Undercover.

He lived his life between the cracks. Out of sight. Very few people even knew of his existence and they all knew him by a different name. None of the names was his real name. He hadn’t used his real name for fifteen years.

Today was a watershed. An important day. Concerning a good friend. Not a close friend and the friendship, truth to tell, had been one-sided in the extreme. He’d cultivated a friendship with the man he was intending to see. Made himself indispensable. He’d taken the results of that friendship, reported back to his unseen controllers. There had been a great many telephone calls, messages left in public places, a single brief meeting in a crowded pub – this job had been a big one. Six months, a long six months, until the message had finally arrived. ‘Pull out now, it’s going down.’

He’d watched from across the road, three in the morning, hidden behind an advertisement hording, as the cars screamed into the road, blocking both exits. Shapeless figures, streaming from the vans, the crash of the front door collapsing inwards as the ‘Doris’ wielded by a burly policeman made short work of the hinges. Shouts and screams, ‘armed police, armed police,’ lights switched on in every room, then a period of calm as the initial energy dissipated.

He’d maintained his position, careful to keep out of sight. He wasn’t a police officer, their undercover boys weren’t part of this operation. Too many loose tongues. When he went under, he was on his own. A memorised number to call in an emergency, that was it. Safer that way. The job was dangerous enough without involving anyone outside the team. A very select team, only four people. The undercover man and three to share back-up.

He stirred at the sudden commotion, figures emerging from the ruins of the doorway. Police, talking loudly, still pumped up, then the big man himself. Shaven-headed, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, cuffs glinting under the streetlights. Two burly officers bundled him across the pavement, a hand holding down his head as he was pushed into the waiting car. Others piled in after him.

A small figure pushed through the crowd, screaming, hitting out at those who tried to restrain her. Secure in his vantage point, he grimaced. Sharon. The big man’s long-term girlfriend. The daughter of a crime boss herself, she was no stranger to pre-dawn raids, but today she’d lost it completely. Screaming with rage, tears glinting on her cheeks, she made it as far as the car before hands managed to pinion her flailing arms. ‘Bastards,” she screamed, ‘fucking bastards.’ The big man looked back at her impassively, sitting calmly while all around him was mayhem. He’d been taken before, many times, and had always been back on the streets within days, if not hours. An expensive team of lawyers were employed specifically for days like these.

The big man knew the score. He’d allow himself to be taken to the small room deep inside the police station. Say nothing. Let the lawyers do their job. He’d been in this position before. Nothing to worry about.

What he didn’t know, surely hadn’t even entertained the thought, was that one of his inner circle had provided the evidence to justify this raid. A trusted friend. The big man had overseen the import and sale of class A drugs for ten years, dealing in human misery. Along the way he’d been responsible for maiming, beating and the occasional unexplained disappearance of his competitors, but none of his inner circle had ever turned on him.

Until now. The man in the shadows, pulled back as the convoy began leaving. Sharon was still screaming abuse, directing her rage at the remaining officers and any neighbours who’d been sufficiently curious to make an appearance outside their front doors. She’d made him a cup of tea, a couple of biscuits on the side, only six hours ago.

He slipped away, collar turned up against the biting wind. Overnight, the clouds had blown away and the morning air was clean and fresh. A new day, full of promise.

His job was over. For now. There’d be a debriefing, later today, but the man whose identity he’d occupied for months was no more. The evidence he’d obtained was enough to put the big man away for a long time. The drug trade would go on. It always did. But, this was a victory. A significant battle won in a never-ending war.

Now it was time to become someone else for a while.

Himself. Take some well-earned leave. Rediscover ‘normality.’

Until the next job came along.