The Sun Will Still Shine Tomorrow by Ken Scott

the car off at the station in Market Street and hailed a taxi outside. Within fifteen minutes they were sitting in a small room at the rear of the Osborne Hotel in Jesmond, toasting their good fortune with their already well-oiled colleagues.
    Andy Gibbons stood at the bar grinning, overseeing his successful team, ready to deliver the debrief.
Chapter 4
    The following morning, Ashley eased himself from his bed. Never before had he experienced such pain. Every breath, every cough, the slightest change in any direction caused a shooting dagger-like sensation to bury itself deep in his ribcage. Each stab felt as if his lungs would collapse at any minute.
    Filled up with an overdose of Ibuprofen he walked gingerly into the station at Market Street. John Markwell looked up from the desk
    “Jesus H, Ash, you look like shit.”
    Ashley didn’t respond, knowing that even the slightest effort of speech would cause extreme discomfort. Instead, he nodded in agreement. Somehow John Markwell seemed to understand.
    Ash looked around the station. It was still buzzing from yesterday’s success. Chief Superintendent Roddam was hanging around trying to be one of the boys again even though he’d been behind his Canadian maple desk during the entire operation. He was talking to a suit that Ashley hadn’t seen before. Ashley didn’t like the look of him.
    “It went like clockwork. My team were magnificent; we’d been after Billy Graham for years.”
    Ashley had seen it all before. The team had carried off the perfect operation, everyone and everything had fallen perfectly into place. First-class policing from every member of the team. And then the suits arrived and a man not involved at any stage
    of the wonderfully executed operation stood at the front of the
    line in the backslapping queue.
    Roddam continued.
    “We had a bit of a celebration last night. Some of the boys are a bit rough this morning.” He shot a disapproving glance at Ashley who by now really did feel like shit.
    Ashley eased into the chair beside Markwell.
    “John… I didn’t get a chance to thank you yesterday. I —”
    Markwell held up his hand.
    “There’s no need, Ash… partners, remember. I didn’t mind the rough stuff, quite enjoyed it if the truth be told. It was that bloody half-mile sprint to get there that was the hard bit.” Ashley laughed and regretted it instantly as the knife rasped up the inside of his lungs once again.
    DC Rob Shanks chipped in. “Jesus, Ash, are you gonna be up for the interviews?”
    Ash wheezed a reply.”No problem, Shanksy, just try and stop me. That’s the best bit.”
    Rob Shanks had been leading the unit staking out the dealers. He’d been patient and meticulous and timed the hits flawlessly, leaving the dealers just enough time to commit their offences. Intent to supply was the lesser charge; Rob Shanks wanted the cream from the top of the milk.
    All three youths had offloaded the crack cocaine to at least one pupil from the school. Everything had been filmed for good measure.
    Afterwards Shanks had sent the uniforms with the victims to their home addresses.
    The uniforms had read the riot act out in front of the children’s parents but the children had escaped with a caution and hopefully had received the biggest fright of their short lives.
    “Interviews start at ten, Ash. Should be fairly routine, but we need at least one of the dealers to implicate Bulldog as the main man.”
    “No problem, Shanksy. I looked in on them last night. They all look pretty scared.”
    DC Rob Shanks walked over to the desk and picked up a file.
    “Two seventeen-year-olds from Cowgate: John Potts and Marcus Appleby. Both addicts, I’m afraid, a little bit of previous for shoplifting and thieving. And a Pakistani kid with nothing at all on his card. A bit weird really, not the sort of kid who’d be working for Bulldog.”
    Shanks rubbed his chin, shook his head. “Which one do you want to have a go at first?”
    Ashley Clarke