For Ethan Davies, the week had started awful and took a backslide straight into miserable.

With the calendar rolling into October, the tourist season should have been rounded out to the bottom end of its stretch, the days should've been getting quieter, but instead the beaches were still thick with bodies, the streets congested with cars, and his desk overburden with two month's worth of extra paperwork.

With all that media hype following the trial and last summer's events generating almost as much interest as the OJ Simpson case had spilled into early fall with a push of people he hadn't expected or braced himself for. Some of whom even flocked to the precinct looking for Ethan's autograph or, god help him—a photograph. Sometimes both. The news had touted him as Haven's Hero Cop, a name that had invariably hung over his head.

And just last week Ethan had to peel off a particularly aggressive chick at a bar who'd wrapped herself around him not five minutes after he'd sat down looking for a quiet beer. Only when threatening to slap cuffs on her-and not in the kinky fashion-did she grudgingly back off.

He'd been able to have that quiet beer without further upset, but man, all this attention was getting him itchy and aggravated. Chaffing him raw around the collar.

Thankfully he had cases like this morning's shit storm to channel some of that pent up frustration into.

Hands set on his hips, Ethan took in the damage to the storefront. Shook his head. Fucking kids messed the place up really bad. Tossing tables and even launching a chair through the front window. Out in the streets after a night of hardcore drinking, they'd wobbled their way down Main, upending garbage bins and scattering filth into the roadways.

But here, at the corner, Hong Shing's Chinese food restaurant had sustained the worst of the damage when Mr. Ji Kim had refused to let them in to his establishment. And rightly so, Ethan thought, after taking in witness statements and first on the scene report. They'd been a wild, rowdy bunch and spoiling for trouble.

Thankfully one of the more sober patrons had the presence of mind to call the ruckus in before things got really physical. As it stood, the extent of the damage was to the property and could easily be cleared up with insurance claims, though Ethan didn't envy Ji the hassle and run around.

"Mr. Kim," Ethan sighed, pulling his slender notepad out from his holster, patted himself over for a pen then remembered he had it tucked at his ear. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we?"

Head in his hands, hair peppered with grey, Ji sighed, rolling tired eyes up to Ethan. "I told story to Officer already."

"I know, but I want to hear it myself." Ethan turned his calm gaze to Ji. "I want to make sure there's no holes, no lapses, no cracks for these dipshits to slide though, alright? They're going to pay, Mr. Kim. I'll see to it."

That softened the stiffness and grief in the old man's shoulders, and the sheen in his eyes firmed with renewed vigor. Hauling his skinny frame out of the chair, Ji folded his arms over his chest.

"Okay," he said. "They come in round two in morning..."

Ethan listened intently as Ji worked through the scene, laying it all out, right down to the last letter. Taking a few photos on his phone--though he trusted his officers implicitly, Ethan wanted to take a visual from the scene to keep on hand.

He left there about an hour later, just as the morning rush was rolling in thick. Cars pushing down the main streets towards the heart of Salt Springs, a tidy and bustling hub of Haven's island community. Yawning hugely into his hand, Ethan turned into the precinct parking lot and thrust his car into his reserved spot.

As head of his department, it was one of the small and few perks of the job. That, and not having to wear the uniform anymore. Not that he'd minded overly much but he'd always been more of a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy. Shutting down the engine, he swung out of his SUV, pulling his shades from his face as he reached the door.

Inside he found four of his officers on hand, already knee deep in their own investigations, and Sheryl coming out of the back room, coffee in hand and fatigue etched heavily in her pretty face. She'd worked the nightshift on the back of a double and the strain of the long hours was beginning to show.

"There's our local hero," she said, a smiling lighting up her eyes. She was a pretty little thing with a cap of auburn hair around a narrow face scattered with freckles. From the time they were kids, Sheryl had always run wild with the boys. Kicking up dust with him and his friends on their bikes through the woods, or shooting hoops after class behind the high school. Always quick to smile and laugh or throw a punch if you crossed her.

They could've become a thing, once upon a time, and Sheryl had made no point of hiding she was interested in him when he'd first taken up the gun and badge instead of taking off to the mainland line his brother Marshall and best friend Declan MacKenzie. But Ethan didn't believe in messing around with co-workers, no matter how sweet and pretty, or how long and intimate their history.

Stopping before him, Sheryl cocked a hip bearing her police-issued glock, her navy uniform pressed to a military standard. "I heard about the bust up from Carl when I got in this morning. How bad was the Kim joint?"

"Bad." Ethan exhaled heavily, swiping a hand through his hair. "Gimme that." Plucking Sheryl's as yet untouched coffee from her hands, he knocked it back with a long, bracing swallow. And winced. "Jesus, did you leave any sugar in the kitchen?"

"Serves you right for pillaging when you should make your own."

Ethan angled the muggle, sugar wrecking havoc on his taste buds. "I thought you drank it black?"

"Ordinarily I do," Sheryl agreed. "But I saw your rover pull in and knew you'd do a snatch and grab. Had to teach you a lesson."

Scowling in the face of her smug little grin, Ethan handed it back. "Where are the punks?" His mind spun to the case filed details. Three boys, ages seventeen to twenty four. Two brothers and their friend came out this way with a group for a beach party--with the DJ from Miami. They met the girls there and when the party wrapped at midnight decided to split from their friends. Spent the next hour or so drinking under the dock. Among other things.

"Down in the holding cells," she said, tossing her head to the left. "Five in total. Boys lawyered up an hour ago. Fancy four name type from the mainland. The girls weren't roped in as clients."

Which meant the entire mess would fall squarely upon their shoulders while the boys huddled beneath a shared umbrella of legal representation. "Excellent."

"You alright?" Sheryl asked, brushing a hand over his shoulder. "You seem tense. Well, tenser."

"It's nothing," he said, shrugging off his mood, and her touch. "Do me a favour, call Eva down at the gallery? Tell her I won't be back in time to pickup her sister from the dock like I thought."

"But isn't she coming in around three? That's hours off."

"Yes, but I want to oversee this case personally, and there's no way that I'm going to wrap it all up before five, not with a suit and tie getting in the way," Ethan said, his feet already taking him down in the direction of the holding cells where he planned to go to war.

"He's had the boys for about twenty minutes," Sheryl called out, "so he's entitled to at least another ten before you go busting down doors and kicking in teeth."

Because she was right, and knowing it only pissed him off even more, Ethan decided to take it out on the couple of idiots who fell under his local purview.

Two of them, he noted as he neared the cell. One lay stretched out on the bottom bunk, a pillow draped over her face and leg dangling off the side of the bed. A low grumbling groan told him that whatever she'd knocked back at the bar was waging havoc in her head this morning.

The other sat on the floor, legs drawn to her chest and brow resting on her knees. A tangled curtain of hair obscured the rest of her, but Ethan judged--based off their overall state of dress they looked like a couple of teenagers. But he'd read the PDF'd report on his blackberry before swinging over to Hong's to assess the damage for himself.

The one draped over the bed he figured to be Priya Singh. Daughter to Nina and Gurmreet Singh, a couple of Salt Springs finest. Back for the weekend, as usual, and just starting her second year of kinesiology at the mainland Vancouver University.

Propped against the wall was Gigi Koppal. She lived at home with a recently divorced father. Worked part-time at the local pharmacy as a cashier and was quickly becoming a real pain in his ass. His first brush with Gigi had come when Marshall called him over to the seaside bar to deal with the overly intoxicated young woman. Eva and Marshall had apparently saved her from a seriously drunken mistake when she'd knocked back more tequila than her body could handle with a much older, much more sober, man she'd only just met.

Spending the night in the drunk tank apparently hadn't drummed any common sense into the kid.

Both were barely nineteen. And both were in for a world of pain once the shit officially hit the fan.

Temper reaching a boiling point, Ethan booted the side of the cell, bars rattling loudly. "Wake up," he said, unlocking the door he threw it wide, stood there in the entranceway, hands on his hips. "Morning ladies, we need to have a chat."

Groaning, Priya sat up, lowering the pillow to her lap. Eyes wheeling her ashen face and dark hair in matted pigtails made her look almost twelve. A drastic contrast to her lacy crop top and ripped denim shorts. "I don't feel so hot."

Ethan thrust out a finger, pointing to the foot of the cot. "There's a bucket. Feel free to use it otherwise you'll be mopping up your own vomit."

"You can't talk to her like that," a voice snapped, and he turned his seething gaze to Gigi who glared up at him with furious eyes. The ring leader, he thought. And clearly the one calling the shots.

"You want some respect, missy, you need to start showing some first. For yourself, especially. Don't you have any pride? Any decency? What the hell possessed you to trash a man's establishment at two in the morning?"

Gigi lifted an unaffected shoulder. "Shoulda let us have a table. Place was only half-full. But no, just because Marcus and his brother are black he turned us away."

"That had nothing to do with things and you know it. You were drunk and disorderly. The mess you guys made on Main was bad enough, Gigi. You should've stopped there. But this--whether you're a local or not, you won't be shrugging out of this one."

"Says you."

"Says the law. Right now those boys are lawyered up. Did you stop to ask yourselves why you're not in there with them?" Ethan skipped his eyes over to Priya, noted the hunched shoulders, the glazed dred and weight of understanding. And while part of him ached for the poor idiot who had clearly been led around by the nose, he couldn't abide or excuse blind stupidity.

Actions had consequences and both Priya and Gigi were about to learn that crucial lesson the hard way.

"As we speak that high-priced attorney is putting his hefty price tag to good use, finding some legal loophole for his clients to wriggle through. And the catch is if they do someone's gotta get stuck holding the bag. That leaves you two bright lights."

While Priya silently wept, Gigi thrust out a defiant chin but it wavered. "Marcus wouldn't do that to me."

"He's already doing it sweetheart. Hope a shitty lay and free drinks were worth it, ladies. Cause you're not going to scrape this off your record for at least the next five years. So, yeah." Ethan clapped his hands, giving them a standing round of applause for sheer fucking stupidity. "Bravo. Well done."