Alliance Atlantis owns the characters and concepts of due South, created by Paul Haggis. No profit or copyright infringement was intended.
"Okay, so what is this?"
"It's a 'just say no' ad, Ray."
"Say no to what? Say no to a workplace full of--ow--"
Kowalski thrashed convulsively. A thick cable slithered reluctantly from his ankle.
"--electrical cords, millions of wannabe Hollywood directors, that guy with the thing in his eye and the pants, Fraser, what was his name..."
"The guy in the pants."
"There are several men in pants here, Ray. Perhaps some other distinguishing characteristic would assist me..."
"HEY YOU! Get the hell off my desk!"
"Ray, that's the lighting technician."
"Get that thing out of here or I'll put you in the cage. Now. Pronto."
The lighting technician said something about a union.
"I'm coming over. Keys, right here."
Ray pitched sideways, shot several feet straight into the air and came down thrashing. What appeared to be a very expensive piece of audiovisual electronics dangled by multiple cables from his right thigh. Swearing expressively, he pogoed in an increasingly tight circle around the floor.
Ray ignored this sensible advice and yanked himself free. The machine moaned. For a horrible moment, Fraser thought his partner was going to draw his weapon and shoot it, but he settled for a swift kick. At the last possible moment before disaster in the form of indescribably expensive shards of savaged silicone exploded through the air of the 27, Ray pulled his kick. The force of redirected energy shuddered through his entire body rather like the braking action of one of those 'funny cars' of which Ray was so fond, particularly on Saturday nights when Fraser might have preferred some other activity, perhaps something, well, at least unlikely to hurl dirt clods at them at close to terminal velocity, and ended in a violent and yet somehow uncertain whiplash action of the head which Fraser knew meant his partner was terribly embarrassed. Not that anyone else would know.
"Ray, this is Andre. George, Harold, DeWitt, Helen, David, Jens, and Charlie. They're the skilled technicians who will be here today, filming us for the televised public service announcement, 'say no to drugs.' As I'm sure you remember from the memo."
"Right. I knew that."
Kowalski shot Fraser one of his while-Ray-wrestles-the-alligator-Fraser's-gonna-talk-about-insurance looks, shrugged himself back into place, and marched into his Leutenant's office. Fraser cocked an ear, rather unfairly he supposed, but of course Leutenant Welch could have elected to have the office properly soundproofed should he have so desired. Welch was inaudable as always, but Fraser had no trouble detecting Ray's high-pitched stress tone....
An hour later, Fraser found him in the bathroom, staring at his hair. The technicians had been looking for him for some minutes now, but of course they would not know where to find him.
Ray continued to stare at the bathroom mirror, which, Fraser thought, certainly did not produce a flattering, nor even a fair, likeness of the man. Definitely a habit inclined to produce a distorted impression.
"Bad guys. I want bad guys."
Fraser leaned over and whispered something in Ray's ear. Ray laughed and turned from the mirror.
"Okay, buddy. Let's do this thing."
"...three, two, one, rolling."
Detective Raymond Vecchio, nee Kowalski, lifted his savagely gelled head, smiled dazzlingly, and spoke into the camera.
"Say no to drugs. 'Cause if you don't say no to drugs, I'm gonna have to kick you in the head. I'm a cop. I can do that."
"Okay, we're done." Ray leaped from the desk.
"Ray. Ray. Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray..."
Fraser stared at him and thought of Canada.
"All right." Sixteen seconds.
Detective Vecchio nee Kowalski stared earnestly into the camera. Fraser noted Ray was cheating his gaze past the camera to the young woman who had provided him with an application of facial powder. It was all the makeup he would tolerate.
"...and I really don't want to kick you in the head. I really don't."
Detective Kowalski stared earnestly into the camera. Just before the tape began to roll, Fraser watched his eyes go completely blank.
"Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray, look at me."
Ray looked up. The cameras rolled. For sixteen seconds he stared at Fraser with his face completely open, worked his mouth several times, and apparently could think of nothing to say.
From the detective's desk to the door was a distance of twenty-seven feet. Each of Ray's boots hit the ground once before he crossed the threshhold. He was scrubbing frantically at his face.
"OkayFraseIgotthingstodoI'llseeyaatsix." Ray stopped long enough to look back. "Game. Bar. Cover me." He was gone. It was rather an impressive performance, Fraser thought.
From Leutenant Welch's office came the unmistakable sound of a throat being cleared.