CHAPTER 10

"I'm terribly sorry, Jermaine, we won't be much longer." Fraser smiled apologetically.

Jermaine was leaning against the back of the GTO watching as various Police vehicles and ambulances came and went. He'd heard the gunfire from the safety of Ray's car and had sensibly spent most of the time crouched down between the seats, but then he'd heard Fraser's voice, panicked and persuaded Dief that they should go and see what was going on. "It's OK," he replied. He was more shaken than he was letting on.

Diefenbaker stood at his heels. The wolf may have impaired hearing, but he'd been fully aware of the danger that Fraser and Ray had been in. If he'd been left alone he would have defied Fraser's command to stay in the car and gone to help, but he'd seen how terrified Jermaine had been and realised his responsibility was to keep him out of danger.

Ray walked over to join them. "They're gonna start movin' the, er, the bodies," he said quietly.

Fraser nodded solemnly.

Ray tried to say something else but he couldn't get any words out. He briefly glanced at Fraser and then turned and walked away.

Fraser watched him go. The last couple of hours had been very intense and Ray had maintained his professional persona, such as it was, throughout, but Fraser knew it was only a matter of time before Ray would crack…and it wasn't going to be pretty.

Ray stopped in front of a brick wall. Fraser hesitated; he wanted to give his friend some space. He watched Ray's body language…hands on hips, head bowed…and waited. Ray's shoulders were heaving as he tried to take deep breaths, just as Fraser had taught him. Fraser was a master of emotional control and Ray had been trying to adopt some of his techniques, but with little success.

Fraser turned back to Jermaine. "Please excuse me for a moment," he said and smiled apologetically.

Ray was breathing through gritted teeth. The more he thought about what had happened, the worse he felt. Lives had been lost today. It had been brutal and cold and violent and no matter how many times Ray witnessed the aftermath of incidents like this, it didn't get any easier to process. He and Fraser had been caught up in the middle of it all…could we have prevented it? What should we have done differently? He was going over and over it in his head.

Ray closed his eyes; he didn't want to do this now. He wanted to wait until after he'd faced Welsh and been debriefed, he wanted to wait until he was alone; he didn't want to do this in front of Huey and Dewey, or in front of all these uniforms, or the crime scene techs…they didn't need to witness him losing it.

Ray wasn't sure how much longer this breathing thing of Fraser's was going to work for. It wasn't really working at all; he wasn't feeling calm, it was just making him feeling dizzy…really dizzy. It was no use; Ray had to do this his way. He let out a guttural growl and slammed his fist into the wall. Twice. Jesus…that hurt.

"Ray?" Fraser's voice was low.

Ray heard his buddy's voice as if it was wafting through fog. He punched the wall again hoping it would make everything better. It didn't.

"Are you done?" asked Fraser, softly.

Ray didn't want to make eye contact with his buddy. "Yeah," he breathed through clenched teeth.

"Show me," Fraser requested, the concern obvious in his voice.

Ray lifted his clenched fist and a worried look came across his buddy's face. "Can you flex all of your fingers?" asked Fraser.

Ray nodded and unfurled his long fingers to prove that he hadn't broken any bones. It hurt like hell, but maybe the pain was good? At least it was something new to focus on.

"You should put some powdered horn on that," said Fraser.

Ray looked up, puzzled. Fraser nodded towards Ray's hand and Ray was dismayed to see the amount of blood coating his knuckles. "Oh," he said. "Er, no, it's OK."

Fraser passed his friend a handkerchief. "Wrap it tightly around your hand," he said and then he waited until Ray was ready to talk again.

"Three dead kids," Ray said eventually. "Three…and that other girl ain't gonna make it, is she?"

"No, I don't believe she will," replied Fraser, sadly. The EMT's had worked miracles to keep one of the young shooting victims alive for as long as they had, but her injuries had been extensive. Fraser doubted she would still be alive upon arrival at the hospital.

"Why the hell don't you carry a gun?" Ray suddenly exploded. "What did ya think ya were doin' out there today?"

Fraser was a little taken aback. "I…I don't have a permit," he replied. "Are you suggesting that my not carrying a firearm today contributed to the devastating outcome?"

Ray let out a long, slow breath. "No," he replied, quietly. "Sorry, buddy, I didn't mean that at all. It's just…" he trailed off and looked over his shoulder as a bodybag on a stretcher was loaded into a black van. "What did we do wrong?" he asked.

Fraser hung his head. "I'm not sure," he said. "However," and he lifted his head again, "I can only envisage further bloodshed had additional firearms been brought into the equation."

Ray shrugged. Maybe Fraser was right. Perhaps the only way they could have stopped these kids shooting each other would have been to take them out themselves. Either way people would have died and Ray didn't want blood on his hands any more than Fraser did.

xXxXx

Jack Huey sat down heavily on his chair with a sigh. He looked across the desk to his partner. "Well, that was a mess, wasn't it," he said.

Tom Dewey nodded in agreement. Then a flash of red caught his eye and he looked up to see a rather dejected looking Mountie. "Hey, Fraser," Dewey called out. "Don't beat yourself up. We've been talking to the witnesses and Jimmy G's buddies were ready to wipe out the opposition, they were just waiting for the word from Jimmy. You calmed him down so he never gave that order."

"Yeah," agreed Huey, "you did good, and if we'd gotten there sooner we could have helped, but we got caught up in that fatal RTA."

"Upon reflection, it was an unfortunate set of circumstances," replied Fraser, "and I have no doubt that we prevented further loss of life. However, that doesn't make the deaths of four young people any easier to digest."

"It's been a hell of a week," acknowledged Dewey, glancing at Jack. "You guys up for a night out on Friday? We could hit a club, or…" he trailed off as he saw Fraser's look of concern at the prospect. "Or we could go to that new Thai place; Frannie said they do a real mean green chicken curry."

Fraser visibly relaxed. "I'd be delighted to join you gentlemen for a meal," he replied.

"OK, tell Ray he's invited too," smiled Jack. "Oh, and Fraser, um...I just want to apologise for, um, well…y'know."

"I understand," replied Fraser. "It's never an easy time. I've been there."

"We've all been there," acknowledged Tom.

Just then Ray walked into the squad room with Zorro. "Sit down," he said. "I'll get the paperwork." He went to the filing cabinet to find some forms.

"Hey, Mountie!" Zorro called out and Fraser joined him at Ray's desk. "I'm getting' outta here, man. I knew there was a reason I started snitchin' to the cops."

"Your sense of justice prevailed," replied Fraser.

"Yeah," agreed Zorro, "and my sense of makin' some extra bucks," he added.

"Ah," Fraser tugged at his earlobe as he acknowledged the young man's motives may not have been entirely virtuous. "So, what will you do now?" he asked.

"Now my Police career is over, you mean?" replied Zorro with a wink. "Well a buddy of mine hangs out in a studio downtown; he and his crew have been makin' a name for themselves on the club scene. I'm gonna hang with them for a while, maybe lay down some tracks. They're hard core…gritty beats, a kinda ghetto house, techno fusion. His cousin's girl's sister once fu…er, fornicated with Ice-T, so he has connections, y'know."

Fraser had no idea what he was talking about.

"Music, Fraser," said Ray, by way of explanation. He handed Zorro a green form and a pink one. "Read this," he said, "and sign this one here and here. They'll go on your file. It's, er, it's just all the stuff ya went over with your lawyer."

Zorro nodded and signed the form.

"I'm somewhat of an amateur musician myself," Fraser went on. "Do you play an instrument, Derek, or are you a vocalist?"

Zorro's head snapped up at the mention of his real name.

"I'm sorry," said Fraser, "I couldn't help noticing your signature."

Zorro scowled at him. No one called him Derek any more, not even his Mom. He was cool with the Mountie saying it though; it sounded wicked in a Canadian accent. "Beatboxing," he replied.

Fraser looked at Ray for an explanation. Ray laughed. "Zorro, give him a demo," he said.

Zorro proceeded to demonstrate his beatboxing skills to Fraser's amazement.

"My word, that's a remarkable skill you have there," Fraser smiled. "The Siqquak, a remote Inuit tribe, traditionally communicate using a series of percussive syllables, but even they would struggle to vocalise the variety of sounds you just demonstrated. I wish you luck with your musical ventures."

"Thanks, bro," grinned Zorro, although he hadn't understood half of what Fraser was saying. "I'm thinkin' of writing a tune about Target."

Fraser nodded his approval. "That would be a fitting way to honour the memory of your friend," he replied. He held out his hand to Zorro, but the young man offered a fist in return. "Ah, a fist bounce," said Fraser and matched the gesture.

"Bump," hissed Ray. "Fist bump."

"Fist bump, fist bump…" repeated Fraser, shaking his head.

"Respect to you, bro," said Zorro as he got up to leave.

"It was a pleasure working with you," replied Fraser.