Authors: Patrick Abbruzzi
“I heard the kid moaning and was relieved to know he was still alive. Although I didn’t kno
w
what the scumbag was shooting with, I knew it was powerful because of all the damage it had done.
“I grabbed the black kid by the collar of his coat and pulled him back t
o
the cover of the RMP. Frank must have seen me dragging the boy from wherever he was hiding because he laid down a barrage of shots at the house in orde
r
to provide cover for me. Thankfully, it worked and the sick fuck didn’t let any more bullets fly while I was dragging the shot victim to safety.
“I checked the kid out and as far as I could tell he had been hit in th
e
stomach or groin area. I couldn’t help but hope that since I didn’t see much blood, maybe this young kid who had just finished celebrating baby Jesus’ birthday would make it. I said a little prayer for both of us and started to apply pressure t
o
the young man’s wounds. After a few seconds he came to a little. When he saw me, he began to cry, pleading with me not to let him die,” the lieutenant said quietly.
“‘Please, Mister, don’t let me die. Oh, Mommy, help me!’ the boy said through tears of pain and fear. When I was trying to reassure him that he would be fine, he passed out again. I didn’t know this was caused by loss of blood or shock
,
but I knew either one could be fatal.
“I made my way back to the rear of the car and fired two shots at th
e
upper window. As the sound of gunfire echoed through the city, I took a chance and opened the trun
k
of the car, hoping my shots would keep the bastard’s head inside long enough for me to retrieve a blanket from the trunk. It worked. I got the blanket, brought it over to the kid and covered him. As I did so, I glanced down Broad Street and saw the most brillian
t
array of colors coming towards me. The approaching sector cars had their turret and dome lights on. In the falling snow, the reds, whites and yellows cast a beautiful Christmas glow to an already white and glistening scene.
“The truck of ESU was the first to pull up. They positioned their vehicle between the Romano house and me. Frankie Catalano in sector C was nex
t
and he pulled up on my right side,” Lt. A. explained.
“‘Are you okay? Where’s your partner?’ asked Frankie
.
I told him I was fine and asked him to go check on Frank but before Frankie could leave, my partner appeared from the Gordon Street side of the block. When he saw all the units arriving he ran around the block and came down the side street adjacent to the church.
“Reunited once more, Frank and I didn’t say anything to each other. We jus
t
smiled and shook hands,” the lieutenant said with a reminiscent smile.
“The ESU rig came with their own supervisor and he gave the order to hi
s
men to suit up. This meant that the team would all don thick, protectiv
e
bulletproof vests and arm themselves with heavy gauge shotguns. The ES
U
sergeant also directed one of the 120
th
units to go to the rear of the house in order to prevent the bastard from escaping.
“The ambulance for the kid also arrived and they quickly transported him to the hospital. At the same time, ESU sharpshooters had their guns trained o
n
all the front windows as well as the roof. Before long, ESU Sergeant Joe Noturo led his men up the front stairwell of the house.
“As I’m sure you know, the ESU unit consisted of cops that other cops called when they needed help. These were the troops who climbed the spans of bridges and talked jumper
s
down. They were also the ones with paramedic training who could keep victim
s
alive. Tonight they were searching for a sniper who had attempted to kill a few of their own and who just might have killed a civilian.
“Joe
Noturohad been a Sergeant in ESU for almost eight years. H
e
started out in patrol but applied and got on in his first interview. He had been trained in everything from repelling out of helicopters to walkin
g
the bottom of New York Bay in diving gear.
“Sergeant
Noturo approached the 2
nd
floor landing of the house in question but didn’
t
hear a sound. He held his flashlight down and to the right of his bod
y
just in case the bastard aimed for the light. He hugged the wall as he and his two men approached the first room closest to the stairs on the landing. When they reached it, they burst through the door but the room was empty. A small sink and commode, which had been smashed by vandalsyears before, lay on the floor. There was only one room left on the floor to search; the front roo
m
bedroom where the shots had originated from.
“All three officers approached the door. After pausing for just a second or two, Sergeant Noturo, all 200 pounds of him, kicked the door in. Th
e
room was small and had a closet in the corner. Quietly the trio approached th
e
closet door. One of the men grabbed the handle and swung it open while the other two stood at the ready with their weapons cocked, but the tiny room wa
s
empty. They searched the bedroom and there, on the floor right below the window facing the street, was a K-tecmachine gu
n
pistol. Spent shells littered the floor around it.
“The trio completed their search of the entire house but came up short. The bastard must have gotten away through a rear entrance before the 120
th
sector
s
were able to secure it.
“The Sergeant confiscated the gun and had it delivered to the precinct for vouchering. From there it would make its way to the ballistics lab in the city in order to see if it had been used in any previous crimes. It would be dusted for prints at the precinct level to see if the shooter could be identified. Hopefully it would be linked to the shooting of the kid if, in fact, he died.
“Sergeant Murphy, the 120
th
patrol supervisor, had also responded. He told Frank and Ito get into his car then he drove us back t
o
the station house. He had already notified the department tow truck to come and tow the bullet riddled radio car to the department pound, which was locate
d
at the 122
nd
Precinct. There they would take photos of the car and collect any shells o
r
fragments found in the car so they could be used in court at a later date.
“The crime scene unit, who constantly monitored all radio frequencies from their home base in Manhattan, also had to respond. When they heard that someone had been hi
t
during the sniper shooting, they packed up their gear and headed out t
o
the 120
th
. They had the responsibility of searching the crime scene an
d
assisting in any way they could in the collecting of evidence.
“Sergeant Murphy sent on
e
of the sector cars that had been on the scene to the Saint George Ferry terminal, where one of the rookies who had been assigned to the precinct earlier that month was walking a foot post in the empty but still icy cold terminal.
“There was no police room in the terminal back then, where you can get warm and even lock the door and take a nap, like there is today. The sector would pic
k
up the kid on foot post at the terminal and transport him to the crime scene. Once there, he would guard th
e
area until the CSU, or crime scene unit, had completed their work. Even though i
t
meant standing outside in the snow, it still was good duty for the rookie since he got an opportunity to be part of the investigative team.
“Unlike police drama on television, where the good guys shoot the bad guy
s
and leave bodies on every street corner, my partner and I had t
o
face hours of both questioning and paperwork after this incident. Since we had both discharged our weapons, they had to be checked out, too.
“Finally, it was 6:00 A.M. and we were almost finished with the paperwork. Although the entire incident in the street lasted for only about an hour, the paperwork stretched out afterwards for almost six hours.
“The boss on the desk that night was Lt. Fontaine. He walke
d
into the back room just as I was finishing up,” Lt. A. explained.
“Where’s Sergeant Murphy,” asked the desk officer.
“He went up to his locker to get some cigarettes,” I answered.
“Well, when he comes down, please tell him that he needs to amend his U.F. 49. That young black kid succumbed to his wounds a little while ago at the hospital,” Lieutenant Fontaine said sadly.
“Charlie, I was totally dumbfounded. I didn’t expect that kid to die. Suddenly
I
wanted to know anything at all about him,” Lt. A. said quietly.
“He was only eighteen years old and his name was Devon Alston and, according to all accounts, he was a good kid. The squad doesn’t have any previous record on him and he had no rap sheets. According to some of his neighbors, the young man was scheduled to take the next police officer exam in January. It’s
a
fucking shame. You know, with Christmas and all that,” said Lt. Fontaine.
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that I felt like shit, Charlie. I had tried to reassure the kid that night so long ago that he woul
d
be okay. This was when I realized again why I hate fucking holidays,” Lt. A. said.
I went up to my locker and changed, trying not to think of the kid who had probably gotten killed in an attempt to save my life. All I coul
d
think of was going home to my wife and kids. I said a silent prayer an
d
went out to my car for the drive home.
I called my wife and told her I would be a littl
e
later than usual but didn’t tell her what had transpired. I figured it woul
d
make the local paper and then I would explain to her what really happened
.
I didn’t want to spoil her day and make her worry needlessly. Cops’ wive
s
worry enough just by reading the paper and listening to lies and hal
f
-
truths that are printed by rag newspapers. I knew she would keep the kids on the 2
nd
floor landing of our hous
e
until I got home because she knew how much I wanted to see them ru
n
down those stairs. I didn’t want to miss those gleaming smiles on their faces as thei
r
eyes widened with wonderment when they saw all the brightly covered presents Santa had left for them.
When I walked in the front door, I heard them on top of the landing.
“Hurry, Daddy, hurry!” my daughter squealed.
With a smile and a prayer of thanks, I told them to come down. My wife had the camera at the ready but I didn’t need any camera. I had just lived that scene a few hours earlier and now I was actually home. I wanted to take those kids into my arms and squeeze them forever, but I knew they were totally enveloped i
n
unwrapping those beautiful presents that old Saint Nick had left.
For a moment, my mind suddenly wandered and I thought about Devon Alston’
s
family. I wondered what they might be going through. I said another silen
t
prayer for them and thanked God for what I had as I wiped a tear from my face. My wife asked me if anything was wrong but I told her no, everything was just fine. I had made it home for another day.
Lt. A. looked at Charlie as a tear trickled down his face. “Now yo
u
know why I hate holidays,” he said quietly.
“I can see,” Charlie agreed.
They had been driving along Bay Street the entire time it took the lieutenant t
o
share his story about the sniper.
“You look tired, Charlie. Pull over and I’ll drive for a while.”
Charlie was used to sharing driving assignments with the boss. For all he knew, Lt. A. was the only boss in the entire borough who share
d
the driving.
They switched seats as well as their gear. As the lieutenant pulled away from the curb
,
he noticed Charlie’s head bobbing up and down. Although it was obvious he was fighting to stay awake, it appeared to be a losing battle.