Authors: Patrick Abbruzzi
He glared at the sergeant, who was still sitting at the table, then continued.
“So in five minutes I want those prisoners out of my cops’ back room. That’s a direct order. Do you understand, Sergeant?
”
asked Lt. A., his voice stern and unwavering.
“Yeah, Lou, but where do you want me to put them?
”
“Do you really want me to answer that question?” Lt. A. asked, his eyes blazing.
“I guess not, Lieutenant,” the sergeant answered in a defeated tone.
The sergeant finally understood that the lieutenant wanted the prisoners out of th
e
sitting room. At first he didn’t know where to bring them but he quickly made a wise decision and marched them up to the 120
th
squad detective’s office on th
e
second floor. It didn’t take him long to realize this was where he should have brought them in the first place.
Lt. A. glanced at Charlie and gave him a wink then walked out to the desk.
Charlie remembered that the lieutenant had been a cop in the 120
th
for seventeen years. The same thing had likely happened to him and his buddies a time or two in the past, but of course, in those days, no one did anything about it. That back room was the cop’s domain and those bulletin boards were used for more than just memos and orders about the job. They held personal papers containing dat
a
about cops selling cars and private information about houses for sale, including private phone numbers and addresses.
The men knew that Lt. A. did it for them because he loved them an
d
would stick up for them as long as they were in the right. He had prove
d
it to them time and time again.
The sergeant who led the prisoners upstairs wasn’t happy that Lt. A. usurped his authority so he called his boss, who was a Captain in the Waterfron
t
Commission squad.The Captain then called the Staten Island Duty Captain and mad
e
a bitch about Lieutenant Audenino.
The 12X8 duty captain that night was Captai
n
Joe Turvy from the 123
rd
Precinct, who had no balls. It was no surprise to anyone that Lt. A. knew just how to handle him.
Captain
Turvy called the 120
th
and had the desk sergeant direct Lt. A. to return to the station house with instructio
n
to call the 123
rd
immediately, which Lt. A. did. Once there, he used the desk phone to call Captain Turvy. As soon as Turvyanswered the phone he began screaming at Lt. A. and demanded to know why Lt. A. had kicked th
e
sergeant out of the back room.
“Captain
Turvy, why is it no one in your command answers the phone?
”
asked Lt. A.
“What are you talking about?
”
“I tried calling your command because I needed you to respond her
e
immediately. You’re the Duty Captain, are you not? I wanted to write u
p
a sergeant for allowing loose prisoners to walk all over my station house and I couldn’t reach you for shit,” bellowed the lieutenant.
The Captain knew that if he had responded when Lt. A. called, he would be writing all night. He also knew that Lt. A. was right and had the sergeant by the balls.
“Calm down,
Lieutenant. I’ll call the Captain at the Waterfront Commission squad and straighten it all out,” said Turvy.
“Straighten what out? That asshole sergeant had prisoners walking all over m
y
station house! What are you going to do about it, Captain?
”
demanded Lt. A.
“I said that I’ll take care of it and I will,”
Turvy replied angrily.
“Look, I’m going out on patrol and I don’t want to be bothered agai
n
tonight by that fucking sergeant or I’ll ream out his asshole.”
“I agree with you,”
said Turvy, “and I’ll take care of it.”
Lt. A. loved to use revers
e
psychology on his bosses, especially the ones who were lazy and afraid to write. Turvywould call the sergeant back and convinc
e
him that the lieutenant was crazy enough to start a war, then he would suggest they should leave well enough alone. It meant, of course, that captain Turvycoul
d
return to the farm land of the 123
rd
Precinct and hole up in his office for the night. Then he would wait until the tour was over, hoping and praying al
l
night that at the end of his shift he could write in his memo book
,
‘nothing to report.’
Twenty-Five
Charlie and his boss got their coffee while out on patrol. The men out ther
e
had known what the lieutenant had done for them and every one of them approached him at some point during the night and offered thanks.
Charlie, wanting to keep Lt. A. abreast of what had been happening in hi
s
life, decided now was a good time to talk about it.
“Lou, do you remember what we talked about the last time w
e
worked together?”
“Yeah, I do. How’s it going, Charlie?” asked the boss.
“Well, I went to see Terry because she called me during the tour. I knew I had to see her in person rather than try to take care of it over th
e
phone. She was falling apart and talking crazy for a while. I told her I had been honest with her but that didn’t go over too well. I also told her I had decided I was going to work on saving my marriage and would call her once in a while just to see how she was doing,” explaine
d
Charlie.
“Just call, Charlie?” asked the lieutenant.
“Well, I told her I would not lie or steal time from Annette but if I could, I would come over for coffee.”
“That’s where you have to be careful,” Lt. A. replied with an understanding nod. “Terry doesn’t want to lose you and she’s bought time to figure out how to keep you. I don’t think she realizes that, by using her female wiles to keep you, she is really turning you off and will lose you. She might just try to lure yo
u
back into her bed. She may be even talking to friends who might sugges
t
devious ways to hold onto you even though she herself may not be devious.
”
“Lou, I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t even know if my wife is going to stick it out with me or what. Now I have a possible female psycho on my hands who is very likely capabl
e
of turning my life as well as my career upside down,” said Charlie.
“Well, I really feel that you should try to place time and distanc
e
between you and your friend. Don’t call her even if you have time ever
y
day. Try to call at little as possible. Maybe she’ll get the message,” said the lieutenant hopefully.
“I’ll try that, Lou. Thanks again for the advice.”
They were finishing their coffee when yet another radio car pulled up an
d
men from the sector team thanked the lieutenant for keeping their sittin
g
room a sacred and hallowed ground for cops only.
“What the hell did you do, Charlie? Did you broadcast it over the air, too?
”
“Lieutenant, you’re the only one who ever sticks up for us. You did th
e
right thing and yet that sergeant had to make a phone call to his boss. Why? Because his fucking pride was hurt? Well, too fucking bad. You’re always doing shit like that for us and we want you to know that we see it and appreciate it,” Charlie said, his tone serious.
The lieutenant merely looked at him and nodded. After a moment, Lt. A. lit up
a
cigarette and cleared his throat and Charlie realized he had touched a sensitive spot deep within the lieutenant somewhere. He decided to ask the boss to tell one of his stories but wanted to hear something different, maybe upbeat.
“Lou, how about a funny story? You must have a lot of them, right?
”
The lieutenant laughed.
“How did you know I was in the mood for a funny story?”
Charlie shrugged and the lieutenant smiled.
“Some stories are funny even though they may have pain interwoven in them. Wha
t
can make a sad story funny is the outcome.
“You know, Charlie, all polic
e
departments have what we refer to as steady customers. We’ve all seen westerns where the sheriff walks into the jail in the morning and goe
s
back to his cells and releases the town drunk who had been sleeping on
e
off over night. We all respond to the same locations over and over an
d
lock up repeat offenders. We all know that the majority of them are drunks and wife beaters,” said Lt. A.
“The 120
th
has certainly had its share of steady customers, but there was one who must have had a guardian angel over his shoulder.”
And with that, he began his story.
Joe Grayson, a superintendent of a high-rise complex in sector Eddie, was a quiet, timid man when he was sober. The complex was in a middle class neighborhood and balanced both racially and ethnically. Police were not often called there for problems unless they concerne
d
Joe.
As the super of the complex, Joe, or Joey, as we affectionately called him, lived rent-free in addition to receiving a small stipend every month. He could have done his drinking at home or even in the bars of middle class neighborhoods, but h
e
chose the skel bars and dives of Saint George and Tompkinsville. Although he was only thirty-three years old with a full head of beautiful, jet black hair, he was a full-fledged alcoholic already.
The cops of the 120
th
would literally be picking him off the floo
r
of various bars whenever he went on a binge. For some reason, he loved th
e
bar in the Ferry terminal and would get kicked out by their bouncers almost every Friday and Saturday night.
I had him on more than one occasion. Most of the time Frank an
d
I would just drive him to his apartment building and deposit him at hi
s
door. Somehow he always managed to retrieve his key and gain entry.
For some mysterious reason, he called all of us Willie. He also had
a
habit of throwing money at us. He would dig deep into his pockets an
d
just throw all of his change at us. All the while he would be laughin
g
like a crazed hyena.
There was one particular winter night I won’t ever forget, though. It was the day we all thought he had crossed the line and wouldn’t make it home alive.
I was working solo in a one-man car du
e
to manpower shortages, and I had been assigned to sector G-George which covered Saint George and a small part of Tompkinsville. It was a bad night. It was snowing and freezing cold out.
There was about 5" of snow on the ground and it was still snowing. Traffic was light and for once the Department of Sanitation was out earl
y
in full force with salt spreaders and plows. The weatherman had predicted a warm spell to hit the Tri-State area in a few days, so we knew it would clear up soon. It was a 12X8 tour, closing on 4:00 A.M., and I was about to go o
n
meal. That’s when I was called by Central for an assignment.
“120 George,” called the dispatcher.
“120 George, standing by,” I replied.
“120 George, respond to the Stork’s Nest Bar and Grill at Bay Street an
d
Victory Boulevard on a report of a broken window,” directed Central.
I didn’t know if the broken window was a result of a burglary or a
n
accident.
“120 Sergeant 1 to Central,” said Sergeant Charlie
Helmes. He was the patrol supervisor who was also riding solo and decided to back me up.
“Proceed, Sergeant 1,” said the dispatcher.
“This unit will back up sector George on that possible burglary, Central,” said Sergeant Helmes.
I arrived at the same time as Sergeant
Helmes. He was a good boss and wasn’t afraid of paperwork, either.