The Day A Mountie Died
Author's Notes:
Here is another humble offering. I guess it should be rated
PG for some mild violence. And, yes there is a death,
And, yes Ray suffers a lot of anguish because of the death.
But-----------don't be afraid.
From the driver's seat of his '71 Riviera, Detective Raymond Vecchio was critically eyeing his friend, Constable Benton Fraser. With a little grunt, Fraser slumped into the passenger's seat then slowly swiped one hand across his forehead. With effort he heaved the car door shut, before once again swiping a hand across his forehead. Listlessly, he tossed his Stetson onto the Riv's dash as he again swiped his forehead.
"You are one sick acting Mountie," Ray stated loudly. "What's ailing you, Benny?"
Slowly, Fraser turned from fumbling with his seatbelt. He considered Ray's words before saying, "Nothing ails me. I am not sick, Ray." But his voice was flat and monotone.
Ray twisted around to look at the big white wolf in the backseat. "Dief. A question. When the moron does this thing. . . . " Ray mimicked swiping his forehead, "ain't he usually sick or something?"
Diefenbaker raised his head and rumbled in agreement.
"Ray. Be serious," Fraser scowled at his triumphant friend and smug wolf. "I assure you. I am not sick." His hand strayed up to his forehead, but he caught it and clinched his fists in his lap. Huddling down in his overcoat, Fraser said tersely. "Now let's get going. I am going to be late for work."
Ray huffed in annoyance, "For heaven's sake, Fraser. It ain't a crime to be sick." His tone changed to coaxing. "Look, Benny, you got loads of sick days. Go on back to bed. This chilly old drizzly day is perfect for sleeping in. I'll swing by the Consulate and tell the Dragon. . . . ."
Fraser began tugging at his seatbelt. "If you do not wish to drive me to work today, Ray, I can walk." His hand went involuntarily across his forehead. "At the rate we are going, I will get there just as fast."
"Fine, then," Ray snorted. "I'll take you to work so you can die trying to prove you're not sick." He swung the Riv out into traffic amid an angry chorus of car horns and squealing brakes.
They rode in silence. Ray scowled out through the drizzle splattered windshield. Fraser huddled morosely in his overcoat. Suddenly, Ray demanded, "What are you Canucks up to anyway? Plotting out a way to harness the energy of snow?"
Fraser turned large, puzzled eyes on Ray.
"I mean," Ray stormed on, "What have you got to do today that is so all fired important that you cannot take off one measly sick day?"
"Ray, I do not have the measles," Fraser explained, patiently. "As for my work duties today. . . well. . . ummm. . . ." Fraser swiped his forehead, "Inspector Thatcher has. . . requested. . .that I stand guard duty," Fraser finished hurriedly.
Ray arched one eyebrow. "Uh-oh. What did you do to rouse the wrath of the Dragon Lady?"
Fraser cleared his throat as he fixed his gaze on something outside the rain splashed windsheild. "I was coming out of my office. The Inspector was coming down the hall carrying a cup of coffee. She was wearing a new white dress. I did not see her approaching. . . . . . ." Fraser trailed off as he swiped his forehead.
Ray's tone was mock cheerful as he continued Fraser's story, "So she 'requested' you to stand guard duty. . .outside. . .all day . . .in this weather." Ray squinted out at the raw drizzle peppering the Riv's windshield. "And to top it all off, you're sick." Ray's voice curled with disgust. "Benny, you really should let me take you back home."
"I tell you, I am not sick," Fraser said automatically. "And the guard duty is just for this one day. I will have it over with by this afternoon," he sighed slowly, then went on in a brighter tone, "I will have my lunch hour off. Perhaps, if I am not feeling better by then; I shall consent to you taking me home."
Ray grunted sharply.
Fraser peered uneasily at him.
Ray huffed. "I'm sorry, Benny. I forgot to tell you yesterday, but I won't be able to meet you for lunch."
Fear and concern flashed up in Fraser's face. In a studied steady tone, he asked, "Why not?"
Ray chortled. "Don't get your long johns in a knot. I ain't being shipped off to Vegas again."
Relief washed over Fraser, but he said off-handedly, "Well, I was not overly concerned that you were." Quickly, he asked, "So, where will you be at lunchtime?"
Ray chuckled softly before answering, "I got a lunch date to wine and dine this bad little dude so he'll feel free to open up and spill his naughty guts into the hidden mike I will be wearing." Ray grinned wickedly, "However, Franny's got the day off. Maybe you could coax her into joining you for lunch."
Fraser gulped. "Yes. Uh......perhaps I........um.........could." He swiped rapidly at his forehead.
Ray laughed right out loud before saying briskly, "Anyhow, I will be back at four sharp to pick you up and," he eyed Fraser appraisingly, "I may be picking you up off the sidewalk."
"I am perfectly capable of making it through this day just fine," Fraser stated, but his face was not as sure as his voice tried to sound.
"Well, the sooner you can get it started the sooner you can get it over with," Ray said as he slid the Riviera into a parking space in front of the Consulate.
Fraser peered uncertainly out through the misty drizzle.
Ray eyed him a moment before saying in a coaxing tone, "Benny, it ain't too late. Let me take you back home. Just say the word. I'll clear it with the Dragon Lady myself."
Fraser flicked his tongue over his under lip as he swiped his hand over his forehead. In a soft, resigned voice he said, "No, Ray. But thank you kindly."
With low sigh, Fraser crawled out of the Riv, shut the door and shuffled over to take his place by the Consulate's front entrance. Dief ducked in under the awning over the door. Yawning hugely, he curled into a furry ball.
Just before he pulled away from the curb, Ray looked critically back at Fraser. Besides his drooping air something about him did not look just right. Ray paused trying to pinpoint what was wrong with his friend. A blaring car horn startled him on out into traffic.
"Benny, I should have carted your stubborn Mountie butt back home," Ray muttered fiercely.
He could not know how many times, before this day was over, that he would regret not having done just that.
*
As Ray slid the big green Buick into it's parking space at the police station something slid off the dash and plopped into the passenger's seat. With a scowl, Ray glanced at it, then recoiled in horror.
It was Fraser's Stetson.
Ray stared at the hat as if it were a cobra. Firmly he muttered, "That is all the proof that I need that Benny ain't in no shape to be at work." He started to back the Riv out of the parking space. "I am going back to the Consulate and drag him home. If he'd forget that precious hat of his he should be at home in bed or maybe even in the hospital."
A sharp rap on the driver's side window caused Ray to slam on his brakes. The Stetson toppled onto the floor. Ray whirled about to find Lieutenant Welsh glaring in the car window.
"Vecchio," he growled through the glass. "Where are you going?'
Ray cranked the glass down. "Sir, I'm going back to take Fraser. . . "
"Oh. The Mountie," Welsh snorted. "Forget him momentarily, Vecchio. You're late and you have to get wired up for your your meeting."
"But, sir," Ray protested.
Welsh jerked a thumb toward the police station. "Inside. Now, Vecchio," he commanded.
Grumbling furiously, Ray burst out of the Riviera and stormed into the police station.
*
Shoulders squared and head high, Ray strode triumphantly back into the bullpen. He was heading toward Lieutenant Welsh's office to give him a full report on his just finished meeting.
Dectective Jack Huey stepped up blocking Ray's path. Ray scowled down his long fine nose at the other man, but before he could side step him Huey asked, "Meeting go okay?"
There was something in Huey's tone that Ray did not like.
"Yeah. It went fine," he stated shortly.
Still, Huey did not move. "Welsh'll like that," he said, nodding.
Detective Dewey stepped from behind a row of file cabinets. He eyed Ray uncertainly. Finally, he turned toward Huey and asked, "You tell him yet, Jack?"
Huey cringed slightly. "No."
Ray glared first at Dewey then back to Huey. "Tell me what?", he demanded coldly.
Huey sent at glare toward Dewey. He slunk off muttering a reluctant apology.
Huey turned back to face Ray's stony glare. He drew a long breath, then queitly said, "There was a drive-by shooting at the Canadian Consulate. It happened while you were in that meeting, so I guessed you hadn't heard about it yet."
Ray felt a knot twist into his stomach as sweat began beading up on his bare crown. In a tightly controlled voice he asked, "Was anybody.......?" But he could not quite finish.
Huey studied Ray's taut face as he rubbed his own chin. "Details are still sketchy. We just heard the report on Dewey's radio during the noon news break."
Ray's fists clinched at his sides as his green eyes blazed with impatience.
Huey finished quickly, "The guard outside was hit. Look, man," Huey turned toward his desk. "Just let me get my coat and.............."
A door slammed. Huey spun back around. Ray was gone.
Ray galloped out of the police station. He threw himself into the Riv and cranked the engine to life. Just before he pulled out, his eye fell on the Stetson. Scooping it up from the floorboards, he held it up as if to gaze into eyes beneath the brim.
"I'm coming, Benny," he fiercely whispered.
As the Riv shot backward out of it's parking place, Lieutenant Welsh burst out of the police station. He waved a phone and yelled, "Vecchio! Wait!"
Ray thumbed his nose at the lieutenant. With a squeal of tires he flew out into traffic. Welsh glared after the big Buick then snarled into the phone, "He knows about the shooting."