# Corrupt Cops. The Setup.



## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

It all started when I grew Pickwick sideboards, and three other police officers copied me... and we were ordered by the chief inspector to shave them off. This I refused to do, quoting the Police Regulations which allowed facial appendages to be worn, provided that they were kept trimmed and tidy. 
I was then handed a do***ent by the chief superintendent of Ipswich Division of the Suffolk Constabulary from the chief constable to shave them off at once... but once again I refused, not wishing to give up my rights. This time I got the Police Federation representative... Pc Moine... involved, and he backed my request to keep my sideburns.
Once this point had been made proven, many other police officers grew their own variation of facial features. Even officers in the C.I.D. grew long Chinese droopy moustaches to make their own point to those in higher office. One of the senior motorcycle cops even had long Battle-of-Britain moustaches protruding well beyond the side of his face.
If the chief constable now hated my guts over my television interviews regarding the re-build and fitting out of my second ship, Biche, let alone my total refusal to submit some thirty offences reported each week... just to penalize motorists... then his hatred had grown even more over my involvement with the young police cadet... June. 
We'd had a brief affair, but her over-strict mother found the white slip that she'd worn under her clothing when visiting my ship. It had some dark stains on from lying on the cabin sole of Biche while we were otherwise engaged. Her mother had instructed her to never take her clothes off in front of a man, so she'd kept the white slip on during our lovemaking to keep her promise. Her irate mother had presented her at the police station, where June was forced to resign from the force.
Just to add insult to injury, I reported to the Ipswich Division chief superintendent that I'd just bought two more consignments of firearms and ammunition for the protection of my ship, her crew and passengers while in International Waters, during checking firearms certificates and weapons. As I was the owner and captain of a British registered sea-going ship, this was perfectly legal without having a firearms certificate, as long as they were purchased on board the ship. He granted me a firearms certificate after these purchases so that the police force could keep a track of my weapons, which allowed me to take them home for cleaning, and to buy ammunition at the local Sneezems hardware store.
It peeved him greatly that I was taking the opportunity to use the firing range in the basement of the police station for target practice and weapons training. As well as using some of my own weapons, the senior instructor trained me in using police special forces firearms unit fully-automated weapons. This was my right as a member of the Ipswich Division firearms club.
The plot was thickening about how they were going to get rid of me without causing a major corruption scandal against them. As far as they were concerned, I was just thumbing my nose at their authority... which wasn't far from the truth! Compared to the corrupt, under-handed way that the senior officers... right up to the chief constable himself... were behaving towards me, it was their just desserts.
I was on my last night of a week of nights, when Sergeant Rushmore made a rendezvous with me on my town centre beat. He was a fat, slimy bastard, if there ever was one. He was the same height as me at six feet two inches tall, but half as big again. The common saying for a copper who was excessively keen was that he'd even shop his own mother. Well, Sergeant Rushmore reported his own grandmother for a minor vehicle offence a week after returning from his basic training at the police training college... just to prove to his senior officers that he was as keen as mustard by getting the first offence booked of the new intake.
We chatted for a while, like sergeants normally do when they make a rendezvous with you out on your beat, and then he casually asked me if I was going to attend the monthly assembly the next afternoon to catch up on the latest events taking place in the county. It wasn't made as a point of issue, but he just dropped it into the general conversation.
Every police officer in the force should attend one of the four lectures held each month, but I was on point duty the first two lectures, and was on nights for the third one. There was no way that I was giving up my day off just to listen to their endless bull-dirt, so I told him that I had important work to do on my ship, and had previously arranged for a delivery of raw materials from my supplier.
He said nothing further, but just signed my pocket book to show that we had met up on my beat. I thought nothing more of it, and continued with my beat until knocking-off time at six in the morning. After bidding my fellow Y-section officers goodnight, I left the police station and cycled home to grab a few hours sleep before commencing my work on board my ship. To be continued. All the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.


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