CHAPTER FIVE

"And then what happened?" a wide-eyed Sophie Dombrowski asked, her lovely chin in her hands, elbows leaning on the canteen table where today's front page of the Chicago Tribune was spread out. A picture of Ray shaking hands with the Mayor, flanked by Welsh, Thatcher, his mother, and Frannie was below the headline, "Yuppie Burglar Nabbed in Daring Rooftop Chase."

"I shot the cable." At her gasp, he reassured her. "See, I knew that would swing him over to the lower roof, no problem. All he had to do was let go when I told him to." He paused as she continued to stare at him, admiringly. "Which I did."

"That was so smart of you! And brave, too!" Sophie sighed. "I'd have been too scared to do anything!"

Ray shrugged. "Just doing my job," he said, modestly. A small crowd, mostly female, was gathered in the break room, with Ray in the center of it. Elaine walked in, carrying an armload of files. "Ray, how's Fraser?"

"He's fine. Banged up a little, but nothing serious."

"Thanks to you, Ray," Sophie cooed.

Behind her, Elaine rolled her eyes. "The Lieutenant wants you."

"Excuse me, Sophie," Ray said, with a smile. "Duty calls."

"Oh, of course," she said, standing up. "Uh, Ray? There's something I'd like to ask you. Would you pop up to HR, later?"

"Uh, sure," he said, uncertainly. Sophie gave him a wave, then she and Maria headed out of the canteen, coffees in hand.

Elaine gave him a look. "Have you seen her boyfriend?"

"They broke up," he said, defensively.

"Uh-huh," Elaine said. "But not forever, I bet. You be careful." She looked earnestly up at him. "Is he really OK?"

"When I left last night, he was sleeping like a baby," Ray said. He smiled. "He'll be fine, Elaine."

She nodded. As he walked past her, she patted him on the back and whispered, "You done good, Ray."

Ray beamed. As he made his way to the Lieutenant's office, he received a few more pats on the back, some thumbs up and a couple of "way to go, Vecchio's" Someone had tacked the front page to the big bulletin board on the back wall. Ray gave it till tomorrow before his photo was sporting a Groucho mustache and glasses. But today ... today was a good day.

The door to the Lieu's office was closed and the blinds were down. Ray knocked and was told to enter.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" He came to a standstill when he saw Inspector Thatcher sitting in the chair in front of Welsh's desk.

"Sit down, Detective," Welsh said.

He sat in the remaining chair. Ray swallowed, wondering what he had done wrong now. Damn, this had been a good day.

Welsh spoke first. "How is the Big Red One?"

"Fine, sir," he said hoarsely, then cleared his dry throat.

Welsh stroked his chin. "Inspector Thatcher and I have revisited our conversation of yesterday. About the continuation of your ... uh ... relationship ... with Constable Fraser."

"We're just friends, sir," Ray said, hastily.

"Your working relationship, Detective," Welsh said, drily.

"Ah," Ray said.

"The Mayor expressed an interest in the two of you, yesterday. He wanted to know how it came to pass that a Chicago police detective and a Canadian Mountie were investigating and apprehending a criminal together. I tried to explain, but found myself somewhat at a loss."

"I can see why it would be difficult, sir."

"There are ... concerns," Thatcher interjected. "Concerns that involve international law, inter-agency cooperation, workplace injury, to name just a few."

Ray's heart sank. This was it. The end. Fraser was the best partner he had ever had. They had made a great team, complementing each other's strengths, buffering each other's weaknesses. Now, the red tape was reaching out to strangle them. Granted, Ray's job would go on. But, Fraser ... he'd be stuck with lost passports, tourist visas, and sentry duty, day in and day out. It would drive him crazy. Or back to Canada.

Ray spoke directly to Thatcher. His tone was calm, resigned. "Let me be the one to break the news to him."

"But you don't even – " she protested.

"What? Rank him? I'm a friend. It would be better coming from me." He got to his feet.

"Wait a minute, Detective," Welsh said.

"I just want to get this over with, sir," Ray said, heading for the door.

"Vecchio!" Welsh's tone was sharp and stopped him in his tracks. His tone softened. "You're making assumptions. And you know what happens when you assume."

"Sit down, Detective," Thatcher said.

Ray stayed where he was.

"Sit down," Welsh commanded.

He sat abruptly.

Welsh gestured to Thatcher. "Do you want to do the honors, Inspector? After all, it was your idea."

Thatcher straightened in her chair. "Yes. Right. Well." She cleared her throat. "It's no secret that I did not initially approve of Constable Fraser's extracurricular activities at this precinct. But, as you pointed out, Lieutenant, what a person does on his or her own time should be up to that person. That is, so long as it does not conflict with the duties and requirements of their official position." She looked at Ray, expectantly.

He nodded, reluctantly, not sure where she was going.

She took a breath. "There is a special relationship between our two countries, Detective. A relationship which has endured and evolved over nearly two hundred years. A relationship grounded in mutual respect which recognizes our individual differences but also acknowledges our common interests. The recent NAFTA accords are an illustration of that."

Ray fidgeted in his chair. What was it in the Canadian DNA that required a minimum of 100 words where ten would suffice? At a warning glance from Welsh, he stilled and tried to look interested in the history lesson.

She continued. "As it was pointed out to me by His Honor last night, that special relationship between our two nations is reflected in the informal partnership you share with Constable Fraser." She looked expectantly at him. "Made manifest, so to speak."

Ray felt a flicker of hope. He tried to parse out what she had said. "You mean ... we're ... like a mini-UN?"

"Exactly," she said, pleased. "But even though this partnership is a public relations triumph, there are ... nonetheless ... practicalities."

"Practicalities?" Ray repeated.

"Yes. Practicalities," she agreed, as if that explained it all.

Ray looked at Welsh for a clue.

Welsh steepled his fingers before speaking. "It means that this informal partnership requires some sort of formality, Detective."

Ray groaned. He had been right all along. The red tape was rearing its ugly head.

Welsh picked up a piece of paper from his desk. "Welcome to the first International Joint Task Force of the Canadian Consulate and the Chicago Police Department." He handed the paper to Ray. "And, I might add, the only International Joint Task Force of the Canadian Consulate and the Chicago Police Department."

Ray looked at the paper, which was signed by both Welsh and Thatcher. It was on Chicago P.D. letterhead, but impressed with the Canadian seal. It looked very official.

"Who's on this task force?"

"You and Constable Fraser," Welsh said.

"Do I get diplomatic immunity?"

"No," Thatcher said.

"Does it involve a raise?"

"No," Welsh and Thatcher said, in unison.

Ray scratched his head. "So, what's different?"

Welsh sighed and rolled his eyes. "Don't be obtuse, Vecchio." He grimaced. "Nothing is different. Except, you now hold a piece of paper that authorizes you and Fraser to do what you two have been doing already."

"I think the American slang is 'legalese,'" she added, helpfully.

"But you can't tell anyone about it," Welsh added. At Ray's questioning look, he cleared his throat. "Let's just call this an 'informal formality,' shall we? A copy of this will be in your file."

"And in Constable Fraser's," Thatcher said.

Ray grinned, knowingly. "You call it 'legalese'. I'll call it C.Y.A." At Thatcher's questioning look, he explained. "Cover Your –"

Welsh ahem-ed loudly.

"–Assets," he finished.