The Inspector

 

 

            It was 5:30 in the morning and the alarm clock rang, he slaps the Timex off and gets out of bed. Nowadays the old Inspector, Burt Cotman finds it harder to get out of bed in the morning. Stumbling to the bathroom he takes a shower, shaves and gets dressed. His closet door opens with a squeak to unveil mostly brown and grey suits. A man who has seen it all, over the past thirty years on the force doesn’t believe that it is needed to dress like a pretty boy. As he makes up his checkered bow tie he glances in the half cracked mirror in his bedroom.  Cotman sees a much older man then he would like, but he knows he has no control over that. His next move is to go out to the kitchen for a mug of Joe; he passes the dark brown paneling of his small three room apartment. Cotman never had use for decoration or new paint for that matter, the force was his life. He never married and never had children, he had some brothers but they both retired and moved to Florida. Yes, Cotman was all alone in this world just him, his badge, and service revolver. As he sips his coffee he grabs the paper from the hall and gives it a quick glance.  Putting on his rumpled fedora and rain coat, it was now time to go down to the subway so he could catch the train to Manhattan South. He squeezes himself into a packed subway car and begins his journey downtown. As he glances around he becomes disgusted at ‘’what” is riding the subway. It’s nothing new, he complains about society every day, and to anyone who will listen. The old inspector believes he has a lot to say and people should listen to Burt Cotman. If he grabs a patrolman’s ear he starts regaling them with stories about his days as a beat cop in the ol ’42. ‘’We were something else in those days, me and the boys the finest to wear a badge”. Usually people would placate him and listen to his stories while others would run when they spotted him coming. Modest Cotman was not, he was a braggart and an embellisher.

            Down at Manhattan South he had a dingy office where he basically read the paper and the racing form all day. It had come to a point in his career where the department didn’t want to push him out, but they didn’t give him much to do either. Of course from time to time he would visit precincts in his jurisdiction in Brooklyn and The Bronx. The Inspector would walk into any one of these station houses and chew the ears off of the commanding officers and the squads. If you brushed him off he would give you ‘’ I guess you young kids don’t care about the glory days that I saw, it’s okay there are going to put me out to pasture soon anyway!’’. “ Oh Inspector Cotman don’t be silly”, would be the natural reply. Everyone knew he was a pest, and I really think he knew he was in retrospect.

            One November day began as it always did for Cotman. He was in his office downtown, when the phone rang. He promptly grabbed the phone and yelled his name into the receiver. The man on the other end of the phone replied “There is a robbery going on at the Metropolitan Bank on 5^th and Madison, send someone down” with that said they hung up. Why call Cotman, something was strange why didn’t the switchboard or the desk sergeant get the call? With his suspicions he calls the squad room and tells them to send some uniforms and some detectives over to the scene.  After getting the call Cotman felt strange, his cockiness was not there. Why didn’t he also go on the call? Is he afraid of someone or something in his sub-conscious? The question is did he have a sub-conscious? With his snappy retorts and braggadocio wasn’t he just a badge and a gun. Once again the phone rang, this time Cotman let it ring and didn’t answer. He became frozen and just stared at the phone. A few moments later a patrolman came up to his office and told him that at the scene of the robbery a uniform was shot and killed chasing after the suspects. Cotman just looked at him and said ‘’you tell them down there to make sure the poor b*****d gets a decent funeral!’’ Cotman then turned and stared out the window.” I should have been there, damn it! I should have taken that bullet in the gut!’’ He continued to stare at the window. There were thoughts running through his head unlike any other time. It was 1980; the inspector was in a radio car in the Bronx. A call came over the radio that there was a robbery of a bank on Crotonia ave. Cotman and his partner slapped the siren on and sped to the scene of the robbery. When they arrived both men got out of the car and headed into the bank. There was an armed gunman in the bank and he meant business. As the two patrolman entered the bank, the crook was yelling ‘’Get the pig out of here!’’ Cotman drew his revolver and told the man to put his gun down. In haste Cotman’s partner ran behind the wall in which the gunman was standing, in attempt to grab the gun from the crook. Without thinking Cotman looked directly at his partner which made it obvious to the assailant that his partner was behind him. Cotman’s partner ran to the other end of the bank, the gunman in a crazed moment shot Cotman’s partner, Lou Scotti. Cotman had a dead aim at the gunman but he froze allowing the assailant to shoot his partner. After his moment of stone like position, he shot the gunmen in the arm in which caused the gun to fall and allowed Cotman to apprehend the Gunman.

            When that call came in that there was a bank robbery, Cotman froze again. Remembering what had happen some thirty years ago the pain and the guilt came back to him. He knew he could have prevented the killing of his partner and maybe even causing the shooting. Oh yes, Inspector Burt Cotman tough talking, finger snapping and telling glory stories for thirty years. Really hiding the coward that lied within him, he tried to cover it up for years. It was held in psyche for so long that the call about the bank robbery brought it all out again. The next morning Cotman got up went through his usual rituals, checked in at Manhattan South and went for a drive. ‘’I’ll go see the fella’s at the 62 in Brooklyn’’ He said to himself. As he drove along the FDR, he pulled over to the service road. Cotman shut the ignition pulled out his revolver, stuck it in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Moments later a patrol car passed and stopped, the patrolman found Cotman’s body he called for the coroner. After the coroner loaded Cotman’s body in the hearse, the patrolman said ‘’you tell them down there to make sure the poor b*****d gets a decent funeral!!’’

Reviews

[Dynafox]

I like the story. Short stories like this will basically be my muse here. In my Rose Star Runner novels I have a character named Detective Lee and this Burt Cotman reminded me a lot of him in the first half. I liked how it revealed a lamb where a lion claimed to be and even felt a bit like a Twilight Zone for a moment.