SquidgeWorld Archive

Wolf At The Door
by JustJeanette

section 1

"Okay people, listen up," the blonde-headed detective with the experimental hair, Ray Kowalski (aka Vecchio), heard Welsh say as the Lieutenant entered the bullpen. "Expect some weird shit today. It's Friday the 13th and we've got a full moon tonight, so every nut job is going to be out making our job harder."

Yeah Lieutenant, tell me something I don't know, Ray thought. Weird shit didn't even begin to describe the last week, let alone what was likely to be in store for him today. Yeah his caseload was light, but that dead dentist thing from last night was just too weird for words.

To make matters worse, Fraser just had to be AWOL this week, having been called home to the mother-ship for evaluation. So Ray couldn't even blame the weird wrong shit on his buddy, though if he tried hard enough, he was sure that he could find some way to lay the whole mess at Fraser's feet. What he really wanted do however was to talk to the Fraser about the invisible beast that was apparently stalking him, but that, too, was apparently also out of the question. Fraser was incommunicado until the evaluation ended. Dot it, file it, and put it in a box marked nope, no way, de nada.

Mind you, it seemed bureaucracies the world over had their of share petty little tyrants running them. Fraser had been forced to fly out of O'Hare Monday morning at 10am just because some pencil-pushing geek in accounting wasn't going to pay for an extra nights accommodation for an evaluation that wasn't due to start until 1pm. His buddy was then due to fly back in today at 3pm because the Ice Queen wasn't about to authorise leave, even when Fraser had more leave time owing than everyone at the 2-7 combined.

Nah, Thatcher wanted Fraser home ASAP. Seemed the Canadians had this lame ass public holiday coming up that celebrated the birthday of some dead queen, and not the Chicago type. . . Victoria Day. Thatcher was probably intending to dump all the whole shebangs (and the headaches that would follow) on Fraser whilst she sat back and took the collar. Sucked for Fraser as he'd be running about playing party planner and it sucked for him personally as he'd be stuck without Fraser, again. Still, it meant that Fraser couldn't be allowed any personal time to go do crazy Fraser stuff like chasing litterers across the continent. The upside was that Diefenbaker, Fraser's white-half wolf (you'd better not refer to him as a dog, was staying with him), as it wasn't worth the hassles of transporting the wolf for a three day absence for 3 days and Dief had flatly refused to stay with Turnbull.

The downside to all this was that with Dief here it meant that Fraser had no-one to watch his back during this 'evaluation thing' and that might also have accounted for some of the wrongness factor. Still, for fuck's sake what could happen to Super Mountie at Mountie HQ?

Dumb question Kowalski, really dumb. The rhetorical question fired off a brief history of his time with the Fraser; driving a burning car into the lake they call Michigan, dragging a dead guy around the station, even that buddy-breathing thing which he wasn't going to thinking about again particularly when he was sure tongue had been involved. Fraser could get into trouble just crossing the street.

Dief, huddled under Ray's desk, lifted his head and gave Ray a look that agreed whole heartedly with the entire unspoken dialogue. The wolf however threw in a major side order of worry to go with his sentiment.

Back at you, Dief buddy, back at you. Unfortunately for Ray he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong; way wrong, way, way, way wrong, and, not just weird shit way wrong.

The week had started out normal enough; well Fraser normal anyway. He'd dropped Fraser, dressed in the brown uniform for a change, at O'Hare in time to see Fraser meet up with a tall woman in red rerge before he headed into the 2-7 with Dief following behind hunting donuts. The day had been spent dealing with paperwork and kind of wishing Fraser was here to help (and make things interesting). That night he'd had pizza, shared with his temporary roomie; walked his temporary roomie, and argued with temporary roomie about sleeping arrangements. The while wolves slept on the floor, humans on the bed argument. Result? He went to sleep with someone else in his bed for the first time, in like, forever. Wolf 1, Ray 0.

It had been around midnight that night that the weirdness started up, and it hadn't let up since. Ray woke to low howling and was about to kick Dief's head in when he noticed the wolf was still sitting beside him. Diefenbaker was practically vibrating, focused on the bedroom door. It was the first time Ray had ever heard Dief really growl and he kinda pitied the poor bastard it was aimed at. After a moment, though, Dief's muscles stopped shaking though his tail was still giving tiny little tick-tocks from side to side, but his whines sounded more . . . puzzled than anything else.

Pulling his gun from the top drawer beside the bed, and a clip from the bottom draw, Ray locked and loaded before he carefully approached the door. When he yanked open the door there was nothing there. That was Monday night. That was way wrong. Dief looked at him as if to say, "Well? Go get him."

"Get who?"

Tuesday escalated to claw marks on his bedroom door. There was still nothing there when he opened the door, but Wednesday morning he found the corpse of a stray dog left in the middle of his living room. That was weird wrong. Dief whined and cringed under the couch.

On Wednesday night, the first hint of a sound from beyond his bedroom had Diefenbaker trying to break said door down and go to after the nothing that was making the racket. No-one else in the building had heard or seen anything, which topped off the weird shit wrong feeling.

On Thursday night Ray actually volunteered to cover a stake-out for the Duck boys. He figured that with Dief would do for company; in fact, he'd probably beat Fraser as he wouldn't have to listen to anymore deeply complicated (and admittedly disturbing) Inuit tales. Fraser's theme, of late, about been about being two-spirited had all the hallmarks of Fraser trying to be subtle. Thing was, he had no idea what Fraser was being subtle about, and he didn't want to project his own wishes into the interpretation. Gods but it was just not fair to have to work with a man who could make Michelangelo's David look like a wimp.

The late night worked in Ray's favour, however, as there were no disturbances when he collapsed into his bed, Dief taking more than his fair share, at 4am. It wasn't until he woke again Friday morning after only four hours sleep that he noticed the pool of piss outside his bed-room door. Dief would have been shoved face first into the mess if it wasn't for the fact that it was on the outside of his bedroom door when Dief had been inside his bedroom all night. Cocking an eyebrow at the supposedly deaf wolf, he complained, "What, someone seeking to take over our territory? I mean, that ain't your colours there buddy."

Diefenbaker did not look pleased

That his bedroom was suddenly territory was just the final straw in the weirdness war. The Lieutenant's announcement of the unfortunate conjunction of date and moon just kind of seemed like fate was having a big old laugh at Kowalski's expense.

"Vecchio!" Welsh's voice rang through his reminiscences, "you paying attention here?" The Lieu did not sound happy.

"As always, Lieutenant," he answered quickly.

"Good. Because I want you and wolf, who I don't see stealing donuts from the lunch-room, to check out this dead dentist thing."

"But I'm already on it," Kowalski jerked his head towards the pile of files on his desk. Someone had offed the dentist with a dead arctic fox getting into the Guinness fucking Book of Records for weirdest murder weapon.

"If you'd been listening, detective," --Welsh could put on a polite snit better than anyone except Fraser-- "you'd have heard we've got another one; a Dr. Weingarten. It seems he too has been dead for about a week. His receptionist found him this morning, and as you already have one dead dentist, the job's yours. So get out there and start questioning."

"Come on Dief, you heard the Lieutenant," Kowalski enunciated clearly for the wolf's benefit before grabbing his coat and heading out.

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section 2

Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to set up his prison. The room, a cube, was exactly six feet in all dimensions, which made it exactly one inch too short for him to stand erect, even in his bare feet. The walls and ceiling were steel, and sealed tight, except for one small vent in the north-west corner; the vent had been made by drilling evenly spaced holes into the roof thus there wasn't a cover to lift, even if he'd had his Sam-Browne and its contents. Not that he could have seen much, as the room was also completely dark, and his investigations had yielded no indication of a light source or a place where a light source might have been originally been situated. The floor was concrete, and it appeared that in a final act of premeditated cruelty, no food or water had been provided. From the limited information he had he presumed he'd been drugged, placed naked on the floor and the steel cage lowered into place; there he was to stay until he died. Not a pleas!
ant thought.

The drugs, or what remained of them in his system, left him feeling disoriented and lethargic; very much like the feeling he remembered from coming out of a Booga-toad-induced trance. If the dosage applied had been large enough, and he suspected it had been, then there was the distinct possibility that the additional subcutaneous fat that allowed him to cope in the Northern winters was likely to be a definite hindrance in the current circumstances. Any fat-soluble drug would take considerably longer to exit his system and the lack of water meant there was no possible way to expedite the excretion. With his mouth dry and his head showing a distinct tendency to want to spin, he was hard pressed to put his mind to work considering to his current predicament; the who, what, where, when and why.

Concentrating hard he recalled meeting Inspector Meg Gerard at O'Hare. He hoped she was unharmed. But, given his incarceration, he seriously doubted what she was enjoying was the Canadian wilds either. Still, when they failed to arrive for the scheduled evaluation session, someone would begin to investigate. Thus, all he was required to do was wait; something he was normally quite skilled at, and rely on Ray and his hunches. Still, it would be prudent to consider other options, particularly in light of the level of planning that had led to his incarceration.

Shaking his head in an unsuccessful attempt to dissolve the cobwebs from his mind, he considered what might be the worst case scenario. If no-one noticed that he failed to arrive for the scheduled evaluation then he would not be missed until at least 3.30pm on Friday, assuming that his return flight arrived as scheduled; not likely, as even Air Canada had to deal with the vagaries of the US weather systems. He wondered if he should be thankful for spiteful superiors. If the leave he'd considered finally taking had been granted, he'd have spent a month or more working on rebuilding his father's cabin after the evaluation sessions were concluded. But the leave hadn't been granted, so even at worst case he should be missed by early evening on Friday if the flights ran to the normal schedule.

Worst case scenario, he needed to shut as much of his body down as possible to conserve energy and preserve his life long enough to be found. He had no doubt that he would be found, but he suspected that he was supposed to be found dead. That had been his thoughts early on Monday.

While he was unaware that it was still Monday, just, he was struggling to remember what day it was.

Whoever had drugged him had been malicious in the extreme. He'd noticed after what might have been 3 hours of incarceration that his sense of normality was slipping again. Apparently his captors had drugged him with a slow release capsule and the second dose was starting to cross into his blood stream. Whatever the second drug was it seemed induce a state that was perilously close to delirium; at least that was the only way he could explain the extremely lucid dreams that overtook him.

The cold was intense, almost burning his feet as he ran. Ahead he could just see the pale tawny colour of his mother as she led the chase. In front of her, running for its life, was an artic hare. He paused for a moment, panting, and watched as his mother, muscles bunched tight under her skin, suddenly seemed to fly forward. A quick snap of jaws and the hare lay dead.

Turning, his mother cocked her head to the side before she picked up the kill and brought it back to where he waited. "Eat," she commanded, "you'll need your strength for this will be a long hunt."

Accepting the kill, and the command, he made short work of the hare. The blood was warm and the meat fresh. The sustenance, after so long without, eased the ache in his belly. The raw, animalistic nature of the hunt eased a leash that he had never been aware of; he howled with joy as he felt the freedom of the hunt seep into his bones.

"Yes pup," the words were whispered as the she-wolf nuzzled at her young's ear, "it is well past time you remembered the hunt."

His belly full, his body guarded by the She, he fell into sleep.

He dreamt he saw the She curl her lips back and growl at something that remained just out of sight. "You have no business here."

"I will not let him die this way."

"If he is to die this way, he will." The She shrugged her shoulders accepting the possibility of the death of her young with equanimity. "If he is not to die this way, then he won't. But it is not for you to interfere."

"I will not have him die wolf."

"Ahh, so that is what you fear. Not his death, but his form in death. I did not leave him by choice... you did that. But you made sure that he never learned, never knew, and yet he uses that which is himself to hunt in Tundra and Man-land. You failed to kill the spirit and the spirit is all that will save him now."

"Then he should die Man."

"No, it is Man that will hunt for him, and Man that will save him, and Man that will guide him, and finally let him be all he can be."

"I can prevent that."

The She snorted happily, "Your interference has been what has finally released the bonds. If you had wanted to prevent this, then you should not have brought him into the Borderlands nor brought them near him.

"Now, go," a deep rumbled growl followed the command. "There is nothing you can do now to stop this, but I will tear your throat out if you try."

"Yes, Alpha."

On regaining consciousness after the dream he wondered why his father wasn't here to bother him.

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section 3

The foyer to the building was huge. No wonder dentists charged like wounded bulls; the rent on this place would be like his annual salary; per week. Still, gawking about wasn't getting any crimes solved. Mind you, he'd rather have stayed in the foyer.

What greeted Ray's eyes as he walked into the office was bizarre, even by hanging with Fraser standards. I mean, dead was dead, and dead he could really do without having to look at but this one just drew the eyes. Someone had whacked the dentist with a dead beaver. What next, a fucking caribou?

The thing was, this was the second dead dentist of the week. Dead dentist number one, Harry Prentiss, periodontist, had his fatal encounter with a fox. Prentiss, who was still supposed to be on his annual fortnight long arctic hunting trip, had been found by sheer luck. Some punk who thought that a dentist's office was a neat place to crash had called in the corpse, otherwise no-one would have been the wiser for another week. Was dead dentist number two the result of coincidence, copycat, or something more sinister?

Copy cat was not likely; corpse number one had been a corpse for close to a week and the news had only hit the sheets late last night; no chance for a sicko to do a copy cat that led to another week old corpse. Coincidence? Two dead dentists killed in wildly bizarre way? Nope, not likely. That left a serial.
`
Damn but he hated serials.

Okay, time to kick a few heads.

Quietly approaching the distraught receptionist he listened as she talked to the uniforms with her.

"He was supposed to be up in Canada," the receptionist was saying whilst she tried to hold back tears.

Well didn't that just start the alarm bells ringing? Moving closer, Ray signalled the uniforms to keep her talking.

"Dr. Weingarten was supposed to be on his annual hunting trip."

The brass band just joined the chorus. Ray cracked his neck trying to loosen the tension forming. The tension stayed. A nod to the uniforms and they kept encouraging the woman to talk.

"He wasn't even supposed to be back until next week. That's why the office had been closed up. I was off at my sister's; she's just had her first. I only came in today to check the message bank."

Pretty solid alibi, Ray accepted her comments at face value.

"So when was Dr. Weingarten supposed to fly in?" Ray asked after he identified himself. He was surprised to see a furrow crease her brow when he introduced himself. Shrugging his left shoulder he supposed she'd mentioned whatever it was that was bothering her but in the meantime he'd get as many answers as possible.

"Next Sunday afternoon."

"And do you know of anyone reason why someone might want to kill Dr. Weingarten?"

"Someone with a killer root canal," joked Uniform Number One.

Passive-aggressive wasn't Ray's style; that was Fraser's. So when he rounded on the Uniform said Uniform stepped back, quickly. "I'll give you a killer root canal," he snapped, his fist clenched and ready to hit on reflex. "Coffee, now." The Uniform scrammed.

"Sorry about that," Ray apologised, and that wasn't Fraser rubbing off on him. "Now, as I was saying. . ."

This started the standard question and answer sequence, did he have any enemies, had he had any trouble with his family, friends, did he gamble, who knew about the trip, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Third name on the list of people who knew about the trip had set off the cannons of the 1812 overture in Ray's head. It seemed that Harry Prentiss, periodontist, was one of Dr. Weingarten hunting buddies. "Who else normally goes on this trip?" A small, sideways jerky movement of the head was the only indication that he thought the receptionist had said anything important. He had a link, and with a link, he could find motive. With motive he could solve the crime.

Five names, five hunting buddies that flew to Canada for two weeks, every year; that meant he had three possible suspects. A good morning's work and he did it without needing Fraser to point out the obvious. Taking the names down, Ray thanked the receptionist kindly and told her that someone would send a uniform up to take her full statement shortly.

Mort and Forensics hadn't finished with the dentist's office yet but Ray wandered back for a final look around. Whilst he had possible suspects, he felt he to get a bit more of a feel for the crime; something wasn't right and he had a hunch that his suspects weren't going to pan out. There was something, just a small thing, niggling at the back of his brain. She said Canada!

"Detective Vecchio?"

Startled, Ray opened his eyes to see the receptionist standing in the door. A very strange look on her face, like something was out of place and he had to fight the urge to look over his shoulder to see what she was looking at. "Yes?"

"Sorry, it's just you don't look like I remember."

"Well, I'm not sure... have we ever met?" He made the statement into a question as he stood, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs.

"It would have been over three years ago," she was saying, though she had her eyes closed and was apparently reviewing some internal video. "I have to remember faces, patients, etc. you see. It's part of my job. But you weren't a patient. The Vecchio I remember, he was balding and he came in with good looking Mountie."

"Fraser!"

"Yes, that was it. Constable Fraser, RCMP. He'd also been asking Dr. Weingarten about his annual hunting trip. What a strange coincidence. You know something, Detective," she continued, "the beaver Dr. Weingarten was killed with. That beaver was the one he shot that year."

Ray felt his face going white as she talked. Strange coincidences just didn't happen around Fraser.

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section 4

Time had all but lost its meaning; he couldn't have said if he'd been held 10 hours or 10 days. This fact worried him more than he cared to admit as he'd always been aware of the flow of time; even that time when he spent 36 hours in Booga-toad induced trance, he had known the pass of time. Whatever had been in the chemical cocktail that had been used to subdue him initially seemed to include ingredients that he must have sensitive too. He'd finally woken from the first dream confused about who, and what he was. He kept wondering why he was cold; shouldn't his pelt have kept the ravages of temperature at bay?

The confusion continued as he oscillated between wondering where the pack leader was and wondering where his pack had gone; he was certain that he led his pack, small though it was. Yet the thoughts of his Pack did not comfort him as it should for he was equally as certain that he was Man and Man did not have packs; gangs yes, and they functioned something like a pack, but they were not Pack.

Man thoughts were hard to maintain. The cold, the hunger, and the lack of stimulation meant it was easier to slip back into the dream state. As Man, cold and without food, he was unable to push himself into the trance states that would let him slow his heart and other bodily rhythms sufficiently to preserve his life. As Man, this time, he did not have someone else there to depend on him, to sing to him (even if it was in a dark and dangerous voice). As Man, the drugs weakened him. The Wolf was better equipped to deal with this level of hardship for the Wolf would sleep and conserve its resources naturally until the chance to hunt came again. So he let go, waiting for the hunt.

She came to him again, nudging him to wakefulness. "Come, it is time to run. The moon comes to fullness soon; the Pack must be together when she comes to her glory." She nipped his left ear when he failed to move.

His response was lethargic; why waste energy when there was nothing to hunt in this box?

"You need not stay in the box." the Alpha growled. "Come," as She stalked through the walls.

Wolf thought that should not have been possible and yelped his displeasure at the Universe changing its nature. He'd have continued, at length, except She came back and herded him though the box's wall.

"I can not help with this hunt. I must stay here and guard against the ghostly one. You need to seek the Pack." She sat outside the box and watched as he loped away.

But finding the pack was not easy. The first hunt led him through a strange forest. There were few trees, and those that he saw were stunted and malformed. Prey he saw little of, and he was focused on finding the Pack. When the Pack was found then he'd hunt for food. After a period of no-time... for what was time to a Wolf, he found a strong scent trail, Man and Beast, leading from one of the strange growling beasts, this one stationary, that had been roaring past him as he had hunted.

The cave was strange. It was not shaped by nature's hand; also, it was not shaped to let a hunter, such as him, in so he sat on his hunches and howled to his Pack.

When the howling, long and mournful, did not bring the Pack and the hunger in his belly reminded him of the fat birds he'd passed, he left to hunt. He would return and howl again; maybe this time he could find a way into the strange cave.

The hunt took time. This strange forest teemed with life, but little of it was safe to hunt; Man-hunters and Man-prey teemed but the rodents, birds and strays of the forest seemed to know the risks of these strange Man-beasts, for they hid. Taking note of Nature's avoidance of the Man-beasts he too sought his prey whilst remaining deep in shadows. The no-time of the hunt passed and finally he brought down sickly canine, sufficient for his immediate needs but not for all the Pack. Still, one hunted till the hunt was done and then the spoils were to be shared with the Pack.

Returning to the Pack's strange cave, his kill held firm in his jaws, he noted the scent of Pack spore on the wind. Following the trail to its source he found a strange pathway leading upward; Pack scent strong, recent markings telling him that the white one was in peak health. Cautiously he padded up the path, and passing through sand entered another strange box strongly flavoured with Pack. Pack scent, Pack sounds, Pack spirit called from behind another barrier; one that his Wolfish brain saw as territorial demarcation. A place he could not go yet.

Pack was behind the barrier so Pack would be called out. Claws extended he struck at the barrier and waited. Man-pack finally appeared but did not deign to notice him whilst the white one raised hackles in question. Attempting to bite Man-pack, for Man-pack was beta and should have presented his throat, he found that the demarcation of territory held and he could not pass. Howling frustrations he left the kill.

The She still guarded when he entered the huge cave that held the strange box. At her feet lay a pile of small rodents. "Eat. You will need strength to survive."

Given he had left the meagre spoils of his hunt for the Pack the sight of food laid before him was Lupa sent; the She had ordered him to eat, so ate he did until his belly was full again. Sleep claimed him until the moon rose again.

Returning again to the strange cave he found the barrier remained, hard and fast. When White-One's cries grew too great the Man-pack would remove the wooden barrier yet he found that he could not cross invisible line that separated him from his Pack; the White-One stayed behind the line as well, though he, at least, would acknowledge him. Man would close the barrier for a time after addressing White-One, then, the waiting and howling dance would begin again.

At some point he must have slept for he awoke to find the strange cave quiet and empty. It was dark outside so the Pack should have returned, that much he had gathered from observing the strange cave. The need to hunt finally drove him from the cave but before he left he approached the barrier one more time. It was time to mark that place and let it be known that it was his for the claiming.

The hunt was a failure, there had been no strays, no fat pigeons, not mangy rat.; Those who haunted the dark places in this strange Man world sensed the coming Moon and took refuge from it; he was not so lucky, this Moon drove him now to hunt his Pack. He returned to the cave but it was quiet again though signs showed that the Pack had returned briefly. Needing the Pack, now, he went to where the strange growling beast that Man-pack rode had last stood. He picked up the growling beasts trail with ease.

It was time to hunt.

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section 5

Grabbing his cell, Ray was dialling the 2-7 as he raced from the dentist's office. "Frannie, I need addresses and I need them now. You need to get someone to check on these guys; check their offices, and homes."

"What am I? A glorified messenger?" Frannie screamed back down the phone at him.

"Just do it, Frannie. This dentist knew the other dentist."

"Well why didn't you say so?" Jeez he could even picture the face his phoney sister was pulling.

Ray broke land speed records getting back to the 2-7, Diefenbaker encouraging him the way. He just couldn't shake the feeling now that things had moved past way wrong and all the way into Fraser Danger.

Ray, burst into the 2-7 and was heading towards Vecchio's desk when he felt the familiar tingle in his gut. Running on instinct he stopped, executed a 180 turn with all the grace his years of as a dancer gave him, and headed towards the files room; Vecchio's files, he had to get at Vecchio's files. Coincidence placed Frannie in the corridor near the file room. "Ray, you'd better get upstairs. The Lieutenant's looking for you and he ain't a happy hiker."

"Camper, Frannie," he shot back without even thinking.

"Camper, hiker, biker! Can't you just say person like everyone else."

"Look, I need you to grab out Vecchio's early files with Fraser."

"Hey, I'm not some bimbo secretary."

"Just do it Frannie. Now!" She looked ready to argue but Ray was having none of it. He turned and headed back to the bullpen before Frannie had a chance to say anymore though he yelled over his shoulder, "and bring them too me, pronto."

"Vecchio," the Lieutenant was yelling as he entered the bullpen, "my office. NOW."

"Yes, Lieutenant." Ray closed the door behind him though not fast enough, truthfully he didn't even try, to prevent Diefenbaker following in behind.

"I've got 3 more dead dentists. Want to tell me able it?"

Hell, his hunch was right. So what was the motive now?

"I think it's the hunting party members that Fraser was originally followed when he first came to Chicago." A shrug of the shoulders, a crack of the neck; neither eased the tension. "I'll know better when Frannie brings the files up."

For a moment Ray wondered if Welsh were going to have a heart attack in front of him. "Why is it Detective that it does not surprise me that Constable Fraser might be involved to this?" Rhetorical question obviously as Welsh just pointed at the set of photographs spread out over his desk.

Jeez, someone had come up with an inventive use for dead animals. Ray swallowed in an attempt to keep his breakfast where it belonged.

"When is the good Constable due back?"

"Not till this late this afternoon, Lieutenant."

"Then I suggest you get his contact details and ring him now. I want answers; yesterday."

Back at his desk Ray dialled the Mother ship.

"Detective Raymond Vecchio, Chicago PD." He identified himself, politely through gritted teeth, to the third helpful Mountie that he'd been transferred to. "I'm after for Constable Benton Fraser." His eyes rolled as he had to admit, again, that yes he was looking for that Benton Fraser who had caused the scandal with the East Bay Power Project scheme. Hell, I thought I was one for holding a grudge.

This Mountie however, a Constable Fenwick, was a bit more talkative. The reason everyone kept asking was that Gerard had apparently committed suicide in prison a six month ago and the inquest was currently big news. As a result the original scandal was fresh in everyone's minds. Doesn't that just butter my muffins; don't they have any crime to solve?

"And you believe that Constable Fraser is here?" Even with the bad line it was apparent that Constable Fenwick was puzzled about his reasons for calling even though he was trying to sound reasonable. "Last I heard Constable Fraser was still stationed in Chicago, Detective. Perhaps you should ask at the 27th District. I'm sure that staff at that station will be able to point you in the correct direction".

As far as Ray was concerned this was no longer funny. "Just put me though to him would you? He's in an evaluation session and your department takes care of the evaluations. So would you look up the roster and find out where Fraser is before I have to climb up this phone line and jump Bogart all over you."

"Detective Vecchio," seemed putting on a snit had to be in the Mountie training manual as Fenwick sounded suspiciously like a pissed off Fraser, "Constable Fraser is not here. He is not in Ottawa. He is not in Canada. I suggest getting in contact with the 27th as seek their assistance."

Taking a deep breath, before he really did try climbing up the line and kicking the good Constable's head in, Ray tried to be reasonable... again. "Constable Fenwick, I am calling from the 27th. Constable Fraser, according to my records, is currently there in Canada undergoing evaluation. He left here on Monday morning accompanied by Inspector Meg Gerard..."

"Inspector Meg Gerard is currently on personal leave," Fenwick was saying but suddenly Ray wasn't paying any attention. How many Gerard's where there in Canada for fuck's sake? Coincidence, let it be a coincidence, he prayed, already aware that it was a false hope, as the alarms bells rang loud and clear.

"She's related to that Gerard isn't she?" He cut across whatever Fenwick was going to say; lead forming in his stomach.

"His daughter. How did you guess Detective?"

I came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father and for reasons of that don't need exploring at this juncture I made sure they were all dead. For some reason Fraser's normal mantra warped in his mind and he was slamming the phone down and up and away from his desk and heading back to the Lieutenant's office. "Fraser's missing and I need a warrant for the arrest of one Inspector Meg Gerard, RCMP, on suspicion of homicide."

Welsh just looked at him as though he was deranged. "I suppose you have a reason for that request Kowalski?"

"Fraser never went to Canada, sir. That means he's been missing almost a week and no-one's missed him. The last person I believe to see him was Inspector Meg Gerard, who, according to the Mother ship is on personal leave whilst the inquest into her father's suicide is held."

"And..." Welsh invited Ray to keep speaking. The look on the Lieutenant's face said he was following Ray's line of reasoning and probably coming to similar conclusions. It was also obvious he was not a happy man.

"The dentists were the base link that let Fraser and Detective Vecchio to start the ball rolling. I think we should also check with the RCMP and see if there are any other interesting deaths. I suspect that anyone who is a link in that chain is under threat." His own comments stopped him in him cold in his tracks. Fuck, Vecchio's on her shit list. Hell, I'm on her shit list.

"Detective?"

"I just thought of something. Vecchio's going to be on her shit list too. Mean's I'm on the list as well." Ray paced the Lieutenant's office, nervous energy almost visible. Great, just greatness, another chance to die just because someone thinks I'm Vecchio.

"In that case Detective you will not be going anywhere without backup. You hear me?"

"Hey, I've got Diefenbaker."

"I said backup and I mean backup. The wolf can't phone it in if something goes belly up. Take Huey with you. Dewey can see about tracking down Inspector Meg Gerard." Ray was about to make an inappropriate comment when his brain caught up to his mouth; the Lieutenant was cutting him loose to hunt for Fraser.

"And if she's headed to the Consulate?" Kowalski had visions of his own asylum in those hallowed halls; using words like hallowed, he'd definitely been hanging with Fraser to long.

"Even then, Detective, even then." Similar thoughts had apparently occurred to the Lieutenant.

"On my way Lieutenant, on my way." Ray snagged Huey, who'd just come in for a lunch break, and with Diefenbaker following them headed towards where he'd parked the Goat. The plan was simple; he and Huey would start at O'Hare and see if anyone remembered anything but the plan went out the window as they approached the GTO.

Diefenbaker's hackles were up, and then quickly down again as whatever had set him off finally registered with the wolf. In fact, for a brief moment Dief had looked like someone seeing a long lost relative for the first time in almost forever; a rather strange look for a wolf to wear. Moments later, however, Ray saw that his instincts weren't far off; there, sitting calmly beside the GTO was a large, black wolf with calm blue eyes. The black wolf looked up as they approached and after a moment slowly moved to stand, and it continued standing. The black wolf probably weighed twice as much as Diefenbaker and Ray, even allowing for how happy Diefenbaker appeared, was suddenly hoping that his lupine companion wouldn't do anything stupid like enter into a territorial dispute. Dief was likely to be the loser.

"Come on Ray," Ray's imminent panic attack was railroaded by Huey who called to him as Huey walked through the black wolf and climbed into the passenger seat.

That's it; I've officially lost my mind. Ray blinked twice before he looked to Huey, to Dief and back at the black wolf which continued to stand in the space Huey had just walked through. Deciding to ignore whatever was happening Ray went to walk towards the driver's seat but a low growl pulled him up short; the black wolf moved to intercept him. You're a figment of my imagination.

The wolf might have been a figment of his imagination but it was an amazingly solid figment of his imagination. Ray tripped and stumbled, causing Huey to lean out the window and ask if he was okay. Ray would gladly have answered but he had a face full of teeth. Glaring up at the animal, like that was going to get it to back off, he noticed, out the corner of his eye, Diefenbaker move into the black wolf's space. "Dief?"

The white wolf, wiser in the ways of wolves than Ray, dropped to his haunches beside him and presented his throat submissively to the larger beast. The strange wolf accepted the behaviour as his due; nipping Diefenbaker's neck gently before it turned its gaze on Ray, teeth bared threateningly.

"Dief?" Ray asked again, rather uncertain how to proceed and wanting off the ground before Huey came out to join the party. "Any ideas?"

"Present your throat."

"You want me to what!" Ray's eyes widened as a) he thought he'd actually heard Diefenbaker answer, and b) the answer was just plain dumb. There was only one male he'd even considered offering his throat too and that male was MIA and not likely to respond in the manner Ray dreamt of. "Are you insane?"

Am I insane? Ray considered whilst waiting for Dief's response. I'm lying here asking Diefenbaker's advice on wolf handling and I'm seriously considering offering my throat to over 150 pounds of hunter.

The look that Diefenbaker shot back at him indicated that he thought Ray was insane for even thinking about not following his advice. "He is Alpha." As if that answered anything.

"Ray, are we going anywhere this afternoon?" Huey sounded a little ticked.

Great, just great. I'm about to wolf chow. But time was wasting and Ray had a man to find. Feeling like a fool and already regretting the impulse. Ray eased his head back to the ground and bared his throat to the animal above him.

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section 6

The strange black growling beast that he associated with Man-Pack was surprisingly easy to track; its path through the Man-jungle not marked by spore but rather sense memory. His muscles, bunching and stretching under his skin, seemed to know instinctively the path that the strange beast would have taken. After a period of no-time he came to meadow like area where many of the strange beasts rested; Man-Pack's beast among them.

A trail of spore led into another of the caves that Man-Pack appeared to require but this cave he did not even venture to approach. The cave was covered with a miasma of killer spore, the sort of spore that warned off the wary hunters of the forest; here, he would only approach if he had the entire pack as his back. It did puzzle him then why Man-Pack would enter such a place until he observed others enter that carried the sense of hunter, very much like the sense of Man-Pack, and he realised that while these others were not Pack-Pack they shared the desire to hunt the killers.

Reasoning that the Pack would return to the growling beast he settled himself down and waited in no-time; there, he drew the least on the rapidly dwindling reserves of strength gained from his last meagre feeding.

He sensed Man-Pack approaching though the scent was mixed with another Man scent; vaguely he recognised friend though he could not have said why. Seeing Man-Pack and the white one come around a corner stone of the cave he sat up on his haunches and observed the trio of beings that approached him; Man-pack, white one, and black one he scented as possible friend. White one acknowledged his presence with a shake of his head and a dipping of his eyes, gentle submission in his lines. When Man-Pack failed to follow suit he stood readying himself to demand obedience.

Man-Pack, however, looked at him strangely as Non-Pack-- but friend -- passed through his space and entered into the growling beast; after all he had no need to expect obedience from the black one. Growling low to indicate his displeasure he stalked towards Man-Pack. Man-Pack looked quizzically at him then, ignoring him, began to move around the growling beast; such behaviour could not be countenanced. Between one instance and the next he had positioned himself directly in Man-Pack's path; Man-Pack stumbled and fell to the ground placing Man-Pack in a perfect position to allow him to chastise Man-Pack for failure to honour the Pack.

Baring his teeth he growled, long and low, into the startled face of Man-Pack.

"Dief?" Man-Pack had the temerity to address the white-one without even attempting to make right his gross lack of Pack etiquette.

The white-one, apparently well aware of Man-Pack's indiscretion, quickly came up beside him and dropped to the ground offering up his throat to the Pack-Leader. In the way of Wolves the white-one informed him that Man-Pack was Man and did not fully understand the error of his ways. Further, the white-one communicated the Man-Pack feared for his Pack-Brother gone missing in the strange jungle of Man.

The thought of Pack-Brother brought him up short; images of the Man that his She guarded flashed across his mind; the He was Pack and Pack-leader but he was Pack-Leader. Growling in frustration he nipped at white-one's neck, "Pack-Brother is distressed. Man-Pack must come to Pack-Brother or Pack-Brother will die."

"Dief? Any ideas?" Man-Pack focused on the white-one still failing to give him his due. If it had not been for the confusion about his paws -- since the white-ones comment about Pack-Brother his sense of his paws oscillated rapidly between that of Wolf and that of Man - he would have bitten at Man-Pack's neck. Luckily for Man-Pack the white-one advised him well.

"Present your throat."

It seemed Man-Pack was somewhat insensible to the danger Man-Pack was in; whilst he still suffered sense confusion with regards to his paws he was fast becoming angered at the disrespect he was shown, angered enough to overcome any sense that his body ill-fit him. Man-Pack reacted with belligerence, somewhat like a young pup first attempt at asserting power; like a young pup his belligerence failed to move the elder Wolf.

The white-one, probably sensing how close he was to full battle and the subsequent painful chastisement murmured quietly to Man-Pack, "He is Alpha."

Something tension in Man-Pack suddenly released and Man-Pack finally bared his throat to him.

Taking his due, a long, slow lick at the bared flesh, settled his hackles. With his hackles settled he was able to back away from the challenge to his authority and allow the Man-Pack to rise to his feet. Man-Pack wisely rose slowly, and with enough submission in his posture, that he was not tempted to re-instigate any dominance battles. Man-Pack ignored the words uttered by the Man-Friend instead moving to create an opening in the side of the growling beast. Having noted that these growling beasts seemed to be one of the ways in which Man moved about their strange jungle he leapt in through opening and settled in the space behind Man-Friend.

"Where are you?" White-one looked at him hopefully, "Can you lead us there?"


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TBC... Next Dues