The Cop and The Mountie


Harding stalked out of his office and headed for the break room.  His mind was on the Frenelli case, and he really wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings.  It was a survival instinct.  If he looked busy, most people left him alone.  All except for Miss Vecchio, who had never really grasped the concept.  So it was a genuine surprise when a body blocked his path.

"Leftenant Welsh?" a cheery voice said somewhere above him.

Harding looked up into the simple face of Constable Turnbull.  He'd never really had much contact with the kid other than occasional glimpses here and there.  Usually, the guy was cowering behind Thatcher or making himself a nuisance.

"Constable Turnbull, what can the Chicago Police Department do for you today?" he asked moving around Mountie and stepping into the break room.

"Oh, um, I'm looking for Constable Fraser.  The Inspector requests his presence immediately and we had some trouble reaching Detective Vecchio on the telephone," Turnbull replied following after him obediently.

"Well, as you can see, neither the Constable nor Detective Vecchio is in at the moment.  Coffee?"

"No, thank you.  That's rather odd, because I'm sure that Constable Fraser said they'd be doing paperwork on their last case all day when Detective Vecchio picked him up."

"Eh, I've learned that the Mountie moves in mysterious ways.  Maybe they got a lead on one of their other cases.  I saw Ray write himself out on the board this morning.  I can only hope he's actually doing police work."

Turnbull looked troubled and played with the brim of his Stetson for a few moments.  Harding stared at him and waited.

"Spit it out Constable, I'm a busy man."

"Oh, it's just Constable Fraser usually calls in to let us know when he's going to be away from the station in case we need to get in touch with him."

"Maybe he forgot, or they were rushed.  Why don't you call Vecchio's cell phone if you're worried?" Harding said and headed back toward his office.

Turnbull clomped after him like an over enthusiastic Great Dane.  "But, sir, I already have.  That's why the Inspector sent me here in the first place."

Harding sighed.  It looked like he wasn't going to get rid of the guy until he turned up Kowalski or the Mountie.  He took a detour towards the detective's desk and glanced down at the mess.  He'd told Ray a hundred times to clean it up, and he was sure the few times that it had been clean Fraser had been the one to do it.  Not that it mattered much.  Fraser's efforts were usually in vain.  Kowalski had his own destructive sort of gravity that pulled useless paper and trash to him like a magnet.  Mixed in with the coffee cups, old case notes, and memos was a legal pad.  It was mostly on top of the other pieces, so Harding assumed it was more recent.  He picked it up and smirked at some of the crude doodles around the edges.  The top corner was devoted to a list of groceries and necessities most of which were in Ray's messy scrawl, but a couple of items had been added at the bottom of the list in a neat cursive.  Fraser's handwriting he guessed.  The center of the pad had an address and phone number and one name.  Harding groaned.

"What?  What is it?" Turnbull asked looking over his shoulder, which wasn't too difficult to do considering his height.

"Hardwick.  Eugene Hardwick."

"Who is Eugene Hardwick?"

"Somebody you don't want to know, kid.  Sometimes I think Vecchio is trying to give me an ulcer," Harding grumbled and reached for the phone on the desk.  He rang Ray's cell phone but it only rang three times before it kicked him over to voice mail.  "Damnit!"

Turnbull was slowly picking up on his distress.  "Sir, what's wrong?  Do you think Constable Fraser is in trouble?"

"He's Fraser, he's always in trouble."

Turnbull looked away in reverence and nodded.  "Yes, but he always manages to get himself out of it again."

There was longing in the kid's voice.  Harding cocked an eye at him.  Poor guy probably never got out of trouble once he got into it, not around Thatcher anyway.

"I'd better check out this address," he said finally and headed for his office.  He clipped his badge and gun onto his belt and halfway had his coat on before he realized Turnbull was waiting in the doorway.  "You go on back to the Consulate.  I'll let you know something."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly.  If a fellow Mountie is in danger, this is a Canadian matter.  With Constable Fraser out of the equation, technically I'm the acting liaison officer.  It's my duty."

"Kid, this is a mob thing.  It'd be better if I went this alone.  That's why I'm not sending black and whites to the address.  They get a whiff of a cop and they could do something nasty to Ray or Fraser, if they haven't already."

"I'm sorry, sir.  I’m going to have to put my foot down.  Also, I'm not all together unfamiliar with organized crime."

Harding sighed.  Time was of the essence and he didn't have any to waste on arguing.  "Okay, but you wait in the car."

"Understood, sir."

Harding pushed past him back into the bullpen.  

"Francesca!" he bellowed.

"Geez, I’m right here, you don't have to yell.  Hi, Turnbull."

"Miss Vecchio," Turnbull acknowledged with a blush.

Harding rolled his eyes. "If anyone calls for me, tell them I'm in a meeting."

"What kind of meeting?" she asked.

"The never you mind kind."

------------

Harding pulled his car across from the address Ray had written down.  It was strange to be out on the streets again.  He didn't get to leave his office much anymore.  Harding looked over at Turnbull posture perfect in his bright dress reds.  He suddenly got a flash of what Ray's days must be like.

"Are you going inside or are we just doing surveillance?"  Turnbull asked excitedly.

Harding fought back a sigh.  He was sure the kid had never been on a case before.  Just like him to get stuck with a rookie.

"We're just getting the lay of the land."  After a few moments, curiosity got the best of him.  "So that bit in my office.  Was that a line of bull or not?"

"What do you mean?"

"That bit about you being acting liaison officer."

Turnbull sighed.  "Well, technically it's true.  I'm Temporary Assistant Interim Associate Deputy Liaison Officer, so if the liaison officer isn't available, then I would fill the position."

"They just don't let you do anything."

"No, I'm afraid not."

Harding thought about what his days would be like if Fraser went back up North.  He tried not to let it show in his expression.  Turnbull distracted him in any case.

"Tell me about this Hardwick fellow."

"Eugene Hardwick isn't part of the big boys yet, but he's a climber.  Most of the mob bosses have their eye on him.  We have too.  So have the Feds for that matter.  He makes one misstep and we've got ourselves a war down here.  It's a delicate situation.  I should have known that Vecchio and the Mountie would have to blunder into it sooner or later."

"Ah."

"'Ah?'  What does that mean, 'ah?'?"

Turnbull looked startled.  "It just means ah."

Harding sighed.  Perhaps he had given Kowalski, and Vecchio before him, too hard a time.  Dealing with Canadians would drive anyone nuts.  As they watched the front of the building, a man came out and lit a cigarette.  Harding cursed again.  His day was going from bad to worse.

"What?" Turnbull asked.

"That's Mickey Wolenczak.  He's a cleaner."

"An admirable profession."

"Not that kind of cleaner."

As his meaning sunk in, Turnbull dimmed.  "Oh.  Oh, dear."

"I'd better check around back and see if there's anything."

Harding slipped out of the car and casually walked around the corner.  There was an alley that fed the buildings at the back.  He was half way down when he felt someone behind him.  Harding whirled with one hand on his gun.  His instincts from his days on the beat were obviously still intact.  Predictably, Turnbull was standing there with his hands raised.

"I thought I told you to stay in the car!" he hissed and prayed he wasn't having a heart attack.

"Oh, you didn't mention it again when you got out of the car.  Anyway, that's not important right now.  I saw Mr. Wolenczak going back inside.  I thought it best to warn you."

Harding wanted to yell, but that wouldn't be smart.  Plus, he couldn't really blame the kid.  He distinctly remembered giving his first partner headaches back when he was a rookie.

"Stay behind me, and for God's sake try to blend," he grumbled.  In unison they stared down at the red serge.  "Well, as much as you can."

The pair edged down the alley until they came near the back of the right building.  Harding reached behind him and pushed Turnbull closer to the wall.  They hid behind a dumpster.  There was some activity on the loading dock beyond.  Harding looked around the edge and was promptly knocked in the back of the head.  He reached up to rub the spot and turned to glare at the brim of Turnbull's Stetson.  The Mountie flushed and removed his hat before attempting to look again.

Two men were loading something into the back of a short-bed dump truck.  There was quite a bit of grumbling and manuvering before they could get the long plastic covered piece up under the truck's back flap.  Wolenczak came out and yelled at them before disappearing into the building once again.  The two men followed.

"Tell me that doesn't look suspicious," Harding whispered.

"It does indeed, but not enough to make an arrest.  We need to make sure that was what we think it was.  I certainly hope it's not..." Turnbull trailed off and looked distressed.

"Me either, kid.  You're going to have to check.  I can't cover the door and look too."  Harding pulled out his gun and checked it.  They moved out from behind the dumpster.  He stayed facing the door.  Behind him, he could hear Turnbull wrenching open the flap enough to look inside.  There was some grunting and just when he couldn't take the suspense any longer, Turnbull gasped.  Of course, this was at the same time as Wolenczak and his men stepped back outside.

Later, it would occur to Harding how easily the three of them dismissed the grizzled Chicago cop pointing a gun at them.

"It's the Mountie!" one of the goons yelled.  

The three pulled weapon and there was a fierce exchange of fire.  Harding unloaded his clip while moving backwards toward the truck for cover.  He felt a big hand pull him around the side with ease.  Turnbull was looking panicked and a little green.

"They've got us out numbered and out gunned.  How the hell do Kowalski and Fraser do this every day with only one piece between them?" he barked while reloading.

"Damned if I know!"  Turnbull barked back at him to his surprise.

"They're going to figure out to flank us any second and this clip is all I have left."

Turnbull looked up at the truck.  He opened the door and quickly clamored inside.  After a second, he jumped back out and yelled, "Get in!"

Harding did so and Turnbull was right behind him forcing him over to the passenger side.  He got a quick shocked look out the window at one equally shocked Wolenczak.  The hitman had been moving up the other side of the truck for that flanking maneuver.  Harding barely had time to duck before the window was blown out by a sawed off shot gun in the man's hands.  Harding heard Turnbull mutter a word he was sure the Mountie wouldn't have known much less say out loud.  The truck started up with a shudder.

"They left the keys in it?" he asked in surprise.  

Outside, he could hear Wolenczak screaming at the goons.  "You left the keys in it?"

The goon's reply was washed out as Turnbull gunned the engine.  They lurched out of the alley with the occasional ping of a bullet connecting with the metal frame.

"First time I've ever stolen a dump truck before," Harding said after he'd gotten his breath back.

Turnbull was having trouble finding all the gears, but he managed to shake his head in response.  "I wouldn't say stealing, seeing as how there's a dead body in the back.  I only managed to get one arm free of the plastic before we were discovered."

"And?"

"The arm was wearing a silver bracelet."

"Oh god, Kowalski you stubborn..."  Harding paused with a sigh.

"There might be some hope, sir.  They seemed to think I was Constable Fraser.  Surely that must mean he's alive and well?"

Harding nodded.  It was good to keep hopeful.  He directed Turnbull back to the 27th.  They received plenty of looks pulling a dump truck into the precinct's small parking lot.  He climbed out of the cab and yelled at Huey and Dewey who were just standing around with their mouths open.

"Go get Mort and tell him to get up here!"

There was a grating hydraulic noise and the bed began to tilt back.  It stopped almost as quickly as it started.  He looked at Turnbull who climbed down from the driver's seat.

"I thought it would easier without the tail flap in the way."

"Good thinking"  

They made their way around to the back.  Harding could see the body wrapped in black plastic.  A pale arm hung down off the tail of the truck thanks to the slight tilt.  He got as far as the silver bracelet, and looked away.

Mort joined them and clicked his tongue in disgust.  "Some people have to respect for the dead.  Does someone have a knife?  I'll cut this plastic off to be sent to forensics."

Turnbull pulled a large pocket knife out of his belt and handed to the man.  His face was as red as his coat.  Harding wondered how long it had been since he had cried.  Being a cop this long had taught him to keep it in.  Mort fussed over the body for a moment.

"Who is this, anyway?" the coroner asked absently.

"What do you mean?  It's..." Harding looked over the other man's shoulder and smiled.  "It's Eugene Hardwick.  Well, I'll be damned."

"What?" Turnbull said taking a look himself before cringing away.

"Who did you think it was?" Mort asked.

"I thought it was... Vecchio!" he yelled seeing a black hot rod pull into the lot behind the dump truck.

Ray stuck his head out of the window and yelled back.  "What's that thing doing blocking the whole lot.  What's going on?"

Harding marched over to the GTO and yanked the driver's door open.  He bent down and looked at a startled Kowalski then at Fraser.  The wolf peeked out between the seats.

"Where the hell have you been, detective?"

"Home.  Fraser was helping me move some stuff around the apartment.  I told Frannie I was taking a long lunch.  Did she not tell you?"

Harding looked at him and then over at Fraser who was looking a little flustered.  Something about Vecchio's story must not have been the complete truth.  The partners glanced at each other quickly, and Fraser became more flushed.  Turnbull all but ran over to the passenger side of the car and latched onto the other Mountie's arm through the window.

"Constable Fraser!  Thank the Lord you're safe!  You too Detective Vecchio."

"Turnbull, what are you doing here?" Fraser was asking as Harding stood up.  He looked at the crowd that had gathered to see what was going on.

"Francesca!"

"What?" the young woman said defensively and tried to hide behind Huey.

Harding looked back at Ray and asked, "Why weren't you answering your cell?"

"Oh, I must have left it in the car, sorry."

Again the partners exchanged glances.  Harding was starting to suspect that he really didn't want to know the truth.  Time to wrangle the circus back under control, he thought.

"Well, if you're done with your long lunch perhaps you could do a little police work for the city?  Huey!" he barked and the other Detective stepped forward.  "I want an APB out for Mickey Wolenczak.  I'll give you the last known address in a minute.  Francesca, I need all the files we got on Eugene Hardwick and the bosses that wouldn't mind getting rid of him.  Vecchio, if it's not too much trouble, I want you to take Turnbull through the mug books."  He looked at the rookie and continued.  "I want you to see if you can find Wolenczak's buddies."

Turnbull nodded.

"Fraser, see if you can help Mort." He turned back to the coroner.  "I want a preliminary ASAP.  You've got your jobs, people.  Get to them!  The rest of you, get back to work!"

Harding started to stalk back to his office but a voice calling his name made him pause.  Turnbull came running up grinning like an idiot.  The Mountie held out his hand.

"Leftenant, it was a pleasure working with you.  Thank you."

"Don't mention it, kid.  You did some quick thinking back there with the truck and all.  If you ever want to do some liaising with Fraser, just let me know."

The guy's chest swelled so much, Harding was starting to wonder if his gold buttons would pop right off.

"Yes, sir!"

Harding headed back to his office sure of one thing.  He was way too old for this shit.


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