Disclaimer: I don't own Due South.
Why Can't We Be Friends?
Chapter 2: I Really 'membered You When You Drank My Wine
As the green car came hurtling around the corner, Fraser resisted the urge to grab something to steady himself. Their passenger in the back seat however, made no such effort to hide his discomfort.
"Hey! What the hell are you trying to do, kill everyone on the road?"
Ray scowled and glanced at the robber via the mirror. He bore a passing resemblance to Ian Macdonald, being about the same shortish height. When Ray thought on it, it was probably that resemblance to the chronic liar that made Ray hate him so much. "No, just those of them who don't know when to shut up."
The robber shut up, and Fraser looked over at Ray cautiously. "He does raise a point, Ray."
"What?"
"You are driving at illegal speeds, not to mention the more obvious danger you are presenting to the people of Chicago."
The detective turned towards him. "What d'you mean, 'obvious danger'? I'm a great driver!"
Fraser nodded out at the road ahead of them. "Elderly woman, Ray."
His eyes widened with alarm, and Ray swerved desperately to avoid splattering said old lady over his car. Fraser opened his mouth to speak, but Ray quickly pointed a finger in his direction to silence him.
"That one doesn't count. You distracted me."
"I don't think that's a valid excuse, Ray."
"What? Of course it's a valid excuse!"
"But surely a capable driver would be able to keep his attention on the road despite distractions."
"I hope you're not implying what I think you're implying."
"I wasn't implying anything, Ray."
"Yes you were! You were implying I'm a bad driver."
"Not something I'd disagree with…" the grocery store criminal muttered, keeping his gaze locked on the passing scenery.
"You shut up. And you," Ray said, pointing at Fraser, "I am not a bad driver."
"I never said you were, Ray."
"You were thinking it."
Fraser rolled his eyes in a manner that seemed uncharacteristic of the eternally patient Mountie. "Really, Ray. How could you possible know what I was thinking?"
"By what you said about good drivers. Let me tell you something about good drivers, both of you," he continued, pointing first at Fraser and then at their unwilling passenger in the back seat. "Good drivers can drive over the speed limit and still be perfectly safe to the 'citizens of Chicago'; it's why they're called good drivers."
"All right, Ray, but for the sake of argument, hypothetically speaking, of course, what if one was considered a good driver, but their vehicle was sub-par?"
Ray looked over at the Mountie, a mix of horror and outrage knotting his features. "You didn't just insult my car."
"Far from it, Ray. I'm just pointing out that it has been a long time since you took the car in for a service."
"Well, it would be being serviced now, if it wasn't you spotting him," he said, nodding at their passenger.
"Hey, you could have just let me rob the place."
Fraser looked back at him, a sceptical look on his face. "I don't think that would have been very likely."
"Just what the hell is a Mountie doing in Chicago, anyway?"
"Ah, well. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that, well, they don't need exploring at this juncture, I have remained, attached as liaison for the Canadian Consulate."
He nodded slowly. "Right… and you work with the police here, why?"
Fraser paused, and Ray's ears perked up imperceptibly, curious as to what the Mountie's answer would be.
"Well, as liaison for the Canadian Consulate, it is my job to maintain good relations with the people of Chicago, and as a by-product, I find myself working alongside the officers of the law in this city."
"But it's not your job."
Fraser scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail in his customary gesture. "That may be, but I feel it's my duty to help them in any way I can."
"But it's… not your job…" the criminal continued, his voice and expression ladled with frustration and confusion.
"It is a part of my job. True, it's not one specifically stated by-"
"It's not your job, you son of a bitch! I was busted by some good Samaritan moron who thinks he's here to help everyone!"
Fraser stopped in mid-sentence at the sudden outburst, and Ray smiled.
"He's Canadian. It sort of goes with the territory."
While Ray amused himself with the perplexed look on Fraser's face, he pulled into the Chicago P.D car park, refusing to slow down as he swung the Riviera into the space. Pushing himself out of the car, Ray grimaced as he felt several raindrops land on his head.
"Oh, wonderful," he mumbled, looking up at the sky. "Thank you so much."
Ray turned and pulled the back seat forward, proceeding to grab the criminal roughly by the jacket and haul him out of the car. Fraser looked on as Ray manhandled him with an unusual amount of ferocity, even for Ray. He stepped forward and took a firm hold of the criminal's jacket, causing Ray to look over at him questioningly.
"Perhaps you should allow me to do that, Ray."
The detective paused for a moment, as if trying to understand his friend's reasoning, but simply decided to leave it alone. He let go of the criminal and gestured for the Mountie to take him. As the two made their way inside, Ray walked over to the front desk and explained the situation. Fraser couldn't help but notice his quiet manner when talking to the employee.
A few minutes later, and the criminal had been whisked away by two uniformed officers. Fraser looked over at Ray as they made their way up the stairs to the office.
"I suppose you want me to tell you what happened in the bar last night."
The Mountie remained impassive. "It's up to you, Ray."
A deep growl came up from the detective's throat. "Fine. We'll just leave it alone, shall we?"
"If you wish, Ray."
"Good. I won't tell you anything."
"All right."
"Even though you want to know."
"It's not a pressing concern, Ray."
"How do you know? For all you know, this could be life changing news."
The pair reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner into the corridor.
Fraser absent-mindedly tugged on his ear lobe. "If it was important, you would have no hesitation in telling me, Ray. As it is, I'm forced to believe the news must be somewhat embarrassing."
"What? It's not embarrassing!"
"I'm merely telling you the impression I'm getting, Ray."
"Well, don't, because it's not."
"Oh. Very well."
Ray remained silent as they entered the bustling office of the 27th Chicago Precinct.
"And anyway, just because I don't want to talk about it, doesn't mean it's embarrassing. It could just be that I don't want to talk about it. There's nothing wrong with that."
"I know, Ray. In fact, there have been more than a few occasions where I haven't shared my feelings on certain matters with you."
"You haven't? When?"
"I don't think there would be much point going into this now, Ray."
"Why not? 'Embarrassed'?"
"No, Ray."
"Because 'I'm merely telling you the impression I'm getting'."
Fraser paused for a moment, and then allowed a small quirk of a smile. "Ah, I see." He leaned forward slightly. "Very amusing, Ray," he said, continuing on his way to Ray's desk.
Ray groaned. "I try to insult you, and you laugh. Canadians…"
Shaking his head, the detective followed the Mountie over to the desk. He had taken his usual spot sat on the other side of the table, but his gaze was locked on a sealed silver envelope that had been left on the desk. Ray cocked a curious eyebrow as he took his seat.
"It's for you, Ray," Fraser said, his voice reflecting the same caution that Ray was feeling. The detective carefully took it and opened it. Inside was a gaudy pink card with hearts scattered on its surface. Ray scowled and stood.
"All right, who's absolutely hilarious idea was this?" he said, shaking the card in the air. The other occupants of the room looked over at him vacantly, including Huey, who was Ray's first suspect. The only response was a collective murmuring of 'I don't know' and some shrugging before they got back to their work.
"I don't think they did it, Ray," Fraser said as Ray slowly sat back down.
"Yeah, I got that feeling." He looked back down at the card and opened it, another smaller piece of card falling out as he did so. He picked it up and frowned.
"Ray?" Fraser asked, concerned by the sudden change in his friend's expression. "What is it?"
Silently, the detective turned the card around to reveal a photo of him taken in black and white. It was him sat on a bar stool, his attention obviously not on the photographer. Fraser carefully took the photo from his partner.
"This is-?"
Ray nodded.
"And you didn't-?"
Ray shook his head.
"Hm."
The detective looked down at the card and read what was written there while Fraser examined the photo, being careful only to hold it by the corners. After finishing reading, Ray tossed the card down onto the table, groaning and running his hand over his balding head as he let out a deep breath. Fraser looked down at the card before looking up at Ray with a 'May I?' expression.
Ray nodded, and the Mountie picked up the card, again being careful only to hold it by the corners. Both eyebrows shot up as he read what was written on the card in rather exquisite handwriting. He let out a deep breath in a similar manner to Ray had as he placed the card down on the table.
"Well. That was rather…"
"Graphic."
Fraser nodded in agreement. "Do you know who could have written this?"
Ray sighed. "I'm not sure. There are plenty of psychos out there that I've put away."
"Any that you know have left prison recently?"
He shrugged. "I don't know; I tend to lose track of them once they're in."
"Understandable."
They heard someone clearing their throat next to them. They turned to see Elaine holding a bouquet of roses and a bottle of wine. Paying no attention to the items, Ray nodded in greeting.
"Elaine, could you run a check on anyone I've put away who's out of prison now?"
The Civilian Aid officer pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows at the detective, glancing down at the flowers.
"What? Oh, right. Nice flowers."
She smiled. "Thank you, Ray. But they're not mine." She handed them and the bottle of wine to him, the look of disbelief on the detective's face causing much amusement for her.
"Oh, no… You- you're kidding."
"Oh no, I'm quite serious," Elaine replied, blatantly fighting the grin on her face.
Fraser sniffed the roses from where he was sat. "A rather fresh batch, too."
"Oh, well. I can at least take comfort in the fact that my stalker has a rose garden."
"And a dirty imagination…" Elaine commented, reading the open card from where she stood.
Ray quickly slammed the card shut. "Hey, that's evidence; no reading."
"There's no harm in her reading it, Ray," Fraser added.
"Thank you, Fraser," Elaine said.
Ray glared at the Mountie. "Yes, thank you kindly Fraser. And thank you kindly, Elaine. Anything else? Got a pie you want to splat on my face?"
"I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you kindly, Elaine," Fraser said, the polite smile on his face making it impossible for Ray to determine what exactly he was thanking her for.
Elaine nodded in response. "You're very welcome, Fraser. I'll get on to those files when I can, Ray, but you've put a lot of people away; it could take awhile."
He sighed and nodded. "All right. Thanks." Elaine nodded and went back to her desk.
After reading the note attached to the flowers, Ray groaned and let his forehead thud on the desk in front of him.
"Doesn't that hurt, Ray?"
"Yes, Fraser. Yes it does," he replied, his voice slightly muffled by the table.
Keeping his head face down on the table, he handed the note to Fraser, whose eyebrows once again shot up, almost disappearing into his hairline. Ray looked up and saw the Mountie's cheeks go slightly redder.
"Well," he began, clearing his throat and tugging at his collar, "that's certainly…"
"Graphic."
"Slightly… more so than the last."
"Just slightly, Fraser, yeah. I didn't even know that position existed."
"Well, I…" he cleared his throat again, "yes, that would, uh, certainly seem the case…"
Ray smiled slightly. "You're not embarrassed by this, are you, Benny?"
"Of course not, Ray. It's a… natural part of, um… life, as it were."
"Not even… this part?" he asked with a smirk, pointing to a particular sentence on the note.
Fraser again cleared his throat. "Most certainly not that part." He looked around the room. "I think the thermostat must be in error. It's slightly hotter in here than usual."
"Yeah, I bet it is."
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Fraser pulled himself out of the car and put his Stetson on as he did so.
"Thanks for the ride, Ray."
"No problem, Benny. I'm going to go see if I can still get this thing reupholstered and then head back to the station. Maybe they'll be able to find some fingerprints on the card."
"Are you sure that's wise, Ray?"
"What?"
"Well, considering you have received not one, but two messages from an unknown source, and one who seems to be able to see you without you seeing them-"
"Benny."
"Yes, Ray?"
"Stop."
"Yes, Ray."
"If this guy-"
"-or girl."
"-or girl wanted to whack, maim or otherwise damage me, they would have done it already, don't you think?"
"Well, that would depend on the person, Ray. The insane rarely have any kind of logic to their actions; whoever the sender was, they may have some kind of twisted reasoning as to why they haven't attacked you yet. Reasoning that could change at a moment's notice."
"Benny, seriously, stop worrying. I have a gun, I know how to punch a guy-"
"-or girl."
"-or g… no! I wouldn't punch a-" Ray sighed. "Look, the point is, don't worry about it."
"If you're sure, Ray."
"I'm sure."
"Because you have no idea when this person could strike at you. They could have already done something to hurt you."
Ray rolled his eyes. "Like what, Fraser?"
"Car bomb, mail bomb, perhaps striking at your family. Stalking is a serious business, Ray, and not one to be taken as lightly as you are."
"Look, Benny, you're being too paranoid. For all we know, this could be some practical joke."
"It doesn't strike me as particularly amusing, Ray."
"Yeah, I know," Ray muttered back, before shaking the negativity from his head. "Look, you've got a job to do, I've got things to do… let's just talk about this later, all right?"
Fraser paused. "All right, Ray."
"Pick you up at 7:00? We'll try that Chinese place that just opened up."
He nodded. "Right."
He closed the door, and Ray pulled away. The Mountie shook his head as he turned to walk up the stairs. It seemed odd to him that Ray seemed more at ease now that his life was possibly in danger than he did earlier in the day, when there was nothing to be displeased about.
He took off his Stetson as he entered the Consulate, and made his way up the stairs, admiring the paintings of the Canadian landscape hung on the wall as he always did. As he reached the top of the stairs, he noticed that Turnbull wasn't at his desk. Silently looking around the room, Fraser ducked slightly to see if Turnbull was under the table as he was the last time he seemingly disappeared.
No sign of the Constable there, either.
Suddenly, the door to Inspector Thatcher's room opened, and Turnbull quickly slid out, closing the door behind him in such a way it made it impossible for Fraser to see inside, even if he were looking.
Which he wasn't, of course.
"Ah, Constable Fraser," Turnbull said, smiling politely. "Nice to see you."
"Good afternoon, Constable Turnbull." He heard some shuffling coming from Thatcher's room. "Is… everything all right?"
"Fine. Everything's fine," Turnbull quickly replied, smiling unconvincingly.
A loud thud came from the room behind Turnbull, followed by a loud and angry groan.
"You're certain?" Fraser said, taking a step forward.
"Very certain," Turnbull said, taking a step to his side to cover the doorknob.
"Because there seems to be some sort of commotion coming from Inspector Thatcher's room."
"Oh, that. That's, um… that's nothing."
The doorknob began to rattle angrily, and Turnbull quickly grabbed it, the action hidden from Fraser's view.
Thatcher's came from behind the door, the thick wood muffling her voice. "Turnbull?"
"Um… yes sir?"
"The door's stuck."
Fraser cocked an eyebrow, and Turnbull smiled at him nervously.
"Err, no, no, it's… it's fine."
The doorknob rattled again. "No, it's stuck. I can't open the door."
Fraser stepped forward again. "I believe that's because Constable Turnbull is holding it, sir."
There was a silence behind the door.
"Is that Fraser?"
"Ah, yes sir," Turnbull said.
"I see."
Another silence.
"Constable Fraser, would you mind beginning your shift now?"
The Mountie paused. "Well, no ma'am, but I would feel irresponsible if I left while you were in some sort of crisis, and-"
"Fraser."
"Yes, sir."
"Go."
"Yes, sir."
He turned on his heel and made his way out, heading down the stairs. Turnbull waited until he heard the entrance doors open and then close before tentatively releasing his grip on the doorknob. Thatcher poked her head out, and turned to Turnbull.
"He's gone?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I need some help in here."
"Yes, sir. But if I might ask, why didn't you want Constable Fraser to know?"
"Well, it's a situation that could be considered… embarrassing to a colleague."
"Sir?"
"Yes, Turnbull?"
"I'm a colleague."
"Yes, well, I'm comfortable with you helping and not Fraser because…" Thatcher paused. "Well, because…"
"Yes, sir?" Turnbull had his eyebrows raised inquisitively.
Thatcher sighed. "Just get in here and help, Turnbull."
"Yes, sir."
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Ray glared at the man at the desk. "What do you mean, 'my window's expired'?"
"Just that, Mac. You're too late. We got someone else in who knows how to get here on time," he said, the cigarette wiggling up and down in his mouth as he spoke.
"Look, I'm a cop. Sometimes things get in the way."
"Oh, you have a job. Big flipping whoop. So did the other guy, but he still managed to get here on time."
Ray sighed. "All right, when can I book another appointment?"
"We're all booked up for the next two months."
"Two months?"
"Let's see… two months from now… how does the 22nd grab ya?"
Ray's glare turned into a scowl. "Fine."
The man wrote it down in his log book, and slammed the book shut as Ray turned and walked out as angrily as he could manage.
"And don't be late," the man said, grinning.
Ray got into his car and slammed the door shut. He sat in silence for a moment, and sighed. He rubbed his eyes for a moment, before turning on the ignition and setting off to his next destination.
A blonde haired woman stepped out from her hiding place behind a street corner, and walked into the car workshop, having seen the entire exchange from the window. The same man looked up at her with a look that was altogether different than he how he had earlier looked at Ray.
She reached into her jacket and pulled out her Beretta, the light bouncing off its black, shiny surface.
The significance of what she had just done quickly registered on the man's face, whose lusty smirk rapidly turned into horror as he quickly put up his hands.
"Give him a new window."
"W…what?"
"Ray Vecchio! Give Ray an earlier window!" she said, pointing to the log book. Panicking, he opened the book with shaking hands, struggling to hold the pen as he crossed out another customer's name and put in Ray Vecchio's.
"There… I've done it… he's got one in two days time, all right?"
She tilted her head to the side. "Good."
She aimed and fired.
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(A/N: Well, aside from the bottle of wine, this chapter didn't have much to do with the title. But that's the way the lyrics go, so who am I to complain? Hopefully I'll be able to make the chapters more relevant to the chapter titles as I go along.
Reviews appreciated. Thank you kindly.)