Authors: Patrick Abbruzzi
Tony caught his breath as his eyes flashed at the man in the front seat. “You know as well as I do, Frankie, that some o
f
those guys in there are three time losers. As in, they’ve got to do heavy tim
e
if they get busted on weapons possession.”
Frankie was all ears.
“So, like I said, the fucking kid drops some shit on the floor. When he bent down to pick it up, the bartender cold cocks him in the head wit
h
a fucking jack that he had hidden somewhere behind the bar,” Tony explained.
They both knew that this was for information only. Tony could no
t
break his cover and Frankie couldn’t use him as a witness in court. As far as Frankie was concerned, the young cop inside bleeding on the floor was stupid and overzealous but was acting like a cop and was no
t
intent to shaking anyone down for money.
“Drive me around the block, Frankie. I’ll get a cab and lay low for a while. Somebody will take care of my wheels for me. It’s parked on the side. It’s a Harley with black saddle bags. I’ll get my C.O. to creat
e
an arrest number with my cover name on it to be generated in the 120
th
,” said Tony.
Frankie dropped him off at a phone booth several blocks away and drove back to the bar. He rapped on the front door with his nightstick an
d
Willie let him in.
“Where the hell have you been?
”
asked Willie.
“Tell you later, partner,” Frankie responded.
While Frankie had been en route back to the bar he put in a second call for an ambulance without letting the dispatcher know that the victim was a cop.
Now knowing what had happened, he approached the bartender.
“Tell me what the fuck happened and tell me now, scumbag,” he demanded with outrage. “If you don’t, I’m going to find out anyway.
”
Frankie was hoping for some kind of admissive statement from the pimpl
y
-
faced bartender, who was an ex-convict with arms that bore th
e
unmistaken signs of tattoos indicating membership in the Aryan brother
-
hood. He even had the word ‘evil’ tattooed across his knuckles.
Frankie had no doubt that if the young cop ever regained consciousness, he wouldn’t be able to identify his assailant because he was struck whil
e
he was facing downwards. He also knew he would not and could not blow Tony Calandritto’scover under any circumstances. It looked as i
f
this was going to remain an open case with everybody beating the rap.
“So tell me now,” said Frankie.
“Eat this,” the bartender said, grabbing his crotch.
“When I find out, and I will, I’m coming back for you, mother fucker,” said Frankie with a growl.
The bartender knew no one would be able to identify him and none of the patrons would rat on him, so he continued running off his mouth. Frankie wanted to take his own jack and smash the guy’s teeth in but h
e
heard the sirens of the approaching ambulance and was more concerned now in taking care of his young cop.
Willie unlocked the door when the paramedic team pulled up. It was EMS # 27 out of Saint Vincent’s Hospital. One EMT immediately bent down and began checking the kid’s vita
l
signs.
“Looks as if he’s stable enough for transport,” said the older of the two paramedics.
Vic, the younger EMT, had been a paramedic for seven years, all with Saint Vincent’s, so he knew all of the men assigned to the 120
th
. He quickly snapped open an ammonia amulet beneath the kid’s nose and amazingl
y
enough, the injured cop started to come out of it. He wasn’t speaking yet bu
t
he did seem to have some awareness regarding his surroundings. Vic and his partne
r
opened up the portable gurney they had brought in and together, wit
h
Frankie and Willie, the men hoisted the kid up onto the stretcher then wheeled him outside. After lifting him up into the rear of the ambulance they sped away with lights shining and sirens blaring to Saint Vincent’s Hospital.
Before Frankie and Willie left the bar, Frankie pointed hi
s
finger ominously at the bartender.
“You and I now have a date, scumbag,” he promised as he and his partner got into their radio car.
On the way to Saint Vincent’s emergency room, Frankie said, “Willie, get on the radio and have the patrol sergeant re-directed to the emergency room instead of going to the bar.
”
“Okay, Frankie.”
“We’ll just have to complete our paperwork there,” Frankie added.
Neither Frankie nor Willie had told anyone that their young victim was a cop but they knew they could trust Vic, who would only do what was medicall
y
necessary for the kid. He wasn’t a snoop and could be counted on 100%. They were also very careful not to put anything over the airwaves indicating that the victim was a police officer. News agencies always monitored police department frequencies looking fo
r
news. The longer they could keep the lid on the details, the better off it would be.
It was a two mile run to the hospital. The staff at Saint Vincent’s ha
d
a good relationship with the men of the 120
th
precinct, unlike Doctor’
s
Hospital over on Targee Street, which treated cops lower than whale shit.
The 120
th
precinct was a busy house and the emergency room at Saint Vincent’s was a reflection of the brutality that its population inflicted upon itself. The cops were even given their own little room where the
y
could complete paperwork out of view from visitors and outpatien
t
psychos. The hospital staff was glad that the cops were there and the cops were glad to be there for them.
Frankie stopped on the way and picked up two coffees for himself an
d
his partner as well as a dozen donuts for the ER crew. When they arrived, Sergeant Murphy was waiting for them.
Sergeant Murphy was one of the most highly decorated members of the police department. Before being promoted to sergeant, he had been
a
member of the infamous Stakeout Squad or SOS. The SOS was a team o
f
cops, sergeants and detectives who were all hand-picked for the assignment. They would be assigned to places of business which had been the target of numerous stick ups involving weapons. Their job was simply to hide in the rear of the establishment unde
r
cover and, on a pre-arranged signal, come out blasting.
Sergeant Murphy had been in that unit for almost four years and, in tha
t
short space of time, had been involved in seventeen separate shooting incident
s
with twelve of the perpetrators shot fatally.
When the ACLU finally came to New York City the unit was forced to disband. Afterward, robberies and deaths skyrocketed once again.
Sergeant Murphy’s chest was a virtual fruit salad. He had every medal that the department issued, from Excellent Police Duty right up to th
e
Department Medal of Honor which most men win posthumously. He had been a street cop and now he was a street sergeant. He did not work in
a
detail or the ivory tower of police headquarters.
“Charlie, he was my idol,” Lt. A. said with a smile. “I wanted to be like him and I wanted to sta
y
in the street.
”
Some bosses had to rely on their stripes or bars for the authority tha
t
they yielded, and some, but not most, relied on who they were and what the
y
stood for, like Sergeant Murphy. You could have asked him anything and he would have known how to handle it. He was a cop’s cop.
“You know how I drive at night when you seem a little tired? Well, the first time I saw any boss drive was right here in the 120
th
precinct. It was sergeant Murphy,” Lt. A. said quietly.
“What do you have, Frankie?
”
asked Murphy.
“
Sarge, we have an assault and robbery,” Frankie answered.
“Do you know who the victim is?
”
“Well, we know he’s a member of the P.C.C.I.U. and his gun is missing,” Frankie said with a frown.
“And no one saw or heard anything, right?
”
asked the Sergeant.
“You got it. Except there was an undercover in there with the Angels,” said Frankie.
“Shit. We can’t use him. You know that, right Frankie?
”
“Yeah, I understand,
Sarge.”
“I’ll notify operations by land line. I don’t want this going over th
e
air,” Sergeant Murphy said as he headed into the cop’s room to use the phone. Franki
e
used this time to explain to Willie what had gone down outside the bar.
The only thing they had to worry about now was the extent of the cop’s injuries and the location of the missing gun. Hopefully the co
p
would pull through without any permanent damage. His youth was on his side but his gun was another story. It would probably surfac
e
if it was used in another crime.
While waiting for the
Sargeto return, Frankie walked over to the registration desk to say hello to Julie, one of the receptionists who worked the 4X12. She was Hispani
c
and light-skinned to boot, divorced with a teenage daughter, and had a body to die for.
“Hi, Julie,” said Frankie.
“Hello, darling!”
Julie called everybody either darling or
hon, which was probably easier than trying to remember every cop’s name. A lot o
f
cops walked in and out of the ER and many of them tried to put the make on her. She seemed to be friendly with everyone and there wasn’t any scuttlebutt in the precinct about her. If someone had been lucky enough to get int
o
her panties, it would have surfaced by now.
“What happened,
hon?” she asked.
“It’s an assault and robbery,” Frankie answered. Although he didn’t lie, he didn’t volunteer anything either. Julie was good people and she would find out soon enough anyway.
One of the young interns, still dressed in his green scrubs, came out of one of the treatment rooms and called Frankie over.
“Officer, are you with our young head injury inside?
”
he asked.
“Yeah, Doc. How’s he doing?
”
“Well, he has a pretty bad concussion and I gave him eight stitches t
o
close his head wound, but he should be okay in a couple of weeks,” sai
d
the young doctor.
“Thank you. I appreciate all you’ve done,” said Franki
e
obligingly, glad the young cop was going to make it.
With that th
e
young doctor disappeared back into the treatment room. A moment later, when Sergeant Murphy came back from the police room, Frankie told him the good news.
“We both know you have to be hung like a horse to get int
o
the P.C.C.I.U., right Frankie?” Murphy asked.
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“This kid must be the fucking Mayor’s son then,” said Murphy.
“What do you mean,
Sarge?
”
asked Frankie.
“I called operations to let them know what we have over here and they pu
t
me on hold for almost ten fucking minutes. When they got back to me, there’s a fucking deputy inspector on the other end who orders me not t
o
even make out a fucking aided card on the fucking kid. No aided case, n
o
fucking UF 61, no detectives. No nothing,” Murphy replied, disgusted as al
l
hell.
“What about the fucking gun? If someone uses it in a crime they’ll trac
e
it back to him and then what?
”
Frankie asked, his voice filled with disbelief.
“I brought that up. They said they would worry about it later.”