police officer - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Some say there are good cops and bad. But I say that's an oversimplification. They can be honest, courageous, corrupt, devious, malicious, altruistic, cunning or stupid. And that's just my short list. My dad was a cop, and he was all of those things. Not all at once of course. But the right blend of circumstances could bring out any one of those things in him. He was like a chameleon, he blended in with those around him. Nana says he was easily lead as a kid, I guess he still is.
It's never good news when a police officer comes to your door at 3am. It's even worse when they remove their hat and request politely to come inside. In that moment they try their hardest to be human and all you see is the dark blue uniform and the shiny shoes, come to pull your world apart with their soft spoken words.
The police officer stood on the corner in the hazy heat of the August sun. He was they very epitome of authority with his gun hanging idly at his hip, the street reflected in his over-large sunglasses. But I couldn't help imagine that he must be sweating in that crisp blue uniform. Perhaps as he stood there he was planning nothing more than what donut he would have later in the morning and whether to have a latte or an Americano,
It was never the money. Mac signed up to protect and serve, maybe he was old fashioned, but he believed in public service. He saw the worst of humanity on a daily basis and it tested him. It tested his faith in the goodness of people and his natural optimism. He was there when the fire crews cut lifeless teens from the mangled wrecks of their birthday presents. He was there when a bleeding wife refused to press charges. He was there when the street walkers were released back to same abused and drug-addled lives. But he also witnessed the firefighters rush into burning buildings, he saw the paramedics pulling miracles from thin air, he saw the emergency nurses with their quick hands and the doctors who took charge of situations most would run from. He was proud to be a police officer. He was proud of his unit. The same day he hung his uniform for the last time and turned in his badge he started his new life as an outreach volunteer in a homeless shelter. He was the salt of the earth.
There was a person on the street corner. Ordinarily Augusta would walk right past, as a child of the downtown core she'd seen it all: pimps, druggies, hookers and worse. But this guy seemed to suck in the light around him, standing in his own personal gloom. He stared her way, not really at her but through her to the graffiti on the liquor store behind. His black jacket was almost to his knees and shabby, it bulged in several places it shouldn't and that always meant weapons. She slowed her pace and pretended to check in her bag before doubling back. As she turned she caught a fleeting look on his face, wider eyes and tension. Soon, under the noise of the traffic, came footfalls strong and quickening. Before she could react that coarse fabric was wrapping around her waist and she was falling to the sidewalk with the man on her back. Augusta screamed but it was lost in a hail of bullets and wails from the end of the street. "I'm a cop, stay down," he said as if his voice box was leather
In the shadows knelt a person despite the rain-sodden sidewalk being perennially caked in filth. Tyler paused, this was his street and he was damned of some low-life scum was going to scare him. He inserted his hand into his pocket for his revolver; once his fingers closed around the steel he entered the darkness of the alleyway. He was about to tell them to scat when the person looked up, his craggy features now softly illuminated by the glow of the many lights of the high-street. Tyler would know that roman nose and puckered mouth anywhere, it was Sal- the cop who had busted him just last week. He took a step back to leave but the gravelly tones flowed to his ears like a cold tide, "Come here, son."
When the officer comes he has all the usual height but without the bulk. He must be pushing forty yet he has the build of a teenager, lithe muscle under his uniform. He has the face of a father, one who understands Sonia's pain. Though he speaks of the law there is a softness, a tone to reassure he's on her side.
Those denim blue legs were two-a-penny downtown, like some uniform for those who couldn't wait to get out of the prescribed polyester blazers of the local comprehensive school. So to be honest, it couldn't have been the faded jeans, worn thin at the knees with tell-tale dark oil stains that made Frank stand out. Perhaps it was more in the way he moved, something about his self confidence. He was the kind of guy that would be equally at home hanging out in the east-side slums or in a tailored suit at city hall. Maybe that's why I had him pegged as a cop from the start, didn't put me off though, just made things more interesting.