Title: Bounty Hunting Season
Fandoms: due South
Characters: Maggie MacKenzie, Janet Morse
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Brief mention of child abuse
Length: 1930 words
Disclaimer: I didn't create these characters, I don't own them, I derive no profit from their use.
Summary: Janet Morse has tracked a scumbag to the Northwest Territories, where she goes to the RCMP for assistance and meets Constable Maggie MacKenzie.
Author Notes:  I can't decide if this story passes the Bechdel test -- what's your vote? :)  Under the cut, I invite you to play the constructive-criticism game with me...or if you prefer, just go straight to the story for business as usual.


This story could have used a bit more time in the oven, but I wanted to make the challenge deadline; it's almost but not quite the story I was trying to write.  I'm toying with the idea of editing it some more and posting a revised version to AO3 later.  Coincidentally, I've recently been having some conversations about how it would be nice to have venues for actual critical discussion/feedback of fics, as in a writing workshop, but as a rule, comments on someone's posted work don't really feel like the right place for it.  (Beta-reading *is* a fine place for constructive criticism, but is usually a one-on-one conversation rather than a group discussion.)  I think that discussion of stories from a writing-craft point of view is one way writers learn to get better at the craft.

So, in the name of experimentation, I invite you, if you are so inclined, to offer constructive criticism of this story.  Or to respond to other peoples' commentary.  I could actually use the feedback, and I'd love to get a conversation about the craft of writing going, because they're fun and educational.  This is not a disguised request for reassurance -- I love compliments as much as the next person, but if there are things you think I could do to improve the story, I honestly want to know that.  All I ask is that you keep it polite (to me and to your fellow commenters) and constructive; we're in public, after all, and the rules of this community say to be kind. :) 

So...want to play with me? :)  (Or perhaps you're all busy panicking over holiday gift exchanges and RL travel plans.  It is perhaps a silly time of year to try to start a discussion, but here we are.)

Comments of the usual variety are also welcome, of course. 

And you know your place
And you don’t touch my children
If the young man wants to see the sun go down

    Dar Williams, “Flinty Kind of Woman”

Maggie moved another form from the not-done pile to the done pile with a sigh of disgust.  She hated paperwork.  She hated sitting at a desk doing work a ten-year-old could handle when she should have been out on patrol, using her actual skills.  Most of all, she hated having to be grateful for being stuck on desk duty rather than kicked out of the RCMP altogether.  She knew they’d considered it, and she couldn’t honestly claim they were wrong to have done so.  The way she’d gone after Casey’s killers: she knew how it looked.  Obsessive.  Emotional.  Unstable.  Unbecoming.  Even though she’d been right.  Even though she’d brought them to justice in the end.

She just had to be patient.  Be a good girl—a good Mountie—dot all the is and cross all the ts and follow orders cheerfully.  Prove that she was still reliable, that she wasn’t going to rush off and do something crazy.  That’s all they wanted from her, and then they’d send her back to her real job, which she was damned good at.  Too good to waste on scutwork forever; she knew it and they knew it.

Of course, so was her brother, and apparently the RCMP were happy to leave him as junior officer at the Consulate in Chicago, where his official job seemed to consist of exactly the sort of mindless paper-pushing Maggie was now engaged in.  On the other hand, his unofficial job. . .

No point in thinking about that right now.  Benton Fraser had a sixteen-year service record studded with impressive, if implausible, accomplishments, not to mention the aura of his (their) father’s legendary reputation.  What the RCMP might be willing to do for him was a very different kettle of fish from what they’d do for unknown, unproven, on-probation Maggie McKenzie.

Patient, she reminded herself.  Do your job, do it well, and they’ll see what you’re made of.  And then. . .well, we’ll see.

She picked up the next form and entered the information into the computer with swift, precise keystrokes.

A burst of chilly air made her look up to see a woman entering the little detachment office.  She was dressed for the early spring weather in a quilted jacket and hiking boots; her head was bare, her long, dark hair dusted with snow.  A lump under her jacket suggested she was carrying at least one handgun.  She stamped her feet on the mat before approaching Maggie’s desk.

“Hello.  Can I help you?” Maggie asked.

The woman slapped a bundle of papers down on the desk; looked like permits, documentation.  American.

“Janet Morse.  I’m a bounty hunter, currently in pursuit of Gerald Schmidt, of Worden, Montana.  I’m licensed; got a permit for the guns, up here as well as in the U.S.  It’s all there, you can check it.”

Maggie glanced at the documents: Canadian handgun permits all in order; as for the registration from the National Association of Fugitive Recovery Agents and the Montana license, she couldn’t tell if they were legit or not, but Canadian law didn’t care anyway.

“What’d he do?” Maggie asked.

“Child molester.  Volunteer music teacher at the elementary school, gave private lessons, everybody loved him.  Sneaky bastard, too, and very good at keeping the kids too scared or too loyal to rat on him.  It first came out because one little girl ended up in the hospital with an infection and the doctors wormed the truth out of her.”

“Good Lord.  Sounds like a nasty character.”

“No shit.  Too bad no one wants to arrest a man on the word of a couple of nine-year-olds, especially when they turn around and say they didn’t really mean it.”

“Oh.  He’s not a bail-jumper, then?  I thought mostly you people went after people who failed to show up for their court dates.”

Janet’s mouth twisted and she didn’t say anything for a second.  Then she said, “Mostly, yeah.  This is kind of a special case.  Police were looking into him—supposedly—but by the time they finally got their pants on and put together enough evidence for a warrant, Schmidt skipped town.  Cops wouldn’t go after him because hey, he was out of their territory, not their problem any more.  But they’ll arrest him if I drop him in their laps; they do have a warrant out on him.”

“So. . .if you’re not working for the police or for a bail bondsman. . . ?”

“Local moms didn’t want to let it go at that.  They tried to get the cops to go after him, keep him from settling down to do the same thing somewhere else.  After the cops blew them off, they took up a collection and hired me.”

Maggie whistled, impressed.  “Good for them.”

A cautious smile tugged up the corners of Janet’s tense mouth.

“So, anyway, I tracked him down; he’s been heading steadily North.  Came through Edmonton and kept right on going.  I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to do up here, especially with winter coming on, but I’m not letting him stay, and you don’t want him up here.  So, any assistance you can give me. . .much appreciated.”

Maggie chewed her lip.  Tracking a criminal solo in this area was no easy task, even for someone who knew the territory and the locals and had the proper gear.  This woman seemed to be a professional, at least, but she’d need all the help she could get.  Unfortunately, what she needed and what Maggie could, in conscience, offer were two very different things.

“You chased this guy all the way up here from Montana?” she asked, to stall a little while she thought it through.

“Yep.”

“That’s a long haul.  How long’ve you been tracking him?”

“Almost a month.  Left my kids with their dad, I just hope he hasn’t done anything too phenomenally stupid while I’ve been gone.  Or let them burn the house down.”

“A month?  They can’t possibly be paying you enough to make it worth your while.”

“They’re covering gas and lodging,” said Janet.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“This is. . .personal, then.”  Maggie could sympathize with that, admire it, even, but oh, Lord. . .

Janet shrugged and crossed her arms.  “It wasn’t my kids he touched.  Not even my town.  But it could’ve been.  And no one else was going to lift a finger.  And they asked me.”

Maggie nodded.  “Of course you had to come.  Don’t see what else you could have done.  I hope you catch the bastard.”

“You going to help me?” Janet asked.

“I. . .I’m afraid there’s not much I’m authorized to do for you,” Maggie admitted.  “Bounty hunting isn’t legal in Canada.  If you capture this man on Canadian soil, you’ll be guilty of kidnapping under Canadian law.”

“Fuck.”

“Of course, if he’d committed a crime in Canada. . . ?”

“Not that I know of,” said Janet.

“Crossed the border illegally?” Maggie offered.

Janet made a sour face and shook her head

“Then we have no authority to intervene.”

“So you’ll just wait until he rapes some Canadian kids before you think about taking him in?  Great.  Jesus.”

“The problem is that as far as the RCMP is concerned, you’re a private U.S. citizen accusing another U.S. citizen of committing a crime in the U.S.,” said Maggie.  “If you were a U.S. law enforcement officer, and could show evidence that this guy has committed a crime, evidence that would warrant arrest under Canadian law if the crime had been committed here, then you could ask for him to be extradited, and in that case the RCMP might take action to assist—”

“Call the police down in Worden.  They’ve got a warrant for Schmidt, I told you.  They might not be looking for him too hard, but they’re not going to refuse to take him.  At least, they’d better damn well not.  They can FAX you whatever documentation you need.”

Maggie didn’t point out that her office didn’t have a FAX machine; that wasn’t really the sticking point.

“I can call them, but it still won’t make you legal,” she pointed out.

“Fuck, what, you’re going to arrest me now?  That’s just—”

“I’m not going to arrest you for talking,” said Maggie.  “You haven’t done anything illegal, that I know of.”  She looked Janet straight in the eyes until Janet got the message and gave a little nod.

“Great, this is just great,” Janet grumbled.  “I thought you Mounties were supposed to be. . .helpful.  I thought you’d care about this kind of shit.”

“We do,” Maggie protested.  “But we’re a law enforcement agency.  We have to work within the law.”

“Yeah, that’s what the cops in Worden said, too.  Even though they knew damn well what he’d done.”

“I’m sorry,” said Maggie.  “I can talk to my superiors, and maybe they’ll authorize a search if we can get the documentation from the police on the U.S. side, but honestly, I don’t think they’ll want to touch this.  A U.S. citizen asking us to arrest another U.S. citizen, in circumstances that may or may not even be covered by extradition law.  And with the crime being. . .frankly, in the bigger picture, pretty small potatoes?”  She grimaced.

“Small fucking potatoes?” Janet snarled.

“You know what I mean,” said Maggie.  “It’s horrible, and he needs to be stopped, but it’s not. . .you know, stealing a nuclear submarine or anything like that.  Crimes of international importance.  Worth devoting our extremely limited resources to.”

Janet’s scowl deepened, then relaxed a bit as she registered the irony in Maggie’s tone.

“Fine.  Don’t call your boss, then.”  She leaned forward, both palms on Maggie’s desk.  “You help me.”

“I—I can’t.  I mean, I’m on duty here.  I can’t leave the detachment without a direct order from a superior.”

“Seriously?  Aren’t you on call?  What the hell are you supposed to do if someone calls in a Canadian bank robbery or something?  Just sit here minding the store?”

“Actually, yes.”  Maggie sighed.  “I’m. . .on probation, you could call it.”

“For what?” asked Janet.

Maggie hesitated.  Leave it alone.  You can’t afford another mistake.

But who was she kidding?

She sighed, then met Janet’s eyes as she answered, “For tracking down the men who killed my husband.  They had an alibi, I was told to let it alone.”

“You disobeyed orders?”

Maggie nodded.

“Did you get the bastards?”

“Yes.  I got them to confess, and I arrested them.  They were convicted, which is probably the only reason the RCMP didn’t just throw me out.”

Janet bared her teeth in a predatory smile.

“You a good hunter, then?”

Maggie nodded.

“Me, too,” said Janet.  “I’m also a damn good shot.”

“And I’m an officer of the law,” said Maggie, rising.  “If you lay hands on him, it’s kidnapping.  You’re legal to carry a weapon, but if you shoot him it’s assault or murder.  You understand?”

“I understand,” said Janet seriously, looking Maggie in the eyes.  But then the edged smile crept back over her face.  “On the other hand, Schmidt probably doesn’t.  That might come in handy for us.”

Remembering the number of men she’d intimidated with an unloaded revolver, Maggie grinned.

“That it might,” she said.  She extended her hand across the desk to Janet, who shook it firmly.  “Constable Maggie MacKenzie.  I’m looking forward to working with you.”