"Covert operations" had been such an easy sell; was there anything cooler than being asked to go on stakeout? Fred sniggered as he climbed into his bed and pulled up the duvet. In the morning he'd wear his dark clothes and sunglasses, stroll through the frosty park and collect the report from those idiots. He'd even throw in a breakfast sandwich. Idiots were two-a-penny, but loyal idiots were worth a spending a couple of quid on. Being a private-eye was suiting him very nicely; who needed time consuming police academy and following the law, how boring! Criminals were scary nut-jobs anyway. As his mind began to loosen, falling toward dreams, he saw himself smoking cuban cigars on an expansive patio. This surveillance of the judge was a piece-of-cake. What could possibly go wrong?