They say that a person's entire life flashes before their eyes when they know they are going to die.
I don't believe that is true, I do know that the last three years did, though. I answered the knock on my door, expecting to be told where to go work, my heart skipped a beat when I saw the two goons standing there. They just shoved their way in, then stepped aside, separating themselves.
I am a cop, I work narcotics, and undercover. It isn't a lifestyle that lends itself to anything even remotely approaching normalcy. No wife, no family. Not even any friends that I could really talk to.
The only good part is the shit we handled was never touched by any of us, business was business. Touch it and there would be a short paragraph in the newspaper, that had been made clear. Just one time things had gotten heavy, I was in the back seat as we drove downtown, grabbed a guy off the corner. He had been skimming or using, I didn't ask. They just grabbed him, jerked him into the car. I will always remember his face as he turned to look at me, knowing. I just sat there. They pulled down an alley, put four rounds into him and got back into the car and we drove off.
I didn't ask and nobody said anything, we drove back to a tavern and had some beer.
Drinking and smoking pot was the norm, so I did it too. There were women around a lot. Round and soft and stupid mostly, uninteresting to me.
In the movies and on TV help is close by, plus there is the "wire" worn that records everything.
They burst in just in time and save the day.
I knew there would be no one coming to save me.
No wire, either. That would just get you dead.
In the real world we live as one of those we are trying to investigate, we become just like them. Any communications with headquarters is rare, even the go between is only informed rarely.
Kristen served as my communication, she was also undercover but from all outward appearances she was just a hooker I used from time to time. She came to my apartment through the back late at night. I kept her up to date, she left and passed on the names and information I managed to collect.
I had known her for several years, she was married which I didn't consider a good thing. I never even thought of her in any other way other than just as a partner. In those days we resented even having women around. I guess headquarters was right, she was the best choice, I just didn't like the married part or even the female part.
Especially a very pretty female that was maybe 130 pounds soaking wet.
Equality be damned, when we are dealing with perps that will just cap someone and then eat a sandwich on the way home, women are a disadvantage.
It didn't take me too long to realize that Kristen could actually handle herself, a few times we had to really roust some asshole and she was not the least bit adverse to kicking them in the balls. It took awhile but she earned my respect. We were partners for almost two years.
She transferred, I found myself missing her. After two years of total trust and working together, we get to know a person pretty well.
A few years later I made detective, and went undercover. I became a punk, a street hood, slowly working my way inside. The surprise was that Kristen was my contact.
Risks are part of the job, it was my ass that was out there on the line most of the time. Kristen showed up, stayed for an hour or so maybe once every week or two, then left. It seemed reasonably safe, right?
Right.
I still am not sure exactly what caused the suspicion, but I knew the two goons sent to roust me around had no concerns at all with just popping me and leaving. I knew this because we had already lost one man that tried to get inside the gang of assholes we were trying to crack.
Three fucking years and I still didn't have a clue how they got the product in or out. Someone showed up, told me where to be and I went. Then it was a few days of cutting and packaging, they handed me a wad of cash and told me to get lost. Three fucking years and so far I had gotten pretty much nowhere. There seemed to be no end to the supply, whoever was behind it all was pretty big and well connected, that much was obvious.
Now they suspected me and I wasn't real sure why. Both of these pricks were the size of gorillas, too.
"You a fucking cop, Danny?" Art shoved me backwards the instant the door opened, I saw Barry right behind him. Barry was even bigger than Art, he had a huge gut. He claimed to be Italian but he looked to be Hawaiian. Art was just fucking ugly.
Both of them were scowling at me, nothing new there though.
"What the fuck are you talking about, a cop?" I yelled back. I was thinking of my piece in the drawer by my bed. Barry just walked over and jerked the drawer open, stuffed my piece in his pants. Art gave me another shove, my knees hit the edge of the bed and I sat down.
"Don't give us any fucking shit, we saw the bitch coming in and out."
"What bitch?"
"You know which one, asshole."
"So what, a guy has needs, what the fuck!"
"Sneaking up the back, too?"
"Hey, I got neighbors, for Christ's sake."
"Same damn broad every fucking time, motherfucker. How come you never have nobody else?" He had his fat hands around my neck now.
"I like her, what the fuck is wrong with that?" I managed to get out.
"Same fucking cunt for at least six months, whatcha gonna do, marry her?" I would have answered but I couldn't.
Just then there was a knock on the back door. Real bad fucking timing, it was almost like they expected her though. At least Art let go of my neck.
Barry opened it, reached out and grabbed a startled Kristen and jerked her inside, slamming the door.
"What the hell, hey, I ain't doing any three of you for less than $200 each." She protested, yelling.
Damn quick thinking, I thought. Her slight frame had no chance in getting loose from Barry's grip but she tried.
