Stakeouts look so glamorous in movies—a warm car, snacks and coffee. Well, most people think that way, but the truth is that it’s all bullshit. I’m freezing cold and soaking wet and my bollocks have shrivelled up in my pants. It’s seriously pissing me off and ramping up my adrenaline. I’d been told there was going to be a movement in Coldstone tonight, some large shipment. I’ve been waiting outside for a good half hour, and so far I haven’t spotted a living soul around here.

A minute later another drop of rain sneaks under my collar and down my back and I decide to go back to the car, shivering with cold. I’ve been walking up and down the street, thinking that I must have missed something. Finally I can’t wait any longer. It’s nearly time, so I dial.

“He’d better fucking answer,” I growl quietly to myself. The phone rings and rings. Then I hear a click.

“Broomly Street, in twenty minutes,” says the sharp, slightly dopey voice on the other side of the phone. I shift on my car seat, my pulse speeding up instantly.

“Are you sure about this, T? The streets in Coldstone are completely empty. There is nothing going on around here,” I say to T, wiping the water off my face. Broomly is on the other side of the city.

“Pretty fucking sure. You know that I’m risking a hell of a lot, mate,” T snarls back over the phone. His voice vibrates and he’s breathing too hard, which means that he’s nervous. It looks like I might be lucky tonight after all. After months of putting the evidence together, Knox is finally going to be mine.

“They are definitely getting a delivery tonight, right?” I ask.

Long silence. T is thinking hard, probably wondering how much he can say.

“Yeah, mate, two trucks, but you need to leave now. I’ve already said too much,” he says, coughing.

I smile and glance at the clock on the dashboard. It’s twenty to ten, and I have exactly fifteen minutes to get to Broomly. It should be fine. T wants out. He is weak, but he is valuable, and now I’m glad that I made him my C.I, a contact I will need to close this case. I’ve been working on this for three long months, and so far I have a few lousy suspects, nothing to really incriminate them except useless surveillance photos and frozen bollocks. This has gone on for too long, and I need to show Clarke that he hired me for a reason.

“Fine, this better be good. You know that I have you by your short and curlies. You betray me and you have no protection if I let slip that you’re my informant,” I remind him gently. It’s a clear warning, not a threat. T should know that I don’t work with losers. I know for a fact that he’s smoking too much weed, so his head is fucking screwed. Other than that, he’s a good kid who has fallen off the wagon one too many times.

“Aye-aye, captain. Fifteen minutes now,” he reminds me and then the line goes dead. I start the engine and check my gun.

I put my foot down as soon as the engine roars back to life. The wheels spin and my Audi swirls on the wet asphalt. I check the clock, wondering if I’ll make it, speeding through the dark, overcast streets. My mission is clear: I want to see Knox behind bars, ideally tonight. I go over the speed limit. The blood starts thumping in my ears loudly.

I dial Roger’s number when I’m close to Broomly. Luckily he picks up straight away.

“What’s up, my prince? Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he chuckles.

“Meet me at Broomly Street ASAP. I had a call,” I inform him.

“Your source?”

“Yes, Rogers, stop wasting my time and get in here sharpish. I don’t want to lose that motherfucker tonight,” I say, probably sounding like an arsehole, but that way Rogers will know that I’m dead serious.

“Ten minutes. Wait for me. Don’t do anything stupid,” he says and hangs up the phone. It’s raining cats and dogs, and my windscreen wipers fight to keep moving up and down, squeaking. I stop abruptly near the roundabout. Broomly Street is just around the corner. It’s still pretty early, but this part of town seems deserted, cloaked in darkness as the rain washes the abandoned streets and derelict buildings. I switch off the lights and kill the engine, waiting for the signal. Knox and his truck should already be here. He must have changed the location while I was wasting time in Coldstone.

My eyes move around the streets and alleyways, trying hard to see what’s going on ahead. This kind of weather is perfect for what Knox has in mind. He doesn’t need to worry about being cornered around here. Rogers has exactly four more minutes to get here, and if he doesn’t, I’m on my fucking own.

Then something happens. I spot two hooded figures creeping towards the narrow alley. I can’t afford to wait around for Rogers to get here. The party has started. Knox’s guys must have arrived earlier on. My instinct tells me that I have to get out of the car, and after counting to ten I do just that.

Sheets of rain pour down my face, almost blinding me as I bend my knees and creep around the car. Several minutes later a large truck turns into the same street. The two hooded guys signal the driver, who flashes his lights in response. They haven’t seen me yet. The weather conditions are working in my favour but also to their advantage, as I can’t make out faces. When they get busy, I exhale sharply and run towards the opposite building, hoping to see everything that’s going down. I’m not ready to lose one of the biggest drug busts of my career because Rogers doesn’t have any sense of urgency. We’ve both been working on this for months.

I get to the opposite building, several meters away from where the truck is parked. The two hooded figures are too busy to pay any attention to their surroundings. They are talking to the driver, who keeps pointing at the building ahead.

I need to get closer and take out at least one of them. I wipe the water off my face, load my gun and move from my hiding place. Instinct is the key. Rogers should be here any minute, hopefully with backup. My eyes are glued to the figures that are now moving behind the truck.

As the adrenaline peaks in my blood I pick up my pace. My targets are in my sight—this is it—they are going down. When I hear a gasp from my left, it’s already too late. I am so focused on my goal that I don’t see the cyclist on the road. I can’t stop and we crash into each other. I lose my balance, and the impact throws me at least a meter away, landing hard on the tarmac. For a split second I have no idea what just happened. The rain keeps pouring down on me; my head is throbbing with pain. I blink rapidly and spot my gun lying a few meters away from me.

I hear someone shouting, swearing. Then all of a sudden the headlights are blinding me and I shut my eyes. Several seconds later, I look up and realise that the two dealers have spotted me. I must look bizarre to them, just lying in the middle of the road. The driver vanishes and, before I know it, my two hooded figures are backing away. Every drop of rain feels like a cold rock bouncing against my skin. Somehow I manage to scramble back to my feet, taking long pulls of air into my lungs.

The streets are empty again. My heart skips a beat—my cover is blown. Someone must have seen me circling around this area, or maybe that useless twat T pre-warned them. Who the fuck knows? If I’m lucky, the stock might still be in the truck.

My back is aching, my head is pounding—Jesus, I need a shot of whisky.

“Couldn’t you see me? Didn’t you look where you were going, you complete moron!” A loud, annoyed voice pulls me back to reality. I look up, realising that it’s the cyclist that I crashed with several moments ago.

“Shut up for a second. I’m trying to think,” I bark, running my hand through my wet hair.

I pick up my gun and unload it. Then I get blinded again by bright headlights and hear the roaring engine. A moment later, the truck disappears into the rain-shrouded darkness.

The anger inside me increases by the second, even though I’d tapped it down. This whole thing is blown. The stock is gone. Knox has fucked me off again. His guys ran away, realising that it was a trap. I whirl around, ready to berate the cyclist, who turns out to be a girl with wet pink hair. I have a sudden urge to handcuff her for getting in my way. She is the main reason I’ve lost months and months of work. On top of that, Rogers let me down tonight.

The rain is coming down in sheets and makes everything glisten under the glow of streetlights. I can barely see the shapes of the buildings right in front of us. The water is dripping over my entire body and I’m completely fucking pissed off.

The girl’s bike is lying on the road; the wheel is bent, and it looks like we crashed right in the middle of the street. I finally lift my head and take a good look at her. She is tall, almost my height, and her clothes are soaked right through, just like mine. She is wearing a very skimpy white top and I can see her hardened nipples poking through it. Unexpected heat shoots down my spine and hits me in my dick. Christ, what’s happening?

“You can’t tell me what to do, you arsewipe,” she yells.

“I’m going to handcuff you if you don’t shut your flapping lips,” I say, weighing my options.

She narrows her eyes at me, then glances at her bike, finally noticing her bent wheel.