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hauntingmothgirl · 3 years ago

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To Hell and Back PART 3

Hi so a lot of people liked that last part, thank you for the support, it really made me smile and made my day. If you have any suggestions/requests or want me to write a specific scene then feel free to ask, my dms are open, but for now here’s part 3! This series spans across the ending of season 4 if it wasn’t already clear enough.

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The flight to Windsor, Ontario, Canada felt longer than it should have. Trying to avoid Spencer’s prying and profiling eyes was harder than it seemed. Even staring at her book wasn’t enough to keep him from noticing how long she had been on a single page. And the looks the team were now giving to a certain profiler who seemed to be studying every movement of his co-worker were hard to ignore.

By the time the plane had touched down, Y/n had cleaned up her space and was sitting on the edge of her seat, book in hand and satchel across her chest. As soon as it was clear to leave Y/n was out of her seat, mumbling a thank you to a flight attendant and hurrying down the steep steps. The normal cars they had assigned to them were directly outside, waiting for the team. Flinging an SUV door open and hurrying into the back, ducking behind the headrest, she tried her best to see over her hiding spot to check if the hour ride to R.C.M.P. Headquarters was going to be one filled with torture, or one filled with awkward silence.

She was just about to sit up, realizing how idiotic she looked and how stupid she would feel if someone spotted her when an uncoordinated Reid tried to hurry down the steps without looking, well… hurried. A grimace settled onto his face as he squinted through the sunlight trying to spot her. Rossi was next behind him, taking slow steps. Clapping a hand on his back and leaning in, Rossi muttered something in Reid’s ear, smiled and then started for the car. Reid’s demeanor shifted, his shoulders went stiff and then relaxed, his expression softened and then fell. He took off for the next car.

Y/n sat upright and stuffed her nose into her book as Rossi entered the car, pulling his seatbelt on before finally starting the car. “You can sit in the front if you like, you know?” He offered, looking up in the mirror to meet her eyes. Hesitating, she dropped her book and moved to the door. Settling into the front passenger seat, she forced herself to keep her eyes forward. The drive started out fine at first, Rossi didn’t try to make conversation and let the silence flow comfortably around them. After the first 20 minutes of driving and staring down endless highways, Y/n had grown restless and drew her book back to her, in need of something to occupy her mind. As she read her eyes grew heavy, sore, and her head fell forward slowly. Every so often she fought against closing her eyes fully and instead found herself sinking further and further into her seat. By the time she had woken up, the drive was over.

✰

“Come on Sunshine,” a voice laughed near her ear, startling her out of her sleep. Craning her now sore neck to peer up at the person who stood with her door open, trying to unbuckle her now, she rubbed her eyes. “Have a good nap?” He chuckled, taking her satchel from out of the backseat. She grimaced, taking his hands to help lift herself up, steadying her balance. “Where are we, Derek?” She asked, taking a look around. “Headquarters, they dropped your bags off at the hotel, told me to give you your room key for tonight. You were knocked out for a while, Rossi didn’t wanna wake you when we got to the hotel. Don’t worry, we didn’t go through any of your belongings,” he added with a smirk. Looking up at the headquarters, she smoothed her shirt and pulled her into a ponytail, trying to look decent, or at least as if she hadn’t been asleep for the past hour. “Thank you,” she mumbled, taking her satchel from his hands. “No problem.”

A thought popped into her head as she pulled the satchel onto her shoulder, “Aren't you supposed to be with Prentiss?” she asked, twisting to look for the other profiler. “Yes, mother,” he chuckled, “I’m heading there now, but the teams inside and I'm apparently on wakeup duty. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do,” he answered, walking backwards towards another SUV. “Drive safe,” she called after him, turning to the big building as he called back, “You know it.”

The building was big and red. Bigger on the inside than she anticipated, multiple floors, lots of bustle and busy people. The faint smell of peppermint and air freshener wafted to her nose. As she entered the building she caught sight of the rest of her team, giving a small smile as she started towards them. “Morning sleepyhead,” JJ cooed. Her stomach did flip flops as she came to a stop in front of them, locking eyes with Spencer. “Very funny,” she retorted as the team started to set a stride.

A small elevator sat at the far end of the room, a door titled, “Stairs Access,” stood just across from it. On any normal day Y/n would’ve chosen the stairs, she had always had a problem with the close quarters of an elevator, the uncertainty and danger of such an unstable device had always left her off put. But a long way to the ninth floor on the stairs would not only be physically tiring, but would most definitely be accompanied by a certain doctor to her left who had been dying to talk to her alone. Still, the team became increasingly interested when Y/n stepped in with them. “Someone’s getting brave, huh?” JJ chuckled, “Just too tired to deal with the stairs today.”

The hallway the doors opened to was short and led out to a giant office full of people. Tan walls extended on each side, the tiles on the floor reflected the lights above them. A man met Rossi in the entrance of the room, exchanging pleasantries and introducing the team, it was impossible not to notice the way Spencer’s gaze kept flickering to hers. Two red offices stood at the far end of the room and the room to the right of them. Walking in between the desks and making his way to one of the rooms, Jeff led the team, “I've got a victim board and timelines set up on monitors in the conference room. Anything you need, you've got the run of the place.”

“We appreciate it,” Rossi replied lightly.” “Don’t thank me, Thank the unsub. He's the one that put you all in charge.”

Something about that last remark hit Y/n the wrong way, wrinkling her nose in agitation. JJ excused herself to go talk to Garcia as Y/n took in the room. A long conference table sat in the middle of the room, six chairs pushed into it. A tv hung on the left wall, faces of the victims littering the screen. Rossi took in the site, then moved around the table to make room for Reid and Y/n. Following Reid, she took a second to go over the tv soon realizing that she had already seen the pictures in the file JJ had supplied her with. Realizing that everyone’s backs were to them, Spencer made the quick decision to steal a look at her. Turning on her heel to walk away from the screen, her eyes reached his, the pleading look on his face was enough to make her stomach turn. Guilt flooded her, all he probably wants is his best friend back, this isn’t fair to him. Did I ruin our friendship? Turning around to take her place next to Rossi. “You believe that he killed all these people?” Reid asked, his eyes turning back to the screen, “Fits the profile,” Officer Jeff responded absentmindedly. “How so?” Rossi asked, clearly quizzing his former student, everyone in this room knew of the Unsubs history, but Jeff answered nonetheless. “He got a recent physical trauma. Could be a stressor. Wide disparity of victims. No bodies. Possible border cross. Two entirely different terrains,” He paused, “To pull that off, you'd have to be smart, you'd have to be organized, mobile, physical.” His missing leg ran through Y/n‘s mind once again, before the accident this all could’ve been possible, but now? After such physical trauma? It didn't make sense.

“Military background gives you all that,” Rossi finished for him.

“Exactly,” Officer Bedwell hummed.

“It appears as though he clusters his victims into men, then women, and then back to men again.” Spencer’s voice raised in tone, confusion heavy in his voice.

“What does that tell you?” Officer Bedwell asked.

“At the moment, nothing.”

They were informed that he hadn’t contacted family, nor a lawyer and was awaiting an interrogation. Hotch was the last person to talk, deducing that since this man had contacted the FBI, he would want to speak to whoever he believed was the most in charge.

The interrogation room was dimly lit, only one light directly overhead, the room behind the glass was filled with two officers, Rossi, Reid and Y/n. Crammed into the few chairs there were, Y/n watched, her brows furrowed, as Hotch sat down at the table. William was a tall man, broad shoulders and muscular arms, he sat in silence, a detached look sewn onto his features. A black goatee rested above his lips, his hair was cropped in a buzz cut, understandable due to his military background. His body shows his training too, he sat straight up, shoulders back, hands on his thighs, his legs slightly spread. The pinnacle of perfect posture.

It was silent as Hotch announced himself as the behavioral analysis unit chief from the FBI. William’s face didn't change as his eyes lifted to Hotch’s, “You’re here to analyze me.” This wasn’t a question, but a statement. “No, I’m here to take your confession and find out where you dumped your victims,” Hotch corrected. Y/n could see the technique Hotch was using beginning to form, diminishing any hope of negotiation. Setting himself in charge in the room and demanding the attention, making it clear that this was Hotch’s room, not Heightower’s, taking away any slimmer of wiggle room around the conversation. He continued, “Or are you wasting my time?”

Y/n’s boss was always great at keeping his voice firm but somewhat monotone when speaking to unsubs, not letting emotion intercede unless it was directly needed. “I gave you names, I gave you dates.” William bounced around the subject, his voice low and gravely, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. Hotch reigned the conversation back onto topic easily, “You didn’t give me a dump site.” It was silent for a moment, as if an unspoken staring contest had started, the Unit Chief’s jaw was set, William was withholding information and he wasn’t intending on opening up anytime soon. “You were a sergeant,” Hotch started, again not a question, a statement intended to gain an emotional reaction, “You led troops, probably lost men.” Y/n’s eyes flickered to William’s just as he let out a hesitant, “a few.”

“What would their parents feel if they didn’t know whether their sons were dead or alive?” Hotch tried. The tension shifted uncomfortably. A cord was struck, “Don’t lecture me on notifying families, I’ve been on those doorsteps,” as William spoke his voice rose slightly from the whisper it had started out as. He’s protective of these men, his angry tone shows Hotch’s words affect him, why is he trying so hard to make us not see that? “No one cares about those people, why should I?” His head shakes as he says it, even his own body is rejecting the words he’s saying, subconsciously disagreeing with them. Hotch’s words have caught him off guard, this technique is making him emotional.

Rossi’s voice interrupts Y/n’s thoughts, “Here we go.”

“What do you mean?” An officer to the right of Y/n’s chair asks, he leans against the interrogation window, unknowingly making her scoot her legs closer to herself. He mindlessly takes up so much of the little space beside her that she cringes uncomfortably away from him. “An interrogation doesn’t really start until you get the first lie,” Rossi finishes, so he picked up on it too. Hotch’s voice silences all of them as he resumes the conversation through the glass, “See that’s just the thing William, you were out there every night. You took their photographs, you checked off their names in a notebook,” William remains blank as he mutters, “So?” Hotch grimaces at the answer and then continues, “Your behavior was more like a protector, like someone in the army doing a bed check.” If Hotch’s words resonate with anything at all to him, he doesn’t show it and lets him continue. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to confess to a crime you didn’t commit,” Hotch accuses.

Suddenly all reservation in William is gone, his lips quiver as he spits the words out angrily, “The folks on the street, did they tell you people were missing?” It's like he’s trying to prove their absence rather than his own guilt.

“If my team is here there are cases we are not working on, you are wasting our time.”

“10 people dead, huh?” Swallowing harshly, scowling, challenging Hotch, “That’s not enough for you?”

“I’ve watched the tape of you at the border cross over and over again, you wait until every guard is out of the booth before you drive into it,” Hotch raises his voice, as he leans closer to the table, “if you wanted to kill people you had your chance.”

William’s voice is booming now, his face enraged, “Are you investigating these murders or not?!” His whole body shakes violently as silence fills the room. “So that’s what this is all about?” Hotch questions, “Making sure we investigate?” What a way to do so. “If you thought people were being killed you should’ve gone to the police in Detroit.” Another shudder rips through William, “I already did,” his voice is low as it break. “3 times. They told me the kind of people I was looking for disappeared.” His voice trembled, the light reflecting off tears in his eyes, “They said that’s the way life on the street works.” Silence enveloped them again.

Struggling to keep his composure, he enunciated every word, “Do. You. Believe. The. People. I. Showed. You. Are. Missing?”

“I believe it's possible.”

Rage wracked through his frame once again, “Don’t give me a political answer!”

Hotch hesitated, giving himself a moment before he responded, “Tell me about what happened the night before the border cross.” William opened his mouth and then shut it before starting, “I did a head count,” he began. “Every night for the past month, like we do in Baghdad. That night I saw a boy named Charles wasn’t where he usually camped down.” The mention of a boy sends a pang of pain through Y/n’s chest, wondering how old the boy must have been. Hopefully he had meant a young man, rather than a young boy. The idea of a child in the case was a sore subject. Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, she hoped she hadn't shown any visible signs of discomfort.

“So I made another pass.”

“He didn’t turn up?”

“By the morning I knew he was gone,” another scowl had set on his face, though this time it wasn’t targeted at the man across from him. “William,” Hotch started, sympathy thick in his voice, “People don’t do what you did out of honor.” He paused, “They do it out of love.” William’s lack of a response was enough to confirm their suspicions. “Who were you looking for on the streets every night.” His brows furrowed as William prepared himself before continuing, “I got home from Iraq, first thing my mother told me was that my baby sister Lee was on the streets.” Y/n’s heart sunk, with the way he’d been acting there was no way this story was going to end well. Rossi must have noticed it too because out of the corner of Y/n’s eye she watched him shake his head slightly, turning away from the glass before coming back to it, exhaling roughly.

William continued, “She asked me to find her.”

“But you couldn’t?” Hotch pried.

“I managed once. Brought her home, we got her fed.” His eyes fell, staring longingly as his voice broke yet again, “She even wore my dog tags. For good luck.” Y/n closed her eyes for a moment, sighing. No matter how long you were on this job, no matter what horrors you’d seen, it never gets easier to hear from the relatives of people who’ve gone missing. The team was evidence of that, Rossi’s head was to the side, face contorted in uncomfort. The officers sat quietly, staring at their laps. Though Hotch had to remain indifferent in order to keep control of the room, his face was no longer hard and stern. While he held his lips together in a tight line, a deep sadness sat behind his eyes, something only his colleagues who’d worked with him for so long would pick up on.

“Two weeks later, she slipped back onto the streets.” Composure was no longer an option for William, his breathing came out in short, quick breaths as his chest visibly shook. The tears spilled over, “That was it,” he barely managed to let out, another shaky breath in.

“William, you’ve got so much information about the other potential victims, why not Lee?” Hotch asked, though this was a raw subject, it was still vital to know. Blinking rapidly in order to control the tears and reign his emotions back in, Heightower replied, “I hid it in a spare tire, in my car.” That explained why none of the team had any knowledge about Lee, organized and brilliant, William had intentionally left her out of the files he created for us. He wouldn't have even been considered had the officers known how close he really was to one of the victims, Y/n pondered. “I needed to wait until I was sure,” while the tears had stopped and his breathing was now in control, his hands still shook slightly under the table as he finished, “that you were on board.”

That was all the team needed to hear, Frankie excused herself from the room. Walking down the hall as she assembled her thoughts. The car would definitely be in evidence somewhere, how they hadn’t managed to find the new piece of the puzzle was surprising, confused she wandered the hall trying to find the stairs.

The sound of the stairwell door opening made Y/n falter. She’d reached a platform between the set of stairs, eyes glancing to the door at the end of the platform that would take her to the hallway. Stairwells were where most assaults happened, but due to the fact that she was in a police department, she pushed that thought to the back of her head and continued to the next set of stairs. It wasn’t until she heard the pitter patter of quick footsteps behind her, that she realized she should have taken her chances with the elevator.

“ Y/n?” A pang of dread ran through her body in slow waves. Turning slowly on her heel, her eyes met Dr. Reid’s. His face was contorted, his eyes fixed on the ground, then fluttered back up to hers. “I-”

“Did I miss something on Heightower?” His eyebrows furrowed, confusion making it’s way on to his features.

“No- I just-”

“Does this have anything to do with this case or a previous one?”

“No-”

“So this is not work related?”

“No, it’s not, but-”

“Then we should not be having this conversation.” Starting back down the stairs, he was next to her in a moment. “I know that, but the other night I didn’t mean to make it seem like-” “Spencer,” her nose scrunched up in uncomfort. “Please, don't do this.” Another flight of steps was through. At this point she was counting them down in her head.

“Y/n, I wasn’t trying to hurt you, it just seemed like the worst time and I didn’t want you to-” “Spencer, please.” One more flight to go.

“Okay but give me a moment to-”

“Spencer!”

Blinking back tears, she tried to reason with him. “That was the single most humiliating thing I’ve ever done. Just having to look you in the eyes right now is unbelievably painful. Knowing that our friendship will probably never go back to the way it was is killing me and you bringing attention to it every five seconds is making it worse,” she rambled. “I mean for God’s sake Morgan won't stop trying to profile me and Hotch looks at me like a kicked puppy. I can tell everyone here is second guessing my decision to come back and I’m already having a hard enough time proving that I’m okay without your worried glances making everything worse so please. Give me some space, some time before I have to have this conversation with you.”

Spencer’s eyes flickered down, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“I just can’t do this right now Spencer.” Opening the door and entering the lobby she made her way to an officer, flashing her badge and asking where the evidence storage room was.

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okay that’s part 3, again, i hope it didn’t disappoint. and if it did then, again, that's chill too. tagged everyone who wanted a part 3. i know it was pretty long but i wanted to get a lot of the dialogue out of the way so i can focus on the reader and spencer in the next couple parts, rather than just the case, although that is pretty important. thank yall so much for the kind words!! and again if you have any suggestions or recommendations just ask, and if you want to be tagged in part 4, let me know! if you want me to stop tagging you then let me know that too lol. part 4 will be up tomorrow. have a beautiful day loves :)

@anarchy-n-glitter i love you sm, thank you for the support lol.

@reidselle

@doctorspenceryeet

@ashwarren32

@reidsbookclub

Part 2

Part 4

Masterlist

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landofgay · 2 years ago

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in honor of c*n*d* day and me getting to see DOA for the third time tomorrow night, here's a great Canadian anthem :^)

#Spotify

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cdnart · 3 years ago

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Maurice Haycock; R.C.M.P. Post at Alexandra Fiord

#Maurice Haycock #Canadian art

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dogopower · 3 years ago

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Satan, Prince of This World

We give the above information in order that people who are sincere in their search for the TRUTH may be on their guard against bigots and those who stir up strife based on differences of colour, race and/or creed.

Time after time we have it dinned in our ears, in the press, on TV., by public speakers, by parliamentarians, from pulpits everywhere, all the time, that Communism is in reality a fight for possession of the minds of men, and therefore the root of all evil, and responsible for the mess the world finds itself today. That is the biggest lie the S.O.S. ever thought up and propagated. But that lie is not one iota different from the lie circulated to enable the S.O.S. to foment World Wars One and Two. We were told in America and Britain that Nazism was the root of all evil, and responsible for the chaotic conditions in the world. The masses in Germany, and the countries which were to be her allies, were made to believe the same untruths regarding the British and Americans. Hitler wasn’t an atheist. He most certainly wasn’t a Christian; therefore he must have been a member of the Synagogue of Satan.

This allegation is supported by the fact that it was Hitler who said “tell a big enough lie often enough and it will be accepted as the TRUTH.” Winston Churchill isn’t a Communist or a Nazi, but he can’t be much of a Christian either because he said, “I will join hands with the Devil if by so doing he will help me defeat that ----- Hitler.”

Before we trace the perfect continuity of the Luciferian conspiracy, as directed and controlled by the human beings who have constituted the Synagogue of Satan since 1776, we will first prove that the conspiracy, as revised and modernized by Weishaupt, never did die a natural death as those who directed it since, would have the public, and their elected representatives, believe.

The TRUTH is that both Communism and Nazism consider only the materialistic concepts of world domination. They seek control of our bodies so that physical control will enable them to control our minds and make us accept their materialistic ideologies. The Synagogue of Satan, however, believe in the supernatural and use Communism and Nazism to further their own secret plans. The S.O.S. is determined to obtain control of our minds so that it can determine the destiny of our immortal souls. Satanism has been delivering millions of human souls to Lucifer every few weeks. During an all-out war or revolution , the Satanic harvest in souls reaches its peak. Don’t let yourselves be deceived. Don’t let those who serve the devil’s cause, regardless of how they are disguised, pull the wool over your eyes. The eyes are the windows of the soul. Then don’t let so- called Illuminists pull down the blinds over your eyes. Insist on looking out through the window so you can see not only to the horizons of this world but appreciate that the struggle going on in this world is to increase the size of the Devil’s domains in the celestial world after God renders final judgment.

(Nesta Webster, and other historians confirm what I learned as the result of my own investigations. Directors of Naval Intelligence, and the late Inspector John Leopold, who was in charge of the anti-subversive branch of the R.C.M.P., 1943 to 1945, while I was in Ottawa, and other students of the World Revolutionary Movement, both clerical and secular agree that we are contending with the spiritual forces of darkness.)

Weishaupt, after he was banished, remained the Devil’s agent in human form. He directed the Luciferian conspiracy so that it developed into the Great French Revolution and others, including the American Revolution. We will deal later with the reason Weishaupt’s plan required the United States of America to become the last great nationalistic world power.

Weishaupt’s Illuminati, and his Lodges of the Grand Orient, went underground. They were succeeded by the Jacobin Clubs and convents as has been explained in Pawns in The Game. Mirabeau directed the French Revolution. He was ably assisted by Adrien Duport, who was also an initiate of the Higher Degrees of the Illuminati. It was Duport who set before the Committee of Propaganda the policy of destruction they were to carry out on May 21, 1790.

When Weishaupt had destroyed France as a monarchy and a world power, and had Americans cut each other’s throat because of alleged grievances which propaganda made appear very real, he then moved to Italy.

Illuminism was running hog-wild in Italy. Under various names and disguise, it was aimed at the destruction of the Vatican because it was both a spiritual as well as a temporal power. The Italian Illuminists reasoned, “how can we destroy ALL governments and ALL religions if we don’t first of all destroy the Vatican.” But this line of reasoning was not in keeping with Weishaupt’s plans as we will prove.

Italian Grand Orient Masons and Illuminists, and Alta Vendita members had not been initiated into the FULL secret. According to Weishaupt’s plan, as has been confirmed by Mazzini, Pike, Lemmi, and Lenin, the Vatican is to be allowed to survive, and control nearly 500,000,000 souls, until those who direct the Synagogue of Satan decide it is time to involve ALL Christian people in the final social cataclysm with all people controlled by atheistic-Communists. For this reason Weishaupt hurried to Italy to prevent a premature destruction of the Vatican. Nearly one hundred years later Pike had to take similar action to prevent first Mazzini and later Lemmi from upsetting the Synagogue of Satan’s plans by doing exactly the same thing, All this proves that only a very few men who comprise the High Priesthood of the Luciferian Creed know the full secret and how their conspiracy is intended to reach its final goal.

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 2 years ago

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“HUGE ILLICIT STILL SEIZED AT WEST ST. PAUL,” Winnipeg Tribune. December 29, 1932. Page 1. ---- TWO ARRESTED FOLLOWING RAID ON DAIRY FARM --- Plant Has Capacity of Gallons of Alcohol Daily ---- Believed To Have Been Operating For One Year --- Raid and Arrests Made by Mr. Stubbs of Federal Excise Department ---- One of the largest illicit distilling plants ever seen in Manitoba was seized by William Stubbs of the federal excise department and a squad of R. C. M. P. on Wednesday at Lot 121, W St. Paul, one mile west of McPhillips St., and 10 miles from the city limit. Charles Pichurski and his son Mike, in whose barn the plant was found, were arrested.

Both appeared in provincial police court today when Magistrate Welsford allowed them out on ball of $2,000 each.

The still has a capacity of 1,0000 gallons of mash and running at full capacity would produce gallons of alcohol each. At the time of the seizure there were found 3,000 gallons of mash in barrels and a very large quantity of alcohol. These will be destroyed.

Cleverly Concealed Officer Stubbs says that, from appearance and from information he received since the arrests, it would appear that the huge still has been in operation for upwards of one year. During that time, many thousands of gallons of Illicit liquor must have been dispensed.

The ‘private distillery’ was cleverly concealed and hundreds of persons must have walked under it without being aware of its existence. It was situated in the hay loft of a large bam in which 20 head of milk cows were stabled.

The still room was separated from the hay loft in a room spotlessly clean and papered. The pipe from the boiler fire found its outlet through the barn ventilators in the roof while the steam exhaust went through the wall to a manure pile.

Deserves Great Credit Great credit is due officials for the seizure. Although it was known very large quantities of liquor were being distributed from the part of the country for a long time no clue could be obtained regarding the point of origin.

Two days ago, however, there was a ‘leak’ and as a result suspicion was directed against Pichurski and his son. The farm premises were carefully inspected on three occasions before the still was discovered.

When the premises were raided, it is that the two arrested were preparing to go to work on the job of turning out a liquor shipment.

Besides the liquor and plant there was also seized during the raid a very large quantity of sugar and other materials for the manufacture of alcohol.

Such was the weight of the equipment and mash, that the floor of the hay loft was badly sagged.

Photo caption: MONSTER ILLICIT STILL SEIZED One of the largest illicit distilleries ever found in Manitoba was seized Wednesday by William Stubbs, of the federal excise department, and a squad of R.C.M.P. at West St. ten miles from the city. The arrests were made at the time of the seizure. The plant was found in a hay loft over a barn. It had a capacity of 1,000 gallons of mash and could produce 175 gallons of alcohol daily. Much liquor and equipment were also taken during the raid.

#winnipeg #illicit still #excise department #moonshining #moonshine #liquor control #rural crime #rural canada #farming in canada #royal canadian mounted police #police raid #great depression in canada #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada

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canadianabroadvery · 4 years ago

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CBC.ca: London woman alleges discrimination after status card refused at consignment store

CBC.ca: London woman alleges discrimination after status card refused at consignment store.

The ID isn't required to be recognized as lawful official ID!

But when the Bulls (R.C.M.P.) bust you they'll accept the status card as proof of who you are, so they can yell your name out saying "... stop resisting ______, stop resisting..." and then charge you under you official Status Card name.

Discrimination against First Nations is everywhere in Canada.

#first nations #first nations rights #first nations lives matter #canpoil #canadian law

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lazyjacks · 6 years ago

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R.C.M.P. ship St. Roch at Evans, Coleman and Evans dock C.H.M. Smith, circa 1929 City of Vancouver Archives Reference code AM54-S4-: Bo N243

#ship #wooden ship #schooner #st roch #rcmp #royal canadian mounted police #Northwest Passage #henry larsen #c h m smith #city of vancouver archives

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alaspoorwallace · 5 years ago

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AS OF YEAR OF THE DEPEND ADULT UNDERGARMENT

The Enfield Tennis Academy has been in accredited operation for three pre-Subsidized years and then eight Subsidized years, first under the direction of Dr. James Incandenza and then under the administration of his half-brother-in-law Charles Tavis, Ed.D. James Orin Incandenza — the only child of a former top U.S. jr. tennis player and then promising young pre-Method actor who, during the interval of J. O. Incandenza's early formative years, had become a disrespected and largely unemployable actor, driven back to his native Tucson AZ and dividing his remaining energies between stints as a tennis pro at ranch-type resorts and then short-run productions at something called the Desert Beat Theater Project, the father, a dipsomaniacal tragedian progressively crippled by obsessions with death by spider-bite and by stage fright and with a bitterness of ambiguous origin but consuming intensity toward the Method school of professional acting and its more promising exponents, a father who somewhere around the nadir of his professional fortunes apparently decided to go down to his Raid-sprayed basement workshop and build a promising junior athlete the way other fathers might restore vintage autos or build ships inside bottles, or like refinish chairs, etc. — James Incandenza proved a withdrawn but compliant student of the game and soon a gifted jr. player — tall, bespectacled, domineering at net — who used tennis scholarships to finance, on his own, private secondary and then higher education at places just about as far away from the U.S. Southwest as one could get without drowning. The United States government's prestigious O.N.R. [23] financed his doctorate in optical physics, fulfilling something of a childhood dream. His strategic value, during the Federal interval G. Ford-early G. Bush, as more or less the top applied-geometrical-optics man in the O.N.R. and S.A.C., designing neutron-scattering reflectors for thermo-strategic weapons systems, then in the Atomic Energy Commission — where his development of gamma-refractive indices for lithium-anodized lenses and panels is commonly regarded as one of the big half-dozen discoveries that made possible cold annular fusion and approximate energy-independence for the U.S. and its various allies and protectorates — his optical acumen translated, after an early retirement from the public sector, into a patented fortune in rearview mirrors, light-sensitive eyewear, holographic birthday and Xmas greeting cartridges, videophonic Tableaux, homolosine-cartography software, nonfluorescent public-lighting systems and film-equipment; then, in the optative retirement from hard science that building and opening a U.S.T.A.-accredited and pedagogically experimental tennis academy apparently represented for him, into 'après-garde' experimental- and conceptual-film work too far either ahead of or behind its time, possibly, to be much appreciated at the time of his death in the Year of the Trial-Size Dove Bar — although a lot of it (the experimental- and conceptual-film work) was admittedly just plain pretentious and unengaging and bad, and probably not helped at all by the man's very gradual spiral into the crippling dipsomania of his late father [24]. The tall, ungainly, socially challenged and hard-drinking Dr. Incandenza's May-December [25] marriage to one of the few bona fide bombshell-type females in North American academia, the extremely tall and high-strung but also extremely pretty and gainly and teetotalling and classy Dr. Avril Mondragon, the only female academic ever to hold the Macdonald Chair in Prescriptive Usage at the Royal Victoria College of McGill University, whom Incandenza'd met at a U. Toronto conference on Reflective vs. Reflexive Systems, was rendered even more romantic by the bureaucratic tribulations involved in obtaining an Exit- and then an Entrance-Visa, to say nothing of a Green Card, for even a U.S.-spoused Professor Mondragon whose involvement, however demonstrably nonviolent, with certain members of the Québecois-Separatist Left while in graduate school had placed her name on the R.C.M.P.'s notorious 'Personnes a Qui On Doit Surveiller Attentivement' List. The birth of the Incandenzas' first child, Orin, had been at least partly a legal maneuver.

[...] [DFW, Infinite Jest, 12a]

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