Archive for the ‘Bushwick’ Tag

Down by Newtown Creek   Leave a comment

I am back with a little story, nothing heavy today. But before I get into the story I would like to say my wife Nancy is healing pretty well from her new hip. I told not to say I never get her anything new anymore. She should graduate from walker to cane in a few days which isn’t too bad since she had the operation less than a week ago.

Anyway back to the story. Back in the 70’s the 83 ran north of Flushing Avenue all the way to Maspeth Avenue. This little story may or may not have occurred in that area.  It is a very abridged version of a story in the sequel to “A Year in Bushwick”. I call this version Down by Newtown Creek.

Down by Newtown Creek

Gerry and Bob were working a twelve to eight tour. It was a quiet midnight tour. Sunday going into Monday was often quiet down in Sector George, the factory and warehouse area at the north of the precinct.

Just after 0100 Central called with a recorded burglar alarm down by Newtown Creek. The partners responded there all the time, almost always a false alarm. The building took up a whole block and was over a hundred years old. Five or six times a month when the wind blew the windows would shake setting off the alarm. If there was an actual break it was always through the roof. So as soon as they arrived on the scene it was straight to the roof. They walked the whole roof there were no breaks. When the partners finished checking the roof they were on the opposite corner of the building from their car.

Gerry said, “This is all bullshit. Now we have to walk around this whole damn place checking for breaks.”

Bob shook his head, “Screw that, look we both know it’s a shit call. The wind is shaking the damn windows again. I’ll find a place to climb down on this street. You go to the corner and find a place on that street. I’ll go left you go right and we meet at the car. If we find a break we can give a yell over the radio. If not we can get the hell out of here.”

“Sounds good to me, meet you at the car.”

Gerry climbed down to the street and started walking checking each door and window as he went by. He had gone about forty feet when he heard a high pitched bloodcurdling scream from Bob around the corner followed by several shots. Drawing his gun Gerry ran for his partner.

As Gerry turned the corner he saw why Bob screamed. The street was covered with rats. Not just rats but tens of thousands of rats. It looked like a dirty gray brown carpet and to Gerry it felt like the skittering, squeaking, squealing, slithering swarm was coming right at him. Bob ran by him screaming then it was Gerry’s turn to scream like a twelve year old girl. Gerry turned and ran screaming behind Bob.

See, Bob had climbed down with his back to the street and dropped the last six feet. When he hit the ground something moved under his feet and he fell backwards. He landed flat on his back but not on the street. He landed on rats. He had rats under him, rats on top of him, rats all around him. That is when he screamed and shot a few. His sudden appearance yelling and shooting panicked the rats and they ran in all directions. Bob managed to get to his feet and run that is when he flew past Gerry who was also screaming at the time.

Once back in the car the two cops agreed to never tell anyone how they were chased screaming to their car by rats. They also agreed that they would get revenge.

They stopped back at the precinct to get what they needed from their lockers. They bided their time until things quieted down. At three thirty they decided the time had come. The partners quietly made their way to the spot they had chosen. It had pallets stacked on the side of a building on the rat infested street. Gerry opened his case and laid his equipment out on a pallet.

Gerry put down a .25 Berretta and a Walther PPK a .380, smiling at Bob he said, “These should do the job.”

Bob just shook his head and said, “These will do the job.” He opened his case and pulled out a Ruger Super Black Hawk .44 Magnum and a .45-70 revolver.

Gerry said, “Bob are you insane. We’re going for rats. Those things are for grizzlies.”

Bob smiled, “I don’t want to wound any.”

It was now time for Operation Ratfuck to begin. Gerry opened up on the rats. He started with his .25. It had a short barrel but accuracy wasn’t really necessary. There were so many rats in front of them it would be impossible to miss hitting one if you fired in the general direction. Each shot he fired dropped a couple of rats.

Gerry said to Bob, “See the twenty five is all you need.” just as Bob fired the 45-70. Rats flew in all directions several of them torn in half.

The two opened up when the rats started moving. As each emptied a gun they would just drop it and start shooting with the next. In less than ten seconds all guns were empty. The street was now clear of living rats. In the area Gerry was firing there were over two dozen dead rats. Where Bob fired there were only pieces. Lots and lots of pieces.

Within minutes the first calls came from Central of shots fired at their location. Gerry answered the call, “83 George enroute.”

The two cops threw the guns into their gym bags and tossed the bags into the trunk of the car. They could hear sector cars closing in on them as they gave the disposition back.

“83 George to Central, Have the responding units slow down. It looks like the shooters are gone on arrival. They were apparently shooting rats. There are dead rats all over the street.”

Sgt. Capp arrived on the scene, “Did you two see anything?”

“No, Sarge.”

“I guess you didn’t hear anything either?”

“Not a thing Sarge.”

“Okay, leave the rats for sanitation to take care of. You two go wash the gun powder off your hands.

“Yes, sir will do.”

So ended the great rat safari.  Bob and Gerry got their revenge and felt a bit less embarrassed about screaming like little girls earlier.

The next night at the change of tours Wild Eyes Willie from the four by twelve stopped Gerry, “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. Thinking a stray shot had hit someone. The area should have been deserted at that time. After a few seconds he managed to say, “Do they think he was killed last night?”  As visions of prison danced 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. Bob was changing in the locker next to him.

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

Gerry answered, “I’ll explain in the car.”

Posted May 29, 2017 by kevingcox in Random Thoughts

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Liberals and cop killers   1 comment

I received a call today from Frank (The Face) Cammarata. Frank told me that the Scumbag skell who murdered Det. Joe Taylor was to be released from prison on Thursday. This is why a death penalty is needed. The liberal politicians always say that there is no need for a death penalty that a cop killer will get life and never see the streets again. That is a lie. That is total bullshit. Joe Taylor was a good man. A far, far better man then the piece of shit that shotgunned him in a Bushwick hallway. I won’t mention the killer’s name, he doesn’t deserve to have his name on the same page as Joe. He should have had a bullet put in the back of his head years ago. I am happy to report Frank was wrong. The shithead has been denied parole. Now if only some fine upstanding prisoner would kill the bastard we could all rest easy.

Liberal NY politicians will always back the cop killers. Take the case of Judith Clark. She was involved in a robbery of a Brinks truck. That robbery left two cops Sgt. Edward O’Grady and Officer Waverly “Chipper” Brown and a Brinks guard Peter Paige dead. With the sentence she received she should have been eligible for parole when she was about a hundred. But Liberal Governor Andrew Cuomo jumped in to commute her sentence and make her immediately eligible for parole. After all it was only a couple of cops and a Brinks guard killed. It wasn’t like it was real people. How did he make this decision you ask. He went to the prison to speak to her. When he came out he said he got a “sense of her soul.” Another comment he made about her tells you all you need to know about how he really feels about her being involved in killing those men. According to an article in the NY Times, not the most conservative of sources, the conversation helped the Governor recognize some of the forces that helped propel the mayhem. Speaking of Judith Clark he said “You’re fighting for good vs. evil.” So Judith Clark I guess was fighting for good and the dead cops and Brinks guard were evil. The Parole Board did not agree with the Governor and she was not granted parole but now the families will have to deal with her coming up for parole every two years.

Cuomo isn’t the only low life politician in New York who sees killing cops as fighting for good vs. evil. Mayor DeBlasio honeymooned in Cuba. There have been many reports that while there he made a pilgrimage to see one his idols Joanne Chesimard. A convicted cop killer, she is believed to have been involved in up to ten cop killings. The wonderful Mayor never lets a chance to attack cops go by. He and the Governor like all liberals politicians love cops, dead ones. Dead cops are the only ones they ever back, the rest are just assumed to be guilty of something even if they can’t find anything.

Then there is the case of Mumia Abu-Jamal in Philadelphia. Anyone with half a brain looking at the evidence knows he is guilty as hell in the murder of Officer Daniel Faulkner. That of course does not stop the idiots in Hollywood from screaming that he is an innocent man. The prosecution had four witnesses who saw him shot Officer Faulkner. The gun used to shot Officer Faulkner was Abu-Jamal’s. Jamal was wearing an empty shoulder holster. His gun was beside him with five spent cartridges. In the shoot out Officer Faulkner had shot Jamal. I guess the cop hating left in Hollywood see all that as a coincidence. But what can you expect from a group that loves to have rappers that sing about killing cops playing cops on TV.

So once again my blog which I would rather be just me telling stories about years ago becomes a place to complain about the bullshit.

Bitch, bitch, bitch   Leave a comment

Again I haven’t written for a while. I have to stop procrastinating and I will, maybe tomorrow. Spring is here and I have a lot of work around the house. So I thought I would throw a few lines out today. These are just a few things that irritate me. I was going to say confuse me but if I did that I would be writing for a week.

First a little warning, if any Met or Yankee fan is considering getting DISH TV and wants MLB Extra Innings be advised they don’t carry the home feed for either team. In the past I have had Extra Innings with Direct TV and with cable both carried the NY teams home feed. I called DISH and was told that SNY was the most requested channel they have but they don’t carry it. I was also told I will still get all the Mets games the only difference is I will get the opposing teams feed. First I would rather get the Mets feed and two the Mets played the Phillies three games of them I got one game. The others were listed as not available.

Another irritating thing is I have been hearing a lot about the Opiod epidemic. They keep saying it is unprecedented. I remember as a cop in the eight-three in the seventies there were plenty of junkies around. They may have been using heroin instead of prescription meds but it is still an opiod. I remember seeing a lot of shooting galleries. There was one on Myrtle Avenue just off Wilson Avenue. On the second floor the glassine envelopes and aluminum foil packets were two or three inches deep. When you walked through the vacant apartments they covered your ankles.

I remember when my son was playing little league baseball they had a speaker come to give the teams a talk on the dangers of drugs. The kids, parents and coaches were all sitting in the grass listening to him. He gave a good class until he got on cigarettes. Now I am glad he spoke about avoiding cigarettes and the effect they have on your health but he said one thing that I thought was insane. He stated that cigarettes are worse for you and more addictive then heroin. He said it several time during his presentation. Afterwards I had to speak to him about it. I told him there is no comparison that heroin is the worst drug in the world. That heroin addicts have no family or friends that their life is totally devoted to getting their next fix. He answered that it is the same with cigarettes but that they are a harder habit to kick. I asked him if he had ever seen a heroin junkie trying to kick. He told me not personally but he had the books to prove his point. I told him that I have seen a lot of junkies needing a fix. That they scream and cry in pain, stomach cramps, uncontrollable shakes and that is only the beginning. I told him junkies go through that cigarette smokers who need a cigarette get cranky. I could not convince him he said his books said cigarette smoking is more addictive so it was. I really believe part of the opiod problem is that kids think heroin can’t be too bad if cigarettes are worse.

I also hear of the unprecedented number of homicide of Police Officers. Again I can remember in the seventies in New York it seemed any time we removed our black mourning bands we were putting them back on in a week or two. I have no idea how many Inspectors’ Funerals I have been to. I have to admit despite the fact that New York’s super liberal politicians hate cops guts they do throw them nice funerals. They love all the pomp and pageantry involved in dead cops plus they can use it to get a lot of TV face time. The same with the media they all hate live cops but love dead ones. It gets ratings.

Lastly anytime a cop is in the paper or on TV for anything they always bring up that he has prior complaints against him for brutality. The only way you can slide through without civilian complaints is to be an empty suit to do nothing at all. Any cop who goes out and is active, making arrests and doing the job is going to have civilian complaints lodged against him. I had several perps tell me not to take offense that they it was their lawyer’s idea. The Legal Aid lawyer told him that he could use it to get a better plea deal.

Anyway that’s enough complaining for one day. I will write again soon.

Random Thoughts   Leave a comment

Not too much to say this week. My toe still hurts but not too much. At least it is healing. I did get a few pretty good stories sent to me. Thank you Wild Eyes and Frankie Face. I read a story at the Inspired Mic again on Thursday. It seemed to go over pretty good. I am almost ready to put out my second book this one will be called “EDIPS plus three”. It has four stories in it a “EDIPS” a zombie apocalypse set in NYC. The title comes the asshole politically correct cop hating Mayor of NY. When the plague first started the Mayor heard cops referring to the infected as zombies. He threatened to suspend any cop who called them that. He insisted they be called Emotionally Disturbed Infected Persons Hence EDIPs. That will be the long story at just over a hundred pages. In it I also explain how the zombies are able to physically exist moving and eating despite being dead. The another story is “Louie Carbone” it is about two retired NYPD cops who respond down to Flagle Beach, Florida to assist the daughter of a deceased cop when she is threatened by a mobster. That one is about thirty seven pages long.There are also two short fantasy stories that will be set between the larger ones. I am also over a hundred pages into the sequel to “A Year In Bushwick”. It will be titled “Back in Bushwick”. I decided to this one a bit different. It starts with a couple of retired cops sitting in a bar in Brooklyn. On a bet one of them dictates a whole year of stories. It will again start on New Year’s Eve. This time where to last one ended and will continue to the next New Year’s Eve. That’s all until next week.

Posted March 25, 2017 by kevingcox in Random Thoughts

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The Egg Timer   2 comments

I’m back again. I spoke to a doctor about that broken toe. He said there is nothing to do but wait for it to heal. He said it will hurt for about six weeks. When it stops hurting it will heal. Today I am putting in a story from the sequel to “A Year in Bushwick.” It will be titled “Back in Bushwick” when it is done I have a little over a hundred pages done so far. I am shooting for about 230 to 250.

 

                                                                                                          THE EGG TIMER

STARRING

RICK AND DOM (THE STEAMROLLERS)

 

Rick and Dom worked under their own rules. They earned the nickname the Steamrollers and had been to CCRB (Civilian Complaint Review Board) so many times most of us thought they had their own desks there. Here is a little thing they used to pull sometimes. They responded to a 10-52 Family Dispute on Central Avenue. Pulling up to the scene they saw a female in the street waving them down and screaming. She explained to them that she was sent home from work because of the snow storm and as she was walking into the building she saw her female neighbor come out of her apartment half-dressed fixing her clothes. When the complainant asked what she was doing in there the neighbor ran upstairs to her own apartment and locked the door. So the complainant went into her apartment and found her live in non-working boyfriend in bed naked.

She started yelling at him, “What the fuck was she doing in here with you naked.”

He answered, “What the hell are you doing home so early? You should have been at least another hour.”

That was probably not the best thing to say. At least the complainant didn’t seem to think so. She started throwing things at him. When he jumped out of bed and came after her she decided it might be better to call the cops and wait outside in the snow. Since it was either that or have him beat the shit out of her.

Dom asked, “What do you want done?”

“Just tell him to leave and don’t come back. He can move in with that skank upstairs if she will take him but he can’t come back here.”

“Is his name on the lease?”

“No, I lived here for a year before he moved in. He doesn’t work, hasn’t worked since I’ve known him.”

Rick told her, “Okay, then this shouldn’t be a problem. Give us a few minutes to talk to him. I’m sure he will see reason.”

“You don’t know him. He says he lives here to and if I want him out I have to evict him or pay him five hundred dollars to move.”

“Oh, a street lawyer my favorite. Let us go and discuss it with him. We will explain his options and maybe he will decide to do the right thing.”

When they entered the apartment the male now dressed said, “What did that cunt tell you?”

Dom said, “Look we don’t need that type of language. We are here to talk to you like a gentleman. Okay now she pays the rent so why don’t you leave with some class.”

“You can tell the bitch I am not moving unless she makes it worth my while.”

“Come on now she has done right by you. You lived here, she treated you well. She fed you all this time without you contributing a dime. Why don’t you just say it was good while it lasted and leave? She did right by you, now you can do right by her.”

“Fuck you and fuck her. Tell her pay me or go to court and evict me.”

Rick shook his head and said, “Well we tried to talk to you but I guess you just won’t listen” as he pulled an egg timer out of the inside pocket of his leather jacket. Then he and Dom started putting on their leather gloves.

The man looked at the egg timer and said, “What the hell is that?”

Dom picked up the egg timer and said, “What, you never saw one before? It’s an old fashioned egg timer and it works like this. See this little dial here. If I turn it all the way around it starts ticking. After three minutes a little bell rings. When it does Rick and I will beat the shit out of anyone in this apartment who is not wearing a uniform or have his name on the lease. I wonder who that could be.”

With that he turned the dial and the timer started ticking. Rick and Dom looked at the man and smiled. The man had more guts than most. He waited almost thirty seconds before he broke for the door. Rick picked up the timer and they followed him out. He was outside arguing with his ex-girlfriend when they came out.

Rick walked over to him, “Shut up. She does not want you in that apartment. Find someplace else to live.”

Just then the bell on the timer sounded. Dom said, “It looks like your three minutes are up. Next time we get called here about you we won’t need to waste the three minutes. Do you understand me?”

The man nodded and started to walk away through the snow, it would total another ten inches. It was a snowy winter.

Rick grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him up onto his toes, “I didn’t hear you.”

The man gulped, “Yes.”

Rick, “Yes what?”

“Yes Officer.”

“Good now get the hell out of here.”

The girl said, “He’ll come back as soon as you leave.”

Dom turned to the complainant, “I don’t think so but if he does come back and starts just tell him three minutes and call 911. He will know what that means.”

That was one of the tamest stories with those two. Part of how they always won in CCRB was when they did something like that they would make it so ridiculous that no one would ever believe it and never do it the same way twice. Even those investigators in CCRB who believed they did it knew they could never convince a jury. If it’s crazy enough you will always be okay. It usually works. It was not a system I wanted to try for myself. I always found going to CCRB a pain in the ass. They had investigators that were as useful as tits on a bull. Often they would find fault where there was none and nothing when they should have.

 

 

Posted March 19, 2017 by kevingcox in Random Thoughts

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Louie Carbone   2 comments

red-hook

I didn’t blog last week but it wasn’t my fault. I switched from Direct TV to Dish. That also necessitated a switch of my internet service provider. The only way I could have blogged was with my phone. Now I have seen some of these kids who appear to be typing eighty words a minute with their thumbs but that is not me. I don’t think I could do eighty words an hour on my phone. So I am back now.

 

I have noticed in the New York papers that people being shot or stabbed only blocks from Wyckoff Heights Medical Center are being taken by bus miles away for treatment. I asked on one of the 83 web sites and was told there are two reasons. The first is that Wyckoff is not a full fledged trauma center. The other reason is that the city would prefer they go to a city hospital. I remember when I was working most victims of shootings or stabbings if serious went by RMP to Wyckoff. We believed seconds counted. It appears that the city no longer believes that. There was also a camaraderie that developed between the cops and the ER personnel. We knew all the nurses, doctors and other personnel. We would if available try to be around the hospital when shifts changed to make sure the nurses got to their cars safely and if we were injured and taken to Wyckoff we were given extra care. If we needed supplies gloves, bandages, band aids etc for our cars we could stop in and get it.  While there are many good things that have come up lately this does not seem to be one. It is a shame that some things have to change.

I am considering taking a short story I wrote and adding it to the blog in serial form. It runs about thirty five pages so I guess I would do it in about five installments. The story concerns two retired 83 cops, a young damsel in distress, the mob, a mob wanna be, and two retired 83 cops. The same two cops from “A Year In Bushwick” but many years later. Here is the first installment. If anyone is interested and would like to see more let me know

 

LOUIE CARBONE

By Kevin G Cox

 

Sean rolled over in bed and looked at the clock as he reached for the phone. Damn three o’clock, three a.m. phone calls suck. They are never good news.

“Hello.”

“Uncle Sean, I don’t know what to do. I’m really scared. I think he is going to kill me.”

“Carol, Take a deep breath, calm down. Now start from the beginning and tell me what is going on.”

“Ok but I am really, really scared. I was at a club in a few days ago. A cute guy I never saw before came up to me and we started talking. He asked if I was from Brooklyn. I said yeah. He smiled at me and asked if my father was Jimmy Morrisey. I said yeah, did you know my father. Then he stopped smiling he leaned in close to me and whispered that Louie Carbone was a friend of his family and I was going to pay for what my father did to him. Uncle Sean I think that was the name of the guy my father shot. He was in the Mafia Uncle Sean. I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do.”

“Did you tell the Police?”

“Yeah, they said that I may have misunderstood what he said. They didn’t consider it an overt threat. Unless he does more they can’t help me.”

“Okay have you seen this guy since that night?”

“I saw him and the three friends he was at the party with a few times near the school. At first I thought maybe I did have it wrong. I mean he could have just been playing a rotten joke on me. I live with a few girls from school. We rent a place in Flagler Beach so we can learn to surf and get away from school when we want to. Today every time I turned around I saw one of his friends. I think he was following me all day. What should I do Uncle Sean?”

“Were his three friends from Brooklyn too?”

“No, one of the girls at the party was complaining that they were there. She said they were local low lives and weren’t invited.”

“Okay that’s good. Stay calm I’m on my way. I’ll drive down and get to the bottom of this. “

“Good see you tomorrow. Bye Sweetie I’ll take care of everything don’t worry. Just stay home until you hear from me.”

“Okay, thank you Uncle Sean.”

As soon as he hung up Sean started planning and packing. At six he called Hank. Hank had been his partner when they were cops in Bushwick, Brooklyn.

Hank answered on the third ring, “Aren’t you dead yet.”

Sean replied, “Not yet but I was hoping you were. I was going to come over and get that H&K 9mm you have.”

“The H&K, you would probably shoot yourself in the dick with it. It is a man’s gun. What’s up?”

“Do you remember my cousin Jimmy Morrisey?”

“Isn’t he the guy who killed Crazy Louie Carbone? I heard he died. Didn’t he have lung problems from 9/11?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“I only met him a few times. Great guy, shame he had to go that way.”

“I got a call from his daughter Carol this morning. She’s been calling me Uncle Sean since she was a baby. Anyway she called because she is having a problem down in Florida. I am driving down to give her a hand. I was wondering if you can lend me your cargo van too.”

“What kind of problem do you need a 9mm and a cargo van for?”

Sean explained the phone call and what he planned on doing.

Hank yelled into the phone, “Are you out of your damn mind. I’m not lending you my van or my gun. You can’t do that, at least not alone.  You can’t but we can do it, so I’m coming with you.”

“Are you sure? Carbone was with Ferrante’s crew. I can’t see the mob being involved in this, but if they are it could get messy.”

“I don’t mind messy, never did. I hope you’re bringing a gun.”

“Two, my S&W 40 and the little .380.”

“You never come prepared. I’ll have my Chief, the H&K and just in case I’ll toss my Remington 870 in the back of the van.”

“Do you really think we will need a shotgun?”

“As the little old Jewish lady who lives across the street from me always says, “You never know, it couldn’t hoit.” When do you want to leave?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes. Have coffee ready. It’s a long ride from Brooklyn to Florida.”

The Garbage Man   2 comments

Patrol I bet you thought I forgot to get this weeks blog in. No I didn’t. I have just been pretty busy this week. I have been writing a lot hopefully most of it will make it into my new book. The is of course completely fictional. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.  So I have a little story I am going to share this week it’s called “The Garbage Man.” Like I said it is a total fiction and anyone who says it is not is a liar.

THE GARBAGE MAN

 Sean was working with Bob this four by twelve. Bob and Sean had been partners for years but when Sean was transferred to the Arson Task force the partnership ended. Bob had since partnered with John and Sean with Hank but it was good when they occasionally got thrown together. They knew each other so well that they didn’t have to discuss how they would handle it when sent on a dangerous job. Each knew the others every move.

They had a nine o’clock meal. This was spent in the luxurious precinct lounge. The lounge was equipped with twenty year old third hand couches and a TV that the cops had chipped in for.

After meal the two returned to patrol for the last two hours of the tour. Tour is NYPD for shift. It was eleven when they got a call for a ten-fifty two family dispute on Putnam Ave. the second floor left apartment. It was an apartment they each had been to several times before.

They arrived and knocked on the apartment door, “Police open up.”

A young girl’s voice answered from inside, “Who is it?”

Sean replied, “It is the PO – lice now open the door.”

The door was opened by the girl. She was about nineteen she had been beaten. Her face was swollen and black and blue. The cops asked who hit her and if she wanted to go to the hospital.  She claimed that her live in boyfriend didn’t hit her that she had been hurt when she fell outside. Sean and Bob tried to get her to admit the truth of what happened and press charges but she refused. She did not want anything done, just wanted him out of the house. They told him since he was not on the lease he would have to leave.

It was frustrating for them but it that time if she would not press charges there was nothing that could legally be done despite obvious signs of injury. Mister asshole also knew this and was showing his ass the whole time we were there. He was wise mouthing and making threats. He was being the big bad man in front of the girl trying to make her even more afraid of him.

He turned to her, “Next time you call the cops on me I will kick their asses and then your ass for calling them. That’s if they even have the balls to show up once they know it is me.”

Bob told him, “Look, stop with the mouth just throw some clothes on and take a walk.”

He kept it up while he was getting his stuff together to go. He kept muttering about the bitch and cops and what he would like to do to the piece of shit cops next time. The two cops walked out the front of the building with the skell after listening to him rant for about fifteen minutes while getting dressed. On the sidewalk he turned to Bob.

“Next time you show up when I’m teaching that bitch a lesson you will learn what happens when you mess with a real man.”

Bob answered, “A man doesn’t beat up women. A man shows respect.”

He answered, “That’s not a man that is a little pussy like you.”

Bob asked Sean, ” Sean, Is this a man?”

Sean shook his head, “No Bob, this is not a man”.

“Then what is it Sean?”

“Garbage.”

“Are you calling me garbage mother fucker?”

“Yep and we wouldn’t want to litter would we Bob?”

“No we wouldn’t Sean. Where does garbage belong?”

“In the garbage can.”

The two cops jammed him into a garbage can in front of the building with his knees folded up to his head. Then they put the lid on and left. The shift ended and they went home at midnight.

The next day as they were getting ready to head home Davey White the Sergeant’s driver from the midnight tour came over and asked, “What happened last night?”

“Nothing much, Why?”

“About two o’clock I was driving the Sergeant down Putnam Avenue and we heard someone calling for help. We searched for who was calling and as I went past one building I heard it come from a garbage can. I took the lid off and there was a guy ass up in the can. I didn’t expect that. All I could see was his ass and one foot.”

He said, “Help me out of here.”

I asked him, “How the hell did you get in there.”

He said, “Some asshole cops stuck me in here, I can’t get out.”

“I knew it had to be you two.”

Bob and Sean started laughing and told Davey the whole story of the dispute.

“What did you do with that skell, Davey?”

“I put the lid back on the can, told the Sergeant that it was just kids goofing around and drove away. I made sure not to go back to Putnam for the rest of the night. I don’t know if he is still there.”

“Don’t worry about it. Bob and I checked. He isn’t there anymore. Either he got out or the garbage men took him to the dump.”

He laughed, “Good, because I was going to stay off Putnam if you hadn’t told me that. Do you have any others stuffed around or any dead bodies I should avoid?”

“Not tonight but check back tomorrow. You never know.”

That’s my blog for this week. See you next week.

 

 

Posted January 28, 2017 by kevingcox in Random Thoughts

Tagged with , , , , ,

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