Overtime

 

 

 

Micky Doyle had hunkered down to spend at least a couple more hours catching up on paperwork.  There was a ton of it.  The good news was that he and Ray were down to only twenty-six open cases.  Too bad it generated so many reports, affidavits, subpoenas, and court appearances in its wake.  Overtime sucked.

 

Over the past couple of years, he and Ray had worked out a nice working system to their mutual benefit; Ray led them through the investigations and field work, which he was much better at than he was, and Micky often took care of the paperwork and the follow-up phone calls, which Ray despised.  It had taken them a few months to mesh, initially.  Micky knew that Ray was impatient with him at first, and not at all tolerant of any mistakes.  He had been worried he wasn’t cutting it.  Detective Huey was astute enough to pull him aside one day and assure him he was doing fine.  It was just that Ray had gotten spoiled with having “The Mountie” helping him out, solving his cases for him. 

 

Jack had then smirked and made some stupid remark about the Mountie helping him out in more ways than one, “if you get my drift,” inviting him to join in on the joke.  Doyle was well aware of the whole “outing” thing that occurred just before his arrival at the 27th.  His sister, of all people, ratted them out. He heard plenty of comments about “the fag cops” back at his precinct; News that racy traveled pretty fast.  He had called Lt. Welsh the next day to ask if Ray needed a partner, because he was available if he could square it with his commanding officer.  Somebody in Vecchio’s predicament was going to need somebody watching his back now.  Two days later, Doyle was officially issued his detective’s badge, and his partner assignment was switched from Detective Stanley Kowalski to Detective Raymond Vecchio.

 

Doyle refused to ‘get Jack’s drift.’ “Hey,” he had warned him, “that’s my partner you’re talking about, pal.”  Doyle especially hated it when people ridiculed others.  Like they were so goddamned perfect.  Sure, pick on the gay guys; what an easy target.

 

Doyle first met Vecchio while Doyle was still on patrol. Ray had apprehended the arsonist Greta Garbo, but certainly he knew who Vecchio was prior to that.  Ray was the cop that worked with “the crazy Mountie” for several years, and the two of them had taken down a lot of major players by joining forces.  The two of them made great partners.  What they did together between the sheets and after hours wasn’t his business or anyone else’s. 

 

Doyle finished up typing form G-99 on the Uptown Jeweler’s “smash and grab” burglary from this morning.  Thankfully, nobody got killed.  The security guard did take a crow bar to the face when he tried to interfere, but it resulted only in a broken nose, lucky for him.  This same group had killed a guard last month, and they had also been tied to a string of similar robberies throughout the mid-west.  This time, he and Vecchio were going to make sure they went away for a long time.

 

He slipped another 99 into the typewriter, carefully aligning to the right line.  He couldn’t wait until they got their new computer system. Lt. Welsh had announced to them last month that the city finally was going to put some money into this old place.  They were getting a new squad room next summer, with cubicles and office furniture from this decade.  The staff was getting desk top computers, linked together on a network with all city, state, and federal law enforcement.  The detectives were to be issued laptops for increased mobility. All reports would be filled out online and stored on a shared drive.  Halleluiah, he thought, as he hit a typo and reached for the white-out.  There was hardly any space left in this building or at county records to stockpile any more paperwork.  He blew the white-out dry and resumed.  He quickly completed the form and whipped it out to start another one when he heard a soft male voice at his left ear.

 

“Detective Doyle?”

 

Micky startled.  He hadn’t been aware at all that a man stood at his elbow. He turned and looked into the inquisitive eyes of Constable Benton Fraser.  He was carrying a couple of sub sandwiches in clear plastic sleeves. He was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, one of the few times he had seen him out of uniform.  A blue canvas back pack was slung over one shoulder. Doyle immediately rose.  He always stood in Ben’s presence; he never knew why.  “Hi there, Fraser, how’s it going?”

 

“It’s going well, thank you. How about yourself?”

 

“Can’t complain. Just finishing up the reports on the Alverez case so we can close it.”

 

“Ah!  I know that was a challenging one.  Congratulations!”

 

“Thanks, man.  Hey, uh, I thought Ray told me that you had a class on Thursday nights,” he asked with some puzzlement.

 

“Normally I do, but my professor called out sick last minute, so class was cancelled.  I thought I’d surprise Ray, and we could have dinner together since he was working late.”

 

“Ah… Well, I’m afraid you’ve missed him,” Doyle said.  “He must be at home.”

 

“He told me he’d be here for several hours past his shift.”

 

“Ah, yeah, ah…Ray left here around 4:50, I think it was.” He automatically checked his watch.  It was 6:15.

 

 Ben furrowed his brow.  “Did you say anything to indicate where he was going?”    

 

“Afraid not.  Want me to call him?”

 

Ben looked off into the distance as he spoke.  “No thanks, I have my cell phone.”  He forced a smile, eyes back on Doyle.  “Well, thank you kindly.  Have a good evening.”

 

“You too, buddy.”

 

He looked after the retreating man, contemplating. He wondered if he should do the buddy thing and give Ray the heads up that Ben was just here looking for him. 

 

No. He’d learned his lesson the hard way on personal matters like this.  He’d stuck his nose in the middle of things like this a couple of times before, and both times it ended in disaster for all parties.

 

Where ever he was that Fraser didn’t know about, Fraser was going to have to ask and Ray was going to have to explain himself.  He hoped Ray hadn’t gone off and done something stupid.  He had a good thing going with Fraser as far as he could see.  A real good thing.  He hoped that Ray remembered that when he needed to.

 

Doyle shook his head and he went back to typing his report.  Four more to go after this.  He heaved a sigh, thinking how he’d love to be home in front of his TV right now, drinking a beer. Overtime sucked.