I'm going to write a short story about a maverick cop

Cagney and Lacey

My maverick cop's going to do a lot of growling.

"Screw the paperwork, and screw you", he growled, flicking the cigarette butt out the window and pulling out onto Third Avenue.

That sort of thing.

"Damn it, Jimmy", he growled, "I woulda stayed in with my broad if I woulda wanted to listen to nagging the whole damn night". "Give me another bourbon, on the rocks" he snarled, slamming twenty bucks down on the counter.

he sounds very angry to me... maybe he should have a therapist to help him resolve the internal guilt issues he has around his dead partner

sounds like Dennis Thatcher

There's a competition on Twitter to write a story in 140 characters, perhaps Chit Chat could try that.

Sounds like one of those very popular,despite being cringeworthily awful, cop shows of the seventies.  That one with John thaw, forget it's name. 

Point is, the more cliched and generally sh1t it is, the more popular it'll be.

In that case it will be very popular indeed.

There are no new stories, it has all been said....the end of entertainment.....oh dear...oh dear..........

Come on, one of you lot must know a good American cop thriller writer. No need to be embarrassed.

rob are you on drugs? the sweeney was one of the greatest cop shows ever, classic telly

Ha ha nice one badger.  Almost had me going there.

^^^ You're nicked'

with the job, up his ass.

could not be bothered reading the full thread, but did the Donkey get injured?

Brad Howitzer - He's a loose cannon. He don't play by the rules. He was wrongly stripped of his badge, after being framed for being the head of a raccoon buggery ring - And now he wants revenge. He's a bad ass, he does all the martial arts going. When he gets shot at, he catches the bullet in his mouth and then shoots it out his arse back at his assailant. Don't fukc with him - He's taken on the SAS, the KGB and even B&Q, and beaten them all.

Maverick cops these days don't go to strip clubs like they used to.

Brad's an impressively maverick name - I think I'll nick that one. Surname has to be Irish though, to help explain why he's such a písshead.

He will definitely go to strip clubs.

Brad McCallahan.

"Damn it, McCallahan. You make me put my ass on the line for you one more goddamn time, I swear I'll bust you down so far you'd **** out your own sister to be put on traffic duty. Now get the hell outta my office".

w hore

I thought it was lick.

watch the Dirty Harry films for some cracking material, imo.

You know, I might just do that.

I'm thinking swallow.  Based in Norwich, a bit of a maverick.  He's not a criminal but he might breaks the law.  He might travel on the motorway at eighty miles an hour, for instance if he wants to get somewhere quickly.

Slightly off-topic but...

How about a hard-smoking, hard-drinking, bullied and shunned albino Vatican investigator who goes by the name of 'Monk' and is on a torturous quest to find his elusive tormentor, Brown Dan?

But is Brown Dan the villain that he seems to be? Could Monk even be the person that he is without the his nemesis's insidious butchery of the English language? It torments Monk throughout the novel.

When Monk finds Brown Dan, he realizes that he faces an awful choice - let his quarry live, and escape with his own life, or kill Dan in the certain knowledge that Monk himself will die too.

A choice that is hard to make for a man who over the last 300 pages or so has utterly lost his faith in God, not to mention the book-reading public?

How about born in Norwich but working in London. Harry Coleman ( known as Mustard or Six because of his 6 fingers)a bit of a loner lives on Fast food and Microwaveable meals, 2 ex wives one of them his 1st cousin. Spends very little money on clothes but drives a top of the range BMW, so when he opens the door of his car out steps a guy dressed like a 70's pimp.Why waste money on new clothes when the old ones havn't worn out yet. Likes to drink Whiskey when he gets home after a hard day, it helps him sleep. He has a daughter he worships , but misses his weekly visits due to the drink and not waking up in time.He is good to his Mother ( a Widow) his Father left home when he was young, went to see how the things were in the bright lights of Cambridge and never saw him again.He has a brother who is a successful business man, who his Mother adores but he never vsits her. His last partner was shot on a raid on an Asparagus farm employing illegal workers, he lived but will never have the use of his big toe again.Harry likes to go to Bangkok for hs holidays, he has a thing about Ladyboys.

Raymond Chandler's your man. I remember reading a book by Barry Fantoni which my dad recommended to me when I was reading Chandler when I was about 14, called 'The Stickman' where he out chandler's Chandler. A great fun read if you can pick it up cheap on Amazon second hand.

Found an excerpt from a Barry Fantoni book:

I was sitting in my office with my lights out and my feet on the desk...I picked up a dead bottle of cheap bourbon and dropped it into the waste basket.  It was time to get a drink, rain or no rain.  A bolt of lightning ripped across the sky and made way for a stuttering crescendo of thunder.  A pink neon sign winked on and off non-stop outside and its reflection hit the inside wall of my office.  Sometimes I winked back.

I think this could be the one! He's a private eye, not a cop, but he sounds pretty maverick.

Cheers, Pixie. Any more suggestions, anyone? Remember, they don't have to be good, just cliched and American.

A very talented bloke, Fantoni. He created E J Thribb, the in house poet at Private Eye, and was resident cartoonist for them on top of being a very accomplished jazz musician. I love his writing as it's such fun.

     "She was in her late forties and her figure was spreading faster than spilled milk. A lot of her was almost into a peg-top velveteen skirt with slits that were too long and a frothy organdy blouse that needed buttoning. Her face was the color of uncooked bread, her lips were large and puffy and painted with less care than drunks count change."

    "If Frenchy had something to say, I didn' hear it. Someone else was making noise. It was Mrs. Summers. She had pulled herself from the sofa and was running the length of the room toward the window. She was screaming at the top of her cracked voice. Her housecoat billowed like an open parachute as clenched her fists and smashed headlong into the glass. It splintered into a thousand angular fragments and let the falling woman through."

    "The scream died on the air as Frank Summers widow took the short way down to the sidewalk ten floors below. For a second that lasted an hour we all stood open-mouthed, gaping at the jagged edges of the hole in the window, which rose and fell like the Himalayas, their peaks capped with glistening blood."

- Great stuff!

Yeah! I need some similes like that for my short story.

Standing in the corridor, Brad McCallahan took a swig of bourbon from his three-quarter full hip flask. It burned his throat like the Arizona sun on a red raw back. His head was pounding like a lead drummer's snare on parade day. The door swung open.

"Get your ass in here, McCallahan", spat Chief [name tbc].

Brad took a deep breath. It was going to be a long day.

I can't wait to write my maverick cop short story.

Very good, Petra, you have a flair for it! I look forward to reading your story.

Not American enough, and maverick cops don't need to take a deep breath.

Stood in the corridor, Brad took a slug of bourbon from his three-quarter full hip flask. It burned his throat like the Arizona sun on a red raw back. His head was pounding worse than lead drummer's snare at an Independence Day parade. The door swung open.

"Get your ass in here, McCallahan", spat Chief [name tbc].

Brad cursed under his breath. It was going to be a lousy day.

A typo or two but you get the gist.