This story was written from the standpoint of a young woman's lucky happenstance of being the "across-the-hall" neighbor when the handsome, six foot tall, dark haired, blue-eyed RCMP Constable Benton Fraser moves into her building. This fan fiction contains characters from the Alliance Productions television show, Due South. No part of this story may be reproduced or edited in any way except for personal entertainment without permission from the author of this story or Alliance Productions.
This is mainly a drama with some lighthearted moments.
Rated: PG - 13 for violence and romance
by Jeanne Rognlie
Ten years ago, Georgia left a dead end job in marketing to pursue a career in art. The only thing that kept her going during down times at the office was her "ability" to avoid uneasy or difficult situations. Most people thought it was uncanny but, to Georgia, her mental telepathy was something quite normal. It was useful but oft times troublesome to people who kept falling in and out of friendship with her because they just didn't understand the precocious nature of her extra "ability". Sometimes their requests were concerning lost family members or relationships. Other times the requests bordered on fortune telling - lottery numbers, bingo, gambling, etc. Those were the ones with which she refused to waste her time and energy. The last episode brought an end to an already shaky relationship with her live-in boyfriend. Georgia had had enough.
With no family to speak of that would acknowledge her, Georgia decided to head for what was to most artists the center of the art world in the midwest - Chicago. She was in her late thirties so she felt that she still had a good amount of time to start a new career. With dark brown hair showing touches of gray, brown eyes, and 5' 6" of determination, Georgia knew she couldn't help but succeed. Wearing worn bluejeans, an oversized gray flannel sweatshirt, a purple overcoat and brown leather walking boots, she packed her bags and portfolio, left her comfortable, familiar surroundings and headed confidently into the overcast fogginess of the day. Having little to no money forced her to look at apartments in that rudimentary category - dirt cheap. All her other options had been explored so that left her with one last address to check on because of a vacancy - 221 W. Racine St. She liked the address at least. It reminded her of one of her favorite fictional detectives, Sherlock Holmes. 'Maybe I could solve a few crimes in my spare time,' Georgia smiled to herself. On the bus ride to the apartment house, she thought of possible scenarios, all of which she solved and received the accolades of her new community - in her dreams. Nothing could have prepared her for what she was about to see. Her reveries were abruptly cut short by what she thought was either the sound of a car backfiring or gunfire.
Georgia looked up at the building, then checked the address in the newspaper. Yep, 221 W. Racine. This hulking mass of a rundown, gray cement building was the one in the ad, all right. It needed paint, garbage was strewn all over the outside, a few of the windows had broken glass, spray painted words seemed to be on everything that was anywhere near the property. People as badly decayed as the building were all over: winos, homeless, addicts, and other scum that defied categorizing. The only way to get by them, it seemed, was to tread lightly around these people. Basically, it would have been better if Georgia had become invisible just long enough to get passed them. The telepathy wouldn't give her any clue as to the situation only that there wasn't any immediate danger. Mustering all the bravado she could find, Georgia carefully trod up the stairs in search of the apartment manager. Everything she touched made her cringe and want to take a shower for a week. The stench inside was unbelievable - something between hundreds of unwashed diapers and sunbaked retch, she thought. By some unearthly chance she managed to find the manager's apartment door.
A cautious rap on the door brought a disgusting sight - a little slime ball that was in the male genre with the gaunt look of several sleepless nights and greasy shoulder length hair. He was 5' 4" of sleaze and greed. Georgia had to remind herself she was there to see the apartment. With any luck she wouldn't have to see him ever again, if at all. "Yah? Whaddaya want, sis?" With a sneer, he looked at Georgia from head to toe, trying to figure out what kind of game he could run on her. Standing her ground, she answered, "I called about the apartment." Georgia straightened up returning his stare, hoping to prove that she could handle whatever came at her from this weasel of a "man". She was no "lamb" ready to be fleeced. The manager smirked an "Oh, yeah!" in her direction and got the keys.
He led Georgia up a couple of flights of filth-covered stairs to the dimly lit grime-covered hallway that led to the apartment. Apartment C. It was luckily on the north side of the building. For Georgia, that was a plus because she could make use of the natural light when she was doing her artwork. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked in. What she hadn't counted on when her eyes opened was the absolute filth inside the vacant apartment. Of course she shouldn't really have expected anything else from the way the rest of the building looked but she just thought maybe......
Before any artwork could be done, the apartment would have to be literally sanitized. Georgia wondered to herself if she had done the right thing. After convincing herself that this was her chance to prove herself, she agreed to that slimy weasel's terms for rental. Afterall, this was a relatively quiet building, she thought. She could get a lot of artwork done in a short period of time once she settled in. As soon as he had his money in his grubby, disgusting paws, the manager left, leaving the apartment door open. Georgia walked around the apartment being careful how she picked up certain bits of garbage and taking in the rest of the apartment. There was one small grimy window in the living area that let in just enough natural light for her purposes. As Georgia went to check out the view, a loud argument and screaming came from across the way - Apartment B. The frightening sounds of breaking glass and furniture caused Georgia to run to her door, bolting it as tightly and quickly as possible. The reality of her new situation was finally brought back to her with a resounding "CRASH!" from across the way. She turned with her back up against the door, put her hand to her mouth, and sobbed. Georgia wasn't scared. She was terrified. She wrapped her arms around herself and collapsed to the floor, succumbing to the fear the she had managed to control until now with shivers and tears. Georgia decided not to leave the apartment for the rest of the day.
Five years passed..
Georgia had managed to make an adequate existence as an artist. She had become aware of the ugly daily routine that seemed to play outside her apartment and managed to get through it with a certain amount of trepidation. Her telepathy, though, seemed to have taken some sort of an unexpected hiatus, leaving her to operate on instinct and fear daily. The drug deals, the muggings, the filth - the whole scene seemed to keep her on edge. At least it didn't catch her off guard as much as it used to. Even the ruckus from across the way didn't totally upset her anymore. The couple in Apartment B, the Kovachs, were retired and drank a lot mainly because they were bored with each other. On their good days, the two of them were sweet and tried to help if Georgia had trouble with doing something. She in turn had tried to intervene when the drinking would start. After a few tries, Georgia gave up, fearing that the end of the arguing was going to be eventually something that she didn't want to see. The police had begun stepping in but it was business as usual as soon as they left.
Georgia had slowly become aware of her own physical problems. At first, it started with small sharp pains in her hands that would go away after a few hours. She continued painting but became increasingly aware of other difficulties - vague at first, but then more and more noticeable as she worked. There was almost constant pain in her legs making it difficult for her to use the stairs. Georgia dreaded the thought of using that horrid elevator in the building because of its propensity to breakdowns. Unfortunately the pain was making it increasingly difficult to walk. After five more years with increasingly paralyzing pain, things finally got so bad she had to see a doctor.
Rheumatoid arthritis had set in. Her worst fears of the condition being permanent were confirmed.
Georgia didn't know which was worse - the diagnosis or the disease. The bus ride back to her apartment had her deep in quiet thought as she went over the doctor's words that weighed heavy on her and what was possibly in store for the rest of her life. Tears slowly rolled down her cheek as she considered the possibility of her future. The traffic slowed to an unusual crawl through her neighborhood. The sirens and flashing lights this time were just ahead of her outside her building. She figured, guessed really, that it had something to do with the Kovachs though she didn't know what. Georgia hadn't realized how big a "something" it was until the two body bags came out. It wasn't long after that that her suspicions were confirmed. Georgia wasn't surprised at how callous everyone was especially when it came to news about those longtime neighbors. This was just too much for her to take in at one time. She managed to work her way through the police and the milling crowds back to her own apartment. She threw off her coat and flung her body face down on her bed, burying her face in the pillow to stifle her sobs.
Georgia watched Apartment B over the next few days as various people went in and out taking things with them. If they were relatives, not once had they visited the Kovachs in the five years that she had been in the building. Yet there they were. Vultures picking over the carcass of an apartment. The final stage was the manager (ugh, the thought of him being across the way from her apartment made her skin crawl) "cleaning" the apartment. Then all was quiet - deathly quiet. Georgia took a deep breath as she closed her door and went back to her painting.
A week passed with no takers for the available apartment. Georgia was busily working on some detailed touches on her latest creation when her thoughts were broken by voices outside her door. One of them she recognized as belonging to the manager's. The other two were male but she couldn't place the dialect of one of them. It intrigued her that the language was American yet, NOT American and - POLITE. Georgia couldn't believe her ears. Quickly she opened her door a little and spied the manager showing the apartment to two men - one in some sort of red uniform with black pants with a yellow stripe down the side, the other in street clothes. They were accompanied by a rather large white, long haired dog. The male in the red uniform was inspecting the apartment as if HE were the one who was going to take it. From what she could see, he was GORGEOUS. Maybe her tired eyes were playing tricks on her again. She didn't care. These were "tricks" she didn't mind at all. She rubbed her eyes and to her relief, HE was still there. All she could remember was saying to herself, "Please, oh please, take the apartment!". He seemed to spot something outside that caused him some worry. The other male became agitated as well and ran out of the apartment saying, "I'm on it!" with the dog giving chase. As Georgia closed her door, the oddest sight she was left with was of the red uniformed man wearing a hat climbing out the window and quickly disappearing, saying something like "Ray!", "I'll take it", and "Thank you kindly!".
Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. Georgia leaned up against her door, going over what she had seen and heard. It was everything she could do to keep from literally exploding from within. THE most gorgeous man she had ever seen was going to be living directly across from 'her' apartment. She stuck a handle for a paintbrush in her mouth and bit down to keep from screaming. She HAD to ask that slimeball of a manager who that man was even though it meant actually talking to the sleaze himself. Georgia geared herself up for the next horrible few (very few, she hoped) minutes of face to face communication with the manager. The answer to her question - a Mountie. "Yeah, he works over at the Canadian Consulate on.....Stetson Street," he replied looking at the Mountie's rental application. Georgia almost kissed the pathetic man but stopped just short of completing the act when she realized what she was about to do. She quickly restrained herself and just quietly thanked him for the information, returning to her apartment and closing her door in the manager's face. He shook his head at his missed chance, grimaced, and walked away from her doorstep, grumbling something imperceptible.
Georgia's pulse was racing like never before. Not once did she ever recall her ex-boyfriend making her feel this way. She had to find out where this Canadian Consulate was that had the foresight to drop this man into her life. They had to be personally thanked and she was definitely going to do it. Her next plan of attack was to stake out Apartment B. It sounded a little selfish and callous but she said a little prayer and then thanked the Kovachs for making this opportunity possible. Tried as she might, Georgia couldn't get back into her work for the rest of the day. She resolved to locate the Consulate early next morning. That night was spent pouring over pizza, soda, a Chicago map and bus routes.
At her usual rising time of 6 a. m., Georgia literally bounced out of bed. Well, not really bounced. It was more like sliding out of bed with a little less pain than usual. Thank heavens the adrenaline was pumping early. The sun was streaming through the lace curtained window. She took her medication so that it would be in full swing by the time she got downtown. After a shower in the bathroom down the hall, a quick breakfast and a change of comfortable street clothes, Georgia put on her wrist braces, splashed on her favorite spicy cologne - Cinnabar by Estee Lauder- grabbed her purple coat, walking cane, and purse and left to catch the earliest bus. Not knowing what time his shift started or what his job was, Georgia wanted to hopefully catch a glimpse of him as he reported in for work. An hour and a half and three bus changes later, she found Stetson Street. She knew the address by heart - 180 N. Stetson Street. Georgia walked the three long city blocks to where she spied the Canadian flags flying. The east side of the street was in shade so she could walk back and forth without creating too much suspicion. As Georgia approached the area of the Consulate, she chanced to see a Mountie standing stock-still outside the building. She didn't dare cross the street - not just yet. Georgia needed to confirm the identity of the Mountie in question. However, she needed to be discreet.
At first Georgia watched the reaction of the tourists and others who passed him. Nothing seemed to phase him. They took their pictures with him. Others made faces at him. Kids stared at him or dropped ice cream on him. Georgia had to laugh at some of their attempts. Nothing seemed to phase this Mountie. Even pigeons found him to be a convenient place to roost. She caught herself staring at him then it slowly dawned on her. It was HIM!!!! Quickly she turned around to face a store window pretending to window-shop. Every once and a while she would look up to watch his reflection in the glass. Her mind was racing. What should she do? Georgia couldn't think of anything. Her alter ego probably would be brazen enough to literally fly across the street, plant herself in front of him eye to eye, and state very unashamedly, "LOVER! I'm YOURS!!". She just wanted to see the color of his eyes! Georgia decided that short of leaping into his arms, in her case the 'nonchalant' covert approach would be best.
The plan of attack she decided on was to walk down to the corner of the block, cross over the street to 'his' block, then as 'nonchalant' as possible, walk directly in front of him. Her strategy was to "drop" her purse as close to him as possible so that when she bent down to pick it up, she could quickly glance at those eyes of his. That was 'the plan'. Georgia geared herself up, convincing herself this would work all the way down to the end of the block. She crossed the street. No problem so far. As she began the walk down the Consulate block, however, a green Buick Riviera pulled up. The other male who had been at the apartment jumped out of the car and spoke to the Mountie very excitedly about something. The Mountie remained motionless but the other male in a gray suit and overcoat rushed into the Consulate then rushed back out. All Georgia could hear the other gentleman say when he came out was, "Okay!". Georgia stopped in disbelief as she watched the Mountie remove his hat, quickly get in the Buick, and take off almost in front of her. Her heart sank and her shoulders dropped. A little disappointed with herself, Georgia convinced herself the plan probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Dejected, she dragged herself back to her apartment. "After all, he has to go home SOME time," was the comforting thought on the bus home.
Georgia sat motionless in an overstuffed chair with a bag next to her in her apartment, staring at her door. During the years she'd been in the apartment, she'd done herself proud with the interior decorating. She had managed to turn a drab, dirty apartment into a tastefully comfortable place to live with an adequate studio area. Here and there were touches of antiques mixed with curios and plants. A very eclectic combination but it all somehow fit together. There were other things, though, that were reminders of what was in her future hidden throughout the apartment - an extra cane, knee braces, and a wheelchair that would be hidden from view anytime the front door was opened. Georgia had accepted what the arthritis was doing but the effects were embarrassing to her. Her hands with the swollen joints were what people first noticed with the swollen joints and misshapen fingers. Anytime she saw people stare at her hands, she did her best to quickly hide them. If she had to use her wheelchair, she had to trust the person assisting her wouldn't try to let go of the chair at the top of the outside stairs. If people came to her apartment to see her work and saw the wheelchair, Georgia would have trouble getting the clients to see past the chair. If she saw the Mountie, she didn't want him the see the "equipment". Emotionally, she wasn't ready for that.
She sat in the chair, the bag full of 'Welcome to the Building' groceries, waiting for any noise from across the way. As she was just about to doze off, a sound of 'that' male voice outside her door brought her to her feet. Georgia opened her door a crack and closed it just as quickly when she discovered it was him - finally! She struggled with grabbing the bag and, when the coast was clear, somehow managed to quietly drop the bag with an unsigned note of 'Welcome' in front of his door. She knocked on the door rapidly then raced back to her own place to study 'him' from behind her door.
'This is so 'high school',' Georgia complained to herself. Immature or not, she got what she was waiting for. Opening the door a crack, Georgia saw the Mountie come out and glance up and down the hallway. The red tunic removed, he wore a white, long sleeved shirt and the uniform black pants with the yellow stripe and boots. His white braces were hanging down at his waist. Dark hair, tall, and the eyes....darn! She still couldn't see the color of his eyes. However, Georgia was enjoying what she COULD see. He took a few steps out of his apartment to see if he could see anything then noticed the bag at his door step. He stooped down to inspect the bag and took out the note to read it. The dog decided to join the inspection thoroughly sniffing the bag, then the floor, then headed for Georgia's doorway. Georgia quickly shut the door as imperceptibly as possible. However, her quick action wasn't fast enough to go without the Mountie noticing. Not quite sure what to make of the movement of Georgia's door, the Mountie decided to play a little game of his own.
Georgia's heart was pounding at almost being discovered by a DOG of all things. She pressed her ear up against the door. "No, Dief. Let's go!" was followed by the sound of a shutting door. That was her cue to go across the hall and.....Whoa! As Georgia opened the door to step out, there HE was facing her, casually leaning up against his door with his arms crossed on his chest, smiling pleasantly in her direction. Georgia was so startled she stopped in her tracks at seeing him almost face to face. She suddenly became self-conscious of her hands and did the best she could to quietly and quickly hide them behind her back. "Oh! Uh...hello... umm!" she stammered out shyly, trying to look everywhere else EXCEPT at 'him'. "You must be....uh.... the new tenant." "Yes, I am. I'm sorry that I haven't been able to meet too many people yet. My work has been keeping me rather busy," he responded. He laughed slightly and cleared his throat, "I'm a Mountie. I work at the...." "Canadian Consulate!" Georgia chimed in a little too quickly, a little too eagerly she thought and grimaced. It seemed to her that her words just came falling out like her mouth got engaged before the brain kicked in. She wished she could have the moment back again.
The Mountie smiled a little broader. "So it WAS you across the way this morning!" Georgia's mouth dropped in shock. "You SAW me?!! How could you.....I was....But I was sure.....Oh dear, yes , it was I...uh... me... uh.....WHATEVER!!!" They both sheepishly smiled at each other. "Well, wow! This is really awkward, isn't it?!!!" Georgia's heart was still in her mouth. "Ah, yes it is....," he cleared his throat again . "Benton!" she startled him almost as much as she startled herself when she said it. "Your name is... Benton Fraser....!" Georgia said it as if a great weight had been removed from her. "Constable...Benton... Fraser!" Her eyes widened and her smile grew at the realization of what had happened. That 'something' that hadn't been there for a very long time, was it coming back?. Benton was puzzled. His name wasn't even on his mailbox yet and he hadn't said anything to anyone except the manager as far as he knew. Yet she knew his name. "Yes, but how..." he started to ask her but she quickly interrupted him trying to change the subject. "My name is Georgia. I'd tell you my last name but even when my friends say it, it sounds like something disgusting so I only give it out when I really get to know someone." She went to stick out her hand to shake his but then remembered the condition of her hand and quickly pulled it back, somewhat embarrassed. Her actions weren't too successful. Benton stared for a short time in the direction of her hands then smiled quickly at her, pretending not to notice what she had done.
He straightened up a bit and looked in the direction of the bag. "Did you leave this?" He bent down to pick up the bag. "Yeee-ah, I ...guess I did," she said. "I figured that you probably hadn't had time to do any shopping and didn't have anything to eat so I got some things for you." "That's very kind of you but ....I.....can't.....I....can't.....uh.....(ahem!) I can't accept this. It's just .... too much....for ...uh....just me. Besides, I have...uh....already eaten." He tried to hand the bag back to her but she shook her head slightly. If Georgia took the bag, that meant that she'd have to show her hands and she just couldn't handle it at the moment. Benton suddenly realized the awkward position in which he had placed her. "Oh dear, um... why don't I just put these away for you.." Benton started to head for her door but Georgia stepped in front of him, embarrassed for what he might find inside.
"Um...no, that's not really necessary....uh...Just leave the bag at the door. I'll...uh.... take care of it later." "You're sure about this?" Benton persisted. "Yes, really, it'll be fine," Georgia replied with some resignation. "That's a beautiful dog you have. Very unusual markings."
"Oh, he's not a dog. He's a wolf, actually." Georgia's eyes widened with some surprise, taken aback by the news. "Oh, he's had all his shots...."
"That's not it at all. I'm just surprised that he's HERE in CHICAGO of all places." She thought out a new plan for a few seconds. "I'm an artist. Do you think he'd mind if I did his portrait sometime?"
It was Benton's turn to be surprised and boy, did that question seem to fluster him if only for a bit. "Uh...no...I don't think so....that is.....I don't know....," Benton really didn't know how to answer the question. Georgia smiled politely. It was fun seeing this Mountie absolutely flummoxed.
"And by the way, you're also welcome to my place for dinner, conversation, or ......whatever! Why not tomorrow night? Dinner at my place." She pursued her chosen target again. Georgia took the opportunity to move in and get a good, long look at THOSE EYES - those eyes that were deep ice blue. Their gaze sent a shiver through her. Her proximity to him was also affecting Benton causing him to clear his throat and become a little unsettled himself. She could almost kiss him.
The slamming of the elevator door and someone getting off brought the two of them back to reality. "Ahhh, yes! Well (ahem!) ....um....Thank you kindly!" Benton almost let himself be pulled into those soft warm brown eyes of hers. Georgia backed away quickly straightening her shirt. and hair then hiding her hands away again. "6 p. m. tomorrow night then!" She looked at Benton for confirmation. He smiled and nodded, "Tomorrow night." The two of them backed away from each other reluctantly. As Georgia turned towards her door, she quickly put her hands in front, hopefully without Benton noticing. He HAD ducked inside his apartment but had not shut his door all the way. He was curious as to why she kept hiding her hands from view. When Georgia thought the hall was clear, she came back out to retrieve the bag. She struggled with lifting the bag of groceries, looking in all directions before heading back into her apartment. Benton wished he wasn't so curious at times. This was one of them. Wrist braces! He sighed and slowly closed his door.
Georgia couldn't believe it. The Mountie. Benton Fraser. He was going to be calling on her tomorrow night. There were a million things to do. A dinner to plan. Dinner? Oh heck, let's skip dinner!! What???? What was she thinking??? Her mind was going a mile a minute. She hauled the bag of groceries into the kitchen area and set it on the small Formica and chrome table. Lasagna? Spaghetti? Ugh! - Tuna casserole?!! No! Definitely not! This dinner would rate something a little better despite the bruising her budget might take. As she began to take stock of what she had in her cupboards, a nagging worry came back to haunt her - her hands. 'Oh, who am I kidding...' Georgia pulled her hands back, rubbing the wrist braces. She looked at those misshapen joints then rolled her tear-filled eyes away from what people in general thought to be an abomination. Resigned to getting around the problem of him discovering her hands, Georgia turned off the lights and crawled into bed. She rolled over, pulling the sheet up around her chin, and for a long time stared out the window at black nothingness.
The morning alarm rang too early for Georgia's liking. It was a difficult, restless night but she decided not to back down from her plans for the evening. She was going to enjoy it no matter what happened. As she prepared to go out to market, Georgia was made aware of a "slogging" sound out in the hallway - like the sound of someone wearing heavy snowboots or something. Now the month was May so it was a little odd to hear snow boots - if that's what it was. Georgia opened her door to the sight of an older gentleman outside Benton's door wearing the oddest looking snowsuit - it had to be at least twenty years old and showing a lot of wear. He looked like he was about to enter Benton's apartment.
"May I help you?" A bit startled, the old man stopped and turned in Georgia's direction. "Ah, yes. I was looking for..."
Georgia stared wide-eyed at the man getting something from him, she wasn't sure what. "Your....son?....Benton? You're Benton's father? I'm Georgia. Nice to meet you." She nodded in his direction, hiding her hands again. She needn't have to worry about touching him. Georgia slowly became aware of a certain transparent nature of the old man. Something about meeting Benton was really making things kick in again. It had her worried.
Her telepathy had come back. It seemed stronger than ever this time. "Robert...Fraser?" Georgia looked in his direction. He looked flabbergasted. Here is someone outside the family, talking to him, could obviously "see" him, and he was dead!! What's this world coming to when a body can't be dead and left alone to walk where he wanted, when he wanted.
Georgia noticed Fraser, Sr.'s, consternation. "I'm sorry. I get these 'feelings' sometimes. I had forgotten how upsetting they can be to people. Didn't know they'd bother you 'cause you seem to be rather, well....uh - dead!"
Looking at Georgia like she had committed the worst faux pas in "dead etiquette", Robert shifted his weight and clasped his hands in front of him and looked like he was going to chastise an errant child. "Young lady, I don't have the foggiest idea of what you're referring to as 'feelings'. Now if you are referring to instinct - THAT I understand! The instinct of a man going for his gun when his chance of survival is almost nil, the instinct to know the difference between right and wrong and the consequences, the instinct to not follow a man over a cliff - THAT I understand! The stuff you talk about belongs in sideshows and magic shows and I won't hear of it."
"Well, if you seem to think it belongs in a county fair midway somewhere, then explain why you and I are able to see and hear each other, hummm?" This flustered the elder earthbound Mountie apparition no end. Georgia could see where Benton got his lovely blushing color and enjoyed the reactions of the father immensely. When Robert realized that Georgia had pulled one over on him and meant no harm, he revealed that wonderful smile that had been bestowed on Benton. "Now, let me see, my 'guess'," Georgia winked an eye in Fraser, Sr.'s direction, receiving a nod from him, "is that you're looking for Benton. I would say that he's at the Consulate on Stetson Street. You might try there." He graciously received the information with a smile and a bow then faded quickly into the shadows of the hallway.
Georgia just shook her head and smiled. "I have yet to see either of them leave the room normally. I swear, it MUST run in the family."
After a few hours at the market, Georgia returned to her apartment with the requisite equipment for the evening. Candles, ingredients for a slightly revamped chicken tetrazzini, flowers, beer and wine for him, sparkling flavored waters for her - that will have to do. It wasn't easy for her, moving pots and pans around resting on her forearms that she normally moved years ago with maybe one hand. Nowadays she didn't realize how heavy those same kitchen accouterments had become. While everything cooked, the apartment was at least dusted and vacuumed lightly. If she really went at it, she wouldn't be able to have the physical strength to stand up later. Wouldn't THAT be a pretty sight? With everything done and waiting for the evening, she decided to take her sketch pad and head for the Consulate herself. She couldn't possibly pass up a model for a portrait and Benton standing outside was perfect.
Georgia had set herself up on a huge curb pot filled with flowers within thirty feet of Benton. It was amazing how long Benton could stand there without moving a muscle save for the occasional blinking of his eyes. She was well into the portrait, exploring Benton's features with quick broad strokes of her Conté pencils adding bits of color for delineation and clarity. Thoughts of the coming plans for the evening crept in every once and awhile. Then there was that irritatingly familiar screech of tires. The sound she remembered told her it was something to dread. In looking up, there was that green Buick Riviera with Benton's wolf parked in front of the Canadian Consulate. The same male with thinning hair and gray overcoat from the other day got out in a hurry. He started to rush over to Benton but became distracted by artwork as Georgia tried to get back into the work.
He squinted at the portrait then blurted out, "Hey! You're good! What are you, an artist or something?"
As if she hadn't heard THAT one before, Georgia replied dryly, "Yeah, or something!". She just shook her head at the cretinous remark.
"Sheesh! That's what I don't like about artists. They all have mile high egos!" he directed at Georgia. He turned to Benton to try an avoid Georgia's icy stare. "Benny we gotta go NOW! Zuco's on the move with his numbers racket and if we don't move in now we're gonna lose everything. I'll go talk to the Dragon Lady." He ran up the stairs and returned in a few minutes, running over to the driver's side of the car. As he passed Benton, it was almost as if Benton came to life. Benton removed his hat to get in the car then paused and stared in Georgia's direction. Georgia just stopped and watched Benton, searching for signs of what was happening. The two of them stared at each other for several minutes. "Benny, get IN!" came the scream from inside the car. Reluctantly, Benton got in and closed the door. As the car sped off, the man looked in the rearview mirror and smirked, "Who is she, Benny? Someone to add to your caseload for Mountie handouts? Still trying for the 'Mountie of the Month' at the Consulate, I see."
"She's a friend, Ray! A friend," Benton sternly corrected Ray then cleared his throat and looked out the window. Ray quietly apologized for the rude remark and fell silent for the rest of the ride.
Georgia watched as the car raced away from the Consulate. She was filled with foreboding as she slowly packed up her belongings and headed home. The bus trip seemed interminably long that afternoon.
Georgia dropped everything as she got inside her apartment. Telepathy was telling her that he wasn't going to be there that night but her own selfishness refused to believe it. She tried to convince herself that everything would go on as normal - he'd be there. She showered and dressed in a black silk kimono pants suit with flowing legs. The jacket opened down the front and tied at the waist with a wide belt. A splash of perfume and a light amount of makeup and she was ready for a wonderful evening She put everything on the stove to reheat and set the table. The flowers were set, the candles were lit. Everything was ready. She sat down and waited.......
6 p. m . came and went quietly. Georgia tried to busy herself with odds and ends - straightening books, adjusting knickknacks, playing music on her record player. She did everything to keep her mind off Benton's unexplained absence. Hours passed. Still no Benton. She quietly ate the warmed over tetrazzini pretending through the conversation that was missing for the evening. Her thoughts of Benton kept telling her that he was safe - he just wasn't with her.
Midnight found Georgia asleep on an upholstered loveseat with a light pearl pink afghan pulled over her. A rap on the door roused her out of her 'catnap'. She questioned as to who was at the door. Benton answered responding, "I would like to speak to you, if I may." With a release of the various doorlocks, Georgia sleepily let him in followed by the white wolf. She was too tired to be angry but she was going to do her best to let him have it.
"All right! Let's hear it!" She flung herself back on the loveseat both arms draped across the back waiting for the excuse but nearly falling back to sleep and yet still conscious of her hands. He stood there in his fine red serge uniform slightly rumpled from his long night with his hat in his hand. The wolf sat next to him looking for any visual cues. Benton noticed the decorated table set for two, candles burned down to the nubs, and one placesetting dirtied from an eaten meal. He made note of how much work Georgia must have gone into for their evening together that never happened. The wolf became bored with waiting for his "master" so took to investigating the apartment on his own.
"It looks as if it was going to be a lovely meal. I hope you didn't go through too much trouble," Benton tried to make himself as contrite as possible. The wolf having gotten wind of the leftover food started to make low whining sounds and resting his chin on the table, rolling his eyes in either direction of Benton or Georgia. "Diefenbaker! Don't beg!" corrected Benton. With that Diefenbaker took his chin off the table and marched over to the loveseat and plopped his chin in Georgia's lap. Georgia had closed her eyes for a second so the 'plop' of an animal's mussel suddenly in her lap was a bit startling. "Excuse me?!!" Georgia straightened up on the seat looking in Diefenbaker's direction.
"I'm sorry, he's usually much better behaved than this. Diefenbaker, come here!" demanded Benton.
"He listens well, too." Georgia watched as Diefenbaker maintained his position in her lap.
"Well, actually he's deaf." Diefenbaker eventually figured out that no food was going to come his way no matter what he did so he returned to Benton's feet and laid down, letting out a pitiful whine on the way down. Georgia got up to fix herself something to drink trying to be upset at Benton. Diefenbaker's display was making that difficult. "Well, I'm still waiting...." Georgia stared at Benton trying to jog his memory. Benton looked puzzled as to what she was getting at. She began, "Well, you're standing here in my apartment with your wolf. It's after midnight. Let's start there. I mean, it's not like I burst my budget on a guy who stood me up now, is it?"
Benton then remembered the apology he was trying to deliver. He realized he was in a hole as big as the Grand Canyon as far as Georgia was concerned. He had better make it good and hope that she understood. "I am sorry about this ( he motioned towards the table). I fully intended to be here but something came up. I would like to make it up to you tomorrow, if I may. My shift ends early tomorrow and I could pick you up then." Georgia walked over to the door to let Benton out. As she opened the door for Benton, Georgia felt herself caving in either because of exhaustion or because she couldn't resist the charms of the man in red serge. As he and the wolf left, Benton stopped at the door. Before she could resist, Benton took her right hand in his right and kissed her fingertips. He gently stroked it with his left hand and looked into her deep brown eyes, saying, "They're beautiful. Please don't feel you have to hide them from me," then crossed the hall to his apartment. Georgia, her head swimming with emotions, slowly closed the door, turned off the lights, and dissolved into her bed.
The next morning started out all right as long as Georgia didn't try to move. Her body had so many painful surprises in store for her she regretted the thought of getting out of bed. Well, at least the sun was shining again. She went about her daily routine only it seemed to her to be in slow motion. Everything was sore and painful. Since she didn't know what she and Benton would do, Georgia opted for nearly skin tight faded bluejeans and a nice white cotton top with enough of a vee-neck to show just the right amount of cleavage. 'That'll teach him to stand me up' she thought as she checked herself over in a mirror. A spritz of cologne and a check of her makeup satisfied her for the most part. Unfortunately, she hurt so much she could barely walk. So much for enjoying the day.
Georgia began cleaning up the dishes from the previous night, grabbing a bite for breakfast in between trips to the sink. An unusually boisterous knock on the door nearly had her jump into the sink. The person behind the door identified himself as a Detective Vecchio from the Chicago Police Department. It took some time for her to get to the door because of her joint pain. No matter what she did, her body was telling her how things were going to be despite what she wanted. The door was nearly knocked off its hinges from the now constant banging. Georgia couldn't believe her eyes. There on her doorstep was Mr. "I Hate Artists Because of Their Egos" in a dove gray Armani suit and brown brush-cut hair. His back was turned to her in the process of trying Benton's door again. Georgia crossed her arms in front of her, hiding the hands, and leaned against her doorjamb. "May I help you?" Without looking, Detective Vecchio spins around looking at a piece of paper in his hand. "Yeah, Constable Benton Fraser said that if I needed to leave a message for him, I should leave...it....with.....you." The Detective suddenly saw who had answered the door. He smiled and obviously enjoyed what he was seeing. Georgia smiled and nodded politely as the Detective also remembered their rather rough first encounter. The pleasantries over, the Detective reintroduced himself as "Ray". "I'm trying to get a message to Constable Fraser and he doesn't have a phone. Would you give this to him if you see him?"
"Don't you grab him at the Consulate usually? He should be there now," Georgia teased Ray a bit.
"Ha, ha! Very funny!" Ray smirked at her. She liked how those soft puppy-dog brown eyes of his twinkled when a joke was being played on him. "I'm being called away immediately and I don't have time to go to the Consulate. This is where I am going to be for the next twenty-four hours. If Benton doesn't hear from me after that, he's to go to my Captain." Ray scribbled an address on a business card and attempted to hand it to Georgia. Without thinking, Georgia took the card then realized that her hands were being stared at. Quickly she put her hands and the card behind her back. Ray thought the action was a little odd but Georgia tried to downplay it as much as possible. "Don't worry, I'll be sure he gets it." Ray looked a little perplexed as she tried to jamb her hands and the note into her pockets without much success. "Umm...," Georgia tried to shift attention from her hands by studying Ray's face.
"What are you looking at?" Ray hated having the tables turned on him, becoming very self conscious of his looks.
"Oh, nothing. I'm just studying your profile....," Georgia explained as she gave Ray a quick once-over.
"What? You thinkin' of drawing me? A portrait? Cool! Whaddaya think?," Ray began posing for her, turning from side to side.
"Maybe. I'm guessing strong Italian ancestry, possibly living with the family, with a tendency to wear your emotions on your sleeve....."
"What's wrong with living with my family?" Ray became a little incensed with that comment. "Who told you that anyway? What are you, some sort of psychic or something? Fraser been talking about me??! You just make sure you give'im the message, all right? Right! Oh, and tell Fraser, if he needs my car, it'll be at my Mom's...my fam....MY house. Sheeesh!!" The volume of the Italian tirade was growing by decibels as Ray raised his hands in resignation and ran down the staircase.
Georgia just shrugged her shoulders a little in response. "Mooody!"
She went back into her apartment. Her legs began to tell her she was really going to have problems. "This is not good!" Georgia knew what she needed to do and she was worried....
Benton knew he had a huge apology to make to Georgia. His duty ended at noon and he managed to get Constable Turnbull to take over his official duties for the rest of the day. He rushed back to his apartment to make a change of clothes. Diefenbaker had made friends with one of the old ladies down the hall. They all loved to spoil Diefenbaker to no end so he was occupied for the day. Benton grabbed his jeans, a stone brown pullover sweater , brown leather boots, a towel and headed for the bathroom down the hall. Twenty minutes later he was in front of Georgia's door knocking on it. "Just a minute!" came a weakened response which caught Benton off guard a bit.
The doorlocks were released with some difficulty and the door slowly opened. Georgia reluctantly answered the door. Benton was surprised to find himself looking down at Georgia. "Oh, it's you...." Sounding very depressed, Georgia tried to resist Benton's pleas to let him in. With Benton's urging, she finally gave in and disappeared from the doorway, leaving Benton to push the door open for himself. He cautiously entered her apartment not knowing what to expect. What was revealed to him was Georgia in the middle of the apartment facing him sitting in her wheelchair. Benton didn't say anything.
"Well...what do you think?" asked Georgia, trying to hold back tears of embarrassment. "Does it fit?" She tried to roll her wheelchair like she was modeling it, nearly breaking down emotionally. Benton came over to her chair and knelt down in front of her. He grabbed the wheel assists of her chair and held them tight so she couldn't turn away from facing him. "I think that I see a beautiful woman. A beautiful woman who is missing out on a beautiful day. Someone who I have unfairly taken advantage of and who deserves to be treated with respect. I apologize for not taking your feelings into consideration better than I have done." With that he took her tear-stained face in his hands and kissed her quivering lips tenderly. With his thumbs he gently wiped away the tears.
"I'm sorry, Benton. I never meant to let you see me this way. When I'm in this thing, people tend to see the chair and ignore me. They think that I don't exist or don't have a brain. I hate it but sometimes it's the only way for me to get around."
"Georgia, you needn't be ashamed of anything in front of me," Benton looked sincerely into Georgia's brown eyes. "All right, it seems that we have some plans for today. Why don't we see about them." He got up to begin pushing the wheelchair out the door.
"Oh, by the way, a Detective Vecchio wanted me to make sure you got this." Georgia handed the business card to Benton. "He's says that if you don't hear from him in twenty-four hours, you're to go to a Captain Welsh? He's been called away for some reason. I suppose you know something about this. Is it important?"
Benton took a look at the card. "Hunh!"
"Is there something wrong?" Georgia watched as Benton stared at the card.
"What? Oh, it's nothing...probably nothing." Benton shook his head and tried to change the subject. "Shall we go?" Benton put the card in his hip pocket and proceeded to push the chair to the door. He stopped to let Georgia collect her purse and medications then they were on their way. Benton locked her door then the two of them headed for the elevator. That old rickety thing always scared her. It was one of those open cage type elevators that had a open facade folding-type door. It always seemed like it was on its last journey. Georgia's nerves were always on edge when she had to travel in this cage. Benton looked like he rode this contraption all the time. Thankfully this time they both survived.
Upon exiting the building. Benton was stopped by the first major obstacle - the front stairs. "Hunh!" he said as he surveyed the situation. Benton left Georgia and her chair at the top of the stairs. As he strode down the flight towards two ragged men drinking from paperbags, Georgia yelled out, "Benton, what are you doing? This isn't funny!".
Benton addressed the men as he smiled. "Excuse me! I was wondering if you two gentlemen might help me assist my friend and her wheelchair down to the sidewalk." The men were so surprised with the kindness of his request they couldn't help but agree to Benton's request for assistance. Each of the men grabbed one wheel while Benton held the handles guiding the chair down the stairs. At the bottom, Benton nodded in their direction, and with a smiling "Thank you kindly!" the day's excursion began. Georgia couldn't believe the reaction Benton got out of those two old men. She didn't know if they would have ever moved if anyone else but Benton had asked them. "How'd you do that?" she demanded.
"Do what?" Benton asked, looking quite innocent.
Something in Benton's question told Georgia that she wasn't going to get an understandable answer. "Nothing! Forget it!". She just shook her head in disbelief.
First on the order of business was lunch so that they could plan their attack on the rest of the afternoon. Georgia knew of a small place nearby that wouldn't bruise the pocketbook too badly yet provided sufficiently edible fare. Since the sunshine was plentiful, she suggested they make it an impromptu picnic at a nearby park. Under the shade of an oak tree, Georgia was able to get out of the confines of the wheelchair and stretch out her legs albeit painfully. Benton then assisted her to a place on the grass. As he sorted out the lunchbag, Georgia studied him quietly and a little more intently.
"Have you ever thought about mental telepathy?" The question stopped Benton short.
"Do you mean 'do I believe in it'?" Benton was trying to understand the question being asked of him.
"Yeah, I mean, do you think it exists? Have you ever come across it?" Georgia tried to read Benton's reactions.
After a few moments of carefully considered silence, "I guess I never really thought about it. There are different types from what I've read - telekinesis, foreseeing, empathic feelings, telepathy as in "mind speech", farseeing, and "fetching". My grandparents were librarians so I did have access to a fair amount information that was available at the time. The Inuit shamans used a form of it called "foreseeing" to foretell the severity of the winter, the success of a hunt, the guilt of a tribal member. From first hand experience, I guess I would have to say it does exist. An Inuit child had become separated from its family before a violent snowstorm hit. The storm covered all signs as to where the child was yet, I remember receiving "messages", you might say, from the child as to where it was and its condition. I found the location and the child safe. When I returned the child home and told the mother, she thanked me and told me that she knew the child was safe because I had "told" her in her dreams. Does that answer your question?"
Georgia stared at Benton for a moment or two. "So different! So different!" she kept murmuring.
"How do you mean?" asked Benton, unwrapping a sandwich and handing it to Georgia.
"You and your father - you're so like him yet so different," Georgia replied.
"You've met my father?" The thought surprised Benton. He thought that he was the only person who could see or hear his dead father.
"In a sense, yes. He was outside your apartment the other day looking for you. Very odd!" Benton looked very surprised with that last comment. "I'm sorry," she said, "I meant his idea of 'instinct' and 'never follow a man over a cliff'. He seemed to believe strongly in "instinct" but telepathy was an entirely different story. I wanted to know your feelings. I had been 'seeing' things since I was very young and had learned that sometimes people just didn't want to know even when they asked. Sometimes I'd "see" things as if I were with the person involved. For a time I thought that 'feeling' had gone for good. Yet for some reason, your moving to 221 W. Racine has brought back the telepathy. I've been trying to figure out - Why?"
"Any answers yet?" Benton looked puzzled.
"None. At least none as yet," she stated. "You seem to be the catalyst for some reason. Oh well maybe it's nothing." She shrugged it off. Benton didn't know what to make of Georgia's revelation. The conversation turned to a mixture of Benton's job at the Consulate, Georgia life as an artist, and their lives in general. Having finished lunch, Georgia decided to show Benton the gallery that was currently showing her work. The "L" was the quickest route to the Elm street establishment and the easiest to handle with Georgia's chair. The ten minute ride found them in front of 111 S. Elm Street - The Doges Gallery.
The Doges Gallery was a small struggling privately owned gallery near the downtown area of Chicago known as The Loop. The Italianate style building which housed the gallery didn't look like much on the outside but that didn't worry Georgia. The owner Mr. Antonio Renardi, in his late sixties and usually well dressed, always told her he was in the middle of restoration. The restoration did, however, seem to her to be taking rather long. When she had visited the gallery at other times she didn't notice too many visitors but somehow she always received a check for a sale so she didn't question things. Often Mr. Renardi or one of his "assistants", as he called them, was there to greet her but not this time. The gallery seemed quiet - even more so than usual. As Benton showed himself around the gallery, Georgia went looking for the office area.
"That's odd," she said as she returned to the gallery. "Normally, there's someone here on the premises."
"No one's here?" Benton was puzzled by the noticeable absence.
"No. Even the office was unlocked. I've looked in the office but I do get the feeling that something is out of place. Benton, something's not right. A someone wouldn't just leave the place open like this - especially in Chicago."
Benton suggested that they go to the office and see if there was any indication as to Renardi's whereabouts. While Benton carefully examined the contents of Renardi's desk being careful not to disturb things, Georgia busied herself by opening closet doors. Benton found Renardi's appointment book in one of the desk drawers. As he scanned the book for anything, Benton kept noticing one item repeatedly coming up - "pick up/Mr. Z". It seemed to be entered since the start of the previous year and always between the hours of 11 p.m. and midnight. As he searched for more evidence, Georgia pulled a few times out of the closet for closer examination.
"My paintings! Benton, these are my paintings! But, where are the frames?!!" Georgia just couldn't believe what she was seeing. There in front of her were some of the paintings that were supposedly sold over the period of months that Georgia had been associated with the gallery. The paintings had been "sold", there was never a problem with the checks, and yet there was no record as to who bought the paintings. Benton examined the paintings closely. With his pocketknife, he noticed strands of packing straw, a white powdery substance, and mud particularly in the corners. Georgia didn't think anything of his "tasting" the powdery substance. She had caught a few "cop shows" on television and seen the actors test for cocaine that way. What she wasn't prepared for was Benton putting dirt in his mouth. "Does your father know you eat dirt or is this some part of the 'normal' Mountie diet training?" Benton either ignored her question or was too involved in the situation to notice. He walked over to an area near the office doorway, stopped and looked down at more mud on the carpet. Benton lightly touched another small mud sample to his tongue. Georgia closed her eyes, shook her head, and buried her face in her hands not believing what Benton was doing. He examined the doorjamb and discovered some cloth fibers in the doorlatch.
Georgia followed Benton as he headed towards a back door that opened to a back alley. Benton looked in both directions down the alley then stooped down and taste-tested and examined some mud by the back door. "Hunh!" was all he said.
"There's that burst of emotion again! Would you please tell me what's going on?" Georgia was getting a little impatient with the whole situation. She and Benton went back to the office where Benton examined the paintings again. He went into the closet and retrieved other paintings from other artists that were in a similar state.
"The mud on the floor here in the office and at the back door are the same consistency possibly from someone coming in from the back door. However the mud from the paintings has a higher salt content possibly indicated that these paintings DID indeed leave the gallery but later returned. Do you keep records of the sales you have through galleries?" Benton kept looking around the office for any other clues. "Back at my apartment. What do you think's going on?" Georgia was beginning to get worried where this line of questioning was going. Benton had an idea but didn't want to upset Georgia any further if at all possible. "It may be nothing. But whatever it is, Mr. Renardi seems to have left in a great hurry."
Georgia began getting a faraway look in her eyes and a feeling of concern in her voice. "Or he was forced." Her eyes grew wide as they met Benton's.
The two of them left the gallery to get her sales records. Benton knew that Georgia was "getting something". He'd seen the look come across the faces of the Inuit shamans when they were in communication with their spirit world. During the ride back to the apartment, Georgia couldn't shake the cold, awful feeling of danger. She could "see" Mr. Renardi in some place cold, dark and damp place near water and he was in pain. As she began to shiver from "the cold", Benton draped his arm around Georgia's shoulders. He kept talking to her, trying to keep her as comfortable as possible. Slowly Georgia began to revive a little more as they reached the apartment building. As soon as they reached Georgia's apartment, Benton assisted her out of the wheelchair to her loveseat, wrapping her in an afghan. The sales records were found in a file cabinet kept by her easel. In the files were the check receipts and letters from The Doges Gallery. Benton brought them over to Georgia to verify what he had in his hands.
As Georgia went through the file, she handed Benton various pieces of paper. "As you see, with each check, I would receive a letter saying that that particular piece sold and the address of the purchaser was included. However, somehow the name and address was omitted. I try to keep track of who's buying my artwork for my resume and my future clientele."
"Did you ever approach Mr. Renardi about the omissions?" queried Benton.
"You know? That's what was so odd. I'd go to the gallery to ask him about the missing information and I thought he looked surprised but I could have been wrong. He'd tell me that he'd send the information as soon as he had the chance but it would never come. Either that or he would make it seem like he was extremely busy on the phone and he would get back to me."
"What about the checks? Did you notice anything about them?" Benton examined the papers closely for any possible discrepancies.
"No, they were all made out by Mr. Renardi. Up until last week I didn't have any problems with cashing the checks." Georgia searched through her receipts looking for one in particular. "Here it is. This one, the first time I tried to deposit it, the bank notified me that there was 'insufficient funds'. When I approached Mr. Renardi about it, he told me to redeposit it anyway. He would see to the problems with the bank himself. I tried again and it went through. No explanation was ever given."
Benton thought about the business card and took it out of his pocket. He looked at it then handed it to Georgia. "Do you know where this address is?"
"Yeah, it's in the Chicago Shipyard. You'll need a car though 'cause nothing runs out there," she said as she glanced at the card with the address that Detective Vecchio had written. "If you can drive, I can show you where it is. You 'do' know how to drive, don't you? I mean, I've SEEN you leave a room."
Benton looked innocently at Georgia and simply replied, "Of course!". Georgia just rolled her eyes in disbelief. A short ten minute bus trip to the Vecchio household was in order. Georgia geared herself up for the trip despite the pain in her legs. With another round of medication, she decided against the wheelchair opting for extremely comfortable shoes and her favorite walking cane if there could be such a thing. This cane had a special fold-away sharply pointed tip convenient for walking on ice. Using the cane would slow Benton and Georgia up a bit but it sure beat the independent suspension effect that would rattle Georgia's body as she would travel over variations in concrete joints in the wheelchair .
Benton ran up the front stairs of the a large brown clapboard Victorian style house while Georgia waited at the bottom. He rang the doorbell and waited a few anxious minutes. When no one answered, he tried knocking on the door. That brought a female voice's yelled response of , "I'll get it, Ma!" and a rumble from inside. The door literally ripped opened to reveal young woman with dark hair in rollers and jeans and tee shirt and a very embarrassed look on her face. She suddenly slammed the door in Benton's face. "BENTON! What are you DOING here?!!" came the scream from behind the door.
"Franchesca, I need the keys to Ray's car! It's an emergency!" Benton pleaded with her about the urgency of the matter. After a few anxious minutes, the door opened and a hand with the keys snaked around through the opening, dropping the keys into Benton's open hands. "Thank you kindly, Franchesca!" Benton replied as he raced down the stairs. Frannie stuck her head out the door to get a glimpse of Benton as he and Georgia crossed the street to Ray's Riviera. Benton saw her and started to wave to her but Frannie slammed the door shut trying to avoid any further embarrassment. Benton just shook it off and he and Georgia got in the car. As the car took off from the curb, it lurched and Benton slammed on the brakes nearly sending Georgia in to the dashboard. For the next several blocks the lurching and stopping continued causing Georgia to question the sanity of the driver, Benton.
"BENTON! How long did you say it's been - OW! - since you last drove anything from THIS century?" Georgia glared at him while being buffeted around the interior of the car.
"About four years. Why?", came Benton's rattled response trying to be nonchalant about the whole situation.
"At this point, I'd rather be in my wheelchair rolling backwards down the front steps of the apartment. I'd stand a better chance of surviving. Ouch! Understood?!!" Georgia rubbed the top of her head from hitting the roof of the car despite wearing a seatbelt.
"Understood! Sorry!" Benton did his best to apologize for the unorthodox way of driving. Another bump sent the rearview mirror flying into the backseat area and Georgia ducking for cover. "Does Ray know about you?!!" Georgia tried the best she could to brace herself against the onslaught of bumps and rolls she was receiving.
As the sun was setting, they approached the shipyards. The address belonged to a warehouse at the south end. It was an area of the shipyard that had gotten less and less use over the years because of waning shipping traffic. Benton pulled the Riviera into a shaded area near some oil drums across from the suspected warehouse. He watched as several men quickly pulled up in a number of cars outside an aging two story warehouse and rushed in the north side of the building checking to make sure they weren't observed. Mr. Renardi wasn't among them. A few minutes later, a brown Cadillac pulled up which garnered all of Benton's interest. A very tall beefy driver got out and opened the door for a smaller and younger well-dressed man in a gray overcoat. "Zuco!" Benton sat up as he recognized the passenger. Another older balding man equally well-dressed got out of the other side of the car and followed Zuco to the door of the warehouse. As the driver held the door for the other two men, Georgia caught sight of movement on the south side of the building. Someone in dark clothes and stocking cap was peeking around the corner trying to observe the activity. "Benton! Look!" Georgia shook his arm getting him to shift his attention to the other character entering the scene. "Ray?!!"
The two of them watched as Ray carefully disappeared inside the warehouse. "Wait here!" Benton told Georgia as he headed for the warehouse. She watched as Benton headed for a fire escape on the west side of the building and climbed up the stairs. As Benton disappeared into a second floor window, Georgia watched as an unmarked white truck pulled up a little near the Riviera - a little too close for Georgia's comfort. Two men jumped out of the back as Mr. Renardi was dumped bound and gagged by a third man. Mr. Renardi was alive but not by much. While he was dragged into the warehouse by the first two men, the driver and one other man got out of the truck cab. Georgia watched as they proceeded to unload crates stamped "ARTWORK - FRAGILE" on the side. She waited until those three toughs were inside the building to make her move. Using her cane, Georgia carefully made her way to the back of the truck. Upon closer examination she looked in the back of the truck. There were more crates inside and evidence of some white powder on the floor of the truck. She had to find Benton.
Georgia opened the door of the warehouse making sure that the ice gripper prongs were in place on the end of her cane. They were good for other things than walking on ice. Finding herself in a large warehouse room, Georgia quickly located a large pile of stacked crates and hid behind them. She could hear voices coming from the farthest end of the room. Georgia tried to locate Benton but encountered Fraser, Sr. in red serge looking in the general direction of Benton's whereabouts. "Where is he?" she whispered. He pointed to some black oil drums up on the second floor catwalk. Georgia looked in the direction of the voices. The two well dressed men were seated facing Mr. Renardi who was being held up by two toughs. They were surrounded by several other goons standing around motionless. Everytime he didn't answer questions to their liking, another goon would deliver more punishment. Georgia decided to move closer to hear things better. She slowly began heading for the next stack of crates when a hand came from behind her and was placed over her mouth so she couldn't scream. The form dragged her over to some well hidden boxes then slowly turned her so that she could see who it was. When she agreed not to let out a sound, Georgia couldn't believe it.
"Ray!" she almost screamed despite what she promised. Ray quickly covered her mouth again. "What are you trying to do, get me killed?" The shock having worn off, Ray removed his hand slowly from Georgia's mouth once again. "What're you doing here?" he demanded watching in the direction of the interrogation. Georgia went into the explanation of the occurrence at the gallery and the disappearance of Mr. Renardi. She finished with, "Benton's here too!" indicating the general direction of Benton's location.
"Suddenly we've gone from numbers to smuggling. Greaaat!" Ray didn't look too pleased.
"Smuggling! What? Mr. Renardi? Smuggling what? How?" Georgia couldn't believe what was being said now.
"If you don't shut up right now, I'm going to create a little masterpiece of my own right here with a little help from this." Ray slightly moved a loose wooden slat top indicating that she was going to be "crated". Georgia quietly and very obediently hid herself behind Ray as best as she could. Ray pulled out his cordless phone to call for backup because of the change in the gravity of the situation.
As they listened, Frank Zuco continued with his "discussion" with Renardi. It seems that Renardi when he first opened the gallery was financially well off. He sunk everything into the building to try and make it a success. When he started having trouble with the finances, he turned to Frank Zuco for assistance. In return, Zuco demanded that Renardi let him "buy" artwork. Then either the artwork or the packaging for the artwork itself was used for smuggling cocaine. Renardi would not only receive money for the artwork but also a small percentage from the drug sales as a token "thank you" for doing business with Zuco. But now it seems that Renardi was suffering from remorse and wanted out of the deal. When Zuco got wind of it, he decided to remind Renardi who he was dealing with. Now Zuco was getting tired of the situation.
Benton was watching the "discussion" between Zuco and Renardi. He was slowly moving towards the group but remaining on the catwalk looking for a chance to create some sort of diversion. He had spotted Ray down below - and Georgia. He located a hook from an overhead conveyor belt. He judged the attached chain to be long enough and strong enough to carry his weight if need be. The overhead support was located right over Renardi. The timing had to be just right.
Renardi had just received his "death sentence" from Zuco. Zuco and the other gentleman were leaving by way of a rear door. As Zuco's henchman prepared his automatic and aimed the muzzle of the gun at Renardi's forehead, Benton decided he couldn't wait any longer. Ray saw him swinging down from the catwalk and came out from the shadows firing at the other unsuspecting thugs. Benton slammed the henchman and Renardi with his boots at the same time, knocking the two of them to the ground. Zuco and the others answered with their own weapons firing. Georgia saw that one of the thugs was approaching Ray from his blind side with his gun ready. Georgia hung back in the shadows until the thug had passed her then followed behind him. As the thug was about to make his shot good, sharp cold metal sinking into the back of his neck stopped him short of his target. "You turn around, you're dead - it's that simple." Georgia's words caught Ray off guard as he spun around to her telling the thug to drop his gun. He complied and Ray confiscated the weapon, handcuffing the thug to an exposed pipe. Ray then took off after an escaping Zuco. Sounds of hands hitting flesh turned Georgia's attention towards Benton. Ray fired at one of the other toughs who was about to hit Benton, seriously wounding the tough in the shoulder. Benton landed a few good blows to the henchman but had also received a few himself slightly winding him. As the henchman prepared to end the fight with Benton, the henchman received a light tap on his shoulder causing him to turn around. "Hi!" Georgia stood there smiling and waving. With another tap on the henchman's shoulder, Benton put his lights out with a crashing blow to the face. Ray returned to the building as back emergency vehicles arrived on the scene with sirens blaring and lights flashing. Ray sneered, "Yeah, NOW they show up!" and just shook his head. Zuco unfortunately had gotten away much to Ray's displeasure. Benton, shaking his hand from the final blow to the henchman's face, looked in Georgia's direction. Catching his breath, he thanked her after checking to see if she was okay. Renardi was severely hurt and was taken by ambulance to the hospital. However fearing retribution from Zuco, Renardi refused to file any charges.
After filing his reports and Benton including his own statements at the station, Ray drove Benton and Georgia back to the apartment. Before letting them go for the night, Ray had to ask what Georgia pulled on the guy who had him in his sights. When she showed him the ice gripper, Ray's mouth dropped.
"An ice gripper? You risked my life with an ice gripper?" Ray's eyes widened with disbelief until Georgia showed him the gripper - the very SHARP gripper. Ray suddenly changed his tune and backed off. 'I think I'll call it a night. Good night, Benton. If you need any help, don't call me." Ray smiled and shook his head. "Good night, Ray!" replied Benton. With a wave of his hand out the window, Ray drove off. Benton took Georgia's arm and assisted her up the stairs. Upon reaching her apartment, Benton opened her door for her.
"I hoped to apologize today for missing your dinner the other night," Benton began.
"Well, I must admit you DO have a rather unusual way of trying to 'apologize' to a girl," Georgia said slightly scolding Benton. Benton had to blush a little at that remark. "Hmmm, yes....ah....well...ah, today was not EXACTLY what I had in mind," Benton smiled slightly.
Georgia leaned up against her doorway. "Okay....what DID you have in mind?" Georgia asked taking her chances with the response. Benton's answer was to simply lean in and kiss her full on the lips. After a few delicious minutes, Georgia felt like she had the breath taken from her. "Well, I guess that will do for a start...." Georgia smiled as she pushed her door open. "Care to come in? I still have some leftover tettrazini I could warm up...."
"Sure, it sounds wonderful...." Benton followed Georgia into her apartment.
"Good then we can talk about your technique for 'apologizing'," Georgia smiled as the door closed. Benton's last words said it all, "Oh dear!".