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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