Chapter Three: Baptism by Fire, Part 3

I wasn't out there long before someone else joined me. I looked up and wished I hadn't.

"Are you alright?" Sgt. Stone asked as he crouched down next to me.

"I'm fine," I told him, shortly, wishing he would just go away.

"Yeah, because you look like it," he retorted.

"I just needed some air," I muttered, getting to my feet.

"You really don't look good," he told me.

"I'm fine," I said, repeating myself, complete with a roll of the eyes.

"Of course you are." He got up himself and stared down at me. "Look, about the other night."

I shook my head and cut him off. "I was drunk," I lied. "My judgment tends to go out the window with alcohol." Definitely not a lie. "And I really do not want to cause any problems." Again, not a lie. "I need to go," I sighed. "Before anyone sees us together."

"Cheryl, wait," he called after me.

I stopped and turned, waiting for him to walk over. "What?"

"Where's your phone?" he asked me.

"What do you need my phone for?" I asked him.

He actually had the nerve to look at me like I'm an idiot. Which, admittedly, I am, but that's not the point. "So I can put my number in it."

"What for?" I asked, the stubbornness sneaking into the question.

He rolled his eyes at me. "So if you need some backup, you can give me a call."

"Oh," I muttered, more mouthing the word than actually speaking it. That made a bit of sense. And then my hands flew to my hips. "And where do you think a phone is going to fit in this outfit?"

"Excuse me," he said, before leaning over and gently tugging one of the notes from out of my top. He quickly jotted his number on it before handing the note back to me. "I'll let you put that back."

I snatched the paper out of his hand and stormed back inside. The rest of the evening was steady, and it wasn't until after closing time that I had the opportunity to get into the offices. Kandi was busy cashing up, and I was busy refilling the bottle fridges.

"Kandi, we need some more Becks," I called over.

She glanced up from the till and frowned. "You know where they are," she told me. "The keys are in the office. Bring them back when you're done."

The route to the cellar passed a corridor that led only to the offices. Nobody seemed to be around, so I darted down there. I knocked on the door and was relieved when no one was around. The keys were on the desk on top of a delivery order for some more Budweiser's to arrive the following evening. I didn't think twice as I scooped the keys up, and checking there was no one around, I pulled the microphone out of my top, flicking it on. The question was where to put it.

I settled on sticking it behind the filing cabinet. "I hope you can hear this," I said aloud. There was no response coming, so I left the office, heading down into the cellar. I grabbed a crate of Becks and was making my way upstairs when something caught my attention. There were at least half a dozen boxes of Budweiser in that cellar.

I frowned, settling the beer on the ground. Had I misread the delivery order? I headed back to the office and reread the paper. "So," I said aloud. "This might be nothing, but the club is apparently expecting a delivery tomorrow for Budweiser at seven o'clock. Only, the cellar is full of the stuff, and how many breweries actually deliver after five?"

I hoped that message had been understood and decided to carry on with my job – I was shattered and I wanted to collapse on that mattress of mine. I headed for the door, opened it, spotted Philip walking down the corridor, texting on his phone, and panicked.

There was nowhere to hide in the room at all. I did the first thing that came to mind, and started pacing back and forth.

The door open and Philip stepped through, stopping when he spotted me. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"You said I'd get paid for entertaining Mick," I blurted out. Come on – it was the best I could come up with.

"Hmmm," he mused. "I did, didn't I?" He walked behind his desk and sat down, turning his monitor on. "Shall we see how much you're worth?"

I felt sick as watched myself on his computer. Kandi had said that it wasn't actually recorded and I had believed her. Thankfully, Philip turned it off long before Max had left the room. He smiled and handed over a handful of fifties. "Maybe we should have you on the stage."

"No thank you," I muttered, quickly getting up. I dashed out the door and finished up my shift, grateful to leave the place.

It was the early hours of the morning when the taxi pulled up outside the station, and I was exhausted.

"Chezza," Mickey greeted me cheerfully.

"Only you could be this cheerful, this early," I grumbled at him.

"How are things going?" he asked me.

I yawned at him. "I want my bed?" I offered. "And a foot massage. A ten hour shift in four inch heels is a killer."

He laughed, allowing me to pass him and lead the way to the briefing room. I slunk in the back and sank to the floor, my knees cracking as I slid down the wall.

"You alright there?" Neil asked me.

"I tell you what, guv," I called back. "You deliver this briefing in heels and I will stand." It was one of those moments where I spoke first, thought after, and thought that he was going to chew me a new one. Judging from the look everybody else in the room was giving me, they all thought so too.

Miraculously, he laughed. "Thanks to Cheryl and Max we have some good leads for tomorrow. At six thirty, Max will be with Philip Wright here." He pointed to a spot on the map, somewhere near the docks, but I couldn't really see it easily from my position on the floor. "They are meeting with Alan Larkin with the money."

"They're doing it separately?" Stevie asked, sounding surprised.

Max nodded. "Philip wants to establish trust with Larkin. Also, without the drugs and the money in the same place there is a lower risk factor."

"As soon as Larkin counts the money, he will call Craig Lowe, his partner, who will deliver the coke directly to Fantasy at seven o'clock sharp, where Owen Wright will take control of the delivery and confirm its worth to Philip," Neil continued.

"That's a bit ballsy, isn't it?" Stone asked.

I hadn't even realized he was in the room.

"I mean, I know it's going to be seven," Stone added. "But it's August. It's not exactly using the cover of daylight."

Max nodded. "Cheryl found some delivery papers. We've checked the records and their normal supplier isn't due to deliver anything until after the weekend. They're using a brewery delivery as a cover, so the drugs are also likely to come packed away in Budweiser crates."

"They're boxes," I corrected him.

"You what?" he asked me.

I shrugged. "Budweiser comes in a box, not a crate. Completely covered. Unless you open the box, there is no way you can tell it's not got bottles in there."

"That's really clever," Stevie muttered, impressed.

"So, we are going to be waiting here," Neil pointed to the map again. "With CO19, and a second team will be waiting by Fantasy, again with CO19, ready to move as soon as Max and Cheryl give the word."

I really need to learn to pay a little more attention sometimes. "What?" I blurted out.

"We're going to need you to give us the go," Max told me.

"How am I going to do that?" I asked him.

"We'll wire you up."

"Oh yeah! Great idea," I told him, too tired to reign in the sarcasm.

Max glared at me. "And what would the problem be?"

"Well that's obvious, isn't it?" Stone asked him.

Max shook his head. "Enlighten me."

"Where the hell is she going to put the wire? We can't even give her a mobile phone with that outfit."

Of course. Well I had nothing to say to that, because he made the point I was going to.

"Well we will have to give you another radio microphone," he said shrugging his shoulders.

"And where do you expect that to go?" I asked wearily. Max just looked at me. "Yay," I sighed, unenthusiastically.

I was back in that strip club all too soon. I was still tired when I awoke, but because my belongings had been delivered and I need to be up for the delivery, I was definitely still tired when I got to work. The good news was that there was only an hour to go and then I could get a much needed, early night.

The club was also quite quiet. It probably would pick up later, if it hadn't been shut down by then. Stone was in, along with the same to people he had been in with last time. I'd finally learnt they were Smithy and Leon. Yup, parading around in front of the Inspector in my underwear. If I didn't die of embarrassment, I was certainly going to have to have a week off to recover.

I delivered them three very weak lager shandies, which they barely touched and made my way back to the bar. Just as the bouncers threw out an exceptionally drunk man, I managed to get in the way of a flying pint of Guinness.

Screw this – I was having two weeks off.

And then another thought crossed my mind. The microphone. I dashed into the changing rooms and pulled it out from my top. The little red LED was no longer glowing. I threw it in the bin. And there was another mistake.

I didn't think twice about it being there as I went back to the bar, and Smithy was already there, waiting for me. "You got a couple of bags of crisps?" he asked.

"The mic is screwed," I told him, handing some packets over.

"Are you alright?" he asked me.

I nodded. "I'm fine," I told him.

"Look, we're in here," he reassured me. "I'll get Nate and Kirsty to let us know when a delivery truck heads around back and I'll come and let you know. You're just going to have to get back to us in here and we'll send the word to move in." He looked at me and cocked his head, ever so slightly. "You think you can handle it?"

I nodded again, handing back his change. I should have shaken my head. I felt sick to my stomach.

He was back forty minutes later, ordering another round of drinks. "I won't be a minute," I told him, pretending to struggle with the till. "Kandi, will you grab these for me?"

She gave me a funny look, but took over serving Smithy. Meanwhile, I disappeared into the back, creeping along to the cellar. The boxes were already being unloaded, by several men – half of whom I recognized as associates of Philip's. On the side was an opened box, a cellophane wrapped white brick cut open to reveal the white powder inside.

Bingo! I moved back upstairs, ready to dart back into the bar and to safety, but I went careering right into Kandi. And right behind her was Owen, a gun already emerging from his waistband.

"Get in my office!" he bellowed at us over the sound of the music coming from the club.

I swallowed, moving slowly into his office. "Owen, put the gun away," I told him, clearly.

"What were you doing in the cellar?" he asked me, barely paying attention to Kandi.

I however, was paying attention to her. She was terrified, and I could actually see her shaking as she stared at that gun, and she was staring at the door, planning to bolt for it. "I was changing the Fosters," I told him.

"It has nothing to do with this?" he asked, holding the radio mic I had thrown away in front of him.

"What is that?" I asked, dumbly.

"You want to play it like that?" he asked. He sniffed, turned, and shot Kandi. "Fine."

I screamed. I couldn't help it. I screamed and I dropped down in front of the desk, cowering in fright.

And that was how I found myself staring at the gun, watching my life fly before me, analyzing every mistake I made over the last week. I knew I was going to die. And then, it was like all the fear suddenly evaporated from me. I stood up, calmly. I sat on the desk, stared at Owen, and then did something even more insane than anything else I have ever done. I laughed at him.

"What's so funny?" he demanded.

"You," I told him. "You have the opportunity, right now, to save your own life."

"What do you mean?" he asked me, taking a step closer, but never taking his gun off me.

"I'm a police officer," I told him. "We've got you on so many drugs charges alone, you're going to be locked up for a long time, add murder to the mix and you're never seeing daylight."

"Add your murder to the mix," he shot back at me. "Problem solved."

"Please," I laughed. "Killing me will be the start of your problems."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And how do you figure that?"

"You've heard of Chris Landry, right?" I asked him. "Big on gun trafficking in Manchester."

He nodded.

"That would be my brother," I told him, before laughing again.

"You're lying," he retorted.

I was. There is, in fact a Chris Landry in Manchester, who has been on the police radar for years. I also happen to have a brother called Chris. But they're not the same person. I shrugged. "Check my ID," I told him, nodding at the filing cabinet that contained the employee details. "Check the name on my next of kin." I grinned at him. "Wow, I wouldn't want be the one to inform him his sister had been killed," I told him, shaking my head sympathetically.

Owen moved over to the filing cabinet, keeping his eye on me. "Get it," he ordered.

I shrugged and moved over, pulling the drawer open and pulling out my details.

"Chris Landry," he read.

That second he took his eyes off me and onto the paper was all I needed. While he had been moving towards the filing cabinet, I had spotted the small camera being poked under the door. "NOW!" I yelled, diving to the ground, covering my head and praying for the best.

The door burst open and the room was suddenly full of armed officers, shouting and yelling.

I stood in the women's locked room, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I'd managed to put on a brave face, gotten to the station and safely into the bathrooms before throwing up. I had at least spared myself the embarrassment of doing that in front of other people. Now, I still looked peaky, but the shakes had stopped and I was feeling like I could face a room full of people – at least long enough to debrief.

As I walked into CID, I realized that everyone else had other ideas. There was a round of applause as I walked in, and I stared back in confusion. What the hell had I done to deserve that? I actually glanced behind me to see if there was someone there who they were actually clapping, but Mickey was already by my side, patting my shoulder.

"Nice result, Chezza," he told me.

"How's Kandi?" I asked him.

"In the hospital," Neil answered for him. "She's in intensive care, but it looks like she's going to be fine."

I sat down into my chair, forgetting about its broken status until it was too late. Only it didn't bend backwards. I opened my eyes, confused.

"Your new one arrived," Stevie announced happily. "Come on, let's get out of here."

And as soon as I had walked in there, I was walking back out. For my first week, I doubted I had been in that room much longer than an hour.

"You coming to the pub?" Mickey asked me.

I shook my head. "My furniture got delivered this morning and I really need to put my bed together."

"Ah, come on," he pleaded, his arm snaking around my shoulders.

"I'm not in the mood," I told him.

"Okay, you're a little strange," he told me, still grinning. "But you should at least come out for one celebratory lemonade," he ordered.

I laughed. I had to. I might not have an infectious smile, but Mickey certainly did. "Fine," I sighed, as melodramatically as possible.

I stayed for two, but in the end, it just felt too busy and I was not in the mood. I figured two was polite and then I slipped out.

My apartment was chaos. I ignored it all and had myself a long, hot shower and I didn't come out until the water was cold and my fingers wrinkled. I opened a box and slipped into some cotton running shorts and my favourite vest top with a nearly faded slogan on it.

Of course, by the time I was out of the shower, it was also really late. Which meant, if I was putting my bed together, I was doing it manually. Well, I wasn't feeling tired at this point. I think I had gone past that feeling a few hours ago. Now, I just wanted to keep busy. I moved into the bedroom and pushed the mattress up against the wall as I laid the bed frame out.

As I stared at it, I realised it was going to be an interesting task. Ideally, it needed two people. I wandered back into my kitchen and pulled a tub of Chunky Monkey from the freezer, with the intention of contemplating my predicament over ice cream. As I shut the freezer door, the answer stared me back in the face. Using a magnet, I had attached the twenty pound note with Stone's number on.

As quickly as I thought of it, I pushed the idea from my mind. Probably not a good idea. Instead, I dug my spoon into the ice cream and took an enormous mouthful, just as someone knocked at my door.

The clock on my oven said it was nearly one. Frowning, I opened the door and almost choked on my ice cream. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might need a hand putting that bed together," Stone replied. "I saw the light was still on."

"How do you know where I live?" I demanded. As soon as I asked it, I winced and actually smacked my hand against my head.

"So, do you need some help?" he asked me.

"No," I told him. "Yes," I admitted, seconds later and stepped back so he could come in. "Can I offer you some ice cream?" I asked, holding the tub up to him.

"I bought pizza," he told me.

I looked down and low and behold, he had a pizza box in his hands. Great detective I am, eh? I smiled gratefully. It probably won't surprise you that I hadn't done any food shopping, other than the ice cream, so I was extremely thankful for something warm. "Thanks," I muttered. "I guess you know where the bedroom is."

I followed him into the bedroom. "You were going to attempt this by yourself?" he asked me, a little surprised.

I shrugged at him. "Can't sleep. Besides, it's not like there's anyone else around to help. Sometimes it's just easier to get on with things by yourself." My hands found their way to my hips. "You don't really strike me as a person who usually turns up on a girl's doorstep, after hours, bearing pizza to help build a bed. So what gives?"

"Things have a habit of getting around the station. Nothing stays a secret at Sun Hill-"

I cut him off. "I'm not going to say anything. You don't have to bribe me with your DIY skills - you could have just asked."

I wasn't surprised to see that his response was to stare at me. To give him his credit - he's a lot more restained than me. I can usually keep my mouh shut, but he far exceeds my potential. I usually cave and end up saying something stupid. No, he just stood there, stared, and then set the pizza on top of a pile of boxes, reaching for the screwdriver.

I really wish I could read minds.

I would have updated sooner, but I ended up re-writing the chapter again, cutting a load of waffle out. Hmmm, I think it reads better than the original... But anyways, thank you for everyone who is still reading!

Axellia - I'm glad you like her. I think if I was in her situation, my language would be more colourful too, but I am determined to behave myself!

133 - Yeah, I haven't written properly in years, and I only stumbled acoss FF a short while ago. I hope it meets your expectations.

PCJAL - Undercover stories are certainly fun to write too - I may have to attempt it again later! I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long!