COTW:2
(or: There's Nothing For Nobody and Everyone Wants to Be Someone)
Author's Notes: since everyone agrees that whilst the first part of COTW was a great piece of television, but the second half was pants, I thought someone needed to a rewrite. So here it is. If you don't like my ending then oh well.
Kowalski was not having a good week.
Not only had the arrival of Vecchio signalled the loss of his job, his partner, his home and his whole identity, but now he was about to lose his life completely hanging on to an airplane wing with his fingernails.
Now look what another fine mess you've got me into.
He glanced at his companion, the Mountie, apparently unruffled by their current situation. "So what now?" he yelled, raising his voice above the noise of the engines.
"Now we climb onboard."
"Great idea Fraser," he muttered. "Climb on board a plane full of murderers." Although anything, he reflected, was better than dangling several thousand feet over land. At least getting shot didn't require a long drop first.
*
"Raymond Vecchio, where the hell do you think you're going?"
She should have knocked, she supposed, but it wasn't like this was his room at home, it was a hospital room, and so certain rules of privacy were no longer applicable. And he was her brother. Besides, the last thing she expected to find was her brother out of bed, semi-dressed in only pants, dropping his shirt to the floor guiltily when he jumped upon her entrance.
"Franny, you ought to warn a guy before coming in here . . ." he trailed off lamely, face paling.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Francesca grabbed her brother's arm before he lost his grip on the wall and fell over. He gave her a determined, pale faced look.
"I'm going to help Fraser."
"Ray, that has to be the dumbest idea . . ."
"I have to." He tried bending down to pick up the shirt then stopped, winced, one hand clamping around the bandages on his chest.
She grabbed him again, before he toppled over. "Oh, yeah, bright idea. You wanna get yourself killed again?"
"Look," he muttered, clinging onto her arm grimly, "I can do this two ways. One of them involves you helping me; the other probably involves me having to drag myself down this corridor on my knees. Either way I'm leaving. Now are you gonna just stand there or are you gonna pick up my shirt and help me get dressed?"
"Fine." She gave a deep scowl but wrapped an arm around his waist supportively. "Ma's going to kill me."
*
Kowalski was never exactly sure how he managed to unwrap his frozen fingers to pull himself around the edge of the plane, up onto the wing, then across to the cargo hatch Fraser had already opened. He remembered very little, except hitting the metal deck of the hold with his knees and gasping for air.
"Don't ever, ever, make me do that again."
Fraser reached down and helped him to his feet. "Well, I would like to promise, but I'm afraid I can't say whether this same set of circumstances . . ."
"Just next time you want to climb on board a plane mid-flight, don't take me. Okay?"
"I'm afraid, gentlemen, that there won't be a next time."
Muldoon. The two men turned too late, and were suddenly surrounded on both sides by Muldoon's men, brandishing guns.
"I have always wanted to say that," Muldoon confessed, before raising his gun and pointing it straight at Fraser. "Now climbing on board here was a very stupid thing to do, Mountie. I don't think even your father would have been that stupid."
"You're not going to shoot me," Fraser said levelly.
"Why not? You don't think I could?"
"Oh no, you're perfectly capable of shooting me. But if you try, you're likely to shoot a hole in this aircraft and kill all on board, including yourself."
"True," Muldoon agreed, then turned to his cohorts. "Tie them up."
Roughly someone grabbed Kowalski's arms, pulling them behind his back with a sharp wrench. He yelped but was ignored, his wrists bound securely with tight cord, and then shoved downwards onto the floor. Fraser followed a moment later, but did not try and struggle.
Shuffling on his butt to move closer to the Mountie, Kowalski leaned over and whispered: "This was your great plan?"
"Well, no. I was hoping that wind speed and friction noise would be on our side and we could surprise them, but as it is . . ."
"Great," he muttered softly. "Just great."
Muldoon stood over them, eyes scornful. "I never thought it would be this easy to kill the son of Bob Fraser. Looks like I get his whole family though, huh."
Kowalski shot Fraser a warning look, but his friend was staying quiet. He wasn't sure whether he could be so restrained. Muldoon, however, disappointed in the lack of reparte, turned to the two men beside him.
"Throw them out when we're over the ice fields. They'll be lost forever." Then he gave them both a scornful look, and disappeared into the cockpit.
Kowalski's eyes widened, burst out: "Ice field? What the hell's an ice field?"
At times, Fraser considered, his partner could be extremely naive, but perhaps his hysteria was understandable in the circumstances. "A field of ice."
Leaning against a packing crate, Fraser Snr. frowned, folding his arms. "The Yank tends to miss the obvious, doesn't he."
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes?" Kowalski's panicked look only increased. "What is it the rest of the time?"
"Well . . ." Fraser considered. "It will still be a field of ice."
One of the two men stepped forward, a large figure in a tight black shirt, hair cropped close to his head. "Both of you just shut up!"
And then there was darkness.
"Brute!" Fraser Snr. exclaimed, watching his son and his partner slump to the floor. As the bulkier man bent over them, the ghost swung at him, attempting to knock him unconscious. Unsurprisingly his attempt failed, the back of one metaphysical hand passing cleanly through the other man's head.
A scowl. "You villains have such hard heads."
He disappeared too soon to see the bulky man frown, scratch the back of his head bemusedly.
*
The station house. A sea of blue and black uniform, sombre faces and hard eyes, stood to informal attention. Welsh paced up and down the line of officers, one hand behind his back, the other gesturing vaguely as he spoke.
"Alright. We've got a major smuggler who deals in dangerous weapons. We have an unknown buyer, and an unknown objective. Okay, keep your ears to the ground and work on your snitches. Let's remember, we've got two missing officers out there, plus a guy down. There'll be no vacations, no leave, and no sleep for anybody."
There were no dissenting voices. Even after two years most of the officers present were at least vague friends or colleagues of Vecchio and Kowalski's, and even the rookies knew Fraser. But then, everybody knew Fraser.
"Alright, let's get to work." The sea began to part, officers returning to their duties. Welsh turned. "Huey, Dewey, you talk to the guy we picked up at the trucking company."
"Mind if we sit in?"
The three men turned, Welsh's face turning into a wide, if slightly concerned, grin. "I thought you were recovering in hospital, Detective."
Vecchio leaned against the bullpen door, face pale, Francesca hovering behind him.
"You think I haven't told him?" she said, giving him a pointed glare. "But will he listen?"
"Franny," Ray interrupted, "Shut up." He straightened with a little difficulty, looked at Welsh sheepishly.
"It's okay, isn't it?"
A small pause, and then Welsh stepped forward, shook his officer's hand. "It's good to have you back, Detective."
"It's good to be back, sir." Hesitated. "Where's Fraser?"
Huey exchanged a worried look with Welsh. "Yeah, Ray, about that . . ."
"We believe Constable Fraser and Detective Kowalski are on board a plane, last seen captained by Muldoon."
"Oh God." Ray closed his eyes, picturing something unknown. *Body bags on tarmac.* "I bet this was Kowalski's idea, wasn't it? I told Fraser to go after Muldoon, but . . ."
"You don't know it was Ray," Franny interrupted, cutting him short. "Fraser's dragged you off to so many places I've lost count, and you whined but you still went with him. If you knew Ray - Kowalski - you'd be glad the two of them were together."
Ray paused, caught by his sister's angry look, but after a moment he chose to ignore her, turn away like nothing had happened.
"How do you know?"
"We got a call from one of the guys out manning the airfield. Reported two men, fitting Fraser and Kowalski's descriptions, hanging on to the wing of a plane. He thought they were madmen, criminals, and with good reason." Welsh folded his arms. "We've looked up the paperwork but there's no indication of where they're headed, and the plane is flying beneath radar."
"So what have you got?"
Another exchange of looks, this time between all three officers. "We've got one of Muldoon's guys," Dewey offered, still obviously uncomfortable with the familiarity between his partner and the resurrected Vecchio. "But he's refusing to talk until he's lawyered up - and we know we won't get anything from him then."
"Let me speak to him."
Welsh raised an eyebrow. "Detective?"
"Look, if this guy's in custody he won't have heard about me, or Armando Langoustini's little secret. Maybe I can use that as leverage."
There was a small pause, which Huey broke by stepping forward and shaking the Italian's hand. "Good to have you back, Vecchio."
He smiled, the first genuine smile since seeing Fraser in that hotel room. "It's good to be back."
*
Kowalski blinked. Hard. The room was spinning gently, and he wasn't sure whether this was because of the blow from before, or the queasy feeling in his stomach. On reflection, he decided it was probably both. Someone had tied his wrists and ankles together, tightly, but no amount of wriggling could break them and in the end he gave up, half-rolling towards Fraser.
"We're in trouble, aren't we Fraser?"
The Mountie leaned against the wall, head against the insulating casing of electrics, eyes half-closed in concentration. "Well . . ."
Stood above him, Fraser Snr. folded his arms. "Throw him a bone son, you should be encouraging."
Fraser opened his eyes and considered. "Well, yes, we're in very big trouble."
"That's encouragement?"
Ignoring his father, Fraser settled back against the wall again. Kowalski frowned at him, trying to decide if things looked better when they were hanging from the plane's wing.
"What are you doing?"
Without opening his eyes: "Listening."
Kowalski lowered his voice to a similar whisper. "Listening to what?"
"Instructions between the pilot and Muldoon."
"You can hear them? I only hear engine noise." Joked: "I'd have thought you'd need some dumbass crafty thing made out of chewing gum for that."
"Ray, don't be silly. This plane is simple metal. Sound travels very well in a hollow tube. All it takes is a little concentration, blocking out all other distractions . . ."
"Is this some Inuit trick?"
"Ray . . ."
"Oh." He caught the hint. "Sorry." Lapsing back into silence, he started to watch the two goons who were acting as their guards. The first, Kowalski figured, was the guy who had told them to shut up before. An average guy, probably an ex-bouncer, he figured, with those thickset shoulders. A gun hung from his belt, and its partner shifted restlessly between the hands of the second con. He sat on a crate, playing with his weapon, and kept throwing glances at his prisoners. Kowalski returned his gaze for a moment, then gave up, waiting for the other guy to turn back to his friend before he returned to Fraser.
"Heard anything interesting?"
Fraser blinked. "Seventy degrees north by one hundred and twenty five degrees west."
"What the hell is that? Some kind of code?"
"Co-ordinates for Muldoon's meeting with his buyer."
"Great. So if you've got your long distance mobile phone that will work thirty thousand feet up in the air, we can phone the precinct and have dogsleds on the way. Maybe Vecchio will be leading them." He didn't mean to sound so bitter, and regretted the comment as soon as he saw Fraser's face fall, even for a moment.
He recovered quickly. "I was suggesting escaping from this plane and communicating with someone on the ground, Ray." If it wasn't for the look in his eyes Kowalski would have sworn Fraser hadn't heard the comment.
"Okay." He tried to sound calmer, though it was difficult through the pounding in his ears. "So how do we do that without getting smushed by Muldoon's guys? Where are the parachutes?"
"Ah."
"Ah? Fraser, you don't go and get tied up by some gun-toting goons and when I ask how we're gonna get out of a plane fifty thousand feet up just go 'ah'. It kinda unnerves a guy."
"Well Ray, whilst I do believe that it is possible we subdue our guards, and use their weapons to escape our bonds, I don't believe we could do so without raising the alarm in the cabin. There are at least six men on this plane and with the element of surprise it is possible we could overpower them, and after my last plane crash I did spend some time studying the aircraft handler's handbook, but . . ."
"Spit it out," Kowalski snapped, a little impatiently.
"Well Ray, I don't believe that we could successfully incapacitate our two guards, escape our bonds, defeat Muldoon and his cohorts, and fly this plane to safety. In fact, I don't believe Muldoon has even packed more than one parachute, and that will no doubt be located in the cabin."
Kowalski rolled his eyes. "So? What do we do?"
"We jump."
"Jump? Tell me you're not serious."
"Ray, I'm not going to joke about this situation." He saw one of the guards turn, give him a suspicious look, and he quickly lowered his voice. "You shouldn't panic. It's really -"
"What? Not that far?" He shook his head violently. "No way, Fraser. For once, we're gonna do things my way."
Fraser, if he could have, had a strong urge to fold his arms. There were times that Kowalski's impulsiveness could really be quite irritating. "Oh really. And just what brilliant plan would this be?"
Kowalski completely ignored his friend's sarcasm. "We do the dolphin thing."
He received a sceptical look. "The dolphin thing?"
"Yeah. Dolphin boy." Wriggling forward on his butt, Kowalski made several sudden, and violent head jerks, making the deck plates rattle. "See?"
"And you really think that will work against at least two heavily armed criminals when we -"
"Look, Frase, the only way I am jumping out of this plane is if I have a parachute on my back, and seeing as there aren't any we need a different plan."
"Fine," his friend snapped back, suddenly tired and irritable. "If you think this is such a brilliant idea then alright, we'll do things your way." He didn't mean to sound quite so hostile, but after the return of his best friend, Muldoon's confession, and then the near death of his best friend, he couldn't help feeling overly emotional. Kowalski just seemed to be making it worse. Using the wall as leverage, Fraser struggled to his feet, pushing his back against the wall to keep himself balanced. Kowalski did the same, hopping about like a deranged kangaroo as he tried to reach the cockpit door.
"Ray . . ."
The blonde ignored him, making as much noise as Fraser would have though possible enroute to his hiding hole.
"Ray, it might be better . . ."
He was obviously being ignored, so Fraser gave up, started rubbing the bonds around his wrists against a sharp metal strut of the plane. If he could just get his hands free before the guards awoke to Kowalski's attempts at escape . . .
Too late.
"Hey -"
Kowalski lunged at the first goon, taking the larger man by surprise. Kicking back with his feet, the blonde made a wriggling motion and successfully head butted the man squarely in the jaw. The goon cursed, stumbled backwards, but before Kowalski had another chance a fist swung in his direction, collided with his cheek. He fell backwards into a stack of packing crates, a tangle of bruised limbs and an aching face. Fraser, managing to snap the ropes around his wrists, swung at the other guy, knocked him backwards and used the momentary lull to haul Kowalski to his feet.
"Ray -"
The two partners exchanged looks, and then, as the two goons rose to their feet, lunged. Two identical head butts later, and both guards were lying in a crumpled heap on the floor of the plane.
"Come on, come on," Kowalski urged, as the ropes around his wrists came loose. "Told you it would work."
Fraser gave a sigh, stepping over the goons to reach an empty packing crate. "Ray, please, we only have a short time before the absence of these two men is noticed -"
"Yeah, but admit it!"
He kept stubbornly silent, hurriedly shoving several blankets into the crate. "Ray, the door."
"What?"
"The door to the plane. Open it."
"*What*?"
With a long-suffering sigh, Fraser took hold of the emergency catch and pulled, opening the inner chamber of the plane to rushing winds and the sound of snow below. Turning, he grabbed the crate, pushed it towards the edge. A pale hand suddenly grabbed him, fingers tight.
"We said we were going to take the cockpit, right?"
"Ray, please. If we are dropped out over the ice fields then we have a very small chance of survival, but those odds will increase if we -"
"I told you, I'm not jumping!"
"Ray -"
He never got a chance to say anything more. The door to the cockpit opened for a second time, and two other men stepped out, Muldoon leading them. With one quick glance at their unconscious coworkers, both drew their guns, the barrels pointed directly at Fraser and Kowalski.
"Oh dear." Fraser shoved the crate over the edge of the plane, but didn't wait to watch it plummet. He glanced at Kowalski, grabbed his arm. Pointed.
"Look Ray, turtles!"
Kowalski followed his finger, blinked, mouth opened to protest, and then felt a sharp shove in the small of his back. Stumbling, he toppled over the edge of the plane, the sound of his frightened yelp lost in engine noise. After giving a nod to the two surprised guards, Fraser took a flying leap after him, both men falling to a certain, snowy death . . .
*
An interview room.
Vecchio couldn't help but be surprised at how familiar this all seemed; the walls painted that ugly shade of grey, the table scratched by a hundred different suspects, that hole in the wall . . . okay, so the hole in the wall was new. Huey and Dewey kept behind him, Huey straddling a chair, the new guy leaning nonchalantly against the door. Ray had only met the guy for a few minutes, but he already found him irritating.
"So how are we going to do this?" Welsh had asked, moments before stepping inside.
"Let me deal with him." Ray stood over the current suspect, a shifty looking man with bad hair who was taking an intense interest in his fingers.
"You ready to talk?" Dewey asked.
"I told you already. I'm not saying anything til my lawyer gets here."
Ray gave a soft, but threatening sigh. The whole situation, bad cop versus, well, bad cop, felt so comfortable it was almost frightening. With an inwardly deep breath, he began: "Hey Jim? You ever hear of the Iguana family?"
The man looked up for the first time, suspicious. "Yeah."
"How about a guy by the name of Armando Langoustini?"
A snort of laughter. "The Bookman? Of course - in my line of work, that's the kinda guy you look up to. I mean, he'd kill you for a parking spot."
Ray gave what wasn't quite an entirely genuine smile. "And what would you think about a guy who got on the wrong side of Armando Langoustini?"
Another unpleasant snort. "I'd say the guy was pretty stupid."
With another slow smile, Ray slapped a small, open wallet in front of the suspect, the same ID the Feds gave him upon his arrival in Vegas. 'Jim' stared at it for one long moment, mental processes taking a long time to click.
Eventually, looking up: "You're the Bookman?"
Huey nodded, pushing himself off the chair. "Yep."
The suspect looked quickly from Ray, to Huey, and back again. Seemed to be considering things seriously. "What do I get if I spill?" he asked, cautiously.
"I don't know. We might take it into account, given your previous . . ."
"Activities," Dewey supplied.
Another pause. Reluctantly: "Muldoon met this guy a couple of times, the buyer. I'm bad with names . . . tall guy, Russian, I dunno . . ."
Ray gave a small, pointed sigh, his hand just resting on the ID still sitting on the table.
"Oh, wait! The group he worked for, I don't know what they were called, but the guys working for him, some of them wore this weird armband, you know, like Gay Pride or something. Red, with this little symbol on it, couldn't see it properly. I figured it was gangs, didn't like to ask." He looked up hopefully. "Do I get to see my lawyer now?"
*
"Um, Fraser?"
"Ray! Are you alright?"
"I'm stuck in a thirty foot snowdrift, Fraser, of course I'm not alright."
"Oh." There was a small pause. "Just dig your way to the surface."
"Great." A soft mutter. "Just dig your way to the surface, he says. You know, this is what I was talking about before. Drawbacks."
*
These characters are not mine, I only borrowed them and promise to put them back when I'm done! Comments appreciated.