A haze of cigarette smoke hung over Goodtime Charlie's. Waiters weaved their way through the standing room only crowd. On stage, a blond stripper was about to have sex with a donkey.

"Take it all sweetie, no cheatin'," yelled a drunken voice.

"Yeah, right up to your tonsils," agreed another.

Tony Blake had been a cop for thirty years. He thought he was shock proof; at least until now. He ran a brawny hand over his shaved head and tossed back the Jack Daniel's.

All eyes were riveted on the donkey, being led in by a masked man in black.

An out-of-tune band struck up the opening bars of "Tonight's the Night."

The audience howled its approval until a commotion at the back of the room distracted them. They watched as the seven-foot bouncer was pushed aside by a team of heavily armed police. "It's a raid," he shouted. "Clear the joint."

Panic replaced the mood of depraved merrymaking. Chairs were scraped back and knocked over in the haste to escape.

"Vancouver Police Department. Stay right where you are," warned a cop through a megaphone. "You're all under arrest."

The blond made a dash for the back entrance, teetering along in the ridiculous shoes. She collided with a billboard in a metal stand advertising her show. "Blond fuckstress does a donkey." She regained her balance and stumbled down the stairs.

"You're under arrest." Blake came out of nowhere and pinioned her arms behind her. "For bestiality, gross indecency, and lewd behaviour in a public place."

"Is that all?" the blond retorted. "Fuck you."

She struggled, elbowed him in the gut and tried to knee him in the groin. When that didn't work she kicked him in the shins with the heel of her shoe.

Blake howled in pain. "Why you vicious little bitch." He smacked her around until she complied. Then he cuffed her and dragged her outside.

The alley teemed with refuse from an overturned Dumpster that reeked of cat pee. "I want my clothes," whimpered the blond.

"Don't tell me you're getting modest all of a sudden," Blake sneered.