Probation Violation

Picault tightened the zip cuffs around Nelson Dunne’s wrists, smiling to himself. The decision to let the man off with two years of probation had irked Picault, and he had a feeling the lifelong criminal wouldn’t be able to keep his nose clean for long. He was just happy he’d been able to watch him get taken down by a granny and a dog. That would do wonders for his prison rep.

Nelson was escorted off by Constable Leicester, who was working the festival grounds, along with Picault’s new girlfriend Constable Denise Michaels. Picault gave his girlfriend a wink as she rushed off to tend to the job at hand. Everyone present relayed their take on events, and eventually returned to the festivities.

“That was a pretty fierce takedown, Mrs. Garin,” Picault addressed June, who was seated on a bench at the edge of the fairgrounds.

Scarlett was seated beside her with red-rimmed eyes, holding the old lady’s handbag. “She saved my son. Are these men going to keep being a problem for us, René?”

“Well, who knows what excuses they could come up with, but that man is on probation, so hopefully they throw the book at him.”

“Thanks for having Karma’s back, Pee-cult.” Justin joined the small group, clapping René on the back.

“Anytime, Fat Tony.” Picault smirked because that nickname still cracked him up after two months of regular use.

“We might have to make you an honorary member of the Suburban Watchdogs.”

“I thought you guys were giving up your crime-fighting ways. Retiring from vigilantism.”

“Well, that was the plan, but not if criminals think they can walk into our town without a fight.” Justin puffed out his chest, as he was accustomed to doing when Fat Tony joined the chat. His Italian accent and hand gestures added to his big-man persona.

“We agreed you’d leave the crime-fighting to the professionals. I’m sure Scarlett and Ollie would appreciate it if you didn’t stare down the barrel of any more guns.”

Scarlett nodded, and June smirked.

“Speaking of, Mrs. Garin, did I hear correctly that you’re carrying a concealed weapon?”

June looked up at the young Sergeant. “Now, Sonny, why would you think that?”

“Someone said you shouted for Scarlett to get your Glock.”

“Who’s the rat?” June scanned her surroundings, staring down anyone she viewed as suspicious. “I said ‘get my clock.’ You know, so we could time how long the coppers took to show up.” The old lady set her face in a hard stare, and the intensity had Picault nervous. He’d stared down plenty of hardened criminals before, but not one of them was as tough as Mrs. Garin.

“Well, we should get June home, Pee-cult. We’ve all had a long day. We’ll see you at Corky’s place next Friday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Picault said goodbye to his group of unlikely friends, including Alvin Harper, who had also joined in on the weekly guys’ nights in lieu of his brewery visits. The six men, on paper, had little in common, but they considered each other a misfit family.

The best friendships could come from the most unlikely places.

Gord hadn’t pictured retirement this way. Locked up in a maximum-security prison in Penetanguishene, separated from his one childhood friend, like a schnook. His lawyer couldn’t even tell him where Earle was serving his sentence, but it wasn’t like being prison pen pals was all that appealing, anyway.

He plunked down a tray of colourless, foul-smelling food on the table as he slid his hulking frame onto the bench. Luckily for him, his size and temper kept anyone from messing with him, but that didn’t mean he was enjoying himself. Maybe a little trouble would make the place more interesting. He gagged down his disgusting lunch, not questioning what he was eating, as he’d become accustomed, and returned to his open cell without a word to anyone. Even his cellmate hadn’t spoken to him and wouldn’t if he knew what was good for him.

Later that afternoon, the literature cart came squeaking down the alleyway, and Gord opted for the newspaper. He’d never been one for reading, but he liked the newspaper and at least some kind of connection to the outside world. Maybe there’d be a nice lady in the classifieds he could send a letter to. If someone was willing to put their information in the paper seeking a life partner, their standards couldn’t be too high. Some notorious criminals had fan clubs. He considered that for a moment until he remembered the stupid name the police had given them—The Magic Men. He’d have preferred something like The League of Extraordinary Wise Guys.

When Gord signed for his newspaper to accept the charges from his commissary account, he grabbed his reading material and climbed onto his bunk, which was about eight inches too short. Pulling the newspaper open, he let out a scream that even the prisoners on the other side of his cellblock heard.

“That damn dog!”

Yeah. Karma is a… female dog.

The End

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