For runpunkrun's birthday, kids. Have a cupcake!
cupcake
by ParesWhen he came back to his office, there was a cupcake on his desk. He sat down at his desk to inspect it further. It appeared to be yellow, possibly lemon, with white icing and a single unlit red candle the size of a firecracker set in the middle.
Less surprising then the cupcake on his desk was the fact that it was still on his desk. He glanced at the cot in the corner and Dief blinked at him in languid reproach.
"I must confess that I did doubt your ability to discipline yourself in the face of unguarded baked goods. And for that I apologize."
"You don't got to. I bribed him with ho-hos."
"Ray!"
Sprawled in the doorway, Ray gave Fraser a puckish smile.
"So, do you get demerits or something for leaving the door open to any guy with a credit card?
Fraser considered that question.
"You broke into the Canadian Consulate to bring me a cupcake?"
"It's your birthday, isn't it?"
"It is. It's very kind of you to remember."
"Well, I didn't bake it or anything," Ray qualified, flicking open a Zippo and lighting the candle. "I just bought it at Kresge's." He held the cupcake out to Fraser, balanced on the palm of his hand. "But I got the whole day planned, so blow that bad boy out and we can jump to it."
"Ray--"
"I already checked with the Dragon Lady, Fraser my friend. I got you the day off."
"How--"
"Easy peasie. You're checking out a double homicide for the 2-7. Canadian citizens, hit and run. Contract job, maybe."
Fraser failed to see how investigating the murder of two of his countrymen constituted a 'day off'', but it was certainly better to be doing something useful with his friend at his side than to make the best of eight hours of sentry duty, so he accepted the rather crumpled piece of paper that Ray offered with his free hand and scanned it with interest.
"Mitzi and Mutzi O'Donnell. Aged four. Only children!"
Setting the cupcake down again, Ray shook his head and bounded forward, hooking his chin over Fraser's shoulder and thumping the paper with the flat of his hand.
"No, no, no, no, not kids. Poodles."
The brush of Ray's spiked hair against his cheek was rather distracting, and Fraser was unsure that he'd heard his friend correctly.
"Poodles?"
Nodding, Ray's hair grazed Fraser's face in companionable agreement.
"Standard Poodles," Ray explained. "Show dogs. Six years ago they got creamed by a Mercedes. Mrs. O'Donnell says they got rubbed out by a rival dog owner, some guy who bred shelties or something."
Fraser suspected that this investigation had been somewhat misrepresented to his commanding officer, but asked, "Have any new leads come to light?"
"Nope."
Fraser waited a beat, wondering just what Ray's plans constituted.
"As this... homicide happened some time ago, this case hardly seems to require our--"
"We got a suspect," Ray insisted. "Mansfield Drummond. He owns a golf course in Palos Heights. We go in undercover, ask around, see if he's got any dirty laundry."
"Undercover?"
With an almost ferocious grin, Ray shouldered a golf bag he'd had hidden behind the open door. It was quite battered, water stained and torn, and the clubs seemed to all be rusting nine irons. The bag also held two heavily taped hockey sticks that rather towered over the rest of the clubs.
"Golf?"
Dief voiced his approval, already on his feet and at the door.
"Extreme golf, Fraser. You're gonna like it, I'm telling you, okay?" There was something almost yearning in Ray's expression, and Fraser felt himself responding to it.
"Okay."
Pleasure and relief lit Ray's features, and Fraser felt a foolish smile bloom on his own face.
"So let's get on it already. Tee time's in an hour."
"Just a moment," Fraser said, and bent over to blow out his candle.END
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