Cadets

by Paul E. Jamison

 

"Hiya, Yert'. How ya doin', boy?" Stan Kowalski carefully filled the turtle's food bowl. "You're almost out again? Where do you put all this stuff – you sell it on the free market or somethin'?"

 

Yertle the Turtle looked up at the human that he would call his master if he could talk, or if he cared. Yertle wasn't much for showing emotion.

 

"Tell ya what – how about a treat?" Stan placed a small piece of lettuce next to the food bowl. This got Yertle's attention; he firmly believed in the philosophy that life was too short, so you should always eat Dessert first. He picked up the lettuce in his mouth and chewed contentedly.

 

Stan placed the cover back on Yertle's cage and fastened it. The cover wasn't there so much to keep the turtle in as to keep other creatures out. Other residents in Stan's apartment would have loved to get at the slow-moving toy in the funny shell. Yertle wouldn't have liked that at all.

 

Stan watched the turtle eat for a few moments. It was a quiet evening in the Kowalski household, and Stan was in a thoughtful mood. Something had been on his mind for days.

 

Stan turned and entered the ferret room.

 

It was naptime for the Kowalski Weasel Patrol. Ordinarily Max slept in his own cage – his spinal injury meant that he had no control of when and where he pooped – but sometimes Stan felt the risk was worth the little guy sharing the company of his fuzzbuddies Gene, Cyd and Donny O.

 

Tonight all four were in the big cage together; Max's wheelchair lay on the floor next to the cage. Stan stopped by the cage and looked in.

 

There were four hammocks and hanging tubes in the Weasel Patrols' huge cage, but as often as not the ferrets preferred sharing a single hammock. At the moment all four Patrol Weasels were crammed together into one hammock near the top of the cage; Max was good at climbing the ramps. It was a furry pile of legs, tails and noses, sticking out in several directions so that you couldn't tell who belonged to which, or even if they were all properly attached. Stan wasn't worried; if anything had come loose he would've heard about it. Everyone was peacefully snoozing away.

 

Stan smiled, but his mind was elsewhere. Soon he turned to the window and opened it. Then he stepped out on the fire escape.

 

The evening in Chicago was warm and still. You could hear the traffic in the distance, but the neighborhood was quiet. Stan sat down on the steps and looked Northward.

 

What Stan was looking at was the apartment building across the street, but what he was seeing was much further North.

 

Stan had been thinking the other day about what had to be the most important case in his career with the Chicago PD. He and his friend and partner, Constable Benton Fraser of the RCMP, had started out to investigate a murder, and that had lead to an arms deal, and that had lead to pursuing the creep who'd murdered Fraser's Mother up into Canada. Somewhere along the way Stan Kowalski quit being Ray Vecchio when the real Ray Vecchio's cover was blown. And Stan climbed his first mountain.

 

After the Bad Guys were given their comeuppance, Stan and Fraser had hopped on a dog sled and had set off to find the Hand of Franklin – Stan always thought of it in capitals – reaching for the Beaufort Sea. It wasn't like they had any hopes of finding it – better explorers than them had hunted for Franklin's body – but that hadn't been the point, really. It had been an Adventure.

 

They didn't find it, of course, but it had been a great Adventure. They traveled far and wide, reaching almost as far north as the Arctic Circle and as far west as Alberta. Later, Fraser traced their route on a map of Canada with a marker; the map hung now in Stan's living room. They'd climbed more mountains, trekked across snow-covered plains and through dense forests. They'd solved three crimes and slept under the stars and had seen wild creatures that would have made the Chicago zoo green with envy. Stan's favorite memory was walking through a forest and coming face-to-face with a caribou buck. They had stood there, inches apart, looking at one another. Then the caribou had turned and strolled away; somehow Stan liked that more than if the critter had spooked and run. The antlers had been marvelous.

 

The Adventure had changed Stan. He'd toughened up and had developed a self-assurance that he'd never had before. And he'd discovered a remarkable ability for tracking. Soon he was able to look at a set of tracks and see a jackrabbit limping from a leg injury, or sniff at a pile of droppings and tell that the timber wolf had gotten into some contaminated meat and was terribly ill. He doubted that he'd ever bring himself to put stuff in his mouth, like Fraser, but he could better respect the information that Fraze could get from doing it.

 

It had been a great Adventure, and it had lasted six months. Then they'd come back to Chicago.

 

Stan and Fraser had tried to go back to the old routine, fighting crime on the mean streets. But of course things could never be the same. Stan had hated the cold Chicago winters; now he thought of below-freezing weather as "brisk". He could almost keep up with Fraser when the mountie took off running after a perp, and he could hold his own more easily in a fight. Granted, he still needed his glasses to shoot with any accuracy, but he felt more comfortable about wearing his specs in public. He didn't even mind being known as Stanley Kowalski.

 

Then, two days ago, Stan had glanced at the map of Canada in his living room, and he'd started thinking about the Big Case and the Great Adventure. It had startled him when he'd realized that all that had happened over two and one half years ago. Since then, Stan had been thinking of sleeping under the stars and climbing mountains, of dog sleds and Great Adventures.

 

The air was still and warm as Stan Kowalski sat on the fire escape; he didn't feel the slightest breeze. But he sat and listened to the Wind.

 

He listened as the wind blew, from across the Great Divide.

 

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The Florida morning was still cool. It was some time before the bowling alley was supposed to open. Ray and Stella Vecchio had just finished breakfast and were reading the newspaper.

 

Angelica, so far from the Georgia petstore, was sprawled on Stella's tummy, happily snoozing away. It was easy for the little albino ferret to sprawl on Stella's tummy, and it was going to get easier; Stella was expecting a boy in four months.

 

Ray was perusing the International News section, catching up on World events. Something had apparently caught his attention; he hadn't turned the page for fifteen minutes.

 

Ray became vaguely aware that Stella had said something. "What was that again, hon'?"

 

"I said, Ray, that I was going tomorrow to get some piercings in intimate parts of my body and become a nude dancer. Pregnant women can make a pretty penny in the clubs around here. The farther along, the better."

 

"Oh. That's nice."

 

"RAY!"

 

Startled, Ray put the International Section down and tried to bring up a recap of Local News in his mind. "Huh? Piercings? Nude dancing?" He stared at Stella. "Pregnant women? Pretty Penny?"

 

Stella shook her head and waved her hand around. "Never mind, Ray. The paperwork for the dancer’s license is a pain in the butt."

 

"But who's Pretty Penny?"

 

Stella leaned forward, clutching the ferret to her distended stomach. Angelica flopped limply around and never woke up; she was an expert at the fine art of Dead Ferret Sleep. "Listen, Ray, you've been distracted about something for a week now. What's on your mind? Is something wrong with the business or back in Chicago?"

 

Ray was back in the real world now. He looked at the International news and sighed. "Nah, babe. I'm sorry. I'm just thinking about where my life is." He looked at Stella. "I'm not sure I'm happy where I am right now."

 

His wife leaned back, rearranging her ferret-fur piece. Stella looked at him thoughtfully and finally said, "You don't think you're cut out for the bowling-alley trade?"

 

Ray shrugged. "Well… The business isn't too bad. We're doing pretty good. But…" He shook his head. "…No. This isn't me."

 

"And what are you, Ray?"

 

Ray just looked at her.

 

"I think I know the answer to that one, Ray. I ought to; I was married to a policeman before."

 

"Stel', I'm sorry –"

 

"Don't be." Ray was surprised; there was no bitterness in her voice. "Some people can give up police work; not everyone can." Stella cocked her head to one side. "Tell me, Ray. Why did you become a policeman in the first place?"

 

Ray was confused; he'd talked about it before. "Uh – well, my old man hated cops, and I wanted to get back at him."

 

"I know. But it had to be more than that. I think you became a cop for the same reason I ended up working for the Illinois State's Attorney."

 

Ray was intrigued. "And that was…?"

 

"To fight the criminals." Stella gently stroked Angelica's little head. "It's not for the prestige, is it? It certainly isn't for the pay. You may think you became a cop to get back at your Dad, Ray, but deep down I think there was something more. You wanted to make sure the Bad Guys lost. Like I did."

 

Ray slowly nodded. "Yeah. That makes sense."

 

Angelica shifted position on Stella's stomach, dreaming ferret dreams. Stella said, "I've been thinking, too, Ray. I don't think I'm cut out to be a bowling-alley owner's wife."

 

Ray carefully said, "You've been married to a cop before, Stel'."

 

"That wasn't it. I was married to Stan Kowalski. Stan's a good man, but… It just wasn't right." Stella smiled, ever so slightly. "I think I can handle being married to a cop."

 

"It isn't easy, babe."

 

"Other women have done it. I don't see why I can't."

 

Ray smiled, and they both relaxed. That's all it took to settle the issue.

 

Stella asked, "Do you have any idea where you want to go, Ray? Back to Chicago, or maybe look into the Police Department here?"

 

Ray looked down at the International section of the newspaper. There was a story about the capture of some diamond smugglers at the US-Canadian border. "No, babe. I was thinking of someplace else entirely…"

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Lieutenant Harding Welsh sat back and stared at the two men standing in front of his desk. They'd both been before him many times – once at the same time – but never for something like this.

 

"Let me get this straight. You two are intending to emigrate to Canada and join the Royal Canadian Mounted Police?"

 

Stan Kowalski and Ray Vecchio were grinning. Stan said, "Yes, sir! Quite a coincidence, isn't it?"

 

"Surprised us when we talked to each other, Lieutenant."

 

Welsh looked thoughtfully at the two men. Both had changed a lot over the years. Kowalski seemed to have picked up some self-confidence on that Adventure of his up in Canada, not to mention some bigger muscles. Vecchio's changes had been more gradual. In both cases, Welsh suspected it was because of their mutual friend. "I see. Is there going to be any trouble with Immigration? Is Canada pretty strict about that?"

 

Ray shrugged. "Don't know what it's like normally. But we aren't going to have any trouble."

 

Stan smiled. "I think it helps that we know the Prime Minister."

 

"Ah. That brings up something. How do you two feel about living in a country with somebody like Renfield Turnbull as the head honcho?"

 

Stan replied, "What, as opposed to staying here, with that guy in the White House?"

 

Welsh blinked, once. "Good point. I imagine your wife is going with you, Ray?"

 

"Yessir! Stella supports this all the way. Looking forward to it, in fact!"

 

Welsh nodded. "What about your weasels? I take it there are no problems there, either?"

 

Stan said, "You take it correctly, sir. The Canadian government has no problems with importing ferrets. It's not like we're moving to California."

 

Welsh chuckled. He'd heard Kowalski rant more than once about the ferret ban; the names he'd called the California Department of Fish and Game had been quite creative. "How does Fraser feel about this?"

 

"He's been very supportive of all this, sir! He's done a lot to help, getting our applications through the Academy and getting us some useful info."

 

"That's gonna be interesting. You two will be starting over from scratch as cadets. Think you've got the patience for that?"

 

Stan nodded. "Yeah, I think so." Welsh believed him; these two had changed. "I kinda look at it like we've got a head start. But they do things differently up there; we gotta learn about that." Ray nodded in agreement.

 

Welsh leaned forward. There seemed to be something else he wanted to say, but he hesitated. Finally, with an odd tone in his voice, he said, "You know, you two are alike in a lot of ways. For one thing, over the years, you've been royal pains to work with. No offense intended."

 

Ray and Stan shook their heads. No offense taken.

 

Welsh continued. "But another thing – deep down, you're both good cops. Never took bribes, never looked the other way. You might have – bent – the rules sometimes, but it was for a good cause. If anything, Stan, you're an even better cop now. Ray, if you were to come back now, you'd be a better cop, too."

 

Ray said, "Thank you, sir. I figure the Mountie kinda rubbed off."

 

"Sounds about right. I want to know something, though – why Canada? Why the RCMP?"

 

Stan's eyes focused on something far, far away. He wasn't sure he could put it into words – the call, the restlessness in his heart, the sound of the Wind. He finally said, softly, "It feels like the right thing to do, sir."

 

Ray said, "It is the right thing to do."

 

Welsh said, "And that's all there is to it, isn't it?" He got up and walked around in front of his desk. "Guess the only thing I can do is wish you two the best of luck." He held out his hand.

 

Ray reached out and shook hands. "Thank you – sir. That's means a lot."

 

Welsh reached forward. It was the first time Ray had experienced the Harding Welsh Bear Hug, and he wondered if he'd suffer broken ribs from it.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

The six months of training at the RCMP Academy in Regina were as intense as Fraser had said they would be. Computer Science, Self-Defense and Fitness, Community Relations, Crowd Control, Traffic Control, Use of Firearms – not to mention that Ray and Stan were required to learn French.

 

Stan lived in an on-campus dorm for single cadets, which didn't allow pets, so Ray and Stella – living off-campus – took in the Kowalski Weasel Patrol. Somehow, with the help of friends and a large amount of inner strength, Stella coped with caring for a newborn baby, five ferrets and an admittedly low-maintenance turtle. Max the Wonder Weasel became a familiar site on the campus, happily trundling along in his wheelchair; there was no shortage of volunteers to walk him and his furbuddies.

 

One evening, Ray and Stan were doing some homework in the Academy's Learning Resource Centre. Stan, researching a problem in Forensics, looked up and said, "Hey, Ray!"

 

Ray, working on Evidence Collection, said, "No coaching on homework, Kowalski."

 

"Nothing to do with that. I was just thinking about all this we're going through. This is hard work!"

 

"Yeah. And your point is?"

 

"I'm actually getting a big kick out of it."

 

Ray put his pencil down and looked up. He said, "Yeah. I guess I am, too."

 

They went back to work.

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

Six months went by fast. Came the day of Graduation.

 

Ray and Stan sat together among the other graduating cadets. In the past they'd both had occasion to wear the red serge uniform – and they had both looked ridiculous at the time. But now, the uniforms they wore actually fit; they both looked splendid. They sat there, proud and straight, and listened to the speech by the Solicitor General of Canada.

 

"For over a century, graduates have gone forth from this academy and served in every part of Canada…"

 

The entire Vecchio clan – Ma and Ray's siblings, even Francesca and her six remarkably well-behaved children – had come up from Chicago to attend. Lieutenant Harding Welsh was there, representing the 27th Precinct; by his side sat Chicago patrolman Elaine Besbriss. The Duck Boys had even closed the One-Liner for a couple of days to attend.

 

"Today, a police service must be a reflection of the society it serves…"

 

Stella, holding Ray, Jr., in her arms, sat in the front row. In a pet carrier beneath her chair, Angelica listened to the man talk.

 

"The RCMP must continue to apply – and be seen to apply – the highest professional standards…"

 

The carrier for the Kowalski Weasel Patrol, too large to fit under a seat, sat on the ground to the right of Constable Benton Fraser's chair. A hammock hung in the middle, dividing the space in two. Beneath the hammock, Gene and Cyd snoozed together. In the hammock above, Max and Donny O lay together and watched the goings-on. Maybe they could even see their Daddy where he sat.

 

On the other side of the carrier lay Diefenbaker; he looked bored with the whole proceedings, but that's to be expected for a deaf wolf.

 

"New ideas and approaches are vital in the ever-evolving work of a police officer…"

 

On Fraser's left sat his sister, Constable Maggie Mackenzie. From time to time she caught Stan's eye and smiled.

 

A few rows back, a leather-clad stranger with a dark mustache and a buzzcut watched the ceremony.

 

"Despite the many challenges that you face as you embark on your new careers, I am confident that the same determination and energy that you have so successfully applied here at the academy over the past six months will carry the day.

 

"And I am equally confident that, in the years to come, you men and women will be a credit to the uniform you wear and to the country you represent.

 

"Thank you, and I wish you the best of luck."

 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

 

At the post-Graduation reception, the stranger in leather came up to Fraser and said, "Well, Constable, it looks like your two pet cadets have done well for themselves. You must be proud."

 

Fraser smiled and replied, "Oh, yes, quite. They both excelled in the course work. My confidence in their abilities was justified."

 

"Congratulation them for me, will you?"

 

"Thank you kindly, I will. Ah – may I ask who you are?"

 

"You don't recognize me? Good." The timber of the stranger's voice deepened. "You aren't supposed to."

 

Fraser did a classic double-take. "Inspector Thatcher??"

 

Margaret Thatcher smiled, ever so slightly; it was that or fall down laughing at Fraser's expression. "I'm in between, shall we say, assignments, and I couldn't pass up the chance to see this."

 

"Ah…" Fraser made a pass at his upper lip.

 

"Hormone injections. I'll be glad when this is all over. Fraser, I have to go; I can't say where. Please wish your friends the best fortunes from me."

 

"I will, sir."

 

"When you have enough privacy, that is."

 

"Understood."

 

After the stranger left, Fraser went over to join a group of his friends.

 

Ray smiled and said, "Benny, I'm proud of us getting through the training, but you have no idea how glad I am that it's over!"

 

Fraser replied, "Well, I went through it myself, Ray. I knew how tough it would be. Now comes the Field Coaching!"

 

Stan chuckled. "Yeah, six months on-the-job training. Imagine us following orders from a senior officer! Bet we both end up with a bunch of stories to tell!" Stan held Max in his arms. Someone with too much time on their hands had made a miniature red serge uniform for the ferret, complete with Sam Browne belt, and a small campaign hat; he seemed to have no objection to being dressed up. In a way, it was a farewell party for Max, too, as the Kowalski Weasel Patrol would follow their Daddy wherever he was assigned. Many folks had come by to wish their favorite ferret goodbye; Max was eating the attention up.

 

Patrolman Besbriss asked, "Where are you two going to be assigned?"

 

Ray replied, "I'm gonna be working right here in Regina. Once the training period's up – who knows? We may stay here. It's a nice town, and I want to settle in one place for my family."

 

Ray, Jr., was asleep in his Mother's arms. Stella said, "Wherever we end up, we can make it, I'm sure. Though I think our little family will probably get bigger."

 

Ray asked, "What do ya mean, hon'?"

 

"Well, Ray, Angelica loved having Stan's ferrets to play with. She's going to be lonely by herself now."

 

Stan hooted. "Welcome to Ferret Math, Ray! One fuzzbutt isn't gonna be enough now!"

 

Tom Dewey asked, "Where you gonna go, Stan?"

 

"A place called Slave Lake in Alberta. Not a very big town, really. I'm looking forward to being away from the big city."

 

Jack Huey asked, "Your ferrets gonna be okay with that?"

 

"I'm gonna give 'em the best care I can."

 

Constable Mackensie reached over and stroked Max under the chin. "I'll be there, too, Stan. I'll help you with them."

 

Stan smiled at her and said, "I'd like that, Maggie."

 

Fraser said, "Ray, Stan, some time in the next six months, I want to take you to meet an Inuit friend of mine. A shaman named Jimmy Umingmait. I believe that he can teach you a thing or two that will help you immensely in your work.”

 

"We'll trust you on that, Fraze."

 

Everyone was silent for a moment or two, thinking their own thoughts. Then Ray said, "Benny, do you think Stan and I can make a difference?"

 

There were no alcoholic beverages being served at the reception. Fraser took a sip of fruit juice before answering. "I hope you can, Ray. I think you need to.

 

"Canada is changing, Ray. The problems we're facing are not the same ones our grandfathers faced. There's a drug ring operating out of Saskatoon – as best as we can figure. And there's a rather nasty prostitution business centered somewhere in the Northwest Territories that we're starting to look into. It's been over a century since the RCMP or its predecessors have had to deal with crimes of these types. The RCMP needs officers experienced in fighting such crimes. Experience like American officers have.

 

"You and Stan have street wisdom that will prove useful to the new Canada. That's why I was so supportive of your decision. I hope you're up to the challenge."

 

Ray looked at Stan, and Stan nodded. Ray turned back to Fraser and replied, "We will be, pal."

 

Lieutenant Harding Welsh raised his cup of ginger ale and said, "May I propose a toast? To Constables Raymond Vecchio and Stanley Kowalski! May they do the United States and Canada proud!"

 

A dozen plastic cups were raised on high, and a dozen voices repeated the toast.

 

THE END

 

DISCLAIMER

 

This story is for entertainment purposes only and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by Alliance Communications Corp., CBS and CTV or any other copyright holders of "due South".