The Last Crusade: A Harry Cassidy Novel

by Henry Hack

  “Probably in the halls. She’s an ADA.”

  “Ah, that’s probably it, but I’m thinking I’ve met her somewhere else, not so recently.”

  “She was on the Job.”

  “That’s it! Internal Affairs, right?”

  “Good memory.”

  A concerned look appeared on Snyder’s face, and Harry guessed why. “Harry, isn’t she the one who…?”

  “Yes, she is. “

  “Are you sure you know what you’re getting into? She really raked you over the coals back then, if I remember correctly.”

  “Interesting choice of words. I’m sure I know what I’m getting into.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said with a grin.

  “I know, but to answer your question, let me say this. The last few years of my life have been filled with uncertainty. I’m convinced nothing is ever certain anymore. But with Susan, I’m as certain as I can possibly be right now, and we both have buried the past.”

  “Then I’m happy for both of you. Good luck and much happiness.”

  “Thanks. Our wedding is set for June 24. Hope you can make it.”

  “I’ll be there, but after your honeymoon you have a lot of work to do. I got word last night after you left the office there will finally be a captain’s exam in the fall. Dust off those books, and hit them hard.”

  When he got back to their table, Susan said, “About time you returned with my cocktail.”

  “Sorry, I ran into Dan Snyder at the bar and we were chewing the fat.”

  “Anything important?”

  “Yes. There will be a captain’s promotional exam this fall.”

  “About time.”

  “Yeah, and a lot of hard preparation.”

  “I’m with you all the way. You know what I went through studying in law school. If you make the commitment, I’ll be there for you.”

  “I know you will. Hey, did I ever tell you I love you?”

  “Once in awhile,” she said with a big smile. “Let’s dance.”

  The party wound down, and as most gatherings which involve a lot of cops end up, the members of the Joint Terrorist Task Force found themselves grouped around two tables sharing memories and tall tales. The spouses and significant others knew to leave them alone for awhile in their camaraderie, as they relived their battles of the past one more time.

  “Since there are no imminent threats on the horizon,” Pop Hunter said, “I say we should happily party on. Here’s a toast to the newlyweds, and to those about to become newlyweds.”

  “Here, here,” Jerry Campora said. “I know I had a lot of trouble detecting that Arab in Chinatown, and Nick and Harry may have had a lot of trouble locating the right ladies to share their lives, but we all finally got it right.”

  “I think we better get back to the ones we came with,” Pop said, “before they leave without us.”

  “Having a little re-union over there?” Susan asked as Harry returned and they prepared to leave the affair.

  “Yeah, reminiscing about our victories over the forces of evil.”

  “Do you miss it? The action?”

  “I never thought I’d say this, but yes, I do miss it.”

  “There’s your answer then.”

  “Answer?”

  “To the captain’s test. Take it, pass it, and get back into the street fight. Somewhere a precinct is waiting for its new commanding officer, Captain Harold T. Cassidy.”

  Susan and Harry’s wedding, officiated by Father Tom Ryan, was a memorable, joyous affair with the added happiness in the room of a new baby’s expected arrival—Theresa Faliani was pregnant. “Boy,” Pop said, “you didn’t wait long.”

  “The Eye-talian stallion always does his duty,” Nick said.

  “You’re married now and your wife is pregnant. I guess you have finally gotten used to a one-woman life.”

  “Yes, he has Pop,” Theresa said, throwing a brown-eyed glare in her husband’s direction. “Haven’t you darling?”

  “Yes, dear. Of course.”

  “Yes, dear,” Pop mimicked. “Can I go to the john, dear?”

  “Charles!” Vera said. “Be quiet.”

  “Yes, dear,” he said, as they all howled with laughter.

  They honeymooned for two weeks in Hawaii, and true to his word, Harry hit the study material with a vengeance when they returned. He had already begun the process right after Snyder had told him of the upcoming test at Nick’s wedding, but now he devoted specific blocks of time to the effort.

  One chilly afternoon, with the test now only two weeks away, Harry prepared a cocktail and sat with Susan on the sofa and asked, “What about you, Susan? Where are you going with your life and career?”

  “Funny you should ask; I was mulling that over myself. It’s wonderful to be in the same building as you, but I think the reasons I went to work there have been fulfilled.”

  “Such as?”

  “Experience and contacts.”

  “Thinking of making a move over to the defense side of the table?”

  “Maybe, but perhaps at a corporate law firm.”

  “Go for it. You’re a great litigator. Don’t get stuck in an office somewhere writing briefs. The courtroom is for you—you’ll knock’em dead. And it won’t hurt you’re gorgeous, either. And, speaking of gorgeous, do you know what I want to do right now?”

  “Don’t you have to study some more?”

  “That can wait a couple of minutes.”

  “A couple of minutes? Is this going to be, a slam-bam, thank you ma’am, thing?”

  “All right,” he sighed. “Ten minutes.”

  October 28 finally arrived and Harry sat in the school classroom looking at the test booklet which said, Civil Service Promotional Examination for the rank of Captain in the New York Metropolitan Police Department.

  Could he, who still thought himself a beat cop, be taking the test for captain? Not possible. And pass it? Not possible. With a score high enough to be promoted? Impossible.

  The proctor said, “Open your booklets. There are one hundred twenty multiple-choice questions and three essays. You have six hours and may begin—he studied his wristwatch—now.”

  When the time was up and Harry walked out into the chill afternoon, he was wrung out and completely drained. He called Susan on his cell phone and said, “I’m on my way home. Please have a martini waiting for me—a big one.”

  “How did you do?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get there.”

  They sipped their drinks and Harry said, “I’m glad it’s over. It was a difficult exam, but I’m fairly certain I passed it.”

  “How long before the results are known?”

  “Six months, if I’m lucky. It’s now time to put away the books, forget about the results, and resume a normal life.”

  “Fine with me,” she said.

  “And how are your plans coming along?”

  “I’m getting my resume together and starting to research some law firms. I’d like to make a move when you make captain and leave the office.”

  “Whoa, that could be a long time—at least a year if I scored high—two to three years, or never, if I scored low. Make your move independent of me.”

  “If that’s all right with you, I’ll get serious as soon as I get back to work on Monday.”

  Susan interviewed with three prominent law firms in Manhattan. Within a week of each interview, she was offered a position at all three firms with an annual salary ranging from $230,000 to $265,000. It appeared Harry had been correct in his assessment of her as a valuable commodity. She chose the mid-size firm of Vasky, Halloran and Sanders, and settled in at a starting salary of $245,000, plus a host of benefits. Her chief reason for joining Vasky et.al, was their strong emphasis on the defense of product liability claims and white collar economic crimes—areas familiar to her from her experience in the DA’s office.

  “I start on Monday, January 8,” she said, after informing Harry of her decision.
/>
  “Good choice. You’ll be a partner in no time.”

  “Maybe I’d better win a few cases first?”

  “No problem for you. Let’s go out to dinner and celebrate.”

  On Susan’s last day in the DA’s office, the Friday before she was to start her new job, her fellow ADA’s and the detectives in the squad gave her a farewell luncheon in the conference room. As they were having cake and coffee Nick said, “We’re going to miss you around here, Susan. You were great to have on our cases.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll go easy on you if I ever get you in the witness chair. And how’s that darling little girl of yours doing?”

  “Four weeks old today and getting chubbier by the minute.”

  “Next week they’re starting her on lasagna,” Harry said.

  Things were changing for Harry once more, but now the changes were for the better. The angst over the Winston case, the death of Rita, and the shoot-outs with the terrorists were fading into the background, replaced by a happy marriage, a meaningful career, and a peaceful existence. He wondered how long the good times would last—when the next curve ball of life would screw things up. But until it did, he vowed to make the most of what he had right now.

  In July, rumors of the imminent release of the captain’s promotional list began to circulate within the Department, and on August 8, it was officially published. Of the 808 lieutenants who took the exam, only 182 managed to score a passing grade of 75% or better. Harry did not have to read too far down the list to locate his name. He was number seven, with a grade 92.24.

  “That’s terrific,” Susan said, “and I have some good news, too. I just got my six-month review today, and I believe there will be a substantial raise in my next paycheck.”

  “Congratulations! What’s substantial?”

  “$25,000,” she said with a big smile.

  “Wow, maybe I should have gone to law school, too.”

  When Christmas arrived and Susan received a $40,000 bonus she remarked, “You don’t get these working in civil service, my dear.”

  “And the way they are dragging their ass on promotions, I may never see another raise before my twenty years are in.”

  Finally, the glacial civil service process moved, and on June 17, just two days after Harry had completed eighteen years on the Force, the first batch of thirty-five lieutenants were promoted to the rank of captain. Uncle Mike and Aunt Mary attended the promotion ceremonies along with Pop and Vera, Nick and Theresa—who was pregnant again—and the original guys from the Task Force—Jerry Campora, Dick Mansfield and John McKee. Tom and Peggy brought their daughters over from Pennsylvania, and Stan and Rose also showed up to offer their congratulations.

  After the ceremonies they went to a local restaurant for lunch, arranged and paid for by Susan. Uncle Mike said, “You’ve made it, lad. The sky’s the limit now. I want to see you pass up your old uncle. Two-star rank for you, at a minimum.”

  “I’ll sure try, Uncle Mike, but let me first get to run a good precinct for awhile.”

  “I still know a few people—high up people—if you know what I mean. Don’t wait too long to ask for my help.”

  There was something ominous in the way Uncle Mike spoke, and something different in the way he looked when he said that. Later on, out of Mike’s earshot, Harry tapped Aunt Mary on the shoulder and whispered, “Is Mike all right?”

  “No,” she whispered back, “it’s those damn cigarettes.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Six months to a year,” she said.

  Harry sipped a beer and looked around the room. Just about everyone who had been near and dear to him was there to share in his accomplishment, but the thought of losing Uncle Mike certainly put a damper on his feelings. He looked at his daughters and all of a sudden they were getting to be young ladies, and no longer little girls. And Theresa with a belly full of new life. And Uncle Mike with death just around the corner. All the normal ways of the world. He thought of his father, and Rita, and the people killed by the terrorists. So much death.

  “What’s the matter?” Susan asked, sitting down next to him. “You look like the weight of the world is on your shoulders.”

  “Just thinking of some past times. I’m okay.”

  “You should be—after all you are now a captain in the NYMPD.”

  “Yes, I am,” he said. “Captain Harold T. Cassidy, Executive Officer of the Midtown North precinct.”

  Uncle Mike died on a gloomy winter’s day the following February. Harry was sitting with Aunt Mary on the first day of the wake when she said, “Just like your father.”

  “Yes, Aunt Mary, but at least Mike lived a lot more years than he did.”

  “Goddamn cigarettes. You’re not still puffing away, I hope?”

  “No, I finally quit a long time ago.”

  “Good for you. Don’t ever go back.”

  A large crowd had begun to fill the room, and Harry broke away from his aunt to allow the mourners to pay their proper respects to her. As the afternoon wore on, and in a scene that would be repeated that evening and the following day, hundreds of friends trooped by the retired deputy chief’s casket. Chief of Detectives Bill Kelly was there all the time, and saw the arrangements provided by the Department were carried out to perfection. “You know, Chief,” said Harry, “this is an amazing turnout. I guess everyone loved him.”

  “Not everyone,” Kelly said. “He was a good boss and a fair man, but he could not tolerate phonies and slackers, and he did not make their police careers pleasant. And, unfortunately, some of these phonies are still on the Job, a few in high positions.”

  “How could they get up there?”

  “Strange things happen after the rank of captain, as you will find out.”

  “Doesn’t hard work and good performance count?”

  “Sure, but not always. Watch who gets the promotions. A lot of the time it will be those who know someone, rather than those who know something.”

  Five months after Uncle Mike passed away, Harry was assigned his first precinct command, the Six-Four in Brooklyn North. When his twenty years on the Job arrived, almost unnoticed, he had been the CO of the Six-Four for almost a full year.

  He attacked the problems in his area of Brooklyn as if he were back on his beat in Elmont, in his corner of the world, albeit on a larger scale. This time his corner consisted of one and a half square miles of some of the toughest neighborhoods in the city. He was in charge, and woe to the predators and thieves that dared to prowl the streets of his precinct. Woe to those who dared to cross Captain Cassidy.

  The precinct had not been functioning well when he first took over. The previous CO had been transferred to a lesser command due to poor performance. Crime was up in all categories. The neighborhoods were hostile, and morale among the assigned police officers and supervisors was rockbottom. Harry effected a complete turn around in nine months. His years as a beat cop and patrol supervisor served him well. He knew how to relate to the street cops and what made them tick, and more importantly, what made them perform to the standards of which they were capable.

  At a Brooklyn North meeting that fall, the boro commander, Assistant Chief Anthony Boretti, complimented Harry on the vast improvements in his command. The dreaded Compstat meetings became more tolerable as the good results continued. Boretti confided in him he was one of three captains who he recommended for promotion to deputy inspector. At dinner that evening Harry related this news to Susan who said, “What does a deputy inspector do?”

  “In the patrol bureau, the same as a captain—commands a precinct, but a larger, busier one. Also gets a nice raise, and wears a gold oak leaf instead of captain’s bars.”

  “If you get the promotion, which you no doubt will, it would have been based on your good performance, and not on politics or brown-nosing, right?”

  “Right. I don’t know any politicians, and I never kissed anybody’s ass. You know that.”

  “Yes I do, Captain. I’
m glad the system seems to be working for you.”

  “We’ll see if it’s working when I’m wearing the oak leaves.”

  “Cynical cop to the end,” she said with a grin.

  “Experience,” he said with a grimace.

  14

  A new mayor was elected in November and all promotions were put on hold pending the appointment of a new police commissioner. The present commissioner, William Banks, had served over forty years on the Job with twelve years as the PC. He retired gracefully, as did his first deputy police commissioner.

  The new PC, Edward Donaldson, had also come up through the ranks and had been the three-star chief of personnel before being raised to the top spot. The consensus was he was a fair man, but as with all new administrations, the broom swept clean. Asked to “retire” were the chief of department, Chief of Detectives Bill Kelly, Chief of Patrol Ben Claussen, two other three-star chiefs, and a total of ten two and one-star chiefs. One of those two-star chiefs was Anthony Boretti, Harry’s boss in Brooklyn North.

  “What does that mean?” Susan asked. “I mean as far as your promotion to deputy inspector?”

  “I don’t know. The new boss who replaced Boretti is a guy named Francis McKenna.”

  “Where did he come from?”

  “He was an inspector in Manhattan IAD, then a deputy chief in personnel. That’s where the new PC worked. Guess he’s a friend. And by the way, your old boss in Nassau Internal Affairs, Peter Gregorovich, is now the new four-star chief of department.”

  “The Mad Russian himself,” she said. “You still have at least one friend in high places. When do you think you will you know something?”

  “My best guess is the PC will allow the new top chiefs to settle in, and then make their recommendations for promotions to the ranks below those. Actually, with all the new openings created by the forced retirements in the upper ranks, my chances, and a lot of other captain’s chances have improved tremendously.”

  “Then here’s to you, Deputy Inspector Harold T. Cassidy,” she said raising an invisible glass for a toast.