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FLAGLER BIG FOOT   Leave a comment



Posted May 26, 2018 by kevingcox in Uncategorized

Down at Newtown Creek Part 2   Leave a comment

On the four by twelve the same day Frank Walsh and John Stern were in sector George. Word had gotten around the precinct that someone was out hunting rats on the midnight.

Over coffee Frank said, “Drive down to where all the rats were shot last night. See if we can find anyone hanging around.”

The Buzzard answered, “Why scare them away? They can come back and shoot a few hundred every night. Last week on a call I was in the basement of an abandoned factory when I heard a noise. I flipped on my flashlight and there were thousands of rats down there. They panicked at the light and the only way out was the stairs I was on. They charged by me. They were on my feet and legs crawling all over me. I almost shit my pants and puked. I hate rats.”

“Come on, don’t be a pussy. Rats are like squirrels with no fur on their tails.”

“I don’t like squirrels either. I’ll drive there but if there are rats all over the place I’m fuckin leaving. Those rabid beady eyed little bastards look at me like a piece of cheese.”

“Don’t worry they don’t come out during the day.”

The Buzzard complained about rats all the way but there were no rats when they got there. Frank and John got out of the car and tried to find where the shots were fired from the night before. They climbed right over the spot where Gerry and Bob shot from but any ejected cases had fallen down between the boards of the pallets. There was no visible evidence. No one considered calling C.S.U out for dead rats. So the case had been closed but it was still interesting to Frank.

After about fifteen minutes The Buzzard said, “Let’s get out of here. There’s nothing to see but blood and little pieces of rats.”

A disappointed Frank said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Frank was standing at the edge of Newtown Creek. The second most polluted water in New York City. Only the Gowanus Canal was worse. The creek was about seven feet below street level. As Frank turned to return to the car he stopped.

“Hey, John what’s that over there?”

John responded, “Where? If it’s a fuckin rat I’m leaving.”

Frank pointed, “Over there, do you see it? Can you tell what it is?”

John was closer to where Frank pointed. He walked a little way along the edge of the water until he got a clear view.

“Son of a bitch, you make me drive over here to see dead rat parts and now we get stuck with a floater. I’m not going into that shit to see if he is still alive.”

“Look at him. He ain’t never getting any deader than he is right now. You stay here I’ll call the Sgt. and ESU.”

Sgt. Artie Hynes pulled up a few minutes after the call went out.

“Where‘s the floater?”

Frank answered, “Right over there Sarge by the sand bar.”

“That’s not a sand bar. That sand is floating on top of the creek”

The Buzzard said, “How can sand float on water?”

“This isn’t water, this is Newtown creek. God knows what’s in it. Did you call for the M.E. yet?”

“No we were going to wait for ESU to pull him out.”

“I’ll call the squad and ME; ESU will be here long before he is. You two stay with the body.”

John said, “Sarge, what about our meal?”

“I don’t have anyone available to relieve you. You will have to relieve each other.”

After Sgt. Hynes left The Buzzard turned to Frank, “I am not going to stand out here alone waiting for the rats to come out.”

“John, the rats are more afraid of you then you are of them.”

“I don’t care. I’m not staying here alone unless I am in the car.”

“Okay, I’ll call a sector to stop by and we can have them pick up food for us. You can stay in the car.”

ESU arrived five minutes later. Sgt. Hynes and the squad were right behind them.

Hynes called them all together, “I talked to the ME and explained the situation. He said for ESU to bring the body to shore that he sure as hell wasn’t going into the water to check him. He said he should be here in about an hour or so.”

P.O. Moore one of the Emergency Service Officers walked to the edge of the Creek and said, “This should be no problem.”

He turned to his partner and yelled, “Jack get the rope. Toss an end to me when I get the body onto the sand bar.”

As Sgt. Hynes opened his mouth to warn about that “sand bar” Moore jumped. It was a good jump he hit the sand right in the middle and went right through. He came up a couple of seconds later gasping and gagging. All four cops and the Sgt. ran to the edge. The other ESU cop tossed two lines to Moore. Moore tied one end around the DOA and grabbed the second line that his partner threw him.

The four cops heaved Moore up and over onto the street. He was covered in water and only God knows what else. There were green, Red, yellow, Black, brown and purple strings, stains and lumps of slime covering him. Moore was up on his knees puking as the three hauled the body up. It was obvious that the man had been shot at least once. That one was right in the forehead.

The detectives from the precinct squad now got close enough o verify that it was a homicide. Two of the detectives were Artie and Jim. I had been having trouble with those two for a year. They were pretty useless. They had not helped to pull either the cop or the body out because they didn’t want to get their suits or London Fog trench coats stained. At the time just about all the squad wore London Fogs.

Detective Artie said, “This looks like it could be a homicide. I’ll notify the Homicide Squad. We aren’t needed here and he’s ripe. We are going back to the station house.”

As the two drove away Sgt. Hynes shook his head, “There go two useless bastards. Those two couldn’t find a Jew in Israel.”

The ME arrived shortly after and pronounced him dead. He said he would expedite the morgue wagon. They always say that but the cops never believe them. This time apparently he did. When he called it in he said the body was out in the middle of the street so a rush was needed to get him out of there. He didn’t mention that it was in a commercial area and the only people within blocks were the cops. The wagon was there and the body was removed a half hour later.

That night at the change of tours Frank saw Peterson, “Hey Gerry, The Buzzard and I went to where you had the rat shooters last night. To see if we could find anything.”

Gerry said, “Did you?”

“Yeah, we were just getting ready to leave when I spotted something in the water. We found a floater. He was shot in the head.”

Gerry just looked at him for a second and felt a little dizzy. After a few seconds he managed to say, “Do they think he was killed last night?” Visions of prison were dancing in his head.

“No, the ME said he had been in the creek for four or five days. It looks like a mob hit and dump.”

Gerry said, “I better go get changed before I’m late for roll call.”

Gerry ran up to the third floor stopping at the men’s room to throw up before going to his locker. McDuff changing in the locker next to Gerry’s”

When he saw Gerry he said, “Damn, are you sick? You look like shit.”

Gerry answered, “Everything is okay but I almost had a heart attack. I’ll explain when we’re in the car.”


Posted January 31, 2018 by kevingcox in Random Thoughts, Uncategorized

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What I have been doing   1 comment

Brooklyn Bridge 1Just thought I would write a few words to say what I have been up to. First I had a minor cancer problem but that has been corrected. It was pretty stupid. I has a squamous cell cancer on my foot. I called it my Wide World of Sports Cancer. You remember the agony of de-feet.

I am trying something completely different now with my writing. I am writing two books at the same time. I never know which one I will be writing until I sit down at the computer each day. These books will be different from the first. They will follow a more normal beginning-middle-end route. I will also proof read these and have them edited to remove errors rather than to add some. Here is a little peek into each book.

The first one is a story of two guys born the same day in the same hospital in 1950. One is from Red Hook his father is a machinist. The other from Cobble Hill and his father is a loan shark with The Family. As they grow up their paths keep crossing and their lives become entwined. As the dock work comes to an end in the Hook one becomes a cop the other follows in his fathers footsteps.

The second is totally different. This one keeps changing. I wanted to see if I could write a zombie story. It started out as a quick short story. I thought it would be about fifty pages and a straight normal zombie story but it didn’t want to go that way. It has morphed into a story of people coping with life in that world. It has changed into something that has never been done before. It is set in New York and also has a sort of Mad Max feel to it. It sounds like there is no way those two genres can mix especially in the city but I have figured a way it works. When I see it in my mind it is spectacular of course when I put it on paper it may suck. Luckily I really don’t care. I may never publish either one but it is fun writing them. Anyway they at least keep me busy.

Posted February 11, 2015 by kevingcox in Uncategorized

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Deja Vu   4 comments

mottoDÉJÀ VU           

As I watch the news coverage of the two cops murdered in the 79 yesterday it brings back painful memories. It feels like the City is returning to seventies. It was a time when we had mayors and police commissioners who hated cops and showed them no respect. I remember going to funerals almost every month. The moral of us the cops on street was nonexistent. It was felt that the only support we had was each other. It was us against the world. Crime was rampant and the streets were filthy.

Slowly things changed as better mayors and commissioners came in. The city went from a cesspool of crime and violence to one of the safest big cities in the world. Now a new mayor intent on bringing back those days is in office. He learned how to govern at the feet of David Dinkens possibly the worst mayor in the history of New York City until now. Mr. Mayor there are now two less cops for your son to be afraid of. You have blood on your hands and it won’t wash off.

If my son had been one of those killed yesterday they would have had to pull me off DeBlasio. I watched his hypocritical speech last night and it also reminded me of the seventies. The politicians and police brass have no respect for living street cops but they love dead ones. They get to stand before the cameras and cry their crocodile tears. They can pretend they care and hope for a boost in their poll numbers.



Posted December 21, 2014 by kevingcox in Uncategorized

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A Bushwick Night before Christmas   Leave a comment



This is something I plan on reading Tuesday at the Inspired Mic. I will gladly take any suggestions on how to make it better.

Thanks, Kevin.


T`was the night before Christmas and all thru the hood

Not a felon was stirring which was really good

The drugs were hidden in the kitchen with care

In hopes the cops wouldn’t find them there

The junkies were passed out from street corner meds

While visions of needles danced in their heads

Bob started the car as I closed my door

At the turn of the key the engine did roar

Off in the distance shots did rattle

To us seemed the sound of a battle

Away to the scene we flew like a flash

At the top of the street we almost did crash

The blood on the breast of the new fallen snow

Gave the luster of midday to the bodies below

When what to my wondering eyes should appear

But two bloody bodies smelling of beer

The two lay there not so lively or quick

I knew in a moment this was done by some dick

More rapid than eagles the cars they came

Bob whistled and shouted and called them by name

Here, Adam! Here, Boy, Here Charlie and David

On, Eddie, On, Frank, none of them waited

A  red trail of blood led up to a Hall

Now up I say, Up I say, Up I say all

As leaves before the wild hurricane fly

So went the dancers as Police we did cry

So on to the dance hall we all flew

Eight cops and old Sgt. Kelly too

Then in a twinkling I heard a small skell

He was prancing and pawing and yelled go to hell

I entered the dance hall in a quick bound

One wall was covered in holes I soon found

The blood on the wall showed here they were shot

The smoky hall smelled strongly of pot

I was in the bathroom the owner did claim

Over two hundred patrons answered the same

Piles of guns were found on the floor

All had been fired, some thru the door

The owner’s eyes did twinkle as he answered our calls

I had to admit he had some pair of balls

He claimed he knew nothing, no one had a pistol

Butbodies had so many holes if they walked they would whistle

The butt of a cigarette he held in his teeth

As still he denied knowing of those beneath

The owner he had a round little belly

That shook when he laughed at old Sgt. Kelly

Who did the shooting I asked him myself

He answered who knows maybe an elf

An elf with a machine gun is what he said

But it could have been Santa who made them dead

An asshole he was and also a jerk

Santa he claimed may have went berserk

Out to the street we dragged him thru snows

He shivered and shook and said this really blows

The two were taken by wagon not sleigh

For those two it appeared crime didn’t pay

Never hold up a club with two little guns

Unless the dancers are all little nuns

The dancers exclaimed as we drove from the site



Posted December 12, 2014 by kevingcox in Uncategorized

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How Rare Is Rare for a Lobster?   1 comment

This is from the town in live in. Maybe it is not saving the whales or mountain gorillas. Maybe Libbie is only a lobster but Libbie didn’t have to be the in cause to worth saving. Now Libbie thrill and amaze children for years to come.

Libbie the Lobster

When I began researching the beautiful yellow lobster we later named Libbie, I found articles that reported she was 1 in 30 million, others that said 1 in 20 million. I learned that other lobsters are quite rare too. For example, albinophoto lobster2 lobsters are the most rare, next are the yellow, followed by calico, blue and even a rare two-toned lobster.

So I began to wonder, What causes this anomaly? And, If so many are found, then why are they rare at all?

As with all life it seems, the color of a lobster is determined by both genetics and environment. Slight genetic mutations occur throughout nature. Libbie was likely a result of this sort of mutation. But environment can also play a role. Because yellow lobsters seem to be found in certain common areas along the coast, it has been hypothesized that certain algae could be the culprit.


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Posted September 15, 2014 by kevingcox in Uncategorized

BULL MINE   Leave a comment


Posted September 9, 2014 by kevingcox in Uncategorized

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