CHAPTER 6.

"Here." Fraser handed Ray a neatly folded, navy blue t-shirt with the RCMP logo emblazoned across the chest.

"Thanks," replied Ray quietly. He took the t-shirt, but before he could put it on Inspector Thatcher walked in.

"Constable Fraser, I need you to…" she stopped short when she saw the topless detective. "For crying out loud! This is a consulate, not a locker room, Detective!"

"Sorry," mumbled Ray, carefully easing the shirt over his head.

"Er, Ray was injured earlier," Fraser explained.

"Oh, well I'm sorry to hear that," said Thatcher, trying her best to sound sincere, "but I would appreciate it if you remained fully dressed while the Consulate is open to the public. Fraser here seems to think that it's acceptable to walk around in his underwear in my presence, but…" she stopped herself as she realised what she'd just said. She glanced at Fraser who deliberately did not meet her gaze.

"What I mean is," continued the Inspector. "I have on occasion walked in on Constable Fraser in a state of undress…him, not me that is…I wasn't wearing my underwear...er, well I was of course, but underneath my clothing…um, er…" The Inspector realised she was just digging herself in deeper. She turned and left the room without saying another word.

Ray smirked at his buddy whose face had gone a noticeable shade of red. "So you and the Ice Queen hang out in your underwear when the Consulate is closed, do ya?"

"Ray!" exclaimed Fraser with a frown. "It would be most inappropriate for me to respond."

"That wasn't a 'no', buddy," winked Ray.

Fraser cleared his throat and hooked his index finger into the stiff collar of his tunic.

Ray grinned. Embarrassing Fraser was so easy. One day he would get to the bottom of whatever was going on between his buddy and the Inspector, he was too good a detective to allow them to keep him in the dark forever. They weren't having a relationship, Ray knew that for certain, but he was convinced there was something…odd looks here and there, the occasional hint of a smile…and yet she treated him like dirt, it didn't make sense.

Unless he likes it? Oh my god…maybe Fraser is into all that sado macho…er, whatever that's called…

For a moment Ray was half convinced he had an answer, but he soon came to his senses and dismissed it from his mind.

"How are you feeling now?" Fraser's voice brought Ray back to reality.

"Me? Oh…um, OK," Ray replied. For a moment he'd forgotten all about the breakdown he'd just had. Thank god the Ice Queen didn't walk in ten minutes ago when I was bawling and snivelling.

"Would you like tea?" asked Fraser. He was still concerned about Ray's state of mind.

Ray shook his head. The glass of water Fraser had already got him had been enough to quench his thirst and ease his dry mouth back to some semblance of normality. "I'm, er, I'm sorry about all that," he said, hanging his head.

"Ray, it's alright. You don't need to keep apologising," Fraser assured him.

"OK," smiled Ray. "Y'know, I actually feel better for it," he added.

"Sometimes an emotional release is called for," noted Fraser.

"Yeah," agreed Ray. "I just need to stop freaking out over Stella. She, er, she wants to be friends and I actually never thought she'd say that. So, um, I guess it's all good."

Fraser nodded. "If you can successfully maintain a friendship with your ex-wife then that's quite an achievement," he said. "I don't believe many people are that lucky."

Ray nodded. "I guess you're right," he said. "The last couple of days have been, er, um…"

"Confusing?" offered Fraser.

"Yeah," agreed Ray. "So goddam confusing. Old feelings, see? Can't seem to shake 'em…but I have to. I have to change. I can't be that guy anymore."

Fraser nodded.

"I think I have to do something big," continued Ray.

"Like a parachute jump?" suggested Fraser

Ray's mouth fell open in disbelief. "No, Fraser," he replied. "Not like a parachute jump. I mean like dying my hair, or finding a new apartment…I'm not sure yet."

"Ah."

"OK, so enough crying over Stella," said Ray with a sudden newfound amount of determination. "What are we gonna do about Molton?"

"We are going to stay here until he is recaptured," replied Fraser, flatly.

"Really?" Ray answered incredulously.

"No, of course not," replied Fraser, getting to his feet and picking up his hat. He placed it squarely on his head and ran his thumb and forefinger around the rim. "There's an escaped criminal at large."

Ray grinned a huge grin and picked up his gun and badge from the table. For a while there he'd been worried that he was going to spend the next few days watching curling with Turnbull. "Pitter patter, let's get at 'er."

xXxXx

"You're disobeying a direct order from a senior officer." The ghost of Bob Fraser leaned forward and poked his head between the two front seats of the GTO.

His son glared at him.

"I know he's not your senior officer," continued Bob, "but even so, the Lieutenant placed you in sole charge of the safety of the Yank."

"I know," replied Fraser as quietly as he could.

"You know what?" asked Ray, taking his eyes off the road for a second to glance at his buddy.

"I know…where Conrad Bennett's office is," Fraser replied.

Ray sneered at him. "So do I, Fraser," he said. "That's where we're going."

"Indeed it is," nodded Fraser.

Ray shrugged. Sometimes Mounties were just downright odd, he conceded.

"What if he gets himself killed?" continued Bob.

Fraser shook his head.

"You think he won't? You think you can protect him out here?" asked Bob.

Fraser nodded. "We can't stay at the Consulate all day; we're more useful out here looking for Molton."

"I know that," said Ray, screwing up his face in puzzlement.

"Oh, this is because of your partnership thing, isn't it," sighed Bob. "He trusts that you have his back and you trust that he's not going to do anything stupid."

Fraser shrugged.

"Are you OK, buddy?" Ray glanced across to the passenger seat again.

"Ah, yes, I'm fine. I have a slight muscle strain, that's all," replied Fraser. He rubbed the back of his neck dramatically. "Thank you kindly for your concern."

"Now you're lying to him." Bob slid back into the backseat of the car. "It's a slippery slope, son. Buck Frobisher almost got us both killed once because of a lie. We'd chased two men through Miles Canyon, all the way to Whitehorse. It's an easy run – well you know that – but the weather was against us and the Altman brothers were determined. Buck tripped over a rock and twisted his ankle, but he got straight back up again. I knew he was in pain, but he insisted we carry on. When we finally caught up with the Altmans I assumed Buck could take Jono so I went for Artie, but the next thing I knew Buck was unconscious and I had a knife to my throat. To cut a long story short it was very fortunate that polar bear was passing by. Turns out he'd broken his ankle in two places. Buck, not the polar bear. The doctors said he was lucky he didn't lose his foot."

"Is there a point to all this?" sighed Fraser.

"Er, we're gonna see if anyone at Bennett's office knows anything about Molton," said Ray. "Are you sure you're OK, Fraser?"

"Oh, of course," nodded Fraser, turning round and glaring at his dad again. "I know what I'm doing."

"Good," replied Bob and Ray in unison.

xXxXx

"You call her." Ray handed Fraser his phone. "I, er, I can't speak to Stella right now. I just can't."

"Understood," replied Fraser and selected her number from the speed dial.

The morning's investigations had so far proved fruitless. Bennett's employees either weren't saying anything, or they genuinely didn't know anything. Fraser guessed that Bennett had run a legitimate legal business, but kept most of his staff in the dark about some of his more dubious clients. The less people who knew the less risk there was that someone would talk to the wrong people.

"I hope we don't wake Carmen," said Ray, anxiously. He wanted to make sure Stella was OK before they started visiting some of Molton's known associates. He remembered she'd said something about taking Carmen to visit Silvina this afternoon so he wanted to catch her before they left.

Fraser let the phone ring a few times before disconnecting the call with a shake of his head. "No reply," he announced. "I'll try her cellular telephone."

The cell phone was Stella's work phone so she may have it switched off, thought Ray. It was worth a try, but as the call went straight to answerphone his hopes were dashed. Ray had so much to say to her…so why did I make Fraser call her? Ray turned away as Fraser left a message, but he couldn't help laughing as he listened to his buddy.

"Ah, er, um, good morning Stella," Fraser began, uncomfortably. "This is Constable Fraser, um…Fraser, er, Benton speaking. If you could please call back on Ray's cellular telephone when you get this message, Ray and I would just like to check up on you, er, I mean to check whether you are in need of assistance today." Fraser garbled. "Thank you kindly," he added.

"I hate talking to those dumb machines too," grinned Ray as a flustered Fraser handed him back his phone.

Fraser cricked his neck to the right and looked at Ray with the calmest face he could muster. "I have no idea what you mean," he lied.

Ray's grin grew wider. "C'mon," he said, gingerly stretching his sore back. "Let's go check out Puccini's Bar. That other guy said Bennett liked to meet clients there sometimes, so, er, someone might give us a lead on Molton."

"Right you are," nodded Fraser and strode purposefully towards the GTO, wondering why he found talking in public so easy, but talking to an answerphone so difficult. It's worse than talking to an attractive woman.

They drove the short distance to the bar and got out of the car. A tall skinny man was outside opening up for the lunchtime trade. He switched on the bright neon sign and hooked the main door against the wall. Ray walked over to him.

"Chicago PD," he announced, flashing his badge.

"Not more of you!" exclaimed the man. "My customers are gonna take their custom elsewhere if this place is crawling with cops."

Fraser and Ray looked at each other and frowned, but then Huey and Dewey walked out of the bar.

"Vecchio? What are you doing here?" asked Jack Huey.

"Yeah, Welsh told you to lay low," added Dewey. "There's a guy out there wants a piece of you, remember?"

"Thanks for your concern," replied Ray, sarcastically. "Don't worry about me; we're keepin' our heads down."

"Have you obtained any pertinent information at this establishment?" asked Fraser, as Diefenbaker circled the detectives impatiently.

"Maybe," replied Jack, pulling his leather bound notebook from his jacket pocket. "Molton has a storage locker over on Queens and we've got the names of two more possible associates."

"We'll take the lock-up. You go put the squeeze on his buddies," said Ray.

"And since when did we take orders from you?" asked Dewey indignantly.

"Since I'm working under the radar," replied Ray. "So I should probably, er, not go introduce myself to Molton's goons."

"He has a point," noted Jack.

"Alright, alright," agreed Dewey reluctantly. "Call if you find anything."

"Likewise," nodded Fraser. Jack tore the page he'd scribbled the address on from his notebook and handed it to the Mountie.

As they drove across town, Fraser rested his elbow on the door of Ray's car and tapped his lips with his fingers.

"What are ya thinking about?" asked Ray when they were stopped at traffic lights.

"Nothing," replied Fraser. "Well, obviously not nothing," he added.

Ray shrugged. If Fraser didn't want to share his thoughts that was perfectly OK. Ray was finding driving really uncomfortable as the cuts and grazes on his back began to heal. He fidgeted in the seat trying to find a position that didn't put pressure in the worst areas, but it was impossible.

Fraser was actually thinking about Ray and Stella, but of course he didn't want Ray to know that. Ray had bounced back to his usual self after his breakdown earlier, but Fraser knew the matter was by no means dealt with. Ray would have to talk to Stella about the concept of being friends. Stella needed to understand how he felt and she also needed to make Ray aware of her expectations or it would never work. Fraser had already realised that one of the biggest problems for Ray was that Stella – much like Fraser himself – did not feel at all comfortable talking about her feelings. Fraser wondered if the breakdown of their marriage would have been quite so destructive and painful for both of them if she'd been able to overcome her difficulties with communication. Perhaps the marriage may not have broken down at all?

Fraser glanced across at his partner who was still squirming. "Your back?" he offered.

"Yeah," nodded Ray. "It feels like I wanna scratch it all over."

"I would not advise that at this stage of the healing process," noted Fraser and Ray nodded in agreement. "If you get the opportunity to soak in the bathtub later, I can assemble a blend of roots and leaves to add to the water which should help with the discomfort."

"Thanks," replied Ray with a half-smile. Adding roots and leaves to his bathwater sounded pretty gross, but he was willing to try anything. "It's driving me crazy. Is this the place?"

Fraser checked the address and nodded. "Unit twelve twenty three," he said.

Ray pulled his phone from his pocket as they walked in, just to make sure he hadn't missed a call from Stella, but there were no messages. "She's probably taken Carmen to the hospital like you said," Ray mumbled.

"Are you concerned?" asked Fraser, picking up on the tone of Ray's voice.

Ray shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe. No," he said.

Fraser frowned and tugged at his left earlobe. "That's not a very clear answer, Ray," he said.

"I'm sure she's fine," said Ray, this time speaking more positively. "She's not as incontinent with babies as she thinks."

"You mean incompetent, Ray," noted Fraser.

"That's what I said," replied Ray. "Here it is. Twelve twenty three."

Dief barked loudly at the door of the storage unit.

"Of course we don't have a…" began Fraser, but before he could finish his sentence, Ray had fired two shots at the lock and kicked the door down. "Warrant," added Fraser, unnecessarily.

"It's OK, I'm not officially working this case," grinned Ray.

"I'm not sure that makes any difference from a legal perspective," frowned Fraser as they stepped inside.

The storage unit was neatly packed with sealed cardboard boxes. Fraser took out his penknife and began slicing open the packaging. "Hmm," he said as his opened the first box. "Hmmm," he added as he opened another.

Ray had been distracted by a locked suitcase, but his curiosity was piqued by Fraser's hmmm-ing. "What've ya got?" he asked, walking over to join his buddy.

"Alcoholic beverages," replied Fraser as Ray peered into the boxes. "My guess is these are all illegally imported from Europe." Fraser pulled out a bottle of vodka and read the label which backed up his theory. "What's in the suitcase?" he asked, glancing across the small room.

"Can't get it open," replied Ray, looking around for something he could use to force the lock. A bullet from his gun would cause too much damage to the contents to be useful. He spotted an old metal chair and pulled off one of the legs.

Fraser held the suitcase as firmly as possible while Ray smashed the lock. The lid of the suitcase flew open and to their surprise crisp, clean, US dollar bills floated up into the air. Most of the notes were bundled together with elastic bands, but one had split open.

"Woah," said Ray. "I did not expect all this."

"It's counterfeit," announced Fraser, placing one of the green bills under his nose and inhaling deeply.

Ray decided it best not to ask what counterfeit money smelt like. "So, Molton has his dirty little fingers in a lot of pies," noted Ray. "Scumbag."

"Indeed," agreed Fraser. "You should contact the station and arrange for a team to collate this evidence. Although the question of our presence here and the means of our entry into this unit is likely to give the defence team cause to claim these items are inadmissible as evidence."

"We had reason to believe there was, er, a life in danger," replied Ray with a shrug.

Dief barked in agreement.

"We did?" queried Fraser.

"Yeah, course we did. Mine," grinned Ray. "Quit worrying buddy, we'll nail this creep," he continued, reassuringly. "Pity we didn't have time to, um, to track all this down before Molton escaped, or we wouldn't have had to go through all that crap with Conrad Bennett in the first place," he added.

Fraser nodded. He was a little concerned about Ray's penchant for bending the truth, but if the outcome was that a murderer went to jail then Fraser conceded it was acceptable. He'd done similar things himself, not that he'd admit to Ray of course.

Ray started dialling the number for the Twenty Seventh Precinct. He deliberately avoided speaking directly to Lieutenant Welsh; he wanted to put off that particular conversation – the one about disobeying orders – for as long as possible. After explaining the situation to Francesca, Ray was about to call Dewey as he'd promised, but his phone rang before he had chance.

"Vecchio," he snapped. "Hey, Dewey, are you, er, psychic or something? What's up?"

"You're not gonna like it," replied Dewey's voice. "We've got two possible locations that Molton could be hitting on today. One is a house in Edgewater and the other is an apartment block over on Beverly."

Ray's blood ran cold as Dewey read out the addresses. He clicked off his phone and turned to Fraser.

"What is it, Ray?" asked Fraser with concern.

"It's got personal," Ray replied and he ran out of the door. "The bastard is going after Welsh's wife…and Stella."