I'm suddenly very aware of the cocaine stuffed deep inside my jacket pocket. Somewhere else on my person, I'm not sure where exactly because I'm wearing skinny jeans, are multiple bags of heroin. All told, I'm carrying a haul of illicit drugs with a street value of around $500,000. I'm also standing next to a cop. A uniformed cop with his gun raised. Not at me, but at the poor schmuck who just helped me steal a quad bike. He's handcuffed, on his knees with his hands behind his back. He's just been tasered. And now I'm staring down the iron sights of my Shrewsbury Uzi 9mm, trained unshakably on the forehead of my one-time partner in crime. "I'm undercover!" I shout down my headset in the most authoritative tone I can muster. "I've got your back. Get him written up and I'll get you back at the station." There's a pause. A long silence th