Chapter Four
Dinner

Stanley came into the cafeteria with a disgusted look on his face. Coming to the table he licked one index finger and sketched a stroke in the air. "Chalk one up for Canada. You were right, Fraser. Bug spray."

Blair frowned. "How could they tell?"

"They analyzed a sample. Had absolutely no trouble getting one, the state Solly's clothes were in. I think they're gonna burn them as toxic waste."

"That is most distressing." Fraser bit his bottom lip, and Blair watched with interest. "Will he live?"

Stanley made a seesawing motion with his hand. "The doc says that if he survives the next eight hours, probably. He had the coffee about three hours ago and twelve hours is the critical time."

"It's a good thing you caught that odor, Fraser," Blair said. "Otherwise they'd have treated him for appendicitis and he would have died."

"Oh, he's got appendicitis, too." They stared at Stanley, who nodded. "Yup. Of course, they can't operate right now 'cause it would be too much of a strain on his system." Stanley held up his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. "Turns out that Solly has a teeny bit of a heart problem. They got him on massive antibiotics which are giving him a mother of a case of hives. This has got to be the most unlucky bastard I've ever run across."

"What does this mean for you?" Jim asked.

He sighed. "We're still stuck. First we gotta wait and see if Solly kicks it. Then if he doesn't he has the appendix jerked, rests up for about a day, and we finally toddle his ass back to Chi. You guys are stuck with us till day after tomorrow at least."

"No problem," Blair said promptly.

"We cannot thank you enough, Blair. Jim."

"Yes you can, Fraser," Jim assured him. "Please stop. We know you're grateful. It isn't like we're giving you a kidney. Now, I suggest that we keep an eye on Solly while he's here. If word gets back to Bernie that the spiked coffee didn't work..."

"I see your point, Jim," Fraser agreed. "I will stay. Stanley needs his rest."

Why did I know you were going to volunteer? Jim shook his head. "Look, hospital security can take care of him for the next few hours. Let's go get dinner, then we can work out shifts. Blair and I will share the responsibility. After all, hes ours, too."

"Sounds good to me." Stanley rubbed a hand over his flat belly. "Any good rib joints in this area? I'd kick a nun for a good rack of ribs." "Stanley!"

"Not literally, Fraze. Geez."

Blair and Jim exchanged glances. "Skeets, Blair?"

"Benny," Blair asked, "Do you like mesquite grilled food?"

He thought. "I do not believe I have ever had any."

"Oh, you've been deprived. Skeets it is, then."

As they walked out to the truck, Stanley said, "How are we gonna do this? There's four of us." Fraser started to open his mouth. "Don't volunteer to ride in the back."

"I was not going to." Fraser sounded hurt. "I was going to suggest that either you or Blair might sit on my lap."

Walking a few paces behind the Mountie, Blair looked up at the sky and mouthed 'Thank you', then said, "Sounds do-able. You take the middle, Stanley." He looked up at Fraser from beneath his eyelashes. "Unless you think I'd be too heavy, Benny?"

"Certainly not," Fraser said heartily. "I am sure you are light as a feather."

Smart move, Sandburg Jim thought admiringly. You knew he wouldn't let you feel like you were a bother. And bless you for putting Stan next to me. He smells so good I'm having a hard time not licking him.

On the way to Skeets Blair, perched neatly on the Mountie's strong thighs, twisted this way and that, indicating points of interest. Stanley watched, amused, as the more he squirmed, the redder his partner's face got. By the time they reached the restaurant Benton was tugging at his collar as if it were strangling him.

The restaurant was small and looked functional. As they stepped out of the truck, Stanley lifted his nose and sniffed the rich aroma of roasting meat hungrily. "Oh, man! I'm drooling like Pavlov's dog!"

"This place is the best." Jim led the way to the door. "None of that sweetened ketchup sauce. They use a dry rub."

The interior was just as no nonsense as the exterior. Interior decoration consisted of badly out of date scenic calendars and a set of patently false Longhorn horns above the counter. The linoleum on the floor was so old that whatever pattern it had once had was blurred into an amorphous mass, and it was buckled and blistered. But it was scrupulously clean, quite an accomplishment in a barbeque joint.

The quartet paused near a sign that said 'PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED', and Stanley and Benton started studying the menu hung over the counter. "Crap," Stanley muttered. "It isn't expensive, but I still gotta leave a little to tide me over."

"Don't worry about the cost," Jim said firmly. "Our treat. The department will reimburse us, since you two are here on police business." Maybe. But who cares? I don't want you grumpy, Stan.

Benny started to say thanks, saw Jim's look, and settled for nodding and smiling sweetly.

A family came up to the counter to check out. A tiny girl of about three stared up at Benton, round eyed. He smiled at her gently. She piped, "Are you a giant?"

"No, little lady. I am a constable."

"A what?"

Blair squatted down to speak to her. "He’s a super hero. He catches bad guys."

Her eyes got even bigger. "Really?" She looked at Blair. "What's your name?"

"Blair."

She frowned, looking perplexed. "Are you a lady?"

Jim clapped a hand over his mouth to choke back the laughter, Stanley turned around quickly, and Fraser said seriously, "No. Blair is my... sidekick."

This seemed to satisfy the little girl, and she waved goodbye to them as she left. Stanley was regarding Benton with a half smile. "Fraser, when did you grow a sense of humor?"

"I have always had one, Ray, it is simply different from yours. For instance, I see nothing at all amusing in three grown men poking each other in the eyes."

"The Three Stooges!" Jim and Stanley chorused.

Jim looked at Stanley. "Favorite stooge?"

"Curley."

"Of course."

"BLAIRANJIM!" The two Chicago cops flinched at the basso shout. The Cascade officers just grinned and each opened his arms. A massive woman with improbably red hair rushed them, her footsteps sending a noticeable tremor through the floor. She scooped both of them into one warm embrace. "Where you been, you bad thangs?"

"Been busy, Mama Ivy," Blair squeaked. "Ribs! Ribs!"

"Shoot, child, toughen up. You don't hear your man complainin', do you?" Jim glanced worriedly at his guests, but their faces reflected only good natured astonishment. Mama Ivy was a bit... overwhelming at first.

She released them, and Jim said, "Mama Ivy, we have some fellow officers visiting from Chicago and we thought we'd show them the right way to do barbeque. This is Ray Vecchio, and Benton Fraser."

Ivy put her hands on her ample hips, tucked all of her chins, and raked a thorough gaze over the two men. Then she gave them a blinding smile. "Well ain't this my lucky night? Now I got four pretty men to feed: two no bigger than a minute an' two tree-top tall. I must be livin' right for the Lord to bless me so. Come on, honey. I got a booth for ya'll." She snagged four menus from a pile on the counter and led them to the back of the room.

They all squeezed in, the partners taking sides together: Benton and Blair on the inside. They started studying the menu. "What do you boys want to drink?" Blair, Jim, and Stan opted for beer. Benton politely asked for tea.

Not looking up from the menu, Stan explained, "Hot tea."

Ivy nodded. "No ice."

"No, hot. As in heated." Ivy looked scandalized, and Stanley glanced up at her. "He's Canadian." Ivy nodded, as if this explained everything, and left. "I can't decide between the beef short ribs and the pork spare ribs."

"Then don't decide." Jim folded his menu. "We'll get both and split."

Ray grinned. "Champion. And fries."

"Coleslaw."

"Baked beans."

"Where the hell will you put all that?"

Ray leaned an elbow on the table, propping his chin in his hand. "Small body, big appetites."

Benton was frowning at the menu. "It all sounds delicious, but I have had plenty of cholesterol this week."

Blair tapped the menu. "Grilled lemon-basil turkey breast. That's what I'm having. Ivy makes a wicked pilaf to go with it. Got pecans in it."

"That sounds tasty."

Ivy returned with the drinks. Setting a steaming mug in front of Fraser she said doubtfully, "Here ya go, hon. I hotted you up some Lipton's in the micro." She watched as he took a sip and smiled at her charmingly. She was too busy taking the orders to notice the horrified look he gave the cup while she was preoccupied.

When she left Blair said, "You'll pardon the pun, but not your cup of tea, huh?"

Fraser took a sip of water to clear his pallet. "The word 'foul' does come to mind."

The food arrived quickly. Mama Ivy confided that she'd threatened to pitch the cook into the smoker if he didn't put a rush on the order for her favorite boys. Fraser and Blair eyed the heaped platter of steaming ribs set between Jim and Stanley with open dismay. As Jim selected his first, a chunky short rib, Blair said severely, "I can hear your arteries clogging already."

"So put your fingers in your ears."

Benton and Blair continued discussing Canadian culture ("Oxymoron," Stanley had confided quietly to Jim) while their partners concentrated on the food. Jim watched in amazement as the smaller man denuded bone after bone, piling them to one side and not neglecting the side dishes. "Christ, Vecchio. I'm glad I didn't have your parents' food bill when you went through adolescence. Piranhas leave more meat on the bone."

Stanley was in the process of stripping a sparerib. He paused, and shook the bone at Jim. "I don't believe in wasting good, sweet meat." His lips and fingers were greasy. "This is how you can tell good barbeque: if you feel like a barbarian while you're eating it. I feel ready to go out and rape and pillage." Before Fraser could open his mouth he said, "Just an expression, Fraze."

"I should hope so."

Jim was helping himself to a little more coleslaw when the foot nudged his under the table. He didn't pay it much mind, since things were pretty crowded down there. When it nudged him again, he glanced at Blair. No, Blair was absorbed in watching Benton sketch the Inuit symbol for 'wolf' on a paper napkin. He looked up to find Stanley watching him, gnawing the last shreds of meat from the last rib. Jim's eyebrows lifted. So did Stanley's. The nudge came again. Well, now.

The touch was soft, so Vecchio must have slipped his shoe off. Jim felt the sock clad toes quest over the arch of his foot, then edge under his cuff to stroke his ankle. Ellison had never had a foot fetish, but there was something undeniably erotic about this.

Stanley finished his meal, and scrubbed his face and hands with a napkin. Then he slumped, patting his stomach with a contented sigh. As he stretched out, his foot glided up Jim's calf and stroked up and down. Jim started to get hard. Blair and Benton continued eating and chattering, not noticing that their companions had both become very quiet.

Jim casually scooted forward a couple of inches, spreading his knees apart. Stanley gave him a small smile. The foot went to his knee, and stayed there for a moment. Then slowly, with firm pressure, it slid along the inside of his thigh and came to rest against his fly. The toes started to wiggle.

Jim became erect very fast. In only a couple of minutes his cock was feeling strangled in his jeans. The maddening foot kneaded the bulge at his crotch firmly, rubbing and twisting. Jim would have humped against it if he thought he could do so without drawing attention.

Blair said something. "What's that?"

The foot flexed. "He said he and Fraser are through. What about you, Jim?" It flexed again, and Stanley's smile widened. "You done yet?"

There was a rough edge to Jim's voice. "Not yet. But let's take care of the check first."