FTV fic: "Faster, Diefenbaker! Mush! Mush!" (Due South, Ray/Ray)
I must disclaim all this by saying the following:
1) I have only seen about four episodes of "Due South" in my life. The peerless betaing skills of cesperanza were absolutely necessary to getting this into semi-canonical shape, and I thank her muchly.
2) The events depicted herein are fictional and are in no way meant to depict actual cab drivers, blimp pilots, members of the University of Wisconsin marching band or employees of Carnival Cruise Lines (tm).
With no further ado, written for the patient vamplover84 --
Faster, Diefenbaker! Mush! Mush!
"You KNOW it's a bad day," Vecchio shouted over the wind and the motors, "when you realize that, no matter what, things can't possibly get any worse."
At that moment the blimp tilted downward, crazily off balance, forcing both men to cling tighter to the landing gear as the air whipped around them. Screams of terror echoed from within the passenger compartment as the University of Wisconsin marching band began to panic. A lone tuba fell from one of the windows, sunlight glinting from the brass bell as it tumbled down to 34th Street, where hysterical crowds were running in every direction beneath Vecchio's dangling feet. The blimp continued its descent, veering toward the Empire State Building as though King Kong himself would be there to catch it.
King Kong was not there.
Kowalski yelled, "You were saying?"
**
It had begun with a postcard. Vecchio would say that it began with two postcards, really, not so much because he cared but mostly to get in Kowalski's face about it. Kowalski would retort it was the same damned postcard, which was the root of the whole problem.
The postcard(s) read as follows:
Ray,
I apologize for having been 'incommunicado' for so long. But I have felt that it was long past time to revisit the sweat lodge to cleanse my spirit. Also, Diefenbaker had expressed interest in going home for a time, perhaps nostalgic for the ice fields after the Caribbean-cruise mishap last year, which I'm sure you recall. (In my opinion Diefenbaker could have made a far better use of his savings - the cruise ship's library was woefully understocked, and I was not enjoying myself long before the incident that led to our expulsion -- but the wanderlust of the wolf is a powerful force.)
The sweat lodge has proved illuminating in many ways. I feel that now, more than ever, I understand who and what I am - and, if I may be so bold, whom I love. I will return to Chicago in two weeks, and it is my hope that you will meet me there. Shall we say the steps of the Art Institute, 11 a.m.? I look forward to finally sharing what I have learned.
Diefenbaker sends his regards.
Benton Fraser
Two weeks after receiving this card (with a picture of an elk on the front), Vecchio walked toward the Art Institute. The new shoes were tight on his feet, but hey, it was a day for looking your best. It was a day when good things might happen.
But then, all of a sudden, it turned into a day when Kowalski came walking along Michigan Avenue, looking too damned happy for words until he caught sight of Vecchio.
"What are you doing here?" Vecchio said. The conversation he meant to have with Fraser later was not one he wanted to have with Kowalski around.
"First of all, last time I checked, this wasn't a private club," Kowalski said. "Second, I'm here by invitation. And you, I guess somebody's selling pimpwear out of a truck around the corner?"
The pimpwear comment could be dealt with later. "Invitation?"
Kowalski held up a postcard with a picture of a caribou on the front. Vecchio held up his elk, and the two of them compared the cards, side by side, in silence for a few minutes.
At last, Kowalski said, "He even crossed all the Ts in the exact same place."
"He would." Vecchio sighed, trying to take this in. "So. Sounds like he kinda wanted to talk to both of us about -"
"Sweat lodges -"
"The whole mess with Diefenbaker and the Carnival Cruise line -"
They finished together, "And who he loves."
Both men squinted at each other; each of them had been hoping that this was a conversation he'd have with Fraser alone. In Vecchio's mind, the talk ended in a nice hotel, maybe the Drake, with a king-sized bed and room service delivering champagne on ice. Kowalski's imagination had been too impatient to make it any further than the back seat of the GTO, but had performed acrobatic wonders within this space.
In no version of the conversation either man had imagined was a third person necessary, unless you counted that daydream Kowalski had about a three-way with Steve McQueen.
"He doesn't mean you," Kowalski said. "You're a married man."
"I'm not a married man anymore."
"What - you and Stella - it's over?"
"She said she was going to marry a straight man next time."
Kowalski snorted. "Liza Minnelli will marry a straight man before Stella does."
Eyeing one another warily, the two of them paced toward the Art Institute. Vecchio noticed - in that unthinking, evaluation-free way everyone has when distracted - that a nearby hot-dog stand had been turned over, and dozens of pigeons were pecking at the buns scattered on the pavement and steps. But he only had eyes for Kowalski. He was looking good; okay, admit it, the guy had always looked good, though it was hard to tell in the scruffy clothes he always wore. Fraser went on that long trek with him, and Frannie said the two of them were really tight; was it possible that what this guy had with Fraser was more - ? - was better -?
No. No way.
Kowalski squinted to shield his eyes from the glare - not of the sun, though it was a nice day, but from Vecchio's green-silk shirt. In the same unthinking, distracted frame of mind, he noticed that a nearby shop window had been completely broken out, and that the sidewalk glittered with shards of glass. That wasn't nearly as important as figuring out Vecchio. If you went for flashy - and maybe Fraser did, who knew? - Vecchio cut a pretty good figure. Not conventionally handsome, but he had nice eyes and kind of a way about him. And he knew from everything Fraser had ever said that the bond between those guys went deep. So had Fraser always - did he still --?
No. No way.
"Obviously Fraser thinks we both need to hear what he has to say," Vecchio said at last. "But I think it's a good guess only one of us is going to be happy to hear it."
It ain't gonna be you, pal, Kowalski thought. "Let's just find Fraser. Is he late?"
"Can't be," they said in unison, only breaking eye contact as their cop instincts were finally awakened by the brilliant yellow glare of CRIME SCENE tape.
Vecchio recovered first. "Chicago PD!" he shouted, holding up his badge. "What happened here?"
"Suspect pursuit," said the patrolwoman on duty, clearly out of breath. "The officer in question - who isn't even Chicago PD, but -"
"A Mountie," Kowalski said. "I don't like the sound of this."
"Yeah, a Mountie." The policewoman still seemed slightly dazed. "He witnessed a crime in this area, called it in and is in pursuit - I guess you'd have to say in zealous pursuit -"
"Of a murderer," Vecchio said. "Please say it's a murderer."
"Anything with a local crime scene," Kowalski pleaded. "Anything that could make him stay put to investigate."
The policewoman shook her head. "A jaywalker."
Both Rays groaned.
**
Next they heard, the suspect had fled for more than a mile before he stole a car to try and escape Fraser. In Vecchio's mind, this was proof that criminals could always make a bad situation worse; why take plain old jaywalking and turn it into grand theft auto? Kowalski, on the other hand, was waiting to hear that the jaywalker was secretly a Columbian drug lord, which Fraser would have instantly detected through one of his Jedi mind tricks of the Yukon.
However, they both agreed the absolute worst news was that Fraser had commandeered a taxicab in the name of the Canadian government and Queen Elizabeth II, leaving an irritated, newly anti-Canadian taxi driver on the sidewalk. Both the stolen car and a checker cab containing a Mountie and a wolf had just been reported speeding past the Indiana state line.
"I don't know what's scarier here," Kowalski said. "The fact that a criminal's on the loose or the fact that Fraser's driving."
Vecchio envisioned the mayhem on the highways, then decided not the envision that any more. "He'll get his man eventually," he said. "We both know that."
"Yeah, but which man?" Then Kowalski closed his eyes, leaning against the police station door. "And, yeah. The suspect. Right."
"We could just wait for him to get back. Shouldn't be that hard to do right?"
"Right," Kowalski said. "There's no way Fraser would chase a jaywalker for more than two or three months."
The two men shared glances.
Kowalski said, "We're taking my car."
**
"How many toll roads can there be in Indiana?" Vecchio complained, handing over cash to Kowalski. "And shouldn't they have slowed Benny up more? How the hell is he getting through these? Since when does Indiana accept Canadian money?"
Kowalski shook his head as they started moving again. "By the way, you might've noticed, it's about 2 a.m. We should crash, as in sleep, before we crash, as in crash."
"Can't go all night, huh?" Vecchio grinned as he leaned back in his seat.
"I'm saving my energy for better things," Kowalski replied, heading toward a Motel 6 sign that cast a febrile glow upon the horizon.
As untimely fate would have it, the hotel was overrun with chiropractors attending a convention. Only one room was available, and it took only a quick glance at the floral bedspreads, ratty carpet and mounted buffalo head on the wall to determine that this was because none of the chiropractors would accept it.
"I don't care," Kowalski insisted, kicking off his dusty Chucks. "Okay, the buffalo head is creepy, looking at us, but you know, we'll just throw a towel over his head."
"There was a perfectly good Ramada a couple blocks away," Vecchio said, carefully hanging up his blazer. "You're too cheap to spend an extra $30 a night?"
"I'm not paying a cent more than I have to because of Fraser's little re-enactment of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride." Kowalski lifted his chin. "Besides, Fraser - he's not into fancy stuff, you know? Oh, wait, maybe you never did notice."
"He appreciates people paying attention," Vecchio said, stepping closer. "And he deserves the best. Nothing less."
Kowalski raised an eyebrow. "You saying I'm less than the best? Because you're wrong there, pal."
"Oh, yeah?"
Vecchio meant the kiss that followed to be a demonstration of his superiority in kissing technique, which he considered a given. What it turned out to be was a demonstration of the fact that oh my god holy hell Kowalski could kiss too.
Kowalski didn't exactly mean to kiss Vecchio back, but when lips meet lips it's an automatic reaction, and you can't really help kissing back a little bit. Of course, this didn't really explain why his tongue was now in Vecchio's mouth, but Kowalski didn't pay much attention to details, particularly when they didn't work to his advantage.
When Vecchio's hands finally made their way down to Kowalski's ass, he figured it was only fair to check out anything Benny might've checked out. And this was definitely a butt worth checking out, and you couldn't really check without getting the jeans off, could you?
Kowalski told himself he was just taking Vecchio's shirt off because there was only so much time a man could spend looking at bright green silk, and he was past it, and skin on skin feels so damn good and -
The stuffed buffalo head's glazed eyes seemed very wide.
**
The next morning, after considerable embarrassment and a continental breakfast, Vecchio and Kowalski were back on the road. Nobody said anything until well into Ohio.
"Are we gonna tell him or what?" Kowalski said at last.
"Tell him what? That we cheated on him?" Vecchio sighed. "That was just - just - proving a point."
"What point?"
"I don't know, but we proved it."
Three times, they both thought.
"Besides," Vecchio added, "I'm not technically with Benny yet, and you aren't ever going to be, so it wouldn’t actually be cheating."
"He sent a postcard," Kowalski said, already guilty. Wasn't a caribou a good enough reason not to screw around? "He talked about love. It's cheating."
Vecchio considered this. "He's only going to pick one of us -"
"Yeah," Kowalski agreed. "Not a threesome guy. Not ever." Except maybe, he thought, with Steve McQueen.
"-so only one of us could have been cheating on him."
Kowalski said, "Well, then it's me. I cheated on Fraser."
"No," Vecchio insisted. "I cheated on Fraser."
"No, I did."
"No, I did."
"NO, I did."
"NO - Holy shit, Kowalski, watch the road!"
BLAM!
**
"The tree moved," Kowalski said, grimacing at the sight of his beloved GTO as it was hoisted into the air on the mechanic's platform. "It jumped right out in front of me."
"Trees, lakes - what is it with you, moving vehicles and unmoving objects?" Vecchio was more interested in his cell phone than traffic violations by pine trees. "Get this. Apparently Fraser called in to Chicago PD from a pay phone last night --"
"Where the hell is he getting American money?"
"Dief's ATM card, probably," Vecchio sighed. "He thinks the jaywalker is actually part of an international topaz-smuggling ring from Zanzibar."
"Topaz-smuggling?" Kowalski wondered if he'd lied when he told the EMTs that he hadn't hit his head. "How did Fraser know - oh, never mind. He'll tell us when we get to him. Which brings up the question: Where is he?"
"Still driving. And apparently they're headed for New York City."
"The GTO isn't going to New York anytime soon," Kowalski said, glancing again at its battered bumpers before he had to turn away. "It's not going to the end of the block anytime soon."
"Are you a police officer or aren't you?" Vecchio took out his badge and walked up to the only other customer at the service station. "Police. I'm afraid we're going to have to commandeer your vehicle. We've got a law-enforcement emergency, and we need to get to New York immediately."
The man smiled, as if relieved. "Oh, that's okay. We're headed to New York ourselves, actually. We're going to be in a parade!"
"Parade?" Vecchio said.
Kowalski had a bad feeling about this. "Where's your vehicle?"
The driver led them proudly around the corner - to where a huge bus waited, crammed full of shouting kids with musical instruments. On its side was a banner that read UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN GO BADGERS GO!
"Hey, guys!" the driver - band leader - shouted. "We've got company."
Vecchio's face fell. Kowalski said, "If it makes you feel any better, I'm too busy being horrified to be smug about your mistake."
"It doesn't make me feel any better."
"No? Good."
**
You can talk about a lot of things while on a cross-country trip with a college marching band. You can talk about who likes who, about professors that suck, about plans to smuggle beer into the hotel. You can even talk about the two old weird guys who are now sitting in the back, on the seat nobody else will even touch because Scott Moore threw up on it that time. This leaves plenty of time for singing "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall," not out of any real pleasure but in the hopes it will drive the chaperones permanently insane.
What you can't talk about is why you had wild gay sex with your #1 rival for the affections of the man that you actually want to have wild gay sex with.
Not that Vecchio was in any mood to discuss it. Yeah, it happened. It's one of those things that happen. And it was all Kowalski's fault for being a perfect ass, or for having one, possibly both.
Kowalski, more exhausted from the wreck and from the 77th bottle of beer on the wall, simply wondered when he'd stopped finding Vecchio's aftershave obnoxious and started finding it attractive. Not that he found it attractive NOW, not any more, just last night. Funny thing, last night.
Vecchio glanced down at Kowalski's jeans and all things concealed inside them. Kowalski breathed in deeply. Their shoulders touched.
**
They reached Pennsylvania and a La Quinta Inn many, many bottles of beer later. As untimely fate would have it, the hotel was overrun with taxidermists attending a convention. The marching band had reservations, but that left -
"Only one room in the entire hotel," Kowalski sighed.
"You check in," Vecchio said. "Is there internet access for guests?"
"You gotta be kidding," Kowalski said. "Fraser checks his work e-mail about once every six months, and then only because regulations say he can't overload the mailbox."
"The last time was more than five months ago," Vecchio replied. "I'm playing the odds."
Really, he just needed a way to vent - a way besides the way he and Kowalski vented all last night. So he went to the kiosk, was signed in, and paid $1.99 a minute to write:
Fraser -
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? Kowalski and I have been chasing you since Chicago. We've made it as far as Pennsylvania, but please tell me we don't have to go any farther.
If you get this e-mail, which probably you won't, turn the cab around. Interpol can get the topaz smugglers. Let's face it, there's glass more expensive than a topaz. And Dief's not even supposed to be in that cab - it's against regulations for a wolf, remember? Just come on back to Chicago. Come home.
Vecchio considered adding something subtle, maybe something like, "I got your elk postcard, so are we gonna have sex or what?" But this wasn't the time or the place, in a hotel with taxidermists and the University of Wisconsin marching band and -
--and Kowalski waiting upstairs.
Upstairs, in the hotel suite, Kowalski was trying very hard not to imagine things happening on the king-sized bed as he dialed Fraser's phone number at the Tutoyaktuk RCMP office. Not that Fraser was all that much on phones, or phone messages - besides, if the guy climbed up a telephone pole in Pennsylvania, he'd get himself committed again -- but calling gave Kowalski something to think about besides Vecchio.
"Fraser. Hey, it's me. Listen, buddy, what are you doing? Vecchio and I have been on our - on your tail ever since Chicago, but we're not much closer to you. And you're not any closer to the topaz thief, are you?"
He sighed and sat down on the bed, bouncing a little on the mattress.
"Is there a mode of transportation you haven't abused? Seriously. Cars. Planes. Trains. Ferris wheels. I'm not even counting Diefenbaker's incident on the cruise ship, though it's probably the only reason you haven't added boats to this long list of honor. Kathie Lee probably got you banned. Don't you ever get tired of running, Fraser? Don't you ever want to stop chasing the bad guys and let somebody catch you?"
No, Kowalski realized, he doesn't. And after that, it was hard to think of what to say.
"I want to tell you to stop, but you're not gonna stop, so - see you in New York."
He hung up and fell back onto the bed, willing himself to pass out before the door opened -
The door opened. Vecchio stood there, and he was looking down at Kowalski, and when did green silk become a turn-on, anyway?
Vecchio breathed out slowly. "You just had to be lying down on the bed, didn't you?"
"Lock the door," Kowalski said, unfastening his belt.
**
The next morning, Vecchio couldn't resist checking his e-mail one last time. It was something to do besides look at Kowalski, who was too goddamned attractive first thing in the morning. Wasn't there some kind of rule about looking that good before noon? As the exhausted students and their even more exhausted chaperones filed out to the bus, Vecchio stepped into the hotel's internet kiosk to look for an e-mail from Fraser that wouldn't be there.
Except that it was.
He stuck his head out and shouted, "Kowalski?" A blond head on the other side of the lobby turned. "It's Fraser!"
Kowalski made it across the lobby in about two seconds, crowding into the kiosk with Vecchio. "He's okay, right?"
"Fine so far as I know," Vecchio said quickly. "But he sent us an e-mail."
The subject line, glowing in white and blue, read: To Ray and Ray.
"So," Kowalski said, all at once a little uneasy. "Guess he'll finally, uh, clear some stuff up."
"Yeah," Vecchio said. "Guess he will." His hand hesitated on the mouse, unwilling to open the e-mail and learn - whatever it was he was about to learn. But Kowalski was leaning over him, chest against Vecchio's back, and had he actually used some aftershave this morning? To end the distraction, he clicked, and they read:
Ray and Ray,
I appreciate your dedication in joining in my pursuit of the jaywalking smuggler. No, Ray, topazes are not the most priceless of gemstones, but that does not give anyone the right to steal them. Furthermore, I now believe that the smuggler has an accomplice who plans to meet with him in New York, and I cannot allow an international cartel to form while I have the power to prevent it.
If I may say so, I am pleased that you two are traveling together. I have always hoped for a better relationship between my two closest friends - which, of course, will only be more important in the future. Ray, you are probably taking all of this in stride, but if I know you, Ray, you are having a more difficult time. I hope this doesn’t prevent you two from getting along.
"Which one of us is he giving too much credit?" Kowalski asked quietly.
"Both of us," Vecchio said as he kept reading.
I find this cross-country drive invigorating; I haven't had the opportunity to see as much of the States as I would have liked, and even the speed of pursuit has not prevented us from taking in some spectacular views. I was favorably impressed by the city of Toledo, though Diefenbaker found the architecture of the university's famous Art Building somewhat jejune. I look forward to his reactions to the city of New York, all the more now that I know we can expect you both there.
Fraser
P.S.: Ray, did you know that typing in capital letters is considered bad "netiquette"? I'm not offended, of course, but you may wish to take it into account for your future correspondence.
P.P.S.: My conscience troubled me about the wolf ban in taxicabs, Ray, but only until I realized that, upon my commandeering of the vehicle, it became in effect a police car. I therefore believe that Dief's presence is well within both the letter and spirit of the law.
P.P.P.S.: Ray, you know perfectly well that Carnival Cruise Lines ™ never went so far as to ban Diefenbaker. I would expect no future trouble from them, and as the statute of limitations has now expired, Mrs. Gifford can no longer bring charges, even if she feels so inclined.
Both men were silent for a few moments. Finally, Kowalski said, "What's jejune?"
"Wolf talk."
"Only Fraser would be impressed by Toledo."
"I guess we can expect an informative lecture on the history of the Mud Hens franchise." Vecchio couldn't take Kowalski being pressed this close to him for much longer, not without doing something about it. "Let's go. We've got a bus to catch."
**
"That flag girl with the braces is staring at me," Kowalski muttered.
Vecchio mock-whispered, "Don't show fear."
That made Kowalski smile.
The smile made Vecchio wonder if maybe, just maybe, they couldn't get along vertically as well as they did horizontally.
The look in Vecchio's eyes made Kowalski wonder if the earth just moved under his feet -
"We're crashing!" the flag girl with braces screamed as the bus lurched to one side.
"Not AGAIN!" Kowalski braced himself with one arm and Vecchio with the other as the bus hurtled off the highway and into the ditch. A saxophone bounced off Vecchio's shoulder and a few maroon-plumed hats went sailing through the air, but the bus remained upright.
"You okay?" Vecchio said, breathless.
"Yeah," Kowalski said, shaking his head to clear it. "And you? Looked like the horn section was giving you a hard time."
"I'm fine." Yeah, Vecchio decided, Kowalski had definitely worn some aftershave this morning. And the fact that he could think about this while they were in a ditch with 40 screaming band members and a broken sousaphone meant he was in deep, deep trouble.
He didn't know how deep, though.
"Yep, that axle's done for," the driver said as he examined the bus. "We're not going anywhere."
"Oh, great," Kowalski said, pacing in the open field nearby. A few passers-by were approaching from behind a ridge of trees, but unless any of them magically had a bus axel on them - and, in Kowalski's experience, they generally didn't - they wouldn't be able to do much to help. "We're never getting to New York now."
"But we have to get to New York!" The flag girl cried, her braces glinting in the sunlight. "The parade!"
As the passers-by approached, one of them said, "Did you guys say you were headed to New York?"
Vecchio stared at him. "Yeah. You going there?"
"Headed that way in about half an hour," was the reply. "I guess we could give you guys a ride."
"All of us?" Kowalski squinted at the band members still pouring out of the bus. "What do you drive, a Humvee limo?"
"Bigger."
Vecchio pointed behind the ridge of trees where - slowly inflating with helium gas - rose the unmistakable shape of the Goodyear blimp.
Kowalski was the first one able to speak. "Fraser owes us for this."
"Big time."
**
As they soared over the Hudson River, the band members were beside themselves, staring out the windows, laughing and cheering, bus wreck forgotten. A few flag girls practiced their twirls in their excitement. Vecchio had to admit, it was a hell of a view -
--but he was looking at Kowalski, who kept on making things worse by looking back at him.
"We've got a complication here. You know that, right?" Kowalski said.
"Yeah," Vecchio said. He knew Kowalski wasn't talking about the blimp. "We do."
"This - this thing going on - this thing where I kinda hate you but I can't keep my hands off you -"
"I don't know what it is either," Vecchio said. "I'm not going to tell you I don't like it, either."
"Wouldn't believe you if you did." Kowalski looked so smug that Vecchio could've punched him. Or kissed him. Maybe both.
Vecchio finally said the hardest thing of all: "But it doesn’t change what I'm hoping Fraser's going to say to me when we find him again. I don't guess it changes things for you, either."
"No." Kowalski got a different look in his eyes when he thought about Fraser. How, Vecchio thought, was it possible to be jealous of Kowalski and Fraser at the same time? "It doesn't change that. But - I just wanted to say - if things had gone differently - if, say, Fraser was a dead ringer for that mobster and I had to work undercover in a Mountie uniform -"
Vecchio started to laugh.
"Maybe I could've gotten myself a Chihuahua to play the part of Dief," Kowalski said. "Well - I'm just saying - you never know."
The flag girl with the braces gave her flag a spin, missed the catch, and dropped it onto the floor. As she gasped in horror, the bottom of the flagpole popped off. And then, scattering out onto the floor in a thousand sparkles of gold -
"Topazes," Vecchio muttered.
Kowalski lifted his eyes from the gemstones to the flag girl. "The accomplice!"
"Oh, no, you don't," the flag girl said, lisping through her elastics. "You'll never take me alive!"
And with that, she threw herself and her flag toward the window.
Vecchio thought: That flag girl's got nothing left to lose. He tried to grab her, but her foot slammed into the window, sending glass raining down atop the Port Authority bus terminal. The wind began to blow inside the passenger compartment as people started to scream.
"Don't jump!" Kowalski shouted.
"Don't be stupid!" the flag girl cried. "If I go down, I'm taking you all with me!" Then she took her flag and jabbed upward - into the blimp with a terrible ripping sound.
Kowalski grabbed the flag while Vecchio grabbed the girl; as she struggled, the blimp's pilot shouted, "You've got to stop her! One tear, maybe, we can land this thing, but two -"
"Drop the flag, drop the flag," Kowalski muttered.
"We're over the city now!" Vecchio yelled. "If she drops it she could hit somebody!"
"If she doesn't, this entire blimp could hit somebody! Not to mention that we are all IN IT. Didn't you ever see the film of the Hindenburg?"
"That was filled with hydrogen, not helium!"
The flag girl paused in her struggles and frowned. "Do you two always bicker?"
"Yes!" they shouted in unison, pulling in different directions. Vecchio managed to pull her away, finally, and within a couple moments she was subdued, hands bound with a few maroon tassels donated by disillusioned band members.
"That's good," Kowalski said, then paused. "Is it my imagination, or are we a lot lower than we were before?"
"It's the tear!" the pilot shouted. "I'm trying to compensate, but it's tough. If only somebody could try to seal up the outside -"
Vecchio didn't like heights. Not in a paranoid, oh-help-me, acrophobic kind of way, but definitely in a hanging-onto-the-outside-of-a-deflating blimp way. But tough times called for tough men. He turned to Kowalski and said, "I'll spot you."
Swearing under his breath, Kowalski braced himself at the open window. He grabbed the patching equipment the pilot tossed to him, then said with a grin, "Remember, if Fraser picks you after this, it's only because I did a belly flop onto 42nd Street."
Kowalski eased himself out through the window - thanks to the tilting ceiling, he could kind of stand on the sill and yet be outside the blimp -
-- oh motherfuck he was outside the blimp! -
-- and start this patching thing. Hey, it wasn't that big a tear, not really. This should be easy. Piece of cake. Get the adhesive patch, peel off the backing and then WHO THE FUCK TIPPED THIS THING OVER?
As the blimp tilted sharply to the left, Kowalski started to fall, and Vecchio knew he could save his life by letting go.
He didn't let go.
Together they fell out, midtown Manhattan splayed beneath them, and for a moment both of them were ready to meet to meet their Maker, not to mention give him some serious hell for devising the events of the past three days. But Kowalski's hands made contact with a cable, and he grabbed on; he didn't know what the hell it was attached to, but it didn't really matter, because he was falling and the cable wasn't.
Kowalski hanging onto the cable and Vecchio hanging onto Kowalski, they swung beneath the blimp, smacking straight into metal with a THWACK. Instantly they both grabbed the metal instead, taking a moment to get their bearings.
"Hey," Kowalski said. "Blimps have landing gear. Who knew?"
Vecchio's nice new shoes were in danger of dropping. The crowds on the street had begun to realize that something was seriously wrong, and had begun pointing upward, running, screaming and panicking.
From within the blimp, they heard the band leader shout: "Don't lose heart! We should follow the example of the courageous band aboard the Titanic, and play as the ship goes down!"
Apparently the band members agreed with this nonsense, because within moments, the unmistakable thump of Fleetwood Mac's "Tusk" began echoing from the blimp.
"That band was all about Stevie Nicks to me," Kowalski said, trying to firm up his grip on the landing gear.
Vecchio thought this was a talk they could have some other time, except for the part where they'd both be dead. "You KNOW it's a bad day," he shouted over the wind and the motors, "when you realize that, no matter what, things can't possibly get any worse."
At that moment the blimp tilted downward, crazily off balance, forcing both men to cling tighter to the landing gear as the air whipped around them. Screams of terror echoed from within the passenger compartment as some members of the University of Wisconsin marching band began to panic, but the sounds of "Tusk" still rang out. A lone tuba fell from one of the windows, sunlight glinting from the brass bell as it tumbled down to 34th Street, where hysterical crowds were running in every direction beneath Vecchio's dangling feet. The blimp continued its descent, veering toward the Empire State Building as though King Kong himself would be there to catch it.
King Kong was not there.
Kowalski yelled, "You were saying?"
Vecchio would have been at the point of giving up all hope if he'd had any hope left, which he didn't. But then he glanced at the spire atop the Empire State Building and saw -
--no, not King Kong, but unmistakably a red jacket. And dark pants. And a hat.
"Kowalski!" he yelled. "Look!"
Kowalski's face lit up. As one, they both yelled, "Fraser!"
Fraser kept on scaling the spire as though he were on a stepladder. When he reached the very top, he began making an odd lassoing gesture with his hands, then flung a hook-ended cable toward the blimp's passenger section. Apparently the blimp guys knew what to do with it, because instead of the hook falling on their heads, the cable stretched tight, and the blimp's tilting started to stabilize. Slowly, the blimp started getting closer and closer to the Empire State Building - at which point it would be a very short drop to the observation deck.
"You know, the Empire State Building was designed for zeppelin docking," Kowalski said.
Vecchio couldn't stop grinning. "Yeah, seems like I remember that."
**
"It's tragic that she turned to crime so early in her life," Fraser said as they walked away from the numerous police cars and band members on 34th Street. "Still, there's every reason to believe that she isn't yet a hardened criminal, and thus she may benefit greatly from rehabilitation."
Kowalski and Vecchio were still leaning against each other, knees shaky. "Isn't blimp sabotage a felony?" Vecchio said.
"If it's not," Kowalski added, "it SHOULD be."
"I'm only glad that I had apprehended the suspect and had some opportunity to take in the sights at the time," Fraser said. "I had heard the observation deck of the Empire State Building described as a romantic vista."
"You were scoping out romantic vistas?" Kowalski said, trying and failing not to sound eager.
"Yeah, Fraser, about time you let us know what you were talking about on those postcards," Vecchio said.
Kowalski frowned. "It was the same damn postcard."
"It's a fine semantic point," Fraser said. "Well worth discussing with Diefenbaker, who has taken a suite at the Ritz-Carlton and would, undoubtedly, enjoy a visit from you both. But I won't leave either of you in suspense any longer."
They held their breath.
Fraser smiled - a free, happy kind of smile they hadn't seen on his face nearly enough. "I have decided to propose marriage -"
He wants to move to Boston? Vecchio thought.
Hey, it's legal in the Yukon, Kowalski thought.
"-to Inspector Thatcher." Fraser coughed, nervous and yet hopeful. "Margaret," he added. Was that a blush? "Also called - by those close to her - now including myself - Meg."
Never had it occurred to either man that, beneath Fraser's straight-arrow exterior, there might lie an equally straight-arrow interior. Their hopes deflated like the dwindling Goodyear Blimp currently draping itself upon the Avenue of the Americas. But love being love, there was no way to look into Fraser's face and say anything else but:
"Congratulations," they chorused.
"I realize it's non-traditional to have two best men at a wedding," Fraser said. "But I'd be disappointed if you didn't both stand beside me."
"It's an honor, Benny," Vecchio said.
Kowalski tried to crack a smile. "What, you don't want Dief?"
"We are attempting to sort out the paperwork so that he can officiate. It's complicated, as you might expect, but some of these new 'internet churches' are remarkably flexible -" Fraser trailed off of the NYPD officers gestured toward him. "Excuse me. I believe I will have to explain the workings of the international marching-band/topaz-smuggling cartel yet again."
That left Vecchio and Kowalski standing in each other's arms on the sidewalk. Vecchio spoke first. "If you think I'm going to start sleeping with you just by default, you're right."
"Hey, buy a guy a drink first."
"You know what? You're on." Vecchio began steering them both toward downtown. "We could both use one."
Behind them, the University of Wisconsin marching band, perhaps to celebrate their survival, struck up a chorus of "Louie, Louie." At that moment, it was the best song either of them had ever heard.
Kowalski said, "Hey, how do you feel about Steve McQueen?"
END
Only five more stories left to post! Four more days! the saga continues.
1) I have only seen about four episodes of "Due South" in my life. The peerless betaing skills of cesperanza were absolutely necessary to getting this into semi-canonical shape, and I thank her muchly.
2) The events depicted herein are fictional and are in no way meant to depict actual cab drivers, blimp pilots, members of the University of Wisconsin marching band or employees of Carnival Cruise Lines (tm).
With no further ado, written for the patient vamplover84 --
Faster, Diefenbaker! Mush! Mush!
"You KNOW it's a bad day," Vecchio shouted over the wind and the motors, "when you realize that, no matter what, things can't possibly get any worse."
At that moment the blimp tilted downward, crazily off balance, forcing both men to cling tighter to the landing gear as the air whipped around them. Screams of terror echoed from within the passenger compartment as the University of Wisconsin marching band began to panic. A lone tuba fell from one of the windows, sunlight glinting from the brass bell as it tumbled down to 34th Street, where hysterical crowds were running in every direction beneath Vecchio's dangling feet. The blimp continued its descent, veering toward the Empire State Building as though King Kong himself would be there to catch it.
King Kong was not there.
Kowalski yelled, "You were saying?"
**
It had begun with a postcard. Vecchio would say that it began with two postcards, really, not so much because he cared but mostly to get in Kowalski's face about it. Kowalski would retort it was the same damned postcard, which was the root of the whole problem.
The postcard(s) read as follows:
Ray,
I apologize for having been 'incommunicado' for so long. But I have felt that it was long past time to revisit the sweat lodge to cleanse my spirit. Also, Diefenbaker had expressed interest in going home for a time, perhaps nostalgic for the ice fields after the Caribbean-cruise mishap last year, which I'm sure you recall. (In my opinion Diefenbaker could have made a far better use of his savings - the cruise ship's library was woefully understocked, and I was not enjoying myself long before the incident that led to our expulsion -- but the wanderlust of the wolf is a powerful force.)
The sweat lodge has proved illuminating in many ways. I feel that now, more than ever, I understand who and what I am - and, if I may be so bold, whom I love. I will return to Chicago in two weeks, and it is my hope that you will meet me there. Shall we say the steps of the Art Institute, 11 a.m.? I look forward to finally sharing what I have learned.
Diefenbaker sends his regards.
Benton Fraser
Two weeks after receiving this card (with a picture of an elk on the front), Vecchio walked toward the Art Institute. The new shoes were tight on his feet, but hey, it was a day for looking your best. It was a day when good things might happen.
But then, all of a sudden, it turned into a day when Kowalski came walking along Michigan Avenue, looking too damned happy for words until he caught sight of Vecchio.
"What are you doing here?" Vecchio said. The conversation he meant to have with Fraser later was not one he wanted to have with Kowalski around.
"First of all, last time I checked, this wasn't a private club," Kowalski said. "Second, I'm here by invitation. And you, I guess somebody's selling pimpwear out of a truck around the corner?"
The pimpwear comment could be dealt with later. "Invitation?"
Kowalski held up a postcard with a picture of a caribou on the front. Vecchio held up his elk, and the two of them compared the cards, side by side, in silence for a few minutes.
At last, Kowalski said, "He even crossed all the Ts in the exact same place."
"He would." Vecchio sighed, trying to take this in. "So. Sounds like he kinda wanted to talk to both of us about -"
"Sweat lodges -"
"The whole mess with Diefenbaker and the Carnival Cruise line -"
They finished together, "And who he loves."
Both men squinted at each other; each of them had been hoping that this was a conversation he'd have with Fraser alone. In Vecchio's mind, the talk ended in a nice hotel, maybe the Drake, with a king-sized bed and room service delivering champagne on ice. Kowalski's imagination had been too impatient to make it any further than the back seat of the GTO, but had performed acrobatic wonders within this space.
In no version of the conversation either man had imagined was a third person necessary, unless you counted that daydream Kowalski had about a three-way with Steve McQueen.
"He doesn't mean you," Kowalski said. "You're a married man."
"I'm not a married man anymore."
"What - you and Stella - it's over?"
"She said she was going to marry a straight man next time."
Kowalski snorted. "Liza Minnelli will marry a straight man before Stella does."
Eyeing one another warily, the two of them paced toward the Art Institute. Vecchio noticed - in that unthinking, evaluation-free way everyone has when distracted - that a nearby hot-dog stand had been turned over, and dozens of pigeons were pecking at the buns scattered on the pavement and steps. But he only had eyes for Kowalski. He was looking good; okay, admit it, the guy had always looked good, though it was hard to tell in the scruffy clothes he always wore. Fraser went on that long trek with him, and Frannie said the two of them were really tight; was it possible that what this guy had with Fraser was more - ? - was better -?
No. No way.
Kowalski squinted to shield his eyes from the glare - not of the sun, though it was a nice day, but from Vecchio's green-silk shirt. In the same unthinking, distracted frame of mind, he noticed that a nearby shop window had been completely broken out, and that the sidewalk glittered with shards of glass. That wasn't nearly as important as figuring out Vecchio. If you went for flashy - and maybe Fraser did, who knew? - Vecchio cut a pretty good figure. Not conventionally handsome, but he had nice eyes and kind of a way about him. And he knew from everything Fraser had ever said that the bond between those guys went deep. So had Fraser always - did he still --?
No. No way.
"Obviously Fraser thinks we both need to hear what he has to say," Vecchio said at last. "But I think it's a good guess only one of us is going to be happy to hear it."
It ain't gonna be you, pal, Kowalski thought. "Let's just find Fraser. Is he late?"
"Can't be," they said in unison, only breaking eye contact as their cop instincts were finally awakened by the brilliant yellow glare of CRIME SCENE tape.
Vecchio recovered first. "Chicago PD!" he shouted, holding up his badge. "What happened here?"
"Suspect pursuit," said the patrolwoman on duty, clearly out of breath. "The officer in question - who isn't even Chicago PD, but -"
"A Mountie," Kowalski said. "I don't like the sound of this."
"Yeah, a Mountie." The policewoman still seemed slightly dazed. "He witnessed a crime in this area, called it in and is in pursuit - I guess you'd have to say in zealous pursuit -"
"Of a murderer," Vecchio said. "Please say it's a murderer."
"Anything with a local crime scene," Kowalski pleaded. "Anything that could make him stay put to investigate."
The policewoman shook her head. "A jaywalker."
Both Rays groaned.
**
Next they heard, the suspect had fled for more than a mile before he stole a car to try and escape Fraser. In Vecchio's mind, this was proof that criminals could always make a bad situation worse; why take plain old jaywalking and turn it into grand theft auto? Kowalski, on the other hand, was waiting to hear that the jaywalker was secretly a Columbian drug lord, which Fraser would have instantly detected through one of his Jedi mind tricks of the Yukon.
However, they both agreed the absolute worst news was that Fraser had commandeered a taxicab in the name of the Canadian government and Queen Elizabeth II, leaving an irritated, newly anti-Canadian taxi driver on the sidewalk. Both the stolen car and a checker cab containing a Mountie and a wolf had just been reported speeding past the Indiana state line.
"I don't know what's scarier here," Kowalski said. "The fact that a criminal's on the loose or the fact that Fraser's driving."
Vecchio envisioned the mayhem on the highways, then decided not the envision that any more. "He'll get his man eventually," he said. "We both know that."
"Yeah, but which man?" Then Kowalski closed his eyes, leaning against the police station door. "And, yeah. The suspect. Right."
"We could just wait for him to get back. Shouldn't be that hard to do right?"
"Right," Kowalski said. "There's no way Fraser would chase a jaywalker for more than two or three months."
The two men shared glances.
Kowalski said, "We're taking my car."
**
"How many toll roads can there be in Indiana?" Vecchio complained, handing over cash to Kowalski. "And shouldn't they have slowed Benny up more? How the hell is he getting through these? Since when does Indiana accept Canadian money?"
Kowalski shook his head as they started moving again. "By the way, you might've noticed, it's about 2 a.m. We should crash, as in sleep, before we crash, as in crash."
"Can't go all night, huh?" Vecchio grinned as he leaned back in his seat.
"I'm saving my energy for better things," Kowalski replied, heading toward a Motel 6 sign that cast a febrile glow upon the horizon.
As untimely fate would have it, the hotel was overrun with chiropractors attending a convention. Only one room was available, and it took only a quick glance at the floral bedspreads, ratty carpet and mounted buffalo head on the wall to determine that this was because none of the chiropractors would accept it.
"I don't care," Kowalski insisted, kicking off his dusty Chucks. "Okay, the buffalo head is creepy, looking at us, but you know, we'll just throw a towel over his head."
"There was a perfectly good Ramada a couple blocks away," Vecchio said, carefully hanging up his blazer. "You're too cheap to spend an extra $30 a night?"
"I'm not paying a cent more than I have to because of Fraser's little re-enactment of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride." Kowalski lifted his chin. "Besides, Fraser - he's not into fancy stuff, you know? Oh, wait, maybe you never did notice."
"He appreciates people paying attention," Vecchio said, stepping closer. "And he deserves the best. Nothing less."
Kowalski raised an eyebrow. "You saying I'm less than the best? Because you're wrong there, pal."
"Oh, yeah?"
Vecchio meant the kiss that followed to be a demonstration of his superiority in kissing technique, which he considered a given. What it turned out to be was a demonstration of the fact that oh my god holy hell Kowalski could kiss too.
Kowalski didn't exactly mean to kiss Vecchio back, but when lips meet lips it's an automatic reaction, and you can't really help kissing back a little bit. Of course, this didn't really explain why his tongue was now in Vecchio's mouth, but Kowalski didn't pay much attention to details, particularly when they didn't work to his advantage.
When Vecchio's hands finally made their way down to Kowalski's ass, he figured it was only fair to check out anything Benny might've checked out. And this was definitely a butt worth checking out, and you couldn't really check without getting the jeans off, could you?
Kowalski told himself he was just taking Vecchio's shirt off because there was only so much time a man could spend looking at bright green silk, and he was past it, and skin on skin feels so damn good and -
The stuffed buffalo head's glazed eyes seemed very wide.
**
The next morning, after considerable embarrassment and a continental breakfast, Vecchio and Kowalski were back on the road. Nobody said anything until well into Ohio.
"Are we gonna tell him or what?" Kowalski said at last.
"Tell him what? That we cheated on him?" Vecchio sighed. "That was just - just - proving a point."
"What point?"
"I don't know, but we proved it."
Three times, they both thought.
"Besides," Vecchio added, "I'm not technically with Benny yet, and you aren't ever going to be, so it wouldn’t actually be cheating."
"He sent a postcard," Kowalski said, already guilty. Wasn't a caribou a good enough reason not to screw around? "He talked about love. It's cheating."
Vecchio considered this. "He's only going to pick one of us -"
"Yeah," Kowalski agreed. "Not a threesome guy. Not ever." Except maybe, he thought, with Steve McQueen.
"-so only one of us could have been cheating on him."
Kowalski said, "Well, then it's me. I cheated on Fraser."
"No," Vecchio insisted. "I cheated on Fraser."
"No, I did."
"No, I did."
"NO, I did."
"NO - Holy shit, Kowalski, watch the road!"
BLAM!
**
"The tree moved," Kowalski said, grimacing at the sight of his beloved GTO as it was hoisted into the air on the mechanic's platform. "It jumped right out in front of me."
"Trees, lakes - what is it with you, moving vehicles and unmoving objects?" Vecchio was more interested in his cell phone than traffic violations by pine trees. "Get this. Apparently Fraser called in to Chicago PD from a pay phone last night --"
"Where the hell is he getting American money?"
"Dief's ATM card, probably," Vecchio sighed. "He thinks the jaywalker is actually part of an international topaz-smuggling ring from Zanzibar."
"Topaz-smuggling?" Kowalski wondered if he'd lied when he told the EMTs that he hadn't hit his head. "How did Fraser know - oh, never mind. He'll tell us when we get to him. Which brings up the question: Where is he?"
"Still driving. And apparently they're headed for New York City."
"The GTO isn't going to New York anytime soon," Kowalski said, glancing again at its battered bumpers before he had to turn away. "It's not going to the end of the block anytime soon."
"Are you a police officer or aren't you?" Vecchio took out his badge and walked up to the only other customer at the service station. "Police. I'm afraid we're going to have to commandeer your vehicle. We've got a law-enforcement emergency, and we need to get to New York immediately."
The man smiled, as if relieved. "Oh, that's okay. We're headed to New York ourselves, actually. We're going to be in a parade!"
"Parade?" Vecchio said.
Kowalski had a bad feeling about this. "Where's your vehicle?"
The driver led them proudly around the corner - to where a huge bus waited, crammed full of shouting kids with musical instruments. On its side was a banner that read UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN GO BADGERS GO!
"Hey, guys!" the driver - band leader - shouted. "We've got company."
Vecchio's face fell. Kowalski said, "If it makes you feel any better, I'm too busy being horrified to be smug about your mistake."
"It doesn't make me feel any better."
"No? Good."
**
You can talk about a lot of things while on a cross-country trip with a college marching band. You can talk about who likes who, about professors that suck, about plans to smuggle beer into the hotel. You can even talk about the two old weird guys who are now sitting in the back, on the seat nobody else will even touch because Scott Moore threw up on it that time. This leaves plenty of time for singing "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall," not out of any real pleasure but in the hopes it will drive the chaperones permanently insane.
What you can't talk about is why you had wild gay sex with your #1 rival for the affections of the man that you actually want to have wild gay sex with.
Not that Vecchio was in any mood to discuss it. Yeah, it happened. It's one of those things that happen. And it was all Kowalski's fault for being a perfect ass, or for having one, possibly both.
Kowalski, more exhausted from the wreck and from the 77th bottle of beer on the wall, simply wondered when he'd stopped finding Vecchio's aftershave obnoxious and started finding it attractive. Not that he found it attractive NOW, not any more, just last night. Funny thing, last night.
Vecchio glanced down at Kowalski's jeans and all things concealed inside them. Kowalski breathed in deeply. Their shoulders touched.
**
They reached Pennsylvania and a La Quinta Inn many, many bottles of beer later. As untimely fate would have it, the hotel was overrun with taxidermists attending a convention. The marching band had reservations, but that left -
"Only one room in the entire hotel," Kowalski sighed.
"You check in," Vecchio said. "Is there internet access for guests?"
"You gotta be kidding," Kowalski said. "Fraser checks his work e-mail about once every six months, and then only because regulations say he can't overload the mailbox."
"The last time was more than five months ago," Vecchio replied. "I'm playing the odds."
Really, he just needed a way to vent - a way besides the way he and Kowalski vented all last night. So he went to the kiosk, was signed in, and paid $1.99 a minute to write:
Fraser -
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? Kowalski and I have been chasing you since Chicago. We've made it as far as Pennsylvania, but please tell me we don't have to go any farther.
If you get this e-mail, which probably you won't, turn the cab around. Interpol can get the topaz smugglers. Let's face it, there's glass more expensive than a topaz. And Dief's not even supposed to be in that cab - it's against regulations for a wolf, remember? Just come on back to Chicago. Come home.
Vecchio considered adding something subtle, maybe something like, "I got your elk postcard, so are we gonna have sex or what?" But this wasn't the time or the place, in a hotel with taxidermists and the University of Wisconsin marching band and -
--and Kowalski waiting upstairs.
Upstairs, in the hotel suite, Kowalski was trying very hard not to imagine things happening on the king-sized bed as he dialed Fraser's phone number at the Tutoyaktuk RCMP office. Not that Fraser was all that much on phones, or phone messages - besides, if the guy climbed up a telephone pole in Pennsylvania, he'd get himself committed again -- but calling gave Kowalski something to think about besides Vecchio.
"Fraser. Hey, it's me. Listen, buddy, what are you doing? Vecchio and I have been on our - on your tail ever since Chicago, but we're not much closer to you. And you're not any closer to the topaz thief, are you?"
He sighed and sat down on the bed, bouncing a little on the mattress.
"Is there a mode of transportation you haven't abused? Seriously. Cars. Planes. Trains. Ferris wheels. I'm not even counting Diefenbaker's incident on the cruise ship, though it's probably the only reason you haven't added boats to this long list of honor. Kathie Lee probably got you banned. Don't you ever get tired of running, Fraser? Don't you ever want to stop chasing the bad guys and let somebody catch you?"
No, Kowalski realized, he doesn't. And after that, it was hard to think of what to say.
"I want to tell you to stop, but you're not gonna stop, so - see you in New York."
He hung up and fell back onto the bed, willing himself to pass out before the door opened -
The door opened. Vecchio stood there, and he was looking down at Kowalski, and when did green silk become a turn-on, anyway?
Vecchio breathed out slowly. "You just had to be lying down on the bed, didn't you?"
"Lock the door," Kowalski said, unfastening his belt.
**
The next morning, Vecchio couldn't resist checking his e-mail one last time. It was something to do besides look at Kowalski, who was too goddamned attractive first thing in the morning. Wasn't there some kind of rule about looking that good before noon? As the exhausted students and their even more exhausted chaperones filed out to the bus, Vecchio stepped into the hotel's internet kiosk to look for an e-mail from Fraser that wouldn't be there.
Except that it was.
He stuck his head out and shouted, "Kowalski?" A blond head on the other side of the lobby turned. "It's Fraser!"
Kowalski made it across the lobby in about two seconds, crowding into the kiosk with Vecchio. "He's okay, right?"
"Fine so far as I know," Vecchio said quickly. "But he sent us an e-mail."
The subject line, glowing in white and blue, read: To Ray and Ray.
"So," Kowalski said, all at once a little uneasy. "Guess he'll finally, uh, clear some stuff up."
"Yeah," Vecchio said. "Guess he will." His hand hesitated on the mouse, unwilling to open the e-mail and learn - whatever it was he was about to learn. But Kowalski was leaning over him, chest against Vecchio's back, and had he actually used some aftershave this morning? To end the distraction, he clicked, and they read:
Ray and Ray,
I appreciate your dedication in joining in my pursuit of the jaywalking smuggler. No, Ray, topazes are not the most priceless of gemstones, but that does not give anyone the right to steal them. Furthermore, I now believe that the smuggler has an accomplice who plans to meet with him in New York, and I cannot allow an international cartel to form while I have the power to prevent it.
If I may say so, I am pleased that you two are traveling together. I have always hoped for a better relationship between my two closest friends - which, of course, will only be more important in the future. Ray, you are probably taking all of this in stride, but if I know you, Ray, you are having a more difficult time. I hope this doesn’t prevent you two from getting along.
"Which one of us is he giving too much credit?" Kowalski asked quietly.
"Both of us," Vecchio said as he kept reading.
I find this cross-country drive invigorating; I haven't had the opportunity to see as much of the States as I would have liked, and even the speed of pursuit has not prevented us from taking in some spectacular views. I was favorably impressed by the city of Toledo, though Diefenbaker found the architecture of the university's famous Art Building somewhat jejune. I look forward to his reactions to the city of New York, all the more now that I know we can expect you both there.
Fraser
P.S.: Ray, did you know that typing in capital letters is considered bad "netiquette"? I'm not offended, of course, but you may wish to take it into account for your future correspondence.
P.P.S.: My conscience troubled me about the wolf ban in taxicabs, Ray, but only until I realized that, upon my commandeering of the vehicle, it became in effect a police car. I therefore believe that Dief's presence is well within both the letter and spirit of the law.
P.P.P.S.: Ray, you know perfectly well that Carnival Cruise Lines ™ never went so far as to ban Diefenbaker. I would expect no future trouble from them, and as the statute of limitations has now expired, Mrs. Gifford can no longer bring charges, even if she feels so inclined.
Both men were silent for a few moments. Finally, Kowalski said, "What's jejune?"
"Wolf talk."
"Only Fraser would be impressed by Toledo."
"I guess we can expect an informative lecture on the history of the Mud Hens franchise." Vecchio couldn't take Kowalski being pressed this close to him for much longer, not without doing something about it. "Let's go. We've got a bus to catch."
**
"That flag girl with the braces is staring at me," Kowalski muttered.
Vecchio mock-whispered, "Don't show fear."
That made Kowalski smile.
The smile made Vecchio wonder if maybe, just maybe, they couldn't get along vertically as well as they did horizontally.
The look in Vecchio's eyes made Kowalski wonder if the earth just moved under his feet -
"We're crashing!" the flag girl with braces screamed as the bus lurched to one side.
"Not AGAIN!" Kowalski braced himself with one arm and Vecchio with the other as the bus hurtled off the highway and into the ditch. A saxophone bounced off Vecchio's shoulder and a few maroon-plumed hats went sailing through the air, but the bus remained upright.
"You okay?" Vecchio said, breathless.
"Yeah," Kowalski said, shaking his head to clear it. "And you? Looked like the horn section was giving you a hard time."
"I'm fine." Yeah, Vecchio decided, Kowalski had definitely worn some aftershave this morning. And the fact that he could think about this while they were in a ditch with 40 screaming band members and a broken sousaphone meant he was in deep, deep trouble.
He didn't know how deep, though.
"Yep, that axle's done for," the driver said as he examined the bus. "We're not going anywhere."
"Oh, great," Kowalski said, pacing in the open field nearby. A few passers-by were approaching from behind a ridge of trees, but unless any of them magically had a bus axel on them - and, in Kowalski's experience, they generally didn't - they wouldn't be able to do much to help. "We're never getting to New York now."
"But we have to get to New York!" The flag girl cried, her braces glinting in the sunlight. "The parade!"
As the passers-by approached, one of them said, "Did you guys say you were headed to New York?"
Vecchio stared at him. "Yeah. You going there?"
"Headed that way in about half an hour," was the reply. "I guess we could give you guys a ride."
"All of us?" Kowalski squinted at the band members still pouring out of the bus. "What do you drive, a Humvee limo?"
"Bigger."
Vecchio pointed behind the ridge of trees where - slowly inflating with helium gas - rose the unmistakable shape of the Goodyear blimp.
Kowalski was the first one able to speak. "Fraser owes us for this."
"Big time."
**
As they soared over the Hudson River, the band members were beside themselves, staring out the windows, laughing and cheering, bus wreck forgotten. A few flag girls practiced their twirls in their excitement. Vecchio had to admit, it was a hell of a view -
--but he was looking at Kowalski, who kept on making things worse by looking back at him.
"We've got a complication here. You know that, right?" Kowalski said.
"Yeah," Vecchio said. He knew Kowalski wasn't talking about the blimp. "We do."
"This - this thing going on - this thing where I kinda hate you but I can't keep my hands off you -"
"I don't know what it is either," Vecchio said. "I'm not going to tell you I don't like it, either."
"Wouldn't believe you if you did." Kowalski looked so smug that Vecchio could've punched him. Or kissed him. Maybe both.
Vecchio finally said the hardest thing of all: "But it doesn’t change what I'm hoping Fraser's going to say to me when we find him again. I don't guess it changes things for you, either."
"No." Kowalski got a different look in his eyes when he thought about Fraser. How, Vecchio thought, was it possible to be jealous of Kowalski and Fraser at the same time? "It doesn't change that. But - I just wanted to say - if things had gone differently - if, say, Fraser was a dead ringer for that mobster and I had to work undercover in a Mountie uniform -"
Vecchio started to laugh.
"Maybe I could've gotten myself a Chihuahua to play the part of Dief," Kowalski said. "Well - I'm just saying - you never know."
The flag girl with the braces gave her flag a spin, missed the catch, and dropped it onto the floor. As she gasped in horror, the bottom of the flagpole popped off. And then, scattering out onto the floor in a thousand sparkles of gold -
"Topazes," Vecchio muttered.
Kowalski lifted his eyes from the gemstones to the flag girl. "The accomplice!"
"Oh, no, you don't," the flag girl said, lisping through her elastics. "You'll never take me alive!"
And with that, she threw herself and her flag toward the window.
Vecchio thought: That flag girl's got nothing left to lose. He tried to grab her, but her foot slammed into the window, sending glass raining down atop the Port Authority bus terminal. The wind began to blow inside the passenger compartment as people started to scream.
"Don't jump!" Kowalski shouted.
"Don't be stupid!" the flag girl cried. "If I go down, I'm taking you all with me!" Then she took her flag and jabbed upward - into the blimp with a terrible ripping sound.
Kowalski grabbed the flag while Vecchio grabbed the girl; as she struggled, the blimp's pilot shouted, "You've got to stop her! One tear, maybe, we can land this thing, but two -"
"Drop the flag, drop the flag," Kowalski muttered.
"We're over the city now!" Vecchio yelled. "If she drops it she could hit somebody!"
"If she doesn't, this entire blimp could hit somebody! Not to mention that we are all IN IT. Didn't you ever see the film of the Hindenburg?"
"That was filled with hydrogen, not helium!"
The flag girl paused in her struggles and frowned. "Do you two always bicker?"
"Yes!" they shouted in unison, pulling in different directions. Vecchio managed to pull her away, finally, and within a couple moments she was subdued, hands bound with a few maroon tassels donated by disillusioned band members.
"That's good," Kowalski said, then paused. "Is it my imagination, or are we a lot lower than we were before?"
"It's the tear!" the pilot shouted. "I'm trying to compensate, but it's tough. If only somebody could try to seal up the outside -"
Vecchio didn't like heights. Not in a paranoid, oh-help-me, acrophobic kind of way, but definitely in a hanging-onto-the-outside-of-a-deflating blimp way. But tough times called for tough men. He turned to Kowalski and said, "I'll spot you."
Swearing under his breath, Kowalski braced himself at the open window. He grabbed the patching equipment the pilot tossed to him, then said with a grin, "Remember, if Fraser picks you after this, it's only because I did a belly flop onto 42nd Street."
Kowalski eased himself out through the window - thanks to the tilting ceiling, he could kind of stand on the sill and yet be outside the blimp -
-- oh motherfuck he was outside the blimp! -
-- and start this patching thing. Hey, it wasn't that big a tear, not really. This should be easy. Piece of cake. Get the adhesive patch, peel off the backing and then WHO THE FUCK TIPPED THIS THING OVER?
As the blimp tilted sharply to the left, Kowalski started to fall, and Vecchio knew he could save his life by letting go.
He didn't let go.
Together they fell out, midtown Manhattan splayed beneath them, and for a moment both of them were ready to meet to meet their Maker, not to mention give him some serious hell for devising the events of the past three days. But Kowalski's hands made contact with a cable, and he grabbed on; he didn't know what the hell it was attached to, but it didn't really matter, because he was falling and the cable wasn't.
Kowalski hanging onto the cable and Vecchio hanging onto Kowalski, they swung beneath the blimp, smacking straight into metal with a THWACK. Instantly they both grabbed the metal instead, taking a moment to get their bearings.
"Hey," Kowalski said. "Blimps have landing gear. Who knew?"
Vecchio's nice new shoes were in danger of dropping. The crowds on the street had begun to realize that something was seriously wrong, and had begun pointing upward, running, screaming and panicking.
From within the blimp, they heard the band leader shout: "Don't lose heart! We should follow the example of the courageous band aboard the Titanic, and play as the ship goes down!"
Apparently the band members agreed with this nonsense, because within moments, the unmistakable thump of Fleetwood Mac's "Tusk" began echoing from the blimp.
"That band was all about Stevie Nicks to me," Kowalski said, trying to firm up his grip on the landing gear.
Vecchio thought this was a talk they could have some other time, except for the part where they'd both be dead. "You KNOW it's a bad day," he shouted over the wind and the motors, "when you realize that, no matter what, things can't possibly get any worse."
At that moment the blimp tilted downward, crazily off balance, forcing both men to cling tighter to the landing gear as the air whipped around them. Screams of terror echoed from within the passenger compartment as some members of the University of Wisconsin marching band began to panic, but the sounds of "Tusk" still rang out. A lone tuba fell from one of the windows, sunlight glinting from the brass bell as it tumbled down to 34th Street, where hysterical crowds were running in every direction beneath Vecchio's dangling feet. The blimp continued its descent, veering toward the Empire State Building as though King Kong himself would be there to catch it.
King Kong was not there.
Kowalski yelled, "You were saying?"
Vecchio would have been at the point of giving up all hope if he'd had any hope left, which he didn't. But then he glanced at the spire atop the Empire State Building and saw -
--no, not King Kong, but unmistakably a red jacket. And dark pants. And a hat.
"Kowalski!" he yelled. "Look!"
Kowalski's face lit up. As one, they both yelled, "Fraser!"
Fraser kept on scaling the spire as though he were on a stepladder. When he reached the very top, he began making an odd lassoing gesture with his hands, then flung a hook-ended cable toward the blimp's passenger section. Apparently the blimp guys knew what to do with it, because instead of the hook falling on their heads, the cable stretched tight, and the blimp's tilting started to stabilize. Slowly, the blimp started getting closer and closer to the Empire State Building - at which point it would be a very short drop to the observation deck.
"You know, the Empire State Building was designed for zeppelin docking," Kowalski said.
Vecchio couldn't stop grinning. "Yeah, seems like I remember that."
**
"It's tragic that she turned to crime so early in her life," Fraser said as they walked away from the numerous police cars and band members on 34th Street. "Still, there's every reason to believe that she isn't yet a hardened criminal, and thus she may benefit greatly from rehabilitation."
Kowalski and Vecchio were still leaning against each other, knees shaky. "Isn't blimp sabotage a felony?" Vecchio said.
"If it's not," Kowalski added, "it SHOULD be."
"I'm only glad that I had apprehended the suspect and had some opportunity to take in the sights at the time," Fraser said. "I had heard the observation deck of the Empire State Building described as a romantic vista."
"You were scoping out romantic vistas?" Kowalski said, trying and failing not to sound eager.
"Yeah, Fraser, about time you let us know what you were talking about on those postcards," Vecchio said.
Kowalski frowned. "It was the same damn postcard."
"It's a fine semantic point," Fraser said. "Well worth discussing with Diefenbaker, who has taken a suite at the Ritz-Carlton and would, undoubtedly, enjoy a visit from you both. But I won't leave either of you in suspense any longer."
They held their breath.
Fraser smiled - a free, happy kind of smile they hadn't seen on his face nearly enough. "I have decided to propose marriage -"
He wants to move to Boston? Vecchio thought.
Hey, it's legal in the Yukon, Kowalski thought.
"-to Inspector Thatcher." Fraser coughed, nervous and yet hopeful. "Margaret," he added. Was that a blush? "Also called - by those close to her - now including myself - Meg."
Never had it occurred to either man that, beneath Fraser's straight-arrow exterior, there might lie an equally straight-arrow interior. Their hopes deflated like the dwindling Goodyear Blimp currently draping itself upon the Avenue of the Americas. But love being love, there was no way to look into Fraser's face and say anything else but:
"Congratulations," they chorused.
"I realize it's non-traditional to have two best men at a wedding," Fraser said. "But I'd be disappointed if you didn't both stand beside me."
"It's an honor, Benny," Vecchio said.
Kowalski tried to crack a smile. "What, you don't want Dief?"
"We are attempting to sort out the paperwork so that he can officiate. It's complicated, as you might expect, but some of these new 'internet churches' are remarkably flexible -" Fraser trailed off of the NYPD officers gestured toward him. "Excuse me. I believe I will have to explain the workings of the international marching-band/topaz-smuggling cartel yet again."
That left Vecchio and Kowalski standing in each other's arms on the sidewalk. Vecchio spoke first. "If you think I'm going to start sleeping with you just by default, you're right."
"Hey, buy a guy a drink first."
"You know what? You're on." Vecchio began steering them both toward downtown. "We could both use one."
Behind them, the University of Wisconsin marching band, perhaps to celebrate their survival, struck up a chorus of "Louie, Louie." At that moment, it was the best song either of them had ever heard.
Kowalski said, "Hey, how do you feel about Steve McQueen?"
END
Only five more stories left to post! Four more days! the saga continues.