#rogue cop

[doomtrooper77]

Col. Hammer - Learn Your Place

I started to write a story to go along with this, but I don't have it in me today. The dark caveman parts of your brains will come up with something for Col. Hammer here better than what I would have written.

Please feel free to like it and share the video.

[fedoranoir]

Here are some clips from "Rogue Cop" (1954), in which I thought Robert Taylor exuded a lot of the same energy as he did in "Johnny Eager" (1942). He plays a shady police sergeant (albeit a handsome and fashionable one) with a good-cop younger brother (Eddie, played by Robert Forrest, not pictured), who gets into big trouble with the mob. Also featured in these clips: Anne Francis as a tipsy racketeer's dame and Janet Leigh as a singer with A Past who's trying to go straight. Robert Ellenstein plays Sid, the loyal detective/reluctant buddy to Robert Taylor.

Here's a link to the full movie, which is in some kind of rights limbo, making it hard to find.

[kekwcomics]

TERMINAL FORCE (1989)

"When words just get in the way"

[filmnoirfoundation]

Robert Taylor Week bonus post.

[nostalgiepourmoi]

Anne Francis in Rogue Cop, 1954.

[doomtrooper77]

State Trooper: Colonel Anthony Hammer

Colonel Tony Hammer has been in the State Police force for 30 years. He worked his way up through the ranks to become a Colonel and was appointed Inspector General of the statewide force. His was a special role, answering only to the director, who frankly was terrified of him. Tony basically traveled the state doing as he pleased. You might find him pulling you over on a dark rural road, or him leading the state SWAT team into a drug den where they lay waste to everything and everyone around them. No one else had such a free-wheeling role in the department.  But no one else had the connections and knowledge about so many influential people as he does. People who don’t want to be on his bad side and want to make sure they have access to him when things go wrong and need to be cleaned up or made to go away. Tony's connections were broad and deep on both sides of the law. Each side ignored the other because it was easier that way.

Let's tell a few of Tony’s stories here. What do you think?

[doomtrooper77]

Hoffman Powerline

You spotted the big matte black SUV cruise past the front window and roll into the lot. Fuck. Here they come.

It was late morning, and the breakfast rush had already thinned out, leaving the shop mostly quiet. You would get another push at noon, then close by 2 p.m. You knew their routine by now. They had been in a few times over the past couple of months, and you made damn sure you were the one waiting on them every chance you got.

You watched as the door opened and him,  just one of them this time,  stepped inside. It was the bigger one. Shit, he was huge.

You were not exactly small yourself. At 6'2" and a solid 320 pounds, you were a heavy, broad-shouldered bear who turned heads at every bar and event. But this guy made you feel downright average. He stood 6'5", maybe 6'6", and had to be pushing 400 pounds of thick, brute cop muscle.

He walked with a slow, deliberate swagger, his sheer size making every step land heavy on the floorboards. His uniform was brutal in its simplicity: navy-blue tactical pants stretched tight over tree-trunk legs, tucked into black, heavy lug-soled boots. His short-sleeved blue duty shirt clung to his massive frame like it was painted on. A thick tactical vest sat over it, loaded with ammo pouches, cuffs, and gear. A big automatic sat in his waist holster, and an even bigger piece was strapped into a leather leg holster.

Every step brought the creak of leather, the low jingle of gear, and the deep thud of those monstrous boots. You felt your jeans tighten almost immediately.

That powerlifter swagger people sometimes said you had was nothing compared to this. This was pure, predatory power wrapped in flesh, leather, and Kevlar.

He reached the counter. You swallowed and said, “How can I help you, officer?”

He reached up, peeled off a pair of black mirror wraparound shades, and perched them on his buzz-cut head. His eyes locked onto you. Ice blue. Not just pale, a vibrant, almost unnatural blue, so light they seemed to shift to steel gray from second to second. Some people might have found them creepy. You found them perfectly intimidating.

"Let me get an extra-large coffee," he said, his voice a low rumble, "five sugars. No cream."

Knodding your head. “Sure thing, sir.” Grabbing the XXL cup, you filled it, loaded it up with sugar, and turned back, catching him eyeing the donut case with a calculating look.

When you set the coffee down, he said, “Think I’ll take a few donuts too.”

You smiled, glancing at the name tag stitched into the edge of his vest: Sgt. Rappitti.

“Sure thing, Sergeant,” you said.

His head snapped toward you, a flash of hardness tightening his face. For a second, you thought you had crossed a line. But then his gaze tracked to where you were looking, realized you had just read his name, and the tension eased. Still, you could feel the blood pounding in your ears and your cock twitching in your jeans.

He leaned closer to the pastry case, lifting one massive, gloved hand to point. Thick fingers wrapped in tight black SAP gloves moved from donut to donut. You were too busy staring at those hands to hear what he said.

Only when he repeated himself, a little sharper, did you blink back to reality. You did not see the faint, hard little smirk that flickered across his lips.

You started bagging up the donuts. Then he said, “I’ll take an apple fritter too.”

“Let me go grab a fresh one from the back,” you offered, trying to steady your breathing. “Still warm, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he said.

You rushed to the back. Screw the bag. You grabbed a box and loaded it up. Four apple fritters, fresh out of the fryer, plus a generous haul of pastries. It was over the top, but you did not care.

You came back to the counter, box in hand.

He eyed it and grunted, “I just asked for a few donuts.”

Quickly, you said, “I didn’t want anything to leak through a bag onto your uniform, sir. No big deal.”

He stared at you for a long moment, those mercurial eyes shifting again from ice to steel, before giving a slow nod. “Thanks.”

You thought about telling him everything — about the house, about the real reason he and his partner kept coming here, but something deep down said no. Not yet.

You rang him up for just the coffee and a couple of donuts, way under what you actually packed. He pulled out a thick wad of cash, peeled off a few bills, and dropped a twenty into the tip jar without a word.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” you said, your voice maybe a little too eager.

He picked up his coffee and the box of pastries and started to head for the door. You could not help yourself.

"Sergeant?" you called.

He paused, turning halfway back, his face already slipping into that cautious, slightly annoyed look.

“Yeah?”

You licked your dry lips, your eyes automatically dropping to those enormous boots. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking... what kind of boots are those?”

There was a beat of silence. Then he turned fully around, lifted one massive booted foot, and planted it squarely on the nearest chair.

You got an eyeful, the heavy black boots with thick lug soles, easily size 14 or 15 EEE,  but your gaze wandered. His pants were stretched tight across his massive thighs and even tighter across the massive bulge straining his crotch. Big. Everywhere.

“These?” he said, rolling his boot side to side for you. “Hoffman Powerlines.”

He was watching you, seeing how your tongue flicked across your bottom lip without you even realizing it. That hard, knowing smile was back.

He lowered his foot with a heavy stomp and took a step toward you. You looked up into his face, the coldest, hardest stare you had ever seen. Those ice-blue eyes bored straight through you.

“Been a while since I had them cleaned up," he said, voice low and gravelly. "Gonna have to find someone to take care of them for me.”

With a final smirk, he turned and walked out.

The door thudded closed, and just before it latched shut, you heard him mutter over his shoulder:

“See you next time.”

So, do you guys want a next time? Let me know in the comments.

[doomtrooper77]

What feeling do you get when you see a cop like this paying attention to you. Real attention. Focused attention.