post." 

"Does he still have..."  

"Yes," Bob said. "Stubborn ol' coot. Won't lay off the moose hock wrapped
in Gorgonzola cheese." 

Ray chuckled sympathetically. "Those poor men!" Bob could only nod his
head in agreement. "What about Thatcher and Turnbull?" 

"Last I saw of them they were sharing a bed with Buck." 

"What?" Ray bolted upright in the bed. 

Bob gently pressed Ray back into the bed. "Now don't get your knickers
twisted in a knot, Yank. Everything is above board and no one is taking
advantage of the Inspector. Although..." 

"Although what?" 

"Ah, she might think twice about bathing facilities in a small posting." 

"What?" Ray's motions were stopped once more by Bob. 

"That's a story for another time, Yank. You just take it easy and get some
sleep. Tomorrow is a big day for you." Bob watched the indecision on Ray's
face. It warred with his need for rest. The indecision won. 

"You'll tell me the story?" Ray tiredly asked. 

"We'll see, son." Bob gently patted Ray's shoulder. 

Almost asleep, Ray wheedled, "Promise?" 

A far away look entered his eyes but was quickly swept away as Bob glanced
once more at Ray. "Let's see how things work out...then we'll talk."  

Ray bobbed his head once then closed his eyes. The faraway look returned
to Bob's eyes as he once more felt that tenuous call that had plagued him
for days. It was almost as if someone were calling to him. Bob watched as
Ray relaxed and drifted quickly to sleep.  * * * 

Ray awoke to darkness. The interior of the cabin was lit only by the glow
cast from the pot-bellied stove. Feeling much stronger, he levered himself
up until he was sitting on the side of his bed. Tentatively, he stretched
his arms above his head and indulged in a big yawn. That was a mistake. He
began coughing.  

"One step at a time, son. You're trying to rush things!" Bob rose from his
seat behind the large desk. The room brightened as if several lamps had
been turned on. 

"It's...a little...late for...that," Ray ground out between coughs. 

Bob handed him a cup of bark tea. "Try this, son." 

Accepting the cup, Ray gratefully swallowed a few sips. The tea seemed to
settle the tickling in his chest. Another sip and Ray smiled at Bob. "This
stuff works!" he exclaimed in delighted surprise. 

"Bark tea is great for what ails you," Bob replied. He watched as Ray
finished the cup. "Would you like some more?" he queried. 

Handing the cup to Bob, Ray replied, "Not now, maybe later?" His voice
rose in a question. 

"Always keep the teapot going--never know when a cup of tea will be
needed," Bob added with a smile in his voice. 

Ray smiled tentatively at the older man. He realized that he liked Ben's
father. Too bad he was dead. He could definitely see where Ben had gotten
many of his traits. Thinking of his friend, Ray was curious as to the
latest happenings in the far North. "How're Benny and Ray doing?" He
finally asked. 

"Oh, they survived the mountain although I was real worried about that
young man. Benton can handle himself but..." 

"Kowalski's like a fish outta water?" Ray repeated Bob's estimation of the
previous day. 

"Precisely," Bob readily agreed. 

"So, they made it off the mountain okay? What happened next?" Ray pushed
himself to his feet and, grabbing the robe from the foot of his bed,
headed in the direction of the rocking chair. 

Bob followed and settled into the other one. "They made it off the
mountain just fine, Young Ray slung over Benton's back like side of meat.
Young Ray actually celebrated when they reached the summit. Not much, mind
you, but a little bit. Good to see him taking it so well." 

'Young Ray?' Ray thought. 'Does that make me Old Ray?' 

"Anyway," Bob continued as he drew deeply on a pipe that had appeared in
his hand. The smoke wreathed about his head as he rocked back and forth in
the chair. "Anyway, they were doing right well until Young Ray got spooked
and hightailed it out across a glacier. Fell in a crevasse, naturally, and
pulled Benton in with him." 

Ray's eyes widened in alarm. "Fell in a cravasse? Don't men die like
that?" 

Bob puffed on his pipe and nodded his head. "Found them about 15 meters
down pinned in a narrow spot. There was no way they were getting outta of
there without help." 

"They found help, didn't they?" Fear rose to choke Ray's throat. 

"You have to realize, Yank, that there are mighty few people out there.
Maybe one or two in 10 square kilometers but, yes, they got some help. I
tell you, it is nigh on impossible to move a handkerchief in blowing
snow." 

"A handkerchief?" Ray squeaked. 

"Yep," Bob blew a smoke ring, pleased with himself, "finally managed to
wrap it across young Delmar's face. He helped Benton and Ray out of that
crevasse and directed them toward Buck's group." 

"Delmar?" 

"One of Benton's playmates." 

'Playmates?' Ray thought. He was certainly learning a lot about his friend
that he knew Ben would rather he not know. He chuckled slightly when he
imagined the look on Ray's face when he shared his newfound information
with him. They would both get a kick out of teasing the stoic Mountie. 

"Anyway, after a thrilling sled ride, they made it to Buck's camp in time
for dinner," Bob finished with a flourish. He decided against telling Ray
about the 'contact' between Benton and the Inspector. It was just a
goodbye kiss after all. He narrowed his eyes and gazed across at Ray. "Any
more peculiar dreams?" he asked. 

Ray started slightly. How did Bob know that? "I don't know if you'd call
them peculiar but I had another dream about Stella. I made a real ass of
myself playing up to her. Boy, am I ever glad it was only a dream. If it
was real, I'd seriously considered checking into a looney bin to have my
head examined." 

Bob chuckled. "Now, it couldn't be that bad, son." 

"Oh, yes, it could," Ray averred. 

Before Bob could comment, a knock on the door of the cabin resounded
through the room. Bob rose to his feet but the door had already opened and
a small figure, muffled in furs, strode purposefully into the cabin.
Tossing the hood back, the elderly woman fished a pair of spectacles out
of the front of her parka and placed them on her nose. "Good, he's up and
about," she declared as she removed her parka and hung it on a peg next to
Bob's. 

"What are you doing here, Mother?" A note of resentment echoed in Bob's
voice. 

"He's going back today, isn't he?" 

"Well, yes..." 

"And you've got a case to finish," she interrupted. Bustling over to where
Ray sat, she bent down and peered into his face. "How are you feeling,
young man?" 

"I'm feeling fine," Ray stammered. 

"That's good. I'm Martha Fraser." She extended her hand. 

Ray took the proffered hand and shook it. "It's a pleasure to meet you,
Mrs. Fraser. Ben frequently mentions you..." Ray's voice trailed off. What
did you say to a 'paragon of virtue'? She was much smaller than he'd
imagined. 

"Such a good boy--a little headstrong at times but still a good boy. Now
let's see about getting you back to where you belong. You don't want to
stay too long here in the Borderlands. It just makes it harder to get
home." Casting a glance at Bob, she spoke sharply at him, "Are you still
here? Time's a wasting, Robert, you've got a job to do. Don't let Benton
make the same mistake you made. Now go...go!" She shooed him off with a
wave of her hands. "I'll take care of Ray and get him back where he
belongs. Go!" she ordered. 

"Yes, Mother," Bob acquiesced. Leaning down, he whispered to Ray. "She
means well, son." Straightening he strode across the room and shrugged
into his parka. With a hand on the door, he turned and spoke one last time
to Ray, "Take it easy, son."  

"You, too, sir," Ray answered. 

"Bob, call me Bob." 

"Take care, Bob."  

Bob smiled then saluted Ray and opened the door.  

As Bob exited the cabin, Ray thought he heard "Oh for just one time, I
would take the Northwest Passage and find the Hand of Franklin reaching
for the Beaufort Sea..." but he might have been mistaken. 

"Come on, young man, no time to dawdle," Martha clucked.  

"Could I have one more cup of bark tea before I go back?" Ray wheedled. 

Martha rested her hands on her hips then smiled thinly. "One cup," she
agreed. 

Ray smiled in return and quickly downed the cup handed him. Rising to his
feet he shuffled in the direction of the door to his hospital room. Martha
followed behind. "So, do I just go through?" Ray asked as he reached for
the doorknob. 

"Something like that," Martha spoke in an odd, yet gentle tone. 

Ray grasped the knob but something held him back. Hesitating, he glanced
over his shoulder and spoke to Martha, "I...I'm...I'm..." 

"I know, Ray," Martha called him by name, "there's no need to be afraid.
Listen...you're mother's calling to you. Can't you hear her voice?" 

"Could you open the door for me?" Ray softly asked. 

Martha gently shook her head. Softly she said, "I can't do that, Ray. You
have to make the decision to go through that door. You have to decide to
live." 

Ray sagged against the door. With his forehead resting against the door,
he whispered, "You mean if I stay here I'll die?" 

"You're mother's calling to you, Ray. Open the door and answer her," she
encouraged. 

"But..." 

"No buts, just do it!" 

Ray turned the knob and opened the door. A long dark hallway stretched
before him. "Where..." he began but was unable to finish. 

Martha watched Ray open the door and hesitate once more. 'Goodness
gracious! Guess I'm going to have to give him a little push!' she thought
as she planted her hands in the middle of his back. Her slight frame
belied the strength of her will. Ray flew through the open door into the
dark hallway; the door slamming shut behind him. Martha brushed her hands
together and smiled. * * * 

Ray floated in a hazy grey monotonous landscape of strange sensations.
He'd been here before and he recognized the aseptic smell of a hospital
room long before his other senses verified his current location. Touch was
the next sensation that greeted him. The hard hospital bed with its too
flat pillow (make that two flat pillows) was back. His hands no longer
felt the flannel sheets nor the heavy softness of the wool blanket.
Without moving, he also knew that the oversized nightshirt had been
replaced by one of those detestable backless hospital gowns. Hearing came
next, the soft litany of the Rosary in his mother's voice. 

"Maria di Grandine, pieno di grazia, il Signore è col thee, l'arte
benedetta tu tra le donne e benedetto è le frutta di tuo womb, Jesus. La
santa Madre di Maria di Dio, prega per noi i peccatori adesso e all'ora
della nostra morte. Amen." Sylvia Vecchio leaned forward, her head bent as
she recited the Hail Mary. The carved carnelian beads flowed over her
hands to the crucifix that dangled below her clasped fingers.
Imperceptibly the beads shifted and another prayer began. 

Ray relaxed as the voice of his mother continued her prayers. There was
just something about being surrounded by his mother's love that calmed his
fears. He listened as she repeated the Hail Mary, then began the next
prayer. The Our Father rolled softly off her tongue flowing easily into
the next prayer. 

"O il mio Jesus, ha la pietà su noi. Perdonarci i nostri peccati.
Risparmiarci dai fuochi di inferno. Portare tutte le anime nel cielo,
soprattutto, quelli più nel bisogno di tua pietà. Amen."  

Opening his eyes, he blinked against the light. Love flowed from him as he
softly called, "Ma?" When there was no response, he tried again. "Ma?"	

Mrs. Vecchio paused in her recitation of the Rosary. Something as soft as
an angel's wing had brushed across her. She glanced quickly at the bed
where her son lay. The hand with the rosary flew to her mouth and she rose
from the chair and hurried to stand beside the bed. Grasping Ray's hand in
hers, she brought it to her lips. With her other hand she brushed a
nonexistent strand of hair from his brow. 

"Raymondo, can you hear me? Potete sentirli, il mio ragazzo piccolo del
bambino? Say something to your poor old mama," she gently implored. 

"Ma," Ray started but was stopped by his mother. 

"Shush, child, let me call the doctor." She pushed a button summoning the
nurse on duty then turned back to her son. 

"Ma?" Ray blinked his eyes finally settling for a squint. As his eyes
adjusted to the light in his room they opened wider. The formless blob
resolved itself into the careworn features of his mother. Smiling
contentedly, he whispered once more, "Ma." 

"Shhh, Raymondo, I'm here." Carefully she slid an arm behind his shoulders
and hugged him.  

A grandmotherly woman in white quietly entered the room and came to stand
on the other side of the bed. "I see he's awake. I'll call Dr. McKenzie." 

"Thank you," Mrs. Vecchio replied. 

A few minutes later, a tall, sandy haired man in hospital scrubs bustled
into the room. Seeing him, Mrs. Vecchio gently released her hold on Ray. 

Suddenly frightened, Ray whimpered, "Ma?" 

Taking his hand in hers, she patted it and leaned closer to whisper, "The
doctor is here to check on you, Raymondo. I'm right here, I won't leave."
Glancing at Dr. McKenzie, she motioned for him to proceed. 

"Hello, Mr. Vecchio, I'm Dr. Robert McKenzie. I've been looking after you
since you were brought in here." Taking a small penlight from a pocket, he
shown it first in one eye then the other. "How are you feeling?" 

Ray let a ragged sigh ooze from him before he answered. "I've felt
better." 

Chuckling, Dr. McKenzie replied, "I bet you have." Stepping back, he
glanced at the chart he'd brought with him. "You've been through a lot in
the last few days, Mr. Vecchio. The best thing right now is rest."
Flipping the chart closed, he continued, "I'll check back with you later
this afternoon. Before I leave do you have any questions?" 

Ray carefully shaped the words before letting them emerge from his mouth.
"When...?" 

Reading the unspoken question, Dr. McKenzie smiled. "Once we move you from
ICU, it all depends on how quickly you heal. I imagine a week to two weeks
tops." 

Satisfied, Ray closed his eyes and was instantly asleep. He didn't see the
tears of relief in his mother's eyes nor the concern shown her by Dr.
McKenzie. All he knew was when he awoke once more his mother was gone and
in her place was his sister, Francesca. 

"Hey, Frannie!" he called wishing his voice was stronger. 

Frannie dropped the magazine she was reading and hurried to his bedside.
"Hi yourself, Ray. How ya feeling? Can I get you something? A drink
maybe?" 

Ray nodded his head and gratefully sipped at the straw placed in his
mouth. The ice water tasted like nectar and he took several swallows
before turning his head slightly. Reading his signals, Frannie removed the
glass and placed it on the table beside the bed.  

"Thanks," Ray whispered. 

Frannie smiled and nodded her head in acknowledgement. "Is there anything
else you need?" 

Ray shook his head slightly then asked, "Where's Ma?" 

"The doctor sent her home last night. Maria stayed with you last night and
I took over this morning. Ma will be back around lunch." 

"How did he get Ma to go home?" 

"He told her that he would admit her to the hospital if she didn't go home
and get some rest. He also told her that she needed to be at her best for
you and you know Ma..." 

"Yeah," Ray sighed. "So why ain't you at work?" 

"The Lieutenant said I could spend the mornings with you until you get out
of the hospital. I work a longer shift in the afternoon." 

Ray's eyes began to droop. Struggling to keep them open, he asked one last
question, "What about Fraser?" 

Frannie's expressive face clouded slightly. Moistening her lips, she said,
"We haven't heard anything in almost a week." She smiled brightly although
the smile did not reach her eyes. "You know Fraser, he can take care of
himself. I'm sure he's all right." Her voice trailed off. 

Ray watched her through narrowed eyes. It sounded more like she was trying
to convince herself rather than him. Could she honestly care for him? What
had happened in the time he'd been gone? The questions circled in his mind
as he once more surrendered to sleep. An hour or so later, he could have
sworn he heard Frannie yelling at someone but he must have been mistaken.
Frannie wouldn't do something like that.  

"I don't care who you are and what you got! You're not bothering my
brother until the doctor says he's up to it. Just what kinda person are
you? He's barely conscious and you're on him like a buzzard on a piece of
roadkill! Back off, sister, before I call the cops on you!" 

"That will not be necessary, Miss Vecchio, I can..."  

The rest was lost to Ray as he recognized the voice...Stella...Stella of
the bowling alley. So, Frannie was running interference for him. Smiling
to himself, he slipped back into his healing sleep knowing that he needn't
worry about waking up married to a blonde harpy and chained to a bowling
alley in Florida. * * * 

"Hey, Yank, you awake?" Ray moaned slightly and rolled away from the
voice. "Come now, Ray, I don't have much time."  

Ray slitted his eyes finally focusing on the image of Bob Fraser. Rolling
to lie flat on his back, he rubbed his eyes then spoke, "What time is it?
What are you doing here?" He yawned widely. 

"It's late and I don't have much time, son. I really shouldn't be here at
all but I have something I need for you to do." 

Interest piqued, Ray yawned once more then motioned for Bob to continue. 

"I just stopped by to let you know what's happened since you returned
here." 

"Did Benny catch Muldoon?" Ray asked the question that was uppermost in
his mind. 

A smile of paternal pride spread across Bob's weather beaten features.
"Yes, he did and he did a far better job of it than I did thirty years
ago." 

"Thirty years? That's a long time to be chasing someone." 

"I haven't been chasing him. I thought he was dead. I thought I'd killed
him." Bob's voice was filled with recriminations. 

Ray rose to his elbows. "You tried to kill him? But you're a Mountie!
Benny said you always brought your man in alive. Why would you try to kill
him?" 

Bob dropped heavily into the chair normally occupied by one of the Vecchio
females. Burying his face in his hands, the answer, when it finally came,
was muffled. "He murdered Caroline--shot her. I nearly went crazy with
grief. I tracked him down and I shot him. He toppled over the cliff edge.
I was certain he was dead." 

Stunned, Ray could only ask, "He killed Benny's mother?" Bob nodded his
head. "I can understand why you tried to kill him. But he wasn't dead?" 

"No, but Benton stopped him. Did it right and legal, not like me. Although
I must admit to a certain sense of satisfaction when I felt Muldoon's nose
crumple under my fist." Raising his head, he let a sigh slowly flow from
his body. "I've finished my last case." 

Ray's brows furrowed with confusion. "Your last case? What does that
mean?" 

"It means that I've come to say goodbye." 

"You're leaving? But Benny..." 

"Tell Benton...tell my son that I've always been proud of him and that I
hope that someday he can be proud of me." 

"But you can't go, sir! Benny needs you." 

Bob rose to his feet. "I was never there when he needed me, son. He
doesn't need me now." 

"He needs you!" Ray pleaded. 

"Tell him...tell him that nothing lasts forever. He'll know what I mean." 

"But you can't just leave like this," Ray continued. 

"Why not?" Bob waved a hand in the air and Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian
shirt suddenly replaced the heavy fur coat and arctic trappings he
normally wore. "Even a spirit needs a vacation once in awhile." He smiled
broadly then vanished. 

"A vacation? You're taking a vacation?" Ray asked the darkness. 

"Of course not! As long as you're in the hospital, we're postponing our
vacation," Maria insisted as she closed the door to the room. "Who were
you talking to or were you just having one of those dreams?" 

Guiltily, Ray squeaked, "Dreams?" 

"Yeah. By the way, who's Stella?" * * * 

Ray leaned back on his pillows and stared at the screen. The baseball
season was off to a shaky start. He'd just spent the most unsatisfying 3
hours watching the Cubs drop one to the Marlins. Flipping channels, he
searched for something to remove the bad taste in his mouth. Golf,
nope...This Old House, nope...Martha Stewart, not on your
life...Terminator 2, hmmm...Lethal Weapon 2, yeah. Ray settled back with a
smile on his face. He'd caught the tail end of the opening chase scene,
once more admiring the handsome good looks of the young police officer
betting on the outcome of the chase. 'He should get a starring role in his
own TV show,' Ray mused. So engrossed in the movie was he that he didn't
hear the knock on his door. The second rap was much louder and, annoyed
that his movie was being interrupted, he called out sharply, "Come on in
and get it over with!" 

The door opened slowly and a head appeared around it. "Is this a bad time
to visit?" 

Ray's mouth dropped open and all thoughts of the movie disappeared.
"Benny!" he cried as he motioned for his friend to enter. "Damn it's good
to see you. Where have you been? What happened? Where's Kowalski?" He
paused as he watched the Mountie stroll across the room to stand beside
his bed. "Benny, " he said, "I knew you'd come back." 

Ben smiled and nodded his head. "I always keep my word, on my oath as..." 

"...as a Mountie, yeah, I've heard that before," Ray finished for him.
Flipping the TV off, he motioned for Ben to take a seat in the chair
beside the bed. "Tell me about everything." 

Ben sat in the chair indicated. "I'm quite sure that you do not wish to be
bored by the tiny details of..." he began but Ray again cut him off. 

"Tell me everything and I mean everything. I want to hear it all." He
paused then continued in a lower voice, "You know, Benny, while I was gone
I missed listening to you explain everything. Why, I even missed your
stupid Inuit stories. So, I don't care how boring or how long it takes
just tell me everything you can about capturing Muldoon." 

"You're sure, Ray?" 

Ray nodded his head. "I'm sure," he added for good measure. He leaned back
and listened as Ben cleared his throat then began telling him about the
things that had happened since leaving him to chase Muldoon. 

"And so we fell into the abandoned mine shaft and I was able to subdue the
suspect," Ben finished. 

Ray smirked to himself before saying, "That's not quite how I heard it." 

"You've already heard this story? But..." 

"I heard that your Dad punched that bastard in the nose before turning him
over to you." 

"My dad?" The surprise made his voice higher than normal. 

Recalling the promise made to Bob, Ray nodded his head. "Yeah, I spent
some time with him in his cabin in the Borderlands." 

"Cabin? Borderlands?" 

"Is there an echo in here?" Ray asked with humor in his voice. 

"I'm sorry, Ray, but I never..." 

"...expected me to say that I'd met your dead father?" 

"Ah, no, I mean, yes, I mean..." 

"I know exactly what you mean, Benny. I never expected to meet him either!
But I did and he gave me a message to pass on to you." 

"A message? I think I already know what it is, Ray. He told you to say
goodbye to me, didn't he?" Ben's voice thickened with sorrow. 

"He said to tell you that nothing lasts forever and that you'd know what
that means." 

"Yes, Ray, I do. He told me that nothing was permanent and then he left
with my mother." 

"You got to see your mother?"  

Ben nodded his head sadly. "Then they both faded away." 

Thoughtfully, Ray said, "That would explain his visit." 

"Visit?" Ben queried. 

"He stopped by here to give me that message then he took off on vacation."


"Vacation? In all the years my father was a Muontie, he never took a
vacation." 

"Well, I'd hate to think of your father patrolling the Borderlands in
Bermuda shorts and that ungodly shirt he was wearing." 

Hope shone in Ben's eyes as he leaned closer to Ray. "So, you think he'll
return?" 

Ray shrugged nonchalantly. "Couldn't say, Benny, I couldn't say but
there's always the chance. After all, he did say that nothing lasted
forever. Now tell me about Kowalski. Where is he? I kinda expected him to
come with you." 

"Ray...the other Ray, I mean, said he was going on an adventure." 

"An adventure? He doesn't strike me as the adventuring type." Ray folded
his hands as he considered the other Ray. "He just took off in the middle
of the frozen north and you let him go?" 

"No, Ray, he didn't just take off. He called his family and then he told
me he was going hunting for the Hand of Franklin." 

"What? He's hunting for someone's hand? That sounds mighty strange." Ray
shook his head in amazement. 

"Actually, he said his father mentioned Franklin's Hand and he wanted Ray
to join him." 

"So, Ray's off in Canada..." 

"Arizona..." 

"Arizona, hunting for the Hand of Franklin with his father." Nodding
sagely, he cocked an eyebrow at Ben. "That's some adventure, Benny, some
adventure. Are you sure he said Franklin's Hand? About Franklin's goldmine
or maybe Franklin's Hand is a slots machine in Vegas. You know...the kind
that has a lever you pull down on. That'd make more sense." 

"You may very well be right, Ray. Ray, the other Ray, was not forthcoming
with what his adventure would entail." 

"I tell ya, Benny, if he's gonna stick around here, we're gonna have to
figure out this name business." 

"I agree, Ray, and I've given some thought to this." 

"You have? And what have you come up with?" 

Sheepishly, Ben bowed his head. "Well, since Ray has made it abundantly
clear that we are not to call him Stan or Stanley, we can either call you
Ray1 and Ray2 or RayV and RayK or OldRay, NewRay, or..." 

"How about Vecchio and Kowalski?" 

"That lacks a certain sense of...of..." 

"Familiarity?" 

"Yes, familiarity. In a professional sense, Vecchio and Kowalski would
suffice but on a familiar level, I prefer to call you Ray, and Ray, Ray, I
mean the other Ray, Ray..." Flustered, Ben tried again, "This is most
confusing." 

"You're telling me?" Ray grinned and soon Ben grinned as well. "Actually,
I've given it some thought as well," he said. 

"You have? I certainly hope your ruminations have produced something more
productive than mine." 

"I think so. You can call me Ray and Ray can be just Ray." 

"I don't see how that will solve our problem." 

"Maybe that's 'cause I don't see a problem. My name is Ray and Kowalski's
name is Ray not 'the other Ray'. I think I know how he feel's being called
the other Ray." 

"How's that?" Ben asked as he leaned forward in the chair. 

"I know what it's like not to be yourself--to live under another name. All
you want to do is be yourself but you can't. I didn't think this would
bother me as much as it has until I returned and..." 

"Someone else was Ray Vecchio." 

"Yeah, then all I wanted was to have it back. All I could think about was
getting back what was mine then I realized that Ray was in the same shoes.
Here I was taking away everything he had. I even tried to take his name
away from him--called him Stanley. So, as far as I'm concerned, I'm Ray
and he's Ray. Everyone can just get used to it!" 

Ben settled back in his chair. It seemed to him that his old friend, Ray,
was discovering the merit of his new friend, Ray. He smiled to himself. He
just knew they would become good friends. "So, Ray, now that that's
settled do you have any more questions?"  

Ray thought a moment then moistened his lips and asked, "What happened to
the Dragon Lady?" 

"Inspector Thatcher has flown to Ottawa. She should get a transfer as well
as a promotion from this affair." 

"And what about you?" Ray asked as his heart lurched in his chest. Ottawa?


Ben bit his lip, raking a thumb across his eyebrow before answering. "I've
been requested to take the exams for Corporal. That's why I took so long
in returning to Chicago." 

"You took the exams? How'd you do?" 

Ben rose to his feet and proudly displayed the corporal stripes on the arm
of his tunic. "I passed." 

"Congratulations, Corporal Fraser," Ray teased. 

Blushing, Ben reseated himself. "Thank you kindly, Ray." 

"So, are you getting transferred, too?" It was hard to keep the fear from
his voice. 

"No, Ray. I was offered a posting to Caribou Flats but I declined it. I
have unfinished business here in Chicago." 

"Unfinished business? What kind of business?" 

Ben cleared his throat unsure of how to broach this subject. Finally
deciding on the direct approach, he cleared his throat once more. 

"Whatever it is, Benny, you know I'm with you 100%." Ray watched as the
Mountie fidgeted. 

"With most things I know you are but with this one, I'm not sure." 

"Well then just spit it out and let's see. It can't be that bad," Ray
suggested. 

Taking a deep breath, Ben schooled himself. "Ray, I would like your
permission to court your sister, Francesca." There, he'd said it. 

Ray stared at Ben, stunned by what had come from his mouth. "You want to
do what with Frannie?" he finally growled. 

Rising to his feet, Ben unconsciously assumed his sentry position. "I am
formally requesting your permission to court Francesca." 

"That's what I thought you said." Ray collapsed back against his pillows.
Benny wanted to date Frannie? He stared at Ben noting the ramrod straight
posture, the determined expression on his face. Benny and Frannie? Benton
and Francesca? The mouse and the cat? The lion and the lamb? The squirrel
and the pickup truck? His sister and his best friend? 

Sighing deeply, he replied, "Okay, Benny, you have my permission. Just
remember that she's my sister and I don't want to see her hurt." 

Ben heaved a sigh of relief. "I would never do that, Ray. I care for
Francesca too much to hurt her." 

"I'm glad to hear that, Benny. I hope you realize what you're getting
yourself into." 

"I'm fully cognizant of Francesca's exuberant behavior. In fact I find it
rather endearing." 

"Oh brother," Ray gagged. "Now let's discuss something more to my tastes."


"And what would that be?" Ben smiled as he reseated himself. 

"My car." 

"Oh, dear." * * * 

"And I've already turned in my resignation at the 27th and I start my new
job at the first of next month," Frannie finished as she packed the last
of Ray's things in the small bag she'd brought to the hospital. 

"You really want to do this?" Ray asked as he buttoned his shirt. 

"Yeah, I really do. Father Behan says with my experience as a Civilian
Aide I should have no problems running the daycare center. You know we've
needed something like that in the neighborhood for many years. The
Immaculate Conception Daycare Facility is a dream come true for many of
the mothers in the area and I helped set it up." Her voice was filled with
wonder.  

"You'll be great, Frannie. Who knows? You might start a chain of daycare
centers and be on the cover of Newsweek one day." 

"Who knows maybe I will!" she retorted. 

"I was only..."  

The door burst open and Kowalski rushed into the room. "Am I too late?" he
asked. 

"Late for what?" Ray tucked the tails of his shirt into his slacks. 

"To drive ya home. Fraser's getting you a wheelchair then we can boogey
outta here." 

Ray stared at the jittery blonde man. What could he say to the man who had
destroyed his car, incinerated his baby, touched his Riv? "I guess I'll
have to depend on someone else's wheels until I can find a replacement for
my Riviera," he muttered under his breath. 

"Look, I said I was sorry, man. What more do ya want?" 

Ray was saved from answering the question by Ben's entrance into the room.
A nurse followed behind pushing a wheelchair. Sliding first one arm then
the other into his suit jacket, Ray grumped only slightly as he settled
into the chair.  

"Look, I'll go ahead and pull the car around to the front entrance. Okay?"
Kowalski asked. He shot out of the room as soon as Ray nodded his head. 

"Listen, Bro, you better cut Ray some slack. He's apologized enough over
that barge you used to drive. It wasn't his fault that that arson person
blew it up. If you're going to blame someone, blame Mothergood. It was his
girlfriend that did it." 

"Motherwell," Ray corrected. 

"Motherwell, Fathersick, Brotherstupid, whatever, get over it!" 

Ray grinned suddenly. "I will, Frannie, I just want to needle him a bit." 

Frannie stood in front of Ray. Leaning over, she stared into his face.
Satisfied with what she saw there, she smiled conspiratorially, "Okay, and
while you're at it you might ask him about my copy of Sword of Desire. He
never returned it to me." 

"Sword of Desire? Ray reads romance novels?" He chuckled as he envisioned
how to use this new ammunition in the war of the Rays. 

"Shall we go?" Ben asked after shaking his head at Ray and Frannie. 

"Yeah, let's get this show on the road." Twirling his finger in the air,
Ray said, "Head 'em up, move 'em out!" 

Ben pushed the wheelchair to the elevator and stood aside as Frannie held
the doors. Maneuvering the chair to the rear of the elevator, he turned
just as Frannie slipped into the car with them. She bumped up against Ben
and stumbled back. He caught her before she hit the wall.  

"Be careful, Francesca, I would hate for our dinner date at Huey and
Dewey's new club to be postponed due to an unfortunate injury." 

"I'd hate that, too, Ben," she softly replied. 

"All right, all right, don't make me sick! I wanna get out of here!" Ray
made gagging noises secretly pleased that Frannie seemed to have settled
down. Ever since Ben had asked for permission to court her, she'd taken to
wearing more stylish clothing and not being so pushy. The Mountie was
definitely having a beneficial effect on his sister. 

The elevator dinged and Ben pushed him out of the car. The doors of the
hospital beckoned with their promise of freedom. He could almost taste it.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled the fresh air as they passed through the
doors. Chicago, the smell of rain on the air, Chicago, automobile fumes,
Chicago, home. 

He listened to the sounds of Ben chatting with Frannie as they waited for
Kowalski to bring his car around. He listened to the sounds of cars
passing on the street. One sound in particular caught his attention and
his eyes flew open. Pulling to the curb in front of him was a 1972 candy
apple red Buick Riviera.  

Kowalski climbed out of the driver's side and strolled around to the group
waiting for him. Holding aloft a set of car keys, he offered them to Ray.
"Here, I know it ain't green but this is the best I could do." 

Ray rose from the wheelchair and approached the car. He circled the car
studying it from all directions. Laying a cheek against the hood, he ran a
hand over the paint job.  

"Uh, here," Kowalski thrust a cigarette lighter into his hand, "We
salvaged this from yur old car." He again offered the keys to Ray. 

Ray finally spoke. "Where did you find it?" 

Kowalski scratched his head and shrugged slightly. "My dad knows this guy,
Franklin Hand, who restores old cars. After I made peace with my dad, I
asked him to help me find a replacement. Franklin found us one at a place
called Auto Adventures. He and my dad have been working on it for almost a
year." 

"You went to all this trouble?" 

Shrugging once more, he dithered, "'S no trouble. I know about cars. I'm
just glad it was ready for ya today." 

"Thanks, Ray," Ray spoke around the lump in his throat. He opened his hand
and Kowalski dropped the keys into them. Glancing back at the car then
over at Ben, he commented, "I think I can get used to red." 

Kowalski smiled broadly. "Yeah, but it does take some getting use to,
doesn't it?"  

"At least it's not dating your sister," Ray joked as he leaned against the
car and stared at Ben and Frannie. 

"She was my sister for awhile." Kowalski joined him against the car. 

"What? What?" Frannie demanded. 

"Oh nothing, nothing at all," both Rays said. They glanced at each other
and began to laugh. 

"Give me those keys, Ray. You are not driving home!" Frannie grabbed the
keys from his hand and handed them to Kowalski. "You drive!" 

Still laughing, both Rays complied.  * * * 

Ray stood before the door and raised his hand to knock. Before his hand
could connect with the wood, the door flew open and Margaret Thatcher
barreled through it plowing into the man poised with raised hand. The
impact sent both sprawling onto the carpeted floor of the hallway. 

"I'm sorry. Are you hurt?" Ray reached for Meg. 

"I'm fine, Detective." Meg drew her legs together and tried to stand. Pain
lanced through her ankle and she collapsed back onto the floor. "Damn!"
she hissed. 

Ray inched closer and cautiously reached for her ankle. "Let me check it."


Meg glared at Ray but said, "Oh, all right," in a voice tight with
suppressed anger--anger at herself for not watching where she was going,
anger at Ray for seeing her in a moment of weakness, anger at herself for
noticing how gently he handled her ankle, anger at Ray for not making that
approach he'd mentioned over a month ago, anger at herself for caring that
he hadn't followed through. In general, she was just angry. 

"It doesn't appear to be broken but I'd rather not take the chance. I'm
taking you to the hospital to have it X-rayed. And I'm not taking no for
an answer." Drawing in a deep breath, Ray slid an arm beneath her legs and
the other behind her back. In one fluid motion he rose to his feet with
Meg in his arms.  

"Ray, Inspector?" Ben spoke from the office on the other side of the
hallway. 

"Hiya, Benny, can't talk now. Your chief customs and excise officer has
had an accident and I'm rushing her to the hospital." Ray strolled toward
the door. He realized now that this had been a mistake. The muscles in his
chest screamed at the unnatural strain placed on them.	

"You most certainly are not!" Meg growled. "Put me down! Now!" 

"May I be of assistance?" Ben queried. "You know you shouldn't be lifting
heavy objects, Ray." 

"Yeah, you can catch the door for me," Ray called over his shoulder. If he
did anything other than the walking and holding Meg in his arms he knew
he'd regret it. He was already regretting his impulsive move to sweep her
into his arms.	

Ben hurried to open the large, heavy doors of the Consulate. "Ray, you've
only been out of the hospital a little over a week. Maybe I should
accompany you?" he asked as he followed Ray down the steps. 

"Nah, Benny, I can handle it. You go back to your liaisoning." He'd gotten
this far; he could handle the rest on his own. 

"Corporal Fraser, I order you to stop this man from abducting me this
instant!" Meg waved at Ben over Ray's shoulder. 

"Could you catch the door of the Riv?" Ray called to Ben one last time,
the strain beginning to show in his voice. 

"Of course, Ray." He opened the car door and stood aside as Ray gently
placed Meg onto the passenger seat. 

"We'll be back as soon as we can, Benny. Can you hold down the fort while
we're gone?" 

"He most certainly cannot!" Meg squeaked as she tried to slide out of the
car. "Let me out of here!" she fumed as Ben closed the door. 

Moving quickly, Ray hurried around the car and slide behind the driver's
wheel. The keys turned in the ignition and the motor roared to life.
Pulling away from the curb forestalled any further attempts on Meg's part
to escape.  

"Now, Chief Inspector Margaret Thatcher, I'd like an explanation." 

"An explanation? You've got a lot of gall, Detective. You're the one
abducting me!" Meg crossed her arms across her chest and stared out the
window. 

"I want to know why you didn't tell me that you had returned to Chicago. I
want to know why I had to learn it from Benny." Ray glanced sharply at the
woman beside him before continuing, "I want to know why you came back." 

Meg swiveled around until she was facing Ray's profile. "Well, I want to
know why you didn't contact me while I was in Ottawa. I want to know why
you haven't contacted me since my return. I want to know why I should
answer your questions." 

Pulling into the parking lot of Cook County Hospital, Ray quickly found a
space and pulled the red Riv into it. Turning the engine off, he turned to
face Meg. "Look, Inspector, can we call a truce until after we get your
ankle taken care of? We can continue this conversation after that." 

The lack of strength in his voice coupled with the way his hands shook as
they gripped the steering wheel effectively cut off her angry retort.
"Very well, Detective, a truce."  

An hour later, Ray wheeled Meg out of the Emergency Ward. Meg sat stiffly
in the chair holding a set of crutches before her. Anyone with an eye in
his or her head could tell she was not pleased. 

"The doctor said you are to rest your ankle for at least 24 hours before
going back to work. Now, you've got two choices--your place or mine?"  

"I cannot afford to take any time off this early in my new position," Meg
answered. 

"My place it is," Ray agreed. 

"No! I mean... very well, Detective, take me home. Please," she added as
an afterthought. 

Ray helped her into the car and stowed the crutches in the trunk. The
drive to Meg's apartment was short but it seemed like it took forever.
Neither one spoke as the silence simmered between them. Ray drove the Riv
into the parking garage quickly finding a vacant space. He retrieved the
crutches from the trunk and met Meg as she levered herself from the seat. 


"It would be easier if you just let me carry you up." Ray's voice held a
tinge of exasperation. 

"Detective, I am well aware of the strain your earlier helpfulness placed
on your person. You really are not well enough to be doing what you are
doing. I can manage just fine on my own." Meg reached for the crutches
then hobbled in the direction of the elevator. Ray followed along behind
her. Glancing over her shoulder, she remarked, "I don't require your
assistance, Detective. You've done quite enough as it is." 

Ray shook his head tiredly. "Huh uh," he said. "We've got some things to
clear up and I'm not leaving until I get some answers." 

Meg stopped and glared at him. "You are one of the most irritating men I
have ever known but you are right, Detective, we do need to talk."
Spinning on her crutches she continued her journey.  

Summoning the elevator with her key, they rode together in silence,
neither one knowing what to say that would not result in an argument. As
the doors opened on the fifth floor, Meg led the way out and down the
hallway to the left. Turning a corner, she stopped halfway down the hall
and inserted a key in a pale green door. Ray followed her into an
eclectically furnished apartment. 

Removing his suit jacket, Ray tossed it across the back of a chair. Meg
had dropped onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands. "Here, let me
help you," Ray spoke softly as he seated himself on the coffee table in
front of the sofa.  

Meg's head shot up at his gentle voice. "I can manage..." 

"...on your own. Yeah, I've heard that one before. Why don't you stop
fighting me for one minute so we can get you settled? If you haven't
noticed, I'm about on my last legs here!" Maybe he could play on her
sympathies. 

The 'too close to the truth' ploy worked as the tight expression on Meg's
face was replaced with concern. Biting her lip, she acquiesced. "Very
well, Detective..." 

"Ray." He stared deep into her eyes daring her to deny their exchange of
given names. 

"Very well, Ray." The corner of her mouth twisted with exasperation. 

He smiled his mercurial smile before pushing her back against the cushions
of the sofa and, placing a cushion on the table beside himself, set her
injured ankle on it. Glancing toward the kitchen, he asked, "Do you have
anything to drink? Some bark tea?" 

Meg looked askance at him. "Who do you think I am? Fraser?" 

Ray chuckled and reluctantly Meg joined him. "Don't all you Canadians
drink bark tea and eat moose steaks?" 

"I can't speak for other Canadians but I prefer Earl Grey and grade A
prime beef--porterhouse in particular." 

"Really? I know this great little place that serves a melt-in-your-mouth
steak with all the trimmings..." 

"Detec..." She stopped when he tilted his head and glared at her. "Ray. We
did not come here to discuss dining establishments." 

"We can get to that later. Right now I'm going to fix you a cup of tea so
you can take your pain medication. No arguments!" he finished as he rose
from his seat on the table. "How do you take your tea?" he asked. 

"There's honey in the cupboard." 

Ray nodded his head in acknowledgment. "While I'm gone why don't you take
off any of that stuff that is uncomfortable. I mean, having that jacket up
around your ears cannot be the most comfortable thing and those
shoes...sheesh! It's a wonder you can even walk in them." 

"I prefer..." 

"Suit yourself, Meg. Me--I've about had it with this tie." So saying he
loosened his tie and tossed it over the chair where his suit jacket
rested. Whistling softly, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt as he
disappeared into the kitchen. 

Rummaging through the cabinets resulted in a tin of Earl Grey tea, a half
empty package of double chocolate chip cookies. As the water heated on the
stove, he delved into the depths of the refrigerator coming up with a
basket of strawberries, a small bag of cherries, and a mango. Cleaning the
fruit, he sliced the mango and placed them on a plate. Further searching
discovered a tray. The plate of fruit, a bowl with the cookies, a honey
bear, and two cups of steaming tea were placed on the tray before Ray
carefully carried it into the living room. 

Ray noticed immediately that Meg had done as he'd suggested. The pale rose
suit jacket was tossed across the coffee table, the shoes teetered
forlornly beneath it, and what could only be a pair of pantyhose was
partially stuffed beneath the sofa. Meg now half reclined, her leg
stretched out the length of the sofa. 

He carefully placed the tray on the table and handed a cup of the tea to
Meg. As she took a sip he retrieved the vial of tablets from his jacket
pocket. Opening it, he proffered a tablet to her. She hesitated briefly
before accepting it. Once more he settled onto the coffee table beside the
tray and they drank the tea and nibbled on the fruit and cookies in
silence. Neither one quite wanted to breach the truce they'd established. 


Finally, Ray cleared his throat. "I have a few things I want to say to you
then I'll get out of your life." 

"No, Ray, I mean..." She paused, gathering her strength, and straightened
as much as she could from her half-recline on the sofa. "I mean, I have
some things that I want to say as well." 

"Ladies first," Ray offered. 

Meg bit down hard on her lip. "I don't really know how to start so why
don't you start for us." 

Ray nodded his head slowly. He knew exactly what she meant. He really
didn't know how to start what he wanted to say. "Maybe be if we tried to
answer those questions that arose earlier, we could get started?" 

"That sounds like a equitable idea." 

"Good, then you start." 

"Very well, Ray." She paused as she tried to frame a question. "You
mentioned something earlier about a friend that wanted to approach a
woman. I believe I warned you that he needed to make his move before she
was transferred."  

Ray nodded his head as he recalled that conversation. It seemed like ages
ago. Was it really only a month? "I remember." 

"Why didn't your friend make his approach?" 

"Let's drop the friend crap, Meg. We both know I was talking about me. Why
didn't I approach you? Well, there was this business with a bullet and a
smuggler named Muldoon. I never got the chance to talk to you 'cause by
the time I came to in the hospital, you were gone." 

"You could have contacted me in Ottawa." 

"And say what? Please don't take your transfer 'cause I need to talk to
you?" 

"It would've been a start." 

"Why didn't you take the transfer?" Ray digressed. 

Meg glanced down at the now empty cup. "I don't know, Ray. I was offered a
transfer to CSIS, something I thought I always wanted but I couldn't take
it. I just didn't appeal to me anymore. So, I opted for the other offer." 

"Which was?" 

"To establish a Customs and Excise Program here in Chicago." 

"And just what is that?" 

"The mandate of the Customs and Excise Program is to enforce laws within
Canada and along the uncontrolled Canadian/U.S. border, governing the
international movement of dutiable, taxable, controlled or prohibited
goods; the manufacture, distribution or possession of contraband products
including tobacco and spirits; the illicit traffic of critical high
technology and strategic goods and Acts or regulations that impose
non-tariff (permit) controls on the international movement of
commodities." She slipped easily into the governmental jargon. 

"Sounds a lot like the Muldoon affair." 

"I think that was what precipitated the offer. I would be responsible for
instituting the first Customs and Excise Office in one of our consulates.
It is a big promotion for me." 

"And with you moving up, Benny..." 

"Corporal Fraser was promoted to fill my vacated post. He's now the Senior
Liaison Officer." 

"Which suits his purposes just fine!" Ray reflected on just why the
Mountie had remained in Chicago. 

"And what does that mean?" 

Realizing that Meg probably had no idea what was happening right under her
nose, he replied, "He's courting my sister." 

Meg tilted her head slightly, before answering, "Ah, that would explain
the change in demeanor I've observed since returning. He seems
less...isolated." 

"Yeah, Frannie is different, too. I hate to admit it but I think there may
actually be something there. On second thought, I can't think of a better
man for my little sister to marry." 

An awkward silence settled between them once more. Both reflected on the
changes that were occurring around them. At last Ray spoke in a voice so
low that Meg had to strain to hear him. "That doesn't explain why I had to
learn from Benny that you were back in Chicago to stay. Why didn't you
tell me?" 

"It's not that I didn't want to, Ray. Everything was in chaos with the new
stuff and the changing of positions and the crap I had to deal with. The
time got away from me and before I knew it, Fraser had told you. Believe
me, I meant to..." her voice trailed off the plea in her voice all too
evident to Ray. 

"Yeah, I know the feeling..." Ray was interrupted by the mercurial shift
in Meg's reasoning. 

"But that doesn't explain why you didn't contact me earlier. You've had
plenty of time since you left the hospital." 

"Yeah, but you gotta understand how it is in the Vecchio household. The
only time I've had to myself is when I locked myself in the bathroom.
There was always someone hovering over me. There was no way to make a call
without everyone knowing about it before I even got the number dialed. And
I wasn't going to call you while I was in the john." Ray blew out a stream
of air before continuing. "As soon as the doctor would let me out on my
own, I came over to the consulate to see you." 

Meg's eyes widened with the implications of what he'd just told her. "This
is your first venture out?" Ray nodded his head. "Why didn't you say so?
You should have never carried me. You could have reinjured yourself." Meg
swung her leg over and struggled to a sitting position facing Ray. She
grimaced as her ankle twinged in retribution for its unkind treatment. 

"I'm fine, Meg, just tired." He ran a hand over his thinning hair. "I
guess I reacted without thinking." 

"I guess you did. Which leads us to the last question. Why?" 

Ray nodded his head. Clasping the hands that were now so close to his own,
he asked, "Why did you come back to Chicago?" 

Meg dropped her eyes briefly, then lifted them to regard the darkly
handsome features of the man sitting so close to her. "I guess I hoped
that there was something more for me here." She spoke in almost a whisper,
dropping her eyes once more. 

"Meg?" Ray tilted her chin up until he could gaze into the dark pools of
confusion that were her eyes. His hand caressed her cheek as he slowly
lowered his face to hers. Feather soft, his lips brushed against hers then
withdrew. He studied her eyes once more and smiled as he read his answer
in their depths. His lips descended once more and he kissed her with a
hunger that was only equaled by hers. * * * 

Ray's first day back at the precinct was much like every other day at the
precinct. The only difference he noticed was the corner where his desk had
set for many years. Now there were two desks facing each other. Ray
Kowalski sat at one, his back to Ray. Ray tiptoed up behind the blonde
detective. "Boo!" 

Kowalski jumped a foot if not more. "Shit fire and save the matches! I'm
gonna make you regret that!" he yelled as he rose to his feet and turned
to punch the joker who had startled him. His hand wavered then dropped. He
raked his hand through his hair causing it to stand even more on end than
usual.	

"Hell, Ray, don't do that! Ya nearly gimme a heart attack." He dropped
back onto his chair and watched as Ray strolled around and plopped down at
his desk.  

Ray rifled through the papers on his desk, opened a couple of drawers, and
checked the location of his file cabinet. The last thing he looked for was
the chair that had always sat in front of his desk--Benny's chair.
"Where's the frigging chair?" he asked. 

"Well, ya see, we kinda had a disturbance last week and it kinda got
broke." 

"Benny's chair got broke? How'd that happen?" Ray ran his hand over his
face, dragging it down across his mouth. 

"Uh, it kinda got used for a suspect." 

"You hit a suspect with it?" 

"Nah, Huey..." 

"Huey hit a suspect with it?" 

"Nah, lemme finish. Huey had this suspect that was being uncooperative and
when he pushed him down on the chair, the chair just broke." Kowalski's
hands supplied the appropriate motions. 

"You're telling me that the chair broke because some perp sat in it?" 

"Well, he musta weighed in at close to 400 pounds." 

Ray's eyes widened dramatically. "That'd do it, all right. So what do we
do when Benny shows up?" 

"I got that all covered. See that chair over by Dewey's desk?" 

"Yeah." 

"Well," Kowalski leaned closer to Ray, "he got that outta Interrogation
Room 2. Now I been checking out all the interrogation rooms and the
viewing rooms and the lunch room." 

"And?" 

"I mentioned to the Lieutenant the fact that we got no chairs for suspects
and he said that we'd have to make do with what's available until they
could order some more." 

"That could take years!" Ray complained. 

"Don't I know it. ' Yur taxpayer dollars at work.' Anyway, I know for a
fact that they got several chairs stashed down in Viewing Room 3." 

"Nobody uses..." 

"Exactly." Kowalski winked. "And those chairs are just the kind we
want--straight backed, wooden, no cushion, hard as a witch's heart--the
perfect chairs for suspects." 

"Or Mounties." Ray slowly grinned. 

"My thoughts, too." Kowalski shared the grin. 

Ray slapped his hands down on his desk. "Let's do it!" 

In no time, two straight backed, wooden chairs appeared beside the
formerly naked desks. And just in time, too, as a figure in red entered
the bullpen.  

Ben threaded his way over to the corner and the two men who grinned up at
him. Grabbing one of the chairs, he turned it around so he could face both
men. "Ray, it's good to see you here!" 

"Thanks, Benny." 

"Why, Frase?" Kowalski asked at the same time as Ray did. 

"Oh, dear, I knew this was going to be a problem." Ben ran a thumb across
his eyebrow. 

"What problem?" Kowalski asked. 

"The name thing, Ray. The other Ray," he motioned toward Ray, "said there
wouldn't be a problem. However, I..." 

"I agree with Ray. I don't see no problem." 

"But Ray, Ray...oh dear, I'm repeating myself." 

"And doing a damn good job of it, Frase." He snickered and glanced at Ray
glad to see a smile on his face as well. "Anyway, I got a solution." 

"You do?" Ben asked relieved. "What, may I ask, is it?" 

"Ray here has been Ray longer than I have so I thought ya could both call
me by my nickname." 

"I hope you were referring to the fact that I've been at this precinct
longer than you have and not to the fact that I'm older than you are." Ray
interposed before Kowalski could continue. 

"Whatever greases yur wheels, Ray," Kowalski smirked. 

"Ray, Ray, please, I'm having enough difficulties keeping the names
straight without having to play referee for your discussions." Both Rays
glared at him but he persevered. "Ray," he looked directly at Kowalski,
"you said you had a nickname we might use." 

"Yep." 

"Do you think you might share it with us?" 

"Yep." 

"Well?" 

"Well what?" Kowalski needled. 

"Would you just tell us your frigging nickname?" Ray interjected. 

"Bud." Kowalski let the name drop into the conversation. 

"Bud?" 

"Yeah, ya wanna make something of it?" 

Before Ray could reply, Welsh's voice bellowed across the room. "Vecchio,
Kowalski, get your butts in here." 

Both Rays shot to their feet and hustled across the bullpen to Welsh's
office. Moments later they exited the office and returned to their desks. 


"First day back on the job and do I get any slack?" Ray dropped heavily
onto his chair. 

"Yeah, and this case, why this one? Why can't we get something
interesting?" Kowalski dropped onto his chair as well. 

"Well, Bud, it looks like we're partners." 

"Yeah, Ray, I guess we are. Shall we?" 

"Yeah, but I still hate stakeouts!" 

"Me, too." 

The two Rays rose to their feet and headed out of the bullpen arguing all
the while.  

Ben remained seated until it became evident that the two men had forgotten
about him. 'Oh dear!' he thought as he rose to his feet and hurried after
the two Rays. "Ray...Ray, I mean, Bud, wait for me!" 

  

Copyright May 2000 by Cassandra Hope 

Comments are welcome at baktrak@earthlink.net