Long holiday weekend, lots of time to write. This was originally a snippet, but I decided to finish it and flush it out more. Disclaimer and Notes: Panzer/Davis owns the Highlander characters; Alliance, the dueSouth ones. Rewritten for the crossovers100 challenge, prompt: #60: drink.

Somewhere in Between

By Raine Wynd

June 1997

1:25 A.M. Nick Wolfe checked his watch, and saw it was almost closing time, and the bar was down to the last twelve patrons. Two of the servers stood by separate tables, chatting companionably with a few of the regulars, and seemed to be in no hurry to close out the evening. Danger was a million miles away from here, and Nick exhaled in silent relief. Wryly, he admitted to himself that his captain had been right: he needed a vacation, and taking a week off after his latest case had turned into a federal nightmare had seemed like the perfect idea. He'd begun to see danger everywhere, and it wasn't a good place for a cop to be.

The case had been a serial killer, and it had crossed state lines before the killer had been caught. As the lead detective on the original case, he'd been asked to come to Florida to compare notes with the agent who'd cracked the case. Not that it really mattered; the gesture was more formality than procedure, and Nick's captain had seen it as a way to give Nick a vacation with pay, which had been preferable to a suspension. He'd been really hotheaded of late, and he wasn't precisely sure why. Lately, justice had seemed even more elusive and harder to catch, and he wanted.something he couldn't define, something to explain why.

Going for a drink this late hadn't been in his plans, but he'd been too restless to sleep, and the hotel room's bed was the stiffest thing short of a concrete floor on which he'd ever tried to sleep. The bar was sandwiched between the hotel and a bowling alley, and seemed to be themed as a neighborhood sports bar without the heavy-duty advertising. Nick took a seat at the hardwood bar and was immediately greeted by a lean young man whose skin tone made him blend into the shadows of the bar.

"What can I get for you tonight?" the bartender asked, sounding friendly but tired. "Kitchen's closed, but if you're hungry, I might be able to persuade Christy to make you a turkey sandwich."

Nick scanned the tap handles off to his left and saw a variety of brands. "Sam Adams Triple Bock," he said questioningly, seeing it as one of the choices. "What the hell is that?"

"One of the strongest beers in the world," the bartender answered. "We have 300 beers here, no hard liquor. I wouldn't recommend the Triple Bock unless you're hard core."

Nick waved off the offer, suspecting it wouldn't be the most pleasant tasting beer in the house. All things considered, he'd rather get drunk — or at least less sober— on something he knew. "I'll take the Heinken, thanks."

The bartender grinned and deftly began pouring the beer. "Smart man." He set the glass down in front of Nick just as another man stepped up to the bar. "Hey, wondered where you were, Mr. Vecchio."

Nick turned to see a balding, Italian-American man dressed in a florid Hawaiian shirt and tan slacks take the stool next to him.

"The alley doesn't close until 1:00, you know that, Mark," Mr. Vecchio chided the bartender, who was already pouring a cup of coffee for him.

"Yeah, but you're usually in here in fifteen minutes. Someone decide to bowl late?"

There was a pause, and then Vecchio answered carefully, "Something like that."

Mark nodded knowingly. "Those late-night bowlers aren't the best people around, Mr. Vecchio, if you know what I mean."

Vecchio smiled grimly and sipped his coffee. "Trust me, they know better than to mess with anyone around here. Wouldn't look too good for business."

Nick couldn't help but snort at the way Vecchio spoke. "If you don't mind me saying, how the hell do they know?"

Vecchio turned to him. "Tourist?" he asked.

"I'm leaving in two days."

"You a part of that police convention that came swooping down through here a few days ago?"

Nick nodded briefly, not too surprised at the guess. Vecchio was either a fellow cop or a criminal; either one would've picked him out as a cop. "I was the lead detective on the case."

"Where from?"

"Torago, South side. About an hour and a half north of Chicago."

"I know where it is; Chicago's my hometown." Now the smile was more genuine. "Used to be a detective with the CPD. Name's Ray, Ray Vecchio."

"Nick Wolfe," Nick introduced himself, shaking hands. Something Nick had read somewhere clicked into place. "Say, weren't you the one who had a Mountie for a partner?"

Vecchio chuckled ruefully. "Yeah, that was me."

"How'd you get here?"

"Long story," Vecchio replied. "Short version: I got shot, fell in love, got married, and moved here." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. "I own the bowling alley. There's a couple of gangsters who come in every Thursday night and bowl just before closing. I told them tonight I knew who they were, and they agreed to keep their business away from mine."

"Just like that?"

"My wife's an ADA here, and I still have a few favors owed me." Vecchio said it casually, but looking at him, Nick had no doubt now that he was speaking the truth. Easily, Vecchio switched subjects. "So what do you think of Florida?"

"It's hot, and definitely not Miami Vice."

Vecchio laughed, and saluted him with his coffee cup. "No, but we're not in Miami, either."

"Something tells me I ought to be grateful for that," Nick observed.

"You have no idea," Vecchio told him. "Miami's Little Cuba. Tampa's got its share of problems, but I'm just glad not to be cop in this city."

"Do you miss it?" Nick asked with interest. "I can't imagine not being a cop."

Ray chuckled. "Miss my lieutenant getting on my ass about the paperwork? No. I caught my golden bullet and I leaped at the chance to get out. In my neighborhood, you either grew up to be a cop or a gangster or you got the hell out. My old man walked out on us, so I stayed and became a cop. Why'd you become a cop?"

"I couldn't stand working in my father-in-law's law firm, helping the crooks win." Nick sipped his beer as the bartender topped off Ray's coffee.

Ray drank deeply before replying. "Did you keep the girl after that?"

Nick chuckled ruefully. "No, I didn't, but that wasn't the only reason the marriage failed. God, I haven't thought about Lauren in years." He shook his head as he calculated how long it had been since he'd seen his ex-wife. "Hell, I haven't dated anyone in a couple of months."

"Job'll do that to you," Ray agreed. He chuckled, remembering. "Then again, I had a Canadian for a partner; nobody looked at me twice when he was around."

"You guys cracked some big cases, if I remember the news," Nick commented. "Couple of terrorists, right?"

"Nutcases," Ray said. "A piece of free advice: always wear a bulletproof vest, as much weaponry as you can carry, and learn how to get yourself out of handcuffs without a key." Ray contemplated his glass before drinking. "I don't advise the latter because it hurts like hell, but trust me, there are some freaky, freaky situations out there. Also, if they ever offer to assign you to a Mountie named Benton Fraser, say no and tell them Ray Vecchio said it was in your best personal interest."

Nick laughed. "Oh, come on, it couldn't have been that bad."

"He never carried a gun. I had to stand there and watch one day while someone held one to his head and he stood there, trying to talk them out of using it on him. I tried getting him a special permit, but no, he wouldn't carry one."

Stunned, Nick looked at Ray. "You're serious."

Ray toasted him before drinking some more. "As a heart attack. I thought he was crazy, but damned if he proved he didn't need one more often than not." Ray shook his head. "You like your partner?"

"Yeah, she's pretty cool. She's been out on some special training the last few weeks, though. I can't wait until we're back together."

"Good luck," Ray said honestly. He glanced at his watch and then drained the remainder of his coffee. "Damn, my wife's gonna kill me for being late. Nice talking to you, Nick. Enjoy Florida, and if you're here tomorrow night, stop by the bowling alley, say hi."

"Sorry, but my flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. Thanks for the offer, though." Nick smiled easily. "One question before you go, if you don't mind me asking."

"What's that?"

"When you were a cop, did you ever feel like you weren't really serving justice, you were just a cog in the wheel and it didn't matter what you did?"

Ray chuckled quietly. "Yeah. Then I met a Mountie, and my solved cases rate went up. The answers matter, you know that, but you don't get the answers unless you ask the questions just right. That's the one thing Benny taught me. I used to just rush in and demand answers. He'd always do his homework, understand who we were talking to better than I ever did." Ray paused. "Good luck fighting crime, Detective Wolfe."

Ray turned and walked out of the bar, leaving Nick alone with his thoughts. For a moment, Nick wondered if he'd end up like Ray, in some city, far from his hometown, doing something completely different. He shook his head; he couldn't see it.

Not for me, he thought. But Ray did say something worth keeping. Huh. Wonder if I can get a hold of his old case files? Bet there'd be something interesting to learn from them. Nah, I've got my own caseload; Captain'll have my head if I don't keep up with that. Maybe I just need to get laid, put my work back into perspective. All work and no play makes for a restless me. Guess that means I'm hitting the clubs when I get back.

That decided, Nick finished his beer, paid for it, and headed back to his hotel, feeling more at peace than he had when he'd arrived.

Finis 7.3.06

Home | About Raine | Contact

This is a fan site, and all work here is produced without the intention of profit; all characters not my own are the copyright of their respective holders.