Disclaimer - Don't own / Don't make money / Would settle for a chorus of serenading Mounties.
Chapter 9 - This Morning I Shot an Elephant In My Pajamas
Earlier that day
Ray's bad day kept getting worse. After failing to find Ward at home, he was driving back toward the consulate when he saw a car parked a couple of blocks away from it that matched the make and model of Ward's car. Slowing down, he radioed in to check the license plate. When it turned out it matched Ward's, he asked for backup to be sent to the consulate. Then he phoned the consulate, getting hold of Constable Turnbull, and had him call McNeely to the phone.
"Ward's in the area. Who all is in the consulate?" Ray asked.
"Just myself, Constable Turnbull and Constable Fraser." McNeely said. "Inspector Thatcher and her secretary are out on business."
"Listen, stay inside, and don't let anyone in until I arrive." Ray said urgently. He pulled up outside the consulate shortly afterwards. It was as he was knocking on the door that Ward stood up from behind a parked car and sprinted toward him, gun raised. Ray didn't have time to draw his weapon. Ward pressed the gun to his neck.
"Just open the door." he growled. Ray complied unhappily, annoyed at himself for being caught off-guard, and at McNeely for not having locked the front door of the building. As they stepped into the entry way, McNeely, who was coming down the stairs with Turnbull, saw Ward's gun and drew his weapon. Ward fired past Ray impulsively.
Ray struggled with Ward after the shot, vying to get control of the gun, but Ward was driven, desperate, stronger than he would normally be, and Ray found himself in a headlock. His heart was racing, worry for McNeely and fear of what Ward intended to do at the forefront of his emotions. He saw Fraser come down the stairs and kneel beside McNeely, and a part of him wanted to yell out for Fraser to run, to get out of there. Seeing Fraser instruct Turnbull to care for McNeely at least relieved his anxiety that the courageous young officer was dead.
"Now you see, Mr. Ward, if you shoot Detective Vecchio, I will be forced to shoot you. You are standing on Canadian soil, and I will not hesitate to use this gun." As Fraser raised McNeely's gun and voiced his threat, Ray thought he looked like some sort of dark angel of vengeance clad in flannel pajamas. Fraser's eyes were like nothing he'd seen, burning with an intensity that was frightening.
The anger that Fraser had been carefully suppressing bubbled up to the surface as he heard McNeely's piteous sounding whimpers and saw the tiny glints of fear in Ray's eyes as Ward's gun was pressed to his head. It was a chilling anger that lent him an unnatural steadiness of stance and aim. Ward was flustered by it, seeing the man whose inconsiderate refusal to die had foiled his schemes standing in front of him with the look of a killer on his face, from the taut set of his firm jawline to the dark brow, furrowed and thunderous.
"Place your weapon on the floor, slowly." Fraser said through clenched teeth. "I am arresting you for conspiracy to murder Gracie De Angelis, the attempted murder of Officer McNeely, false imprisonment, assault with a deadly weapon, and," he hesitated almost imperceptibly as he listed the brutal attempt on his own life, "soliciting a murder. I suggest you surrender immediately."
Ray rolled his eyes. If he'd been the one in Fraser's place he'd probably have taken the shot at Ward already. Forget letting him surrender! Of course, there was the little matter of Ward using Ray as a human shield. Ray swallowed hard, pushing his fear away. "Take the headshot." he said loudly. He knew Fraser could do it, if anyone could. Ward hissed "Shut up!" in Ray's ear, pressing the gun against his temple.
"I said, surrender immediately." Fraser said, implacable, unwavering.
Ward's eyes darted around. Surely this was a stand-off? What made the mountie think he had enough of an advantage that he could order Ward to surrender? Tightening his grip around Ray's neck, Ward swung the gun around to point directly at Fraser.
"What if I shoot you instead?" he said.
"I will still shoot you down. Even if you hit me, if I fire at the same time, which I will, you will die." Fraser said, calmly, as if he were discussing a simple physics problem, which in a way he was. He was supremely confident of his shooting skills, especially now, like this, when it really mattered. Even if Ward worked up the nerve to fire at him, Fraser would see the man stopped before he could hurt anyone else. Besides, Fraser could tell that Ward wasn't nearly as confident of his position as he was. That meant the man would be prone to making nervous mistakes.
"If you fire that weapon, you will not walk out of here alive. The only way out is to put your weapon down." Fraser concluded.
Ray could feel the pulse in Ward's arm racing against his throat. Ward was getting panicky. Ray hoped Fraser knew what he was doing.
Outside, a crowd of law enforcement was assembling. The backup that Ray had called for had arrived in time to hear the shot that hit McNeely being fired, and they in turn had radioed in calling for a tactical team. Police barriers had been set up, and Lieutenant Welsh had arrived on the scene looking grim and weary. The consulate was now under siege, those inside effectively Ward's hostages.
Inspector Thatcher arrived back at the consulate to find it barricaded by police cars. "What's going on here?" Inspector Thatcher demanded of Lieutenant Welsh, eyes flashing with spirit. "Can you explain why I can't enter my own consulate?"
Welsh gave an outline of the situation. Thatcher made as if to stride past the barriers. Welsh grabbed her shoulder. "Inspector Thatcher, I'm going to have to ask that you stay back here. There's a SWAT team on the way."
Thatcher scowled. "I can't do that." she said, "I have men in there. I need to get to them." She wrenched against his grip.
"In case you missed it, Inspector, I have men in there too." Welsh said gravely. "So I can sympathize with your feelings, but you're going to have to stay here. I will slap a pair of cuffs on you so fast it makes your head spin if you don't settle down. I will not have another hostage walking into the situation."
Thatcher was poised as if she might rebel and break free from Welsh's hold by force for a moment. Then her conscience pricked. "Margaret," she told herself in a firm inner voice. "If you have to choose between inclination and duty, do your duty!" Her inclination would have had her inside the consulate in a heartbeat. Her duty was to wait out here doing nothing until the SWAT team arrived.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," she said, with an apologetic smile. "You're quite right. I let my emotions get the better of me. There's no excuse for my outburst."
Welsh nodded. "It's understandable." he said gruffly. "I know how it feels to see one of your men badly hurt, and I know how worried you must be. Let's just hope that Vecchio and your Constable Fraser can pull off a miracle like they seem to be in the habit of doing."
Ward was becoming increasingly uncertain. It was one thing to order a killing, it was another to have to look someone in the eye and shoot them. He'd shot McNeely without thinking it through, he'd just reacted to the threat of the gun being drawn, and he knew he was lucky he'd managed to shoot first and hit the policeman at all. But the mountie was freaking him out, those eyes shaded with stark resolution piercing him, the lips that were curled in obvious disdain. He felt his hand shake, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to do it. His best chance was to run. He lifted his hand up and brought the gun down on the back of Ray's head. Ray went limp in his arms.
Ward pushed Ray away and ran past the stairs toward the back of the consulate. Fraser, adrenaline and anger making him forgetful of his general physical state, vaulted over the banister to land close behind Ward. The jump was fine. The landing was a painful reminder of the punishment his body had taken, the jarring shock rippling through him. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, holding back a cry as he stumbled to one knee then straightened up. Nothing mattered now but getting his man.
Ward turned, eyes wild. They were mere feet apart, each still holding a gun. Ward was a caged animal. He snarled "You should be dead!" his gun pointed at Fraser's chest.
"First, Gantz couldn't manage to confess to one stupid goddamn murder without screwing up and making you suspicious, and then I send four men to kill you and they can't even finish the job. And now I'm dead. I'm so dead. It was supposed to be so goddamn simple. The boys come in from New York and take out De Angelis's sister. Gantz takes the fall and De Angelis and Mack are at war. My backers are happy, I'm happy, who the hell cares about some stupid mob boss's sister? Who the hell would bother looking further than a guy who already confessed? You should be dead! You should be dead!"
Fraser could see that Ward's hand was trembling wildly, but at that range, if Ward fired, it would make no difference. No matter how bad Ward's aim was, the bullet would rip a fist sized hole through Fraser's torso. Unsurvivable, even with his track record of beating the odds. In his peripheral vision Fraser could see Ray moving. He was thankful that the blow to Ray's head obviously hadn't been very hard. Fraser moved sideways, Ward tracking his motion with the gun and moving with him. Fraser wanted to put Ward's back to Ray. He didn't want the criminal getting any ideas about finishing what he'd started with the Chicago policeman.
Only one thing was keeping Fraser from firing McNeely's gun and ending the standoff. He knew that no-one else would ever judge him for shooting in self defense, but he had to bring Ward in alive. His code of honor would allow no less, unless he had absolutely no alternative. If he shot Ward, he would know that he had chosen revenge over justice, no matter what anyone else thought.
Ray lay on the floor, his head pounding, watching the slow motion shoot-out as Fraser steered Ward around. "Go on, shoot him Benny." he muttered under his breath. "Shoot the bastard."
Ward was still rambling and cursing about how Fraser had ruined everything by living. He was working himself up to shooting Fraser down in cold blood, stepping in closer as Fraser moved around. Soon he was at point blank range. Ray held his breath and watched. Ward had his back to Ray now, and Ray rolled to his knees and pulled his gun from his holster silently, but there was no way he could shoot Ward and be sure of not hitting Fraser.
It was a mistake to get in so close to Fraser. As soon as Ward got within Fraser's reach, Fraser reacted, grappling Ward's gun hand. He quickly twisted Ward's wrist sideways and stepped inside Ward's reach so that Ward's gun was pointed past him at the empty hallway. Ward squeezed the trigger a split second too late. The shot flew just wide of Fraser to lodge safely in the floorboards.
Fraser followed through on his step in closer to Ward by dropping his shoulder, ramming it into Ward's chest in a move that would normally have taken his opponent down. Although the smaller man was thrown backward, Fraser's knees buckled under the sudden pain of impact as his shoulder struck the bulk of Ward's upper body, brightly colored lights filling his vision. Ward, held up by Fraser's grip on his arm, regained his balance and in turn reached out to grab Fraser's wrist and squeeze, trying to make him drop McNeely's gun. Fraser locked Ward's arm in the crook of his elbow, bringing himself close enough that he was almost eye to eye with the angry man. He found his feet and brought one knee up into Ward's groin.
Ward doubled over, but he was still clinging tightly to Fraser's wrist and he wasn't going to the floor without company. Ward saw where Fraser's weakness lay. As his head came down, he pulled back slightly and butted it hard into Fraser's broken shoulder, forcing him back against the side of the stairs with a crash. Fraser let out the air in his lungs with a low, agonized grunt, bracing himself to throw Ward off. Ray kept his gun trained on Ward, ready to fire the instant he saw a clear shot. Ward followed up on his successful move by stamping his shoe down forcefully on one of Fraser's bare feet. Ward was going for sheer quantity of pain to overcome Fraser's determination.
The tussle was cut short by a blur of fur and muscle and teeth appearing over the banister from the stairs. Diefenbaker's powerful spring from above brought Ward down, Fraser falling with him. The smaller man screamed in fear and rage as the wolf landed on his chest, growling threateningly.
As Ward went down, Ray stood up and moved in on him, keeping his gun trained on the would-be killer. He stepped on Ward's hand, forcing him to let go of his gun. Ray helped Fraser get to his feet, eyeing him with unconcealed worry. Reality was far better than the grim scenario he'd been picturing all the while that Ward held his gun on Benton, imagining his friend lying sprawled in a spreading pool of red on the floor while he stood by and watched, but reality still involved an unsatisfactory state of pallor and shortness of breath on Benton's part.
"I'm all right, Ray." Benton said in answer to the look of worry, although his voice lacked the steadiness to reinforce his words. Ray was relieved to see that Benton no longer looked as if he might be keeping a flaming sword of retribution up his pajama sleeve; gone was the dread expression, replaced with a normal, human look of warm concern for Ray.
"How's your head?" Benton put a hand out to touch Ray on the shoulder, looking into his eyes to check for signs and symptoms of concussion.
Ray rolled his eyes at the question, and at Benton's obvious scrutiny of his health. "Hurts. It's fine, though. I have a thick skull."
Ray returned his attention to Ward. "You heard what Constable Fraser said. You're under arrest." He knelt down and cuffed Ward, slamming the man against the floor roughly when he tried to get up. "Don't even think about it." Ray started reading Ward his Miranda rights. He would have liked to kick Ward a time or two, give him a taste of his own medicine, but he owed Benton a clean bust. There must be nothing that Ward could use to wriggle out of the deep trouble he was in.
The intensity of focus that had been keeping Benton moving vanished along with the threat from Ward. He found himself staring at the gun in his hand, knowing that he had been split seconds away from firing it. He became aware of the sound of Turnbull talking in jerky tones to McNeely, trying to comfort the wounded officer and assure him that help was coming. Benton leaned on the stair banister and walked to the foot of the stairs, then, with some effort climbed to the landing. Diefenbaker stood beside Ward, teeth still showing in case the would-be killer got any smart ideas about trying to escape. Ray followed behind Benton quickly, taking one moment to feel McNeely's weakening pulse before running back down the stairs to the front door of the consulate.
Ray flung the door open, putting his hands up in the air as he walked out to make it clear that he was not an armed miscreant. He was relieved to see the police cars and that surrounded the consulate, and most of all, an ambulance. Lieutenant Welsh and Inspector Thatcher ran over. They had been in a state of heightened panic ever since the second gun shot sounded from within.
"The intruder's down and cuffed." Ray said. "Crisis is over. McNeely needs medical attention now."
Inspector Thatcher strode into her consulate behind the EMTs, ready to take charge. McNeely was being stretchered out, and Detective Vecchio, for the second time in a week, was following behind an unconscious colleague, all the while being pestered by a paramedic who wanted to treat the bump on the back of his head. She spared him a brief, pitying glance. She had men of her own to take care of. Turnbull's hands and tunic were covered with McNeely's blood, and the young man was shivering, clearly unable to snap right back from the horror of trying to keep McNeely from bleeding to death on the floor in front of him.
The stairs and the entryway smelled of McNeely's blood, and the landing was slick with it. Thatcher made a mental note to have Ovitz sort out cleaners.
Fraser was still standing on the stairs, his face an affectless mask. His tightly controlled stance told Thatcher all she needed to know about what he deliberately wasn't allowing to show. The shallow way he breathed and his carefully correct posture betrayed him. Every now and then a deep tremor would sweep through his body and she could see him blink and tense his jaw and suppress it. Her eyes softened momentarily before she steeled herself again to the cold role of command.
Fraser himself had mixed feelings. On the one hand, he had done a wonderful job of setting back his recovery with his gymnastic stunt and the subsequent brawl. On the other hand, he'd apprehended the man responsible for Gracie De Angelis's death and the attempt on his own life, and he'd done it without betraying his principles. He felt at peace for the first time since the beating. Could he begrudge more physical pain to achieve that? Everything had a cost, and it had been a sure bet from the start that anything that started with as much violence as Ward's choices had unleashed was not going to end peacefully. Back to the first hand, he could really use a chair about now.
"Constable Fraser!" Thatcher snapped. "I distinctly recall being informed that you promised to stay on bedrest. I want to see you back in that bed, now. That's an order! Constable Turnbull! Wash your hands and take off that tunic. Then make sure that Constable Fraser gets into bed, and see that he stays there. Since Constable Fraser seems to think that he can just disobey doctor's orders willy-nilly, I'm holding you personally responsible to make sure he spends the next three days flat on his back."
"Yes, sir." two strained voices said in unison. There, that'd keep Turnbull occupied and give him something positive to focus on, fussing over Fraser, and Fraser would most certainly rest knowing that Turnbull would get in trouble if he didn't. Fraser looked like he was about to fall over, and this would spare his pride as well as get him off his feet. Otherwise he was liable to think it was his duty to go down to the station and see Ward booked in. She smiled to herself. Sometimes the dragon lady act was for their own good.
Author's Note: We're winding down now. One more (sappy) chapter to wrap up the loose ends. I had to install an entire new browser to get this to post because firefox decided it hates the new login system, so please review and let me know what worked for you and/or what didn't. The chapters with action are harder for me to polish to my satisfaction than the more quiet, talky ones! (I'm taking a nifty self defense class right now though, that should help with staging fights. Every time the teacher demonstrates something really cool I file it away in my bag of writing tricks.)
On a personal note, I hit 50,000 words on my NaNoWriMo project today, although I still have plenty left to write to wrap that one up. It's been great having this story to revise when I needed a break from pounding out the 'novel'.
