Vengeance by Snowee
I am lying on my side watching him breathe slowly. His eyes are closed
and I find my eyes resting on the scar. As his chest rises I can barely
see it; only his dark nipple amidst the pale flesh. When he exhales, the
dark scar will appear on the horizon. Slowly I study him. His
tough, sinewy neck twists gently and his profile points just left of
center. Perfectly aligned with his jaw, his nose angles slightly toward
me so that I can see just a little more than his silhouette. His perfect
lips close around his wonderful teeth and his dark hair falls back against the
pillow.
While I lie here thinking about his perfection or, at least his perfection to
me, I am overcome with the feeling of betrayal. I know the feeling of
love in my heart is a lie.
Several days ago, he got a phone call at three in the morning. I know we
sleep in my bed so it seems the call would have been for me, however that Meg
– because he has begged me to stop calling her Dragon Lady – has started
forcing him to carry around a cell phone so that she can beckon him
anytime. The thing is, she would never call him in the middle of the
night. Never.
Of course, I'm not one to believe in never so it's not like I trusted my
instinct on that. No. Instead, as soon as he was in the shower the
next morning, I snatched the cell phone and looked at the incoming phone
calls. He asked me once if there was some way to delete his list of calls.
It's a good thing I said I didn't know how to do it on his phone and he didn't
ask anyone else. The phone number was unfamiliar. Okay, she could
have been calling from another number. I wrote the number down, then when
he was at work that afternoon I looked up the number in the reverse
directory. Why did he get a call from Canary, a well known transgender
club?
I thought perhaps it was just some odd fetish. I mean, I did find that
dress hidden in the back of his file cabinet that one time. I still couldn't
figure out why the call would come from the club and at such an hour, but I
played along. First I told him I wanted to see a drag show, just for
fun. Then I told him I thought it might be a little fun. Eventually
I got to the point of telling him that I thought he'd make a sexy woman and
would he try dressing up for me? Interestingly, he said he would do it if
it was what I really wanted, but when I told him I thought we should go to the
Canary Club, he declined.
Well, last night we made love, but it was distant. I'm not sure if he was
distant or I was, but when he fell asleep I got up to pee. I tripped over
his jacket and as I picked it up, something fell out. I shouldn't have
been nosey, but after the odd phone call, the odd behaviour, and the
disconnected sex I couldn't help myself. I picked up the note and I even
unfolded it. I watched him from the corner of my eye as I opened
it. All it said was CBA and 4:00am. That meant he had a date tonight. I
folded it back up and slipped it into an inside pocket.
I notice his eyes beginning to flutter so I close mine. I feel him
getting out of bed. While he is moving around the room I roll over,
sighing sleepily a little. Without overplaying it, I snuggle back into my pillow.
A moment later a kiss my touches forehead lightly. I have been debating
whether or not to confront him and opt for the bait and corner route.
Opening my eyes, I squint and try to look as sleepy as possible.
"What time is it?" I ask.
"It's early, Ray," he says. "Go back to sleep."
I hesitate a moment before sitting up. "Where are you going?"
Though keeping my eyes partly closed to look as though I just woke, I focus so that I
can read his expression. His face drops. What did that mean?
"I need to get in early today," he says smoothly, though I can tell he is
lying.
"Why?"
He frowns. "I have a lot to do."
"Such as?"
Shifting, he pulls on his jacket and buttons it halfway. "I'm sorry,
Ray. I'm late. I really should go."
"Fraser?"
"Yes?"
"Is something wrong?"
"No. Of course not." Again with the lying, but now is not the time
to call him on it. I need proof before I can justify cutting off his
dick.
"Are you sure?" I press.
"What could be wrong?"
I purse my lips before responding. "It's just that things have been sort
of queer between us. Is there anything you want to tell me?"
He is standing there for too long before finally stepping up to the bed.
He sits beside me and kisses my lips. Still it is distant. "There's
nothing to tell you," he persists. "I love you." The last remark he says
as though he's forced to say it.
I look away. That lie would cost him. Now all I want is to wave his
castrated dick in the air. He loves me, but he's fucking someone
else. Mr. Honesty is even lying to me about there being a problem.
He knows there's a problem and he knows there is something to tell me, yet he
lies. I want to be hurt, but instead I'm angry. I plaster a grin on my
face. "It's only 3:30. Are you sure you have to leave so early?"
"It's 3:45, actually."
"It's still early. Most people would call this the middle of the night."
This time when he glanced away, I see something strange. It seems like
pain. I knew it would only be a matter of time before he felt remorse for
lying to me. He's really just the mountie version of Jiminy
Cricket. I watch him take his hat in his hands before he responds with a
change of subject. "I'll meet you at lunch time as I promised," he says.
I nod slowly and he watches me. After a few seconds have passed, I lie down
again and pull the covers over my shoulder. He approaches me, touches my
arm, then leaves.
The instant I hear the door close, I jump from the bed. I throw on my
clothes as fast as I can, barely pushing my feet into black boots before I run
to the door and open it.
I watch him stand on the corner for almost fifteen minutes before a cab pulls
up and he gets inside. A cab? He doesn't take cabs. I know there must be
a fishy reason for the cab so I tuck it into the file in my brain with the rest
of the facts I have. I make sure to get the number off it before I run
full speed to the GTO and tear out of the parking lot. I notice it
turning down Fifth Street so of course I start that direction. I've got
my cell phone handy so that I can call the cab company for a location if I need
it, but I don't. I spot a yellow car turning onto Lois Lane. I take a
moment to think about what the city was thinking when they permitted that name
for the street. I bet every town has a Lois Lane.
I speed around other cars to catch up. Once I'm sure I'm behind the
correct cab, I back off.
It crosses town before driving into a dark alley behind a gas station. I
park across the street under a burned out street lamp. He gets out and
walks up to a back entrance. I watch him wait there for about five
minutes before the door opens. It blocks my view of the person holding
it, but Fraser disappears inside the building and the cab drives away.
I wait outside for almost an hour. A new cab pulls into the alley and I
sit up, glancing at my watch. It's nearly 5 am as he comes out and gets
into the taxi. The figure who watches him get in and closes the door for him is
so dimly lit, I can't make him out. The taxi begins to move again and I debate
for a moment if I should follow it, but instead I decide the figure is more
interesting. He watches the cab until it is gone from the alley, then
he reaches just inside the door and comes out with a big purple bag.
He carries it down the street. I wait until he's nearly out of sight
before I start the car again and follow him around the corner. He passes
Canary and goes down a side alley, then into a door from the alley. I
know it's the back entrance to the club.
I have to decide what to do. I know this is the man he's having the
affair with and I'm desperate to meet him. I wait a long time before I
take out my cell phone and call the Consulate. I ask for Fraser. He
answers. I confirm our lunch date now that I know where he is and he
hesitates before responding.
Once I hang up, I get out of my car and cross the street. The sign on the
door says it doesn't open until 8 pm, but I try opening it. Finding it
securely locked, I lean against the window and look inside. All I see is
a counter and a hallway. I walk around the side of the building and pull
on the heavy metal door. When it opens, I move inside tentatively.
A heavy man with low eyebrows sees me and approaches. "Can I help you?"
he asks gruffly.
I straighten. "I'm just looking for someone," I say.
He folds his arm. "I don't think so," he says.
"Why not?"
"Because the only people here are queens rehearsing for tonight's show.
If someone was expecting you, they would have told me."
He steps closer, trying to threaten me, but I'm not intimidated. I show
my badge. "I just had a couple questions for one of them," I say.
Without missing a beat, he steps even closer. "Well, unless you got a
warrant."
I put up a hand. "All right, all right," I say and turn to leave.
Tonight I'll come see the show, I decide. I think I may have had enough
of a look at the guy to recognize him even in costume, but I'm not sure.
I figure I'll take my chances because I just have to know. I get back in
my car and drive to the station.
***
I'm sitting in the club drinking a beer with music going on all around
me. A majority of the patrons are, of course, drag queens. I'm in
the minority of those not dressed up tonight. The show starts with two of
them in matching black sequin dresses lip syncing to Whitney Houston.
I have five beers in me by the time hour two rolls around and I see him.
At least, I think it's him. His dazzling purple gown flashes against the
light and a fluffy blonde wig covers his eyes a little, but I'm sure it's him.
Make that her, I suppose. She calls herself Violet and sings to Billie
Holiday. Somehow this surprises me. When she's finished, she goes
backstage. I think about the way she moved. The face seemed
familiar, but she moved a certain way, in some ways the same as she had when
dressed as a man. Fifteen minutes later she comes out carrying the purple
bag which she sets near a bouncer. A moment later she's out on the floor
flirting with men.
I casually bump into her and excuse myself. She smiles and says "No
problem," in a sweet voice. I find myself smiling back despite myself.
She has really nice eyes and for an instant I can see why Fraser fell for her,
but just as suddenly, I come back to reality. Unfortunately, I hadn't taken
time to plan out what I wanted to say. As usual, I let my emotions
rule. "Can I buy you a drink?" I ask.
Her heels are so high that she is looking down at me. She cocks her
head. "Sure, baby," she says. She orders a cosmopolitan and as she
lifts the glimmering glass, I notice her dainty purple nails with diamond rhinestones.
She takes a sip and I watch her until she meets my gaze. "Got a
boyfriend?" I ask.
She lowers her chin and looks through her long lashes. "Why? Would
you like to be him?" She manages to have a very feminine voice, though it's a
little deep. It blends into the perfect sexy-vixen sound.
My lips are taught and I know I look serious. "Do you?"
She stares at me a moment. "Not exactly."
"What does that mean?"
"It's not serious. He and I are just fooling around." She leans toward me a
little. "Does that scare you off?"
"I was just curious." She touches my shoulder with her free hand and sips her cosmo
again.
The anger is swelling in me. I'm not sure what to say so I just
turn. She grabs for me, but I walk away. Out in the parking lot I
sit in the car my hands on the steering wheel, and I stare. I stare at
nothing, though what I see is not that. It's Fraser. He's laughing
at me, lying to me, hurting me without a care. He's turning into a demon
before my eyes that I cannot trust. He is not what I believed him to
be. I've never been so angry. I think his entire persona is bullshit.
When I get home, I can't even look at him. I tell him I think I got food
poisoning at lunch. In reality what I am thinking is how I'm going to
follow him like a fly. I'm going to keep checking his pockets and his cell
phone. I'll be one step ahead of him until I catch him in the act.
He'll never see it coming and then I'll make him pay.
But nothing happens.
For a week, he's perfect. I'm waiting and watching and making myself
crazy, but nothing happens.
Just when I think I may have been crazy all along, I see his phone
flashing. I didn't even notice he had left it on my desk until I saw it
flash. If there is a message, it flashes and vibrates every thirty
minutes to remind him to answer it. I pick it up and contemplate, but
only for a second before I call the voice mail.
I hear her voice, only deeper today. "Meet me at Canary Sunday morning at
5. It's the only time. Just be careful. I don't want to get
caught." I hang up and stare at it a moment. I set it back on my
desk, then call it, touching the button to silence the ring as I do. I
leave a short message so that it will start flashing and vibrating again.
Once I've done it, I call the Consulate and ask for him.
"Hi, Ray. Is there a problem?"
I'm grabbing my jacket and leaving the squad room. "I just called your
cell, but you didn't answer."
He pauses. "Oh dear. I think I may have left it in the detective's
division."
"Ah. Well, I'll pick it up when I go back there. I just wondered
what you were doing this weekend."
"Nothing. Why?"
"I thought we could get away. I'm thinking we could drive out of town
tonight and stay in a hotel. It could be nice."
"That would be lovely, Ray. Why don't you make reservations somewhere and
I'll let the Inspector know that I'd like to leave early."
"Fantastic. Listen, if you go by the bull pen before I do, don't forget
to grab your phone. I'll want to get hold of you later."
"Yes, of course," he says.
Now I've planted the seed. I carefully avoid the squad room all day.
When I finally go, his phone is gone. I smile a little. Welsh
stops at my desk and I tell him I'm leaving town since I've got some time
off. He says he thinks it's a good idea and tells me to leave early.
I drive to the Consulate and find Fraser in his office. He's hovering
over paperwork. "Are you going to be done soon?" I ask.
He nods. "Inspector Thatcher just asked me to finish these reports before
I go. Did you find someplace for us to stay?"
I shrug. "Yeah, it's a little place called Village Park. I hear
it's nice."
"I'm sure it will be."
"They said we have to check out by noon on Sunday. I figure..."
"Sunday?" he asked.
"Yeah. The weekend we said."
"I think we should come back tomorrow night. I might be needed."
"On Saturday night?"
"Or Sunday. If we leave now, we'll have plenty of time to..."
"Why do you need to be back, Fraser," I ask, the firmness in my voice
surprising myself as much as him.
"I just do, Ray," he says firmly. "I've got responsibilities."
I fold my arms. "You can't even give me an entire weekend?"
"Ray, please."
"Is there someone else?" I ask flatly.
"Come on, Ray. Stop this. You're being ridiculous."
"Am I?" I ask. He says nothing, just stares at me. "Maybe this
weekend was a bad idea," I snap.
He looks down. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he says.
"I'm sorry that you feel I'm not important."
"I never said that."
"Don't call me," I snarl as I storm from his office, slamming the door.
***
I know that on Sunday morning the only people at the club will be
performers. I spend Saturday at the stores picking out the perfect blue
dress to bring out my eyes and a glittering blue wig. Before 5, I have to
do my makeup four times before I think I look good enough and as soon as I put
on the shoes I realize I'll have to work on walking. I drive to the club,
arriving early. I meet the same bear. I tell him I'm new and he
lets me pass. I start down the hall, then duck into a maintenance
closet. I wait until I hear Fraser, then I peek my head out. The
bear tells him that Violet was expecting him. As Fraser passes the
closet, I close the door, then open it again when he is gone. Standing
beside the dressing room curtain, I hear Violet tell him that there is
something in the office. She then says that the manager came
unexpectedly, but would leave soon so Fraser would have to wait.
I go around the back rooms until I find a little office. No one is in it,
so I start to look around. I hope to find something that belongs to
Fraser, something solid enough to confront him.
As I finger through a drawer, I hear the door start to open. Panicked, I
duck into the large wardrobe-cabinet with metal doors and tiny vents. In
it I find myself among a few props and costumes. Someone enters and makes
a phone call. I hear him say that he is about to leave, then he hangs
up.
I hear the door close and tentatively make my way out, but just as I open the
door, I spot the knob turning again so I jump back in. I hear rustling, the
sounds of searching, so I carefully open the door a crack. I see Fraser's
back as he leans over the desk, searching for something.
The door opens again and he straightens. Violet steps in and quickly
closes the door behind herself. "You've got to hide. He came back."
"What about you?" Fraser asks.
"Never mind," she says. "In there," she snaps, pointing at me so I fall
back into the shadows.
Fraser opens the other door and steps inside. He looks at me and I can
see that he definitely wants to say something, but the door opens again and he
is listening.
"Violet. What are you doing here?" asks the man I heard on the phone a
few moments before.
"I was hoping to catch you before you left. I thought I'd missed you," she says.
"Did you need something?"
She sighs. "Well, I'm thinking of changing the act and I wanted your
permission."
He lets out a breath. "I'm very late. Can we talk about it later?"
"Sure," she says. "Sorry to bother you."
"No, it's okay. Just catch me before the weekend," he says, grabbing
something from the desk. "I've really got to go," he adds, pushing her
out before he closes the door.
Fraser looks at me a moment, up and down. "That colour is lovely on you,"
he says.
I furrow my brow. "Has it escaped your attention that I'm wearing a dress
and standing in a closet?" I ask.
He smiles. "No. I just think you've chosen a lovely colour."
"What the fuck, Fraser?"
He straightens. "Pardon me?"
"You're cheating on me, aren't you?"
"No."
"With Violet."
"Violet?" he asks, startled. "Of course not!"
"Then what's with all the secret meetings? What's this all about? Did you
leave something in this office that would get the two of you caught?"
"I told you, Ray, I'm not having an affair."
"I know you lied."
He looks upset. "I tried not to lie, Ray, but I had to," he admits.
"Because you didn't want to get caught?" I press.
"Well, yes," he says, then leans forward. "But not for what you think."
"Then what?" I demand to know. "Tell me now or I'm leaving and this is
over."
Fraser nods slowly. "Before I begin, I want to make it clear that I
only did what I did because I knew that your knowledge would unleash a great
number of events that could cause me to lose you."
As he tells me the tale of his last few weeks I feel the anger building, but
not in the way I had expected. I fold my arms and I listen as he speaks,
holding my reaction in a very tight grip. I fear what I'll do if even the
slightest bit of the anger slips loose. It is me he has to protect and I
realize that what he had said to begin was true.
As he finishes, I feel the tearing of my personality. Part of me wants to
fuck him; to push him up against the side of the wardrobe and thank him
for considering the consequences of my actions. I want to prove to him
that I can control my emotions. Maybe I just don't want him to worry.
I stand still for several seconds, watching him watch me for a reaction of some
kind. I remain there as if the closet keeps the story fiction. I keep the
back of my mind focused on what he has said. I know I want to get out, to
run, to start the journey Fraser fears I'll make. He touches my
face. "Let me handle it, Ray," he whispers softly. "I don't want to
lose you."
I push the angered desire aside and lean forward to kiss him, hard, taking his
lips into my mouth and grabbing at his clothes. My libido decides that it has
to remain fiction just a little longer. It decides we will stay in the
cabinet.
I wanted to show my appreciation for the fact that he knew that if I knew what
he knew (follow me?) that I would never think about the consequences and would
simply act. I have my hand down his pants and though I can sense he is
reluctant to fuck right here, right now, I don't give him the chance to state
it. I am ripping at his shirt when he gives in and gathers the bottom of
the dress up to my waist so that he can grasp me. The wardrobe shakes in
a rhythm as I fuck him hard enough to make him moan and come all down his
front. I laugh a little as soon as I have come and start to straighten
the hem of the awful dress.
He licks his lower lip and looks at me. Lowering his head slightly, his
tone becomes humble. "What are you going to do now, Ray?" he asks. His
voice is slightly gruff, barely breathless, and sexy. I touch his groin
and kiss him again. He lets me for a minute before he pulls away and
forces me to meet his gaze. "Don't do anything you'll later regret," he
says.
"You're worried about what I'll regret?" I say, pushing a kind tone from my
voice box for effect, then gritting my teeth. "I will make him regret..."
"I just wanted to protect you."
I shrug away from him and throw the door to the wardrobe open. "Fuck
you!" I snap as I bound from the room. If Fraser is going to try to
protect the man from me, then I'll take matters into my own hands – right
between my fingers as I squeeze the life from him.
I hear Fraser call out after me. I ignore it and imagine his eyes
rolling back into his head, blood pouring from his mouth, bruises covering his
body.
Fraser is running after me when I get to the dressing room. Six queens
jump back, clutching their costumes and watching me. I spot Violet.
My feet thud in her direction. Fraser grabs my arm fiercely. He has
never hurt me before, but his fingers dig painfully into my bicep. "What
do you expect to do?" he snaps.
I flip my body, both hands contacting his chest. I use the force of my
entire body to push him away and he falls back. Two more thuds from my
feet and I've got my hands around Violet's neck. I'm over her and her ass
is smashed to the vanity table, her head pressing against the mirror as she
grabs for leverage. "Where is he?" I yell, my nose an inch from hers, my
cock rubbing against cock.
"I don't know!" she screeches.
I jerk her head and slam it against the glass of the mirror. Her eyes
close a second. "Where the hell do I find him?" I scream.
Fraser has recovered and has his arms wrapped around my torso, pulling me
away. "I told you she doesn't know!" he shouts into my ear.
"You trust too much. She's lying," I growl, keeping my vision focused on
her. I'm convinced she knows more than she has told. In fact, I'm
convinced she knows everything. Paranoia tells me she was part of the
entire plan. My mind is certain that Violet is the key.
Then I see a welling in her eye, a gathering of moisture. I'm bracing
myself so that Fraser can't pull me off and I shake her neck. Her wig
which has been askew falls away completely and I see a young man staring at me,
trying not to cry but failing. Something inside of me connects to him or
perhaps I see him connecting to my pain in that instant as I relax just enough
for Fraser to pull me away. Violet sits up, holding her neck and feeling
her short-shaved head for the lack of disguise, of cover. I see a story
in Violet's eyes as the tear falls down her cheek and she grasps desperately
for the wig to pull over her head.
Violet swallows hard and the drag queens in the room relax a little. "I
told you she doesn't know anything," Fraser breathes into my ear, reminding
me.
I look down, nodding, then look at her again. "Just tell me where to find
your boss, then," I say.
She glances over my shoulder at Fraser, then looks at me again. "If you
try this with him, he'll warn Russell before you ever have a chance to get at
him. He'll be gone in a flash."
I grit my teeth. She's right. I rub my head and can no longer look
at her.
Fraser loosens his grip. "It's simply more logical to handle this my
way," he says.
I sniff and pull away from him. I have to sidestep in order to move
around him, but I leave without a word. I hear him make an apology just
before he follows me into the hall. I storm toward the GTO, swinging the
driver's side door open.
"There's a file in his office. We should go back in and find it." Fraser acts
as though it makes a difference. He has told me what the file contains.
It simply leads us to the next piece of string which, he hopes gives us an
address for Russell, though he has believed many pieces of string would give
the address. He has spent the last few weeks trying to get a precise location
and still he comes up short.
I sit down and close the door, leaning out the window then I shake my
head. "Doesn't matter, Fraser."
"What are you planning to do, Ray?' he asks, apparently desperate to know what
I intend to do.
"Bury him in the woods. Deep. That's the downfall of killers,
Fraser. They bury their victims in shallow graves. I figure if I
work at it long enough I can bury him at least six feet underground." I
start the engine and he slaps his hand on the door, wrapping his fingers over
the open window frame. I look up at him and smirk as I put the car in
gear.
"Don't do something stupid Ray. If you kill him, you'll be arrested and I
won't be able to see you – perhaps ever again. I can't lose you."
I glare. "You kept this a secret from me for weeks. He could have
been dead weeks ago. Your feelings aren't really important here,
Fraser. This grudge is older than you and you had no right, no right
interfering." I thrust my foot against the gas pedal and watch in my rear
view mirror as he jerks his hand away and I leave him in the proverbial dust.
***
There is another story here, you see. There is a story that happened
before Fraser.
I have a brother. I had a brother. Fletcher Thomas Kowalski.
We called him Tom, but Mom called him Fletcher. Not much of a surprise
there.
I really don't like to talk about it because it hurts so much. Most of
the time I pretend I don't even think about him anymore, but the truth is, I
think about him all the time. I let him exist in the back of my
mind. He hasn't grown there since his death. I have kept him as a
stationary being.
It's been seven years since his death. I can't say it exactly hurts
anymore. I've managed to fill the emptiness. I do miss him, though,
and I think of him.
Along with his death, I carry guilt. That's the part which creates the
drama, isn't it? Of course, many people feel guilt when a loved one dies.
I don't feel only guilt, I feel responsibility. That's the focus.
Responsibility.
My brother is younger than me. Was. Much younger. Seven years
ago he was seventeen. He was getting ready to graduate high school with
honors. I was still pretty new on the force, but had some experience
under my belt.
The department had been keeping close tabs on an organization which dealt large
amounts of cocaine, the drug of choice back then. Unfortunately they were
just cautious enough to keep themselves from getting caught. Sure we
caught a runner every now and then, but they were expendable. Because I
was fairly new, no one knew me, not by appearance anyway. I ended up in
many operations as backup; the homeless man hovering over a garbage can or a
street cleaner in an orange vest.
More experienced officers were sent undercover in an attempt to infiltrate the
organization. I knew few of them, but I knew not to draw attention
to them in any way.
Back then I went to dinner at my parent's home every Sunday afternoon.
One week, Tom brought a new friend. He looked about nineteen years old
and had black hair slicked back. He dressed much like my brother and
explained that they had met at a girl's party. I thought little of it at
the time.
Tom seemed to spend more and more time with this kid who called himself Russell
over the next four or five weeks.
Meanwhile, two officers had managed to get inside the system. One night
they set up a sting and I got to pretend to be the guy working on a broken fire
hydrant. All at once it went down. Some of the kids who followed
the gang around had been caught in the chaos and were left on the asphalt
bleeding or dead before we secured the scene. I had my gun pointed at
one. As I approached, the blood on his face nearly made him
unidentifiable. The closer I got, however, the more I could hear from
him. He chuckled. He was chuckling harder and harder so that by the
time I neared him, he laughed. I recognized Russell upon approaching him.
"What's so funny?" I had snapped at him.
He just laughed. Suddenly I thought of Tom. Had this punk asshole
brought him here? Was he one of the kids lying dead in the street?
"Did you know I was a police officer?" I asked.
"Of course," he remarked, then found new amusement.
I frowned. "Did you bring Tom here?"
Russell's expression was of shock, then satisfaction. He had stopped
laughing and just stared at the barrel of my gun.
An officer came by and touched my arm. "Kowalski, you've got a call."
I shook my head. "I'm kind of busy."
The hand seemed gentle. "I think you should take it. I've got this
one," he said into my ear.
I paused a second, turning to the older man who put his other hand over my
weapon. "Commander's got the radio in his car waiting for you."
I couldn't imagine why this officer seemed so insistent, but after making sure
he had an eye on Russell, I walked across the to the commander's car. He
handed me his radio, then turned away. I spoke into it. Words were
said. I couldn't believe them. My hand began to shake and I dropped
the radio.
Tom's body had just been found at the bottom of a ravine. It appeared he
had jumped from an overpass.
I looked across to where the officer began to put handcuffs on Russell. I
then had a new realization. While we were infiltrating their
organization, he had been sent to penetrate ours. How many of them had
figured out ways to get revenge on us before we even took them down?
I wiped my sweaty brow. Tom hadn't jumped. That I knew in my
heart. Russell had pushed him.
And Tom wasn't the only one. Three other officer's lost people close to
them, one other at Russell's hand. It had been carried out with
precision, preparation, and pure evil.
While I knew Tom's death wasn't an suicide as fact, there was no proof; at
least not right away. He jumped bail and disappeared before the witnesses
came forward. I have spent the last 7 years imagining how Russell would
pay.
And Fraser fits into this how? Well, apparently a young man had been
arrested in Canada about five years ago. No one made the connections. Upon his
release he was brought back to the United States. Fraser received
paperwork about the criminal and when he ran it through the computers he found
the warrant for Tom's death, but before telling me or anyone, he wanted to
track Russell down. He didn't want Russell to have another chance to
escape.
Of course he didn't tell me because he knew that Russell was the one person I
honest to God would actually murder and not feel much remorse.
What Fraser learned eventually led him to the owner of Canary. This man,
Forsythe, had known Russell's cousin, Kevin. Fraser felt that through
those channels he could get to Russell.
Upon investigating Forsythe, Fraser met Violet. When he learned that
Violet had once dated Kevin, he became very interested in any help she could
provide. There was a kink in the works, however. Violet had, at the time,
been known as Vlad, his given name. Vlad found Kevin to be extremely
abusive. Vlad broke things off with Kevin, knowing Kevin would not accept
his desire to be a woman. Kevin heard what his ex had been up to and
found Vlad as Violet and became even more abusive. Violet worked hard to
separate herself from that life in order to protect herself. That was how
she came to work at The Canary. Forsythe knew Kevin and Russell were both
very bad men. He kept tabs on them only so that he could act as a buffer
between them and Violet. He felt it necessary to protect her ever since
they had fallen in love.
Though Fraser's intentions were to get Russell out of the picture, he could do
nothing to Kevin. Kevin seemed to have no involvement in illegal
activities. Forsythe refused to give Fraser any information about the men
for fear that once Russell was jailed, Kevin would find his way back to
Violet. That was when Fraser got sneaky.
Over the course of the investigation, he had made friends with Violet and
Violet had done what she could to help, fearful for her safety, but
understanding of Fraser's cause. Violet had not only called to lead him
in the right direction when possible, she also called him when she needed a
friend.
I have to admit that I love him right now. I mean, for whom else would
Fraser go against every value he upholds in order to protect? What he had
made clear in the closet was that he feared telling me would lead me to Russell
and that I would kill Russell. He's right. That's my intention.
He feared I would then go to jail and he would lose me. His thought
seemed to skip justice for once and focus on losing me. The consequences
are drastic, but they will be worth it. Russell pushed my brother off an
overpass and I will avenge that. I may go to jail. I might lose
Fraser. Nothing, however, is worth giving that man a chance to escape
justice again. Nothing on this earth.
So I will find Forsythe. I will kill him if I have to in order to get to
Russell. I've been planning the appropriate torture for years. It
is my turn to have justice.
***
As I'm changing out of the dress, hanging it carefully on a hanger I wonder why
Fraser hasn't come to stop me. I put on black jeans, black boots and a
dark grey shirt before strapping on my gun holster and sliding a weapon in its
place under my arm. I leave the badge on my dresser thinking for a moment
that I may never wear it again. Looking at myself in the mirror I realize
how haggard I've become with sleepless nights thinking Fraser cheated on
me. Part of me wishes that's all it had been.
While changing I think over all the things Fraser had told me. I don't
know if he realized it at the time – I know I didn't – but he had told me where
to find Forsythe. Thinking about it, I pieced together clues.
Fraser is so observant, though. I think maybe he set me up to figure it
out, that he predicted the entire event, but I get in the GTO anyway and start
driving north. Following the cues, Fraser had said that Forsythe didn't do much
when he wasn't at the club except work out. In actuality, I could only
guess which of the hundreds of health clubs he would use. I based my
assumption on location and clientele.
I pull into the parking lot of the health club and walk inside. Just inside is
a lobby and a television turned to the news. A counter and turnstile blocks the
entrance for those who aren't members. Without missing a beat I step up
to the muscular man behind the desk and smile at him. He leans on his
elbows and smiles back. "Hello," he says in a friendly tone.
"Hey," I say, trying to seem vaguely flirtatious. The gym has a
reputation, you see, which isn't surprising as the apartment buildings nearby
just happen to appeal to the gay population. "I wanted to see about
getting a day pass," I explain.
He looks me up and down. "You need a sponsor," he says.
I move a little closer, look at his pecs, and lick my lips. "I heard this
was a place I'd really like to join. Maybe you could just show me
around," I suggest.
He smiles widely. "You still need a sponsor."
I purse my lips. "Does he have to be present?"
"He just has to be a member. Those are the rules. I'd like to break
them, but I have to put a name in the computer."
I meet his gaze. "Forsythe," I say. "Forsythe Turner."
He nods. "Yeah, I know him. He's here today."
"Right now?" I ask, feigning surprise."
The man nods. "Should I get him for you? We could let him show you
around."
I nod. "Sure."
The man disappears for only a minute or two as I stand in the lobby and pretend
to be reading the pamphlets and flyers.
When he returns, I see the man who had been in the office at the club
following. He turns the corner and sees me, but I feel safe that he would
never recognize me. He looks confused, but also cautious as he steps back, yet
I'm on him in a second. I pounce him and slam him to the ground, flipping
him to his stomach and wrapping my arm around his neck. "Where do I find
him?" I growl.
"It doesn't matter," he snarls, trying unsuccessfully to shove me off his back.
"Where is he?"
"You're too late!"
"What does that mean!?"
The big guy from behind the counter is trying to pull me off Forsythe. His burly
strength makes him more successful at my removal than Forsythe's attempt had
been. Forsythe stands, putting a hand over a nose I now realize is
bleeding. The man is holding me back as I stare at Forsythe. "Your
lover's already been here."
I freeze a moment. "What?"
"He knew I didn't want to tell him where to find Kevin or Russell, but he told
me you'd be by and if you found him first, Kevin might be the least of our
problems."
I relax and the big guy's hold on me softens a little. "Where?"
Forsythe points to the television above a plant and I turn. "Fuck!" I
snap because I see Russell being led away in handcuffs. The sleeve of a
Canadian uniform takes up a tiny corner of the screen. I jerk away from
the man and run from the club.
I tear down the streets and slam on the brakes in front of the Consulate.
Throwing the door closed behind me and whipping the door to the Consulate open,
I bound past Turnbull and Thatcher toward Fraser's office.
I open the door and see him standing there. "I'm sorry, Ray," he says
immediately.
I look at him with all the hurt I have in my body. "I don't know if I can
ever trust you again," I say.
He sighs and sits down. "I did the right thing," he says simply.
I fold my arms and stare a moment, almost threatening. "Not by me.
You didn't do right by me."
When he looked into my eyes, I saw no remorse, only sorrow for my pain.
"He will serve time. He may even get life in prison. Your brother's
was not the only death he caused."
For a moment I see clarity. I let out a breath. "Tell Violet I'm
sorry," I say, defeated.
Fraser smiles a little. "I will."
"I'm going to quit the force."
"What?"
"I figured I'd be giving it up when I took care of Russell anyway."
"But that hasn't happened."
I lean forward and look into his eyes. "I don't ever want to see you
again."
"Ray, come on," he says.
I shake my head and stand in the doorway. "Every time I look at you, this
is all I'm going to see." I frown and turn, walking down the hall. As I
sit in the GTO, he rushes from the Consulate and grabs the door with both
hands. I slowly roll down the window.
"Don't quit," he says. "You know that's not right."
I stare at the steering wheel.
"I'll give you space if you need it," he says, then reaches in and touches my
arm. "But I'm more determined not to lose you than you think."
I want to keep staring ahead, but for some reason my head snaps to meet his
eyes. I look at them and take a deep shaky breath.
"Killing Russell wouldn't have brought back Tom," he says. "And losing me
will not make it easier to deal with."
I turn again and rub my neck thoughtfully. I feel his hand touch my hair
so I turn my gaze to the passenger seat. I hear him lean further into the
car. "You know I did this all so that I wouldn't lose you."
The reason I can't turn back is because I can't let him see what's in my eyes,
but then I feel his lips on my neck and I turn. I press at my eye to rid
it of the tear welling up in it. He's an inch or two from me and
smiling. "You've got to deal with the idea of Russell going to
prison. How about we deal with it together?"
I stare a moment, then nod. "It's just that..."
"You wanted to kill him," Fraser says plainly.
I nod.
"I took that away from you."
I nod again.
"I'm sorry, but I did the right thing," he repeats now that I'm ready to hear
it.
He's still leaning into the car, his hand still in my hair. I take a
moment more to sort out my thoughts before I kiss him. "I'm still furious," I finally manage in a whisper.
Fraser cocks his head. "I promise to make it up to you," he breaths and
kisses me again.
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