There's Nothing For Nobody and Everyone Wants to Be Someone - Part Two

Welsh pounced on him before he'd even had chance to shut the door. "Well?"

The two Federal Agents, following the Lieutenant from the observation room next door, folded their arms simultaneously. "Red Cell."

An exchange of looks between the four Chicago cops. "Who?" Dewey asked, speaking for all of them.

"A splinter terrorist group that emerged after the Cold War. Believes in attacking the capitalist supremacy of America."

"We've been keeping an eye on them for the past couple of years. Any actions have been small, defused before any serious damage can be done. The group has always been low key, nothing to bother about."

"Yeah?" Welsh's turn to fold his arms. "Well I think we should start to be worried now."

"We can deal with this, Lieutenant. This is quite clearly a Federal issue -"

"No." Thatcher shook her head. She was getting rapidly tired of being ignored by both Federal Agents, and was now determined to make them listen. "Muldoon is a Canadian citizen. Nerve gas was found across the border. And one of my best officers is -"

"Missing."

"Not missing," she replied, hotly. "We know what their intentions are -"

"Just not where they are." The shorter agent shook his head. "With terrorist activity involved this becomes a case for the American Agency -"

"She has a point, Agent." Welsh ignored the pointed look from both Feds. "One of our officers is also up there with Muldoon. He's one of my men, which makes it my case."

"From a bureaucratic standpoint alone, Lieutenant -"

"From a bureaucratic standpoint it would take you so long to get your paperwork filled butts into gear that Muldoon and this Red Cell would be long gone, and you'd have missed your chance. Now - do you know anything about this Red Cell that might give us a clue as to where the buy is going to take place?"

Another exchange of looks. "Red Cell have been known to use foreign, cross-border countries to hold their meets. Mexico has always been popular, but with recent border controls Canada now seems a more likely candidate. The meet will have to be at some distance from a populated area, difficult to access by usual means."

"Usual means?" Ray stepped forward. Francesca had appeared in the corridor, keeping close to the corner so she could duck back if it seemed like she was eavesdropping - which, of course, she was. "What does that mean? Usual means?"

"Detective, what do you know about Muldoon's activities?"

He shrugged. "Not a lot. I don't know where he got the gas from, figured it best not to ask. All I know is, whatever he was going to sell as the next part of the deal, it was gonna be big. From overhearing some of his guys talking, I'm guessing explosives, possibly more chemical weapons."

"Do you consider Napalm to be a possibility?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

A small, tense silence. Ray waited for a moment, then broke the silence.

"Look, I'm guessing that what with the Bookman gone, Muldoon's going to be looking for another broker. I only know of a couple of guys that would be prepared to deal with something this big, at this short notice. It's a long shot -"

"But worth taking." Welsh turned to his officers. "Huey, Dewey, I want you on stake-out. Get Nicholson and Curelli to back the other guy. Ray -"

"Lieutenant!" A Federal interruption. "If orders are to be given then you're not the one to be doing it. Vecchio still officially works for us."

"Yeah?" Ray turned, his arms folded. "Well if you want me to work with you, then you're gonna have to work with us. That includes the Lieu and the Inspector here."

A darkening look crossed the two agent's faces. "Detective, let us remind you that as your superiors, we can order you to co-operate, and suspend you if you refuse. We won't give in to threats."

"Yeah?" A smile crossed Ray's face, fleeting. "Bite me."

*

Snow.

Fraser never realized just how homesick he'd felt until now, lost in the snow and the ice, Dief padding silently, keeping close to his Mountie's feet. Wind in the air, biting, but he strove forward, beyond everything, beyond fear, or anger, or hate. "Go get your man," Ray told him, and he was and that was suddenly the only thing that mattered anymore.

It took a barely stifled curse from behind him before he remembered Kowalski, lagging slightly. He turned in time to see him stumble, reached out to grab him.

"Thanks." His voice breathless, the tip of his nose pink, rim of his hat and his shoulders covered in snow.

"We can stop," Fraser suggested, guilt written large across his face. Knew it was the wrong thing to say.

A firm shake of the head. "I'm fine." He gave a dirty look at his feet. "I'm city fit, just not snow shoe fit."

"Ray . . ." He paused, then looked up blinking into the sky. "It's getting darker. We should get some sleep."

"Yeah, and if I wasn't here you'd carry on past dawn. I'm not slowing you down."

A slight smile that Kowalski missed.

"We need to get some rest before attempting the mountain tomorrow."

"Hey," he shot back, "I'm good to go."

Another smile. "I understand that. But it's getting dark, and it makes sense to set up camp for the night."

The blonde frowned, deeply suspicious. "Alright," he agreed, reluctantly. "So, you know how to build a camp fire?"

Fraser smiled, for the third time, but openly. "Yes."

"Neat. Are you gonna show me?"

"If you want."

"Cool."

*

"You have no right to bring me in here! This is harassment, that's what this is! One phonecall to my lawyer and I'll slap you with a lawsuit!"

"Lieu?"

"Get him in a holding cell. Dewey, give your partner a hand. Where's Vecchio?"

Francesca pressed herself against the wall as the Duck Brothers and their cargo passed. A short man with stooping shoulders and slicked back hair, lower lip jutting out stubbornly. She caught a whiff of expensive aftershave, noted the expensive, well-tailored suit.

"Ray?"

With the Duck Boys disappearing down the corridor, Francesca strode quickly towards her brother's desk, put the styrofoam cup atop an untidy pile of papers.

"Ray." Repeated: "Ray!"

He looked up sharply, and she caught sight of dark eyes and tight shoulders. "What?" Noticing the coffee: "Oh. Thanks."

"You're welcome." She hesitated, then added: "You were thinking about Fraser."

"Hmm?" He raised his head again, and couldn't hide his guilt. "Am I that obvious?"

"I'm your sister. I know these things." She glanced towards the door of the bullpen. "Huey and Dewey have one of the brokers."

He got up from the desk, shrugging his jacket off to drop onto the chair. "Show time."

She reached out to touch his shoulder, hold him back if only for a moment. Softly: "Everything's going to be okay."

His eyes met hers, briefly, as he replied. "I know."

And then the moment was gone.

"Detective?"

Welsh was stood in the doorway of his office, the two Federal Agents hovering behind him. He caught Vecchio's eye as he passed, nodded at him, a look that said: "I don't envy you but good luck." A sign of approval, maybe, or of praise.

Huey and Dewey met him in the corridor, the latter trying to rearrange his crumpled suit.

"Man, that guy needs a good -" Dewey complained, but his curse dissolved into a rambling mutter. Huey looked across at the Italian.

"Are you ready?"

Ray obediently put his hands behind his back, and a moment later felt the tight chill of metal 'cuffs. As the dark detective took hold of him, gently but firmly, he took the opportunity to whisper in his ear:

"You know, Jack, your new partner really is a moron."

"I know. But he's okay." Huey straightened, pulling Vecchio with him. "The Feds don't have a problem with this?"

"I think they're willing to overlook the whole entrapment deal to get Muldoon. Besides, right now, they don't have much choice." He felt the cuffs tug at his wrists, experienced a painful reminder of the wound in his chest, a tightness he couldn't quite shake. "Let's just get this over with."

A moment later, and from the point of view of anyone watching it was an ordinary scene. A well-dressed Italian, hands behind his back, being pulled roughly through the doors of the holding cell area by two detectives, an unpleasant sneer on his face.

"You really think you can make these phoney charges stick? Give me five minutes and I'll be out of here. There's nothing but legit stuff on me."

"Explain it to your lawyer," Huey told him, as his partner unlocked the cell door. A sharp shove in the small of his back later, and Armando Langoustini found himself facing his captors on the other side of the bars. He gave the two detectives a look, eyes narrowed, but said nothing. Another moment later, and he was left alone with the other occupant of the cell.

"Armando Langoustini?"

He was a short man, his lack of height exaggerated when he stood up. Italian American, although the descendancy was obviously a few generations back and of uncertain cross breeding. Dark eyes looked out over a prominent nose, and with his stoop and drooping face he reminded Armando of a fish, or one of those dogs with low jowls. He gave the younger man an appraising once-over, seemed to approve of what he saw.

"Nice suit. Who's your tailor?"

Armando, appropriately, did not rise to the challenge. He returned the look and remained standing, preferring a position of dominance. Two rivals facing off.

"Lucio Pangallo."

The man gave him a small bow, then sat back down on the small bench, inviting Armando to do the same. "It pays to know who your opponents are."

"Rivals, please."

A smile. "Yeah. What are you doing in Chicago, anyway? I heard you were working for the Iguana family down in Vegas."

"Business." He finally took the offer of the seat, leant his back against the wall. "Or I thought I was."

"Tell me about it." Pangallo shook his head wearily. "It's not the same as it used to be. When it was my father, you knew where you were, you got on with things and knew who you were dealing with. But now . . . huh. Somedays I wonder if it's worth it." He raised his head, gave the door of their barred cell a dark look. "You have an arrangement, and then something happens to break it. Nowhere's safe anymore."

"Let me guess. You were busy in a deal when you received some uninvited guests."

A small, unpleasant smile spread across Pangallo's face. "Two blondes, identical twins. Really something, those two, they could move . . . Next thing you know I have a couple of cops bursting through the door, ruining the woodwork, and now I'm locked up here. They think this is a scare tactic?"

Armando glanced at their sole neighbour, but the man was slumped on his cot, sleeping off whatever it was he'd been drinking. Lowered his voice. "Have you spoken to them yet?"

"Who?"

"The Feds. God, are heads gonna roll when I get out of here."

"Similar story?"

A nod. "A poker game. I wasn't going to make this a completely wasted journey, you know, so I had a game arranged, got a couple of big players who tend to avoid Vegas." He shook his head bitterly. "No one was supposed to know, and the cops know better than to try and use something like that against the Iguana Family."

"They want something?"

"You hear of a guy called Muldoon?"

Pangallo nodded. "We've spoken a couple of times." His hands clenched into fists. "I knew that deal was too good to be true. If he's turned tail -"

"I don't know. But the Feds were asking me a lot of questions, about him, about what he was up to." He ducked his head, dropped his voice even further. "What do you know?"

"Muldoon was looking for a broker. It was a big deal. I know a couple of the names involved, knew you'd be up there. But you didn't take it?"

He shook his head. "I figured there was something fishy about it. I like to know the details of who I'm dealing with, but I guess I was asking too many questions because I never heard from him after that. Told him I wasn't going to stick my neck out for what could be a waste of time."

"Yeah. Wish I'd been so quick." Pangallo took a deep breath, released it slowly, his scowl deepening. "You and me in here? That's too much of a coincidence. Looks like one of his men ratted on him. And with the Feds involved . . ."

"You think this really was big?"

He received a look, questioning, realised maybe he'd gone too far. Retreated back into the persona of Armando, settling into his well-tailored suit. "Look, you know these are phoney charges. We might not be the best of friends but I'm not exactly interested in anyone except the person who sent those Feds into my poker game. Muldoon's playing a dangerous game and I don't want to be on the receiving end. I don't think you do, either."

There was a small pause, and then Pangallo seemed to relax. "Maybe I do know. Not all of it. But he was trying to get a plane, one of those private jobs, up across the border. Franklin Bay. It was a last minute deal, a couple of days from now."

Inwardly Vecchio's heart leapt, but his exterior was cold, impassionate. "You didn't take up his offer."

"You know he wasn't telling the whole truth, right? Besides, I prefer to deal local. Muldoon might have been on the level but let's just say I didn't trust the guys he was playing with." He sank back against the wall, head, if possible, sinking even lower into his neck. "Still . . . you and me might not know anything, but the Feds don't think that. Not by bringing us both here. But I get the feeling that ratting isn't an option. Muldoon's a dangerous man."

There was a small silence before he answered, voice quiet. "Yeah."

*

In the end, it took somewhat longer to set up camp than Fraser had imagined, his attempts to build a fire hindered by the lack of dry wood and Kowalski's helpful enthusiasm. There was a complete lack of anything approaching food, but they managed to melt enough snow for drinking, Fraser stopping his friend from just eating mouthfuls of the stuff. The cop was huddled up beneath several blankets, Fraser taking two, but determined to give one to his friend as soon as the blonde fell asleep. Kowalski had pulled them right up to his chin, and was still shivering, but Fraser barely noticed the cold, climatising quickly.

There had been silence for the past few minutes. Kowalski was busy struggling to get to sleep, and failing, whilst Fraser was just enjoying the feel of snow beneath him, the sound of the fire cracking, wood popping. Peace was destined to be short lived.

"So you and Vecchio . . . I guess you'll be teaming up with him again. I mean, you two were partners, right?"

"Unofficially."

"So how'd you meet?"

Fraser gave him a surprised look. "I thought you read Ray's file when you -"

"Yeah, well," he shrugged sheepishly, a movement made shapeless beneath the blankets. "I kinda skimmed to the juicy bits. So?"

"He was the officer investigating my father's murder. We started working together. We followed up a lead that turned into a trap, there was an explosion, and Ray saved my life. When I went back up to Canada he followed, and, um, we . . ." he paused, searching for the word Ray had used to describe their relationship: "We clicked."

"Clicked, huh?" Kowalski studied the fire. "And me and you, did we, um, you know, 'click?'"

There was a slight pause before Fraser answered: "Yes."

"You hesitated. You hesitated! I knew it!"

"Ray, I -"

"Don't call me that."

"It's your name."

"No, no it isn't! I'm not Ray Vecchio, I never was. That's not my name."

"Well, then what am I to call you?"

"Hell, I don't know!" He stood up quickly, pushing the blankets from him, started pacing. "I don't know. Just don't call me Ray." He shoved his hands into his pockets, hard, breath hot in the air in front of him.

Fraser gave him a concerned glance. "You're cold."

"Yeah, well," his voice turned sulky, "That's not about to change real soon."

"Please, go back to bed."

"I'm not sleepy."

"R -" Caught himself, just in time. Sighed. "I . . . " A small pause. "It's true, you and I had our problems. But you're my friend."

"Yeah, a great friend. We argue, I hit you . . . . I bet Vecchio never hit you."

"No," he admitted. "He never let me hit him back just to try and say sorry, either."

There was a short pause. Kowalski eyed Fraser cautiously. "I guess that was pretty dumb, huh."

"Probably. But I deserved it."

There was a short silence, the only sound being the night air around them, and the noise made from Kowalski's shoes scuffing against the snow.

"You know, someone once told me that you meet a lot of people in your life, people you call your friends, but you lose touch, and in the end almost of all them leave. It's the ones who stay, who will follow you anywhere, that are the true friends. Partners."

"Huh." Kowalski considered this. "Is that something your dad told you?"

"No, actually." It was Fraser's turn to look sheepish. "Miss Cavendish, Class 2B at junior school. I wasn't speaking to my best friend because he accused me of cheating at hockey. She told me I was being petty."

He laughed. "No way! Not you, Fraser. A cheat and petty? Man, you were the preschool rebel!"

"And I'm not proud of it. And," he added hotly, "I did not cheat."

"But you were petty."

"Perhaps."

Fraser shared Kowalski's smile for a moment, before the detective turned away, his shoulders tightening.

"You didn't answer my question but."

"About whether I'll team up with Ray?"

"Uh-huh."

"I . . ." Pause. "I don't know. I'm not sure if I even . . . if I want to go back."

This surprised him. "What? Why? I'd have thought now . . ."

"Don't get me wrong, there are people I care about in Chicago. You, Ray, Francesca, the Vecchio family, Huey, Dewey, Inspector Thatcher . . ."

"I didn't ask for a list, Fraser."

"Oh. It's just . . . ever since coming to Chicago I've been homesick. After four years I'd almost forgotten, or at least I thought I had, but coming back here, to the Territories, it feels . . . I'm not sure what it feels like."

"Oh." For a moment, it felt to Kowalski like his entire world had just collapsed in on itself over the past couple of days, and now someone was jumping on the wreckage with heavy boots. He shivered, sat down on a small, cold patch of ground, rested his back against the tree. Caught Fraser's concerned look.

"I'm okay. Just cold, that's all."

"I'm sorry."

He opened them. "About what?"

Fraser's head was ducked, a sure sign of shame. "For dragging you with me. I shouldn't have brought you up North."

"Fraser, you didn't drag me anywhere. If I remember right, there was no gun in my back forcing me to climb onboard that plane with you. I could have said no." He started pulling the blankets back up around himself, settling into the relative warmth. He was silent for a moment, apparently busying himself in making the 'bed,' but Fraser knew better, recognised when his friend was struggling with an internal decision.

"You ever get the feeling you're lost? Not where you are but who you are?"

"Sometimes." He sat up a little, watched his friend through the flames. "When I first came to Chicago, after my father died."

"And what did you do?"

"I met people I could trust, friends. I made a home."

"And what if . . ." Hesitated. "What if someone was going to take that away?"

A frown. "I'm not sure I understand."

"It's s'nothing. Doesn't matter." He shifted, pulling the blankets close, snuggling down onto the ground, a small, angelic little heap. "G'night Frase."

"Goodnight."

Silence. Fraser watched him for a little while, shifting restlessly. He'd never met anyone who had such a problem with lying still as Kowalski. It was as though he couldn't bear to keep all that energy bottled up, had to release it through movement. Eventually, despite all the wriggling, he seemed to be asleep, breath coming evenly and leaving small wisps of warm air.

"Are you sure you're doing the right thing?"

"I can't believe you're asking me that."

Fraser Snr. folded his arms, quite a balancing act considering his current position, perched on a tree branch behind Kowalski's head. "It's just a question."

"I can't let him get away."

"Why? Because of revenge?"

Coldly: "Would it surprise you if I said yes? Isn't that what you did?"

"I made a mistake, and look what happened."

"Then what's the difference?"

"I was angry. Acting on impulse. After he . . ." Cut off. Quietly: "I trusted that man. I considered him my friend. He betrayed me, and he did the unimaginable. When I found her . . ." Another pause. "I wasn't thinking straight."

"And that lead to your failure?"

"Is that really how you see it?"

Silence.

"Don't let emotion blind you to the truth, Benton. It could cost you dearly." Added, gently: "You should know that by now."

Another silence, darker than the last, Fraser turning away. Watched the flames for a while, watched his friend sleep. Eventually he turned, raised his head, looked back at his father.

"What's wrong?"

"Hmm?"

"You're very pale. I can practically see through you."

The ghost shrugged, the great weight of his coat shifting on his shoulders. "Trick of the Northern Lights."

"Oh." He turned away again, settled down to lie on his back, watching the stars.

*

"Franklin Bay."

Ray had been allowed half an hour in the cells before Dewey was sent in to pull him out. Fortunately, half an hour was all he needed, and leaving Pangallo behind he returned to the bullpen to deliver the news to two overly eager Federal Agents.

"You're sure?"

Thatcher. She practically elbowed her way through the two Agents, determined to be heard.

"Yes. Pangallo doesn't know what the guy was delivering, mind you, and it's probably a good thing. He knew it was something big."

The two agents exchanged looks. "Napalm."

"Quite likely."

"We should make some calls."

"Just hold on a minute." Welsh stepped in beside his detective, lined face hard. "Nobody calls in Special Ops until we've had a chance to rescue our men."

"With all due respect Lieutenant," in a tone that indicated no respect whatsoever, "this is out of your league. We thank you for you help but this is in Federal hands now." He turned to address his companion, instantly forgetting that the others were there. "We'll need a team -"

"Hold on a minute." Thatcher again, hands on hips. "You seem to be forgetting that this is a Canadian affair. Red Cell may be your terrorist group but Muldoon is a Canadian citizen. Quite apart from Constable Fraser's involvement, Franklin Bay was, last time I checked, in Canada. If the American Government wants to send a team after Muldoon they have to do it through me."

Two pairs of narrowed eyes glared at her, but she managed to resist the urge for a self-satisfied smug look. "As I see it, the primary goal must be to stop Muldoon and retrieve our two missing officers. Detective Kowalski is a member of this precinct and therefore I see no reason why Lieutenant Welsh should not be included. The Canadian government will not allow your Agency to send a SWAT team across our border. Muldoon is clever, and he's subtle. A smaller team is more appropriate, and we have local forces in the area should we need them."

"I'm going."

Four heads turned, apparently all forgetting the Italian. Vecchio stood firm, but directed his gaze towards Welsh. "Sir, you need someone from this station house to retrieve Kowalski. And if Fraser's following Muldoon then we have a better chance of finding all three if you have someone who knows how Benny thinks - and I do. Most of the time."

The two agents shook their heads. "We realise you have several personal issues to resolve with Muldoon and these may prevent you from thinking clearly. You seem to forget, Detective, that you still work for the FBI and any decision -"

"Is mine," he shot back. "My contract with you ran out when my cover was blown. How long do you think it will be before every broker and dealer interstate knows that Armando Langoustini is a cop? And you're right. Muldoon shot me, and now my best friend's gone missing in search of him, so yeah, I have some personal issues. But that means I'm all the more determined to go find them."

"The detective has a point," Thatcher interjected, much to Vecchio's surprise. She glanced at him, caught the look, but chose to ignore it. "He does know Constable Fraser far closer than anyone else here. His inclusion in this team is a natural one."

Ray couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard regret in the Dragon Lady's voice. The two agents started conversing with each other, occasionally glaring at Thatcher.

"Ray."

Franny, who had been keeping out of sight behind Welsh's back. Ray ignored her.

"Ray!"

Her raised voice caused even the FBI agents to turn round, but she ignored them, pulling on his elbow sharply.

"Hey!" He looked at her but was forced to duck his head submissively under her gaze.

"Excuse us," she said, at Thatcher and Welsh. "My brother and I are just going to have a little talk." And without further ado, she hauled on Ray's arm, almost toppling him, pulling him down the corridor to the bemusement of the rest of the station house.

"Franny, what are you -"

Opening the closet door, she forced Ray in first then shut the door after her, enshrouding the room in darkness.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed. Ray's eyes sparkled at her through the dark.

"What am *I* doing? I'm not the one who just hauled your ass into a broom closet!"

"You know what I mean!" At the sound of footsteps outside she lowered her voice. "Going up North after Fraser."

"Oh. That."

"Yes, that! Are you insane? What reason could possibly warrant you going all the way up to the wilderness of some godforsaken field of ice, and don't say - "

"Because Fraser's up there," he retorted, resolutely.

"Ray!" He heard her give an exasperated sigh. A moment later, and he felt the warmth of her hand against his arm, gently, holding him tight. "I'm worried," she confessed, her voice softening. "You may have forgotten, but I know Welsh hasn't, and I know I can't . . . Ray, you were shot. You almost died. You should be in hospital right now, recovering, seeing if they . . ." She cut off, and Ray heard her give a strangled sob.

"Franny?"

"I lost my eldest brother for over a year. I missed you so much. And when you come back you're shot before I can even give you a hug, and Ma's down in Florida and she has no idea, and what am I going to tell her? And now you're going to go after Fraser like nothing happened, like we never almost lost you all over again, like there wasn't a bullet in you . . ."

"Franny." He wrapped an arm around his sister's waist, pulled her head onto his shoulder. "I promise," he whispered into her ear, "I'm not going to leave again. But this is different - this is Fraser, and that dumbass Pollack cop he's partnered with. I owe him, and I'm gonna repay him. You can't know how it feels . . ."

"No?" she asked him, pulling back slightly so she could look him in the eye. "Ray, when you were out . . . some things were said. I do care about Fraser, maybe more than you know."

His hands tightened. "Is this about you and Benny spending the night together? Because honestly, I'd rather not know . . ."

"No, it isn't! Look, Ray, I love you, you're my brother, and I know this is probably hard for you to understand but sometimes women have . . . feelings, towards others, and you can try and dismiss it if you want but when you find out those feelings are returned . . ."

"Franny, I can honestly say I have no idea what you're talking about. But whatever it is, you're not changing my mind. I know you're worried about me, but I can't just wait here for Fraser to come back. I can't do that knowing he's out there, lost, in trouble. That's not what partners do."

"Fine." She untangled herself from him. "But I'm coming with you."

"What? No, Franny, you should stay here . . ."

"No way. If Lieutenant Welsh gives you permission to go trailing off up North after them, then I'm coming with you. I care for Fraser, and Kowalski too, whether or not you like him. And besides, ma would never forgive me if she knew I'd let you go off up there on your own. At least this way she can yell at both of us."

He paused, stared at her through the darkness. "Is this really the only way I'm going? With you along to keep me company?"

"Yes."

"Franny . . ." A heavy, long suffering sigh. "Okay. But I'm not pretending to like it."

"Who said you had to?"

She turned, pushed the door open on some surprised patrolmen who were walking past. "Yes?" She glared at them and they turned, quickly, avoiding her gaze. "Come on." She held out a hand to her brother, who took her support gratefully.

"And Franny?"

"What?"

"Promise me you never, ever, drag me into a closet at work again."

"Oh. Well, I just don't know when you're going to behave like an ass again, do I?"

Part Three