- Chapter 19

 ONE MAN'S DECISION

I must tread carefully when setting down this chapter.
Though it involves a Police Inspector and me, others were with me at the time of the “crime”, all upright citizens today, and I do not want to besmirch their good names.

This must have happened in the early 1970s. My passion for guns was there, even before my Gibraltar regiment days. I have always had guns in my possession, all with permits of course.
What?
Did you think I was some sort of Al Capone?

I owned a .22-air rifle then, over from the days when the frontier was open and we could use it in the fields in Spain. When I mentioned it to the friends I was running around with at the time (mi panda), during those “Scalextric” days when we’d drive around and around Gib all Sunday, we thought it would be a good idea to have a target shooting competition up the Rock. So, I took it with me and we went to the area of Princess Caroline's Battery, well away from the road and from passers-by. We set up our own government-provided target, trying to hit one letter or other from a NO ENTRY sign. We had taken some drinks (soft) and cakes with us (for the munchies), as well as a couple of those unmentionable things which consisted of wrapped up …. stuff …. in paper to light up & burn (??!!)

Don't ask, don't tell!

By the time we were finished, it was mid-afternoon and the unfortunate NO ENTRY sign looked as if they had suffered a violent bout of chickenpox!
We had used up all our pellets, drunk all our drinks, eaten our food and were lolling around veeeeery relaxed, listening to Deep Purple, Santana and some Leonard Cohen after finishing those..... "unmentionable things wrapped in paper".

"Allo 'allo 'allo!" (Well, no, he didn't exactly say that,  but....  I'm sure you know what I mean)

Bloody hell!

There was a cop standing there!

Where did he come from?

What was I doing then, you ask?

I was cleaning the rifle leaning on the pelleted NO ENTRY sign, too ...."distracted"... to do much more than stare with my mouth open at this young Cop.

"What are you doing with that?"

"Cleaning my rifle!"

"Do you have a licence?"
(Oh I am so tempted to do the Inspector Clousseau accent here .... "Do you 'ave a 'licensse' )

"Yes .... but it's at home"

"Hand it over .... butt first!"

In the haze I was in, I asked, in all innocence...or stupidity ...

"But first .. what?"

That was the end of his "good Cop" stage.

"Oh, a smart one, huh ...te vas a enterar, Teo!" (You are in for it, Teo)

Yes, I had been recognised, not from Wanted posters I assure you, but there was no way of stopping Bad Cop now.

" I am arresting you for being in possession of a firearm without a licence, discharging it in a public place, damaging public property, one NO ENTRY sign. Hand it over!"

And I did, and as the Police motorbike he was on only had one seat (none of us had even heard it arrive!), I had to help him hold it by the handlebars, walking it down Moorish Castle, Willis's Road, Hospital Hill, Governor's Street, City Mill Lane, plus the rifle, plus Wanted Criminal David Bentata, plus the evidence – one NO ENTRY sign -till we reached the Central Police Station in Irish Town. We were exhausted by then and I am certain he was wishing he had ignored us at the time.

No, I was not handcuffed, but where was I going to escape to with the frontier shut?

I was taken to one of the small interrogation rooms, decorated with the usual unimaginative imitation wood panels and government-issued table and chairs, duly scarred, to await for one of the big guys.
And the big guy came.

As with most of us, we knew each other by sight in Gibraltar then. A biggish guy, taller than me, mustached and pips on his shoulders to show he was an Inspector no less. I practiced my most pleasing smile ……and got nothing in return. I stood up and he put a big hand on my shoulder and pushed me back on the chair.

"I want to apolo...." 

The look he gave me atrophied the words on my lips.
He said nothing.
He just looked at me with the sternest of looks on his face. In fact, for years afterwards I never saw this man smile!

The Inspector examined the mortally wounded NO ENTRY sign, gave me that look again..... and put it down.

He picked up the rifle, snapped it open, looked down the barrel, snapped it shut one-handedly ... (vamos, ni John Wayne!)... and put that down too.

Taking both with him, he left me in the interrogation room and closed the door behind him.
I do not think this was particularly a tactic of his, rather he was going to check up to see I really had a licence (yes, yes ... a licensse!)

But by now I was starting to realise that this could be far more serious than I had originally envisaged. Obviously, the walk down had cleared my mind somewhat.

Despite being in my early 20s, that afforded me no protection from the wrath of my father. That was certain to be my welcome when I returned home..... if I returned home that night at all!
The whole thing started to take on rather a sombre atmosphere.
Was I about to bring shame on my family?

Magistrate courts, bail, lawyers, confiscation, probation ......???

This was starting to turn out as something of a "muermo" (a downer) to what had been a very enjoyable and peaceful afternoon with good music, good friends and the "unmentionable things wrapped in paper"!
Well at least there was no evidence of that other than some ash strewn about at Princess Caroline's, may she rest in peace.

Maybe it took 20 minutes, 40 most, when that most serious of Police Inspectors came back. Though he had hardly spoken, his silence convinced me he would see through any excuse I was about to offer.

Again, trying to get up ….. and again his heavy hand pushed me down.

Not a word, just a penetrating look and a face more serious than Buster Keaton's (see photo of that Silent Movie actor below)

This was getting very disconcerting. I am very much a man of words. I can argue. I can discuss. I can convince. I can sell, not suede ties though, (see previous chapters)  but this Police Inspector was no pushover. I was in for a hard time; I was convinced of this.

Then he sat down opposite me.

"David, no?"

"Si ...."

"Tu que estas, tonto?" (Are you stupid?)

I was uncertain if I had to answer that question.

"...o te crees que yo soy tonto?" (or do you think I am stupid?)

Nope! I was certain this man was no fool, but there my certainty ended.

"I can keep you here in the cell until I call your parents. I don't care if you're over 21, I can still call your parents."

ShitShitShit ....

"Tu quien te crees que eres, (who do you think you are) taking an air gun up the Rock, tu y tus amigos ...." (you and your friends)

"No, it was not my friends, it was just me....."  (bravery facing the firing squad!)

"Que no soy tonto, conque dejate te escusas!"
(I am not a fool, so drop the excuses!)

I made a big effort to press my upper and lower lips together, never easy at the best pf times, and say nothing more.

Then, that ominous silence again.

"Mira .... Take this rifle back home and never... NEVER... use it in a public place again."

I nodded... and waited....

"If you give me your word that you are not going to do these stupid things ever again, I'm going to let you go, because I think que aunque eres un pirao hoy .... (though you are a scoundrel today) ….you're not stupid."

More nodding from me, a bit like those toy dogs placed at the back of cars....

"I could charge you with enough that will end up with you having a criminal record that can damage you the rest of your life!"

Seriously nodding now.....

"Tu quieres eso?" (Is that what you want?)

No more nodding.
Fervent shaking of my head as I heard what this Police Inspector were saying.

"If you have any brains you will know now that I am giving you a chance nobody else would. No te creas que eres el niño bonito. (don’t think you are anyone’s darling) Grow up and get out before I change my mind!"
He said all these things without raising his voice as one would have expected. That made it all the more penetrating.

He handed me the rifle, opened the door and pointed the way out.... as if I needed to know which direction to go!

I saw this gentleman again, in fact I saw him once a year to measure him for his uniform when, thanks to two other fantastic policemen, Inspector Garcia and Sergeant Lili Triay, who helped me tender for the supply of Police Uniforms. I owed a lot to Inspector Garcia and Sergeant (later, Inspector) Lili Triay and I hope I showed them my gratitude over the years.
But I never mentioned a word about this again to that serious Inspector who, using the prerogative of rank and his intelligence, both natural and through his experience, made that most generous decision of not prosecuting me as I deserved. With the knowledge that undoubtedly came with the job, he didn't make inspector for being silly, and the years of experience dealing with really serious criminals, he let me off.

He has since retired with the rank of Chief Superintendent, and deservedly so.

Many years later, in fact some 3 years ago, I stopped him in Main Street and thanked him for having given me the chance to grow up into the person I am today. He did not recall the incident, nor did he smile much by the way, but he had other things in mind.

Today with this chapter, and in a modest but public way, I want to make it known to everyone, how grateful I still am for the intelligent decision of Inspector Claudio Baldachino.

To me he remains an example of correct Policing, upholding the law yet evaluating circumstances and people correctly for the betterment of everyone.

Claudio Baldachino, I salute you Sir.