Short Stories

Blown Cover

Continue writing from here (a prompt): "45 minutes ago, my cover was blown. I'd been under for..."
45 minutes ago, my cover was blown. I'd been under for nearly a year, investigating a supposed drug lord Markus. The government had sent me up to Chicago, Illinois back in July of 2010.
For six months, there was no sign of the supposed drug lord. But on the way back from my job, I got stopped by a young man and asked if I wanted "something good." Thinking I could get a lead, I agreed. The young man, maybe around 19-years-old, led me down an alleyway behind a park. Before I could even see where we were headed, I could smell it. I then knew I was in the right place. This was the lead I was looking for.
We walked up to a group of men surrounding a fire. The young man called out to the group, "Hey, Markus, I got one for ya. Nice and fresh."
A beefy man walked toward us, something in his hand, "Fresh, eh?" He stuck his free hand out to me, "What's your name, kid?" he asked in a distinctively British accent.
I reached my hand out to shake his, "Peter,"
"Well, Peter," Markus began, "if ya pay up front and keep this on the- down low, you can come back whenever you like."
That was the first conversation I had with him, but it was not the last. After so long with no lead, I knew this was my only chance.
I continued to return, never taking the drugs, but paying the "entrance fee," and gathered as much information as possible.
By now, I had enough evidence pointing against Markus, but just as I was about to arrest him and other for the selling of drugs, one goon called me out by my real name, "Hey Justin,"
My mistake was turning to the man. I then knew my cover had been blown. But how? I didn't think anymore before turning tail and ran as far as I could.