Archive for the ‘Police’ Tag

Kung Fu Asshole   1 comment

This is the story I will be reading tomorrow at the Inspired Mic. It comes from my new book. The book is available for Kindle right now and as soon as I get the proofs back and can okay it, It will be available on Amazon as a paperback. It took long enough but I finally finished it. That is what happens when you write two completely different books at the same time.



This is the story of the only time Mike (Super Jew) Katz and Frank (Young Frankenstein) Walsh ever had to go to the Civilian Complaint review Board.

Now Mike and Frank did not like to fight at all. They didn’t make a lot of collars. They were more into just giving tickets and avoiding trouble. Some cops had been known to say if they were any more laid back they’d be stuffed.

 They were leisurely patrolling along Bushwick Avenue one day,  when Central called.

“Central to Eight-Three Eddie-Frank for a 10-52 K.”

Frank answered, “Eddie-Frank, go ahead Central.”

“Eddie-Frank respond to a 10-52 Family Dispute 1241 Gates Avenue second floor meet complainant Anderson.”

Frank and Mike rolled slowly to the scene hoping the fight would be over by the time they got there.

Frank always said, “If Central doesn’t say it’s a violent dispute, take your time. Most the time if you don’t rush they’ll kiss and make up before you get there. The job will handle itself. You can go for days without actually having to do anything but drive up and say is everybody happy.”

This was not one of those days. They could see the second floor apartment door was open as they entered the hall. They didn’t hear any screaming so that was the first good sign.  Unfortunately it was also the last good sign.

Upon reaching the second floor landing a girl came running out of the apartment screaming that he’s crazy. He was trying to kill her.

Entering the apartment they saw a young man standing in the middle of the kitchen with his back to them. The table was flipped over and food thrown all around. Mike was still hoping that they could clear this as condition corrected without having to do anything.

Mike said, “Police, everything all right here?”

The man who looked to be about twenty slowly turned, gave the two cops his best Bruce Dern psycho stare and screamed, “Get the fuck out of my house or I’ll kill you.”

Frank looked at Mike and keyed in his portable radio, “Eight-Three Eddie-Frank to Central K.”


“Can I have a 10-85 forthwith at this location on a violent dispute, Possible Psycho.”

“Eight-Three John-King read direct Central enroute.”

“Okay John-King, Eddie-Frank did you receive.”

“Affirmative Central.”

Mike put his hands out trying to calm the man, “Relax we’re just here to find out what’s happening. We aren’t here to hurt anyone.”

The psycho screams again, “What’s happening? What’s happening? I’ll tell you what’s happening. None of your damn business is happening. Now get out or I’ll kill you both.”

“Whoa, whoa no one has to be hurt. Let’s talk about this.”

At that the twenty year old asshole pulled out a pair of Nunchucks and went into the whole Bruce Lee routine. He has one stick under his right arm and the other in his right hand.

Mike said, “Hey, hey put that away before somebody gets hurt.”

With that the man goes into action and the stick flew out from under his arm. The stick was swinging around so fast the cops could see it only as a blur. They backed up a couple of steps. The man was jumping, spinning and screaming. They could hear the stick whizzing around him. Both cops pulled their guns.

Frank looked at Mike, “This fuckin guy is scary. We may have to shoot him.”

Mike nodded, “Yeah you better shoot him.”

“Me? Why me? Why don’t you shoot him?”

Before either one could fire a shot they learned he was not quite as good as they thought he was. On a pass around his neck he hit himself in the back of the head. Blood spurted out onto the wall behind him. He staggered for a couple of seconds but as they tried to move in on him he regained his footing. 

The sticks never slowed, speeding behind and in front of him. Mike and Frank separated to make it harder for him to focus on them. Both continued trying to talk him into a peaceful surrender. He was swiveling his head and spinning from one to the other when he lost concentration and struck himself on the left side of the face. The chain between the sticks smacked into his nose which broke immediately. He was now bleeding from the back of his head. His left eye was swollen shut and the skin around it split open, blood was gushing from there and from his nose.

 He was now covered with blood. The two cops who hadn’t even touched him were standing there with their mouths hanging open, stunned by what was happening in front of them.

 Frank said, “Mike, we’re going to have to stop this guy before he kills himself.”

 “How, he’s moving so fast I can’t get near him?”

As he spun blood flew out hitting the walls and the two cops. Luckily, on the next pass behind his back his stick slammed into his left elbow. When it did, the nunchucks flew out of his hand and he grabbed his arm. They tackled and handcuffed him before he had a chance to fight. At the hospital, it was determined that he had fractured his nose and left orbit. He needed twelve stitches in his head and he had also broken his own elbow.

He was arrested for Menacing and Criminal Possession of a Weapon. In court the next day at arraignment the judge ordered him to Kings County for a ten day mental health exam. His Legal Aid Attorney filed the civilian complaint calling it police brutality. It was eventually ruled in their favor, but for two cops who had never been to CCRB before it was frightening. The cops never heard from him again. As a Kung Fu master he turned out to be more Jerry Lewis than Bruce Lee.



Posted March 14, 2018 by kevingcox in Random Thoughts

Tagged with , , , , ,

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

Tagged with , , , , , ,

Mickey and the mickey   Leave a comment

 April is said to be the cruelest month. The poor bastard in this story would probably agree with that. This happened on April first, April Fools day which was quite appropriate.The cops involved were Mickey (The Rhinestone Polock) Kowolski and Billy (Disco Billy) Zemeckis. Billy got the name because he thought that he looked and danced like John Travolta, the young Travolta of course not the old fat one. Now Mickey got his name because he was always dressed to the nines and also dancing. He was very happy with that nickname since his old one before it was changed was “Young Frankenstein” that was because he looked like he had been bobbing for French fries instead of apples. He must have had a major acne problem as a teenager.

They were just driving along with their disco blasting from the radio when central called.

“Eight-Three Charlie-David 10-54 1250 Hart Street third floor accidental stabbing. K”

“Charlie-David enroute, Central has an ambulance been dispatched? K”

“ETA thirty five minutes advise of situation when on the scene. K”

“10-4 Central Charlie-David enroute.”

Upon arriving at the scene they were met by a young woman. She waved them down screaming, “Hurry up. He’s upstairs and bleeding bad.”

As they were making their way up the stairs Billy asked, “What happened? Did somebody stab him?”

She answered, “No, he just bought a big Bowie knife and was showing off doing tricks with it. He twirled it around and stuck it in his pants and when he did he cut his penis off. There is a lot of blood.”

Billy stopped and looked at her for a second, “Did he just cut it or is it completely off?”

“It was on the floor when I ran down to get you.”

“Is there anyone up there with him?”

“A couple of friends of ours are with him. They are trying to stop the blood with a towel.”

As the cops came through the kitchen door they could see him lying on the floor. His friend a man had a bloody towel pressed between the injured man’s legs. The floor was covered with blood. The injured man slowly tilted his head to look up at them and said hello. His face was waxy white and he didn’t seem to feel any pain or to even know what was happening.

Mickey went out into the hall and radioed Central, “Eight-Three Charlie-David to Central K.”

“Charlie David”

“Central put a rush on that bus for Hart Street. We have serious bleeding here.”

“Standby Charlie.”

A minute later Central was back on the air, “Charlie EMS advises they are busy and it will be at least twenty minutes.”

“Central, advise EMS that if it is going to be twenty minutes they could cancel the bus and just send the morgue wagon. This man will be dead in ten minutes.”


“Eight-Three Charlie EMS advises they have a bus around the corner they can redirect to you they should be there in a minute or two.”

“Thank you Central. I will have someone downstairs to direct them.”

Mickey went back into the apartment and asked the woman who had directed them to the scene to run down stairs and show the ambulance crew the way up.

As she was leaving the apartment the other woman on the scene came up to Mickey and said, “Here you better take this with you.”

Mickey put his hand out expecting the knife. Instead she dropped the man’s penis into it. Mickey jerked away his hand away and the penis flew across the room sliding to a stop by the stove. ”

“Lady, can you put that thing in a plastic bag with some ice. It needs to be kept cold if they hope to sew it back on.”

She was back in seconds with the penis in the bag with a dozen ice cubes. Mickey gingerly held the bag by the top with two fingers until the ambulance crew’s arrival.

When they arrived Mickey handed the driver the bag while the EMT worked on the injured man. The two cops carried the man down the stairs to the bus. They had all the information they needed but still followed the bus to Knickerbocker Hospital. They wanted to see how the poor son of a bitch made out and they wanted to say hello to a few of the nurses.

At the hospital Billy was telling a couple of the nurses the whole story.

He told them, “Here we were I was getting the injured man’s information for the report. His friend was applying direct pressure to the wound. Mickey over there was just standing watching us with the guy’s dick in his hand. So we are working and Mickey is just holding holding the man’s Mickey.”

Mickey started waving his hands, “No, no that’s not how it was. It wasn’t like that. I told them to put the dick in a bag with ice. At no time did I ever touch that man’s dick. Billy, don’t you go spreading rumors about me holding some guys dick. I never did that, I don’t hold anybodies dick.”

Billy and the nurses burst out laughing at the red faced Mickey. He didn’t speak to Billy for the rest of the day.

Posted November 17, 2017 by kevingcox in Random Thoughts

Tagged with , , , , , ,

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




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

Tagged with , , , ,

Louie Carbone   2 comments


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



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.


“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.


 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?”


“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 , , , , ,

I’m Back   1 comment

image18-copy-2It has been a long time since I have written a new blog post. I am going to try to get at least one post a week. In the time since my last post I have written a zombie apocalypse book, a story with the same two cops from “A Year in Bushwick” after they retired and a couple of short stories. Some were published in anthologies others I haven’t decided if I will publish or not. I may throw some of these out as blog posts.

I have been asked by many people when a sequel to “A Year in Bushwick” will be out and have tried repeatedly to get it started. I have gotten as many as fifty pages done and then threw the whole thing out. I did this four or five times. I just couldn’t was not happy at all with the way it was going. Sometimes I wanted to do it in third person and have it cleaned up and beautiful for a mass market publication. Other times I felt like it should follow the last book in the same style. But I had already done that and I like to do things differently. I think I have finally hit on what I want to do.

The last book I wanted to have the feel of someone just retired after many years of writing reports. I cared more that it felt real than read pretty. For this next one my idea is that it should have the feel of two people talking in a bar and one telling the stories of the precinct. This way sometimes the narrator is telling his own story and it will be in first person. Other times he will be telling stories either he was at or was told about afterwards. These can be told third person. But at all times the most important thing is that it reads true.

Most Police books deal with the Detectives but most Police work is done by the Uniform force. Even when a book deals with those in uniform they spend most of the book investigating crimes. As anyone who worked an “A” house (A high crime) in the NYPD of the seventies knows there was no time for that. Sometimes it was hard to find the time to take a piss never mind spending days investigating a burglary.

Our job on patrol was much like a MASH unit as far as crime went. We were to triage the cases we picked up. If the case was DOA on arrival we would just close it out with no further investigation. If the was still a chance we would try collect the information to keep the going and refer it onwards. In between those criminal cases we would also of course patrol the streets, make arrests, issue summons, handle vehicle accidents, any other aided cases, pull people from burning buildings, referee family disputes, riots, drunks, and anything else that may happen. That left little time for investigations. Hell we rarely even knew how the jobs we handled turned out.

Until next time, Kevin

Posted January 12, 2017 by kevingcox in Random Thoughts

Tagged with , , ,

Marion Harmon, A Writer in Vegas.

Just another site

Aethereal Engines

Stories of Imaginative and Speculative Fiction by Jason H. Abbott

Michael Ray King

Book Coach, Award-winning Author, Motivational Speaker


My Elicits, an Inception... Learning to Live in Perfection

The Jenny Mac Book Blog

Jenny Mac and the Man of Secrets

Rolling on the Floor laughing !!!

Smile :) >> You’re at The Best and Funniest Rofl Blog Ever

borough of lost boys

creative non-fiction. pursuit of truth.


The official Moolta Blog


a celebration of life

The Eagle's Nest

The Everything, Nothing, Something, Anything, My Thing weblog

Parenting And Stuff

Not a "how to be a great parent" blog

Christ! Xmas

all about Christmas and Santa.

Blood Mass

They kill at night then hide in the day.

Whisper As You Wander

Finding angels,fairies,and the wonders of New York City


deep thoughts by chef josh


Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar


An Un-Authorized Manual

Life Without Bullshit

The raw truth is like sushi for the's healthy for ya!