Lethal Rage by Brent Pilkey

checking.” George crossed his legs and brushed at his jacket. He cradled his wineglass, an almost exact imitation of his wife’s pose.
    Jack snagged the waiter for a refill of his coffee. The restaurant might be out of his comfort zone and the meals on the small size, but the coffee was excellent. Damned if he was going to be abused with an empty coffee cup.
    â€œI must say, Jack, what I learned about your new precinct was far from encouraging. It has an extremely high crime rate and an equally high number of complaints lodged against the officers.” George sipped his wine, looking satisfied. “It seems you’ll be surrounded by criminals wherever you turn.”
    â€œWell, first of all, Mr. Hawthorn —” Hawthorn never insisted Jack call him by his given name and there was no way Jack was going to call him
Doctor Hawthorn
“— it isn’t a precinct, it’s a division. Precinct is an American term.”
    Hawthorn’s lips twitched ever so slightly on his wineglass. He hated to be corrected. Score one for Jack. A small one, but Jack had learned to enjoy any victory, however small, against his father-in-law.
    â€œAnd, yes, there are a fair number of complaints against officers.”
    â€œI imagine,” Hawthorn slid in, not giving Jack a chance to elaborate, “that is an indication of the quality of officers in the . . . division.” There was a pause. “Present company excluded, of course.”
    Jack didn’t miss the jab and neither did Karen. “Dad, that wasn’t nice.”
    Hawthorn gave his daughter a disarming smile. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Jack knows I didn’t mean anything by it. Don’t you, Jack?”
    â€œOf course.” Jack met Hawthorn’s eyes over the rim of his coffee cup.
    Two natural enemies eyeing one another over disputed territory. In this case, Hawthorn’s daughter and Jack’s wife. When it had become apparent that their relationship was progressing beyond casual dating, Karen’s parents had started playing Let’s Bash the Boyfriend. Karen had defended Jack, but she hadn’t confronted her father head-on. Jack sometimes thought her choice of career and husband were unconscious acts of defiance.
    Jack knew he would never be accepted by his in-laws and really didn’t give a flying fuck. But he did care about Karen and how the game, the constant slams, affected her. Nothing about him was right or good enough for the Hawthorns’ daughter: his job, his education — he had gone to university but hadn’t graduated — his upbringing, his taste in clothes and music, and his house. Karen had paid half of the down payment and was paying half of the mortgage, but to George and Evelyn it was Jack’s house, probably because it was in a middle-class commuter community.
    Jack always told Karen not to worry about it, that he could endure their petty snipes. He could gain a small measure of revenge by doing their prim and polite daughter on the back deck, where neighbours might see, or in the bathroom when they were forced to attend one of the Hawthorns’ snooty parties.
    For now, all he had to do was endure the game and hope no one ordered dessert.
    â€œThere’s a saying down in 51: if you don’t get complaints, then you’re not doing your job. Since so many of the criminals down there are repeat offenders, a lot of them lodge complaints when they’re arrested so they can use the complaint as a bargaining chip later on in court.”
    â€œI can see how that might explain some of the complaints,” Hawthorn admitted. There was another deliberate pause. “But not all of them.”
    â€œWhat I don’t understand,” Evelyn said, “is why you would want to go to work there. From what George told me, it sounds perfectly horrible.” Her perfectly painted lips puckered in distaste.
    Jack nodded. “It can be. But it can also be very