Chapter 42: The Informant Detective

In the underbelly of London, there exists a peculiar breed of individuals. They come from humble beginnings, lack formal employment, and spend their days wandering aimlessly or indulging in hedonistic pursuits. Occasionally, they vanish for stretches of time, their whereabouts shrouded in mystery. They never seem to work, yet they always have money—enough to live comfortably, even lavishly. To the outside world, they appear to be up to no good.

But there's a twist.

These individuals carry themselves with an air of confidence, unafraid of trouble, and often seem to have inexplicably close ties to law enforcement. This duality makes them enigmatic figures, their true roles obscured by layers of speculation.

They are informants. Unofficial, off-the-books assets for the police.

Felix Michael is one such informant—arguably the most influential in London. His handler? Thomas Wilson, head of the Metropolitan Police's Major Crimes Unit.

Felix wasn't always an informant. A decade ago, he was a street thug—rough around the edges but not inherently malicious. His knack for staying just on the right side of trouble caught Thomas's eye, and Felix was recruited as his sole informant.

Over the years, Felix provided invaluable intelligence, helping Thomas climb the ranks. Yet, despite his contributions, Felix's hopes of being rewarded with a legitimate position within the police force were dashed. All he received were vague promises and unofficial privileges—like the freedom to operate with minimal oversight.

Felix understood the constraints. Informants were shadows, their work often crossing ethical and legal boundaries. Acknowledging them publicly would tarnish the police's image. Still, the lack of recognition stung.

Over time, Felix's loyalty waned. He continued to work with Thomas, but his heart was no longer in it. He began prioritizing his own interests, branching out into private investigations.

After all, gathering intelligence was his specialty.

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**The Underground Office**

Felix's office was a converted basement, small but fully equipped. A wooden desk dominated the space, cluttered with files, a landline phone, and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. Felix himself lounged in a leather chair, feet propped on the desk, humming a tune.

The phone rang.

"Felix Michael Investigations," he answered, his voice dripping with practiced nonchalance.

"I need you to investigate someone," the caller said, their voice distorted. "I want their schedule for the next two weeks. If they're meeting anyone—especially women—I want photos. The more compromising, the better."

Felix rolled his eyes. *Another bloody infidelity case.*

"Who's the target?"

"Scott Ryder. Head of the Golden District Police Station."

Felix wasn't surprised. His clients were often powerful figures—politicians, executives, even fellow officers. Ordinary people rarely hired private detectives.

"Thirty thousand pounds. If I don't deliver evidence of infidelity, you get half back."

"I'll give you fifty. I want every detail of his movements for the next fortnight. Even his bathroom breaks."

"Deal. How do you want to handle payment?"

"Midnight tonight. Victoria Park. Leave the money in the second bin near the fitness area."

"Understood."

Felix hung up, unfazed by the clandestine nature of the transaction. Over the years, he'd grown accustomed to such arrangements. Clients rarely revealed their identities, opting for masked meetings or dead drops to avoid leaving a paper trail.

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**The Double Life**

Felix's dual role as an informant and private detective was a delicate balancing act. Officially, he was still Thomas's asset, tasked with monitoring the city's underworld for signs of the Phantom. Unofficially, he was building a reputation as a discreet and effective investigator.

The Phantom case had brought Felix a new wave of assignments. Thomas had tasked him with two objectives:

1. **Identify the owner of a black sedan** (Victor Black's vehicle).

2. **Monitor underground activity** for suspicious individuals or events.

Felix tackled these tasks with minimal enthusiasm. His focus had shifted. Money, not loyalty, drove him now.

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**The Infidelity Epidemic**

Felix's private caseload was dominated by infidelity investigations. It was a far cry from the high-stakes criminal work he'd once done, but it paid well.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, lighting another cigarette. "From tracking serial killers to snapping photos of cheating spouses. What a fall from grace."

Still, he couldn't deny the financial appeal. His clients were wealthy, their desperation for dirt on their partners making them generous.