Tony Price: Confidential

By Richard Schwindt

From one of the most innovative indie writers publishing today comes Tony Price: Confidential
Scarborough: Confidential
It's November 1986 in Scarborough, Ontario, at the Silver Birch Housing Project. Someone - or something - is eating social worker, Tony Price's clients. Burnt out and vodka soaked, Tony has to acknowledge his innate ability to fight evil. When sexy colleague Brenda Martin is kidnapped, Tony is forced to act.
Sioux Lookout: Confidential
Brenda suggests Tony take a vacation in Sioux Lookout in September, 1994 – just as an ancient evil arises in the boreal forest north of town. Tony takes on the monster with help from a local hunter, a Shaman, and a comely cryptozoologist from Leipzig. Check in on Tony Price for more horror, hilarity and serious drinking.
Kingston: Confidential
When Tony's career ends abruptly at the hands of an armed dope fiend Brenda suggests they move to historic Kingston where their twins attend Queens University. During the sweltering summer of 2016 Tony is at loose ends, but a killer appears in town; a sociopathic enigma who effortlessly evades capture. Tony will have to take this on but this time he's not alone – his daughter Ashley has inherited his ability to fight evil. But is she ready?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9780995259126

Book preview

imagination.

Scarborough West Mental Health Centre

Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you’re allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It’s like killing yourself, and then you’re reborn. I guess I’ve lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.

Charles Bukowski

Monday morning found me sitting in my office, massively hung over, girding up for a week of guiding my flock through their lot of abuse, poverty, illness and random violence. I remained troubled by this whole evil thing. The phone rang; it always does on Monday morning to bring my raison d’etre into focus. I reached for it reluctantly.

Ah Price, how good to find you in. Sergeant Kendrick’s velvet tone was unmistakable. I fondly hoped that my contribution to this investigation ended with the foray to the project on Friday night. There are a few small matters troubling us about this murder, Price, and I was saying to Sergeant Bianco that you might be just the man to help us.

You gave the impression of someone whose insight’s been gleaned through seeing a bit too much of the world. We would be honoured if you could pay a visit to the station later on today. I mumbled an affirmation. Oh, and before I forget, I see the Sergeant waving to me in the corner, we would like to hear about your whereabouts for Friday evening after you departed from your first visit.

I reached for my datebook and ran a finger along the column allotted for today’s date. I saw that a liaison had been planned for early afternoon at Silver Birch with Freda Legault and her unruly brood. This was an opportunity; Freda missed nothing that happened in the project and if it was possible to usher the little swine out to play, I could learn what the dope in the neighborhood was about the murder.

Closing my datebook, I looked up and stared out the window. Burger King and the Shell station hadn’t changed places over the weekend, though I was pretty sure that some of the people who had been buying gas on Friday were entering the restaurant for breakfast.

I reached for a cigarette and thought about evil. Mine was a world of perpetrators and victims. The perpetrators themselves, once you delved into their pasts, were victims. Then there were oppressors but they were faceless until you met them face to face. Then they became victims or perpetrators. The jolly thing about social work is that everything could be explained.

If you couldn’t explain something your supervisor could, or the agency consultant. Once you had your explanation you marched forward with your intervention until it failed you. Then you went back for another explanation.

In this case, the cops were sure they had their explanation. Tracy Dover had been a victim for years, and Junior a perpetrator. Now they had just switched roles.

The phone rang. Today people would be coming to me. I felt strangely excited and reached for the phone with less reluctance.

Hello, Tony, Brenda Martin here, from Children’s Aid. I wondered how long I would have to know her before she dropped the formality of her greeting. Competent, introspective and caring; she was in many ways all the things I wasn’t. That much had been apparent from the day I met her twelve years earlier in graduate school.

She liked me; I don’t know why but she liked me and despite the formality and my strangled longing for her we had worked well as a team with many families. Brenda also carried the Dover case so there was no doubt about the purpose of her call.

I have spoken with Henry, she began, and he says that the case against Tracy is weak at best. She is still under sedation and the police are trying to interrogate her but she told Henry on Friday night that she was innocent. She paused. Tony, why didn’t you call me?

Brenda, Henry and I were already there. I didn’t want to drag you into that shit as well. It was a reasonable explanation but I knew it wouldn’t wash. She lived for her work and wouldn’t in the least have resented rushing to the scene of the crime. I took a moment to light the cigarette. Have you seen the kids?

It’s sad, real sad, Tony. I visited the foster home this morning but they have withdrawn. It’s going to take a long time to draw them out. Brenda stopped. I’d blown it and Perez had probably told her about my pathetic attempt to communicate with the family.

Brenda, listen to me for a sec. I’ve got stuff to do here. I’m going to see Freda Legault today and the cops again. Maybe there is some way of getting mom out the can – that’s what the kids really need. I’ll call tonight and let you know what I found out.

I’ll be here. Of course she would. I sighed as she terminated the connection, took in a deep drag of smoke and reached for some paperwork. The nitwit that ran this place had promised retribution if it didn’t show up on the secretary’s desk soon.

Before immersing myself in the minutiae of a psychosocial assessment, I thought once more about evil. Surely Brenda would have sensed something; her instincts were superior to mine and I was feeling this at an instinctual level. Maybe I was wrong and just losing my shit.

The Silver Birch Housing Project

It is impossible to control outcomes or results, although most of us have been programmed from a very young age to believe otherwise. The idea that we can perform actual ’magic’ causes tremendous dysfunction, unnecessary suffering and prevents the development of emotional resilience.

Christopher Dines

Surely you’re not thinking about letting that dirt bag back in the house? My opening words to Freda Legault were a response to a photo of her youngest’s father that had miraculously reappeared under a magnet on the refrigerator. Compared to this guy Junior Dover was father of the year; I couldn’t imagine Freda trying him out again.

Tony, what makes you thing you have the slightest say in the matter? You are the first social worker I’ve met who talks like a human being. Don’t ruin it by trying to interfere in my life. Freda was right. She was organized and caring, a fine mother. If she wanted to boff some lowlife who was I to complain? Unfortunately, the Children’s Aid worker was as nasty as me with none of my resignation. He was still out to mold the world in his image.

Do you know how much interference I am going to have to run on your behalf with Children’s Aid? No please, you are going to owe me a favour and I want to collect today. I knew Freda would come across for me. She had been on my caseload for three years and my mission was clearly to prevent various officious assholes from interfering with her life.

Her townhouse was clean by the standards of the neighborhood but the unwashed dishes in the sink, the butts on the floor and mound of broken toys that lay by the VCR stand proclaimed some of the realities of single parenthood with four kids.

There is something very evil going on in this project, Tony. This stopped me cold. I hadn’t even mentioned the murder yet. She looked at me: she was fabulously obese and her eyes were as wide as saucers. I’m sick with fear over it; I think something monstrous is happening.

I started to shake a little and nervously patted my pocket for a coffin nail. She wouldn’t mind the excuse to light up herself. I found a chair and fell into it heavily. Are you okay Tony? she asked but didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she stretched a pudgy hand ominously in my direction: Something horrible is going to happen.

Whoa, stop Freda, I gasped. Enough. Something horrible happened already to Junior Dover. Is that what this is about?

Oh, yes, and there’s more, she continued. It had started to rain and I could hear the rat a tat against the window pane. I drew in some smoke. Elena Jackson says that there is a human monster who has begun to stake his claim to the flesh and blood in the project. He will come shortly, down the passageways, through the jungle gym and kill again.

Freda, wait a sec. This is ridiculous. You’ve never believed a word Elena Jackson said since you moved in here. Just because there’s been a murder… I stopped. Projects like this were rife with mystical mumbo jumbo and it wasn’t unusual for people to pester the West Indians to supply it. Elena Jackson enjoyed a thriving cottage industry making predictions about people’s lives. It was a great way to make a few bucks behind the back of the Provincial Benefits Worker, with the added bonus of low overhead involving tea leaves and the occasional mess of chicken guts.

There was something unusual about this situation. Elena Jackson was a hard headed business woman who handed out better advice than most professionals – not alarmist nonsense, and, as I said, Freda never paid attention anyway. I continued: Freda, I saw Junior Dover’s body last Friday; it was awful but you and I know people have been murdered here before.

Her eyes narrowed. She pointed that bloody hand again. I knew she could tell that I was more wrapped up in this than I was telling her and she was pissed that I wasn’t being forthright. You listen up, Tony, everyone knows that Elena was talking about this coming weeks before Junior was killed.

Forty-nine Division, Metro Toronto Police

Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily.

Napoleon Bonaparte

Oh Sergeant, look who’s here! Bianco emerged from the shadows. Oh, this is a treat; a social worker making time in his busy schedule to see us. Please, Price, have a seat. What’s your tipple: tea, coffee, juice box? I believe we have apple.

They both looked pleased that I’d come on short notice. Kendrick appeared content in his natural habitat; that is an unadorned office, sparsely furnished, slate coloured paint, metal chairs. I had warily shaken my head at their offer of refreshment so Bianco launched his enquiry. I was wet from the rain and just took my seat.

So, Price, we never took the opportunity to speak in detail last Friday. We are, I confess, a trifle distressed that this case is not neatly put to bed. We want to know why there is no blood left in the body or even on the floor. And is it not curious that no one in the cramped surroundings of the housing project heard or saw anything?

How the hell should I know? I wasn’t there.

Kendrick raised his brow. Surely Price we weren’t suggesting you were. Perhaps we should be more precise. Tell us what happened when you were there.

There isn’t much to say. My wet clothes were sticking to me. I wanted to go home and have a drink. The Dover’s were flawed human beings and hence required my services. Junior Dover called the switchboard at the Centre on Friday night and asked that I be called and sent to their house. He said to the girl at the switchboard: Help, help, me and the missus…! She nearly wet herself; he sounded hysterical. So she hung up on him and called me. I said something that likely means she won’t be back this week and left for Silver Birch.

When I arrived it looked like everything had calmed down. Junior was waiting for me at the door. When I went in it was quiet in the house. Junior said that Tracy and kids had gone to bed. There was no reason to hang around so I fucked off. I drove straight home and zoned out in front of the TV watching Matlock until you called.

Apparently this was not what they wanted to hear. They looked at me with sad expressions across their ugly pusses. Bianco spoke next: I am afraid that is not very helpful, Price. He turned to Kendrick. Sergeant, why don’t you fetch Mr. Price a sandwich and a coffee. I think we are going to need quite some time to go through this. Please, Price, don’t take this personally but remember, ours is the burden of proof.

They worked on me non-stop for the next six hours. They had a version of good cop/bad cop that I called good cop/better cop. They were relentless and efficient but always polite, hanging on to every word.

Bianco, I learned was an expert on medieval torture. He seemed anxious to edify me just how this kind of interrogation would have been conducted in the dark ages. This act had clearly been played out with Kendrick many times before.

Now the thumbscrew? he would ask.

No, Bianco would correct patiently: At this juncture more could be gleaned by simply letting him feel the heat of a hot poker near his testicles.

By nine o’clock I stood on the steps of forty-nine division taking in the chill that followed the rain. The cop’s fond farewells were still ringing in my ears and I lit up. I was intact but wanted