The Most Frightening Person I Faced In The Police
By: Malky Mcewan
Tags: Writing, Funny, Storytelling, Leadership, Humour

Crafty police officers always had a trick up their sleeves.

They knew where to hide to get forty-winks on the night-shift, where to grab a free coffee and the shortest route to eternal damnation.

PC Ewan Hill was a sociable type, always full of jokes and patter. But Ewan had a self-destruct button, he liked to take it out and contemplate it’s inviting colour, he took pleasure in caressing its smooth rounded shape and once in a while he said, ‘screw this,’ and pressed the damn thing.

One cold night, Ewan and I were sent out to walk the town. Foot patrol in a nippy Scottish winter is no cop’s idea of fun. My tutor was crafty enough to avoid being out in the cold for too long.

A quick jaunt through the town confirmed no-one was hanging around and then Ewan took me to the local clothing factory. The security guards welcomed us into their office and we sat warming ourselves in front of the fire with a piping-hot mug of tea, oblivious to what was to come.

Photo by Calum Lewis on Unsplash

The scariest man.

The instruction to walk the town centre had come from Inspector McDuncan, a strict officer, known for a bark that left teeth marks. We cowered in his presence, woe betides the officer who crossed him. He had a management style so brutal Robert Mugabe and Colonel Gaddafi used to phone him up for advice.

Like most cops, I was worried about getting caught out by Inspector McDuncan. Not crafty Ewan, he laughed it off, ‘He won’t catch me out,’ was his mantra. Ewan was my tutor and I fell in line.

The security office was safe, cameras covered every approach. It was cosy warm. Sprawled in our chairs we drank tea and swapped stories. Idle as a pair of wellies in summer.

Our radios came to life.

A tinny sound and a question, “PC Hill, PC McEwan — where are you?” It was the formidable Inspector McDuncan. PC Hill remained sprawled in his chair, legs crossed on a small table. He radioed back, “We are in the High Street checking the property, Inspector.”

Puzzled silence.

Seconds later, “I’m in the High Street,— and I can’t see you.” We bolted upright. Eyes as wide as our jaws.

“Er no, Inspector. We are checking around the back of the shops, we will join you shortly,” PC Hill quivered as we scrambled out of our chairs. Like sprinters out of the starting block, I followed Ewan out of the security office.

We ran up the lane towards the town centre, crossed through the car park, raced around the Post Office and dodged through an alleyway. It took us out into the bottom of the High Street, yards from where Inspector McDuncan stood, arms folded, the shiny black brogue on his right foot tapping on the ground.

We tried to hide our breathlessness.

Inspector McDuncan’s face rumpled with disdain, he peered at us through screwed eye-sockets. I wasn’t confident we’d been quick enough to allay his suspicions. He scowled some more, looking us up and down.

“You have been hiding somewhere, haven’t you?” “No. No. Inspector, we were just checking the rear of the properties,” Ewan, answered. “You have been sitting somewhere drinking tea haven’t you?” Inspector McDuncan challenged again. “Not us inspector. We like to do our job thoroughly. More properties get broken into round the back, so we like to nose around there.”

More muttered insincerity, but maybe, just maybe, it was enough. If we stuck to our guns we might hoodwink the scary Inspector McDuncan into believing it. Inspector McDuncan looked away from Ewan and landed his gaze on me.

“Have you two been sitting in the clothing factory security office drinking tea?”

More of a statement than a question.

Despite quaking in my boots I felt obliged to stick to my senior colleague’s story. I couldn’t let Ewan down.

“No Sir.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, sir.” “Then why have you got one of the security officer’s hats on?”

Ewan looked at my head and groaned. We’d been rumbled. In our rush to get out of the security office — I’d grabbed the wrong hat.