'POLICE!' The door went well, two hits and the UPVC surround had had enough and it let go of the solid frame and the door swung inwards as one. I was first in, shoulder first to finish the entry, the door smashed off the wall and shuddered back towards the rest of the entry team as we all piled into the house.
The target was a prolific drug dealer. We'd all seen him wandering round the town, handing out ten bags of 'light and dark' like he was a helper at a Santa's Grotto. He was handy too, according to his record which included 'assault police' and 'firearms' markers.
The plan was simple. Smash the door. Find the dealer. Smash the dealer.
I took a left off the hallway, kicked my way through a reinforced door (turns out it was just an unused entrance to the living room - a settee behind it, not a brace). I shout 'CLEAR' and I'm out the living room turning right and through to the kitchen. Someone else is shouting: 'CONTACT!' Cop speak - means some fucker's found him before I could, it's coming from a room off the kitchen, the very end of the ground floor.
My colleague has found him and I'm next in. He's on the toilet. He's having a shit. He chops it off just as I take hold of his right side, my colleague has secured his other hand. We demand he finishes. I hold his hand while he completes his defecation.
It stinks, the Way only a fresh one could; we both held his hand while he did it, refused him permission to flush. My colleague breaks out into a massive smile, we all (bad guy included) look at him like he's mental. He says:
'Well this is going in one of your books isn't it'
Twenty minutes later we're searching his faeces using adapted coat hangers and pegs for noses. I haven't found somewhere to put it in just yet...