Because conventional methods for putting these guys away weren’t working.

‘I once heard of an undercover copper who wore a listening device up his arse,’ said Wolfe, speaking slowly, almost languidly, enunciating every word in a strong east London accent. ‘It was on a smack deal. Apparently, it picked up every word. Two people went down for twelve years apiece.’

I didn’t like the sound of this. One, because not surprisingly I didn’t much fancy the idea of a detailed rectal examination, and two, and more importantly, because the undercover copper in question had been me. And yes, it had been bloody uncomfortable, although, as Wolfe pointed out, it had also been successful, which had pleased the bosses no end. There was no way Wolfe could have known my identity since he’d had nothing to do with the dealers I’d put down, but I still felt a twinge of anxiety.

Criminals are just like hyenas, or the playground bullies I used to fight: they sniff out fear immediately, and go straight for whoever’s exhibiting it. I’d been in the game long enough to stand my ground, so I glared contemptuously at Wolfe. ‘I’m not a copper,’ I told him firmly, ‘and no one’s feeling my arsehole from the inside, either. Understand that? If you’ve got something for me, tell me now. I haven’t got all day.’

‘He sat down pretty easily in the car, boss,’ Tommy chuckled throatily, ‘so I don’t think he’s wearing anything up there.’

‘Don’t worry, no one’s going to search your arsehole,’ said Wolfe as if he was doing me some massive favour. ‘But I need to be sure about you.’

‘And I need to be sure about you, too,’ I said, knowing I couldn’t take these kinds of liberties lying down. ‘I mean, how do I know you’re not coppers?’

‘I’m no fucking copper,’ growled Haddock, speaking for the first time, fixing me with his big dark eyes. His voice was higher-pitched than I’d been expecting, with the faintest sign of a lisp. It was, however, no less menacing for that, and I could feel the atmosphere in this shitty little room darkening.