boots, the clingy vest top and leather jacket.
"Well," he said. "Who knew that you had a woman's body hidden away under that stab vest, PC Mills? Very nice, very nice indeed."
"You're a very beautiful woman," one of the tramps slurred ingratiatingly.
"Where is DI Thompson?" I snapped, ignoring the tramp completely.
"Meeting room four, sweetheart."
I stamped off along the corridor, feeling self-conscious about the clickerty-clack of my heels, fully aware that the desk sergeant, and probably both the tramps, were checking out my arse as I walked away. It wasn't that I was uncomfortable in the clothes – they were my own things that I'd worn before – but wearing them here, at work, was uncomfortable. Wearing my uniform gave me authority. Wearing my own clothes made me feel exposed, as if PC Mills was gone and only Nicole remained.
I was the last to arrive at the meeting. DI Thompson, my boss, was already there, as was his boss’s boss, Detective Chief Supt Jones.
"This is PC Mills, Sir," Thompson said, getting to his feet. "PC Mills, meet DCS Jones."
"A pleasure to meet you," he said politely, shaking my hand. "Thompson tells me that you worked with him in Leeds? And he personally recommended your move to Trainee Detective Constable?"
"Yes, sir," I said. I wasn't if the recommendation had been based on my abilities as a copper, or Thompson's guilt, but it was true that he had pulled strings for me.
"Sit down, sit down," the DCS urged. "Now, I'm sure you're briefed and ready, of course – you certainly look the part – but I just need to tick the boxes with you. If anything goes wrong, it's my neck on the line!" He tapped the insignia on his epaulettes. Thompson's face was a mask of careful neutrality, and I had to suppress a smile. I knew his opinion about senior officers that rode a desk all day.
"You've been through the training programme, so I'm sure you know what undercover work is all about. Your safety is of paramount importance. Get close, but don't get involved. As a...er...young woman, you might find the local thugs wanting to…get to know you. You mustn't let that happen. We have a duty to protect our officers, and Terry English's gang aren't exactly gentlemen. All we need you to do is observe. Get in with them, befriend their women if you can, and find out who's in whose pocket. No more than that."
"Yes, sir," I said again.
"And you're comfortable with the back story?"
"Nicole Johnson, from Bradford," I said. I'd memorised the profile inside and out.
"Excellent," he said, getting to his feet. "Thompson will be your handler, you are to check in with him once a week. Now, you'll have to excuse me, I have another meeting to get to. Good luck, Mills."
"A meeting with his dinner, no doubt," Thompson said as the door closed. "You ready for this, Nicole? You look very…"
"Yeah, yeah, I look very different. That fat pig on the front desk already pointed it out."
"You don't look that different to me," he said quietly.
"To answer your question, Sarge, I'm ready. You have the file for me?"
His eyes narrowed at the subtle rebuke, but I didn't care. This was a huge task for me, and the last thing I needed was a trip down memory lane. He handed me the box file that contained all the details of my new life – bank cards, house keys, car keys. A whole new identity. I got up to leave.
"One thing," he said, "and I'm not saying this because of, well, the past – I'm saying this as a copper. All that stuff the old goat was saying about not getting too close…"
I was expecting him to start with the possessive crap, so what he said next surprised me.
"It's all bullshit, it's the official line the force has to take. Terry English is a dangerous criminal, and so far we haven't been able to get near him. You do what needs to be done. This job could be make or break for your career."
"I'm not going to fuck Terry English, if that's what you're hoping for," I hissed. "I love the job, but I'm not going to whore
"Well," he said. "Who knew that you had a woman's body hidden away under that stab vest, PC Mills? Very nice, very nice indeed."
"You're a very beautiful woman," one of the tramps slurred ingratiatingly.
"Where is DI Thompson?" I snapped, ignoring the tramp completely.
"Meeting room four, sweetheart."
I stamped off along the corridor, feeling self-conscious about the clickerty-clack of my heels, fully aware that the desk sergeant, and probably both the tramps, were checking out my arse as I walked away. It wasn't that I was uncomfortable in the clothes – they were my own things that I'd worn before – but wearing them here, at work, was uncomfortable. Wearing my uniform gave me authority. Wearing my own clothes made me feel exposed, as if PC Mills was gone and only Nicole remained.
I was the last to arrive at the meeting. DI Thompson, my boss, was already there, as was his boss’s boss, Detective Chief Supt Jones.
"This is PC Mills, Sir," Thompson said, getting to his feet. "PC Mills, meet DCS Jones."
"A pleasure to meet you," he said politely, shaking my hand. "Thompson tells me that you worked with him in Leeds? And he personally recommended your move to Trainee Detective Constable?"
"Yes, sir," I said. I wasn't if the recommendation had been based on my abilities as a copper, or Thompson's guilt, but it was true that he had pulled strings for me.
"Sit down, sit down," the DCS urged. "Now, I'm sure you're briefed and ready, of course – you certainly look the part – but I just need to tick the boxes with you. If anything goes wrong, it's my neck on the line!" He tapped the insignia on his epaulettes. Thompson's face was a mask of careful neutrality, and I had to suppress a smile. I knew his opinion about senior officers that rode a desk all day.
"You've been through the training programme, so I'm sure you know what undercover work is all about. Your safety is of paramount importance. Get close, but don't get involved. As a...er...young woman, you might find the local thugs wanting to…get to know you. You mustn't let that happen. We have a duty to protect our officers, and Terry English's gang aren't exactly gentlemen. All we need you to do is observe. Get in with them, befriend their women if you can, and find out who's in whose pocket. No more than that."
"Yes, sir," I said again.
"And you're comfortable with the back story?"
"Nicole Johnson, from Bradford," I said. I'd memorised the profile inside and out.
"Excellent," he said, getting to his feet. "Thompson will be your handler, you are to check in with him once a week. Now, you'll have to excuse me, I have another meeting to get to. Good luck, Mills."
"A meeting with his dinner, no doubt," Thompson said as the door closed. "You ready for this, Nicole? You look very…"
"Yeah, yeah, I look very different. That fat pig on the front desk already pointed it out."
"You don't look that different to me," he said quietly.
"To answer your question, Sarge, I'm ready. You have the file for me?"
His eyes narrowed at the subtle rebuke, but I didn't care. This was a huge task for me, and the last thing I needed was a trip down memory lane. He handed me the box file that contained all the details of my new life – bank cards, house keys, car keys. A whole new identity. I got up to leave.
"One thing," he said, "and I'm not saying this because of, well, the past – I'm saying this as a copper. All that stuff the old goat was saying about not getting too close…"
I was expecting him to start with the possessive crap, so what he said next surprised me.
"It's all bullshit, it's the official line the force has to take. Terry English is a dangerous criminal, and so far we haven't been able to get near him. You do what needs to be done. This job could be make or break for your career."
"I'm not going to fuck Terry English, if that's what you're hoping for," I hissed. "I love the job, but I'm not going to whore
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