Hero cop’s son among 1,100 new recruits
Al-Haq scanned the article. It detailed the graduation ceremony at Madison Square Garden for the NYPD’s Police Academy class. Much of the article focused on the reduction of crime, and how and where the Police Commissioner would deploy the new recruits. There was one paragraph, however, that was dedicated to twenty-seven year old Timothy Keegan. Keegan’s father, James Keegan, was a hero cop who had been assassinated by Middle-Eastern terrorists back in 1995. The assassination was in retaliation for breaking a case against them in which they had plotted to bomb the Brooklyn Federal Courthouse. The anger built up inside al-Haq.
I would have been a martyr and living with Allah and my son, if Keegan had not interfered.
The article further went on to say that Timothy Keegan will be assigned to Brooklyn’s 67th Precinct—the same precinct where his father had begun his career. Timothy Keegan would also be wearing the same shield number that his father wore before being promoted to detective.
Al-Haq stood up; his anger consuming him. He paced the floor of his tiny residence, finally settling down at a small table in the kitchen area. He opened the laptop which had been given to him by the Imam—his Al-Qaeda contact here in the states. He was told to make sure that any messages were encoded, but there was nothing in the email that he was about to send that would be of any significance to the Jihad. Al-Haq first went to the newspapers website and copied the article and photo of Timothy Keegan. He opened his email and pasted the link after selecting Murad Zein as the recipient. In the subject line, he simply typed ‘My Ghost.’ In the body of the email, he wrote, ‘This is the son of the man I was telling you about.’
Al-Haq stood up after sending the email and walked over to the window, lifting the blind. The rain, dancing on the pavement just outside the window, had a calming effect on him. He stared blankly as he thought back to the day when he was arrested by Lieutenant James Keegan two decades earlier. According to all of the reports, it was Keegan who singlehandedly broke the case. Al-Haq had a genuine hatred for the man. Keegan’s actions had brought a tremendous amount of shame on al-Haq and his family, not to mention a significant amount of jail time. Al-Haq grabbed the newspaper and sat down on his mattress with it.
Al-Haq had done a great deal of reading while in prison. He read about many different cultures and criminal enterprises. He was particularly fond of the way Columbian drug lords dealt with their enemies. Not only did they kill their enemy, but they also killed their enemy’s children, for fear they could one day retaliate. He looked back at the photos in the paper; Police Officer Timothy Keegan on the left and his father, Lieutenant James Keegan on the right. He stared deep into the eyes of the younger Keegan. He studied his face, memorizing his features.
As Nazeem al-Haq laid his head down the pillow of his roach infested dwelling, he had only one thing on his mind; revenge.
*
Tommy Galvin walked into Brooklyn’s Sixty-Seventh Precinct for the first time. It wasn’t much different from any other station house he’d been inside of during his ten years with the NYPD. The construction was similar to many; a two story, faded red bricked building, green lanterns on either side of the front entrance; the words CITY OF NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT in big block letters above the main entrance. Inside, were the familiar dull yellowed tiled walls, filthy floors, and an assortment of people waiting in the reception area to make police reports on any assortment of crimes that one could possibly imagine. Through the doors, separating the reception area from the main part of the precinct was the desk.
The desk was the operation center of every precinct. Whoever sat in the chair behind the desk was in charge of the day to day operations of the command for the tour. Newly promoted Sergeant’s were usually apprehensive to be assigned as the desk officer when they first get promoted. Having such a major responsibility before you had a solid grasp of your new duties was a less than enviable position; yet it was something all supervisors had to learn. Sometimes, a senior Sergeant or Lieutenant would be with them their first time to guide them; other times they were simply on their own.
The desk, itself, was a highly polished wooden structure, standing close to five feet tall. There was a large silver metal bar serving as a barrier, about a foot in front of it; allowing for some distance from the desk and anyone who stood before it. On either side of the desk, a smaller area with a single officer manning each side. To the left was the telephone switchboard operator. Galvin hated when he was a rookie cop assigned to T/S duty, they were probably some of the most boring days of his career. On the opposite end was the SP9 operator—the officer who manned the precinct computers for the tour.
While there wasn’t very much different about this precinct from any other, what was different for Tommy Galvin was that he was now a Sergeant; a supervisor in the NYPD. The Sixty-Seventh Precinct was his new home. Galvin reached into his back pocket, removing his identification and offering it to the lieutenant currently serving as the Desk Officer. Galvin walked up the few stairs, which made the desk seem even more ominous to those standing on the other side of it. Galvin introduced himself to the lieutenant as he signed in—Sgt. Galvin present for duty—in the Command Log.
Galvin set his gear and uniforms down on the desk as he offered his hand. Galvin read the lieutenant’s nameplate as he did. Lieutenant Shea—I guess he’s Irish, thought Galvin. Shea accepted his hand, returning a less than sincere handshake, Galvin felt. Galvin studied the man; he must have been in his late fifties with a round ruddy face and a full head of white hair. His blue eyes seemed more icy than friendly. Shea’s white uniformed shirt was faded and in bad need of pressing. Galvin had dealt with some of the old time bosses on the job over the years. They were the type that made you earn their respect; you didn’t get it for passing a test.
“So, you’re Sergeant Galvin, huh?”
“I am, Lieu. I’m looking forward to working here. I’ve heard you’ve got a great bunch of cops working in this command.”
Shea ignored Galvin’s attempt at small talk. “The boss did a late tour last night, but he said that he wanted to speak to you before he leaves for the day. I suggest that you get suited up right away and go to his office. He gets off in twenty minutes…don’t make him wait.”
“Of course, Lieu; where can I find the Sergeant’s locker room?”
Tommy Galvin stared at his reflection in the mirror of the locker room. He liked the way that he looked in uniform; especially now with the Sergeant’s chevrons sewed onto his sleeves. He put a brush through his thick head of black hair and inched closer to the mirror, noticing the redness around his neck from where he had shaved a bit too closely this morning. He looked deep into his own blue eyes and decided he was now ready to meet his new boss. He’d heard good things about Inspector Enton and hoped they were true.
Galvin read the name plate on the door before knocking;
Commanding Officer
Inspector James Enton
“Come in,” answered a voice on the other side of the door.
Galvin took a deep breath; a bit nervous to meet his new commanding officer. He opened the door as Inspector Enton raised to meet him. Enton had already changed out of his uniform and instead wore a light brown suit with a pale blue shirt opened at the collar. From Galvin’s best estimations, Enton would only be about five or six years older than Galvin’s own age of thirty-three. He was a dark skinned male with a charismatic smile, accented by a small mole above his lip. He had a tight haircut and a firm handshake. “Please, Tommy, have a seat.”
Galvin pulled up a blue fabric chair from in front Enton’s desk and sat. Galvin noticed the desk was covered with papers strewn about; in the corner was a large blue binder labeled COMPSTAT. Also on the desk, were photographs of Enton, with who was more than likely his family—a wife and two daughters. Enton stepped from around his desk, walking over to a coffee machine set up on a desk on the far wall next to a set of black filing cabinets. “Can I get you a cup of c
offee, Tommy?”
“No thank you, Inspector.”
Galvin examined the documents on the wall as he waited for Enton to return to his desk. He learned that Enton had graduated with a Masters Degree in Criminal Justice from John Jay College as well as having taken the highly selective FBI training course in Quantico, Virginia.
His credentials are certainly impressive, Galvin thought to himself.
Enton poured himself a cup of coffee as he stared out of the window onto Snyder Avenue. “I probably shouldn’t be having this right now; I’ll never be able to fall asleep when I get home,” Enton commented. He returned to his desk, pushing the papers aside to make room for his coffee. “I take it that you met Lieutenant Shea already?”
Not wanting to be anything other than polite, “Yeah, he seems pretty nice.”
To that, Enton let out a laugh. “Yeah, he’s all unicorns and rainbows that guy,” he mocked. “He’s really not a bad guy once he gets to know you, but he sure is an old timer, tough son of a bitch; the last of the dying breed of the old Irish desk officers.”
Galvin just smiled and nodded; careful not to say anything that could be taken the wrong way.
“Tommy, I wanted to make sure that I spoke to you before I went home today for a few reasons. First and foremost, I wanted to welcome you to the command. I also wanted to let you know that I’ve heard a lot of good things about you. Your reputation speaks for itself.”
Enton pointed to the medals worn over Galvin’s shield. “Anyone who has as much departmental recognition as you do has to be doing something right.”
Galvin didn’t say a word, but in his mind he agreed with Enton. Galvin had been awarded over eighty medals for heroism and bravery in the line of duty over his ten years in the department—that was more medals, by far, than any other officer he had known. As a matter of fact, Galvin’s display of medals had earned him the nickname of ‘the rack’ in his former command. “Thank you, Inspector.”
Enton took a sip from his coffee before he began. “I have high expectations of you here, Tommy. Were you aware that Lieutenant Thompson and I were on the same narcotics team some years back? The Lieutenant speaks very highly of you. He says that you’re one of the best investigators that he’s ever had the privileged to supervise.”
Galvin was in fact aware that his former commanding officer from the 113 Detective Squad knew his current one. Lieutenant Thompson had promised to make a phone call on Galvin’s behalf and apparently he had kept his word. “Yes sir. You should know that Lieutenant Thompson had nothing but good things to say about you as well. He was happy for me when he learned that I was coming to the Six-Seven upon promotion. He said that I could learn a lot about being a supervisor from watching how you run the precinct.”
“That’s nice to hear, Tommy.” Enton took another sip of his coffee before getting to the heart of the matter. “Here’s what I really wanted to ask of you, Tommy. I’m sure that you’re aware that an Academy class just graduated.” Before Galvin would have a chance to respond, Enton continued. “I’d like for you to be the Field Training Sergeant.”
Galvin felt a bit deflated. In honesty, he had no desire to train rookies. He was hoping to learn the ropes of being a supervisor and then get himself into a precinct detail, such as an arrest oriented unit like Anti-Crime. Galvin did his best to mask his disappointment. “Sure, boss, anything you like.” Galvin quickly realized he may not have sold his answer as well as he thought he had.
“It’s not forever, Tommy. The way the job is today, and with all of the controversy surrounding stop and frisk in the papers every day, I need a strong leader to teach the young officers the right way to do things. Forget the Police Academy; cops are molded by the first training officer they encounter. A lazy or incompetent training officer will produce lazy and incompetent cops—a skilled and active training officer will produce active cops who want to learn the correct way to do the job.”
Galvin nodded his head. “I agree with that one hundred percent, Inspector.”
“Give me a few months training the rookies, and I promise you that we’ll find a more suitable position for you. The current Anti-Crime Sergeant is only fifty names away from being promoted to Lieutenant. There’s a real good chance that his spot will open up around the same time that the rookies graduate from field training and are put into squads.”
Galvin could feel his eyes light up. Training the rookies for six months would be a welcomed trade off to get a coveted spot such as an Anti-Crime Sergeant, especially so soon after being promoted. “I’d appreciate the opportunity, Inspector. Whatever you need me to do.”
Enton offered Galvin a smile. “Thank you, Tommy. Look on the bright side, if you’re the training Sergeant that’ll mean you won’t be stuck on the desk for the next six months.”
Galvin returned Enton’s smile with one of his own as he measured what Enton had said. If he were to be the Field Training Sergeant, and then right into Anti Crime afterwards, maybe he’d be able to avoid having to be the desk officer for quite some time—given the reputation of how hard learning the desk was for a rookie sergeant, this might not be so bad after all. “I didn’t even think of that boss, but I’m not afraid of the desk,” Galvin lied. “How bad could it be?”
Enton replied with a playful laugh. “Well, if you decide to decline the training officer position, I have a feeling you’ll find out first hand, rather quickly.”
Galvin had enough time in the NYPD and enough common sense to know that while Inspector Enton made it seem like he was giving Galvin a choice, in reality, Enton was just being polite. The position was Galvin’s whether he wanted it or not, so he might as well just play along. “Inspector, I’m looking forward to the challenge of training the rookies. I won’t disappoint you.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Tommy. You’ll be working the fourth platoon with them; six in the evening until two am every night. Your RDOs will be Tuesdays and Wednesdays. The rookies are at Borough Orientation this week so you’ll start with them next week.”
“Sounds good boss,” although it really didn’t to Galvin. Having Tuesdays and Wednesdays as his Regular Days Off was less than desirable and working until two in the morning—especially on weekends—would not allow for much of a social life. Still, it was only temporary Galvin was quick to remind himself.
Enton took a final drink from his coffee and stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. He once again reached out to shake Galvin’s hand. “Thanks, Tommy. Go and see the Administrative Lieutenant and have him put you in the correct chart. I’m going to go home and try to get some sleep. I have to be back in for a four to twelve tonight.”
“Safe home, boss, and thanks again.”
Galvin walked with Enton back to the desk where Enton would sign out for the day. Lieutenant Shea, seeing his Commanding Officer approach, stood up. He closed a couple of logs which had been lying on top of the command log and relocated a few department memos to make room for the Inspector. He then offered Enton a pen, which was accepted.
“Thank you, Bill.”
After signing out, Enton set the pen down in the crease of the command log. Lieutenant Shea said goodbye to Enton with the slightest bit of an Irish brogue. Then Enton turned back to Galvin. “One more thing, Tommy; like I said, your reputation precedes you. Since you’re technically assigned to orientation for the next couple of days, you really aren’t counted against the man power figures. I want you to take this opportunity to familiarize yourself with the local crime patterns, read through the unusual occurrence reports, and go and introduce yourself to the detective squad bosses. I know you’ll be a huge asset to this command in fighting crime.”
“I’ll start right away, Inspector. Thanks again.”
Enton walked out of the back door towards the parking lot as Galvin headed towards the staircase to go up to the precinct detective squad just as his boss had directed him to do. It sounded like a good plan to Galvin. He was confident in his abilities as a police officer. There
was no doubt in Galvin’s mind that he could effectively help fight crime in his new precinct just as he had done in his previous command in Queens, and he looked forward to proving it.
Galvin hadn’t gotten more than a few feet from the desk when he heard the Irish brogue call out to him. “Sergeant, where is it that you think you’re going?” asked Shea.
“The detective squad?” offered Galvin in response. Shea had been standing right next to them when the inspector had directed him to do so.
Was I suppose to ask his permission when the C.O. gave me a directive? Galvin wondered.
“I’m afraid not, Sergeant.” Shea’s face grew slightly redder. “You can go and play cops and robbers on your meal hour if you like. I’m going into the Lieutenant’s locker room to catch up on some paper work. You’ve got the desk for the rest of the day. I’ll relieve you for meal at about noon.” Shea turned his back and began to walk towards the locker room. About halfway to the locker room, he turned back around and added. “And Sergeant, make sure you don’t bother me for anything short of a cop involved shooting or a plane crash…is that understood?”
Galvin smiled and nodded, “Understood, Lieu.”
Shea walked away leaving Galvin with a hundred questions and no answers. Galvin sat down for the first time behind the desk at the Sixty-Seventh Precinct in Brooklyn. He sat at the helm of one of the busiest precincts in the city with nothing more than classroom training to guide him. He looked at the command log, reading through the prior entries. There were nearly a dozen logs scattered about, memos from the commanding officer, the executive officer, the administrative lieutenant, and lists upon lists of phone numbers. Galvin was a bit frazzled, but couldn’t overlook the irony of the situation, forcing a chuckle to himself.
So much for not having the desk until I know what I’m doing.
The phone then rang for the first time since Galvin sat at the helm. Galvin started at it momentarily before picking it up. “Six-Seven Desk, Sergeant Galvin speaking; how can I help you?”
Legacy and Redemption Page 2
