I started working on book 2 of the Canadian Noir series in December last year. I’m about 40,000 words into the first draft manuscript, and it looks really good so far. My narrative style has evolved and become more complex, and the story has the same noir atmosphere and character-driven plot that Snake River had.

I feel good about the direction this second entry is taking, and I do have the whole story laid out in my head. All I need to do is write it out. I estimate it will be about as long as Snake River was when complete.

But I don’t want to leave you all high and dry, so I thought I would share an early chapter. I am currently calling the book “Night Shift”. This is chapter 6. I hope you enjoy.

Night Shift : Canadian Noir Vol. 2

Chapter 6 – Cherry Beach

The detachment office was a solemn place at night. Monroe felt the hollowness of it enclosing on him like an oppressive claw, damning him to the paper shuffle for God-knows-how-long until it takes to review the entire stack of surveillance recordings. He checked “pertinent info” and confirmed his list of noted time stamps. He returned to the directory, loaded the next file, hit PLAY and a recording of the Marconi brothers with their three cousins discussing their criminal enterprise played: cars and cash and guns. Lots of juicy stuff.

The techs had drilled a tiny hole through the side of Dom Marconi’s North York home to the living room wall. A tiny snake-neck microphone slid through the opening and transmitted a crystal clear audio recording of everything said on the main floor. The tech guy did a stellar job posing as a cable repair man that day. It was also a great bit of police work going down to the Urban Planner’s office and looking up the blueprint for the house. Finding the home address of a man who doesn’t even have a real driver’s license was no small feat either. Monroe had linked five different properties in the GTA to the Marconi name ranging from Richmond Hill all the way out to Oakville. He tailed and tracked Marconi and his lieutenants for weeks until settling on the North York abode.  

But now the monotony of tapes tore him down. It was past midnight, and after almost two straight hours of listening to tapes he needed a break. The case was tight and solid, wrapped up in a bow and shiny paper and ready to be shoved under the tree. When they affect the fake buy at the end of the week, they’ll have the Marconi boys dead to rights. In spite of all this, Sutherland demanded he go through the recordings. “Anything new we can find in there is only gonna strengthen our play on this when it goes to trial. Go through the damn tapes, Monroe.”

He’s just doing this to piss me off. He knows I hate this, Monroe thought.             

He hit STOP and took off the headphones. He rubbed his face to wake himself up, and then Kenny entered the quad with a copy of the Toronto Sun opened up to the classified section.

“Hey Robbie, I found something for ya… 24 year old single white male seeking curious encounters. Must have video camera for hot times.” He looked at Monroe. “There’s a number here. You interested in this?” He couldn’t contain the hearty chuckle percolating in his chest.     

“Gimme that!” Monroe snatched the paper out of his hands. He flipped to the back page and displayed the Sunshine Girl; a buxom lass with cascading red hair in a red and white bikini. “I think she might be more my type.”

Kenny lowered into his chair, still chuckling. “As soon as I turn away you’re gonna be flipping to page 62, drooling all over the Sunshine Boy.”

The shared a rollicking laugh loud enough for Constable Ronette Landsman, sitting two quads over, to notice. She stood up and looked at them like a school teacher scolding some unruly students. “What are you two goofballs yapping about?” she said.

Their laughter settled and Kenny apologized for the disruption. He asked Monroe, “So what’s got you lookin’ so down ‘n tired? I’m trying to cheer your ass up.”                      

“I’m bored, Ken. If I have to listen to one more of these tapes I might go into a coma.”  

“I hear that. Right now I’m up to my neck in search and seizure reports from the border office. It’s that god damn paper shuffle, Robbie.” Kenny removed his sidearm holster, opened his desk drawer and dropped it inside.

“It’s too quiet in here at night. I don’t like it,” Monroe complained. “I’m going to pass out if I have to be here all night. Sutherland’s just doing this to fuck with me. He’s really making himself a royal pain in my ass.”

Kenny turned to his computer and began checking his email. He sympathized. “Just another week of this and we’re back on days… or so we hope. I haven’t seen the sun in so long it’s enough to make a man turn vampiric.”

That struck Monroe as an interesting choice of words. “Speaking of vampirism…” he began, and kept his voice low and level. “You remember that thing we saw last night?”

Kenny dropped his attention from the email and glanced at his partner. “What’s this now?”

Monroe rolled closer in his chair. “I went to see the body at the morgue today, just out of curiosity. I wanted to see if I was right about something.”

Kenny turned to face him, all the joviality drained from his face. “Go on.”

“The bracelets he had on were the kind they do at those parties. He was probably on something. I figure, he was at this party, maybe it was his first, and gets high on some top shelf ecstasy for the first time in his life. It gets him so fucked up and sweaty he decides to go for a walk to cool off. Somehow he’s not looking or paying attention or whatever, but he ends up on the train tracks and gets smoked by the last Lakeshore eastbound GO train.”

“What was the time of death?”

“1:35. Right around peak time, if you’re using.”

“OK, so the kid got high and did something stupid. It’s not a murder, so who cares?” Kenny didn’t see this going anywhere.

“I just wanna know what he was under. It must be something pretty wild to make him do that. People don’t just walk into speeding trains.”

“Maybe he was listening to music. He didn’t hear it coming.”

Monroe shook his head. “There wasn’t anything in his personal affects. No Walkman or headphones were found at the scene.”

Kenny didn’t have anything to say to that, but he felt his partner was treading on hazardous ground.

“It just seems a little strange,” Monroe said with a shrug.

Kenny shook his head in disbelief. “Oh, hell no. Don’t tell me you’re getting some idea. Don’t even go there.”

“If there’s something funny going around at those parties, it constitutes a real public health risk. I got a feeling it’s not just ecstasy in that guy’s system. It’s been cut with something else to give it an added kick. Maybe smack or meth. Maybe some kind of opioid.”

“All right… I’ll humour you on this. The victim didn’t strike me as the street-walking, strung-out type. He looked about as wholesome-white-bread as they come. The whole thing is really sad and fucked up… So what are ya thinkin’ then, cowboy?”  

Monroe grinned. “I’m glad you asked. Take a look at this guy.” He turned to his computer and pulled up a database file on Dave Abbott, a known drug offender with a history of violent behaviour. His mug shot was tough, mean, and ugly; a shaved head with a round face and hard eyes. He was tall, fat, and had the contemptuous look of a heartless gang banger: full anger but also a little sad.

“What do you wanna do with him?” Kenny said.

“A real specimen, isn’t he?” Monroe said. “What you’re looking at here is a man with deep connections in Toronto’s street drug distribution network. Coke, dope, pills, old Davey here has had his fingers in all of it. His sheet isn’t so much a sheet as it is a book. I know for a fact that he’s involved in the underground party scene. It’s just another market to peddle his shit. Toronto Police booked him three months ago. He was sticking up clubbers on Richmond. His weapon of choice was a box cutter.”

Monroe interlaced his fingers and rested his ankle over his knee. “I figure we pick him up, shake him down, see what he says. Maybe we get something about what’s going around these days and where it’s coming from. He just got out of the Don Jail. His parole officer’s keeping him on a tight leash.”

Kenny sucked his teeth. “Say your right and we find out there’s some bad pills going around. The bosses are gonna tan your ass if they find you’ve been sneaking around. You know Sutherland doesn’t like this kinda cowboy shit.”

“OK, I gotta let you in on a little secret…” Monroe told about the swiped vial and the tox screening at the department crime lab.

“God damn, Robbie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kenny was incredulous.

“I’m bringing you in on this, Ken. You’ve always backed me up, and I need to know you’re with me on this because I know I’m right. Something’s going on and the local PD has no clue.”

Kenny sighed and hung his head. “You’re gonna get us both fucked.”

“Not if I’m right. We could be saving lives. Isn’t that what this job is all about?” He waited for his partner to reply.

Kenny surrendered. “I’ll tell Sutherland we’re stepping out.”. He got up and looked at his partner. “You know where to find this mope?”

Monroe looked at the mug shot on his computer screen. “I know what rocks he likes to hide under.”

2 a.m. in Toronto’s east end. Monroe and Kenny rolled down Danforth Avenue in an unmarked cruiser with tinted windows. For over an hour they checked alleyways, street corners, and illegal afterhours bars. There was no sight of him anywhere and none of the people they questioned at the afterhours places gave them warm reception. It seemed fruitless until Monroe turned up Woodycrest Avenue, stopped at a parkette, and pointed to a group of three men all dressed in black gathered in the shade of a stand of trees, almost invisible from the roadway. It was a good spot to lay in waiting for someone vulnerable to pass by. When their mark was away from street, the thugs would pop out and jack them up.

Monroe took a pair of binoculars out of the armrest and looked at the group. “That’s our guy. He’s still up to his old tricks.”

“Let’s hit ‘em up,” Kenny said.

They got out of the car and crossed the parkette to the shady group. One of them noticed to the two officers approaching and uttered a hasty warning. By the time they all realized what was happening, Monroe and Kenny were on top of them.

“Well, well, look who it is. Still haven’t learned anything, Dave? I hoped you would’ve cleaned yourself up by now,” Monroe said.

“What’s this? We’re just minding our own businesses. No trouble,” Dave said. Monroe smelt booze on his breath, and he had the wily look of a man flying high on uppers.

Kenny noticed the empty 40oz bottle of Smirnoff on the ground along with some crushed tall cans. He expressed disappointment. “In the middle of the night? Looks more like loitering. And littering too? Tsk tsk. Shameful shit.” 

“Let’s take a walk, bud. The rest of you go home, or you can explain what you’re doing to a patrol officer. There’ll be one coming around shortly. And clean up that mess. Have some respect for the city,” Monroe said.

He grabbed Dave’s coat sleeve, dragged him to the car, and pushed him into the backseat. It was a quiet drive with no music or conversation, only blips and call-outs from the radio scanner. When they turned down Cherry Street, Dave realized their destination. He started casting back and forth growing more restless and agitated by the second. There was only one reason why a cop would take you down to Cherry Beach in an unmarked cruiser. “Aren’t you gonna say something? What’s this shit all about?” he demanded.

Monroe parked at the beachfront. Kenny took a sad look over his shoulder at Dave before they all got out. Down by the lake, the wind gusts were sharp and frigid and there wasn’t another person around. The moon and stars shone in the black sky.

Monroe pulled Dave along by his coat sleeve. “Let’s go,” he said and pushed him ahead. Monroe directed him through the parking lot, down a short foot trail, and into a secluded spot where the trees shielded them from the blistering wind. It was very dark.

“Right there,” Monroe said. They all stopped. Dave turned and looked at them fearfully with his hands up.

“Look, I don’t know what this about. You don’t have no charge on me!”

“Stop.” Monroe said. He began patting him down and checking all of his pockets. It didn’t take long to find something. “Well, now, what do we have here!” He pulled a yellow box cutter out of Dave’s back pocket. He unrolled the locking wheel and pushed out an inch of the blade to inspect it—a fresh, sharp blade. The blade slid back into the handle. He locked it and handed it to Kenny.

 “What else ya got?” Monroe said as he continued riffling through his pockets and patting down his legs and arms. The search yielded a rolled up Ziplock bag with an ounce of marijuana. “Possession of a Controlled Substance. A substantial amount too. Likely with intent to sell.” He handed the weed to his partner.

Kenny looked it over and gave it a sniff. “Hmm. Some premium shit right here.”

“Fine… Book me and send me back to the Don. I don’t give a fuck.”

“That’s not how we’re gonna play this,” Mornoe told him. “We need info. If you tell us what we want to hear, we might just happen to look away and forget these charges. With your sheet, you’re looking at some time.”

“Well, I don’t know shit about shit, officer.”

Monroe took a deep inhale through is nose. “On Saturday night a young man went to an underground party hosted by Cyrus. He picked up something that night that got him killed. What do you know about the drugs going around at parties these days?”

“Like I said. I don’t know shit about shit.” All attitude and bluster.

Monroe looked back at his partner. They exchanged secretive looks. He looked back at the thug in disappointment. His right hand uppercut plunged into Dave’s solar plexus and flushed the wind right out of him. He doubled over and clutched his gut. He wheezed and grunted. Monroe shoved him against a tree. The thug moaned and gasped for air.

Monroe crouched next to him. “What were they selling at Cyrus’s party?”

“All right, all right… The new thing is these blue Mitsubishis. It’s been going around.”

“What else?”

“I just heard they’re putting something in it. I don’t know what it is. It’s some crazy new shit. That’s why the blues hit so hard.”

“Where do they press them?”

“Come on man, I can’t—“

“You know where you are right now? No one can hear you. We could always just drop you off at 23^rd Division saying we found you dirty. You know what happens after that. So, come on, Dave. Tell me something.”

Dave gave up. He had to give up something, anything, to get out of this. “Fine… All I know is there’s a trap house around Main Street. That’s where they make them. I don’t know what they’ve been putting in them, but it ain’t no baking soda”

Monroe frowned. “Blue Mitsubishis from a trap house on Main Street? I guess that’s it.” He stood up. The freezing waves of Lake Ontario lapped onto the shore. The cold wind gusted. Kenny crossed his arms and stood in shadow.

 “You might be wondering why I picked you up. Of all people why you, right?” Monroe began. “Do you remember a kid named Peter Duscense?”

“Huh? Who the fuck is that?” He showed genuine confusion.

“Little cousin of mine who goes to OCAD,” Monroe explained. “He lives downtown. Well, one day late at night he’s coming home from the movies. He figures he’ll take a short cut through the courtyard behind the Queen Street Market. You know the place. It’s always hot at night. Anyway, he’s walking through when he gets jumped by some stick up kids. He tells me one of them was a big, fat white guy with a shaved head, and a box cutter…”

Dave looked up him wide eyed. No reply.

Monroe continued. “He tells me they took everything in his wallet, but that wasn’t enough. They took him to an ATM machine and made him withdrawal the maximum amount. Then, to add insult to injury, they took his god damn driver’s license too. Can you believe that? It was probably just to make $20 selling it as a fake ID.” Monroe shook his head sadly.

“But that wasn’t enough either. Before letting him go, they decide to rough him up a little. Next time I see my cousin at the family barbeque, he’s got a cut on his check and a black eye.”

Monroe shot a look that could melt steel. “That was you, wasn’t it? You jacked up my little cousin!”

 Dave mustered his every nerve. “Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do. You put quite a scare into him too, ya know? So when I hit you just now, that was for him.” He stood up and looked down with judgement “Now’s your time to say you’re sorry and ask forgiveness.”

Dave spat his defiance. “I aint got shit to say about that.”

“Shame,” Monroe said. “But I’ll tell Peter about this. He’ll be glad to hear it.” He and Kenny started walking away, leaving Dave in the cold, shadowy thicket.

Dave scrambled to his feet and called out. “Aren’t you gonna give me a ride back? It’s freezing out here!”

Monroe looked over his shoulder without mercy. “Think warm thoughts,” he said.

They left him there. Crossing the parking lot towards the car, Kenny asked, “Was that even true, that story you just told?”

Monroe looked at him. “Have you ever known me to make shit up?”

 “I know it takes a firm hand with these types, but damn, Robbie. Something’s gotten into you.”

“Sometimes you gotta play hard. It’s the only language people like him understand. Now we know something we didn’t know before.”

“Blue Mitsubishis from a trap house on Main? It ain’t much. Could be a dozen trap houses around there,” Kenny said. “You’re riding shotgun this time. I’m driving.”

They got into the car and Kenny drove north on Cherry Street, then west on Lakeshore towards the Gardiner.

Kenny asked, “So what’s gotten into you lately? I’ve never known you to be the sucker punching type. I mean, don’t get me wrong, fuck that guy back there, but shit, Robbie. You gotta tell me what’s going on with you.”

Monroe watched the city lights and towers of the downtown core roll past in the night. He looked at Kenny. “Every since that case in Nova Scotia, things have been different. I’ve changed,” he said.

“All these gang bangers and smugglers, all the shitbags that we put away, it doesn’t make a difference. For every one we bust, there’s two more ready to take their place and the ones we do put away, most are back on the street in under a year. The justice system in this country is a joke, Ken. We’re too soft.”

Kenny looked at him. The highway lights cast shifting shadows over his face.

Monroe continued. “I did that case in Nova Scotia, and it felt real. I did something for the Native reserve out there and now they have safety and security. They have a future to look forward to. How about that, right? That I could actually make a difference in this fucked up world. For the first time in my life I did something that actually mattered.”

Kenny regarded him a moment, then back to the road. “So I guess you think this drug thing is a big deal then? It’s a shot at doing something real.”

“This city has a reputation for being safe and clean, but it’s as dirty as anywhere else. You just have to look beneath the surface.” He watched the city roll by again. “Ever since that case, Ken. Ever since then I’ve been looking for another one like that. Something that actually matters.”

Kenny understood the feeling of futility. No matter how many gang members they put away, not matter how many illegal firearms they took off the street, there were always more. He worried Monroe might find his way into a place where he couldn’t follow. The spirit of brotherhood was strong between them, but it had limits.

“I feel you, Robbie. It seems like the so-called drug war will never end. Maybe we’re just fighting it the wrong way. But this cowboy shit right here… you’re gonna get us both fucked by the bosses. I’ll always watch out for you, but you need to be careful you don’t step in shit so deep you can’t get out.”

The car roared down the highway. Monroe watched the city roll past in the night. “Don’t you worry about me. I know where I’m going,” he said.

Copyright 2025, Christopher Ross Riddell, All Rights Reserved