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IN THE BUILDING
“I’m glad this day is over, Frase. How about you?”
“Indeed. The Lieutenant was on a bit of a tear today, wasn’t he?”
“A tear? Yeah, you might say that. You might also say he was a dick.”
“No, Ray, I would definitely not say that.”
“Oh, there’s a surprise. So what’ll it be tonight, buddy? Pizza?”
“That sounds fine. Oh, just a moment.”
“Ah, Fraser? Fraser? That’s enough. We’ve been opening doors for ourselves here in Chicago for like, centuries.”
IN THE PARKING LOT
“Ray, it only takes an extra second to be courteous.”
“If I added up all the extra seconds you’ve spent opening doors for people since we’ve been partners, we’d be two months ahead.”
“Is something bothering you?”
“No, Fraser, just get in the car.”
“It’s just that you seem out of sorts today.”
“Hello. Have we met before? I’m out of sorts all day, everyday. It’s part of my charm. Ask anybody. So get in the car.”
“Perhaps I should drive.”
“Fraser.”
“As you wish.”
IN THE GTO
“Listen, I’m sorry. You’re right, I have been kinda jumpy lately.”
“Is something troubling you, Ray?”
“Yes and that’s the thing, I don’t even know what it is. I just feel like my skin is too tight or something. You know what I mean?”
“Not entirely, no.”
“It’s like — I’m a runner on the track, waiting for the starter gun to fire. But it doesn’t and all that anticipation and tension builds and builds until one day, I’ll just go POP like a balloon.”
“That’s a very disturbing image.”
“Hence, the jumpiness. Wait. What is that smell?”
“Smell?”
“Yeah, Fraser, smell– odor, stink, scent. What is it?”
“I’m not detecting anything unusual. I suppose it might be time to have the car detailed. Has the oil been changed recently?”
“No, it’s not that kind of smell. It’s not a car smell. It’s nice, sorta like perfume, but not. Don’t you smell it?”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“It’s…I think it’s you, Fraser. You’re what smells good.”
“Well. Thank you kindly. I do try.”
“Yeah. It’s coming from your general area. It’s nice, real nice.”
“That’s a fine compliment, Ray. I appreciate it. Good hygiene is always …”
“Guess it could be perfume. Did Frannie rub up against you today? What am I saying? Of course, she did.”
“That’s somewhat disrespectful…”
"But accurate?”
“Well —“
“Ah hah. So. Well, what else could it be? Fabric softener or something?”
“I don’t use fabric softener. All those chemicals against one’s skin, I shudder to even think about it. I use biodegradable, perfume-free detergent and nothing else.”
“Uh-huh. I use Tide myself.”
“Ah.”
“All right, what does that mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“That ‘ah.” Your ‘ahs’ always mean something. And they usually mean, ‘Ray, you’re full of it.’”
“I was just thinking that you should be more mindful of the environmental impact of the choices you make. Even a seemingly innocuous contribution to …”
“Fraser? Fraser?”
“Yes, Ray?”
“Forget I asked about that ‘ah’, okay?”
“Understood.”
“Fruit.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It could be a fruit smell. Apples or oranges. Citrus. Something.”
“I had a delightful tangerine last night before bed.”
“Hmm. Deodorant, then?”
“Deodorant?”
“Come on, Fraser. Help me out here. Is it your deodorant?”
“Not likely, Ray. I don’t use conventional antiperspirants. I use a traditional Inuit concoction, made with bear blubber, heated over a fire for two days then ground together with bladder of a musk ox, treated with a desiccant.”
“Oh, Jeez, I wish I hadn’t asked. I don’t know why you’re smiling. That’s disgusting.”
“I’m smiling because I’m …how do you say…yanking your chain.”
“Huh?”
“I use Right Guard, Ray.”
“Oh, very funny, that’s hilarious. I have the Jerry Seinfeld of the RCMP riding shotgun today. No, it is not Right Guard, I know what that smells like. You just get your uniform back from the cleaners?”
“No. Ray, if this odor bothers you so much, perhaps you can swing by the Consulate and I’d be happy to change. Perhaps that will alleviate the problem.”
“Did I say it bothered me? I just said it was nice. If I wanted something alleviated, I would say so, wouldn’t I?”
“I’ve never known you not to.”
“Thank you. It’s one of my hallmarks.”
“One among many.”
“Thank you. Toothpaste?”
“Ray? Stop the car.”
“What?”
“Stop the car.”
AT THE CURB
“Why did you want me t—“
“Come here, Ray.”
“What?”
“Come here. Unfasten your seatbelt, slide over and come here.”
“I’m not sure that…”
“Stop talking and move over. Closer. Closer.”
“I’m already right up against your thigh, here, Fraser.”
“Yes, I know. Now, smell me.”
“Huh?”
“I’m giving you leave to sniff me as long as you like so that the mystery of the smell that is preoccupying you will be solved.”
“You’re a freak, you know that?”
“I believe you’ve mentioned that, yes. Might I suggest you start in the middle of my chest and work your way out.”
“Fraser. Just. Let me do it.”
“Do it, my friend.”
“What’s become of my life? So. Okay. Here I come.”
“And?”
“Well. It’s not the Serge.”
“All right.”
“Not the Neatsfoot Oil.”
“Mmm. You smell nice, as well, Ray. Did I say that before?”
“Oh, jeez, I found it.”
“My hair?”
“Mmmm.”
“Ah, the shampoo. I recall it now. I was out of my usual brand this morning and Turnbull gave me some from his locker. It is rather nice, isn’t it?”
“It’s pretty fucking awesome, Frase. Do you mind if I just— wow, it makes your hair soft, doesn’t it? It feels like silk against my cheek.”
“That feels very nice, Ray. My ears are very sensitive. How did you know?”
“Fraser?”
“Hmmm?”
“I’m gonna kiss you now, all right?”
“Please, Ray.”
“Oh, wow. That’s good stuff.”
“Indeed.”
“You’re good at everything, aren’t you, buddy?”
“I believe I’ll let you be the judge of that.”
“And we haven’t done that before now because why?”
“Take me to your apartment and we can discuss it at length.”
“Yeah. Just let me catch my breath.”