You know what I like about Canadians? They're real easy to elbow out of the way.

I must've done something really, really bad to dream about Kowalski again last night. I see him at work every day, the last thing I want to do is come home, finally get some sleep and have to put up with that pretty-boy for the next five hours too. God is punishing me, I know it.

I'm not gonna go into the ins and outs, I'd prefer to keep that strictly professional, maybe save them all up and get a good deal with the district shrink. Two for one sorta thing. Besides, I don't really remember that much, mostly just feelings.

It wasn't exactly revolutionary, there weren't any spotlights from heaven shining down on me when I woke up. There were a bunch of people in it, people we apparently knew but I sure as hell didn't recognise them and Fraser was no where to be seen. Some guy who should've been Welsh brought us into his office, gave Kowalski a folder and me a tiny box. I never opened it so I couldn't say what was inside but I remember thinking it was important. Then we were in some weird ah, center for something. Lots of white. I don't remember seeing any faces except Kowalski's, God help me. We were breaking up a fight, or a riot, I'm not entirely sure.

Then this guy walks in, bold as brass and Kowalski introduces him as his new partner.

I remember feeling sick and that never actually went away, I woke up with that same brick lodged somewhere deep in my gut. I got it into my head that Kowalski was cheating, so I took a swing for this shark, right? Only, Fraser, he never even entered my mind, he wasn't who this weird version of Kowalski was with. I say weird 'cause this one? Had fashion sense. So I'm thinkin', he's cheating, the fucker's cheating. On who, I don't have the first clue, but it meant enough for me to hit this guy. In my head, it just kept going round and round, he's cheating. And I'm standing there, with this box and now the folder too, the fight's still going on around us, this sleazy guy is flashing his badge, calling Kowalski his partner and I'm wondering where's the best place to throw up that isn't gonna ruin my shoes.

And I'm partnerless.

Then I remember the noise, the riot closes in, Kowalski and Fish Face one side of the room, me on the other. Next to a blithering fool. A really short one. Danny DeVito short. And my now ex-partner waves, the blithering fool introduces himself as my new partner, courtesy of Kowalski, and my mouth drops low enough for this midget to walk inside. I actually wanted to shoot myself, how the fuck could I work with that guy now? It's like I couldn't believe Kowalski could do that. Didn't wanna be my partner anymore, set this whole thing up, didn't say a word to me about it.

I guess maybe he was cheating on me.

And hey, look, just in time. I've found a nice corner to go throw up in.

If Ray had been clever enough to bag himself a nine to five job, he’d be tucked up in bed right now, sleeping like a baby. As it is, he’s stuck in the Goat, freezing his ass off with Kowalski and Chicago’s Score Sports Radio for company. Not that the game is live. Or any good.

There are, however, two positives in this situation that Ray can see:

One, there’s no Dief breathing down his neck, quite literally. Although he’d be glad to see (for himself) Kowalski getting his fair share of wolf hair all over the backseat.

Two, he has more chance of staying awake since he’s pretty sure Kowalski doesn’t know any Inuit stories.

These are his positives. He can work with these. He shifts awkwardly in the seat, still trying to find a comfortable position and squints through the windscreen at the house they’re supposed to be watching. Nothing. Huey and Dewey saw nothing. Now they’ve taken started their shift and wow! Look at that! Nothing.

Pulling his coat tighter around him, he wriggles again and heaves a sigh, flicking off the radio. The game sucks anyway. Much like his seat, in Ray’s opinion. He knew they should’ve brought the Riv, there’s more room. But if something goes down, he’d much rather the Goat get riddled with bullets than his Riv. Fourth one’s a charm and all.

He knows he’s in trouble when he’s actually hoping for a trigger-happy maniac to jump out the bushes. Maybe he should try striking up some kind of conversation, stimulating though it may not be.

He glances over at his partner and frowns a little. “Shouldn’t you be wearing glasses?”