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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