The Blue Executions (16 page)

Galvin’s instincts were almost always correct.  “This guy’s
stepping
Paul; the one with the white t-shirt and blue jean shorts; he’s
dirty
.”  As Galvin started to exit the car, the male took one more look over his shoulder and began to pick up his pace.  Middlebrook started to get out of the car as well when Galvin gave him instructions.  I’ll go after him on foot.  You stay with the car and cut him off when he tries to run out of the projects on the other side.”  Galvin quietly closed the door and placed his portable radio in his back pocket.

Middlebrook sped off, trying to get to the other end of the projects before the man could get there while Galvin began his pursuit of the man on foot.  Galvin studied the man as he ran softly up from behind—the young black male was about Galvin’s own height but he had to outweigh Galvin by at least twenty pounds.  Galvin continued to jog, holding one hand over his handcuffs, the other over the shield affixed to a chain around his neck.  In
Galvin’s experience, running without holding these two items, often makes a jingling type noise, alerting the person you are pursuing to your presence.  Galvin had closed the distance between him and the man to within about twenty feet when one of the other men still at the bicycle rack called out.

“Five-O.”

Damn it!
Galvin heard the warning just as clear as the man did.  The man looked back over his shoulder and seeing Galvin closing ground, quickly broke into a sprint.  Regardless, Galvin, who always kept himself in good physical shape, was still closing ground.  When he was within ten feet, the man in the white t-shirt reached his right hand into his pocket.  Galvin alerted to the potential danger and reached for his gun; his fears alleviated when he saw the man throw a handful of zip lock baggies containing crack cocaine to the ground.

They were now almost squarely in the center of the courtyard and Galvin was
within just a few of him. Galvin was almost surprised how easily he had caught the man—he appeared to be in decent shape. Without warning, the man stopped running and turned on a charging Galvin.  Having been taken off-guard, Galvin had no time to slow down or draw his service weapon.  He prayed the man was not armed as he spread his arms and lowered his shoulder.

He nailed the man square in the chest—just as he had done hundreds of times playing high school football.  As they made contact, Galvin absorbed a right hand to the bridge of his nose.  The man had thrown it with a great amount of force and Galvin could feel the blood trickling down his nose before the two of them even crashed to the ground.  Galvin landed on top.  Galvin landed a smashing right hand to the man’s head but what escaped Galvin at the time, was that the man made no effort to block the punch.  Neither one of the man’s hands came up to his face to defend himself.  Galvin reached to the small of his back to take hold of his handcuffs when the reality set in.

The yank at his belt caused Galvin’s heart to skip a beat.
Oh shit!
Looking down at his now empty holster, a terror he had never known invaded his body. 
He’s got my friggin gun!

Disarmed, Galvin realized he was now literally fighting for his life.  He had the advantage of being on top and needed to use any advantage he could
find as the man had a firm grip on Galvin’s service weapon.  Galvin was no longer aware of the steady stream of blood dripping from his nose or the pain that accompanied it.  He had tunnel vision—focusing in only on the nine millimeter handgun that was bent on ending his life.  He needed to find a way to neutralize this man or he would die this very day in the courtyard of the Baisley Houses.

Galvin
grabbed repeatedly at the man’s left hand but could not control it.  The man kept squirming and trying to find a way to point it at Galvin’s head.  Galvin used his position and gravity as he leaned forward into the man.  He started to slightly overpower the man, pushing the hand and gun to the side.  Galvin let up his leverage ever so slightly to make a play for the radio in his back pocket—anything he might be able to use as a weapon at this point could be the difference between life and death.  Galvin took control of his radio just as the gun started to come back up in the direction of his head.

*

Darrin Jackson, the paroled drug dealer, owed three more years to the state.  He had absconded from parole and knew that he was a wanted man.  What he didn’t know, was if the detective knew about the parole warrant, that he had drugs on him, or, if he knew that he had shot and killed a rival drug dealer last night on Sutphin Boulevard.  Jackson made a conscious decision that he was not going back upstate.  He was done with prison.  It really didn’t matter what the detective knew at this point; Jackson had chosen this path and would fight to the death if necessary.

He wished to himself
that he had been carrying the gun which he used last night.  If he had been carrying it, he would have shot the cop before he even had a chance to get out of the car.  But the fact was that he didn’t have that gun.  There was however, another gun within his reach.  If he could get to it, he might be able to get away.  He saw the detective raise his hand above his head to deliver the blow.  He had his opportunity.

When Jackson felt the detective ease up
, he seized the opportunity to make his move. Snatching the officer’s gun had not been that difficult—he had actually practiced such moves in Elmira State penitentiary.  The problem was the officer was very strong and had the leverage on his side as well.  Hope seemed lost as the gun was being forced down at his side.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the detective’s partner running towards them.  Then for some unknown reason, the detective’s weight lessened against his arm.  Jackson once again seized the opportunity and brought the gun to face level and fired.

POP! 

*

“10-13!
  Shots fired central!  Foch and Brewer in the courtyard in front of 116-80,” screamed Middlebrook into the radio as he ran; gun in hand to his partner’s aid.  He was less than twenty feet away when the shot was fired—he felt helpless.

Middlebrook watched the fierce struggle ensue as he ran as fast as his legs would take him to join in the fracas.  He had watched as his partner was disarmed—he was pretty sure Tommy didn’t even know it was happening.  Middlebrook had drawn his own gun but there was no way
that he could take a shot.  He was too far away and Tommy and the perp were in such close quarters, twisting and turning on the ground, that Middlebrook would stand just as much a chance of shooting his partner as he would the bad guy.  Sheer terror had engulfed Middlebrook as he saw the gun being raised to his partner’s face.

The single gunshot resonated off the buildings in the courtyard.  Time seemed to slow to a crawl for Middlebrook.  He wasn’t sure how Tommy had managed to knock the man’s arm to the side just as the shot was being fired b
ut he silently thanked God that he had been able to do so.  He then watched as Galvin struck the man with the portable radio across the top of his skull with seemingly as much force as he could muster.  The perp immediately went limp—Galvin’s gun falling harmlessly from his hand.  The fight was over.  Galvin rolled off the top of the man and quickly recovered his gun, putting it back in its holster.  He could see Galvin was breathing heavily.  The two of them rolled the unconscious body of the man over and placed handcuffs on him.

*

A large crowd started to gather.  Galvin needed to regroup and reflect on what had just happened but there was no time for that.  He could hear the sirens in the distance closing in.  That was always a comforting sound in situations like this.  Galvin and Middlebrook rolled the man over onto his back to search him to make sure he did not have any weapons.  Once the man lay on his back, Galvin saw the man’s eyes roll back into his head.  A thick white frothy like saliva was coming from his mouth; attaching itself to his light beard and mustache.  The man’s body started convulsing.  The first of the uniformed officers arrived on the scene as the crowd began to intensify. 
This is bad
.

The crowd was getting loud.  They were shouting things at the cops, although Galvin was too preoccupied to hear what they were saying.  He reached for his radio on the ground to see it in two pieces—the body had separated from the battery.  Galvin reached over and took
Middlebrook’s radio from his back pocket.  Galvin was clearly still out of breath as he transmitted in to the radio.  “113 Squad to central.  Have the units slow it down but keep them coming.  We have a large crowd forming.  Also have a
bus
respond forthwith along with the patrol supervisor.”

Central dispatch responded with a question of his own.  “What
’s the condition for
E.M.S
.?”

Galvin recognized the voice of the dispatcher as a supervisor he had met on numerous times.  It wasn’t uncommon for this particular supervisor to get on the radio whenever a real serious police related incident happened and
Galvin was glad to hear his voice.  The dispatcher continued, “Do we have any members of the service injured at this time 113 Squad?”

Galvin, either chose to ignore his
likely broken nose or had forgotten about it, responded back, “negative at this time central.”

The tension between the police and the crowd intensified as they waited for the arrival of the ambulance and got even worse when the man stopped convulsing and simply went limp.  More and more cops arrived, pushing their way through the ever growing crowd.  Galvin could now hear some of the comments the crowd was yelling.

One of his friends began “Uncuff him yo!”

Another joined in, “he needs help, why aren’t you helping him?”

Still another, “That
D.T
. killed him.  This shit wouldn’t have happened in a white neighborhood.”

The words started sinking in.  Galvin’s head was spinning.  He was being yelled at, threatened and cursed at from every direction.  He put two fingers against the man’s neck. 
No pulse.  This is bad…this is really, really bad. 
He felt a hand grab him on the shoulder.  He looked to see his old partner, George Lambert.  Over Lambert’s shoulder he could see the ambulance crew making their way through the crowd.

Thank God the
ambulance is finally here
.

Lambert, aside from being Galvin’s old Anti-Crime partner was also a union delegate and was used to dealing with cops in precarious situations.
  He put his arm around Galvin and ushered him towards the street where the radio cars were parked.  He gave Galvin very clear instructions.  “Don’t say a word to anybody about what happened here until I meet you at the hospital.  Do you understand me Tommy?  Not a word to anybody, not to a boss, not to a doctor, not to the friggin Pope if he shows up.  You got that?”

Galvin got into the car.  “Not a word, I got it,” he mumbled.

Lambert to the cop driving the car, “Get him to the hospital and make sure that he doesn’t talk to anyone.  He seems a bit out of it.”

As Galvin looked out of the window to the ambulance crew, a light seemed to go off in his head.  He knew what had to be done.  He got back out of the car and fought his way back through the crowd with Lambert attempting to stop him.  Galvin called out to a young E.M.S. technician who was busy trying to resuscitate the man.  “Take his temperature,” Galvin directed.

The EMS member shot Galvin a confused look as he continued to work on the subject. 

“Just do it!”

The technician complied with Galvin’s directive as his partner continued in vain to revive the man.  The technician looked at Galvin, once he was finished reading the thermo scan.  “108,” he said.

Galvin let out a sigh of relief.  He spoke in a more demure tone.  “Thank you.
”

Lambert grabbed Galvin sternly by his upper arm, escorting him back to the waiting police car.  “Get him the
hell out of here now,” Lambert barked to the driver of the car.

Galvin got into the back seat, watching as the crown began to swell.  He could see a few skirmishes begin to break out between some members of the crowd and the officers.  He didn’t want to leave while it was still such an unstable environment but he knew
that it was best he did.  He heard the borough-wide mobilization being called and knew that there would be over one hundred officers on the scene within minutes. 

Galvin was briefly startled as he heard a bang at the rear of the police car.  Galvin spun around; looking out the back window to see an irate man of about twenty years old banging on the back window.  “Murderer!”

The man began calling other people over to the car as uniformed officers pulled the man back.  “Yo, he’s in the blue and white!  They tryin to hide his murdering ass!”

Galvin watched the man being thrown to the ground by two cops from the precinct as the car began to roll away.  Galvin’s head was spinning; it all seemed so surreal, yet he knew his career had just been
cast into turmoil.  He sat silently in the car, ignoring the questions from his fellow officers about his well being, as they edged through the crowd.  Suddenly the front windshield cracked on the upper passenger side.  The car was being pelted with rocks and bottles being hurled from the roof tops as well as from street level.  The last thing Galvin saw before the car was able to safely leave the scene was the EMS crew loading the unresponsive body of the perp into the ambulance.