In the final few feet, when Keegan was close enough and no shot had yet been fired, Keegan grabbed for the gun with both hands and drove his shoulder into the man’s midsection. The two men tumbled backwards to the ground with Keegan landing on top.
*
The force of the impact against the ground had knocked the wind from Jamal Walters. The fucking safety; I forget to take the safety off the gun, a frustrated Walters realized.
Still, he knew that the fight was not over. The impact with the ground had caused the gun to spring free from his hands, but it only fell about two feet away. Walters focused on nothing but the gun as he spun around from under the weight of the cop and grabbed it with his right hand.
The cop once again grabbed with both hands at Walters’ gun hand. Walters did his best to fend the cop off with his free hand, his knees, and his feet. Walters was then able to gain better control of the gun and slid the safety to the off position with his thumb. Walters now had a firm grip on the gun and had been managing to do a decent job of keeping the cop at bay. He placed his finger on the trigger, waiting for the opportunity to shoot the cop. Every time that he managed to twist his arm and slip away, even for a second, the cop once again grabbed him.
*
Keegan knew that the man was no longer trying to get away, but rather trying to end his life. He could hear the sirens, as well as Andre Thomas running up to help, but he knew that he still had to keep the man’s gun hand from breaking free of his grasp. It wasn’t easy. The man was wiry, and the sweat on his arms made him slippery. The man had broken the grip twice, and Keegan buried his head to the opposite side of the man’s body until he was once again able to control his arm.
The third time that the man wiggled free was just as Andre Thomas reached the fight. Thomas kicked the man in the head just as the shot was fired.
*
Tommy Galvin’s mouth went instantly dry when he heard a single gunshot in the distance. He futilely drove the car up and down Linden Boulevard where Police Officer’s Timothy Galvin and Andre Thomas were assigned. There was no sign of either of them. Galvin realized that the two rookie officers in his backseat probably hadn’t even recognized the sound to be a gunshot. Galvin began frantically driving up and down the side streets, seeking his officers, who he now believed may be in a life and death situation.
*
Once the shot had been fired, Timothy Keegan and Andre Thomas managed to wrestle the gun away from the man, knocking it from his hands. Once disarmed, the man still squirmed and resisted arrest, but was no match for the younger and more physically fit officers. He was quickly overpowered and placed under arrest. With the man now in handcuffs, Keegan looked over to his partner. “You okay, Andre?” through shallow breath.
“Yeah, I’m good; you?”
Keegan nodded as he caught his breath. “Never better.”
Keegan looked at the handgun on the sidewalk then at the bullet hole on the Honda minivan parked on the corner behind him. Keegan realized that it had been a close call…too close. Still, he was proud of himself. He felt that his father must have been there looking over him.
Keegan and Thomas stood the prisoner up so that they could search him better and make sure that he had no other weapons on him, just like they were taught in the police academy. Keegan could hear his Police Science instructor’s voice in his head; ‘Don’t stop searching after you find a gun—there may be a second one as well.’
The man was now compliant in every manner. As Keegan was searching him, the man looked Keegan in the eyes. They were sad; his spirit clearly broken. “Officer, why couldn’t you have just killed me?”
Keegan ignored the comment. The man may have been depressed for having been caught, but Keegan was elated. He had just effected his first, of what he knew in his heart, would be many arrests throughout his career. He was proud of himself and knew that his father would have been as well. Keegan picked up his portable radio. “Six-Seven Training Post Eight to central; be advised I have one under. Can you have the training sergeant respond?”
It was then where Keegan’s pride morphed into embarrassment. “Where the fuck are you!?” was screamed into the radio.
He knew it wasn’t his sergeant’s voice; it was one of the sector cars who had been desperately trying to find them since he broadcast the foot pursuit. Keegan had been so careful to broadcast a good description that he forgot something even more important—to let the units in the field know your location when you’re in trouble. It was a lesson that Keegan was sure to never forget.
Chapter 4
Timothy Keegan parked his car in front of a parking meter along Jericho Turnpike in the New Hyde Park section of Long Island. As it was after ten pm, there was no need to worry about coins for the meter. He grabbed his jacket from the seat next to him as he got out of the car. It was a rather cool night; cooler than normal for early October, believed Keegan.
Keegan jogged across the busy road, thinking back to his childhood and how often he’d been in this very neighborhood before his grandmother had passed away almost fifteen years ago now. Keegan had spent every Sunday at his grandmother’s house, which was less than half a mile from where he stood right now. He could remember walking along the store fronts with his family in the spring time and playing football with his father and older brother in his grandmother’s backyard in the fall.
This would’ve been perfect football weather, he thought as he zipped up his jacket.
Keegan opened up the door to the Irish pub and walked inside. He sought out any members of his squad, wondering if he’d been the first to arrive. Although Keegan had never been to this particular bar, it wasn’t unlike any other he’d been in before.
It was dimly lit with a long dark wooden bar with a couple of dozen matching bar stools in the front. The dining room was separated from the bar by a five foot tall partition; a dark brown wood on the bottom and stained glass for the top two feet. The walls were decorated with Irish flags, assorted beer and alcohol advertisements, photos of the Irish countryside, and Irish street signs in both English and Gaelic.
“Over here, Tim!”
Keegan recognized the voice of Cathy Quinn immediately. She waved her arm at him from the far end of the bar. He saw her standing with three of the other cops in their squad. As he got closer, he decided Cathy looked really good tonight—probably better than he had ever seen her before. She wore black skinny jeans which hugged her shapely form nicely and a light green button down shirt; the top three buttons undone, revealing a white halter top underneath. Her shoulder length red hair had a bounce to it that Keegan had never seen before as it was always restricted to a tight bun at work. And then there were her eyes—Keegan was sure there was a sparkle in her green eyes as he got close enough to see them.
Keegan felt there was a strong attraction between the two of them, but neither had yet to act on it beyond some harmless flirting. Maybe things would change; at least Keegan hoped they would. This would be the first time they would be together—albeit with their entire squad—in a social setting outside of work.
Friday nights were near impossible to get off for the rookies without a real good reason, but this Friday was different. Earlier in the day, Timothy Keegan had been awarded a ‘Cop of the Month’ award for his arrest almost two months earlier. While it was the first arrest of Keegan’s career, to many cops it would have been the best collar of their career. The arrest closed out a violent robbery pattern in which the perpetrator had shot one person and during the arrest had even attempted to shoot Keegan.
It had been such a noteworthy arrest that the precinct commanding officer, Inspector James Enton, decided—with a bit of persuasion from their training sergeant—that it would be a good opportunity to allow the entire team of rookies to attend the Cop of the Month luncheon. Galvin had made his pitch to Enton that allowing the rookies to see how well the cops are received from the community in which they serve would be an invaluable lesson for them.
Keegan met
the others at the far end of the bar. He leaned in giving Cathy Quinn a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, taking in her perfume as he did. He then shook hands with Andre Thomas, his partner during the arrest which he’d been honored for, and the other cops who were standing there.
No sooner did Keegan say his hellos than did Andre Thomas point at the front door. “Sarge is here!”
The rest of the group turned to welcome Tommy Galvin as he made his way to the end of the bar. Galvin hung his navy blue, 113 Precinct Alumni jacket on the back of a bar stool as they waited for the rest of the team to arrive. The group of off duty cops talked amongst themselves over the next twenty minutes until the entire squad was present.
Once they were, Galvin reached into the pocket of his blue jeans producing a small roll of cash. He smiled as he began, “It may’ve taken us nearly two months to get together on a Friday night outside of work, but here we are. And as promised, I would like to present one hundred and twenty dollars to the winner of our little bet.”
Timothy Keegan could do no more than smile and shake his head. He looked at Cathy Quinn; she began to turn red from embarrassment. Her smile, however, was electric, felt Keegan. Galvin handed the roll of money over to Quinn as he continued, “Cathy, congratulations on having the first collar in our squad…only fifteen minutes before Tim made his first collar.”
Cathy Quinn offered a curtsey, laughing as she did. “Thank you, Sarge. And thank all of you as well. I guess the first round of drinks is on me.”
Keegan put up a joking protest. “Sure, a family court order of protection collar beats attempted murder of a police officer any day of the week. Not to mention the string of armed robberies that my collar closed out.”
“The rules said first collar, Keegan, not best collar, or first felony collar…just the first collar,” taunted Galvin in a good natured manner.
Cathy gave Keegan a playful slap on the chest and spoke through a bright smile. “You’re just jealous that I collared first.”
Keegan nodded. “Yeah, I kind of am,” replied Keegan, keeping up with the playfulness.
Cathy grabbed him by the arm and with a wink, “Come, take a walk to the bar with me and help me carry the round of drinks.”
*
It was shortly after ten-thirty when Louis Castillo walked into the front door of his Fresh Meadows home. As soon as he walked in, Castillo noticed that the kitchen light was on; a clear indication that Sharon had once again waited up for him.
Castillo removed his overcoat and hung it up in the foyer closet. He then removed his navy blue suit jacket and loosened his tie. He draped the jacket over the arm of his ivory sectional and headed for the kitchen. Sharon Castillo, cup of coffee in hand, looked up to meet him from her seat at the kitchen table. She wore black pajama pants and a pink bathrobe. “Hey love, how was your night?”
Castillo pulled out one of the light brown wooden chairs and took a seat at the matching kitchen table. “Long. I’m so tired and frustrated with this case,” he explained.
Sharon reached out and took his hands in hers. “I know you are love, but just think, less than three more months and you’re retiring. With Jessica in college, there’s nothing holding us here in New York. We can move down south where the weather will be better for your leg.”
Castillo agreed. “Yeah, a warm climate year round might not be such a bad thing,” he commented with a polite smile on his face.
“That’s only part of it though,” he continued. “Yeah, my leg seems to be getting worse, and I’m tired from all of the travel and overtime, but the truth is I’m worried sick about this case. I know it’s legit; I can feel it in my bones. The problem is that we have no facts to go on. All of the chatter seems to indicate that there’s a major terrorist plot in the works for the holidays, and we have no clue what it’s about.” He took a deep breath and let it escape through his flared nostrils before he continued. “Our best source of information was the prisoner in Germany; you know the one that was killed in prison over there a couple of weeks ago by another Muslim extremist. I told my bosses that if I kept going back to see him, it would raise flags with the other prisoners. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out if the same American cop is traveling to Germany to speak with the prisoner, he must have been cooperating.”
With his wife apparently sensing his frustration, Sharon stood up behind Castillo and began to rub his shoulders; gently at first, and then more firmly. Castillo tried to relax, permitting his wife’s hands to expel some of his stress. He rolled his head from side to side as her thumbs pressed into his back and shoulders; it felt good. After a couple of moments, Castillo reached up with his hands, grabbing hers. He turned around to face her. He looked up at her so their eyes met. “Sharon, this could be the biggest attack on our country since 9/11—it could even be bigger. I mean this threat is for real. I know it is. Just today, there was another American beheaded by ISIS. I don’t know whether it’s ISIS or Al Qaeda behind the threat, but in my heart, I know that it’s for real, and it has to be stopped.”
Sharon nodded sympathetically. “I know, Louie. There’s still time though. You’re not the only one working the case; the FBI, the CIA; somebody’s bound to uncover something along the way.”
“I pray that you’re right,” he said as he shook his head from side to side. Castillo took his glasses off, setting them on the table and began to rub his eyes.
Sharon grabbed her coffee mug and walked over to the kitchen counter. She opened one of the light ash wood cabinets and retrieved a second mug. Refilling her own mug first, and then the other, she handed her husband a cup of coffee and once again joined him at the table.
Castillo poured a small amount of milk into his cup and stirred it with a spoon. He stared at the whirlpool in his cup as he listened to his wife’s encouragement. “Focus on the positives. If this is true, then at least you know a few things. The attack will take place sometime during the holiday season. You also know that the attacks are supposed to take place in New York and California, and didn’t the prisoner tell you the last time that the other location was a major city in the mid-west?”
“Yeah, but c’mon Sharon, be realistic, that doesn’t really narrow it down too much. The holiday season is anywhere from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day, and the locations are not exactly pinpointed.”
Castillo, feeling very frustrated, put his glasses back on and took a sip of his coffee. He looked across the table to his wife of nearly twenty years. She reached out, once again taking his hands in hers. “I know how hard these last two months have been for you, Louie.”
Castillo looked his wife in the eyes. Her light brown eyes were as soft and welcoming today as the day he’d met her. In fact, aside from her once long brown hair now at a shoulder length, Castillo felt that his wife hadn’t changed a bit in over twenty-five years. He decided that he was a very lucky man; he had a wonderful, loving wife, and a great daughter who was in her first year at Case Western University. His home life was something to envy.
Castillo smiled; a sincere and caring smile. “I love you, Sharon. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“I love you too, Louie.”
Castillo took a sip of his coffee, having been lost momentarily in his wife’s eyes. He could feel his smile fade away as he once again thought back to what he was sure to be an attempted terrorist attack in the upcoming months. There had to be a way to find out what the plan was…but he had no idea how.
*
At almost three in the morning, the bar was down to just a handful of patrons; Timothy Keegan and Cathy Quinn were among them. With the last of their squad members having left almost a half hour earlier, they had gotten to know each other a little bit better. They sat alone in a quiet corner of the bar.
“You know, you really should have won that bet. I didn’t do anything except respond to a radio run. Sergeant Galvin was even the one to handcuff the guy.”
“No, Cathy, you won fair and square just like Sarge
said. We never said anything other than first collar.”
She smiled at him. “That maybe so but you must know how proud the entire squad was of your arrest.”
Keegan shook his head ever so slightly. “Proud? I’m not so sure anyone was exactly proud of it.”
“Yes they were,” Cathy was quick to defend her comment. “Did you hear what Inspector Enton said at the Cop of the Month luncheon? He said many cops go through their entire career without making a collar this noteworthy. I even overheard Enton and Sergeant Galvin talking about you.”
This piqued Keegan’s curiosity. “Really? What were they saying?”
“Sergeant Galvin was telling the Inspector how the first time the two of you met, that you were taking notes from the precinct crime center and studying the crime patterns. Sarge said that he’d never seen a rookie cop do that before, especially on his first day. And then to have that translate into such a good collar on your very first day on the streets was remarkable.”
She seemed to pause momentarily before continuing. “He also said that he felt you have cop blood running through your veins. He expects you to turn into a great cop just like your dad was; he said in was in your genes.”
Keegan felt a rush of emotions come over him. He was proud of his father and knows how proud his father would have been of him as well. He could feel his eyes begin to well up; he had been taken off guard by the comment. He looked her in the eyes and forced a smile. “Wow, he really said that?”
“Yes, he did.” Quinn seemed to sense Keegan’s vulnerability at the mention of his father. She reached out across the table and placed her hands on top of his. “Tell me about your dad.”
Keegan’s eyes dropped almost instinctively. He took her hands in his and began to explain. “I was so young when he died; I was only eight. The thing that I remember most about him was how he’d always make time to play with us. I have a brother whose three years older than me and a sister who’s four years younger. He played football and board games with us on weekends and would always tell us Irish history and the meaning of some Irish songs; he was very proud of being Irish.”
Legacy and Redemption Page 6
