The Blue Executions (6 page)

McGregor seemed happy with the information.

“This is the kind of story I’m looking to do, Brian. This is great. Now, the information he gave you…my guess is that a joint is a gun. But what did he mean that if a ‘five-oh was clocking him, he’d jet’?”

Ga
lvin glanced at his partner, who seemed just as interested in his explanation as the reporter. Galvin was disappointed—this guy didn’t have any idea what was going on in the streets and a phone call had gotten him into the detective squad.
What a disgrace!

“Once you’ve been out here for long enough, you pick up on all of the local slang,” explained Galvin.
“Five-oh is their slang for the police—it originated from the television series Hawaii Five-Oh. When he said if we were ‘clocking him, he’d jet,’ Leshawn meant that if we gave Jamel a hard look, he’d run from us. So, basically, Leshawn was warning us that we’d be in for a foot chase.”

“Don’t
most of the people that you arrest on the street who are carrying guns or drugs run from you?”  McGregor was curious.

“Not
always.  If you know how to read them and if you employ good tactics, sometimes you can take them by surprise. If you do it correctly, you can be on top of them before they know what hit them.

*

After nine p.m., the precinct started to get busy. They had just left the scene of a shooting in the parking lot of a cheap hotel near the airport.  Middlebrooks best guess was that it was drug related.  Galvin and the reporter started to become relaxed and more comfortable with each other. There was even some unforced dialog.  Middlebrook, however, was still skeptical as far as the reporter was concerned; he tried to stay out of the conversation unless he was directly asked a question.

The radio then reported a man with a gun call in the parking lot of Baisley Park.
  Middlebrook perked up. “That’s not too far from here. Let’s go.”

“Radio runs are for the sector cars.
If I’m going to make a collar out here, it’s going to be on my own observations,” Galvin lectured. He explained his theory that officers in plainclothes details such as this shouldn’t
chase the radio
—the only reason they take a radio out into the field was in case they needed to call for assistance or assist another cop.  “We can back them up, but it’s the sector car’s job.”

Middlebrook
didn’t respond. He noticed that the reporter was writing down comments in the back of the auto, and felt it was possible that Galvin had made him look bad in front of McGregor; he hoped that it would not be mentioned in the article. Despite what Middlebrook had heard about Galvin, he’d yet to be impressed by him.

Once the radio run was marked as unfounded, they continued back on patrol.  Middlebrook
glanced over at his partner again, and noticed a strange look in his eyes as they drove slowly along Sutphin Boulevard. Something had obviously caught Galvin’s eye.

*

The man was about twenty years old, a light-skinned black man with a low haircut, wearing a green army fatigue jacket and blue jeans, Galvin noted. More importantly, he noted that the man was running across Sutphin Boulevard and turned onto Linden Boulevard with a McDonald’s bag in his left hand. His right hand was closer to his body than it would be normally and was not swinging as he ran. The man’s eyes met Galvin’s, and he ever-so-slightly touched the right side of his waistband and stopped running.

Galvin quickly turned away from the man, not wanting to alert him.
At that moment, Galvin saw a black Nissan Altima parked one block west of Sutphin Boulevard. The sole occupant of the Altima saw the unmarked auto and immediately drove away. Galvin saw the man who had been running stop dead in his tracks and look back at the unmarked auto. Galvin read off the Altima’s license plate, telling McGregor to write it down.

“Why, Tommy?
What’s going on?” McGregor asked. He’d noticed the way Galvin had been watching the man, but hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.

“I don’t have time to explain right now,”
said Galvin as he stopped the unmarked auto.

“Yeah, just stay down,” added Middlebrook, although he was just as confused as the reporter.

Brian McGregor chose not to listen, keeping his head up to observe what was going on.  Galvin waited for the man to turn onto Linden Boulevard from Sutphin. Galvin slowly rolled down the window and addressed the man from about fifteen feet away—he looked extremely nervous.

“Excuse me, sir?
We just got a call on the radio about two Spanish guys stabbing a black guy on 114 Road, just off of Sutphin. We saw you running from there and thought maybe you saw something?”

“Yeah, man, these Spanish dudes was
kickin’ the shit out of a brother,” the man explained, seeming to relax. “I was runnin’ cause they started t’come after me.”

Galvin felt confident that the man had bought into his story.
At least he hoped that he did.  The man was about five foot seven and couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and forty pounds.  Galvin was willing to be he could run like the wind. Galvin turned to Middlebrook.

“Don’t get out of the car until I grab him,” he whispered.
He then looked back at the man as he calmly got out of the car. He took a notepad from his jacket pocket.

“I need to take your name and phone number down in case we make an arrest in this case,” said Galvin casually
. “We need more people like you to come forward and be witnesses so we could put these guys in jail.”

Slowly, Galvin walked up to the man, noting his
trepidation.

“Troy Evans is my name,” immediately responded the man.
He rattled off a phone number that Galvin only pretended to take down. “Can I leave, now?”

“Sure,” said Galvin, but as soon as the man turned to walk away, Galvin
lunged at him and grabbed him by the coat and ordered him not to move. The male wildly swung his right hand at Galvin, but it was blocked; Galvin then landed his own quick right and added a knee to the groin before Middlebrook arrived to aid his partner in handcuffing the man. McGregor watched from the back of the car, still unable to understand what was transpiring in front of his eyes. He trusted Galvin’s instincts, though, and watched as Galvin removed a .45 caliber, semi-automatic handgun from the man’s waistband. He then picked up the McDonald’s bag, which had fallen during the struggle.

“I knew I
shoulda run, man, I just knew it!” repeated the man as he was placed in the backseat of the unmarked auto. Middlebrook joined him there as McGregor relocated to the front seat. Galvin got back in the driver’s side of the car and opened the McDonald’s bag.

“How did you know he had a gun?” asked McGregor, eager for a good story.

“The same way I knew he robbed the McDonald’s on Sutphin and Linden,” replied Galvin turning the bag upside down and watching a substantial amount of cash fall out. “Street smarts. Any experienced cop could have sized up that situation. Right, Paul?”

“Right you are, Tommy,” said Middlebrook, far too ashamed to admit that he had little more insight as to what had occurred than the reporter did.

Galvin had just finished counting the six hundred and fifty-seven dollars that had been in the bag when the radio broke his concentration.

“Units, be advised we are receiving a signal 10-30, robbery at gunpoint at the McDonald’s on Linden and Sutphin.
The perp is described as a male black wearing a green army fatigue jacket and blue jeans. He’s armed with a large automatic handgun,” reported the dispatcher.

Galvin picked up the portable radio.

“Central,” he began, “Be advised, the 113 Squad has one under in regards to that robbery.  Just have one unit respond to help us conduct a
show up
.”

After being positively identified by the employees of the McDonalds
, the man was becoming agitated as they drove to the precinct. “Listen, man, I can’t go back,” he said. “Can’t we make some sorta deal, man?”

“What kind of deal?” Galvin
baited. The comment had obviously piqued his interest. The man—sensing that he had nothing to lose—had to try to make the deal before the detectives found out about his past.

“I was thinkin
g—maybe you DT’S could keep that there money and let me bounce. Nobody would be any the wiser, man. Whadda ya say? That’s a lotta cheese there.”

“I’ll tell you what,”
explained Galvin, “I already told my dispatcher we had an arrest so now I’ve got to cut my boss in on it before I can cut you lose.”

“
Alright, officer,” the man agreed, although he sounded skeptical. It seemed to be his only chance. McGregor glanced at Middlebrook, suspicious and confused, but Middlebrook just threw him a wink when he was certain the perp couldn’t see it. McGregor just kept quiet.

*

The Internal Affairs Bureau had responded to the precinct shortly after Galvin had called to notify them of the impending bribery arrest. After being debriefed by Sgt. Polita, the Internal Affairs supervisor, Galvin was given a recording device, which he hid in the pocket of his jacket. McGregor, who had been allowed to stay and watch the interview, felt particularly impressed by the way in which the investigation was conducted—he felt that it was a good idea to get the man to repeat the offer on tape, especially since juries seemed to be growing less and less likely to believe police officers these days.

S
gt. Polita reminded Galvin to press the record button on the recording device before going in to the cell area to talk to the man. Just before Galvin entered the arrest processing room, Middlebrook walked over to Galvin, handing him a computer print out.  “Guess what? Our buddy in there is a suspect in a double homicide in the Bronx. I just got off the phone with the Bronx Homicide Squad.  They’ll be here within the hour.”

“Very interesting,” replied Galvin as he walked into the holding cell room.

McGregor was awed by the way that the officers had handled themselves. From their observational skills and hand-to-hand combat on the street, right down to their prompt notifications and professional conduct throughout the night, McGregor felt that these officers were the best he’d ever dealt with. He stared at Galvin as he walked out of the room, noting a broad smile come across the officer’s face.  

“We got ‘
em.  Of course bribery is the least of his problems considering the robbery and weapons charges; not to mention if the Bronx case sticks.”

“Great job, Tommy
.” McGregor couldn’t help but voice his approval. “Are you sure you don’t want me to print your names when I write this story?”

“That was the deal, Brian, no names.
”

“If that’s what you want,” said McGregor, shrugging.
He thanked them all for their assistance and walked out of the station house. He went back to his office to write one of the most favorable police stories that he had written in quite some time.

*

Galvin walked into the Intake Bureau of the Queens District Attorney’s office shortly before midnight. He was looking forward to seeing Laurie.  Since her transfer to the Integrity Bureau, he hadn’t seen very much of her. He’d asked her to go out for a couple of drinks back when she used to work in the Career Criminal Major Case Bureau some time back, but she’d always declined, explaining that she was in a serious relationship. He used to see her much more back then—when she’d handled mostly robberies, burglaries, and homicides. In her current assignment in the Integrity Bureau, she prosecuted almost exclusively bribery cases and police officers, as well as other public officials who had been arrested. Although bribery was not the top charge, the Integrity Bureau would still handle the case.

Galvin wondered if it was only his imagination that Laurie seemed to be as excited to hear his voice on the phone as he had been to hear hers. When she’d called him and told him that she’d be
handling the case, he’d barely been able to contain himself. Laurie had told him that she’d meet him at the Intake Bureau.  He wondered if she had only decided to handle the case herself because he was the arresting officer.

After Galvin had been buzzed in through the security door
of the Kew Gardens courthouse, he walked to a back office; clocking in with the Sergeant in charge. The Sergeant sat at a small desk; the day’s newspapers scattered about along with a dozen or so case folders.  Galvin was glad to see that it was Sgt. Nelson on duty tonight.  The other midnight Sergeant was a real ball breaker, Galvin felt.  Nelson on the other hand, was a gentleman.  Galvin figured him to be in his early forties and judging by the four stripes of the sleeve of his uniform, he already had enough time to retire.  He was a dark skinned man with a far receding hairline.

“Got anything good tonight, Tommy?”  Nelson was very personable to begin with and loved talking to Galvin when he came in to draw up an affidavit.  Once Nelson learned that they both were graduates of Cardozo High School, albeit over a decade apart, the bond became even stronger
.