Samurai Code. Don Easton

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      1

      It was seven o’clock in the evening and the last Sunday in June when Constable Sophie White opened her locker. She had completed her first week on the job after graduating from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police academy in Regina. She was thrilled to have been transferred to the RCMP Detachment in Surrey. Less than an hour drive to Vancouver, it was one of the largest and busiest detachments in British Columbia.

      She glanced at the mirror hanging on her locker door and caught her own impish grin, betraying her excitement. Combined with her young face, she wondered if it gave her a look of innocence, revealing her lack of experience. She frowned, then hardened her jaw line and tried to look stern. Well, that didn’t work! At least my uniform is crisp and clean. Everyone will respect that …

      She put her holster, containing her Smith & Wesson 9 mm semi-automatic pistol, in her locker and closed the narrow metal door. Her hands fumbled with the padlock before the sound of the click told her it was locked. She knew she was a little nervous. Before going home, she had to meet with her supervisor.

      If she knew the horrific terror that awaited her, she would have wanted to curl up in the fetal position inside her locker and stay there. Her belief that everyone respected the uniform was about to be erased. Her journey home was about to become a journey to hell.

      “You did well this week,” said her supervisor, as Sophie approached his desk.

      “Thanks, Bob,” Sophie smiled back.

      “Caught a fourteen-year-old kid in a stolen car,” said Bob, glancing at the notes he had made. “Smoothed out three domestic disturbances and nailed one guy with two kilos of B.C. bud. Not bad for your first week,” he added, matter-of-factly.

      Sophie smiled again.

      “You handle a car well, too,” he added, focusing his attention on Sophie’s face. “City traffic doesn’t bother you?”

      Sophie shrugged and said, “I was raised in Calgary. If I could handle the Deerfoot Trail on a Friday night when half the rednecks are going home with a few beers under their belts, I’m confident I can handle the traffic here.”

      A flicker of a smile crossed Bob’s face before he became serious. “You are confident. But perhaps too much so, after that little incident an hour ago.”

      Sophie felt her cheeks flush. They had been driving through an industrial area when two cars raced away from a gravelled lane near some warehouses. Sophie had instinctively accelerated in hot pursuit. She had spun the steering wheel hard to turn down another lane in the hope of intercepting their quarry. Bob yelled for her to keep going straight, but she believed her shortcut would save valuable seconds and was anxious to show her ability. Halfway down the lane she slid to a stop at a gate blocking her path. Bob stared at her, with his arms folded across his chest. By the time she turned the car around and headed back, it was far too late to catch anyone.

      Sophie sighed and picked an imaginary piece of lint from her uniformed pants. Up until an hour ago, everything was going so great. She swallowed and looked at Bob and said, “I didn’t know the lane was —”

      “But I did,” interrupted Bob. “When I give you instructions, I expect you to obey.”

      “I’m sorry,” stammered Sophie. “It won’t happen again.”

      Bob looked at her long enough for her to feel more uncomfortable, before continuing. “You were caught up in the excitement of the chase. Next time, try to stay calm and listen to what I say!”

      Sophie nodded, feeling the heat prickle her ears.

      “At least the kids didn’t finish the job,” said Bob and Sophie nodded in agreement.

      When they returned to the warehouse they saw where cherry-red graffiti had been sprayed on the side of the building — GRAD 20.

      “You’ve only been here a week,” said Bob. “The kids around here know the area a lot better than you do. Make it a priority to change that. Whether you’re working or on days off, pay attention. Get to know your area. Learn which businesses are open late and when they close. Know which places have night janitors and which don’t. Recognize those who are delivering pizzas or newspapers, and those who are casing places for break-ins. It takes time. You’re new. The punks know that and will test you.” Bob paused and saw that Sophie was paying close attention. Her face was still flushed, revealing her regret. “Okay, enough said. You can go home.”

      “Thanks, Bob.” Sophie glanced over at some other officers who were running out of the office to answer a report of an injury car accident. She turned to Bob and said, “I’ve got some paperwork to do. Maybe I’ll hang around a bit.”

      Bob hid his grin. I was like that once. Never wanted to go home. The work was my life … until I discovered that those I arrested were going home sooner than I could finish their paperwork. He knew Sophie would learn about that soon enough. “Suit yourself,