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"Okay," Ray said, putting his cup down on the saucer with what he hoped was decisive firmness. "Well, thanks for the coffee, Val, but I gotta hit the road."
Valerie McNulty patted his hand, taking no notice. She was close to Ma's age, and probably knew his good-Italian-son instincts made it hard to say no. "Yes, it must be very busy for you boys, with the RCMP station so understaffed right now." She shook her head sadly. "Poor Sergeant Fraser, with just that young trainee to help him."
Ray shrugged. "Brad's a good kid, and babies got their own timetable." He thought of Frannie and her brood. "It ain't Susie Bruneau's fault she's off on maternity leave."
Val McNulty frowned. "I don't altogether hold with women police officers. Do one thing and do it right, I always say."
Ray wondered if that was why she'd never married, just lived in Norman Wells all her life running the general store. Both she and the store were institutions, not to mention the place was gossip central which was why he was being politely pumped.
He tried to change the subject. "I'll make some more lasagna for you next week," he said—his lasagna was a sure-fire hit with the locals. There wasn't a lot of culinary variety in Norman Wells, so Ray's line in frozen home-cooked meals—"Ma's Classic Recipe Italian Dinners"—was real popular, and a nice little earner.
Weird to go from being a Chicago cop to a Vegas mobster to a failed Florida bowling alley-owner—not to mention a failed husband. And now he was keeping house for Ben and Kowalski in the icy ass-end of Canada and peddling frozen pasta. He guessed he should feel pissed, or washed up, but he kind of liked it. Home's where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in. And he had had to come here, fleeing the hit out on Armando Langoustini after he heard rumors they'd tracked him down in Florida. Running a bowling alley might not have been the smartest move—too many links with the sleazy side of town, too many thugs on the edges of that world.
He'd headed north and kept going, away from Stella because they both knew it was over by then and he had to draw them away, to keep her safe. Past Chicago, steering well clear of Ma and Frannie and the precinct, and he'd just kept driving. Miles of roads punctuated by insomnia in cheap motels all through the States and across the border, then up Canada's endless highways until he'd long since lost anyone who might have been following—if they ever were—and he'd finally gotten to Ben's cabin at 2 a.m., cold and exhausted, shaking and barely able to get out of the car.
He glanced up, guiltily aware Val had been saying something while he was drifting in memory-land.
"I said, that'll be excellent, Ray," Val repeated, turning her sharp eyes on him. Her thick spectacles caught the light and glinted. "Lasagna's always a favorite."
"Great." Ray cleared his throat. "So. Any news around town?" He was asking more to deflect any questions than because he thought there'd be news. Not a lot happened in Norman Wells.
"Not so much," Val said. "Not like it's summer, with the tourists. Joe Grieseman's truck broke down, but I'm guessin' you know that."
"Yeah, Kowalski's out there today, fixing it." Good thing old Joe had a heated garage attached to his house. Kowalski was too damn thin and no spring chicken; he felt the cold worse than any of them, these days.
Val nodded, then tilted her head, remembering. "Oh and there was that fellow drove in this morning in a big black monster of a car. He was asking around for some 'book man' or other. I tried to send him to the portable library, but that wasn't what he seemed to want–"
"He wanted a 'Bookman'?" Ray asked, pushing to his feet fast enough that the chair rocked and almost tipped over. He looked around a little wildly, but it was just the store, familiar produce aisles and Val peering up at him, puzzled.
"Well, yes," she said hesitantly, "but I wasn't really able to–"
"I gotta go," Ray said brusquely, politeness forgotten. His chest felt tight and his heart was pounding. It was afternoon outside, still light, but not for much longer. He could make it home, get his gun...
And then what? His thoughts were whirling, but he was already moving.
"Ray?" Val called from behind him, plaintive.
He flapped a hand as he pushed out the door, the bell chiming. "Sorry, gotta... see you later!"
Not that he would. It hit him with sudden, sick certainty that he'd have to leave, to draw the guy off again. He had to get the bastard away from Kowalski and Ben.
After two years the cabin was home, this weird little hick town was home. He didn't want to leave, but he had to. There was no choice.
Ignoring the speed limit, Ray pushed his old Ford SUV as fast as he dared, given the slush and ice on the road out of town. It was the car he'd arrived in two years ago and it'd survived that trip, and being used as a runabout in the Arctic Circle, with only a few scrapes and dents where slippery conditions had led to altercations with roadside rocks or saplings.
Ray turned his mind back to when he'd first arrived, to calm himself and slow his racing thoughts. He remembered slumping exhausted behind the wheel on the night he'd fetched up here, listening to the Ford ticking as it cooled in the freezing air outside Ben's cabin. Well, outside the address Ben had given him—he'd never been here before, and wasn't sure he'd come to the right place. He'd let his head rest against the steering wheel for a minute, too tired to move, then a light came on inside the house, a soft, moving light so maybe a candle, Jesus Christ, did they even have electricity out here?
The door opened with a creak he could hear even inside the SUV. He'd been used to the hum of engine noise and the bumps and juddering of the vehicle's motion. It was so quiet and snow-muffled now he'd come to a stop that all sounds seemed amplified.
"Hello?" called a voice from the cabin's porch. Then "Diefenbaker, stay here." Great, Ray'd forgotten about the wolf.
Ray pushed open the car door, but didn't get out. "Benny? It's me. Ray." His voice sounded strange and hoarse.
Ben exclaimed something and set the candle on the railing then hurried down some steps and leaned in at the open door. "Ray? Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
"Benny." Ray grinned stupidly up at him. "I'm okay, just tired. Been driving for hours." He tried swinging his legs around to get out, wincing at their stiffness. "Oof. Gimme a hand—not sure my legs're working right."
Ben reached in and helped Ray extricate himself and stand. "Heavens, Ray. How far have you come?"
"From Florida." Ray blinked around. The moon was full, he saw now he was out of the car, and it was a still, clear night. A fucking freezing, still, clear night. He shivered. "I mean, not in one go. I stopped over in motels."
Ben shook his head disbelievingly. "Good lord. Well, come on inside before you seize up in the cold out here."
On the porch, Diefenbaker waited, fidgeting with excitement. Ray rubbed his furry head dazedly while Ben collected the candle then ushered them inside. He deposited Ray in an armchair by the woodstove, which was banked for the night and still warm. Dief plonked himself on a rag rug and sat there like a sphinx, gazing up at Ray, panting happily. Ben lit a camping gas lamp on a table by one wall, the bright white glow displacing the softer golden light of the candle.
"Frase?" A sleepy voice drifted down from the top of a wooden stairway Ray could see vanishing up into darkness. "Whatcha doin'?"
Ben turned, looking up. "Ah, Ray, sorry to wake you. We have a visitor."
"The fuck? It's the middle of the night!" complained the voice from the stairs. "You ain't on call this week are you? Thought it was Susie's turn." There were muffled thuds and a curse as the voice descended the stairs.
"It's not work, Ray. It's Ray. Oh dear, that's going to be awkward."
Kowalski came into view, dressed in a t-shirt and striped PJ pants. Diefenbaker's tail thumped the rug a few times. Ray looked more closely at Ben, noticing for the first time he was in his old red long-johns, with a pea coat and boots hastily thrown on for the outdoors. Ray looked back at Kowalski. Of course Ray'd known he was here, living with Benny these past two years after they'd gotten back from that quest-thing they'd hared off on after the Muldoon case wrapped.
"Kowalski," Ray said, a little wary.
"What the fuck's he doing here?" Kowalski asked Ben, his brow wrinkling.
"A good question," Ben replied, "but one, I suspect, that we'll need a hot drink to explore. Tea or coffee, Ray?"
"Coffee," Ray said automatically, then thinking he might want to sleep at some point, "no, make that tea."
Diefenbaker woofed hopefully from the rug. "No, it's not snack time for you, as you well know," Ben told him, an edge in his voice. He looked at Kowalski. "Can you do the honors, Ray? I'll get the luggage, since I'm dressed for it." He vanished back out into the night.
Kowalski glanced at Ray. "Yeah, okay. Three teas comin' up." He shrugged. "He's got me hooked on the damn stuff as well, now." He wandered off into a side room that Ray guessed was the kitchen. After a few minutes Ben banged back in through the outer door bringing an icy draft with him as he manhandled Ray's two big suitcases in and set them to one side. Dief gave a complaining whuff and sprawled out, belly toward the stove.
"I put your vehicle in the barn, Ray." Ben turned toward the kitchen. "Need a hand, Ray?" Somehow he managed to say "Ray" each time so it sounded different.
"Nah, almost done," came Kowalski's voice. There were sounds of cupboards opening and shutting, spoons clinking. Everything was still oddly heightened and unreal. Ray guessed he was maybe in delayed shock, or that exhaustion had pushed him into an altered state.
Ben bent over him and pressed a small glass into his hand. Ray blinked at it. Liquor of some sort in a shot glass. Huh.
"You look like you could do with it," Ben said, his face worried. "It's whiskey."
"Yeah, thanks." Ray downed it in one swallow, then wheezed and coughed, shaking his head. "Whoo."
Kowalski appeared looking ludicrously domestic with a wooden tray filled with mugs, a teapot and milk jug, sugar bowl and plate of cookies, the whole nine yards. He raised a brow at the empty glass.
"Medicinal," Ben said, a smile in his voice.
"Uh huh," Kowalski said, and put the tray down on the coffee table in front of the woodstove. He opened the door of the stove and inserted a few chopped up logs of wood, then checked how Ray took his tea—black, one sugar—serving Ben and himself afterward. Ben had settled on a nearby couch, and Kowalski sat beside him. Close beside him, Ray noticed, and there was an edge of defiance in his eyes as he watched Ray over the rim of his mug.
Ben leaned forward looking worried. "Lovely as it is to see you, Ray, I have to ask. Is everything all right? Stella? Your family?"
Ray waved a hand. "They're fine. Well, I hope so. 's why I'm here. I had to get away to keep them safe."
"Safe?" Ben's eyebrows had lifted. "Safe from what?"
Ray put the tea down on the table. "There's a hit out on me, from some Vegas bastard, don't know who. Out on Armando Langoustini, that is." He took a deep breath. "Had to take off to keep them out of it—Stella and Ma and Frannie. Had to lead anyone following me away."
"Right," Kowalski drawled. "So you led them up here."
Ray gave him the 'don't push it, punk' look. "No, Kowalski, I made sure I lost them, okay? I was real particular not to lead the fuckers here. On account of how I thought maybe it'd be safe here, and I could stay awhile." He glanced back at Ben. "Sorry to spring this on you, Benny. No way to write or anything and I wasn't sure you were on the phone."
"We got phones up here," Kowalski protested. "It ain't the moon." He reconsidered. "Well, not cell phones, and the landline goes out pretty often, but Fraser's got a sat-phone for work emergencies."
Ray gave him a jaundiced look. "Yeah, right."
"But, Ray," Ben cut in anxiously. "Surely no one could track you down? I thought your cover was secure, that the mob didn't know you were Ray Vecchio, down in Florida?"
Ray sighed again. "Yeah, it was a shock to me, too. Some thugs came by the bowling alley tryin' to hit us up for protection money a while back. I saw them off smartly but they might've talked, who knows."
"But, surely Stella's not alone down there?" Ben asked, looking kind of judgy. Kowalski was glaring, not that he could talk when it came to hurting Stella.
"Nah, she left when I did, went to stay with a girlfriend in New York. We were..." Ray waved a hand. "We weren't. We'd kind of split up by then, I mean."
"Ah." Ben took a sip of tea. "I'm sorry, Ray."
Kowalski was looking into the fire, biting his lip.
"Yeah, well. Shit happens," Ray said heavily. Man, his life was fucked, and now here he was at the ass-end of nowhere, fleeing a mob hit. Nice work, Raimondo.
He felt something nudge his knee and looked down to find Dief's head pressing into his hand. "Yeah, yeah, you big dope," he muttered, scratching behind Dief's ears. Dief sighed happily.
The SUV skidded a little, rattling, and Ray cursed and shook off the memories, focusing on the road, the snow, the fading light of the afternoon, as he navigated the familiar turn-off into Ben's driveway, bumping up the track to the cabin.
He ran inside, knowing it was empty, Kowalski at old man Grieseman's, Ben on patrol and Dief with him. The cabin was still warm, the stove banked. Ray went to his room, the small one off the living room that had been used for storage before Ben moved a bed in, and a dresser, and built him a wardrobe. He went to his knees by the bed and pulled out one of the suitcases, fumbling with the latch. The gun was wrapped in an old sweater, a box of ammo with it.
He checked the weapon—loaded, as he'd left it—and brought it with him, standing sidelong by a front-facing window, peering out. Nothing. Just the snow and a few small conifers, the twin driveway tracks curving up toward the road. He let out a breath, and considered. The guy could be here already, hidden in the woodshed or the barn where they kept his car and the trucks. His gut said no to that, told him no one else was here. He stood silently, letting his heart-rate settle, testing that second sense. Finally he slid the gun, safety on, into the pocket of his fur-collared jacket, and ventured outside. Nothing twanged his instincts.
Ray got into the SUV and moved it to the barn, leaving it unlocked, keys in the ignition. The barn door was never locked—no need, out here. His first thought had been flight, but he was reconsidering. Where could he go? Maybe he could retaliate—take the bastard out and end this once and for all. What right did they have to chase him all the way here, where he'd found a home? How dare they threaten Ben and Kowalski. He put his hand on the gun in his pocket and took the back way into the cabin, through the mudroom, leaving his boots on.
After half an hour of silent watching by the window, he changed his mind again. It was too risky—he couldn't put Kowalski and Ben through this. It was his fuck up. He was about to get up and pack his cases when he heard a vehicle up on the road. Sounded like Kowalski's truck, and yes, there was a flash of green paint as it crested a rise. He had to be careful though, no way of knowing if Kowalski was driving, or if he was driving with a gun muzzle jammed in the back of his neck. Sweet Jesus, this was doing Ray's head in. He peered out the window at the approaching truck. Looked like Kowalski, and no one else was visible, but that meant nothing.
The truck swung away as it neared the cabin. Kowalski'd park in the barn of course, if it was him, maybe even if he had a gun trained on him. Ray crept out the mudroom door and along the side of the house, squinting across the snow at the barn door. It slid aside and Kowalski sauntered out, whistling, heading for the cabin. He didn't look like a man with a red targeting dot on the back of his head.
As Kowalski turned the corner toward the back door, Ray grabbed him and thrust him against the wall behind him.
"The fuck?" Kowalski yelped.
"Shut it," Ray snarled, peering around the corner of the cabin, at the barn. No one else came out.
"Vecchio–" Kowalski muttered angrily, "Wha–"
Ray ducked back, fisting Kowalski's jacket as he glared at him. "You alone? No one bothered you in town? No one followed you?"
"Seriously," Kowalski said, sounding pissed. "What the fuck?" Then, as Ray kept glaring, "No, sheesh. Came straight from Joe's place. Didn't see anyone." He put his gloved hand on Ray's fist where it had a death-grip on his jacket. "Lemme go and cool down, willya. What gives?"
Ray peered around the corner of the cabin again. Still no sign of anyone and no sound of any cars approaching. He grabbed Kowalski by the arm and pulled him along. "Tell you inside. They caught up with me."
"Who?" Kowalski asked. Then, "I told you to set yourself up as a business and pay taxes on those frozen dinners. Tax evasion's how they got Al Capone."
Ray ignored him, returning to his spot watching the window once they were inside. Kowalski kicked off his boots and padded around in his socks, stoking up the stove. "Yeah, Al Capone," Ray said. "That's who's after me."
"Doubt it," Kowalski said, coming up beside him and peering out the window like the dumbest fuck in creation. "He already bought the farm."
Ray pushed him back. "Don't make yourself a target." He checked the window again. "Not Capone, but the mob. Val told me there was a guy asking for me."
"So?" Kowalski sounded frustrated. "Probably wanted some Spaghetti Bolognese. That was real good, that last batch you made."
"Not asking for Ray Vecchio," Ray said, through his teeth. "Asking for the Bookman."
There was a long pause. "You sure?" Kowalski asked quietly.
Ray scowled at him. "Yeah, 'course I'm fucking sure. I said—Val told me."
To his credit, Kowalski stopped arguing. He vanished out back and Ray heard the bolt being shot on the mudroom door, then Kowalski crossed to the gun safe bolted to the wall by the front door and unlocked it, getting out a rifle and quickly loading it. He slid along the wall where Ray watched the road, taking up position on the other side of the window. "What's the plan?"
"I'm not running anymore," Ray said tightly. He had no right. No right to ask this of Kowalski or Ben. No right to risk them.
"'course not," Kowalski said easily, taking a quick look out the window. "That'd be dumb. Safer here, with all of us. It's defensible, and I reckon he won't make a move till after dark, anyway."
Ray peered across at him, trying to see if he was taking the piss. He seemed serious, and reassuringly calm. Years of cop instincts, nothing got rid of them.
"Yeah, I guess, um, thanks." Kowalski waved a dismissive hand. Ray still couldn't help fretting. "What if Benny–"
Kowalski cut him off, refusing to be worried. "He can look after himself just fine, and he'll be home soon. Brad's on duty this week."
They stood guard for a while, then Kowalski sighed. "Okay, we gotta pace ourselves. Can you take the watch and I'll get us some coffee?"
Ray nodded. They'd need something to stay awake.
It'd be a while before Ben turned up, so Ray drank coffee and watched through the window, glancing across at Kowalski at times. His mind started wandering again, back to those early days two years ago, when he'd not long arrived here.
It'd been a shock, no lie, when he figured out Ben and Kowalski were more than friends. Didn't take a genius to figure out, with there only being one bedroom. Ray had to hand it to Ben, he was cool as a, well, not a cucumber, that was too green. As a raspberry Popsicle. He never seemed at all self-conscious or embarrassed, acting perfectly natural toward them both.
Kowalski was more guarded, his eyes a little defensive and challenging. Well, they were both Chicago cops, so that brought some baggage with it. Cops weren't the most liberal bunch around—he shuddered to think what Dewey would've said. Benny was different, of course. He'd been raised by Inuits and wolves, in goddamn Canada, so no one was like Benny.
Ray'd barely talked about it with either of them, well, not in any detail. They all settled into new routines, Ray adjusting to the rhythms of their lives as they accommodated him. He quietly took on most of the household stuff, like the cooking, because you couldn’t trust Ben with that or you'd end up with pemmican stew or raw blubber or some shit. Kowalski could do eggs okay but again, no one who put fistfuls of Smarties in their coffee should be allowed anywhere near food preparation. Ray did some general cleaning and repairs as well, and nagged Kowalski to pick up after himself—the guy had a bad habit of cleaning engine parts in the middle of the living room. Okay, so he put them on a newspaper, but it made it hard to sweep the floors. Ben was preternaturally neat, except with books which he left about the place in untidy stacks. Ray had no clue how he kept up but they each had bookmarks and he usually had a handful on the go at any time.
One Sunday when Kowalski was out fixing a burst boiler on the west side of town, Ray looked up from where he was playing patience on the coffee table, across at Benny, who was engrossed in some book about narwhals. Ray neatened the stack of cards he was holding and set them down, flipping the top one and laying a red queen on a black king. "Hey, Benny?"
"Mmmm?"
"I'm glad you're happy."
Now Ben looked up. "Thank you, Ray," he said seriously, his face a little quizzical.
"You know," Ray amplified, waving a card, "with Kowalski."
"Ah," Ben said. He smiled. "Yes."
And that was that. They'd grinned at each other for a moment, then Ray returned to his cards and Ben to his book.
It was harder with Kowalski. Everything was harder with Kowalski, although they had more in common than either of them had with Ben. Maybe that was why it was hard.
They got left alone together a lot, though, days when Ben was at work with Dief, and Kowalski didn't have a fix-it job to go to. He tended to gravitate to the kitchen, too, especially after Ray'd gotten the idea of making frozen dinners after everyone had praised his cooking at a pot luck supper in town. People liked hanging out in kitchens where it smelled good with the basil and oregano, the bubbling meat sauce and tomatoes. Ray'd started getting his herbs shipped in fresh-frozen on the regular flights, none of that dried shit for him. He used the same flights for letters to Ma and Frannie, with Elaine at the precinct as a cut-out, mailing them on.
"So, you in this for the long haul?" Ray'd asked, not looking at Kowalski who was kicked back, feet up on another kitchen chair, reading a Hawkeye comic.
"Huh?" Kowalski looked up, frowning. "In what?"
Ray grimaced, unwanted images flashing through his mind. He circled a hand, floury from making pasta noodles. "This... relationship. With Benny."
Kowalski's eyes narrowed. "What's it to you?"
Ray shrugged and raised his hands, a mixing spoon in one of them. "I'm his friend, for Christ's sake. I was with him through all sortsa shit before you came on the scene."
Kowalski considered him for a moment, then smirked. "You askin' me if my intentions're honorable?"
"What if I am?" Ray wanted to put his hands on his hips, but he didn't want to get flour on his slacks. "Look, you're both consenting adults, and I ain't a narrow-minded bigot like Dewey. But Benny's my best friend..." He resumed stirring the meatball mix, looking down. "And you're not so bad. He could do worse. Hell, he has done worse."
"Yeah," Kowalski said, sounding pissed. "We don't talk about her."
"Right," Ray said, looking up again. "So you're a considerable improvement, in my view. Just... you better not hurt him, you hear?"
"Okay, Vecchio," Kowalski said, sounding amused, and almost... fond? Ray looked up and he was smiling. "I won't. You got my word on it."
"That's all right then," Ray'd said, adding more garlic.
"He's here."
Kowalski's words jolted Ray out of his reverie. "Who, the mob–"
"Fraser's here. Recognize the sound of his truck."
Ray peered outside where it was nearly dark by now, the sky a deep blue bowl sprinkled with stars. The stars were huge and numerous this far north. No light pollution, Ben had explained. Ray could see the lights of Ben's truck coming and going as he drove up the bumpy track to the house. "Okay, but we gotta be sure there's no one with him, like holding him at gunpoint," Ray said.
Kowalski shook his head. "He'd never bring them here. He'd have done some dumb thing already—gotten into a fight with them, or driven off the road."
That was true enough. "Even so," Ray muttered, "I'm gonna watch the barn like I did with you."
"Knock yourself out. I'll stay here."
Ray slid away and pulled on his jacket—he'd had to shed it with the stove on; it got too hot inside. He slipped out through the mudroom door, into the shock of the freezing night, cursing under his breath. By the time Benny rounded the corner of the house, Dief bounding beside him, Ray was racked by shivers.
"Ray!" Ben looked startled to be grabbed and pulled up close. "What–"
"Were you followed? Anyone come with you or hassle you in town?"
"No, I. Ray, what on Earth?"
"Tell you inside." Ray could barely make himself understood, his teeth were chattering so bad. Dief was already at the back door, scratching to be let in—he had the right idea.
Inside, he quickly filled Benny in, about what Val had said and how he and Kowalski'd stood watch the rest of the afternoon. Ben frowned across at Kowalski who shrugged and leaned against the wall, rifle propped beside him. "Figured you'd want to talk with him," Kowalski said. "Didn't want him getting spooked and taking off."
"Indeed," Ben said, turning back to Ray. In the kitchen, Diefenbaker barked demandingly and Ray jumped. "He just wants dinner," Ben said reassuringly, and Ray was getting pissed with how he and Kowalski were kind of humoring him.
Ben went into the kitchen and filled Dief's bowl with kibble, setting it down and refreshing his water. Dief set to, chomping with gusto—not that it'd stop him begging leftovers from dinner later. Hell, dinner. Ray'd clean forgotten to cook anything.
Ben took Ray's arm. "Come and sit down so we can talk properly."
In the living room, Ray hesitated by the couch for a moment, looking over at the front windows which were now dark and threatening. They'd usually drawn the curtains by this time of night, to keep the heat in. "Go on," Kowalski said quietly. "I got it." He turned back, on guard again. Ray sat, half an ear pricked for a car on the road. Not like Dief would hear one, if it came.
"As it happens," Ben said, "I called by the store myself to get us some ice cream. I'd noticed we were low on Chocolate Chip." Ray nodded—it was Kowalski's favorite. "Valerie told me you'd been in and had left hurriedly, which bothered her." Ray rolled his eyes. Small towns, everyone wanted to know your business. "Yes, well," Ben said, smiling, "You know how it is. But she told me what she'd said before you dashed off, and I can see why you'd be concerned."
He shot Ray a quick, reassuring smile. "I took the liberty of exploring the situation with her a little further, Ray. It turns out that this man who arrived earlier today wasn't looking for 'the Bookman'. He was a journalist looking for a 'book man'—a writer who lives out by Sherwood Lake. Charlie Verdoux—he's published several books about the Métis. You might have heard of him."
Ray shrugged. Maybe he had, he couldn't remember all the locals he'd met at various social events. Ben's words sank in. "So there's no mobster from Vegas? No hitman?"
Ben shook his head. "No, there never was."
Ray bent over and put his head in his hands, feeling the tension drain out of him, replaced by a hot flush. "Okay, so I feel like an idiot."
Dief trotted in and flopped down on the rug by the woodstove. He began grooming his nether regions. Across the room, Kowalski pulled the curtains across the windows and quietly unloaded the rifle, putting it and the bullets away in the gun safe then coming to sit in the armchair.
"Why didn't you say something?" Ray asked him, embarrassment making him sharp.
Kowalski shrugged. "Didn't know for sure. Figured it wasn't likely but I knew you wouldn't listen to me, so we had to wait for Ben. I didn't want you to get too worked up, meanwhile. Wanted you to stay."
"Thanks a bunch," Ray muttered. He leaned back against the couch, one arm across his eyes.
"Well, I'm very glad you did stay, Ray," Ben said. "Your instinct two years ago was to run, to get away."
Ray lowered his arm. "I thought about it, Benny," he said. "Nearly did take off."
Ben nodded, hands clasped on his knees. He looked up at Ray. "What made you stay?"
"I know I shouldn't have," Ray admitted. "I put you both in danger. Well," he pulled a face, "I would've put you in danger if it had, you know, been a wiseguy after me." He sucked in a breath and looked down, avoiding Ben's eyes. "But, I just couldn't make myself. I got pissed about being hunted, not being able to stay, and I like it here. It feels like home."
"That's 'cause it is home," Kowalski said, throwing up his hands in exasperation.
Ray rounded on him, frowning. "Yeah, it's your home, Kowalski. Yours and Benny's."
Kowalski jumped to his feet and strode over, glowering. "How can you be such a dumb fuck, Vecchio?"
"Language, Ray," Ben warned.
They both ignored him. Ray shot to his feet, leaning in to confront Kowalski, hands clenched. "Look, I know I'm a third wheel, here. I crashed in a coupla years ago and you two were nice about it and haven't given me my marching orders yet. I know it's only temporary, but I try to do my bit, with the cooking and the cleaning and selling those dinners. What more do you want from me?"
"You don't gotta earn being here, you big galoot," Kowalski yelled. "You’re fucking family!"
"I, what?" Ray froze, staring at him, then at Ben, who'd risen to his feet as well. On the rug, Dief whined anxiously.
"It's okay, Diefenbaker," Ben said quietly, and Dief's tail thumped. "Yes, Ray. I might not have phrased it as colorfully as Ray, but absolutely. You're family. Our family."
Ray didn't know what to say. Benny was a sweetheart, and Kowalski had grown on him over the years, but there was a difference in being good friends, and being family.
"Look," Kowalski said, seeing that Ray wasn't buying it. "Remember that time you asked me if I was in this for the long haul, with Fraser?"
"Really?" Ben looked amused.
Kowalski grinned at him. "Yeah, he told me he'd rip my arms off if I hurt you."
"Aw, c'mon, I said no such thing," Ray protested.
"Whatever." Kowalski waved it away. "Anyway, it's long since time I asked you the same question. So what is it, Vecchio? You in it for the long haul with me and Benny? 'cause Benny's heart's gonna break if you take off, and I'd be in bad shape, too."
"You...?" Ray gaped at him, then at Ben.
Ben was looking at Kowalski with open affection. He turned to Ray, nodding. "Ray's always been better at expressing these things than me, but I'm in full agreement. This isn't some temporary arrangement, Ray. It hasn't been for some time. Please stay."
"Not just friends?" Ray asked, feeling dazed.
"Always friends," Ben said, smiling. "And a great deal more, for both of us."
Kowalski wiggled his eyebrows comically. "With benefits, if you want," he said, grinning.
Ray held up his hands. "Hey, I'm straight."
"Yeah, that's what I said, but he wears you down," Kowalski said, smirking at Ben.
Ray rubbed the back of his head. "Look, guys, I love you, but I'm gonna take a rain check on the benefits part, okay?"
"That's perfectly all right, Ray," Ben said, but there was a glint in his eye that made something flutter hotly in Ray's stomach. "Would a hug be acceptable?"
Ray nodded. "Well, I guess I could—mmmph!" He was enveloped in two sets of arms, his face in Benny's hair, Kowalski's face in his neck. Behind them, Dief barked joyfully.
"Hey, c'mon, enough with the PDAs," Ray muttered as soon as he got free, blushing as red as Ben's dress uniform.
"Well, it's not exactly public, Ray, and it's a momentous occasion, deserving of celebration," Ben said, rubbing his hands together.
"Shoot, and I forgot to make dinner," Ray said, stricken.
"Hey, we got a freezer full of frozen lasagna," Kowalski said.
Ben beamed. "And Chocolate Chip ice cream for dessert."
"Okay, you sold me," Ray said, grinning, and went to put his gun away.
He looked around his room. If he ever got over himself and took up their offer, he guessed it would make a pretty good office when Benny got around to writing his memoirs. And a spare room, for visitors.
Ray sighed, and, cautiously, let himself be happy. He wasn't a visitor anymore.
He'd stopped running.
the end