By Richard Burt, NYPD (retired) and James Gonda.
2310 hrs. On a hot and humid evening, I turn onto the 2-4 Precinct block and park in my usual space. I make my way into the locker room and change into my uniform. Then from cap to boots, I inspect myself in the mirror. I am good-to-go. I also check in with a few day-shift cops. They had a busy tour day with three robberies and four collars.
2325 hrs. Roll call! Twenty-seven cops cram into the briefing room. Before taking attendance, the short and overweight Lieutenant shares a few comments about the previous tour, blah-blah-blah. Then hespits out our assignments in this manner: name, sector, car, and mealtime. About halfway through, he lands on me: “Burt!” he calls. “Sector George, car 1503, 0430 meal!” He does not look up from his clipboard. “Here!” I say. He makes a check next to my name and continues to the end. Satisfied with the count, he decides to conduct a surprise inspection for flashlights and nameplates. We all pass. He barks, “Keep your numbers up!” We are dismissed and head out.
2340 hrs. We pile into our cars and buckle up. Central has been holding jobs. We share the channel with three other precincts, the 19th, the 2-0, and Central Park. The radio crackles with crime. A “Dispute” at 580 Amsterdam Avenue. A “Possible Crime” (drug sales) at 104th Street and Manhattan Ave. A “Vehicle Accident” at 96th Street and Westside Highway with no Highway [patrol] available. Another “Dispute,” a man with a gun at 107th Street and Amsterdam. I respond, “2-4 George to Central, we’ll take the gun run 1-0-7 and Amsterdam. Is there a description of the perp?” They return, “2-4 George, male, black, blue jeans and white t-shirt, no further description, unit to back up 2-4 George man with a gun 1-0-7 and Amsterdam?” 2-4 David, 2-4 Henry, and 2-4 Sargent offer to help.
We arrive on the scene in a few minutes. Eight young men fit the description of black, blue jeans, and white t-shirt. Which has the gun? We draw our weapons, and they freeze. We toss (search) them. No guns are found. The only item we find that could be a weapon is a Swiss army knife. We quickly ascertain this call is just a bunch of guys hanging on the corner, making too much racket, and ribbing each other about their haircuts and taste in women. The neighbors know a noise complaint will go unheeded but if they report “a man with a gun” we will respond. We mark the job as “Unfounded” and thank the other units for the backup.
0030 hrs. “Foot Pursuit” in need of additional unit(s), 96th Street and Broadway. We race to the location. Some knuckleheads try to flee an arrest. They thought they could outrun the NYPD. They are quickly re-apprehended, huffing, puffing, and muttering profanities. One of the perps, a black male at least half my age, glares at me: I can’t believe YOU caught me.
0045 hrs. “Dispute” at 103rd Street and Manhattan Ave. On our way to the scene, the job escalates to an altercation with a knife. We arrive to find a large Caucasian male, age 25 to 30, bleeding profusely from his forearm. He is angry and wants a fight. It’s unclear what he is mad about; he claims “they” are out to get him, and they are not going to take him alive. I surmise the knife wound is self-inflicted. A woman, presumably his wife, tries to calm him down. She talks to him in just above a whisper. She caresses his shoulders. She professes her love for him. I imagine this type of outburst has happened before. We call a bus (ambulance). The job is marked as “Complaint, No Arrest” and “Patient Removed to Hospital” to St. Luke’s. The woman thanks us for responding and tells us to have a nice night.
0103 hrs. An Emotionally Disturbed Person (EDP), at 2410 Broadway, third floor, apartment 301. A middle-aged Puerto Rican woman explains in broken English that she came home to find her son behaving erratically. Their apartment is ransacked: furniture is overturned, and miscellaneous items litter the floor. The woman also mentions that her son suffers from severe depression and takes meds. Images of the Virgin Mary and other religious pictures are everywhere, unmolested during the rampage. The EDP has barricaded himself inside his bedroom. We ask Central the ETA for the Emergency Service Unit (ESU), and the bus. The ESU is “Arrived at Scene”, and the bus is two minutes out. We hear the EDP throwing things around. We knock on the door and call his name, Julio. We identify ourselves as the police. No response. We knock again and ask him to open up and come out. He shoots back “screw you” and throws something against the door. We back off. We formulate a new plan: break down the door and subdue him. We crash though on our first try. The EDP is uncooperative, and a scuffle ensues. It is four against one and in a few seconds the EDP is on the floor, under control. Meanwhile, his mother wants to jump in and save her baby. We restrain her. Her “baby” is 6′ 4″ and probably 300 lbs. The mother is loud and pushy. She tries to reason with her son in Spanish. She makes the sign of the cross several times. She begins to cry and wraps her arms around her overgrown child. We threaten to arrest her for “Obstructing Governmental Administration” if she continues to interfere. The EDP is ranting and raving about the government. He insists his SSI was again denied. He is “Patient Removed to Hospital” to St. Luke’s. I am half-tempted to send his mother too.
0135 hrs. “Robbery in Progress” at 93rd Street and Amsterdam Avenue. We fly to the scene with lights and siren. A hysterical Indian woman approaches us. We sit her down inside the car and begin to canvass for the perp. We let Central know we have a female complainant inside the car. We ask her for a description. She only remembers he was a black male with a blue or black baseball cap; he held a long knife to her throat and grabbed her purse. He then ran east on 93rd Street toward Columbus Avenue. We broadcast the description to Central; they repeat the description to all other units. The complainant then adds the perp was wearing shorts. Some units check the hole (subway). We come across a black male on 94th Street and Central Park West that fits the description. We jump out, guns drawn. I point my Glock at him. My partner wields a six-shot Smith & Wesson .38. We yell, “FREEZE!” and he stops in his tracks, clearly frightened. We hear his heart, LUB-DUB-LUB-DUB-LUB-DUB. I cover him as my partner tosses him. He is unarmed. We ask the woman if this is the assailant, and she shakes her head no. We find out another unit is holding a suspect that fits the description. We race over. Negative, also not the guy. After further canvassing with no results, we make a report for the detectives and drop the victim off at her residence. She asks if we want to “come up” for a cup of coffee or “something stronger.” We respectfully decline. We make sure she gets in okay. She glances back and gives a feeble wave before closing the door.
o215 hrs. “Dispute” at 1-0-7 and Amsterdam. The same band of nitwits from the beginning of our tour. We order them to get the hell off the corner or get locked up. They disperse. We mark this again as “Unfounded.”
0240 hrs. “Family Dispute” at 33 West 104th Street, Apartment 4E. We back up 2-4 Charlie. We arrive to find a woman’s face bashed in. She is Caucasian, approximately 45 to 50 years old. She is partially conscious. Colorful and intricate tattoos cover her arms. The living room walls are spattered with blood. The patterns look like an abstract painting. In a back room, a child is crying. The place smells like bacon. The husband claims to have “no idea” what happened. He shakes his head and tries to appear befuddled. His clothing is covered with blood; he has no visible injuries. We find a wooden mallet caked with blood on the kitchen floor, tossed into a corner. 2-4 Charlie notifies Central one under [arrest]. We call a bus for the victim.
0445 hrs. We are delayed 15 minutes for “Meal.” We head back to the station house, peel off our vests, grab some coffee, and close our eyes for a short respite. My partner takes off his boots. “I need to air out,” he says.
0600 hrs. The 2-0 is in pursuit of a stolen cab. The chase spreads into 2-4 like a fast-moving fire. Now it’s our job too. The bulky yellow Checker is heading straight for us. I recognize its double headlights. The vehicle is moving at a high rate of speed. I’m behind the wheel. If this idiot wants to play chicken, then he picked the wrong cop on the wrong night. The space between us is shrinking. We get dangerously close, and he swerves, smashing into a parked car, jumping the curb, and landing on the sidewalk. Steam pours out from under the hood. The engine sputters. The whole car convulses. The perp jumps out; he appears to be Hispanic. His head is bleeding. He tries to flee in his white high-top Converses. In less than a block, he is welcomed with a hail of fists and boots. Thankfully, it is the weekend, and the sidewalks are free of pedestrians. My partner peers inside the battered cab and notices the meter is still running. He says, “That jerk owes $163.”
0642 hrs. “Possible Crime.” The radio buzzes shots fired at 108th Street and Central Park West. Not our sector but we let Central know we are heading over as backup, if needed.
0646 hrs. Second call regarding shots, this time CONFIRMING shots were fired inside Central Park. We pick up the pace with lights and siren to 1-0-8 and Central Park West. When we arrive, all is quiet. Park units arrive in Central Park. Sectors Park Adam and Park David find a male victim, Caucasian, age 35 to 40, shot in the head. They put a rush on the bus. The victim is on his side on a bench. His eyes are closed. A revolver is on the ground in front of the bench. Park David searches his pockets for ID and finds an NYPD badge. We find out later this was an off-duty cop’s suicide attempt.
0750 hrs. End of Tour (EOT). I sign out, change into street clothes, and exit the building with my partner. I tell him good night. He says, “Peace out.”
0930 hrs. After watching some ESPN at home, I scramble an egg for breakfast. I am wiped out; I need to hit the sack. I strip down to my boxers and climb into bed. The missus is long-gone to work. I fall asleep almost immediately.
1610 hrs. Seven or eight hours later, I awake and stagger into the living room. I click on Channel 6 for the local news. The top story is a cop shot a man wielding a Bowie knife, inside the 2-4, after he stabbed a policewoman in her chest. Blood covers the sidewalk like spilt paint. The lunacy from the night creeped into the day. The cop that got stabbed, Officer Kelleher, is an acquaintance; the cop that shot the assailant, Officer DePugh, has his locker next to mine. I remind myself either one could have been me.
I peer outside. There is enough daylight before my next tour to take Buster for a walk. On the TV, the weather gal smiles and says, “No chance of rain.” It’s a beautiful day.