For Pearl_O from Twistedchick
Strangers in the parking lot
Ray was thinking too much. That had to be it. Otherwise, he would have looked before he backed out of the parking space, and the GTO wouldn’t have gotten hit.
He threw the door open and jumped out to look. “Lady, what the hell do you think you were doing? Didn’t you look at all?” He dropped to his knees to get a good close look at the bumper.
Okay, tagged. It was nothing, really. Not even a real scratch. He could buff it out in less than an hour. He got back to his feet, relieved.
Tell that to the little brunette in the big green Buick Riviera.
“Ohmigod, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you.” She had her hand up to her cheek, and her eyes were huge. “I - oh, I guess I should call a cop or something -”
“Relax. I’m a cop.” He pulled out his badge and she peered at it anxiously. “And I don’t even see a scratch on my car.”
“Your car - no, I’m worried about this car.” She pointed at the green Riv, which for a classic car wasn’t bad, though it would’ve been cooler in something other than puke green. “It’s my brother’s, and he gets so - so protective of it, like it’s his child or something.” Behind them a truck blew its horn, and she glared at it. “Go around!”
Ray leaned down to point at the green car’s bumper. “No marks there either. Your brother doesn’t ever have to know.”
Her shoulders relaxed under the winter coat. “Oh. That’s good. I mean, isn’t it? It’s not an accident if there’s no damage.”
“Right.” He looked her over. She was attractive in that big-eyed, dark-haired way that he remembered from the neighborhood. Even after Stella had moved into the area, he’d thought the girls down the street were pretty, even if they weren’t in Stella’s blonde league. “You want to go out for a cup of coffee, maybe a bite to eat?”
“Yeah, lady, how about it? Go get dinner with the guy so we can get out of the parking lot.” This came from the guy in the panel truck, at the head of a line of cars.
“Okay, okay, keep your shoes on,” she yelled back at him. Her voice dropped a bit. “There’s a place a couple blocks away, with its own lot.” He nodded, and she got into the Riv, wheeled it around as if she were at the speedway, and took off.
Ray shook his head, a smile on his face. Maybe his day was looking up. He flashed the badge at the noisy trucker, who miraculously shut up, got back in the GTO and followed her a mile or so to a little spaghetti house with its own lot just off a side street. His stomach started to rumble, reminding him how long it had been since ... god, breakfast. The place didn’t look bad; he upgraded ‘not bad’ to ‘ pretty good’ when he saw her waiting for him.
“I’m Francesca Vecchio,” she said, offering him her hand. “I should have introduced myself before.”
“I’m Ray.”
For some reason she looked unutterably startled. “Ray?”
“Yeah. Ray Kowalski. Something wrong?” He let go of her hand.
“No. Just coincidence or something. My brother’s Ray, too, and he’s a cop.”
“There’s a bunch of Rays on the force. What precinct?”
“He’s a detective at the Twenty-seventh.”
“Ah.” He held the door for her. “I’ve been at the Fifth and at the Eighteenth. Probably explains why I never met him.”
“You’re a detective?” she asked, as they sat down at a table near some kind of welded copper artwork that looked like leaves.
“Yeah, what’re the chances of that? And you?”
“I’m, um, working part time. More or less.” She ordered linguini, he ordered the veal, and they both got wine to sip.
“You’re not married?” He could still see a small mark on her finger, as if she’d worn a ring that was too small for too long.
“Not any more, and good riddance. You?”
“Divorced. But that’s over with. You got anybody in your life?”
“Move fast, don’t you? We haven’t even gotten past the salad yet.” But her expression softened. “Well, yes and no. There was this guy, and we had a ... an encounter. But it didn’t seem to work out, and that was a while back.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. About it not working out.” Ray blinked. “No, I’m not sorry. If it’d worked out, you’d be having dinner with him, not me."
“I’m not sure he eats dinner much. He’s different. Canadian. Really smart and really good looking, but it’s like he’s from another planet sometimes. You’re not, though. You’re really sweet. That’s a very nice thing to say.” She smiled at him as the food was served, and he felt as if he were six inches taller and a million dollars richer. “If more of the detectives were like you, it’d be a lot friendlier city.”
“Gee, thanks, but that doesn’t say much good about your brother, does it?” He took a sip of water and reached for the basket of rolls to pass to her.
“Oh, he’s all right. Thing is, he’s my big brother so he thinks he always has to act like he’s important or something. Like he always knows better, no matter what’s going on.” She buttered her roll as if it were likely to escape. “He’s always got some deal going, not that it ever goes well.”
“Sounds complicated.”
"Family, ayyaiyai! Sort of stuck with him. What about you?”
“I’ve got a brother out in Arizona, near my parents. I don’t see them much.”
“When do you have to get your brother’s car back to him?”
Francesca shrugged. “He can wait for it. It’s not like he can’t get a car at the station if he wants one. I’ll drop it off after dinner.”
“Will you need a ride somewhere? Afterward, I mean. I’m thinking, if you’re not busy we could go dancing or something.”
She seemed to need to pause to consider this for a moment, which he thought a hopeful sign. “Well, I’m housesitting for my friend Lucille, she’s out of town at her brother’s wedding. You could give me a lift back there.”
“What about work in the morning? Won’t you need a ride then?”
Her mouth twisted. “This is my last week. I’m getting laid down.”
“Laid off?”
“Down, up, off, whatever. They’re making ‘adjustments’ to staffing, that’s what I was told.”
“That’s too bad. But I’m sure you’ll find something else soon.”
“Thanks. What about you? You don’t look as - how can I say it - stressed as most of the cops I’ve known.”
“Well, I’m on leave; I got hurt on my last assignment and had some vacation time and it’s almost over. But I put in for a transfer, ‘cause I heard there were some positions open in other precincts, and I haven’t heard back yet.”
“Good luck.” She glanced up at him over a cannoli. “You ought to go over to the 27th. My brother’s always complaining about how good cops are hard to find.”
“Thanks, I think.” He made short work of his chocolate mousse, then toyed with his coffee. “You still haven’t said if you want to go dancing.” He put his hand over the check before she could reach for it, and she shrugged gracefully.
“Well, it’s Thursday, and I don’t think I can go tonight; I still have to get to work early tomorrow. But you can drop me at the apartment after I drop the car off.”
The wind had picked up after they left, and it felt as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees. Ray shrugged his shoulders deeper into his leather jacket and followed the green Riv until she parked it in the driveway of a brownstone house. She walked away from the car and up the sidewalk, and got into the GTO two houses up the street. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “It’s my brother-in-law, Tony. Nosy bastard, looking out the window. Figured I’d give him something to look at.”
“Will he cause trouble?”
“Nah. I can handle him, and Ray as well. I mean, the guy thinks he’s the top cantaloupe all the time, but he’s just the same lunkhead he always was, right? Turn left here, then the third right.”
“Okay. You sure this isn’t going to cause a problem?”
“What?”
“Me. You. The ride, dinner, whatever.”
“Puh-lease. I’m an adult. No problem. Besides, you’re kind of cute.”
“Hmm. Kind of cute. Should I ask what kind?”
She bit her lower lip and then chuckled. “Like the Tramp, in the Disney cartoon. The one with the dogs. You know, sort of friendly and hopeful.”
“That’s me, friendly and hopeful. You positive you don’t want to go dancing? There’s some good music up at the Top of the Plaza, and it’s got a great dance floor.”
“No, thanks, but you can come up for a couple minutes if you want another cup of coffee.”
“Hey, I’m a cop. I always want another cup of coffee.” He walked around and opened her door for her, and they went upstairs with her hand through his arm, a little awkwardly, but not bad for starters.
The apartment was small but comfortable, with two tabby cats that sniffed at him politely then pursued her to the kitchen with loud demands for food. He hung their coats in the closet as he heard the meows change to sloppy eating noises. “You want some help?” he asked, but didn’t hear anything back, so he checked out the bookshelves - some histories, some chick lit, some fiction - until she came in with a tray with coffee, cream, sugar and some little butter cookies.
And suddenly he felt as if he’d grown six more elbows. How long had it been since he’d been out with a woman who was interested in him? How long since he’d gone up to someone’s apartment for a nightcap? He couldn’t remember the last time that had worked. He couldn’t even remember the moves. So he clutched his cup and munched a cookie, and tried to remember how to relax - until he realized she seemed to feel as awkward as he did.
“It’s the place, isn’t it?” she said at last. “It’s not my place - well, I couldn’t bring you in for coffee at home without my brother coming in to check you out, and my mother pulling me aside in the pantry to ask what your intentions were and Tony and Maria asking about your prospects.”
She sighed. “It’s enough to make me wish I had my own place, if I could afford one.”
“I know what you mean.” He leaned forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, and told her about his first apartment, the one where the plaster fell out of the kitchen ceiling when the bathtub overflowed upstairs, and the second apartment where he was now, with his turtle and his chili lights. He didn’t mention the apartment he’d shared with Stella, because she was still living there, and it wasn’t his.
“I guess I should get going,” he said when the coffee was empty. “Thank you for a really nice evening.” He got up and stepped away from the couch but she was there in front of him.
“Thanks for - oh, for everything. I really needed not to think about work and all that stuff.” She put her hand up behind his head and stood on her toes to kiss him.
And something clicked. Oh, yes. Ray Kowalski’s body remembered what to do and how, and wanted to do it all. So he kissed her back, with tongue.
And got tongue in return, slipping around his lips, checking him out, and her other hand sliding up around his back.
After a few minutes - he wasn’t sure how long but one of them had to breathe - he pulled back to look her in the eye. “You sure you want this?”
The spark in her dark eyes burned brightly. “Yeah. I’m sure. And I’m covered, if you know what I mean. The pill. It’s okay.”
“Then let’s dance.” He put his arms around her, and danced her back around the edge of the couch, tripped almost on purpose and fell back on the length of the couch with her on top, and they didn’t stop kissing the whole time.
In fact, they never stopped kissing until his zipper got stuck, and that only for a moment. He felt like he was getting drunk on the feel of her skin on his, intoxicated with the ability to touch a woman, even if only for the present. She seemed as eager as he was for contact, for the sweet pleasure they were creating. How they managed to breathe at all was something he’d figure out later on, when he had enough blood in his brain to even think. She drew her mouth back from his and murmured “omigod” over and over, and he came with a rush as her muscles rippled around him.
He had just enough brain to pull the blanket from the back of the couch over them afterward. When he woke up, at five to feel the black-and-white cat reaching down from the back of the couch to play with his hair, they had turned on their sides and she had most of the blanket. He found his clothes, shook her shoulder to wake her for work, thanked her again, and left for home. He even found himself whistling when he got out into the car.
At home, he fed the turtle, and talked to it a little, telling it he’d met a nice woman who’d run into his car and had a very good night. It was too late to get back to sleep, so he took a shower, and just missed the phone call from his lieutenant that asked him to come in to the station for a 10 a.m. meeting for his next assignment.
“It’s an undercover job, but I promise you it’s not like the last one,” the lieutenant said.
At 10:15, he was sitting in the lieutenant’s office listening to a group of feds talking about another cop going undercover, and at some point some of it started to sound familiar. He hadn’t had that much sleep, so he chalked it up to getting laid and having no brain the next day, which wasn’t that unusual, the no-brain part at least. He stifled the yawns and kept his mouth shut.
“...The guy you’re replacing lives at his family’s home, but you won’t have to do that; we’ll come up with a cover story since you’ve got your own place. Safer for them, too, in case someone catches on.”
“What was the name again?” Ray asked. “The guy going undercover?”
“Vecchio. Raymond Vecchio.”
“Ah. Thanks.”
“Is there a problem, detective?”
“No, sir. No problem.”
***
The turtle climbed up on the little rock in its aquarium to listen to him.
“Vecchio. Of all the cops in Chicago, I have to go and be Ray Vecchio. Life’s not fair, Speedy. Now even if I do see her again, I can’t date her - she’s my sister. Okay, I don’t know about turtles, but getting it on with your sister just doesn’t work for humans real well, and it gives me the creeps. Except she’s not really my sister, and we’ve already connected, and ...”
The turtle yawned and kept one eye open in case food would follow the sounds.
***
He didn’t see her again for a week, and by then he wasn’t Ray Kowalski any more.
“Hey, bro. Here’s your mail,” Francesca said. She stood by his desk at the station. “You ought to come home for dinner more often; Ma thinks you’re too thin and need feeding.”
“Fr-” He stopped as he realized that he had no idea what Ray Vecchio called his sister.
“Not Frrrr, Frannie. Fran-nie. You’ve been calling me that since I was born, shank-head.”
“You mean knucklehead, don’t you?” His eyes caught hers, and she winked.
“Shank, knuckle, bone. Whatever. It’s something I put in stew.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ray.”
“Me too.”
“Aaah. That’s just my luck. It was a car crash after all. Nothing to do but pick up the pieces and keep going.” And she was off out the door with a flutter of short skirt, five minutes before a tall dark-haired man in a red jacket walked in looking for Ray Vecchio, the detective, and his real job began.
###
Much thanks to ellenfremedon and beledibabe for the fast beta.
Ray was thinking too much. That had to be it. Otherwise, he would have looked before he backed out of the parking space, and the GTO wouldn’t have gotten hit.
He threw the door open and jumped out to look. “Lady, what the hell do you think you were doing? Didn’t you look at all?” He dropped to his knees to get a good close look at the bumper.
Okay, tagged. It was nothing, really. Not even a real scratch. He could buff it out in less than an hour. He got back to his feet, relieved.
Tell that to the little brunette in the big green Buick Riviera.
“Ohmigod, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you.” She had her hand up to her cheek, and her eyes were huge. “I - oh, I guess I should call a cop or something -”
“Relax. I’m a cop.” He pulled out his badge and she peered at it anxiously. “And I don’t even see a scratch on my car.”
“Your car - no, I’m worried about this car.” She pointed at the green Riv, which for a classic car wasn’t bad, though it would’ve been cooler in something other than puke green. “It’s my brother’s, and he gets so - so protective of it, like it’s his child or something.” Behind them a truck blew its horn, and she glared at it. “Go around!”
Ray leaned down to point at the green car’s bumper. “No marks there either. Your brother doesn’t ever have to know.”
Her shoulders relaxed under the winter coat. “Oh. That’s good. I mean, isn’t it? It’s not an accident if there’s no damage.”
“Right.” He looked her over. She was attractive in that big-eyed, dark-haired way that he remembered from the neighborhood. Even after Stella had moved into the area, he’d thought the girls down the street were pretty, even if they weren’t in Stella’s blonde league. “You want to go out for a cup of coffee, maybe a bite to eat?”
“Yeah, lady, how about it? Go get dinner with the guy so we can get out of the parking lot.” This came from the guy in the panel truck, at the head of a line of cars.
“Okay, okay, keep your shoes on,” she yelled back at him. Her voice dropped a bit. “There’s a place a couple blocks away, with its own lot.” He nodded, and she got into the Riv, wheeled it around as if she were at the speedway, and took off.
Ray shook his head, a smile on his face. Maybe his day was looking up. He flashed the badge at the noisy trucker, who miraculously shut up, got back in the GTO and followed her a mile or so to a little spaghetti house with its own lot just off a side street. His stomach started to rumble, reminding him how long it had been since ... god, breakfast. The place didn’t look bad; he upgraded ‘not bad’ to ‘ pretty good’ when he saw her waiting for him.
“I’m Francesca Vecchio,” she said, offering him her hand. “I should have introduced myself before.”
“I’m Ray.”
For some reason she looked unutterably startled. “Ray?”
“Yeah. Ray Kowalski. Something wrong?” He let go of her hand.
“No. Just coincidence or something. My brother’s Ray, too, and he’s a cop.”
“There’s a bunch of Rays on the force. What precinct?”
“He’s a detective at the Twenty-seventh.”
“Ah.” He held the door for her. “I’ve been at the Fifth and at the Eighteenth. Probably explains why I never met him.”
“You’re a detective?” she asked, as they sat down at a table near some kind of welded copper artwork that looked like leaves.
“Yeah, what’re the chances of that? And you?”
“I’m, um, working part time. More or less.” She ordered linguini, he ordered the veal, and they both got wine to sip.
“You’re not married?” He could still see a small mark on her finger, as if she’d worn a ring that was too small for too long.
“Not any more, and good riddance. You?”
“Divorced. But that’s over with. You got anybody in your life?”
“Move fast, don’t you? We haven’t even gotten past the salad yet.” But her expression softened. “Well, yes and no. There was this guy, and we had a ... an encounter. But it didn’t seem to work out, and that was a while back.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. About it not working out.” Ray blinked. “No, I’m not sorry. If it’d worked out, you’d be having dinner with him, not me."
“I’m not sure he eats dinner much. He’s different. Canadian. Really smart and really good looking, but it’s like he’s from another planet sometimes. You’re not, though. You’re really sweet. That’s a very nice thing to say.” She smiled at him as the food was served, and he felt as if he were six inches taller and a million dollars richer. “If more of the detectives were like you, it’d be a lot friendlier city.”
“Gee, thanks, but that doesn’t say much good about your brother, does it?” He took a sip of water and reached for the basket of rolls to pass to her.
“Oh, he’s all right. Thing is, he’s my big brother so he thinks he always has to act like he’s important or something. Like he always knows better, no matter what’s going on.” She buttered her roll as if it were likely to escape. “He’s always got some deal going, not that it ever goes well.”
“Sounds complicated.”
"Family, ayyaiyai! Sort of stuck with him. What about you?”
“I’ve got a brother out in Arizona, near my parents. I don’t see them much.”
“When do you have to get your brother’s car back to him?”
Francesca shrugged. “He can wait for it. It’s not like he can’t get a car at the station if he wants one. I’ll drop it off after dinner.”
“Will you need a ride somewhere? Afterward, I mean. I’m thinking, if you’re not busy we could go dancing or something.”
She seemed to need to pause to consider this for a moment, which he thought a hopeful sign. “Well, I’m housesitting for my friend Lucille, she’s out of town at her brother’s wedding. You could give me a lift back there.”
“What about work in the morning? Won’t you need a ride then?”
Her mouth twisted. “This is my last week. I’m getting laid down.”
“Laid off?”
“Down, up, off, whatever. They’re making ‘adjustments’ to staffing, that’s what I was told.”
“That’s too bad. But I’m sure you’ll find something else soon.”
“Thanks. What about you? You don’t look as - how can I say it - stressed as most of the cops I’ve known.”
“Well, I’m on leave; I got hurt on my last assignment and had some vacation time and it’s almost over. But I put in for a transfer, ‘cause I heard there were some positions open in other precincts, and I haven’t heard back yet.”
“Good luck.” She glanced up at him over a cannoli. “You ought to go over to the 27th. My brother’s always complaining about how good cops are hard to find.”
“Thanks, I think.” He made short work of his chocolate mousse, then toyed with his coffee. “You still haven’t said if you want to go dancing.” He put his hand over the check before she could reach for it, and she shrugged gracefully.
“Well, it’s Thursday, and I don’t think I can go tonight; I still have to get to work early tomorrow. But you can drop me at the apartment after I drop the car off.”
The wind had picked up after they left, and it felt as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees. Ray shrugged his shoulders deeper into his leather jacket and followed the green Riv until she parked it in the driveway of a brownstone house. She walked away from the car and up the sidewalk, and got into the GTO two houses up the street. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “It’s my brother-in-law, Tony. Nosy bastard, looking out the window. Figured I’d give him something to look at.”
“Will he cause trouble?”
“Nah. I can handle him, and Ray as well. I mean, the guy thinks he’s the top cantaloupe all the time, but he’s just the same lunkhead he always was, right? Turn left here, then the third right.”
“Okay. You sure this isn’t going to cause a problem?”
“What?”
“Me. You. The ride, dinner, whatever.”
“Puh-lease. I’m an adult. No problem. Besides, you’re kind of cute.”
“Hmm. Kind of cute. Should I ask what kind?”
She bit her lower lip and then chuckled. “Like the Tramp, in the Disney cartoon. The one with the dogs. You know, sort of friendly and hopeful.”
“That’s me, friendly and hopeful. You positive you don’t want to go dancing? There’s some good music up at the Top of the Plaza, and it’s got a great dance floor.”
“No, thanks, but you can come up for a couple minutes if you want another cup of coffee.”
“Hey, I’m a cop. I always want another cup of coffee.” He walked around and opened her door for her, and they went upstairs with her hand through his arm, a little awkwardly, but not bad for starters.
The apartment was small but comfortable, with two tabby cats that sniffed at him politely then pursued her to the kitchen with loud demands for food. He hung their coats in the closet as he heard the meows change to sloppy eating noises. “You want some help?” he asked, but didn’t hear anything back, so he checked out the bookshelves - some histories, some chick lit, some fiction - until she came in with a tray with coffee, cream, sugar and some little butter cookies.
And suddenly he felt as if he’d grown six more elbows. How long had it been since he’d been out with a woman who was interested in him? How long since he’d gone up to someone’s apartment for a nightcap? He couldn’t remember the last time that had worked. He couldn’t even remember the moves. So he clutched his cup and munched a cookie, and tried to remember how to relax - until he realized she seemed to feel as awkward as he did.
“It’s the place, isn’t it?” she said at last. “It’s not my place - well, I couldn’t bring you in for coffee at home without my brother coming in to check you out, and my mother pulling me aside in the pantry to ask what your intentions were and Tony and Maria asking about your prospects.”
She sighed. “It’s enough to make me wish I had my own place, if I could afford one.”
“I know what you mean.” He leaned forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, and told her about his first apartment, the one where the plaster fell out of the kitchen ceiling when the bathtub overflowed upstairs, and the second apartment where he was now, with his turtle and his chili lights. He didn’t mention the apartment he’d shared with Stella, because she was still living there, and it wasn’t his.
“I guess I should get going,” he said when the coffee was empty. “Thank you for a really nice evening.” He got up and stepped away from the couch but she was there in front of him.
“Thanks for - oh, for everything. I really needed not to think about work and all that stuff.” She put her hand up behind his head and stood on her toes to kiss him.
And something clicked. Oh, yes. Ray Kowalski’s body remembered what to do and how, and wanted to do it all. So he kissed her back, with tongue.
And got tongue in return, slipping around his lips, checking him out, and her other hand sliding up around his back.
After a few minutes - he wasn’t sure how long but one of them had to breathe - he pulled back to look her in the eye. “You sure you want this?”
The spark in her dark eyes burned brightly. “Yeah. I’m sure. And I’m covered, if you know what I mean. The pill. It’s okay.”
“Then let’s dance.” He put his arms around her, and danced her back around the edge of the couch, tripped almost on purpose and fell back on the length of the couch with her on top, and they didn’t stop kissing the whole time.
In fact, they never stopped kissing until his zipper got stuck, and that only for a moment. He felt like he was getting drunk on the feel of her skin on his, intoxicated with the ability to touch a woman, even if only for the present. She seemed as eager as he was for contact, for the sweet pleasure they were creating. How they managed to breathe at all was something he’d figure out later on, when he had enough blood in his brain to even think. She drew her mouth back from his and murmured “omigod” over and over, and he came with a rush as her muscles rippled around him.
He had just enough brain to pull the blanket from the back of the couch over them afterward. When he woke up, at five to feel the black-and-white cat reaching down from the back of the couch to play with his hair, they had turned on their sides and she had most of the blanket. He found his clothes, shook her shoulder to wake her for work, thanked her again, and left for home. He even found himself whistling when he got out into the car.
At home, he fed the turtle, and talked to it a little, telling it he’d met a nice woman who’d run into his car and had a very good night. It was too late to get back to sleep, so he took a shower, and just missed the phone call from his lieutenant that asked him to come in to the station for a 10 a.m. meeting for his next assignment.
“It’s an undercover job, but I promise you it’s not like the last one,” the lieutenant said.
At 10:15, he was sitting in the lieutenant’s office listening to a group of feds talking about another cop going undercover, and at some point some of it started to sound familiar. He hadn’t had that much sleep, so he chalked it up to getting laid and having no brain the next day, which wasn’t that unusual, the no-brain part at least. He stifled the yawns and kept his mouth shut.
“...The guy you’re replacing lives at his family’s home, but you won’t have to do that; we’ll come up with a cover story since you’ve got your own place. Safer for them, too, in case someone catches on.”
“What was the name again?” Ray asked. “The guy going undercover?”
“Vecchio. Raymond Vecchio.”
“Ah. Thanks.”
“Is there a problem, detective?”
“No, sir. No problem.”
***
The turtle climbed up on the little rock in its aquarium to listen to him.
“Vecchio. Of all the cops in Chicago, I have to go and be Ray Vecchio. Life’s not fair, Speedy. Now even if I do see her again, I can’t date her - she’s my sister. Okay, I don’t know about turtles, but getting it on with your sister just doesn’t work for humans real well, and it gives me the creeps. Except she’s not really my sister, and we’ve already connected, and ...”
The turtle yawned and kept one eye open in case food would follow the sounds.
***
He didn’t see her again for a week, and by then he wasn’t Ray Kowalski any more.
“Hey, bro. Here’s your mail,” Francesca said. She stood by his desk at the station. “You ought to come home for dinner more often; Ma thinks you’re too thin and need feeding.”
“Fr-” He stopped as he realized that he had no idea what Ray Vecchio called his sister.
“Not Frrrr, Frannie. Fran-nie. You’ve been calling me that since I was born, shank-head.”
“You mean knucklehead, don’t you?” His eyes caught hers, and she winked.
“Shank, knuckle, bone. Whatever. It’s something I put in stew.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ray.”
“Me too.”
“Aaah. That’s just my luck. It was a car crash after all. Nothing to do but pick up the pieces and keep going.” And she was off out the door with a flutter of short skirt, five minutes before a tall dark-haired man in a red jacket walked in looking for Ray Vecchio, the detective, and his real job began.
###
Much thanks to ellenfremedon and beledibabe for the fast beta.