‘Dead Guy’ Redux

Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police strolled through the door of the 2-7, intent on finding one Detective First Grade Raymond Vecchio.  A small young man in a baseball cap hurled himself through the door.  Benton reflexively caught him. 

“Whoa! Settle down, son.”

“Yo, man, what are you?” The startled young man asked, looking Fraser up and down.

“I’m a Canadian.”

Ray called out, “Thanks, Fraser!” He was seconds behind the would-be escapee.

“You’re welcome, Ray. What happened to your ear?” Benton peered at the bandage rather clumsily wrapped around his boyfriend’s head.

“It’s a long story,” Ray said dismissively. He consulted a clipboard. “Ummm… Michael Johnson here goes into number 1,” he said to a passing uniform. He indicated the nearby man with a nod.

“Ooh…just a sec.” Ben swiped a cigarette from the mouth of an elderly man standing in the corner as he walked by him. “I’m sorry, sir, this is a non-smoking environment.”  The man muttered at him as he walked away.  “You know Ray, that thing with your ear kind of reminds of wrestling match I once saw on Great Slave Lake where Yukon John practically bit off Haystack Calhoun’s ear. Although my friend Inusik who knew of such things –he said that it was entirely fake, and that the next night, Haystack Calhoun would bite off Yukon John’s ear.” He chuckles.

Ray chuckled back with sarcasm, mocking Ben. “What is the point of that story?”

“It’s just an ear anecdote.”

“Look, they are taking my collar.  Adolph Kuzma is my collar.”

“Hey yo, yo, man, what’s up? You guys for real?” The young street kid Ray was hustling along asked.

“Hey, we ask the tough questions around here. Keep your feet off the table and shut up, homes,” Ray said without breaking stride.

Ray pulled the young man into an interview room, and Ben shut and locked door behind them.

Ray said, “Alright.  Possession of burglar tools, attempted theft auto, apprehended inside a Mercedes 280SL.”

“I was just looking for a place to sleep, that’s all,” Stanley Smith quipped.

“So you broke in a hundred thousand dollar car?”

“Yeah, I did, get me my lawyer.”

The kid was testing Ray’s notoriously thin patience.  “Oh, you got no place to sleep but…” Ray, distracted, walked toward the door.  “You’ve got a lawyer on retainer. Good one.” 

Ray yanked the door open, and yelled at the cuffed suspect being brought through the door by Jack Huey and another cop.  “Kuzma, you little freak show!  Come on! Come on!”  Ray lunged for the man.

Welsh yelled out in the malaise, “Hey! Hey! Hey! Detective! Get ‘em out of here!”

It took Welsh, Huey, and the uniform to separate Ray from Kuzma. They shoved Ray back into the interview room.  For a thin man, he was remarkably strong, especially when worked up.  Ben had seen evidence of this on numerous occasions.  

 Ray held his ear as though it pained him.  He gathered all his frustration and punched his fist through the wall of the small room.

Ben winced in sympathy. “Alright?” He knew better than to criticize when Ray was in a mood like this.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Hey, it’s like a zoo up in here!” Ray’s delinquent chimed in.

Ray snarled.  Dief, who woofed at something in the hole that Ray had just made, diverted Ben’s attention.  Ben peered in, and alarmed, starting peeling away the tattered Sheetrock.   “Oh dear,” he said.

VVVVVV

Francesca Vecchio barged into Room 1, not bothering to knock.  She saw on the floor, white as a sheet and dead stiff, a face she instantly recognized. 

“Oh my God!” She shrieked.  “You killed him!” She backed away from her brother like he was a monster. “You killed him!”  Jack Dewey came running at Frannie’s cry.  Both Ray and Ben stared back at the younger Vecchio, mortified.  Frannie and Jack exchanged glances.  They stepped into the room and shut the door.

VVVVVV

Detective Ray Vecchio and Constable Benton Fraser sat facing the mirror in Room One. Between Ray and Ben sat Ray’s lawyer, courtesy the FOP league.  No doubt, they had an audience on the other side of the mirror, hanging on to every word.  Two men from the Internal Affairs Department, Peterson and McAllen, sat across from them, stone-faced.  Ben stared at Ray’s reflection, trying to gauge what was going through his mind.  There were beads of sweat on Ray’s forehead.  Very seldom had Ben seen Ray sweat under pressure. This was an extremely bad sign.

McAllen so far had done most of the speaking.  Peterson mostly sat back and watched Ray’s reactions to their questions.  These men were skilled interrogators. 

McAllen said, “OK, we’ve got your sister making a statement that you made death threats against the deceased, revolving around an incident that happened in mid February of 1994.  She says you beat his face to a bloody pulp, Detective. For months following this incident, you tail and, then arrest Mr. Rankin.”  He consulted his thick file before continuing. “You get him on extortion, some RICO. Some charges stick, some don’t.  Of course, he claims it’s all a set up and he’s innocent of all charges.” 

Ray had wound himself up during McAllen’s comments, and lurched forward, a look of pure malice on his face.  Both Ben and his attorney put hands to Ray’s chest.  Ben could feel the heat coming from Ray, could feel his heart hammering in the boney chest. 

McAllen continued. “Strangely, the victim once again acquires bruises while in your custody. Bruises that several witnesses verified were not there shortly before you apprehended him.  He bounces because neither you, nor Detective Huey read him his Miranda rights.  You release him from custody, and conveniently, the man is never seen nor heard from again.” McAllen’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.  “Do I have the facts straight, Detective Vecchio?”

“That is what the record states, sir,” The FOP representative attorney Gail Flanagan stated. “However, what you are insinuating is something else entirely, and I don’t like what you’re not saying.”

“What, your client can’t say a word in his defense?”

“What do you want me to say?” Ray sulked.  “Sounds like you’re already tried and judged me, don’t it?”  He cast a sideways glance at Ben.

“You’d better start co-operating Detective.  You’d better tell us everything that you know,” McAllen said.

“Look, the guy was gonna rape my sister! What should I have done?  That was my sister, man!  You think I’m just going to let that shit go?”

“Detective!” Flanagan warned.

Peterson at last spoke, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms. “You can’t take the law into your own hands, Detective.  You should know this better than anyone.”

McAllen added, a little kinder this time.  “So tell us everything that’s not in the file.  Help us understand, Detective.” 

So Ray Vecchio took a deep breath and began to recount the events that occurred four years ago.

VECCHIO: This asshole shows up at ten o’clock at night to take Frannie out.  What kind of decent guy shows up at that hour for a date with a nice girl? I knew he was trouble.

PETERSON:  Did you know him prior to that evening?

VECCHIO: Sure.  Everybody knew Guy Rankin.  Used to sing at some of the dives, do impersonations, corny jokes.  That kind of thing.  But, money was always tight doing that kind of work, so he was always on the take. He’d do anything anybody wanted him to do as long as they paid him.

MCALLEN: And you didn’t like him?

FLANAGAN: That’s really immaterial.  Let’s stick to facts, not feelings.

MCALLEN:  I think that is very relevant here, Miss Flanagan.  The whole thing is based on Detective Vecchio’s personal vendetta against Guy Rankin.

FLANAGAN: Please limit your questions to what actually happened that night, please.

MCALLEN:  What was your sister wearing? Do you remember?

FLANAGAN: Oh no!  Don’t tell me you are going try to say that his sister asked to be assaulted. Please! Let’s not even go there!

VECCHIO:  I don’t know.  It was a long time ago.  A dress, I guess. 

PETERSON:  Detective, what brought you to the house that night?  The file lists your address at 111 Taylor Street. 

VECCHO: Nah.  That was my old apartment.  Only my wife lived there at that time.  I had moved back home over a year before.

MCALLEN:  You were legally separated?

VECCHIO:  Yeah.    

MCALLEN:  So, would it be fair to state that your state of mind was not very good then?”

VECCHIO:  You could say that

MCALLEN: Detective, had you been drinking that night?

VECCHIO: What?! No!

MCALLEN:  So what happened after Rankin showed up? 

VECCHIO:  I dunno.  He came to the front door. Didn’t even have the decency to come inside and say ‘hello’ to me or Maria.

MCALLEN:  Maria?

VECCHIO:  My sister.  Maria Moretti. 

MCALLEN:  Who else was in the house?

VECCHIO:  Just Maria and her kids, me, and Fran.

MCALLEN:  And your mother?

VECCHIO: She was working late at the hospital. She’s a nurse. There was a flu epidemic going around, so she got called in.

PETERSON:  Was Constable Fraser there?

VECCHIO: No.  This was before his time.

MCALLEN:  After your sister left the house with Rankin, what happened?

VECCHIO:  They didn’t get very far.  About five minutes later, I heard her raise her voice.  A few seconds after that, I heard her scream. I ran out.

MCALLEN: Were you in possession of your service revolver?

VECCHIO: No.

MCALLEN: So then, what happened next?

VECCHIO:  I jumped the guy.

MCALLEN:  Your sister says you continued to hit and kick him after he was on the ground.  This true?

VECCHIO:  I guess so.

MCALLEN:  You guess so?

VECCHIO:  Yeah, that’s what happened.

MCALLEN:  How many times did you strike him, Detective?

VECCHIO:  It’s not like I was counting.

MCALLEN:  Would it be fair to say ten times, or more?

VECCHIO:  More.

MCALLEN:  Twenty?

VECCHIO:  Maybe.

MCALLEN:  Would you say it was thirty times that you struck Mr. Rankin?

VECCHIO: No absolutely not.  If  I’d have hit him that many times, he’d be dead.

MCALLEN:  And that wasn’t your intention?

VECCHIO: No, of course not!

MCALLEN:  Then what was your intention?

VECCHIO: I just wanted to get him off my sister!

MCALLEN: But he was off her from the first blow you struck, I would presume.  Why didn’t you stop, Detective?

VECCHIO:  I dunno, man.  I dunno.

Ray continued on through the rest of the story.  The next morning, Rankin filed a police report that he was beaten up by Ray, and that it was unprovoked.  He threatened to sue the city, to take his story to the Tribune.   He went around town saying Frannie was a whore who asked for it.

Ray couldn’t live with any of this.  That this guy had been going around for years, doing bad things to people, and now saying bad things and getting away with it.  So he started looking into his background, checking into some of the street rumors, a little more closely. 

Ray heard Guy did a lot of favors for the mob.  For some made men who were too good to get their own hands dirty.  Rankin was a small guy, so he mostly shook down the small timers.  But the man was a sadist, and liked to hit people in the balls with pipes. Liked to jab eyes out, and break arms and legs; that type of thing.  He’d never actually killed anybody, that Ray knew of.  Ray had looked the other way for years, concentrating on the big fish like Frank Zuko, but he was tired of letting it go.

He had Guy’s phone tapped.  He caught him on tape taking money from an undercover agent.  Ray got him on illegal betting.  He got him on making threats and intimidating local merchants in Greek Town, China Town, and Little Italy.  Once he thought he had enough to put Rankin away for years, Ray took him down.

Jack Huey and Ray were partners at that time.  They tried to corner him in an alley, but he had a getaway car waiting behind a Dumpster.  He and Jack gave chase.  They pursued him all the way to the south side.    It finally ended when Rankin cut down an alley, and two black and whites cut him off on the other side.   

Rankin had a gun on him when apprehended; ten thousand dollars in cash; and several grams of heroin.  Ray was a hero for a moment.  Until it all came crashing down on him.

IA continued to drill Ray.

MCALLEN:  And shortly after, this incident, you and Huey split up, correct?

VECCHIO: Yeah.

MCALLEN: Why was that?

VECCHIO:  I dunno, we just wasn’t getting along!

MCALLEN: You didn’t get along with anybody, did you, Detective Vecchio?  Detective Huey complained about you, isn’t that right? He went to Welsh and complained that you were a maverick, a loose cannon.  He wasn’t the only one to make similar complaints. Seems you are a hard man to get along with.  Might be why four years later you still have no partner.

VECCHIO:  I have Constable Fraser.

MCALLEN:  He’s not your official partner.  As a matter of fact, I doubt the validity of your and Constable Fraser’s working relationship and perhaps we should explore this further.  But that is not the issue at hand.  I must say, Detective Vecchio, that I agree with the scuttlebutt that you are a difficult personality, if you want to know my opinion.

VECCHIO:  I don’t.

MCALLEN:  If it weren’t for Welsh’s backing, quite frankly, I wouldn’t be comfortable stating that you’d still be in law enforcement in Chicago.  You’re a hot head, with a history of violence.  You’re hardly better than some of the people you arrest.  So Detective…. Tell me why you did it. Why’d you kill Guy Rankin? Was it just because he was a petty thug?  You said yourself that you knew he had been breaking the law for years.  And yet you did nothing.  Or was it just to get revenge for what he did and said about your sister.  I know how you Italians—

FLANAGAN:  I caution you, Mr. McAllen.  You are on the record.

CONSTABLE FRASER: Mr. McAllen, if I may… vouch for Ray.  We know that Ray sometimes has trouble controlling his temper. That is a common enough problem, that could be addressed by some therapy and a little more self-discipline, but that doesn’t by any means make him a murderer.” 

PETERSON:  Constable Fraser. I believe we have all the necessary information we need from you.  I caution you not to talk to anyone about what you’ve heard in this room. Do not attempt to help or interfere in this investigation in any way, shape, or form.  Thank you for your cooperation.  You may go. 

Ben stood, glancing at Ray.  Ray’s lip was set tight.  Ben didn’t like leaving Ray alone, but he had his attorney, and there was nothing he could do for him at the moment.  He exited, looking back at Ray once more before he shut the door.  Ray never looked up.

VVVVVV

Ben immediately went looking for Francesca, who he found just emerging from the ladies’ room, still looking shell-shocked.  He gently took her by the elbow and led her to the closet.  Once inside, he whispered to her.  “Francesca! You know Ray would never, ever do what you accused him of.”

Francesca shook her head.  Her hands were shaking as she ran her hands through her hair.  “No. I don’t know that Frase.  I don’t know.” She put her head in her hands.

Ben, appalled, asked, “Why do you think Ray killed Rankin?”

Frannie looked up and met his eyes. She said slowly and clearly.  “Because he said he was going to.”

“A lot of people say things like that, Francesca, but that doesn’t mean they will literally go out and kill someone.”  Ben searched Francesca’s deep brown eyes.  He wanted her to take back her words.  She seemed too certain and that was very unsettling.

“They’re going to arrest him, you know,” Benton said gravely.

A single tear slid from Francesca’s eye.

“I’d better call Mother.” Ben said wearily.

“I already did.  She’s on her way.”

“I need to go to the bank before she arrives, then.  I’ve got to withdraw everything from my account, and Dief’s savings, too.”  It was no less than what Ray would do for Ben— had done for Ben.

“I’ll come with you,” Fran replied, wiping away another tear.

VVVVVV

It was 03:00, the hour of the wolf.  Ben lay naked in his lover’s arms.  They were taking a chance, them being together in his mother’s house, but Ray didn’t care right now.  He cared about nothing but being with Benny.  If things went badly during this investigation, they may be separated for a while.

 Ray whispered into the darkness.  “I was a different person back then, Benny.  You would have hated me.  I hated myself.”

“Shhh…” Ben soothed as he gently caressed Ray’s arm with his thumb. 

“I uhhh…” Ray swallowed audibly.  “I’d done some things that are best that you not know about specifically. You’d have a real problem wid’it.  During this investigation, Benny?  There are certain things that may come to light for which I am deeply ashamed. I just want you to be prepared for a lot of ugliness.”

“I’ll love you no matter what, Ray.” 

Ray sighed. “You say that now. Back then, I was always on the edge of getting fired, you know? IA has had it in for me for years.  When we first met, that time in the cell, I was being investigated on corruption charges.  They thought I was dirty, Benny. They were trying to push me out.”

Ray filled Ben in on some other details. After Ray and Jack were separated, Welsh decided not to reassign him a partner.  He implicitly understood that it was best if Ray was not under close scrutiny by anyone so close. Ray had been alone ever since, and thought he preferred it that way, until one Robert Benton Fraser walked into his life.  “You know the main reason I liked you at first, Benny?  It was because you didn’t know me from Adam.  You respected me. You listened to my shitty advice, and took it seriously.”

“You give good advice, Ray,” Ben murmured.

“When I met you, I was overwhelmed and pissed off.  But you.” Ray leaned in and kissed Ben’s mouth. “You were my second chance.  You were my redeemer, Benny.  And I love you for that.” 

Ben opened his mouth and drew Ray’s tongue in. He loved this man. God, how he loved him. 

After several arousing minutes of kissing the luscious mouth, Ray pulled back, and slithered down Ben’s body.  He took the hard cock in his mouth, and sucked deeply.  Ray’s urgent tongue danced around the weeping head of Ben’s penis.

Ben grabbed Ray’s pillow and stuffed it over his face.  His fingers and toes curled in an intense spike of arousal.  Oh God, he thought. Oh God. Oh God.

VVVVVV

The next morning, Ben Fraser was hot on the trail of a criminal.  Since Ray Vecchio didn’t kill Guy Rankin, then someone else did.  He was at the station while Ray was still in his bed sleeping.  He had the maintenance records pulled.  He was at the work site of the Dinardo Construction Company shortly before 08:00.  Find the man who sealed up that wall, and you find the killer. 

VVVVVV

Mr. Dinardo wore a red plaid flannel shirt, and khaki pants.  Ben appraised him while he put on a friendly smile and waved to him while he was on his cellular phone.  Self-important man.  Fast talker, used to manipulating others.

“Who are you?” Dinardo demanded with no preamble.

“My name is Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.  I first came to Chicago on the trail of killers of my father…”

Ben cut himself off as Dinardo walked on distractedly.

“Well, it’s not really important sir, what is is that several years ago, ago you did some renovations; drywalling to be exact.  Chicago PD, District 27. I wonder if it’s possible to speak to the man that did that job.”

“You must be joking.  I can’t remember a few months ago, let alone years ago.  I run about eighteen, twenty crews at a time.” The man was not meeting his eyes. 

“It’s very important, sir.”

“Alright. You give me the name of your tailor, and I’ll find you the file.”  His weak attempt at humor was lost on Ben.  He continued after he whipped out his walkie-talkie.  “Marilyn, listen. Pull out a file of all work done for the Chicago PD.”  He rapidly went on. “Is there a problem with somethin’ ? I mean, I got no calls, no one’s complained or anything.”

“Oh no, it’s strictly routine, sir.  Do you by any chance recognize this man?” Ben opened the folder he was carrying and showed him the picture of Rankin.

“Why, is he one of the guys? To tell you the truth, I don’t recognize anybody who works for me, my friend.” They were back at the trailer and a handsome older woman met them at the door with some documents.  “Here we go,” Dinardo said.  He glanced back at her as they walked away. “She’s nice huh?”

The man studied the file for too short of a time. “Here we are,” he said. “Tom Harvey was the foreman, the crew he never listed. A lot of times we pick up guys at the local shelters, give them a day’s work…  puts a little money in their pockets, know what I mean?”

“Do you know where I could contact this Mr. Harvey?”

“Had to let him go. Last time I remember, he was in one of those flophouses over on Diversey, and he’s probably long gone by now.  Anyway, Marilyn will give you the address if you want. I’ve got to get back to it.  Get that dog out of here. Lou! What---  you don’t understand English…..” His rapid-fire words drifted into the general construction noise, and Ben was left standing in the mud, wondering what Dinardo wasn’t saying.

VVVVVV

Back at the station, Ben and Dief sat in their closet.  He closed his eyes and imaged dozens of scenarios, multiple ways that the pieces of the puzzle could fit together and still be a complete picture with no seams.  He was certain that Dinardo was his man.  He didn’t know why, though.  He couldn’t see the connector.  He needed him to implicate himself. 

Ben thought of this as he excused himself to Dief, and left the wolf napping in the closet.  He paid a visit to the men’s room and caught a glimpse of movement in the reflective porcelain urinal.  He quickly spun around and was eye to eye with his dad.  He let out a startled breath. 

“You’re getting roped in son,” Fraser Sr. said gravely.

“Dad, I know what you’re thinking, and ordinarily, I’d agree, but these are very special circumstances. I’ve got to help Ray.”

“You’re interfering.  You were told to remain neutral in this investigation.  I thought I taught you to uphold the law.”

“And I will.” Benton moved over to the wash basin and wet his hands.

“When?”

“Later today. Once I’ve proven Ray innocent.” There was no soap, so he pumped a handful of dish soap someone had left by the faucet.

“You’ve got to live by the principals you protect, otherwise everything caves in like an igloo during spring thaw,” Bob Fraser said.

“Look, I know what I’m doing, Dad. You have to trust me.”  He began to wash spasmodically, wiping hand over hand over hand, anxiously.

“That’s where you’re wrong.  I don’t have to trust anyone anymore.  I’m dead. But you gotta trust yourself. One step in the wrong direction, and it snowballs, and next thing you know, you’ll be lying to cover your tracks, and when cops are involved in murder, it gets even uglier.  I was gunned down by one of our own on my own turf. Ice Cap.  You remember?”

“I remember.”  Ben continued to scrub and scrub in seething frustration, whipping the soap into thick suds.

“I trusted Gerard for the better part of thirty years, and it wasn’t easy to accept what he had become.”

“Ray didn’t kill anybody.”

“If that’s true, then you stay within the law.”

“I don’t have any choice.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” 

Ben hated it when Dad told him he was wrong.  He was never wrong.  Sometimes, he wished he were more straightforward like Ray.  That he could just tell him to piss off, and not feel bad about it.  Benton rinsed his hands in the by-now steaming hot water, turning them bright red. He grabbed seven paper towels from the beat -up steel dispenser, and began to mop his hands.

He decided to throw caution to the wind and tell his father off, for once in his life.  He took a deep breath and steeled himself. “You wanna know something, Dad?”

Ben looked up, ready to face the man down.  Ben startled. Bob Fraser had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

Ben decided it didn’t matter how his dad felt.  Ben was going to help Ray.  Whether it was ethical, unethical, legal, or illegal. He’d ruin himself for Ray. He would die for Ray. That was simply the truth of his life.

Ben exited the men’s room, headed for the public phone in the corridor.  He pulled Dinardo’s number from his gun holster.  He took a deep breath.  He was crossing the Rubicon.  Ben made the call. 

VVVVVV

. 

Welsh took one look at the short man standing before him impatiently, and instantly hated him.  He smiled and said in his best avuncular tone. “I just need a signed statement saying nothing was stolen from the work site while you were in this station. I’ll just go and get the forms.  Excuse me.”  He withdrew from the room, and went next door.  Ben and Assistant State’s Attorney Stella Kowalski waited for him.  They watched him for several minutes, silently coaxing him to take a look at the wall.  Just go toward the wall.  Peel back the poster, buddy.  Do it.

They watched as he went to the door and peeked into the corridor.  Since the coast was clear, he quickly walked over to the poster, and pulled it back.  Welsh triumphantly burst back into the room.  “Looking for something?”

“You got a hole in your drywall.”  He pushed past the Lieu.

Ben and Stella were on either side of the corpse that Ben had retrieved from the morgue.   “Recognize this man? ”  Stella demanded

“I don’t’ recognize anybody.”

“Take another look,” Ben said.

“I said ‘no.’ I gotta get back to work.”

“Was this guy leaning on you?” Stella asked

“Was he affecting your business interests?” Ben demanded.

“Was he shaking you down?” Stella asked.

“Perhaps he was involved with your wife? Your daughter, maybe?” Welsh prodded.

Sweat suddenly poring, Dinardo ran into the heavily populated hallway, reached into his inner breast pocket, and pulled out a revolver. He took several wild shots, not shooting at anyone in particular. 

Ben ran up behind him, but kept out of arm’s length.  “Mr. Dinardo, think about what you’re doing.  It’s impossible for you to get out of this building.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” He yelled hysterically.

Ben steadily gazed at the wild Dinardo. “Perhaps Rankin provoked you.  Maybe you didn’t intend to kill him. But the fact you shellacked him, wrapped him in Seran wrap, put him in a wall, dry walled it, taped it, plastered it, sanded it, painted it…maybe that was pure panic. It’s understandable. 

Dinardo yelled at Ben, “You’re crazy, man!”

“I’m sure it happens every day.”

Dinardo fired one more round, this one dangerously close to a cop’s head.  Several men came sailing around the corner.  “FBI! Freeze!”

Three more shots.  That was it. Dinardo was out of ammunition.  Ben rushed to tackle the man.

“Cease fire, cease fire!” Agent Ford screamed. 

It was over. Ben Fraser had his man.

VVVVVV

Before the sun set, all the charges against Ray Vecchio had been dropped. Bill Dinardo confessed to the murder of Guy Rankin.   

Dinardo was one of the people who Rankin was shaking down. Rankin had beaten him out of a hundred large. The last time Dinardo had seen Rankin, he had the balls to raise the monthly “neighborhood association” fee to five thousand a month.  Holy shit, Dinardo just couldn’t take the squeeze anymore. Dinardo had been fighting to stay out of bankruptcy for eighteen months.   Thanks to Rankin bleeding him dry, he finally had to file.

He started doing some of the small jobs himself so he wouldn’t have to pay anyone.  While cutting out with his Sawzall, Dinardo overheard Rankin’s thin, reedy voice bragging about how he was going to sue the city for a million dollars to anyone that would listen.  He clotheslined Rankin as he walked right up to him without seeing him.  Dinardo pulled Rankin into the room.

Dinardo, thinking fast, forced a plastic bag over the man’s head before he even knew what hit him, and simultaneously suffocated and strangled Rankin, thinking of every dollar gone, that he’d never see again.  Of course, what he had not thought through was what to do with the body. 

An epiphany came to him as he sat on back on his heels and surveyed the dead man, notched trowel in his hand.  Then, into the wall, and ‘bye-bye pain in the ass.’

Until years later, one Detective Raymond Vecchio angrily slammed his fist through the wall.

VVVVVV

Ray led Benny to his LaSabre.  Ben was scowling and chewing his lip.  Ray unlocked Ben’s door and opened it for him.  He gently closed the door, crossed the front of the car, and climbed in beside him.  “Okay.  So what gives?”

“Ray, I’m afraid I lied to Dinardo to get him into the station.  Do you think I can go to hell for that?”

Ray chuckled. 

“No, I mean it, Ray.”

“Benny, you’re not going to hell. You’re a saint remember? St. Benton.”

“I’m on a slippery slope, Ray.”

“Are you serious?!”

Ray studied Ben’s profile in the fading light.  He started the ignition.

“Hey, Benny?  Remember what I told you a long time ago about what the city does to people.  It’s going to change you.  There’s no way to stop that from happening.  So what do you do? You hang on to the parts that make you stronger, and the rest you let go, that’s all.”

Ben softened.  “I suppose you’re right.”

“I know I’m right. Are you kiddin me?”  Ray looked around at the deserted parking lot. “Now, come on, give me a kiss.” 

Ben graced Ray with a peck on the cheek.   

“What? Nobody’s around,” Ray said playfully, looking around again.  “Come on.  Give me a real kiss.”

Ben Fraser spared Bob Fraser, perched in the back seat of Ray’s car, a defiant look as he leaned in to give his boyfriend a passionate and deeply involved kiss.   He closed his eyes.   

“Now, that’s what I call French,” his dad quipped. 

The world narrowed down to just the scope of Ben’s mouth on Ray’s. 

When Ben Fraser opened his eyes, his dad had once again disappeared, leaving him in peace for the moment.   

“Mmmm. That was nice.  It’s been a long day. How about an early bedtime?” he said suggestively.

Ben smiled.  “Take me home, Ray.”