It was the end of October and winter had arrived early in Chicago, dumping thick snow right across the city. Temperatures had plummeted, freezing the ground underfoot. Some places the sidewalks were like glass. Walking purposefully but carefully along the nice middle class residential street, dressed in full uniform, wide-brimmed hat firm on head, dark blue overcoat keeping him comfortably warm, Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police was a Mountie on a mission. Trotting alongside him, equally carefully, Diefenbaker, his loyal (deaf) wolf, who, for some reason, didn't seem especially happy on this particular journey. Grumbling loudly and continually, Diefenbaker stared up at Fraser, hot breath misting the air in front of his muzzle.
"We're almost there," said Fraser, meeting the unhappy wolf's gaze. "But you didn't have to come tonight. I did give you the choice of staying at the apartment."
A wolf snort.
Fraser frowned down at his four legged friend. "It's hardly my fault if the heating system in the building is currently undergoing a major maintenance issue. I've voiced my concerns to the Superintendent and he's promised that it will indeed be back working at full capacity within the next couple of days. So what more is there I can do?"
Dief gave a long low grumble.
Fraser rolled his eyes. "No. I can't start lighting open fires indoors, Diefenbaker. That would be incredibly dangerous, not to mention a violation of multiple laws and safety regulations including section 5 of…"
A loud, almost human groan of annoyance.
"Oh, I'm so very sorry if I'm boring you with such trifles as avoiding burning down the building we live in, before ending up locked away in an American prison for an indeterminate number of years. And anyway, since when did you become so precious about a little cold and snow? Good Lord, Diefenbaker, you're an Arctic wolf from the Northwest Territories. Cold and snow is your natural environment. You should be feeling right at home."
A wolf whine.
"Yes, I know you're not getting any younger, and I'm sorry that your paws are cold, but you need to stop being such a baby. What would your kin back home say if they could hear you now?"
Dief's reply to Fraser's question was a single rough gruff chuff.
Stopping suddenly, Fraser rounded on the wolf. Hands on hips, a hard look in his eye, he glared down at his furry friend.
"And just where did you learn language like that?" The Mountie demanded.
His inscrutable wolf face staring back up at Fraser, Dief gave a couple of high-pitched yips.
"Ray?" Fraser shook his head and sighed. "I'm disappointed in him. And in you too, Diefenbaker. Chicago has not been a good influence on you."
The Mountie turned on his heel and resumed his strong yet careful stride along the dark, snowy, icy street. Having stopped his grumbling (at least for now), Dief continued trotting alongside.
The hum of distant traffic, the mournful wail of sirens, the faint, muffled rhythm of music were the only sounds now filling the icy air as this rather odd looking pair continued on down the street together, until finally, after passing a dozen more houses, Fraser came to a halt. Turning ninety degrees to his left, he looked now to the rather elegant house before him, its windows glowing bright and warm, fresh thick snow covering most of the front yard, a familiar green 1971 Buick Riviera parked nearby.
Fraser nodded to himself. The source of that faint muffled music was right here.
A lupine grunt.
"Yes, Diefenbaker. This is it." He glanced down at the wolf, eyebrows raised. "Are you ready?"
Dief looked up at him and whimpered.
Fraser understood.
"No. Me neither."
For just a second the Mountie considered turning tail and beating a hasty (if careful) retreat.
But only for a second.
After all, he'd given Ray his word. And Benton Fraser was a man of his word.
He sighed.
"Very well. Be brave, Diefenbaker. We've faced many challenging and life threatening situations in our time together so I'm sure we can see this one through unscathed."
Dief whined in reply. The wolf didn't sound convinced.
Ignoring Dief's vocal reservations, Fraser strode onward, up the shovel-cleared path, up the gritted steps and on to the porch.
After a millisecond of hesitation he rang the bell.
The music coming from behind the door was louder now. Above it, the chattering and laughing of what sounded like a gathered throng.
Fraser looked down at Dief.
Dief looked up at Fraser.
The front door opened.
A tide of music and human noise washed over them.
Ray Vecchio, Fraser's friend and unofficial partner in all things crime fighting, stood in the doorway, a beer bottle in the hand not holding the door open. For some reason he was dressed in a long black cape with high collar. His pointed face was paled with make-up; his thinning hair slicked back flat. He was grinning broadly, revealing a set of cheap plastic fangs.
"Benny! Happy Halloween!"
"Good evening, Ray."
Vecchio looked Fraser up and down.
"I see you've come in costume," he said sarcastically. "Let me guess. Dudley Do Right."
Fraser smiled and shook his head. "A logical deduction, Ray. But actually, to get in to the spirit of the occasion, I decided to adopt the persona of Sergeant William Preston of the North-West Mounted Police. I even added fake sergeant stripes for effect. Of course, normally such a thing would be unthinkable. But under the circumstances, as I am not technically wearing the uniform but rather wearing a costume of a fictional character, I thought for the one night it might be acceptable."
Ray looked at him blankly. "Who the hell is Sergeant Preston?"
Fraser smiled and nodded knowingly. "Ah yes. You wouldn't know this side of the border. Well, Sergeant Preston was a famously heroic Mountie in a popular Canadian radio show and then latterly a television series."
"Uh huh. That's nice, Benny." Ray turned his gaze to Dief. "So who's he come as? Lassie?"
Dief gave Ray an annoyed grumble.
Fraser shook his head. "No, Ray. I tried to convince him to be Sergeant Preston's loyal sled dog Yukon King, but instead he insisted on The Littlest Hobo. He's a fan you see."
"The what now?"
"A popular Canadian television programme concerning a stray dog who-" Fraser noted the return of Ray's blank expression. "Never mind."
"Whatever! C'mon in already, Benny, before I freeze my vampire nuts off."
"Yes, of course, Ray. Sorry, Ray."
Fraser stepped into the wonderfully warm house, Dief following on his heels.
Ray threw the front door shut against the bitter cold and waited as Fraser removed his gloves, hat, then shouldered out of his overcoat.
"Let me take those for ya," Ray offered.
"Thank you, Ray," said Fraser, handing his gloves-in-hat and coat to his vampire-costumed friend, who immediately tossed them unceremoniously on to a pile of other coats and hats in the corner of the hall. He then grabbed Fraser by the arm and began guiding him towards the main room where most of the noise was coming from. A new song had started playing rather loudly now. A song which brought a wistful smile to the Mountie's lips.
"Ah," said Fraser. "The Monster Mash by Bobby Pickett."
He began humming along happily.
Diefenbaker groaned.
Ray stopped and turned to stare in disbelief at his Canadian friend.
"You know this song?"
"Of course, Ray," said Fraser, still smiling, still humming along.
"And you like this song?"
"Yes, Ray, I do. My Grandmother used to play it every Halloween. After which, she would proceed to read to me some of the classic horror literature: Dracula, Frankenstein, Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde, plenty of Edgar Allan Poe. As a point of interest, did you know that in England the BBC banned the record upon its original release for being too morbid?"
"Those crazy limies," muttered Ray, obviously not caring one jot about that particular bit of trivia. Instead he began hauling Fraser back towards the noisy sounding main room. "This way, Benny. Gotta get you something to drink. Plus you're just in time for party games. But watch out cuz Franny can't wait to get you playing Twister with her."
"Oh, I don't think I've ever played that particular game. What precisely does it entail?"
As if on cue Ray's youngest sister Francesca, the cute, dark haired, dark eyed Italian girl with the major hots for the stoic Mountie, appeared from out of nowhere, forcing Fraser and Ray in to an emergency stop.
Seeing what Francesca was wearing, Fraser's eyes nearly popped right out of his head.
Like Ray, she was in costume. Unlike Ray, she was wearing a skimpy black top showing plenty of cleavage, very short black shorts, black fishnet tights, and on top of her head, plastic cat ears.
"F-Francesca," The stunned Mountie stammered by way of greeting.
Beaming a huge smile at Fraser, Francesca rushed excitedly towards him and grabbed his other arm.
"Fraser! Wow! So glad you're here. I SO need a decent partner for party games, someone who knows how to have a really good time. But first, come see the pumpkins I carved out back. I even did a special Mountie one just for you." Clinging on to Fraser, she tried pulling him away from Ray, who pulled back harder, making poor Fraser stumble slightly.
"Claws outta the Mountie, Catwoman," Ray ordered his little sister. "Let the man get a drink and meet some people first. He ain't here just for your entertainment."
Francesca scowled at her brother. But reluctantly she complied and let Fraser go.
"Fine," she huffed. Then to Fraser, "But I'll see you later." Adding with a coy, kittenish smile, "Cuz this lil' kitty has to get her crème."
Fraser gulped.
"Oh my GOD!" Exclaimed a horrified Ray before vigorously shooing the cute little Catwoman away.
Backing off, Franny glared angrily at her brother. Then, with a playful parting wink at Fraser, she disappeared back in to the noisy main room leaving the two men and one wolf alone once more.
Fraser turned to Ray, a worried look on his face.
"Ray, I don't quite now how to tell you this but, ah, I think your sister might be, ah, romantically interested in me."
Ray groaned, rolled his eyes. "You don't say?"
With a rough tug he pulled Fraser a couple steps closer to the noisy room but then stopped and turned to face his Mountie friend.
The Chicago cop's expression had turned dark.
Leaning in close to Fraser, he said, "You know, Benny, you're my best buddy an' all. Like a brother to me almost…"
"Well, Ray, that's so very nice of you to…"
"Shut up, Benny."
Fraser did as he was told.
Ray continued, "But if you were ever to lay a finger on my little sister in that kind of way, I'd be forced to beat you to death with a Canuck Hockey stick. Understood?"
Fraser nodded once. "Understood, Ray."
Grinning happily now, Ray slapped Fraser on the back. "Great! Then lets go get you some beer!"
"I don't drink, Ray."
"Non-alcoholic beer especially for the Dudley-Do-Right Mountie."
"That's Sergeant William Preston, Ray."
"Whatever, Benny. Whatever."
Happy Halloween Thank you kindly.