Queer challenge, by joandarck
Pairing: RayK/Fraser
Length: 2725 words
Rating: G-PG
Warnings: cliche (undercover in a gay bar), no sex, no angst, no nutritional content whatsoever.
Making the Scene
"Here we go, Fourth and Hayes. Least I think that's what Huey said. But yeah, there's the bar. Now this is going to be delicate, undercover-type stuff, so just keep your mouth shut and follow my lead."
"Right you are." Fraser nodded brightly, still well-scrubbed but looking less like a band leader than usual in his worn fisherman's sweater.
Ray sort of wished he'd turned up in the uniform instead. Yeah, he'd told Frase to come incognito, but, uh, um. Damn. He looked really good that way.
"What's the plan?"
"We go into this bar, where the scumball, sorry, alleged scumball, has a contact. We hang out, have a few drinks, make nice with the locals. It's a, uh-" he looked at Fraser out of the corner of his eye, hesitated, and went on. "Yeah. Just don't make too nice. Then you see your chance, ask if they've seen him." He stopped again and smacked his fingers into the broad chest beside him, making the point. "Don't just whip out the photo. They'll smell a rat. Pretend he's a friend of yours. Got it?"
"Be casual, be discreet, give the impression of being the friend of a man whose activities include small-time racketeering and pornographic films."
"Right."
"No problem, Ray." Fraser tapped his forehead and looked alert. "Method acting."
"Uh. Yeah." The neon sign loomed ahead.
"One other thing though. This is a, uh, a gay bar. They have those up north?"
Fraser made an interested sort of high hrming noise, before saying, "Drinking establishments for a primarily homosexual clientele. Certainly. Not, granted, in the less urban areas, as there isn't the population density to support any sort of special interest venue. Although there was one attempt to open up part of the Senior Center in Moose Jaw as a gay-friendly dance hall on alternate Saturday nights. I'm afraid there were arguments about the music." He shook his head. "Didn't end well."
"Don't wanna to hear about it."
"I was called in to contain a very ugly - well, let's just say you'd never look at bingo cards the same way again."
"Do not want to hear about it, Fraser. Just keep your trap shut and try to blend in. All right?"
"You got it."
Oh I am going to hate this so much, Ray thought, and pushed open the swinging door.
The Top Shelf was hopping with an early crowd; busy, but not a big scene. Ordering wasn't too bad. Sure, it was embarrassing, and if he still cared about being cool the way he did in high school he'd have died on the spot, RIP one S. Ray Kowalski, but now it was okay - now he just leaned against the counter and smirked, like yeah, my friend's a freak, but he's hot, right? You know you gotta gimme that.
And the bartender didn't disagree, even when Fraser ordered a Singapore Sling "without the gin. Yes. And without the brandy. Also, without the Cointreau. And if you would just leave out the smidge of Benedictine as well. Thank you kindly."
"So... you want... fruit juice?"
"And soda water. Oh, Ray, er..."
Ray rolled his eyes and tipped for both of them.
Uh-huh. But, really, he'd have been a lot more freaked out if Fraser'd ordered a neat whiskey. Fraser in a dive bar like he knew what he was doing - Fraser on a bad night, a dark night - looking for trouble - uh-uh, no way, they'd been in this place five minutes tops and already it was sending his brain straight to do-not-go-there land, and the rest of him going with it. Ray spun to put his back to the bar and leaned on his elbows, watching the crowd.
These places got him on edge, just admit that to himself here. He'd only been in a couple briefly, for cases, because, well, he looked at the guys - not much, but he was curious, he had to - and then they looked back at him, some of them, and then suddenly it was like every guy he'd ever known was looking at him at once, and also his dad, and his dead, stern grandfather in the silver-framed photo and that jerk Kenny Majusiak who used to beat him up after track. A lot like one of those dreams where you're naked in public, not a lot like fun, even with drinks. But this was the job, he could do this.
"Ah! Excellent." Fraser turned to get the view as well, smacking his lips. "So, now what?"
Fraser was on his best behavior tonight, probably to make up for that thing last week where he shoved Ray down face first under the diner table and got gum stuck on his leather jacket, all because ("Well, she was armed, Ray") some off-duty security guard decided to come in for a slice of pie and took too long digging out her wallet.
"Now, we play it cool for a while and try and get in with the locals. Don't make too much eye contact, but some, you know? Kind of sideways. Casual. Look cool, but not mean, don't start nothin'. Maybe after a couple drinks we'll try and get a game of pool. Lotta guys warm up after you kick their ass at pool." He squirmed his head around and added just in case, "Or, uh, maybe you let them win. You know. Diplomacy. You get what I'm saying though. Then once we establish rapport, we can buy a few beers, get a conversation going, try and loosen some lips. Fraser? Fraser?"
"About three years, give or take a few months. I used to have an apartment on West Racine, very interesting neighborhood, but it was burned down by - well, that's not important."
The two clean-shaven guys with shot glasses who'd made themselves at home on the other side of Fraser looked fascinated. "You mean the West Racine? I'd be surprised if your place hadn't gotten burned down," one said, and the other one giggled like a schoolgirl.
Ray grabbed his own drink and added himself to the picture. "You want to introduce me, Fraser?"
"Oh! I beg your pardon. Yes. I'd like you to meet my new friends, Tim and Sean." Fraser indicated the young one in the button-down, then the younger one in the Patriots t-shirt. They nodded at him, no threat signs, no shifty eyes. Fraser put an arm on Ray's shoulders and pulled him around to close the circle. "Gentlemen - Tim, Sean, this is Ray. My lover."
It all nearly ended right there, as his fifth of Jack tried to exit back out through his nose and windpipe at the same time. Not as close to death as he'd come that one other time, but pretty close, and hey, Abba was playing here too. Fraser held onto his shoulder and squeezed a few times as he choked and wiped his eyes and tried not to push violently away. When he'd said 'blend in'....
"Rough, man. Want some napkins?"
Fraser kept squeezing and talking over his head. "Oh dear. He's - ah, thank you - here - no? - not feeling too well. One of his colleagues, a Jack Huey, has what is very probably a contagious cold, and I'm afraid Ray isn't getting enough fluids. I've been telling him he should stay home and have some soup-"
All true or not, Ray had to shove him away by then. "No soup! No soup," he said clearly and dangerously. "I do not want soup, I am not a soup kind of guy, you get me?"
Fraser lowered his arm. "If you say so, Ray."
The two, you know, guys shifted around and looked at each other, then back at them. "I like soup," one of them said, the loser in the Patsies shirt, obvious wingman, and the other one got him in the ribs with an elbow.
"So if you're sick, what are you doing out on a night like this?"
Fraser saw the opening and stepped right in. "We're looking for a friend of ours. Well, more of an acquaintance, really. Goes by the name of Speedy Gonzales."
Ray did a last choke into his sleeve and managed to say, "Faazuh, Ibreally don'd think they need to know his-" alias was out, uh, "stage name."
"The cartoon mouse?" The other guy was giggling again.
"Of course, you wouldn't know him by his stage name. That's where we made his acquaintance - the theater."
"I thought you looked familiar," button-down shirt said, Tim, going inconveniently sharp all of a sudden. "Have you been on TV?"
Fraser started to answer and Ray, not trusting him not to tell the truth about why he'd been on the news all those times, got a grip on the sweater with some real hard finger action and cut in. "Not TV, not TV. Catalogue modeling and stuff. Slacks, work boots, toothpaste. Better not, uh, put him on the spot. He's really modest about it."
"Oh, no, Ray, I don't mind discussing it at all. The truth is I haven't yet acted on broadcast television, and in fact my Thespian involvement thus far has been limited. Although last Christmas I was privileged to take part in a dramatic reenactment of the Adoration of the Magi at the local branch library. I'm not certain mind you, the production was somewhat avant-garde, but I believe I represented the manger."
Ray scowled at him - whuh, thesbian?? - but at least they were off the hook. He hated Christmas pageants. The robes were itchy and for some reason he always used to get stuck playing Joseph.
Tim shook his head. "No, if you're the guy I'm thinking of, I'm sure it was on a TV screen. I remember wondering how much makeup..."
Catching Fraser's eye, Ray tried to telepathically convey stop futzing around already and get back to the investigating before we are both old and grey and dead from waiting for our covers to get blown by you saying something stupid and
Fraser nodded slightly, message received, put his hands behind his back and gave it another try. "Ah, then, perhaps it was from one of my roles in-" he coughed- "low-budget erotic film."
Oh, god.
Giggling guy was all over that one, and Tim perked up, squinting. "You're kidding me."
"The arts are no joke, friend."
"Wow. Huh. Well, you would stick out. I mean, I don't watch a lot, don't get me wrong, but... are you serious? What was your porn name?"
Fraser opened his mouth, started to check with Ray and didn't, then said firmly, "John Hancock."
Ray did the rest of his double in one shot and ditched the glass, looking desperately out into the sea of people.
"Well, it was more of a nom de plume."
Maybe Gonzales would show up himself, right now, with a big Arrest Me sign on his forehead. At least there were girls here tonight. Not bad-looking ones, either. Huh. That's funny. More girls than when they came in. In fact...
Fraser tensed up when Ray pushed away from the bar.
"Is it..."
"Huh? No. Just... something's queer." He moved off into the dimly-lit crowd and it parted around him like water.
Because he'd spotted a blonde head, a sweep of neck, and say what you will about them all being the same, once you've been in love you know it across the room, know the curve of her ear, the line of her chin, you know it almost in the dark.
"Stella."
She turned around, surprised, not too not pleased to see him, which meant this date wasn't important. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I might ask you the same question," he said, smug in the knowledge that he hadn't been stalking her, not even a little this time. "Your big date took you to a gay bar? Think he's tryin' to tell you something?"
"What? Ray, this isn't a gay bar."
"Sure it is. Look around." They looked around. Pretty average bar, actually. Mixed crowd.
"Well, I've never heard that. It's the place to go when you're waiting for a show to start. Season ticket holders even get called here before curtain time, we're waiting for a page now. Roger's getting us chairs."
"Oh." Ray scowled. Classy date after all; that figured. "But this guy definitely has a contact at a gay bar near the theaters. And Huey said the corner of Fourth and Hayes."
Stella frowned a thinking-about-work frown, which had never made her any less pretty. She said, "Could he have meant - the Top Drawer? On Ford and Hanes?"
Ray slammed his hand against the pillar. "That's the last time I take a tip from a guy with a cold!"
She shook her head, an 'Oh, Ray' coming on.
"Wait, whoa, but those guys were hitting on Fraser!"
Stella looked over his shoulder and raised her eyebrows. "I'm not surprised, in that sweater." She lifted the cosmo glass to her lips and sipped at it. "He should dress like that more often."
The unaware purring in her voice made him want to bash his head on something, but he just spun around instead. "Gotta go, Stell. Thanks for the tip."
"Oh, Ray."
He could walk away from Oh, Ray now, that was something. He bulled over to where Fraser was telling the two - were they even? huh, well, the two guys - some kind of screamingly funny story that might have been true in Canada and grabbed his arm, pulling with his whole body towards the doorway. "Let's go, John. I need your signature on something."
"I'm terribly sorry," Fraser said to his new friends, sliding unhurriedly to his feet. "He's very possessive."
Tim raised his hands. "Hey, man, I didn't ask for an autograph." Sean giggled again. Ray bared his teeth goodbye.
"It's just because he loves me," Fraser assured them.
"I am going to kill. you." Ray raised his voice. "C'mon, honey. We're leaving."
"Very pleased to have met you. Do let me know if you're ever..." Fraser let it trail off as Ray towed him out of earshot and through the doorway, out into the street. "Well, there was no need to be rude to the lads. A more courteous farewell would have laid the groundwork for future investigations."
"Screw that, Fraser. We were at the wrong bar." He wrinkled his nose, fighting back a sneeze. Dammit.
"Oh. Ah. I see!"
"You got it. Waste of time, the whole thing. Dewey's never gonna shut up about it, too. Now we got to get across to the other end of the district and start over again. And the only good thing about that is it gives us a chance to go over what to not ever, ever say when you're undercover, because believe me, you were blending in like a circus elephant at a clambake."
Fraser reached cross-body and gave him a friendly pat on the chest, that he wouldn't have noticed except it reminded him he still had his arm linked through Fraser's other one, so he let go fast. "What you need is a break, Ray. A brief recuperative period, to restore our spirits and keep up the blood sugar. Mr. Truong told me of a Vietnamese deli that I believe is not far from here where we could get you some excellent pho dac biet. Just the thing for your condition."
"I don't think martial arts is really goin' to lift my spirits right now, but thanks for the thought."
"It's soup, Ray. Or perhaps some pho ga - chicken soup. The garlic and hot peppers are thought to be beneficial in fighting off colds. And, it tastes good."
"Oh. Yeah, okay, soup," Ray started to say. Then he nearly tripped and shot Fraser a look, razor-sharp, that should have peeled the angel layer right off him and left the real thing showing. But he got nothing: just the bland, cheerful face of his partner and friend, the freak from up north, the guy who thought he was a guy who'd like some pho dac biet.
Hell with it. He pulled at his jacket and jerked his head to say lead on, dancing on his toes to follow the course change as Fraser swung them around a corner.
The truth was, he knew he was coming down with something. And soup was starting to sound pretty good.
Length: 2725 words
Rating: G-PG
Warnings: cliche (undercover in a gay bar), no sex, no angst, no nutritional content whatsoever.
Making the Scene
"Here we go, Fourth and Hayes. Least I think that's what Huey said. But yeah, there's the bar. Now this is going to be delicate, undercover-type stuff, so just keep your mouth shut and follow my lead."
"Right you are." Fraser nodded brightly, still well-scrubbed but looking less like a band leader than usual in his worn fisherman's sweater.
Ray sort of wished he'd turned up in the uniform instead. Yeah, he'd told Frase to come incognito, but, uh, um. Damn. He looked really good that way.
"What's the plan?"
"We go into this bar, where the scumball, sorry, alleged scumball, has a contact. We hang out, have a few drinks, make nice with the locals. It's a, uh-" he looked at Fraser out of the corner of his eye, hesitated, and went on. "Yeah. Just don't make too nice. Then you see your chance, ask if they've seen him." He stopped again and smacked his fingers into the broad chest beside him, making the point. "Don't just whip out the photo. They'll smell a rat. Pretend he's a friend of yours. Got it?"
"Be casual, be discreet, give the impression of being the friend of a man whose activities include small-time racketeering and pornographic films."
"Right."
"No problem, Ray." Fraser tapped his forehead and looked alert. "Method acting."
"Uh. Yeah." The neon sign loomed ahead.
"One other thing though. This is a, uh, a gay bar. They have those up north?"
Fraser made an interested sort of high hrming noise, before saying, "Drinking establishments for a primarily homosexual clientele. Certainly. Not, granted, in the less urban areas, as there isn't the population density to support any sort of special interest venue. Although there was one attempt to open up part of the Senior Center in Moose Jaw as a gay-friendly dance hall on alternate Saturday nights. I'm afraid there were arguments about the music." He shook his head. "Didn't end well."
"Don't wanna to hear about it."
"I was called in to contain a very ugly - well, let's just say you'd never look at bingo cards the same way again."
"Do not want to hear about it, Fraser. Just keep your trap shut and try to blend in. All right?"
"You got it."
Oh I am going to hate this so much, Ray thought, and pushed open the swinging door.
The Top Shelf was hopping with an early crowd; busy, but not a big scene. Ordering wasn't too bad. Sure, it was embarrassing, and if he still cared about being cool the way he did in high school he'd have died on the spot, RIP one S. Ray Kowalski, but now it was okay - now he just leaned against the counter and smirked, like yeah, my friend's a freak, but he's hot, right? You know you gotta gimme that.
And the bartender didn't disagree, even when Fraser ordered a Singapore Sling "without the gin. Yes. And without the brandy. Also, without the Cointreau. And if you would just leave out the smidge of Benedictine as well. Thank you kindly."
"So... you want... fruit juice?"
"And soda water. Oh, Ray, er..."
Ray rolled his eyes and tipped for both of them.
Uh-huh. But, really, he'd have been a lot more freaked out if Fraser'd ordered a neat whiskey. Fraser in a dive bar like he knew what he was doing - Fraser on a bad night, a dark night - looking for trouble - uh-uh, no way, they'd been in this place five minutes tops and already it was sending his brain straight to do-not-go-there land, and the rest of him going with it. Ray spun to put his back to the bar and leaned on his elbows, watching the crowd.
These places got him on edge, just admit that to himself here. He'd only been in a couple briefly, for cases, because, well, he looked at the guys - not much, but he was curious, he had to - and then they looked back at him, some of them, and then suddenly it was like every guy he'd ever known was looking at him at once, and also his dad, and his dead, stern grandfather in the silver-framed photo and that jerk Kenny Majusiak who used to beat him up after track. A lot like one of those dreams where you're naked in public, not a lot like fun, even with drinks. But this was the job, he could do this.
"Ah! Excellent." Fraser turned to get the view as well, smacking his lips. "So, now what?"
Fraser was on his best behavior tonight, probably to make up for that thing last week where he shoved Ray down face first under the diner table and got gum stuck on his leather jacket, all because ("Well, she was armed, Ray") some off-duty security guard decided to come in for a slice of pie and took too long digging out her wallet.
"Now, we play it cool for a while and try and get in with the locals. Don't make too much eye contact, but some, you know? Kind of sideways. Casual. Look cool, but not mean, don't start nothin'. Maybe after a couple drinks we'll try and get a game of pool. Lotta guys warm up after you kick their ass at pool." He squirmed his head around and added just in case, "Or, uh, maybe you let them win. You know. Diplomacy. You get what I'm saying though. Then once we establish rapport, we can buy a few beers, get a conversation going, try and loosen some lips. Fraser? Fraser?"
"About three years, give or take a few months. I used to have an apartment on West Racine, very interesting neighborhood, but it was burned down by - well, that's not important."
The two clean-shaven guys with shot glasses who'd made themselves at home on the other side of Fraser looked fascinated. "You mean the West Racine? I'd be surprised if your place hadn't gotten burned down," one said, and the other one giggled like a schoolgirl.
Ray grabbed his own drink and added himself to the picture. "You want to introduce me, Fraser?"
"Oh! I beg your pardon. Yes. I'd like you to meet my new friends, Tim and Sean." Fraser indicated the young one in the button-down, then the younger one in the Patriots t-shirt. They nodded at him, no threat signs, no shifty eyes. Fraser put an arm on Ray's shoulders and pulled him around to close the circle. "Gentlemen - Tim, Sean, this is Ray. My lover."
It all nearly ended right there, as his fifth of Jack tried to exit back out through his nose and windpipe at the same time. Not as close to death as he'd come that one other time, but pretty close, and hey, Abba was playing here too. Fraser held onto his shoulder and squeezed a few times as he choked and wiped his eyes and tried not to push violently away. When he'd said 'blend in'....
"Rough, man. Want some napkins?"
Fraser kept squeezing and talking over his head. "Oh dear. He's - ah, thank you - here - no? - not feeling too well. One of his colleagues, a Jack Huey, has what is very probably a contagious cold, and I'm afraid Ray isn't getting enough fluids. I've been telling him he should stay home and have some soup-"
All true or not, Ray had to shove him away by then. "No soup! No soup," he said clearly and dangerously. "I do not want soup, I am not a soup kind of guy, you get me?"
Fraser lowered his arm. "If you say so, Ray."
The two, you know, guys shifted around and looked at each other, then back at them. "I like soup," one of them said, the loser in the Patsies shirt, obvious wingman, and the other one got him in the ribs with an elbow.
"So if you're sick, what are you doing out on a night like this?"
Fraser saw the opening and stepped right in. "We're looking for a friend of ours. Well, more of an acquaintance, really. Goes by the name of Speedy Gonzales."
Ray did a last choke into his sleeve and managed to say, "Faazuh, Ibreally don'd think they need to know his-" alias was out, uh, "stage name."
"The cartoon mouse?" The other guy was giggling again.
"Of course, you wouldn't know him by his stage name. That's where we made his acquaintance - the theater."
"I thought you looked familiar," button-down shirt said, Tim, going inconveniently sharp all of a sudden. "Have you been on TV?"
Fraser started to answer and Ray, not trusting him not to tell the truth about why he'd been on the news all those times, got a grip on the sweater with some real hard finger action and cut in. "Not TV, not TV. Catalogue modeling and stuff. Slacks, work boots, toothpaste. Better not, uh, put him on the spot. He's really modest about it."
"Oh, no, Ray, I don't mind discussing it at all. The truth is I haven't yet acted on broadcast television, and in fact my Thespian involvement thus far has been limited. Although last Christmas I was privileged to take part in a dramatic reenactment of the Adoration of the Magi at the local branch library. I'm not certain mind you, the production was somewhat avant-garde, but I believe I represented the manger."
Ray scowled at him - whuh, thesbian?? - but at least they were off the hook. He hated Christmas pageants. The robes were itchy and for some reason he always used to get stuck playing Joseph.
Tim shook his head. "No, if you're the guy I'm thinking of, I'm sure it was on a TV screen. I remember wondering how much makeup..."
Catching Fraser's eye, Ray tried to telepathically convey stop futzing around already and get back to the investigating before we are both old and grey and dead from waiting for our covers to get blown by you saying something stupid and
Fraser nodded slightly, message received, put his hands behind his back and gave it another try. "Ah, then, perhaps it was from one of my roles in-" he coughed- "low-budget erotic film."
Oh, god.
Giggling guy was all over that one, and Tim perked up, squinting. "You're kidding me."
"The arts are no joke, friend."
"Wow. Huh. Well, you would stick out. I mean, I don't watch a lot, don't get me wrong, but... are you serious? What was your porn name?"
Fraser opened his mouth, started to check with Ray and didn't, then said firmly, "John Hancock."
Ray did the rest of his double in one shot and ditched the glass, looking desperately out into the sea of people.
"Well, it was more of a nom de plume."
Maybe Gonzales would show up himself, right now, with a big Arrest Me sign on his forehead. At least there were girls here tonight. Not bad-looking ones, either. Huh. That's funny. More girls than when they came in. In fact...
Fraser tensed up when Ray pushed away from the bar.
"Is it..."
"Huh? No. Just... something's queer." He moved off into the dimly-lit crowd and it parted around him like water.
Because he'd spotted a blonde head, a sweep of neck, and say what you will about them all being the same, once you've been in love you know it across the room, know the curve of her ear, the line of her chin, you know it almost in the dark.
"Stella."
She turned around, surprised, not too not pleased to see him, which meant this date wasn't important. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I might ask you the same question," he said, smug in the knowledge that he hadn't been stalking her, not even a little this time. "Your big date took you to a gay bar? Think he's tryin' to tell you something?"
"What? Ray, this isn't a gay bar."
"Sure it is. Look around." They looked around. Pretty average bar, actually. Mixed crowd.
"Well, I've never heard that. It's the place to go when you're waiting for a show to start. Season ticket holders even get called here before curtain time, we're waiting for a page now. Roger's getting us chairs."
"Oh." Ray scowled. Classy date after all; that figured. "But this guy definitely has a contact at a gay bar near the theaters. And Huey said the corner of Fourth and Hayes."
Stella frowned a thinking-about-work frown, which had never made her any less pretty. She said, "Could he have meant - the Top Drawer? On Ford and Hanes?"
Ray slammed his hand against the pillar. "That's the last time I take a tip from a guy with a cold!"
She shook her head, an 'Oh, Ray' coming on.
"Wait, whoa, but those guys were hitting on Fraser!"
Stella looked over his shoulder and raised her eyebrows. "I'm not surprised, in that sweater." She lifted the cosmo glass to her lips and sipped at it. "He should dress like that more often."
The unaware purring in her voice made him want to bash his head on something, but he just spun around instead. "Gotta go, Stell. Thanks for the tip."
"Oh, Ray."
He could walk away from Oh, Ray now, that was something. He bulled over to where Fraser was telling the two - were they even? huh, well, the two guys - some kind of screamingly funny story that might have been true in Canada and grabbed his arm, pulling with his whole body towards the doorway. "Let's go, John. I need your signature on something."
"I'm terribly sorry," Fraser said to his new friends, sliding unhurriedly to his feet. "He's very possessive."
Tim raised his hands. "Hey, man, I didn't ask for an autograph." Sean giggled again. Ray bared his teeth goodbye.
"It's just because he loves me," Fraser assured them.
"I am going to kill. you." Ray raised his voice. "C'mon, honey. We're leaving."
"Very pleased to have met you. Do let me know if you're ever..." Fraser let it trail off as Ray towed him out of earshot and through the doorway, out into the street. "Well, there was no need to be rude to the lads. A more courteous farewell would have laid the groundwork for future investigations."
"Screw that, Fraser. We were at the wrong bar." He wrinkled his nose, fighting back a sneeze. Dammit.
"Oh. Ah. I see!"
"You got it. Waste of time, the whole thing. Dewey's never gonna shut up about it, too. Now we got to get across to the other end of the district and start over again. And the only good thing about that is it gives us a chance to go over what to not ever, ever say when you're undercover, because believe me, you were blending in like a circus elephant at a clambake."
Fraser reached cross-body and gave him a friendly pat on the chest, that he wouldn't have noticed except it reminded him he still had his arm linked through Fraser's other one, so he let go fast. "What you need is a break, Ray. A brief recuperative period, to restore our spirits and keep up the blood sugar. Mr. Truong told me of a Vietnamese deli that I believe is not far from here where we could get you some excellent pho dac biet. Just the thing for your condition."
"I don't think martial arts is really goin' to lift my spirits right now, but thanks for the thought."
"It's soup, Ray. Or perhaps some pho ga - chicken soup. The garlic and hot peppers are thought to be beneficial in fighting off colds. And, it tastes good."
"Oh. Yeah, okay, soup," Ray started to say. Then he nearly tripped and shot Fraser a look, razor-sharp, that should have peeled the angel layer right off him and left the real thing showing. But he got nothing: just the bland, cheerful face of his partner and friend, the freak from up north, the guy who thought he was a guy who'd like some pho dac biet.
Hell with it. He pulled at his jacket and jerked his head to say lead on, dancing on his toes to follow the course change as Fraser swung them around a corner.
The truth was, he knew he was coming down with something. And soup was starting to sound pretty good.