Crime Seen (5 page)

“No it’s a lot fuckin’ better.”

“Yeah that fuckin’ shit he sold me was stepped on bad and it’s dirty. My friend was up all fuckin’ night pukin’ after that shit.”

“People don’t know who you are, eh? So they don’t know what to think, eh?”

“I don’t really give a fuck what they think.”

“I can tell.”

“Right on. If those guys don’t want to talk to me then fuck ’em.”

“It’s just that you’re a new face. I just thought I’d tell ya so you know what they’re thinkin’.”

“Well to be honest, I don’t give a fuck what they think.”

“If you’re not all right, don’t arrest me.”

“Yeah. Right. Like I’m a cop,” I laughed. “See ya later.”

He was later arrested for selling me speed on several occasions.

I travelled the province working mostly street-level UC projects for other police departments as much as my own. The projects lasted from a few days to a couple of months. I was still single and being away from home for extended periods of time wasn’t a problem for me. It could be a lonely existence but I tried to get home as often as I could to be with family and friends for a few days. I had always talked with them about my work when I was in uniform but now I told them nothing about my work as a UC. I don’t think they ever would have believed what I was doing … or that what I was saying flowed so smoothly out of my mouth.

My workdays were totally unstructured, with little or no supervision. Portraying the illusion of a criminal lifestyle was an important part of integrating into and infiltrating the local drug community. I was vigilant about not getting too attached to any of the people I met. After all, at the end of the project, most would be arrested. I was familiar with some stories of UCs in agencies elsewhere in Canada and the US and even in the OPP who did not adequately protect themselves from “going over the boards” and who got too close to the people they were hanging out with and/or investigating. Their lines between right and wrong got blurred, ranging from inappropriate sexual relations to corruption. The consequences ranged from disciplinary action to criminal charges and dismissal. I wanted no part of that.

One summer I was assigned to work in Wasaga Beach, a resort location on Georgian Bay, with two other UCs, Jay and Cliff. I was really happy to have some company on a UC project for a change. Jay was the first black officer in Drug Enforcement Section, being transferred in at about the same time as I was. Cliff normally worked as a uniform patrol officer at nearby Orillia detachment. He wasn’t worried about being recognized while working undercover because most of the population of Wasaga Beach were tourists up from Toronto for summer vacation. We rented a three-bedroom cottage close to the beach. It was a great summer gig for three twenty-something cops.

The guys took turns being the UC lead depending on who made the initial contact with the target. Then the other would act as their cover to ensure the undercover buy went smoothly. My assignment was to be the exhibit officer. The guys would turn their drug buys over to me, I’d bag and tag them, and then take them to the lab for analysis. Given the location, I didn’t complain about this back-end assignment. Occasionally I’d step in as a cover officer if one of the guys had a day off or was away at court, so the UC wouldn’t be working alone. We spent most of our workdays either in bathing suits or shorts and a T-shirt. Jay looked like a body builder and Cliff was nicknamed “Magnum” in homage to his resemblance to Tom Selleck. The guys weren’t hard on the eyes, and most days it seemed I had to run interference to keep the bikini-clad ladies away from them long enough so we could get some work done.

The three of us befriended two local young women who were instrumental in the success of our summer assignment. They had no idea we were cops, just that we were on vacation and wanted to get stoned and have a good time. They were anti-drug and constantly expressed their concern about us being so involved in drugs. However they introduced us to a number of people and we were seen together so much that the drug dealers assumed we had been friends with them for a long time. That facade helped us infiltrate an otherwise tight group of vacationing beach traffickers.

Weekend house parties were common and if we didn’t get invited, we’d invite ourselves. One night Cliff brought me along to one in the hope of meeting some new summer residents. We hadn’t been there long when a guy walked in and I could tell right away that Cliff was uncomfortable seeing him. Before Cliff had a chance to say anything to me, the guy approached him and asked Cliff where he knew him from. Cliff told him he was positive they’d never met.

When the guy walked away, Cliff grabbed my arm and said, “Let’s get outta here.” When we were driving back to the cottage, he told me he had arrested the guy a few months earlier after a gas station robbery. Cliff pulled over a car that matched the description that had gone out. He arrested the driver and brought him into the detachment to wait for the other police department to come and pick him up. Instead of putting him in the cells, Cliff stayed with him in an interview room. They chatted for a bit and he eventually confessed to the robbery. Cliff told me he was amazed the guy hadn’t figured out on the spot where he knew him from as they had been in the interview room together for about two hours.

We made more than fifty undercover buys during the two months at the beach including marijuana, hashish, hash oil, LSD, cocaine and speed. At the end of the summer, we held a party at our cottage and invited everyone that we had purchased drugs from. Just about all of them showed up. Over the course of the evening Jay, Cliff and I took turns asking our guests, one at a time, if they wanted to take a walk down to the beach and smoke a joint. Each time just before we got to the beach, a police cruiser would be waiting in the shadows. The officers hopped out, arrested our guests and escorted them to jail. After everyone had left the party, we packed up all of our stuff and moved out of the cottage. We later stopped by the detachment and revealed our true identity to all of our party guests. Almost all pleaded guilty to their charges.

The morning after the project was taken down, I contacted one of the women that we had befriended. She told me she was relieved that we were narcs and not druggies. I was concerned about possible repercussions from some of those arrested, who were friends of theirs. She said not to worry. I kept in touch with both of them for a while to ensure they were okay. No one ever bothered them.

The following summer I was asked to join a Toronto Police Service anti-biker squad investigation into the criminal activities of the Outlaws Motorcycle Club.

Such organizations were extremely difficult to infiltrate but two UCs borrowed from a Toronto drug squad, Bob and Bill, had been undercover for months and were getting deeply involved in the gang. They’d been provided two rebuilt old police Harley-Davidson motorcycles, stripped of all the cop gizmos of course, and looked every bit the part. Given the increasing risk to their safety and to add to their credibility, the guys were looking for two female UCs to partner with them. I wasn’t happy doing an “arm piece” role again but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be a part of infiltrating that sector of organized crime. Beach bars and house parties were a thing of the past. I was now hanging out in sleazy peeler bars and was back into those high-heeled black boots. A black leather jacket was a must wardrobe addition for this job as well.

An officer with Toronto Police, Audrey was selected to join our team as Bill’s girlfriend, after the guys found out the club president had a penchant for Asian women. The first morning she came to work I could see Audrey had little experience working undercover. We spent the rest of the day downgrading her wardrobe in Zellers and Kmart stores. I schooled her on her UC role and she was a quick study. Mr. President immediately took a shine to Ling Ling, as we called her, when Bill introduced her for the first time in a Toronto biker bar. Bill also told him he wasn’t into sharing. Audrey’s and my occasional presence with the guys on the back of their Harleys and hanging out in bars and strip joints seemed to work in increasing their acceptance into the group. Audrey and I eventually branched out on our own, spending time with the bikers’ wives, girlfriends and assorted strippers we got to know and we made a few drug buys ourselves.

The four of us shared a crappy basement apartment in the west end of Toronto not far from the Outlaws’ clubhouse. We agreed that no one was to be alone in the apartment as the bikers sometimes came by. Our two Harleys were chained to a tree outside at night. I don’t imagine the neighbours were too pleased to have us or our occasional unsavoury house guests in their neighbourhood.

One weekend Bob and I travelled in an old pickup truck to spend the weekend with several of the bikers and their wives and kids at a lakeside campground. On that occasion a cover team was sitting out on a boat in the lake some distance away with a set of high-powered binoculars. Bob and I made regular trips to the shoreline so that they could see that we were okay. We were aware by the end of the first day that someone had gone into our tent and pickup truck and searched through our things when we weren’t looking. We had been prepared for that possibility and didn’t have anything with us that would blow our cover stories.

One night Bob and I were working alone when he got a call to come to one of the strip clubs in the north end of Toronto for an impromptu meeting to buy drugs. We rode up to the club and several bikers met us outside in the parking lot. I started to walk toward the club entrance but one of the bikers told me to stay outside and watch their bikes as they’d had some problems with their bikes getting tampered with in the parking lot lately. I acted annoyed with the request, but what I really didn’t like was being a cover officer and letting my partner out of my sight. Bob reiterated for me to wait outside and the look on his face said, “Don’t sweat it, I’ll be fine.” It was a nerve-racking hour while I waited outside, but he finally emerged with a cocaine buy. Sometimes you had to do things that you were uncomfortable with when working as a UC and risk-taking was part of the deal. But I didn’t like my job of being a biker broad that night, sitting on a curb for an hour not knowing what was going on with my partner inside. To be honest, I also remember a bout of self-pity wondering why I never got picked for the high-level drug projects where the UCs drove flashy cars, lived in expensive penthouses and hung out in fancy nightclubs.

The guys continued to have success infiltrating the gang and made a significant number of drug purchases. Unfortunately the project came to an abrupt end one night when Bob was recognized at a strip club by someone he had arrested in the past, and he was “narc’ed” in front of some of the bikers. As much as Bob denied he was a cop, he knew the project was over. I wasn’t working that night but got a message on my pager to come to our apartment ASAP. Less than two hours later we had police cars standing by outside to make sure no one bothered us as we hastily packed up and moved out. A large bust took place a few weeks later with most of the club chapter members being arrested.

For my final UC assignment, I was working in Kingston keeping company with a police informant. He had made a deal with the local police to get out of some outstanding criminal charges. The police had agreed to look after him if he introduced me around town. I was set up living in yet another dumpy apartment at the edge of town.

The appearance of a long-term friendship between me and the informant assisted my integration into the town’s drug scene. I soon became accepted, making friends with the addicts, thieves, hookers, strippers or anyone else who could help me blend in. My daily routine mirrored theirs of walking around town doing nothing or hanging out in bars, playing pool and video games. Like them I was constantly bumming money and drinks, always seeming to be short on cash. To add to my cover story and popularity, I started to sell and give away jewellery I’d claimed was stolen. (A jeweller friend of mine supplied me with the pieces.) It went a long way in my fitting into the city’s shoplifting and associated drug culture.

As I became more deeply involved, I was joined by another female UC, Sue, who played the role of my lesbian girlfriend. I was happy to have her company and she also served to put an end to one target I had made several drug purchases from who wanted to take our friendship to the next level.

My last narc challenge happened one night when I had been working in town for a few months. Sue and I were in one of the local bars and she had just left our table to go talk to some people in the billiard room area. I saw a hulking biker type come in the front door and thought he looked familiar. I was immediately nervous because I had just finished working the Outlaws’ project in Toronto. I didn’t recognize him and he didn’t have any colours—no patches on his jacket marking him as a club member. He sat with a couple of guys at a table a few over from me. I didn’t know any of them but I could tell by the way they kept looking over at me that I was being talked about. Suddenly the guy stood up and started walking toward my table. I stood up with beer bottle in hand as he approached. It was the only potential protection I had.

A fellow UC once told me, “If you’re ever really nervous, get in real close. Then they can’t see your knees shake.”

I got in real close and asked him if he was looking for something.

“Nope. Just wonderin’ who the fuck you are.”

“Why do you care who the fuck I am?”

“People don’t know who you are. Maybe you’re a narc?”

“Yeah, right, like I’m a narc.”

“And if you’re a narc, you’re dead.”

“Well I ain’t gonna be dead cause I ain’t no fuckin’ narc.”

Then he just turned around and walked away.

Sue and I had made over fifty undercover purchases of stolen property and drugs and provided intelligence information on other unlawful activities going on in the community. It was decided not long after to take the project down.

I was glad to see the project come to an end. I wasn’t enjoying the work as much as I once had and I felt guilty about it. The adrenalin rush of working UC was gone. For the first time in my career I knew I was burned out.