Archive for the ‘Police’ Tag

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.

 

 

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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

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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

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A different perspective   2 comments

83 pctHi all, I haven’t blogged for a while. I’ve been busy with a few things including a bit of a cancer on my right foot. I guess it’s a Wide World of Sports Cancer, The agony of De-Feet. It really doesn’t hurt but I like the line.

After reading about the incidents in NYC lately I was reminded of a couple of things from way back when in the Eight-three. The first one I would like to tell is how my partner Henry and I came very close to killing an unarmed man. No one would ever have believed our story. Here is what happened.

We got a call for a disorderly man in the first floor hallway. We arrived on the scene and entered the hall to see a man on the first floor arguing with a girl on the second floor at the top of the stairs.  Henry and I were walking toward the man when he heard us. He looked back and spun into a crouch and stuck his right hand inside his coat. It looked like he was going for a gun. Henry and I were within six feet of him, we used our sticks to drop him. He was down within seconds. We tossed him and found no weapons.

I made the arrest and asked him why he did that. He said that he was trying to impress his ex, the girl at the top of the stairs. He said if she thought he was crazy enough pull a gun on cops for her it would be cool. We told him he was almost not only cool but room temperature.

So we call the Sgt. and explain what happened. He didn’t believe us but the collar admitted the whole thing like he was proud of it. Then we go take him to the hospital. The doctors and nurses again don’t believe us until this mope again says it’s true.

At Central Booking the Sgt there doesn’t believe us so we have our idiot perp again explain it. At court it’s the same with the D.A. I explain that the arrested admits it. The D.A. tells me that I better hope he does. At arraignment the Judge doesn’t believe a word until the Deft admits it and says that his Legal Aid Lawyer told him not to mention it. After hearing that, the judge reamed him out and told him he should be glad two experienced Police Officers responded to his call or he could have ended up in the morgue.

Now the thing is experience had nothing to do with it. We were too close to go for our guns when he turned. If the hall had been longer and we were ten feet further away we would have both emptied our guns on him. No one would have believed us. All we would have had was a dead unarmed twenty years old. We would probably still be sitting in jail. It can happen to anyone.

The second story many of you who were in the Eight-tree in the seventies will remember. There was a robbery at one location; in a gun fight with the responding sector one perp came up a loser. The others jumped in a car and left him. They were caught and arrested a couple of miles away. All good, clean shooting, good collars. The press showed up it must have been a slow news day for them to come to a shooting in Bushwick.

While they are at the Station House three guys come in who claim to be witnesses to the whole thing. Their story was that the dead perp was shot in cold blood as he tried to surrender. They were very honest witnesses telling exactly what they saw. The only problem was they didn’t even know where it happened they had the wrong location. They had apparently heard about the incident on the street and came in with a story.

The cops who were there thought it was a joke as these guys told their story to a reporter. That reporter had checked both scenes and knew they were lying.

The next day the story in the paper read like the cops were trying to cover something up. It gave the story of what happened then said that three men who said they witnessed the incident disputed the Police account. Everything they said was reported but no mention that they couldn’t even say where it happened.

Later that day the reporter was back in the station house getting more on the story. Several cops questioned that reporter about lying on the story. The reporter justified what was written by saying at no point in the story did it say that was what happened, only that those three said that was what happened. One cop said but you saw the scenes you knew that the story they gave wasn’t the truth. The reporter responded, “My job is not to get the truth it’s to get the best story. They had the best story.”

Take everything you read with a grain of salt.

Posted December 6, 2014 by kevingcox in Random Thoughts

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Pick one   3 comments

PatrolOn Tuesday August 19 I will be one of the presenters at the Beach House Beanery, a local coffee house. I just thought I would make a little game of it. Here I have two stories one wit a snowstorm and one with a blackout. After reading them vote for one and I will adapt it and use it on the 19th. If you are going to the Beanery and don’t want to read it first stop now.

Okay here is Number One – The Snowstorm.

The midnight tour was supposed to turn out five cars and right now the muster room held enough cops for two. Two cops called in saying they would be late and four others who lived way out on Long Island took an emergency day because they couldn’t get in at all. The snow was worse out there.
The first thing Harry and Sean had to do was put snow chains on the tires of their patrol car. Technically they were supposed to drive to the shop in Queens and have the motor transport personnel put the chains on. The only problem was they were not to drive the car without chains? That is why Harry and Sean started the day crawling around in the snow getting cold and soaked before they even hit the street.
It is always good to start the day with ice melting off your uniform as you sit in the patrol car. Then go out on patrol in a wet uniform with the temperature in the teens. It makes for a wonderful night.
The only good thing is they would not have to worry about Inspector Sidney or any of the other scumbag shoofly bosses. Those types of bosses did not come out on nights like that. If they went in to work at all they would sit in their warm offices drinking coffee and working on new ways to harass those who actually do the work.
Unfortunately it also meant Harry and Sean would probably not get a meal. With only two cars running you can’t go in and leave the other car with no backup. Bushwick was not the suburbs; shootings were not a rare occurrence there. Most days at least one or two people got shot somewhere in the precinct. A few stabbings and assorted other assaults would fill out the night. Considering that the precinct was only about three square miles that is a pretty high rate of violent crime.
Their first actual call was a 10-54 Chest Pain on Cornelia Street When they got there Cornelia was blocked by the snow. Harry had to park on Wilson Avenue and walk half a block to the building through about two and a half feet of heavy snow. The aided was in a third floor apartment.
Harry complained all the way up the stairs, “Doesn’t anyone live on the first floor? Every damn call climb the stairs.”
Sean told Harry, “Don’t complain this is how you keep you girlish figure.”
“Fuck you. I’d rather be fat.”
‘The male who lived alone was sitting at the kitchen table.
Sean asked him, “Why do you feel you need an ambulance? What’s wrong?”
He wheezed, “It feels like I have a heavy weight on my chest. I have pain is going down my shoulder and arm. I think I may have pulled something shoveling snow. It hurts when I take a deep breath.”
Sean didn’t think he pulled a muscle. It seemed like a text book heart attack. They didn’t want to tell him that. He was pretty relaxed thinking it was a pulled muscle. If he heard Harry calling for a rush on the bus for a heart attack the relaxed part would be over. If someone is having a heart attack you try to keep the stress level as low if possible.
Harry went out and called for the rush on the bus and Sean stayed with the aided case trying to keep him calm. Sean could understand why he might be having a heart attack. The male was sixty six years old. He was maybe five foot nine and weighed in at any easy three hundred fifty pounds maybe closer to four hundred.
When Harry came back he pulled Sean aside and said, “The bus is only a couple of minutes away but they can’t get down the street either. Now not only do we have to carry this fat fuck down the stairs, we have to carry him through the snow to the damn bus. I hope they at least parked on Wilson Avenue.”
The EMT’s showed up and they agreed probably cardiac. They got the male strapped into the chair they brought. In Bushwick most apartment buildings were old and had very narrow hallways. There was no room for a stretcher so the ambulance personnel would bring a carry chair. Sometimes it was a bitch to maneuver down the stairs with those.
With the aided strapped in the chair the fun began. He had to be carried down the stairs to the street. The EMT’s covered him with a couple of blankets from his home. There was only room for two people to carry on the stairs. Harry and Sean were the biggest so that honor fell to them. By the time they got that fat bastard down to the street Sean was ready to have his own heart attack.
Harry asked the EMT, “Did you park on Wilson?”
No such luck. So it would be carry him to Central Avenue then walk back to Wilson. All the time in a soaking wet uniform. At least the EMT’s could help so with four carrying through the snow it was easier than it could have been but it still sucked. After getting him into the ambulance Harry and Sean started back to their car.
Halfway to Wilson Ave. Harry slipped on the ice and fell into a snow drift.
As Harry got to his feet Sean said, “Harry, does the excitement and glory of tonight’s work make you feel like a hero?”
“Fuck you, I’m cold, my ass is wet and my back hurts.”
It was important work and had to be done and may have even saved a life but it felt more like heavy labor then heroics. It was something that you never see on television.

And now for number two – The Blackout.

Harry and Sean were heading back to their car when they heard a commotion from Broadway. We hurried to the corner just in time to see an RMP drive down the street. On the roof of the car was Paddy, a precinct scooter cop. He was waving a saber and screaming charge at the top of his lungs. Just one more surreal image for a night out of a Harlan Ellison nightmare. Sean hoped Paddy would not chop any looters heads off. Many things would be ignored that night but decapitations would probably be noticed.
By now the stores were starting to run out of things to steal. The looters were getting desperate find something good before there was nothing left. Harry and Sean chased a few guys up to the fourth floor storeroom of a furniture store. They had tried for the roof but it was chained closed. It must have felt strange for them trying to break out of a store instead of into it. The partners caught the four of them and chased them out with a couple of slap shots to the ass. They were only teenagers, too young and too dumb to deserve a real ass kicking. They were only doing what their elders, who should have known better, were doing.
Harry and Sean sat down on the steps to relax and have a cigarette before going out to find someone who deserved to get his ass kicked. As they got up to leave they heard noise from downstairs. Looking over the railing they watched a parade of looters stretching down to the first floor. The whole crowd was following one asshole with a penlight.
Now the cops were the ones trapped at the chained door to the roof. Since the looters didn’t know how many cops were up top. Harry and Sean decided to stay quiet until the crowd got close. Then scare the balls off the bastards.
Crouching at the top landing with heavy four cell steel flashlights in one hand and guns in the other, the pair waited. Just before the light from the penlight hit they both jumped up turning their flashlights on blinding the mob.
Shining the flashlights before them harry and Sean started screaming as loud as they could and firing shots into the walls and ceilings. The bright lights, the screaming, the sounds of the guns going off and the plaster raining down caused a panic. The leaders in front now it would be better to get to the back as soon as possible. They turned and charged into those behind them. Bodies were flying over the railings. Everybody was screaming now. Sean and Harry charged down the stairs and started swinging the flashlights whacking the stunned crowd. The company that makes the flashlights says they are not to be used for that purpose, but they do work well when applied forcefully.
By the time the store was cleared there must have been fifty people were heading off to the hospital, almost all of them injured by other looters.
Gerry and Bob who had been in the meat market next door as all this went down met them outside. When they saw the stampede leaving the store they had come over to hurry them out.
Bob asked, “What the fuck happened in there? We were looking for you when all of sudden they all came out screaming.”
Sean told them the story laughing.
Gerry said, “Be careful when you go in the stores now. The looters set the meat market on fire with us in it. We were able to get out but I don’t think we should go too far in any of the stores unless we have another way out.”
Many of the stores had the back doors and windows bricked up or chained to keep burglars out. It would not do to be caught in one of those with no equipment and no way out.
Just then from a vacant lot came possibly the strangest looking man they had seen all night. Which was no small feat, because they had seen many strange people and things that night. He hobbled to the sidewalk bleeding from a hundred small cuts. His face was bruised and swollen. He had a strange vacant look in his eyes. His clothes hung off him like rags. He looked like Robinson Crusoe had been marooned in the ghetto instead of a desert island. When he saw the cops he squealed like an animal and half ran half hobbled down the street. Laughing and mumbling.
Gerry turned, “What the fuck was that?”
Out from the building on the other side of the lot came Frank. Frankie Face as he was known came over to us.
“Did you just see an asshole come out of that lot. I was chasing this mope across the roof when the idiot ran right off.”
Sean looked up, it was a six story building.
“And he lived?”
Frankie said, “The shithead fell about fifteen feet and landed in a tree. He bounced from branch to branch the whole way down. All I could hear was the guy screaming and branches breaking until the skell hit the ground. We thought he was dead until he stumbled up and gave us the finger.”
“The guy just ran down Grove Street”
Frankie smiled, “Good, I’m going to kick his ass.”
“Frankie, it looked like he has already had his ass pretty well kicked.”
“You think so, wait until I get through with him for giving me the finger.”
He and his partner Patty D. tore off around the corner. I could hear Frankie yelling
“I see you asshole. You’re mine now.”
I thought damn that is going to be one hurting skell in the morning

That’s it vote number one or number two.

Posted August 12, 2014 by kevingcox in Random Thoughts

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Past Midnight for a Bushwick Cinderella   1 comment

Midnight clockOne midnight a woman came in to report her daughter missing.
I asked her, “How old is your daughter?”
“Twenty two”
“It’s midnight Friday night. That’s not really late, your daughter is an adult maybe she just went out with friends after work for a couple of drinks.”
She got pissed at me.
“Are you saying my daughter is a drunken tramp? She would never stay out this late.”
“It’s only midnight if there’s no reason to believe she is in danger we can’t take a report after only a few hours.”

“My daughter is a good girl. She comes home right after work. She is not some prostitute out all hours of the night. I want you to get out there and find her.”
“Okay, Let me talk to the Sergeant and see what we can do.”
I told Sergeant Capp what was going on.
“Unless you can find a reason to file it. Just take the information. Tell her if she doesn’t hear from her daughter by seven to call us back and we’ll file it. That’s the best I can do. If she doesn’t like it too bad.”
I went back and explained the situation. She was not happy but accepted it because I told her if she didn’t the Sergeant would just tell her to come back in two days.
I got the information for the report the daughter’s name, address, height, weight etc. Then I started looking for anything I could use to file the report just to get her out of there.
“Do you have any reason to believe she is in danger?”
“What do you mean?”
“Has she been hanging out with any bad people?”
“NO, I told you she is a good girl. You keep talking about her like she is a tramp.”
“I’m sorry I have to ask the questions. Does she have any mental problems or limitations?”
“Now you’re calling her crazy or retarded. She is a very smart girl.”
“Does she have any physical problems?”
“Like what?
“Does she need any drugs?”
“Now you’re saying she is a junkie.”
“No, No, I meant like insulin. Is she diabetic?”
“Oh, no.”
“Is she epileptic?”
“Epileptic? Shit no, She’s a Baptist.”
With that I sent her home saying I will call in the morning.
I called the mother at 7:30 and she advised the daughter came home at 6. She had spent the night with a co-worker. The guy at the next desk. Somehow the mother believed it was my fault.

Posted April 14, 2014 by kevingcox in Random Thoughts

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