You’ve heard it said: they don’t make cops like they used to. Well, they never made another like Sergeant Collins. Legend? Maverick? A force of his own. These are some of his stories.

From the book:
Constable Collins catches a glimpse of chrome. A snub-nose, buried in the guard’s huge gorilla hand. Pushed into Stamford’s chest. At the heart. It happens point blank and fast.
Whomp … Whomp … Whomp.
Three shots, muffled, but unmistakable.
There are screams. People start ducking for cover. Joshua Stamford falls to the white tiled floor. His body jerks and kicks. Holes torn in his leather. Scarlet streams begin to meander out from his back and chest. Constable Collins sees scraps of bloodied meat a few feet behind the body. Holes torn right through the man. Sasquatch had no chance.
The guard turns toward the girl. For a millisecond, Constable Collins looks into the ugly mouth of the revolver. He jumps. Hits the girl hard. Pushes her to the floor.
‘Police,’ he screams at the guard, ‘drop the weapon.’
The girl lands awkwardly, arms splayed apart, face slapping the tiles, knees up, her arse in the air. It’s the centrefold pose. Collins lies across her. Human shield. But still, her arse cups nicely into his groin.
‘Police,’ he says again, but much louder. ‘Drop it!’
The guard turns. Starts running. The sounds of heels on concrete. Stamford’s heels haven’t moved. Just blood running now. A lot of blood. Constable Collins lingers across the girl. Pleasure, for the briefest moment. Then he thinks about the job. About screwing up. About the Commissioner and all the paperwork. He leaps to his feet and starts to run after a new suspect. Knowing it’s hopeless...

The Ballad of Sergeant Collins is a short book of three linked stories by Conrad Jaymes, author of the brilliant new thriller WHITE.