Beginning

Alexander Darcy rubbed his eyes and took a look at the line-up of fat black men on the other side of the one-way mirror. He took a long inhale of his Turkish Silver before resignedly sighing out, "That one," in reference to fat black man number three. He would know Tyrone's lamb chops and ten chins anywhere.
"Thanks Darce, couldn't've nabbed him without your tip," said Deputy Froyd Delson. Froyd was as close to a friend as he had at the police station, but Alexander still found it extremely irritating whenever Froyd referred to him as "Darce." Alexander decided not to say anything about it this time, though, because he knew Froyd had had a long night catching this drug lord. Alexander had heard that Tyrone would have $75,000 worth of cocaine in his car on October 25th, and, well, these were the wee hours of October 26th. He hoped this catch would keep them off his back for a while.
Alexander Darcy stubbed out his cigarette, put on his black fedora and threw his black overcoat over his arm, then followed Froyd out of the observation room. Once out, he saw Tyrone being lead away in handcuffs and Alexander desperately prayed to any and all higher powers that Tyrone wouldn't look up. Of course he did. The flicker of recognition that crossed Tyrone's face quickly turned into a long suspicious glare. Alex wanted to apologize, to take it all back, but he couldn't.
"I feel like a fucking narc," Alex thought, "oh wait, that's because I am."