This story is slash, containing characters who (sadly) do not belong to me
and both happen to be men who want to have sex with each other. I'm not
writing this for any gain other than my own personal amusement. Rating - R
for language, violence, and a touch of groping. Maybe just a good, stiff
PG-13, but better to err on the side of caution. 

 

What follows is the twelfth installment in the "One Ray, Two Ray, Old Ray,
New Ray" (with all due deference to Dr. Suess) which will have something
in it to please or offend everyone, including Fraser/Kowalski pairings,
Fraser/Vecchio, and even Vecchio/Kowalski. You have been warned.  

Special thanks to all those on Serge who helped me out with Vecchio's
mafia pedigree! 

 

This story begins just prior to the episode "A Likely Story." All previous
stories archived at http://members.tripod.com/wtnsslist. Permission
granted to archive at that sight, as well as any and all other Due South
archives. 

 

any comments, suggestions, or complaints can be sent to me at
magik@socketis.net  "Reflections 2: Lust and Loneliness"  Barbara J. Webb 


From beside a campfire in a park, sunset: 

 I don't know if he's coming. I invited him, but that doesn't seem to mean
as much anymore as it used to. Ever since.... 

 My fault. I know it's all my fault. He loved me, trusted me, and I
betrayed that. Because I was afraid - am afraid. I was afraid to let him
love me, afraid to let myself love him. Stupid. 

 Love. A word so full of meaning, and so often used it can become
meaningless. I loved my father and my mother and my grandparents.
Victoria, Ray - love again, but different. And now Ray. Very different.  

 I thought - wrongly, perhaps - one person, one love. If I loved Ray, then
I couldn't really have loved Victoria. If I love Ray Kowalski, then I
cannot love Ray Vecchio. But I do love Ray Vecchio. Different. Still love.


 I miss you, Ray. I've made this mistake because I believed love was
finite, locked, inflexible.  

 Like me. 

 Ray 

 Ray 

 Ray 

 My fault. When you come home, you'll say it's my fault. You'll call me an
idiot and laugh, and you'll be right. And then I'll laugh and things will
be okay again. 

 But you're not here, and I have to fix this, have to make things right
between Ray and I again.   

From the edge of the park, sunset: 

 Who goes camping in a park? Fraser, of course. Fraser camps in the park
and throws his gun and talks to his wolf and - wino on the sidewalk -
where *is* he? How hard can it be to find a Mountie in the park? 

 Why am I doing this? Why am I kicking junkies out of my way to spend a
chilly night in the park without running water or lightbulbs - 'less
Fraser has a flashlight. Then there'd be a lightbulb, just one.  

 Cause he asked me. Cause Fraser asks and I do and I can't stop and don't
think I want to. Cause I still love him and can't help it. Even if he
doesn't. 

 I screwed up. I told him. Shouldn't have. Screwed it all up. Now I know
better. I just sit here and go camping with him and follow him and smile
and be his friend, and that has to be enough, even though it isn't and
even though I try to forget him and I need to find something that will
help me not think about him - someone - but I spend my nights crawling
through the Chicago underbrush because he asks me. 

 My fault. I shouldn't've said that. Got what was coming to me. He told me
from the start he loved Vecchio and that was that. I shoulda listened. My
fault. An I can't stop from feeling this way. 

 I love Fraser. I love Fraser. I love Fraser.  

  

From an office on the top floor of a Vegas Casino, 9:33 PM, PST: 

 This is the quiet time of the night. Downstairs, the casino is at full
tilt, but up here in the business part of the hotel, everything has slowed
down. The mafia likes to keep business hours as much as anyone does. Not
always possible, true, but preferable. 

 This is the worst time. When I'm by myself. Around other people, it's
easy to be Armando, to not think about things. Alone, I can remember Ray
Vecchio, and more importantly, the people Ray Vecchio used to spend his
evenings with - Ma, Frannie, Huey, Elaine.... 

 Benny. 

 I miss them all. Sometimes, I wonder if I'll ever get to see them again.
It's a dangerous world here, and I'm in an even more dangerous position.
How long can I keep this up?  

 As long as I have to. What choice do I have? And every day it gets a
little easier - every day Armando Langoustini feels a bit more at home and
Ray Vecchio seems a bit more like a dream. Undercover work - screws with
the head.  

 Benny. When I see you again, will I be the man you remember, or someone
else?  

 Undercover work is a lonely business. I miss you, my friend, my partner -
my love. I shoulda told you, Benny. Now, who knows? I may never get the
chance. Shoulda told you. My fault. 

 I just hope I haven't missed my chance.  

 Ray shut down his computer, clicked off the light, snapped the lid of his
briefcase closed, and was almost to the door when the phone rang. He
considered ignoring it, but anyone calling him at this hour was probably
important. "Langoustini." 

 "Armando, could you come down here, please?" 

 "Sure, Sal." When the youngest son of the head of the Iguana family
called you, you did whatever he asked. As much as Ray personally hated the
imperious little shit, Armando had liked him. So Ray held his temper in
check, and Armando smiled and made nice. 

 The suite of rooms Sal used for entertaining when he was in town was only
two levels down from the floor on which Langoustini's office sat. Ray took
the stairs rather than the elevator, needing the time to settle back into
character. This part of the evening was always bad, always dangerous, the
time when he was by himself and felt the most 'Ray.' 

 He opened the door without knocking - a boldness that people expected
from 'The Bookman,' which Ray never felt reflected in the core of himself.
Armando lived dangerously, boldly pushing his way through the capricious
good will of the mafia world. Sooner or later, someone was going to take
issue with Langoustini's brashness, his arrogance, and this person would
take it all out on Ray Vecchio. All he could hope for was that
Langoustini's reputation for cold practicality and inhesitant cruelty
would be enough to sustain him till the end of this job. 

 "What'cha need?" The grin to Sal was automatic. Ray didn't even permit
himself to think about what he'd really like to do to the young Iguana,
recently responsible personally for the death of three young men who'd had
the misfortune to beat him at poker. Rule number one of undercover work,
you couldn't even think like yourself.	

 The mafia prince was lounged on one of the thick-cushioned chairs, a
voluptuous blonde draped across his lap. "Armando, you remember Candi,
right?" 

 "Sure, Sal. Sure. Why'd you get me down here?" 

 "It's the fucking Deluka family. They're doing something up in Chicago,
and I want to know what." He pushed Candi off his lap; she pouted, but
didn't object out loud. Life as a moll. "They got Nervous Nellie on a
plane up there." 

 "The hit man? What for?" 

 "I dunno. That's what I'm sending you up there to find out." 

 Ray was going to Chicago. Sal Iguana was sending Ray back to Chicago. He
didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Sure Sal, sure." Chicago. Benny.
"I'll leave tomorrow." 

 "Good deal. Knew I could count on you, Armando." And Ray was dismissed -
back to his room so he could beat his head against the wall. * * * * * 

 Fraser poked at the fire, stirring the embers up a bit more as Ray
finished his spaghetti. Diefenbaker sat hopefully at Ray's feet, snapping
up escaped noodles before they hit the ground. "You didn't do anything
wrong, Ray." 

 "I did everything wrong, Fraser. I didn't trust her, an I didn't trust
me."  

 "You're a police officer; she was a suspect. It's your job to be
suspicious of her - by definition."  

 They sat quietly, listening to the popping and hissing of the flames.
Laying his head between his paws, Dief whined softly, sensitive to the
tension between his two humans. Absently, Ray reached down to scratch his
head. "I loved her, Fraser." 

 "Of course."  

 Ray looked up at the flat tone of Fraser's voice. "What, don't you
believe me?" 

 "I would never accuse you of lying, Ray." 

 "But you still don't believe me." 

 Fraser spoke carefully, measuring his words. "It's simply that I've
noticed you have a tendency to overdramatize your emotional responses."  

 "In English, Fraser." 

 "You fall *in love* quite often, Ray."  

 That killed the conversation. Once again, there were only the sounds of
the fire and the muted noises of Chicago breaking the stillness of the
night.	* * * * * 

 "Vino!" 

 "Armando!" Ray whuffed as the large Italian man caught him in a
bone-crushing embrace. Both cheeks were kissed by the Mafia Don before he
was released. "So good to see you here. Please, sit down." 

 "Good to be here." Ray took the offered seat in Vino Deluka's living
room. "How ya been, Vino?" 

 The Don kicked his feet up onto a hassock, took a sip from the Scotch
glass balanced precariously on the arm of his chair. "It's been good here,
very good. And how is Las Vegas? How is the family?" 

 "Just fine. Thanks." 

 "Would you care for a drink, Armando?" 

 "Sure, Vino. Thanks. The usual." 

 Vino gestured to his bodyguard, the only other person in the room with
them. "Jimmy, a bourbon straight for the Bookman, and don't hurry back
with it." 

 "Yes, Mr. Deluka." Ray watched the mook leave the room, leaned back in
his own chair, looking much more casual than he felt.  

 "So tell me, Armando, what brings you to Chicago?" Vino's smile had not
grown a whit less friendly, but there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere
of the room. This was business, and a dangerous one. Sal had sent Ray to
interfere in the business of another family, and while the Iguana and
Deluka families were currently tenuous allies, this was still a delicate
affair. 

 But Armando was smooth and Ray smoother; the grin he gave Vino held not a
hint of nervousness. "Just visiting friends, Vino. Been a while since I've
seen you." 

 "I see. So this has nothing to do with Franco Tucci, then?" 

 "Franco Tucci? Who's that?"  

 Vino shrugged, waving his hand dismissively. "Small fish. Got to be a
problem a couple years back and we had him iced. No big deal. Thought
maybe Sal had a beef with him as well." 

 "If he's several years in the ground, why would Sal be worried about
him?"  

 "Some schlub wearing his name showed up last week. Nervous Nellie came
all the way up here, but it turned out to be a false alarm." 

 "That's good. Hate to think Nellie failed you."  

 Vino laughed. "Not that time, he didn't."  

 "Glad to hear it. Jimmy! Where's Mr. Langoustini's drink?" 

 "Right here, Mr. Deluka." Jimmy came back into the room and handed Ray
the Bourbon. He sipped at it, wishing once again that Armando's tastes had
run a bit closer to his own.  

 Vino stood up. "I apologize, but I have things to see to." 

 "I understand." Ray also got to his feet. Etiquette. "Thanks for seeing
me, Vino." 

 "Tell you what, Armando, why don't you come over here for dinner tomorrow
night? We can sit and chat, catch up on the gossip."  

 Ray knew this was not the sort of invitation that could be turned down.
"Sure, Vino. Tomorrow night." Another day in Chicago. * * * * * 

 "What's he so nervous about?" Ray flipped his head towards the holding
cell where Nervous Nellie was huddled in a corner. 

 Detective Dewey looked over from his desk, where he'd been trying to hit
the trash can with balls of paper. "Just made a deal with the State's
Attorney. He's gonna be turning State's Evidence, and doesn't get to go
into witness protection until after the trial. Marshals'll be by once
charges are leveled, but until then, it's all on us. Mountie's standing
guard right now."  

 "Thanks, Tom." Ray tossed his jacket over his chair and went back into
the holding area. Fraser was indeed there, standing at attention in front
of the occupied cell. "Hey, Frase." 

 "Good morning, Ray." A simple exchange, fill of nothing but simple
friendliness from the Mountie. Ray had been afraid that there might be
some lingering traces of Fraser being pissy after the Luanne Russel thing.
 

 Ray leaned in against the bars, waved and grinned at the hit man. "How's
it goin' this morning, Nellie?" 

 "They're gonna kill me; they're gonna kill me; they're gonna kill me." 

 "Glad to see you're makin him feel safe and protected, Fraser." He
clapped the Mountie on the shoulder. "Why don't you let the boys in blue
do their jobs and get out of here with me?" 

 Fraser shrugged, cracked his neck. "I would feel more comfortable looking
after him myself; it is rather my fault he's in this predicament." 

 "Fraser, he's in this predicament because he's a hit man for the Mafia.
Don't get all guilty on me for stupid reasons. Come on. I wanna talk to
you." 

 "About what?"	

 "Not here. C'mon." 

 Fraser shook his head. "I should stay here, Ray. Later we can talk." 

 Duty first. Always with Fraser, it was duty first. "Fine. You just be
that way." Ray kicked the door on his way out. * * * * * 

 Dinner with Vino went better than Ray had feared it would. With polished
deftness, Ray had navigated the double-minefield of being Ray Vecchio in a
room full of mobsters and being Armando Langoustini in a room full of
mobsters belonging to the Deluka family. Ray even felt relaxed enough
about it to retire to the library after dinner and join them for cigars
and brandy.  

 The FBI's little gold mine, welcome behind doors they could never open,
the dear friend of men they could never touch. More than an informant, Ray
was their window into a house they could never really hope to bulldoze, no
matter how many names, places, and numbers Ray gave them. And in the
meanwhile, Armando Langoustini was taking up residence inside Ray,
dragging him further and further into this world - this world, this world
his father wanted so much to be a part of; this world he'd fought all his
life to stay above; this world he now moved in with all the ease and grace
of one born to it.  

 "So, Vino, what are we going to do about Nervous Nellie?" 

 "Please, Micky, we got company here."	

 "I know, but Armando's family, and we got us a problem. What if he starts
talking to the feds?" 

 "He's not gonna do that, Lennie. Don't worry about it." 

 "I dunno, Gino, I heard he already said stuff to that Mountie." 

 That word grabbed Ray's attention, and only years of practice at staying
in character kept him from jumping. "Mountie?" He tossed out with a
casualness that astounded him. 

 "You wouldn't believe this guy, Armando. Damn Canadian guy poking his
nose in where it's not wanted. He's taken personal responsibility for
Nellie's health." Mickey pounded his fist on the end table beside his
chair. "Dammit, Vino, he prob'bly already knows stuff; we gotta do
something about him. After that business with Zukko-" 

 "Shut up, Mickey."  

 Ray was clenching the shelf in front of him, and he willed himself to
relax enough that his knuckles wouldn't be visibly white. "You want me to
leave, Vino, so you guys can talk?" 

 "Armando, you're my guest. You stay. Mickey, you let me worry about
Nervous Nellie, and the Mountie."  

 The Mountie. Fraser. His Mountie. "The Mountie got Nellie, Vino?" 

 "Yeah, Armando. Cops caught him when he was trying to kill off that damn
Tucci imposter. It's a pain, but what can you do?" 

 "We should kill 'em both, is what we should do." 

 "Don't be stupid, Len. Killing cops - it's a bad business, and usually
more trouble than it's worth." Ray's voice was silk over steel, without a
hint of a tremble to betray the pounding beats of panic coursing through
him. "Besides. It's just sloppy." 

 Vino nodded. "Listen to Armando. Killing a cop; that's not something you
do on a whim. And this is hardly an appropriate conversational topic for
after dinner. Save it for business hours, capisce?"  

 "Sure, Vino, sure." 

 "So, Armando," Mickey refilled Ray's glass, "You rushing back to Las
Vegas?" 

 Under no circumstances was Ray going to leave Chicago with Benny in
danger. "Naw, Sal doesn't need me back immediately. I may just stay and
see what there is to see in Chicago."  * * * * * 

 "Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray." 

 Ray's head jerked up from the cot. "What?" 

 "You should go home. It's late."  

 Rubbing his eyes, Ray sat up. He'd fallen asleep in the empty holding
cell; Fraser was still wide awake, leaning against the wall outside
Nellie's cage. "You're still here, and you're my partner, so I'm gonna
stay." Fraser got up and came into the cell with Ray, sitting on the edge
of his cot. Ray flipped over on his back, looking up at the Mountie. "I
don't wanna leave you in here all by yourself." 

 "I'm fine." 

 "I'm still not going anywhere." 

 Fraser wanted to reach out and smooth down the hair made even more random
by sleep. It was so difficult, in these moments of intimacy with Ray, to
remember that they weren't sleeping together anymore. Then Ray smiled,
that sweet, beautiful grin that made his eyes sparkle. "Why don't you get
some sleep, Frase, and I'll watch the guy for a while." 

 "No, Ray, I couldn't ask you to do that." 

 "You didn't ask; I offered. You could use the sleep." There was still a
tension in Ray, a nervous energy behind his easy smile. Fraser knew him so
well, could read every twitch and eye-flicker.	

 "If you insist." Ray sat up, giving Fraser room to lie down, but he
didn't get up from the cot. Fraser stretched out, finding a comfortable
position on the lumpy mattress.  

 And still, the detective didn't leave. "Hey, Fraser?" 

 "Yes, Ray?" 

 "Can I ask you something?" 

 "Of course." A less sensitive man than Fraser might have attributed Ray's
twitchiness to his natural state of energized fidgeting, but Fraser could
tell Ray had something on his mind, and despite his resolve to find a way
to bridge the distance that had come between them, Fraser found himself
afraid. This man - this beautiful, flaky, fearless bundle of energy had a
talent for squirming his way past Fraser's every boundary and wall that
kept him safe from the world.  

 Intimacy was one of the few things that frightened Fraser; too much
closeness was dangerous with anyone, and too much too soon had already
damaged much between them. But that had been Fraser's fault, Fraser's
fear, and he wasn't going to let that happen again. 

 "What did you mean - you said - the other night, something. I don't know.
Never mind." Ray stood up, about to leave, but Fraser caught at his wrist.


 "Ray, please wait a moment." Everything that was wrong between them -
simmering beneath the surface, keeping the usually effusive Ray from being
able to talk to him - it was all Fraser's fault, because he couldn't -
wouldn't talk to Ray. "I want to hear what you were going to ask." 

 Ducking his head, Ray pulled his hand away from Fraser's, but he didn't
leave. "S'not important, really." 

 "It *is* important to me. Very important. You once told me 'partners
means sharing,' and I feel as though I haven't been discharging my duty in
that sphere. But one of the requisites of sharing, as I've been given to
understand it, is listening, and, if you could find this approach
satisfactory, I would like to take my turn at listening before I am given
my turn to speak." Ray's eyes were glassing over. "Please, Ray, I would
simply like to hear what you had to say." 

 "What you said-" Ray wouldn't meet Fraser's gaze - "What you said about
me falling in love a lot. You didn't sound like, well, uh, like you really
thought...um...like you didn't believe it." 

 This was all too much for Fraser. Ray was in pain, pain that he had
caused. For weeks, Fraser had watched, hoped it would go away, without
Fraser having to take that dangerous step of letting Ray even further into
his soul. But the pain hadn't really left, as much as Ray had tried to
hide it, and Fraser couldn't stand to see it there. He took a hold of
Ray's waist and pulled. Caught of balance, the detective fell on top of
Fraser, his face right above the Mountie's, one hand on Fraser's chest,
the other on the cot beside Fraser's ear. Before Ray had a chance to
object, Fraser caught his mouth in a searching kiss. 

 Remarkably subdued, Ray melted against Fraser, letting the Mountie wrap
his arms around him and surrendering to the kiss. "Fraser," he moaned. 

 "Ray, I'm not satisfied with the way things have become between us." The
words weren't quite as hard to get out as Fraser had expected, but still
more difficult than, say, cutting a bullet out of his own flesh. 

 "Fraser, I'm sorry I know it's my fault and I-" 

 "Ray." 

 "I never mean to-" 

 "Ray." 

 "To make you upset and I-" 

 "Ray." 

 "I wish I'd never-" 

 "Ray!" 

 "What?" 

 Fraser pressed his lips against Ray's forehead, lightly brushed them over
Ray's eyelids. "It's not your fault." 

 "Yes it is, Fraser, it is it is it-" 

 "Ray, please let me finish." 

 Kowalski fell silent, buying his face against the stiff red wool covering
Fraser's shoulder. Stroking his hair absently, Fraser reached for the
words he needed to say. "I thought...I thought, wrongly, that for every
person in the world, there was only one love. I believed if it were true
that I loved-" 

 "Don't say it, Fraser." 

 The defeat in Ray's voice wrenched at Fraser. He tightened his arms
around the detective, dropped a kiss on the spiky hair. "What I'm saying
is that I understand you can feel this way about more than one person,
that the way I feel about him has no bearing on the way I feel about you."


 "I still don't get-" 

 "Please, Ray. I was concerned when you...expressed your feelings for me,
and, for similar reasons, when you expressed your feelings for Ms. Russel,
because you have a tendency to decide - will a fair amount of alacrity -
that you have fallen in love with someone. This, in combination with my
afore-mentioned concerns about my pre-existing feelings towards other
parties, gave me some amount of pause, which I fear led to the distance
you were complaining about in the submersible." 

 "Could you just kiss me again?" 

 "Fair enough." * * * * * 

 Ray blinked as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight on the roof of
the building. As the door to the stairs down swung shut behind him, the
noise startled Mickey, who swung the rifle around to point at him.
"Armando?" He relaxed as he recognized Ray. "What are you doing up here?" 

 "Vino told me he put the hit out on Nellie, plus the Mountie and
Vecchio." Ray leaned down low as he moved over closer to Mickey. The
building who's rooftop they were on was within sight range of the
two-seven, and Ray didn't want to be noticed.  

 "Yeah, sure. He said they were too much a liability. Nellie 'specially,
but long as I was up here, might as well pick off the other two. They've
been such a pain an' all." 

 "Sure." Ray smiled - a friendly, relaxing smile.  

 Mickey went back to adjusting the sight on his rifle. "You sure gave me a
scare, coming up behind-" 

 The hit man didn't see the gun drawn smoothly from Ray's shoulder
holster, didn't hear the silenced shot. He only convulsed as the bullet
went through the back of his neck, causing an explosion of blood as it
came out the other side. One down. 

 But this wouldn't be over as long as Nellie was still alive, still under
Fraser's charge. Vino would simply try again, send someone else, and Ray
might not be able to stop that one from going down. Which left only one
alternative. 

 Ray pushed Mickey's body away from the gun, set himself up carefully. It
was difficult getting the sight just right with gloves on, but he didn't
want to leave any prints. By the time Nellie and his escort came out, Ray
was ready. A single shot to the head, and Ray was back in the stairwell
before the chaos even truly erupted below. The gun he'd used to kill
Mickey was ditched in the lake within the hour, and he was on a plane back
to Las Vegas within two. As simple as that. 

 But nothing would ever be the same.  

From the right side of the bed in Ray Kowalski's apartment, 11:46 pm: 

 He's asleep. I'm glad he's finally asleep. Been a hell of a day, and I
wasn't sure he was gonna fall asleep. Me neither. Never seen a guy shot
like that, right in front of me, out of the blue rat-a-tat-tat and no more
mob guy. Just like that. Coulda been Fraser; coulda been me.  

 Dunno what happened. Still don't. Don't understand this whole thing.
First Tucci, and now this. Weird fucking world, and I don't understand. 

 But he's so warm next to me. Fraid to move, or I'll wake him up. Fraid to
close my eyes, or I might see it happening again.  

 Still don't know if we're together again or not. Think so. I think we
talked last night, maybe. Maybe not. Know we fucked; I remember that.
Probably a bad idea, in the station and all, but can't change what
happened. 

 Right in front of me. Jesus Christ. 

 Fraser's here with me and I'm here with Fraser and I hope that's enough.
It's gotta be enough.	

From the left side of the bed in Ray Kowalksi's apartment, 23:47 pm: 

 He's asleep, finally calmed down. His back moves against my chest in a
constant rhythm; his heart has finally slowed down to something
approaching a normal rate.  

 Nellie's death, so sudden, so unexpected. I should have expected it,
should have been prepared.  

 Ray, my beautiful Ray, how you were shaking under my hands when we got
back here, refusing to admit just how rattled you were. That's all right.
I understand - I understand you. Partners. There's so much I still need to
say, but not now. When this has faded, perhaps. Not now. 

 We're together, right now, and that's enough. You're sleeping in my arms,
and I'm happy to have you there. Together. Partners. My Ray.  

From a seat in first class, cruising altitude over Iowa, 12:07 am CST: 

 I shot a guy. Two guys. Just like that. Because I had to. Because one was
going to shoot Fraser and Ray, and because the other was going to get them
shot. Excuses, Vecchio, only excuses. Still shot two guys. Bang. You're
dead. Bang. You're dead. 

 Still one of the good guys. Sure. Still on the side of truth, justice,
and the American way. Right. Just gotta keep telling myself that.  

 Benny, if you knew... 

 You'd never approve. Ever. You would have found a different solution. Me,
I've been immersed in this world too long, thinking like them, playing
their games. It was the only thing I could think of. I'm sorry. 

 And Ray, Raymond, my pretty blonde doppleganger. In way over your head,
kid. The look on your face when his blood spattered on you. I'm sorry. So
sorry.	

 I can't go back. No matter what happens, a line was crossed today that I
can't ever get back over. I'm sorry, Benny. I failed you. Failed you big
time. As soon as you look at me, you'll probably see it, the darkness. I
broke something I'm not sure I can fix.  

 Two guys dead. My fault. Shot in cold blood. My hand.	

 I am not going to break down on this fucking airplane.  

 I miss you so much. I wish I could talk to you; glad I can't. What could
you say? What could I say.  

 Two dead. Just another hit man for the mafia; that's me. No better than
Zukko, no better than my pop, no better than all the guy's I've arrested.
Two men dead. 

 I'm sorry, Benny. Sorry.