A Tangle With Dirty Cops

By Reese Currie

Creighton Zee and Natalia Norayan are back, ready for another tangle with the bad guys of Natalia's home province. Inspector Carl Lane has a job for Creighton Zee: to get rid of the ten dirtiest cops in northern B.C. To go up against cops is against everything Creigh believes in, but after discovering the enormity of their crimes, he agrees to take the job. Join Creigh and Natalia in this action and emotional rollercoaster ride in the northern reaches of British Columbia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Reese Currie
• Release date: May 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301725151

Reese Currie

Reese Currie has had the creative writing bug in his soul from a very young age. Now in his middle age, he is finally releasing the floodgates on his passions, including his passion for fiction writing.

Book preview

Chapter One

My name is Creighton Zee. My girlfriend Natalia and I had just fled from a caper gone wrong. We had been hired by my friend Desmond Garner to protect his client, Jacob Davies, and his family after a shooting incident in which Jacob had saved his daughter from a rape. It turned out the men Jacob had shot were members of a small but violent new white supremacist group. We managed to defeat the group, but the losses were extreme. Jacob and his family were dead, and Desmond and his wife were dead. By rights, Natalia and I should have been dead. The only reason we weren't dead is that we have a secret: we're both werewolves.

We do not lose control of ourselves or transform into werewolves, because we are also both Christians. In the Middle Ages the Roman Catholic Church maintained that a conversion to Christianity would cure lycanthropy. That was almost completely true, but it isn't a complete cure. There are lingering effects. For instance, like all other werewolves, we cannot be killed by bullets or blades that are not silver.

The first time Natalia had made love to me, she had done so to save my life. Lycanthropy can be transmitted through bites and scratches, and also, through unprotected sexual contact. I had been mortally wounded in a gunfight, and as I lay dying, she made love to me. By morning, my wounds had been healed. Fortunately we had already been falling in love when this happened, and we have been together ever since, although that is now only a couple of months.

We're discovering other side effects of lycanthropy as we go along. At the past full moon, Natalia had been unusually sexually voracious. She's not a cold fish under any circumstances, but the last full moon had introduced a few firsts to our sex life. I hadn't yet experienced any changes in my libido as a result of the full moon. Maybe I wouldn't; maybe it happened to her was because she was female. On the other hand, maybe it was because she had been stricken with lycanthropy a month before me, and I would experience the same thing on the upcoming full moon. I had a mixture of dread and anticipation. One of us, at least, had been in control last time. I was nervous about what might happen if both of us were equally voracious.

Right now, we were running together, heading toward northern British Columbia at the request of Inspector Carl Lane, an RCMP officer I had befriended during the most recent caper. He said he had a job for me in northern BC; I had no idea what it was about. I was ambivalent about continuing my second career as a hired gun. I blamed myself for having caused the events that killed Jacob's family and my friends Desmond and Andrea Garner. I feel that I caused those events because I have no military or police experience. I had believed that the only way to put a stop to the supremacist group's attacks was to bait them into a final battle. The battle had been final for them, but it had also been final for my friends and my client. I couldn't picture forgiving myself any time soon for their deaths.

I was getting lots of time to think about my failure on this drive, too. Natalia was sleeping in the passenger seat and I was driving, alone with my thoughts, most of which were self-recriminations. She began to stir into wakefulness. She lifted her head and looked at me through squinty eyes; the morning light was a bit too much for them.

Hello, I said. I hate the expression good morning and I don't like using it. I have no idea why. I'm a freak.

Did you drive all night? she asked.

I nodded.

You must be exhausted, she commented.

I'm doing all right, I answered. We're pretty close to our destination.

Oh, yeah? she said.

I nodded again. The next village is Promenade. I glanced at the odometer. Not long at all. Five or six kilometres.

Then we have to find Carl's brother, she said. She yawned and blinked some sleep out of her eyes. I'd like to have some breakfast first.

We'll see if we can find a restaurant as soon as we get to town, I said. Do you need to use the washroom?

She shrugged. I figure I can hold on for five kilometres, she replied.

Shortly, we passed a welcome sign, and then we were in the outskirts of the village. It wasn't long before we reached a restaurant, and I pulled in. On our walk from the car to the restaurant, both of us were so stiff from the overnight drive that we looked at each other walking and laughed together. I held the door for her and she entered before me; I followed her and chose a table as she went to the washroom.

I lowered myself gingerly into a chair. A waitress appeared with a coffee pot and a couple of menus. I turned over both of our cups and the waitress filled them. I figured based on the appearance of the place, the coffee would likely have the taste of rancid sludge, but there was no way to go much further without a caffeine injection of some sort. I took a cautious sip and was pleasantly surprised.

I had a sense I was being watched, and my eyes instinctively tracked to the source as I put down my coffee cup. There were a couple of uniformed RCMP officers at a nearby booth, and one of them was staring at me. I met his eyes; he made a minute gesture with his far hand, and then his partner was looking at me, too. I nodded at them respectfully; I always afforded the police respect, but with Carl Lane involved, there was the additional reason that I might be working with them fairly soon. They didn't nod back. They only stopped giving me the eye when Natalia emerged from the bathroom and their eyes went to her. I was somewhat surprised that they seemed to look at her in lustful appraisal. She appeared not to notice them, walking over and sitting in the seat opposite me. I looked at her, but could see them out of the corner of my eye. They stared at us for another few moments and then finally returned their attention to each other.

Most peculiar, I said under my breath.

Hm? hummed Natalia, gesturing to me with her chin.

I started playing with my moustache and goatee. It covered my lips intentionally. Natalia had surprised me by knowing how to read lips, and I didn't want to be surprised by these cops as well. Those RCMP guys were giving me the evil eye.

I noticed, she said matter-of-factly behind her menu. They gave me the eye too, with a whole different kind of evil in mind. She met my eyes over her menu and flashed me a grin. I reserve my evils for one person.

Evils, I scoffed.

The two cops got up and left their booth. The guy who had stared at me first was thin, had dirty blond hair and burning blue eyes. His partner was a few years older, and tad heavier, and shaved bald. The two of them swaggered out, the blond giving me another glance as he went out the door. Marking me, it felt like.

Are you surprised they looked at me like that? Natalia asked me frankly.

I looked from the door back to her.

She gestured at her shape.

You look like a model, I said.

A plus-sized model, she clarified. I think the stick figure girls get that particular look a lot more often than I do.

I shrugged. A model's a model, I said, and you have the face of a model. I'm more surprised because it wasn't a very professional thing, and the RCMP is pretty professional.

Not so much here in northern BC, she replied. There are a lot of complaints filed here against RCMP officers. Only a small percentage of those become news. The ones that become news are pretty bad.

Like what? I asked, sipping my coffee.

A lot of excessive force, Natalia said. There was a story about one of them who stopped a drunk driver, got him to lie on the ground and kicked him in the face. This was only news because somebody caught it on video.

I shook my head in distaste and looked at the menu. I had done worse things, but the people I had done them to had done worse things, too.

There's a story going around now about Human Rights Watch accusing the RCMP in northern BC of abusing aboriginal women, including one case of rape. She paused. Maybe they thought I looked aboriginal. My complexion is about right.

Anybody who abuses you is dead, I said flatly. Cop or not.

She touched my hand, a little smile on her face. There are so many men who might say that and not mean it. You, I know, mean it.

Damn right I do, I said quietly as the waitress approached again to take our orders.

I ordered two sides, hash browns and breakfast sausages. Natalia ordered something more normal with eggs. I hate eggs. Eggs, and saying good morning. I'm a freak. I call my breakfast of sides a ketchup delivery system. I'll probably have a heart attack before the decade is out, but at least eggs won't be a contributor.

The waitress left to fulfill our order.

I wonder if that might be why you're here, Natalia said, once the waitress was out of earshot. The Human Rights Watch thing.

I frowned. Why do you think so?

The Conservative government is complaining that if Human Rights Watch or the Liberal party has complaints, they should be making their complaints to the police.

I snorted. Good luck with that.

Yeah, considering that Mounties who get caught abusing people sometimes get punished with nothing more than a day without pay.

Seriously? I asked.

Seriously, she replied.

I thought that over for a few moments.

Well, I don't want to speculate on what Carl wants me to do here, I said. The jury is out on whether I'll even take the case.

What if this is the case? Natalia asked.

I paused only for a couple of seconds of consideration before saying, I'd take it.

Chapter Two

Breakfast was wonderful, but it made me a bit sleepy after the night of driving I'd had. Natalia excused herself for another trip to the bathroom. While she was away, the waitress came along with my bill.

How was everything? she said. I took in her name tag: Jolene.

Just fine, Jolene, I said. A nice breakfast, thank you.

That's good, she said, gathering plates. She started to leave the table, but paused.

I shouldn't say anything, she said, but those cops that were in here?

Yeah? I prompted.

Next time they look at you, just look away, she said. They're the kind of assholes who'd pull you over and bust one of your taillights just to give you a ticket for it.

Really? I said. Well, I don't want any trouble with them.

Just keep clear of them, she said, moving away, then she stopped again. And if you do get in any trouble with them, don't tell them I said anything.

She started to move away again, but I gently took her wrist. Have they given you a hard time before?

She just shook her head and pulled free of my grip. I let her go. I didn't even know what Carl Lane wanted me to do here, whether it involved any of these abuse allegations or not, but sometimes I do stick my nose into things all on my own volition. Besides, Carl might want me to work with these people and I wanted to know everything I could before agreeing to do that.

Natalia returned to the table. What was that about?

Our waitress just warned me about the two cops that were giving us the eye earlier, I said. Said they're the kind who'd break out your taillights on a traffic stop just to give you a ticket for it. Said if they give me the eye again, I should just look away.

I paused before adding, I stopped her and asked her if they'd given her a hard time before. She wouldn't say.

Probably too scared to say, offered Natalia. She looked at Jolene, who was now behind the counter. Is she native?

I took a look over at Jolene. I don't know. She could be. She has the right coloration.

Well, if this is about the abuse of native women, Natalia commented, she could be a source of information.

I sighed. Maybe so. It'd be like pulling teeth, though. She doesn't want to talk about it. I looked at my bill, and just dropped a couple of bills on the table. Jolene could keep the change.

We exited the restaurant, and before we had made it to the car, I was on my cell phone to Jim Lane. Hi, Jim? This is Creighton Zee calling, I'm a friend of Carl's.

Yes, he told me to expect you, Jim answered. I'm supposed to rent one of my cottages to you. Carl's picking up the tab, he said. Nice present.

Yeah, really nice, I said. So, do you have a cottage available?

Sure I do, Jim replied. Carl's had this one reserved for a while, pays me a bit every month to keep it available. I don't mind. Big RCMP guy, he probably needs to get away once in a while. Where are you?

I named the restaurant, and he gave me directions from there to the cottage. I'll meet you there, he finished. I'm driving a bright yellow pick-up. It'll be in the driveway of the right spot. I thanked him and hung up.

Want me to drive? Natalia asked.

I've got the directions in my head, I replied, tapping the cell phone on my cranium. It's maybe half-an-hour out of town.

I sat down in the driver's seat. You could keep me awake, though, I joked.

She slipped her hand between my legs. Would this keep you awake? she asked.

I looked down. Yes, but it might be distracting, I replied, pretending to complain.

Fine then, Natalia said, pretending to be offended.

But keep the thought, I requested.

She smiled. You know I will.

We drove up a winding side road to get to the cottage Carl had arranged for us. According to the directions, I made a turn onto another side road and came fairly quickly to a cottage with a yellow pickup in front of it. I pulled into the driveway beside the truck.

The place was hardly a cottage; it was small, but nicer than I had imagined. It was a log cabin. Jim Lane opened the door. He didn't look that much like his brother, but you could see the similarities. I placed Jim Lane about five years older than Carl.

Mr. and Mrs. Zee, I presume, he called from the doorway.

Creigh and Natalia, I said, approaching him, holding out my hand. He gave it a warm shake.

You RCMP officers yourselves? he asked.

No, I'm a computer programmer, and Natalia's a make-up artist, I replied.

Computer programmer, eh? Not a software engineer or something like that?

I shrugged. I'm supposed to say software developer, but I don't like that because an individual programmer really doesn't develop software, so to speak, unless it's really small. Others would call themselves software engineers. I won't do that because I'm not a P. Eng., and neither are they, so it's invalid to call themselves engineers.

You know, I appreciate that answer, he replied, holding up his ring. He was a real P. Eng.

A professional engineer, I said. What discipline?

Roadways and bridges, he said with a hint of pride. Retired. Renting out cabins has been a side business and a pretty good one, a good investment.

I come from the east coast, I offered. You ever see the Confederation Bridge between New Brunswick and Prince Edward Island?

He nodded. I have to admit, I vacationed in PEI one year just to drive over it. One of the true engineering achievements of the twentieth century.

He was lost in memories for a moment, then quickly said, So come in and I'll show you around.

The place had a full size kitchen, bathroom, and one bedroom with a big king sized bed.

Huh, I said. I've never slept in a king sized bed before.

It's an interesting experience, he said. My wife and I use a queen. A king takes up a lot of real estate. I kind of think they're nice for people who miss sleeping alone, because you're unlikely to bump into the other person in the night. It's a nice feature in a cottage, though. I've rented out this place a lot just because of the king sized bed.

On his way out, he pointed to a sign behind the front door. If anything breaks, or you need anything, just call me, my number is on this information sheet. Do you have any questions?

Do we have Internet here? I asked.

Yep, Jim replied. He gave me the password for the router. Anything else?

I looked to Natalia, who shook her head. I had no questions either. With another handshake, Jim was out the door. We heard his motor start, the truck being backed down the driveway, and then acceleration as he drove away.

Well, I said, I guess we'd better unpack.

I'll unpack, Natalia said. You need to get some sleep.

I won't be able to sleep, leaving you to unpack, I said, and headed out to the car. I looked all around to see if anyone was watching, partly because of the creepy RCMP guys I had encountered at the restaurant, and partly because it had become my habit to be aware of my surroundings. Finding no one, I unloaded the bags from the trunk. We only had two suitcases, a few reusable shopping bags, and our laptops.

Two of the shopping bags were remarkably heavy, and they held the items I was most concerned about. The current armory was in these bags: two Ruger Blackhawk convertibles, single-action revolvers that looked like cowboy guns that could shoot .357, .38, and with a different cylinder, nine millimetre ammunition; a Ruger SR1911 semi-automatic, and a Walther P99 semi-automatic. The Rugers were mine. The Walther was an unregistered weapon Carl Lane had taken from the body of a vanquished white supremacist and given to us. He had also given me a Sig Sauer 226, but I had used it on another three supremacists who had invaded the Garners' home, and I had dropped it at the scene. There was