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      	  B: Zuko 
 by Dee Gilles	

 Disclaimer: No money made from this. For entertainment only.

 

 Benny & Ray 46 Zuko Dee Gilles Rated G

 Friday May 4, 2001 9:17 A.M.

 "What?!!" Ray yelled over the wall.

 "Yeah," Doyle called back to his partner. "That's what I heard in the
canteen."

 Ray and Doyle sat in their respective cubicles, separated by a metal and
fabric partition. The squad room's overhaul had recently been completed,
so they now sat at new built-in desks and worked on new computers. 

 "Nah, can't be!" Ray said. "Jack Huey? Promoted? I got seniority over
him. That should have been my job!" Ray crossed over to Doyle's cubicle
and perched one hip on Micky's desk. "You sure you heard right?"

 "Yeah, Ray, I'm sure. But if it's any consolation, I heard it's gonna be
second shift; lousy hours, and the perps in that neighborhood are nothing
but the lowest scum of the earth. He'll have his hands full."

 "Yeah, but they don't keep the new sergeants in one place too long. In a
year, it'll be first shift in The Loop, where the worst crime they'll have
to prosecute will be jaywalking. You know, I can't believe this. I'm gonna
go see the lieu. This ain't right!"

 Ray burst into Lt. Welsh's office with no preamble. "Lieu!" Ray began,
and shut his mouth.

 Captain Sherry Miller sat in the guest chair across from Welsh. Every
since the squad room got renovated, the Captain spent much more time on
this floor. The third floor, where all the upper command dwelled, had been
in much better condition than the original second floor squad room, so it
had not been budgeted for rehab like the bullpen. Welsh's office now was
much more luxurious than Miller's, so she used every excuse to help
herself to Welsh's office.

 Both Welsh and the blonde turned at Ray's outburst. 

 "Uh...sorry!" Ray said. He turned to go.

 "Something on your mind, Vecchio?" Welsh called.

 Ray glanced at Miller self-consciously. He had a way of sticking his foot
in his mouth when she was around, so he was reluctant to speak freely in
front of her.

 "Uh...I can come back if you're busy," Ray said. 

 "Have a seat, Vecchio," Miller said. 

 "What's up, Detective?" Welsh asked in an avuncular way.

 "Well, sir...we just heard that Huey just got promoted to sergeant."

 "Yes, that's true. Remarkable how information flies around this place so
fast. It just came down and the whole place knows already? Captain Miller
and I were just discussing it. Huey and Dewey are out on a run, so we
haven't even had a chance to inform Huey yet."

 "Look, Lieu...how come Jack got it? I mean, I've got two years seniority
on him. I've got a better conviction rate...I don't get it."

 Miller and Welsh exchanged glances, but remained silent, each silently
urging the other to answer. Welsh cleared his throat.

 Ray didn't miss the look. "Look, if this has something to do with my and
Benny's relationship...well, there's laws against that, sir. And if I need
to get a lawyer involved in this, with all due respect sir..."

 "This has nothing to do with Fraser, Ray. I promise you."

 "Then what?"

 The two officers exchanged glances again. Miller spoke.

 "Detective Vecchio, it has nothing to do with your lover and everything
to do with your multiple investigations by IA."

 Ray hung his head in consternation. "Listen! Those clowns--

 Miller cut him off. "`Those clowns' have come pretty close to nailing you
quite a few times, and each time you've managed to wriggle out of it,
Detective, and clear your name, but the fact is, we've got a pattern
here."

 Ray raised his hands in protest. "Captain--

 "Detective! You've displayed marginal behavior again and again. Do you
have any idea how many times you were almost fired? On my watch alone,
three times! What saved your ass was working with Fraser all that time."

 "Yeah, but sir, I haven't worked with Fraser going on two years now. What
about my record since then? Doesn't that count for anything?"

 Miller sighed. 

 Welsh tried. "Vecchio. It's like this. We just don't think you're quite
ready yet."

 "Well, whadda I have to do to get ready? Christ! I been a cop for fifteen
years!" He thumped the Lieutenant's desk in frustration.

 "Alright," Welsh soothed, "Easy, easy, easy. Vecchio...Ray, I'm sorry,
but---

 Welsh's phone rang, and he picked up before the first ring ended, glad
for the distraction.

 His eyes narrowed and tilted his head. Listening intently. "Uh huh. Uh
huh. Uh huh. We'll get someone over there in fifteen minutes. Yep." He
hung up the phone. "Well, today just got very interesting," he said to
Miller. He turned his attention back to Ray. "Vecchio, get Doyle and
saddle up. Get over to the Zuko compound. Frank Zuko's been shot to
death."

 9:46 A.M.

 Ray crouched over the dead body of Frank Zuko, careful not to touch the
body or disturb the surroundings. He tucked his notepad in his inside
breast pocket, and stood. Then he peeled off his latex gloves, tucking
them into his back pocket. Micky Doyle circled around the body, snapping
away on his camera. 

 Whoever shot Frank Zuko had a lot of anger towards him, which pretty much
meant it could have been anyone in Chicago. Frank had been beaten up
before he was shot execution-style; his hands tied behind his back and a
single gunshot at close range above his left ear. The bullet had shattered
the right side of the skull in its exit, and had embedded in a wall behind
a bookcase; it had almost broken though the wall in the next room, it has
been so forceful. Just a simple .38, most likely a Smith and Wesson .38
Special or a Davis P-380; there were a couple of new arms dealers in town,
and they had been flooding the streets with cheap .38's. Seemed like
everybody and their grandmother carried a piece these days. It was going
to be tough to figure out who did this. There were a hundred people who
wanted Frank Zuko dead, including himself. Tough case.

 Ray never thought he'd be in this house again. After that last time.
After Irene. A sudden wave of grief hit him fresh, like it just happened.
With a chill, he remembered himself yelling Oh my God! Oh my God! Call an
ambulance!

 He jerked his head toward Doyle, and the two of them moved away so that
the ME's office could bag the body. 

 Doyle spoke. "I just talked to the first officer on the scene, Officer
Price. She's combed the perimeter of the house. No signs of forced entry."

 "Whoever did this, he knew them," Ray commented, wheels already turning.

 "She and her partner Reid got here at 8:50 and got the scene locked down
pretty quickly. Nobody in the house at the time of the incident,
apparently. One of the neighbors said the chauffeur usually takes the kids
to school at 7:40. The maid discovered the body. She went out after
cleaning up breakfast, around 8:00 and went to the supermarket. She got
back at 9:00 and called 911. Patrol Supervisor Powers arrived at 9:15 to
assist Officers Price and Reid."

 "Did the maid say if Frankie was expecting any visitors?"

 "She said as far as she knew, he wasn't, but it wasn't unusual for him
not to tell her ahead of time. Usually he only told her if they were
staying for dinner or staying overnight."

 Ray mulled over the situation, searching for a starting point. He sighed.
"All right," he said. "I wanna go talk to the maid a little more. And we
need to track down the chauffeur. The kids'll need to be questioned once
they've been informed. His oldest daughter Ann-Marie goes to Northwestern.
I'll track her down and let her know what's going on first. Can you have a
squad car sent for the little kids at school? I'm going to finish up with
the maid and then go find the chauffeur before I talk to the daughter.
Then I gotta go find his consigliore and his bodyguard, see what's up. You
stay here and wrap the scene up. I'll catch up with you later."

 10:42 a.m.

 Ray sat across from a shaking Ann-Marie Zuko. Her red face was smeared
with tears and a thin stream of mucus slipped from her nose. Ray reached
for a box of tissues for her from where he sat across from her on her
roommate's bed.

 Ray hated this part. More than anything, he hated this part. Telling a
family member they'd lost someone. It was hard to tell a young girl she'd
lost her daddy, even though it was Frank Zuko. Ann-Marie had the same dark
hair and eyes, and the same youthful, almost boyish body that her Aunt
Irene had. Ann-Marie sobbed. "He's was supposed to see me graduate next
weekend. The first Zuko to graduate college. He used to tell me he was so
proud! We were supposed to go to dinner tonight, and car shopping
tomorrow. My graduation present, you know?"

 Ray nodded.

 "Ann-Marie. I need to ask you," Ray said gently. "Do you know what your
father did? For a living, I mean."

 "Course I knew. I figured it out years ago. For a long time, I pretended
not to understand. It was easier that way. But by the time I got in high
school--well, that's harder to do. You see your dad have "business
meetings" at ten o'clock at night. See him arrested a couple times a year,
and back home in time for dinner. I knew what that meant."

 "Did he know that you knew?"

 "Yeah. But we didn't discuss it. Oh my God. Do Jessica and Rachel know
yet?" Her young sisters. 

 "We sent a car out to pick them up from school and bring them home.
There's a social worker and grief counselor on the scene waiting to break
the news to them. Is there somebody we can call to look after them?
Family?"

 Ann-Marie smiled sadly. "My mom moved back to Seattle after the divorce.
As far as the Zuko side of the family went, we weren't exactly on speaking
terms with a lot of them. After Daddy shot Aunt Irene...."

 "I understand."

 "I'm twenty-one. Will they release the kids to my care? I can look after
them," she said, a little pride shining through, despite the
circumstances.

 Ray peered at this little girl. Little Irene. "Yeah. We can do that," he
said.

 "I need to pack," she said.

 "Fine, and while you're doing that, I need to ask you a few more
questions."

 "OK," she said. 

 Ray took out his notebook and patted his pockets for a pen. 

 The girl hadn't moved to pack, but instead sat gazing at him, eyes
searching his face. "I remember you, you know?" She seemed to look right
into his soul. It made him uncomfortable, like conversing with the dead.

 "What?"

 "I remember you. You climbed up to Aunt Irene's room that night. You
threw pebbles on the window. That was you, right?"

 "Yeah," Ray said sadly, remembering.

 "She was leaving the house because of you. She was going to go and look
for you."

 "Yeah, I know."

 "You didn't do anything wrong, you know."

 "Yeah."

 "You kept your promise to me, Ray. You did end it that night."

 "What? What'd you say?"

 "I...just asked you if you were alright." Ann-Marie looked at him,
puzzled.

 "You'd better pack," was all Ray said, clearing the lump in his throat,
clicking his pen.

 6:30 p.m.

 Ray was glad it was Benny's night to cook. He was exhausted. His feet
were throbbing. He was forty years old and too old for this shit. 

 He put slid his key in and wearily turned the knob. Ray was immediately
hit with the smell of pasta fagioli. Mmmm. Exactly what he needed; Benny
made it just like Ma taught him.

 "Hey!" Benny called from the kitchen. 

 "Hey!" Ray called back. 

 A blur of white fur flashed in front of his face. Pearson launched
herself against Ray, desperately nuzzling for his hands. "Hey, Furface,"
Ray said, rubbing her head. He squatted and permitted the dog to give his
face a lick before he stood again. Pearson followed him as he left the
living room.

 He went to the bedroom and removed this jacket and tie, and then went to
the bathroom and scrubbed his hands and underneath his nails. The dog had
loyally trailed behind him, tail wagging. She looked up at him with
adoring eyes, muzzle perched on the pedestal sink. "Awww, quit sucking up"
Ray murmured. "You just want a treat." Ray chuckled when the husky whined.
She was a good dog, no question, and was a lot like old Dief in many ways.

 The hot sudsy water felt good on Ray's hands. He rinsed and scrubbed
again because it felt so pleasant. Ray toed off his shoes in the hallway,
on the way to the kitchen. Pearson curiously sniffed his shoes and then
continued on with Ray.

 Benny was bent over the stove, pulling thick, buttered Texas toast out of
the oven when he got to the kitchen. Ray reached out and grasped the lush
derrire, pinching a bit, and Benny closed the oven, chuckled and
straightened.

 Ray embraced him from behind.

 "You feed this dog today, babe?"

 "Of course I did," he murmured. "She just finished her supper. And I gave
her a treat."

 Ben turned in Ray's arms as a waft of heat from the oven gently diffused
around them. They stayed that way for a long moment, swaying just a
little.

 Ray squeezed Benny and buried his face in his shoulder. "Frank Zuko's
been murdered," he said tiredly. His voice muffled in Benny's shoulder.

 "Oh dear!" Ben said, squeezing Ray tight.

 10:00 p.m.

 "Tell me what else is bothering you, Ray." Ben had listened to Ray toss
and turn for the past half hour. Ben moved Ray into his arms to quell the
restlessness. 

 Ray stroked Benny's arm with lazy movement after settling his head on his
chest.

 "This thing with Zuko. It's freaking me out. He was my age; we grew up
together. It was like I was seeing me, lying there on the floor instead of
him. It made me wonder how I'm gonna die. You ever think about dying,
Benny?"

 "Sometimes."

 "Do you think there's really an afterlife?"

 "I know there is. My father."

 "Benny...ah...your talking to your father. Do you really believe that was
real?"

 "It felt like it was, Ray."

 "But that doesn't mean that is was."

 "Well, then, what else do I have to go by, really, to determine if
something's real or not?"

 "Benny, what do you think it's like? Being dead?" Ray whispered. 

 "I think...I think it will be like you are asleep and forever dreaming.
Bits of your life replaying for you."

 "I'm scared of it, Benny. I'm so scared of dying! I don't ever want to
leave here, and miss this. Miss us."

 "Shhhh," Ben soothed. "It's not going to be for another sixty years, Ray,
another lifetime from now."

 "Benny?"

 "Mmmm?"

 "We'll always be together, won't we?"

 "Yes."

 "And you won't leave me?"

 "No, love. Never."

 "Promise me, Benny. Promise me forever."

 Ben squeezed the man in his arms as tightly as he could. "I promise I
will be with you in this life and after, Ray. I promise you that."

 "Thank you, Benny." 

 Satisfied, Ray fell asleep, and dreamed. And in his dream, he tumbled
from the sky.

 Monday May 5 5 a.m.

 Ray had spent the weekend, running down some leads, running through a
list of Zuko's associates; Ginaldo Ianuccilli from the north side, Tommy
Patrillo from the west side, Big Al Moreno, Pauly Lazio, Gino Messina,
Reggie Rimini. Nobody was talking. And who said that Omerta was dead? 

 Doyle had tracked down Charlie "The Greek" Greco in Pensacola, but he'd
been there for two years, one of the few to make it to a peaceful
retirement. Charlie gave Micky a few names of men who would dearly love to
see Frankie dead, but half of them were dead themselves, already having
fallen victim to Zuko's ambitions of wiping out all his enemies and known
threats.

 Ray sat in a borrowed motor pool car, a few doors down from the home of
one Jimmy "Roastbeef" Rossi. He'd been staked out since ten last night,
waiting for him to come home. Turns out that right after Frankie was
offed, Jimmy had conveniently disappeared.

 Ray saw headlights in his side view mirror. He scooched down in his seat
as a big black Caddy darted by him, and slid into the Rossi driveway. Ray
moved. But as he walked toward a surprised Jimmy Roastbeef, he knew that
Jimmy wasn't the perp. It would have been too easy, and this case was
going to be nothing but hard.

 12:30 p.m.

 Jimmy had fingered Michael Sorrento, who he claimed was running his
operation from jail. Not surprisingly, Sorrento said it was Jimmy, free on
the outside to do whatever he wanted. The two capos had been rivals for
years, vying for Frank's good graces, hoping to be the next in line for
head of the family.

 Sorrento sat at a table in the holding cell being hammered by Ray as
Doyle circled around, observing Sorrento for signs of nervousness, lying.
Sorrento had been pretty unflappable so far.

 Ray paced in front of Sorrento. "Everybody knows you and Frank had a
falling out years ago, after you bombed my car, killed my friend, and
tried to blame it on the Dario brothers. You had major beef. You moved out
of the neighborhood and started your own thing." 

 "Look. Me and Frankie had our differences, but we left each other alone."

 "Word on the street is that you been try to steal the whole West Side out
from under him for years. He was gonna have you whacked as soon as you get
out of jail. But you got to him first, didn't you?"

 "Look...the guy was a friend of mine, alright? We grew up together. Why
would I want him dead?"

 "Why would you want him dead? I'll tell you why you'd want him dead.
Millions and millions of dollars in protection money, drugs, guns,
prostitution, you name it."

 "I hadn't spoke to Frank in years!"

 "You didn't have to. You been using Jimmy Leonardo to go after him, or
sending Joey Bats, or Luigi Porkchops or any of your other goons to keep
the pressure up."

 "I'm in jail, man! I got no power over anybody."

 "Jimmy Roastbeef said it was you."

 "Jimmy don't know nuttin'! He can suck it!" Sorrento spat.

 "Who'd you send after Frank, Mikey?"

 "I got nuttin' else to say to you," Sorrento said, clamming up.

 "Was it somebody else? Cuz if it was, and you know who it was, it'd be in
your best interest to tell me. You might find your probation hearing
coming up a lot sooner than you think." Not a chance in hell of that, but
Ray figured he had nothing to lose with the empty promise.

 Sorrento said nothing, staring ahead at nothing.

 "Alright. Have it your way. See you in thirty years, if you're still
alive. Doyle, let's go." Ray signaled the guard to release him and his
partner from the holding cell. He left frustrated and wondering if he was
losing his edge. Time ago, he would have broken anybody down in record
time with his `in your face' method of interrogation. He was too old for
this.

 8:30 p.m.

 Ray lay sprawled across their bed, on his stomach, as Benny sat astride
him, and gave him a deep tissue massage. Benny pushed deep to ease the
tensed, knotted muscles. 

 "Benny, what would you think of me if I left the force?"

 Benny was so surprised, he paused in his ministrations. He resumed after
a moment, gentler this time, caressing. "What would you do, Ray?"

 Ray inhaled and sighed deeply. "I dunno, Benny. Just a thought."

 "What's on your mind, Ray?"

 "It's just that....it's just that I feel like I'm shoveling against the
tide these last couple of years. I mean, is the world any better for me
taking a few thugs off the street?"

 "Of course it is, Ray," Ben assured him. "Think of the people whose lives
you've kept out of danger, or whose lives you've saved because you kept a
dangerous criminal off the street."

 "It just seems like for every thug I take off the street, there's three
more, ready to take his place."

 "Ray, policing is in your blood. I know you believe in the essential
goodness of people, and that protecting the good and the innocent is of
the utmost importance."

 "Is that what I believe, Benny?"

 "Yes, Ray, you do."

 Ray was silent for long moments. Enjoying the feeling of his lover
digging into the hard knots in his shoulders, back and neck. He let his
mind drift, and sighed. Finally he said, "I can't believe they picked Jack
Huey over me. It isn't fair."

 "Your time will come."

 "When, Benny?"

 "When the time is right for you, Ray."

 Tuesday May 6 3:30 a.m.

 Ray stared up at the ceiling, reliving his day. He had been back at the
Zuko house after leaving Sorrento. He had spoken very candidly to
Ann-Marie Zuko again. The young woman's face was tear-streaked, and she
was clearly exhausted, but her mouth was set in a purposeful way,
resolved. Tomorrow there would be no Mass of Christian Burial for
Thomas-Franco David Zuko. The church would not permit it, given Frank's
"occupation". But she made sure that he would be buried in his family's
section of the St. Donatus Cemetery, near his parents and his sister. 

 Ray remembered visiting Irene there. It took him a year to gather the
courage to face seeing her headstone. What he felt mostly, staring down at
the gleaming pink granite, was anger and frustration. He had felt lonely
and afraid. 

 As he left the cemetery, a man in a funny hat and a white wolf waited
just outside the entrance. Ray's spirits were instantly lifted. He had
reached out and hugged Benny in sheer gratitude, squeezing his shoulders
hard. Benny had squeezed him back. Ray never did figure out just how Benny
and Dief knew where to find him. He hadn't told anybody where he was
going; it was a though Benny appeared from nowhere exactly when he was
needed.

 In bed now with his best friend, Ray listened to Benny breathe. He turned
to his side and watched Benny. Watched his chest rise and fall. His lips
were parted. Ray smiled with love, before turning back to the face the
ceiling. 

 He wondered how long Benny had to live, how long any of them had. Ray
contemplated his final view of Frank's face, lying on his Turkish carpet,
face bloodied, cut, battered. There were odd marks on his face, a couple
of perfect circles with a vertical line down the center. The coroner
concluded that it was a ring. The blows had been delivered to Frankie's
right cheekbone, cracking the zygoma, just below the eye.

 Ray just realized something. The man who killed Frank was left-handed.
Ray's heart began to race at the epiphany.

 That narrowed the list down significantly. Glancing at the sleeping
Benny, Ray gently climbed out of bed. He went into the study, and
impatiently waited for his laptop to power up. 

 Ray tapped into the CPD and FBI database, searching for all known living
associates of the late Frank Zuko.

 7:00 p.m.

 Ray had Doyle haul them into the station for handwriting samples, one by
one. It wasn't the handwriting they were after, but in which hand they
held the pen. There were three southpaws: "Smooth" Bobby Ruffino, Frances
"The Nose" Della Penna, and Petey "The Hammer" Ianucci.

 He and Doyle sat in Doyle's cubicle, examining the coroner's report,
diagrams and photographs, searching for insight. Doyle puzzled over a
marked up line-drawing of a human face, indicated the size and location of
every bruise and laceration of Frank's face.

 "The ring," Micky said. 

 "What about it?"

 Ray was tired, and irritable. He was missing dinner with Benny. His eyes
were grainy.

 "It's not a line, Ray. It's an `I'." 

 "Let me see that," Ray said, grabbing the diagram. Mort's assistant had
precisely copied the circular marks on Frank's face, perhaps not realizing
the significance. Like in the photographs, the vertical line distinctly
did not touch the circle that made up the ring's edge. It was an "I" all
right.

 Wednesday May 7 7:48 a.m.

 Petey Ianucci was cornered in an alley off Diversey, Ray in front of him,
and Micky behind him. He thought of making a break of it, but he couldn't
run so much these days. 

 "So I roughed him up a little," The Hammer said. "Is that a crime?"

 "Funny thing is, yeah, it is," Ray said.

 "Those wounds were fresh when half of Frank's head was blown away. You
gonna tell us it was just a coincidence that he had been beaten up right
about the same time?" Doyle said, incredulously.

 "You're going down for this one, Petey, murder 1," Ray snarled. Petey
made a break for it and Ray reached out to grab his collar, to halt him.
Before the action was completed, a shot rang out, echoing through the
narrow alley.

 Ray and Micky ducked, and Petey dropped with a thud. The two detectives
exchanged glances. The reverb died, and the alley was silent again. They
stayed low, both drawing their guns. By gestures, Ray indicated to Doyle
go toward the back of the alley. The shot had come from behind Micky.
Micky darted off.

 Ray glanced down at Petey, amazed neither he nor Micky had gotten shot
too. Lucky them. Ray then noticed the perfect hole in the back of Petey's
head, and rolled him over. A clean shot. Petey Ianucci was dead. Ray
called for backup.

 10:23 a.m. 

 The coroner's van had already driven off with its cargo, and the police
`caution' tape had been removed. Ray went back to his car, started it up,
and turned it in the direction of the station.

 He met his partner there. Doyle had already apprehended the man who fired
the shot after a short foot chase.

 Ray pushed his way into room one. And came to an abrupt halt when he saw
the assailant. Well, wasn't this a shocker but maybe it shouldn't have
been. It was old `whats his name". Richie Greco. Irene's ex-husband. 

 12:20 p.m.

 After two hours of hard questioning, Richie Greco had revealed that
Ianucci had double-crossed him on a couple of business deals. Richie was
out of a million plus. 

 Richie didn't know a thing about Petey beating up or killing Frankie, or
what his motivation might have been. And even if he did, he assured Ray he
wouldn't snitch anyway. He was on old school kind of a guy. His father
brought him up right.

 Richie had called his father down in Pensacola, and Charlie in turn had
called the family attorney, bail was posted, and he was free until his
trial.

 Ray and Doyle had come to a dead end with Ianucci dead. And nobody else
was talking. People hated Frank. Whoever took him out did everybody a
favor. The code of silence descended on Little Italy.

 friday june 29 3 p.m.

 Ray Vecchio stood over the fresh grave of Frank Zuko, pondering. So there
it was. Another lifetime come and gone. Ray thought of that old proverb
about reaping what you sowed.

 This morning, he had quietly closed the case file for the murder of Frank
Zuko. He sent the file to storage in County Cook Records. 

 With Frank out of the picture, Jimmy Roastbeef had taken over the
business dealings. And everybody knew Jimmy was just a thug and didn't
have the business acumen to keep things together. The West Side "empire"
would fizzle out within a matter of years.

 The Zuko family was straight at last.

 Brothers Orphan_Account and Matteo Zuko had come to power in 1931,
partnering up with The Purple Gang out of Detroit to bring the booze out
of Canada and to open dozens of speak-easies all over town. From there,
they had branched into book-making, prostitution and opium-trafficking.
Even so, they were known as gentlemen, respectful to women and gentle with
children. They always kept their word in business dealings, only resorting
to violence to enforce the rules, to keep the peace.

 But the world had changed greatly between 1931 and 1985, when Carl's son
Frank had taken over the family business. Frank was a bully, a coward, and
a double crosser. In a matter of years, Frank had also blown through of
millions of dollars. There wasn't much left for Ann-Marie and his other
children besides the house and furnishings. And what little was left,
Ann-Marie was determined to purge the family of the blood money. 

 Ann-Marie had moved into the house, her house now, and was looking after
the kids. As soon as the school year ended, the girls were being flown out
to Seattle to live with their mother. Ray had heard through Elaine
Besbriss-Franklin who heard through Angie Miller who heard from
Ann-Marie's aunt on her mother's side that Ann-Marie had joined with the
Italian Social Club to create a charitable trust fund for deserving and
impoverished kids in the neighborhood, to put things right.

 Standing there at Frank's grave, Ray cast his mind back over thirty
years, remembering.

 Frank was the cool guy in the class, quick-witted, funny, a flashy
dresser. The family was rich, and everybody knew why. To be considered a
friend of Frankie Zuko meant you were in the know, and that you were
somebody.

 Ray was one of the four or five guys that constantly orbited Frankie,
hoping to be declared His Best Friend. 

 He and Frankie often traded lunches, or hung out at each other's houses
after school doing (or not doing) homework. They used to sit at the back
of math of class and make smart remarks about the girls in class, their
burgeoning little breasts, or stare at Miss Romano's long legs emerging
from her polyester mini skirt, and bet which one was going to end up
marrying her.

 He and Frankie and the other guys used to stay after school on Fridays
and play basketball. They chose up sides and Marco Matroni ended up on
Frankie's team, and he kept screwing up. Marco couldn't play basketball
worth a damn. He didn't even care about basketball. All he cared about was
hanging out with the guys, and staying away from home as much as possible.
Marco hated being at home. He was afraid of his father, but nobody knew
exactly why. There were some things going on in the Matroni home that the
adults, and later the children whispered about in the dark, but never
spoke of during the day. Marco was someone that everyone pitied.

 Except for Frankie. Frankie lost it one day, furious at Marco because
they were losing an easy game by twenty points. Marco only laughed at
Frankie; he didn't care about winning or losing. And Frankie went nuts. He
punched Marco, who dropped like wet sand. Marco stayed down, and Frankie
pounded him, first with his fists, and then with the basketball while Paul
Francesco and Jackie Cirillo held him down.

 The rest of the guys were all so shocked that nobody moved, just kind of
stood there dumbly, each looking to the other to see if the other would
help. Nobody came to Marco's rescue. Ray remembered the look of terror on
Marco's face as they briefly made eye contact. Ray looked away.

 Frankie finally stopped after Marco passed out, his face a bloody pulp.
They left him there, all but Ray. After guys left, Ray ran down the halls
of West Side Jr. High, yelling for help. Mr. Masella, who was working late
grading papers, came out to see what the matter was. Ray told him what
happened, shaking like a leaf.

 And on Monday morning, Frank was suspended. Little Ray Vecchio and
Frankie Zuko became sworn enemies from that moment on.

 Marco Matroni always vowed revenge, but he never got any. Despite
everything, Marco didn't have a violent bone in his body. Ray and Marco
became friends. Marco never, ever held it against Ray that Ray didn't stop
Frankie. He understood. 

 Ray wondered where Marco was after all these years, and if he'd heard
about Frankie's murder. After Marco's father had died, the family had
buried him and moved out of state within a month of the funeral. Marco's
mother had moved back home and had taken his younger sisters back to
Staten Island to live with her parents. Marco didn't go with them. He was
out of high school, and got an apartment, working as a mechanic. He
drifted around from place to place for a few years before completely
disappearing. 

 Who knows? For all he knew, it was Marco that did the job on Frankie, Ray
mused. Who's to say he wasn't still in Chicago? It was a big city and
people disappeared in it all the time.

 Ray turned to go, saying good-bye to the Zuko's forever. He walked down
the short winding path lined with blooming azalea bushes. Under Ray's feet
crunched a fine crushed gravel that echoed throughout the nearly empty
cemetery. He jammed his hands into his pants pockets. 

 Ray moved to a wide brick path, the main entry way that lead to the
tree-lined, shady street.

 Near the entranceway waited a good-looking man in a red suit and a funny
hat, accompanied by a white dog with inquisitive eyes, tongue hanging from
her open mouth. The dog yipped. Ray smiled, left the memory of Frank Zuko
and Marco Matroni behind, and walked into the outstretched arms of his
lover.

 Finis

  
  

End B: Zuko by Dee Gilles 

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