Chapter 7: The Enlightenment

"Are you sure you're alright sleeping there, Benny?"

The Mountie, already in his nightwear, looked up from what he was reading. He was on the floor, with his back propped up against the couch. All he needed was a pipe and he could be Sherlock Holmes.

It had been a few days since that dinner at the resort restaurant. The two had retired to their room early. Yet, this was nothing new. It had been the same way every night.

Ray's eyes fell on what Fraser was holding. One of those journals he saw the Mountie carry onto the plane.

"I'm fine, Ray," Fraser replied convincingly. "In fact, I'm finding this sofa to be quite comfortable, maybe even more so from the mattress I sleep on at home."

The Detective just nodded. Ray knew he was acting a little out of character: more Canadian than American, more humble than proud, but who said he was getting back to normal? What if he never did? He wondered if that would be so wrong.

His mind wandered back to that dream he had the first day they arrived in Miami. Since then, he'd only been dreaming blank (or just didn't remember). So Ray did what he usually did: forget about it. Until now.

Suddenly, he did not want to go to sleep.

"Hey, Benny. I'm thinking about going out again."

The Mountie looked reluctant.

"Hey, it's okay. Maybe I need some alone time."

This time the Mountie hesitated. He was suppose to watch over his friend.

"Do you think I'm going to get into some kind of trouble? This ain't Chicago for God sakes. And I won't have to worry about you finding another 'situation' to help."

Fraser ignored the last comment. "You're right. It's not Chicago – but keep in mind the only difference is Miami's southeastern location. People here prey on tourists, doesn't matter how well you think you can handle yourself. I read that-"

"I get it," Ray answered calmly.

The Mountie stopped. Normally by now the Detective would have made some comment about "Canadians" and their "prey". Or, he would have become irritated. Fraser did not know what else to say.

"If you really think it's necessary for you to come along, come then." Ray walked to the closet to put on his shoes.

The Mountie furrowed his brow in thought. Was this some kind of reverse psychology? He thought some more and then came to a consensus.

"I'll allow you to go, but would you tell me which area you will be in?"

Ray smiled to himself. There's the Mountie, always having a backup plan. Ray's memory took him back in time to when the partners were trapped inside a bank vault, and the Mountie had broken the water sprinkler to fill the vault with water as a distraction when the vault's door would be opened by bank robbers. When Ray asked what would happen if the robbers didn't drill through the door on time, Fraser had admitted to not having another idea, and they had almost drowned to death. Wait a minute, who am I kidding? He never has a backup plan. Or even a good plan for that matter.

"Well, I'll probably just head to the Ocean Drive strip. You know, with the Art Deco and everything else we saw the other day? I might as well see what all the fuss is about."

Fraser lifted an eyebrow. Was Ray being (gasp) polite? It wasn't as if he was strictly hostile or anything before, but the conservative tone of his manner had come unexpectedly. The Mountie wondered how long it would last, and if he wanted to see his friend change from his other attitude to this one, even though it was more tolerable.

"Sounds fine, Ray. Should I wait up for you?" Fraser asked.

The Detective paused in thought. "Nah, I probably won't be out that late, but who knows? I'll be fine. See you, Fraser."

"Fraser"? Ray usually only used that name in rare instances. The Detective had changed, alright. But not in an instant, as it seemed. It gradually grew the past few days.

By the click of the door, the Mountie was left alone.

A second later, Ray stuck his head back in through the door. "And Fraser? Don't be afraid to order room service," he smiled sincerely. The door shut again.

"By Jove, I've think he's got it," Fraser murmured.

The Detective was able to clear his head on the way to Ocean Drive's nightlife. He wasn't much for clubs, but bars were more his cup of tea either. Not that he liked tea.

But he did need to get out. And for some reason, he felt some anxiety was slowly being lifted off of him. As if his answers were just around the corner.

He examined each place that lined the Drive. Too clubby, too trashy, too busy, too flashy, he chuckled at his little rhyme scheme. Finally, his gaze landed on a decent place that was effortlessly called "The Barroom". It was small to medium in size, light enough to see, dark enough to conceal, and private enough to not be bothered.

And so he went in. The bar bench was set along the left side of the place, with a few tables and chairs to the right. There was a square-shaped dance floor situated in the very front with a modest stage. Soft country rock music was playing in the background.

It reminded Ray of an old western saloon in bistro-style, but modernized in mostly browns and blacks. It deeply contrasted the "bling-bling" status that was right outside the doors. As he took a seat at the bar, his attention came to the hanging lights that lined the bar in its glowing off-white colour.

The stereotype of a bartender approached the Detective. He was of average height, somewhat overweight, and scruffy looking with brownish hair that needing some trimming. "What can I get ya?" his voice came out a little clearer than expected.

"Some answers," Ray smiled melancholily.

"Heh," the bartender laughed gruffly. "I don't think you should be looking around here none. But up there," he pointed upward.

Ray peered upwards while squinting against the luminous light. Was he referring to God? Heaven?

"Tell ya what. I'll fix you what I normally give to those with questions concerning life," the grizzly man stated and went to fix Ray's drink.

The Detective pulled his gaze back down to his eyelevel. Maybe this bartender was onto something. Maybe his answer had been right around the corner.

Ray closed his eyes.

Side note: I don't actually know if there is a place called "The Barroom" in Miami Beach. Unless there is, I made it up!