Beef

April…

His best friend had been beaten to an inch of his life.  Ray was shaking as he escaped from Tommy’s room. He needed to get out. He needed to clear his head.

He moved into the raw night air.  It had started to rain again, in fact was pouring.  Ray zipped up his light jacket, and pulled his hood on to protect his naked head.   He saw Tommy’s sister Patty pacing on the far side of the hospital entrance, underneath a ‘no smoking’ sign, smoking and talking on her cell phone.

Ray felt so helpless. So helpless. So this is what happened to all gay men at some point or another, right?  This is what you got for being a fag.

Ray took a few steadying breaths.  He retrieved his phone from where he had absently stuck it in his breast pocket.

Ray called his old number. 

A pleasant and familiar voice answered, flooding Ray with relief.  “Twenty-seventh precinct. Detective Fraser speaking, how can I help?”

Ray had to smile.  God, it was good to hear Benny’s voice, safe at his desk, sounding so assured, ready to take on anything that came his way. Ray listened to him breathe.

“Hello?” Benny prompted.

“Benny?” Ray said in a voice that came out sounding child-like.

“Ray? What’s wrong?”

Ray took a deep breath and told Ben what happened. Ray could hear Benny begin to breathe hard. 

“Stan and I are one the way to the house now, Ray,” Benny said with grim determination. “We’ll send two uniformed officers, also.  Can you send Bruno home for questioning?”

“I’ll take care of it.”  They decided on a time, and then he hung up. He had a few minutes before he had to leave to meet Benny and Stan at the house. 

Ray moved off to the side of the building, into an alley, where it was empty, private.  He glanced around.  There was nobody at all nearby, within earshot.  No loiterers hanging around on cold rainy night like this. 

Ray Vecchio then made another phone call, to his cousin Al.  Al got him to Franco “Fingers” Marcantonio. Franky Fingers was a connected guy, who still owed him a few favors from back in the day.   Ray and Franky used to do business together, when Ray used to walk the beat.  Ray used to give Franky some information that the Dorio Family used to get the Zuko Family in check.

The Dorios, relatively speaking, were businessmen.  The Zukos, on the other hand, were animals; it came from the top down.  Anybody who impeded Frank Zuko’s rise to the top, or criticized him, or even gave him a funny look found themselves dead in short order.  The Zukos went on a killing spree that lasted from the summer of 1982 and didn’t let up until spring of 1983.  There was something almost every night on the news. The cops couldn’t stop the Zukos.  It was the Dorios that finally did, thanks in part to Ray.

And for his information, Ray would find a little jewelry, a little cash, slipped his way, or the occasional Armani suit would kinda sorta fall off a truck every once in a while. 

Ray and Franky Fingers had parted ways a long time ago, but luckily his cousin Al still knew how to get in touch with him. Franky occasionally dropped one of his six classic cars off at the garage for Al to tinker around with; Al had’im on his speed dial.

As it turned out, Benny found the Domenicos before Franky’s people did.  That was too bad. But Ray knew better than to be surprised. It just meant for a slight change of plans.

Ray got the goods from Stanley the night he went to go pick Benny up, literally.  Benny had been up for over twenty-four hours, tracking the dirt bags down.  He’d finally passed out on the couch in the Lieu’s office.  Ray picked him up, slung him over his shoulder, and loaded him in the car. 

The next morning, the Domenicos and Medeiros went before Louise’s bench.  Bail was set.  It was a simple matter for Franky Fingers to send the Family’s bail bondsman down with the cash, and the men were freed before the sun set.  All Franky had to do was put a tail on them, and that was that.

December…

Ray sat on the floor in the darkened hallway, listening to Benny, locked in the bathroom, puking his guts up. The house was silent, otherwise.

Ray couldn’t really say he was sorry for what he had done.  He knew what those boys would have gotten for what they’d done to Tommy—a slap on the wrist.  It wasn’t enough.  Tommy deserved better. Tommy DeBenedetto was a gentle soul.  Like Benny, he helped out bums on the street, always had a kind word for everybody.  Tommy looked out for everybody. If Ray didn’t look out for Tommy, then who would?

Ray thought that Micky or Elaine could have figured out that he was in the middle of the shit, if they had really wanted to.  They were both ace detectives. But that’s not how the brotherhood worked.  Micky knew that. Elaine did, too.  But Benny….Benny was another story.

Ray couldn’t help but think of Benny defending Zuko when Michael Sorrento framed him for planting the bomb under Ray’s car, killing Louis Gardino. What was it he had said to Benny in the bullpen?

You gotta know when to hold the line. You gotta know when to work the rule.

Benny just didn’t get it.  Ray guessed he never would.

Ray heard the toilet flush, at last, and the water running in the sink.  Benny, cleaning himself up. Then, silence.  Dead silence.  Ray stood, and knocked on the door.  He was met by nothing but heavy silence.

“Benny?” he whispered.

Silence.

“Benny? I’m sorry.”

Silence. 

Ray tried the door. It remained stubbornly locked. He knocked again.  “Benny?”

Resolute silence.

“All right, Benny,” Ray capitulated.  He meekly shuffled to their bedroom to wait, like a prisoner at the gallows, to wonder what kind of punishment Benton Fraser would mete out. He was terrified.