The Blue Executions (27 page)

The van turned onto Guy R. Brewer Boulevard from 119 Avenue.  They were headed south; towards the Belt Parkway and eventually
they would be headed into Brooklyn.  They watched as nearly a dozen blue and white vans and cars full of cops raced passed them to the scene of their offensive.  El-Khaleel made brief eye contact with the driver of the first van as it sped past.  He glanced over his shoulder through the back window.  The brake lights came on for just a second but then continued toward the projects.

*

Mark Jones was going as fast as the van would tolerate.  He knew that he would be the first on the scene.  He didn’t know exactly what to expect but he feared it wouldn’t be good.  Numerous units as well as the radio dispatcher had been trying to raise the units at the Baisley Houses for nearly two minutes.  There was no response. 

Jones saw the Ford van come out from the side street onto Brewer.  He slowed down just enough to take a quick glance—he didn’t like what he saw.  He grabbed his radio as he drove, “Central 1647 Zebra Frank Boy.”

The dispatcher responded, “
10-5 unit
.”  After no response, “Is there a unit with a message? 
Unit 10-5 your message
.”  But the message was never repeated as the dispatcher had requested.

Jones didn
’t have time to repeat the license plate.  In truth, he didn’t even remember it; having read it as the two vans past each other, both traveling at a high rate of speed in opposite directions.  In his gut, Jones felt that the occupants of the van were involved with whatever happened at 116-80 Guy Brewer Boulevard.  He hit the brakes for just a second, debating turning around and going after the Ford van.  He thought better of it; if he was wrong, his fellow officers may still be in danger.

As Jones turned the van onto Foch Boulevard only feet away from the location he immediately sensed something wrong.  The corner of Foch and Brewer was one of the busiest in the precinct.  On any given Saturday night in the summer, at this time, there would normally be close to fifty or more people hanging out.  Right now, there weren’t any.  It was a ghost town.  He could feel his skin crawling with goose bumps.  That dreadful chill came over his body internally preparing him for what he would see.  He feared the worst
and prayed for the best.      

His van, loaded with ten other uniformed police officers, was the first on the scene.  “Task Force van 6877 is
10-84
at Foch and Brewer central,” letting every member of the department monitoring the radio know that the officers had arrived.

*

Doris Williams’ sadness turned to anger.  The officers had no regard for the men, women and children they were callously pushing aside.  While most of the crowd withdrew from the advancing officers, there were others who would not.  Young black men were used to being stopped by the police in this neighborhood; many were okay with that, knowing that the police were doing their best to keep a lid on crime.  These same young men however, would not stand for women, children and the elderly being physically abused by the police.

Williams observed many of the young men to not only stand their ground, but to also push back as well.  She saw one man grab an officer’s
baton and wrestle it away from the officer.  The man had not tried to use it against any of the officers; he just didn’t want the officers to use it against the crowd any longer.  Another officer seeing this happen struck the man across the back of his legs with his own baton.  The man quickly crumbled and a pile of officers jumped in to beat the man.

Once the last of the police cars had fl
own out of the parking lot, the incensed crowd charged the back lot.  Some physically took on officers one on one; others began jumping on the remaining police cars.  The officers, who only moments ago were hundreds strong, were now badly outnumbered.  The precinct and its officers were under siege.     

Williams got to the parking lot as quick as the crowd would
tolerate.  She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.  She saw two men, each picking up a large metal garbage can; throwing them through the windows of the police cars; another group of about a dozen men, intent on overturning one of the police cars.  They rocked it back and forth until the wheels began to lift off of the ground.

She was bumped slightly from behind by the officer wearing the white shirt who had been in charge of
policing the protest.  The officer was desperate to quell the out of control situation.  He was ordering his men to retreat into the station house—they either didn’t hear him or they choose to ignore his orders.  Reverend Mitchell stood side by side with the officer each trying to calm the situation down.  Doris Mitchell was frightened.

The officer in the white shirt began yelling into his radio. 
This is only going to get worse
, she feared.

Williams, along with many others looked to Reverend Mitchell for guidance.  He was doing his best but the crowd was out of control.  She noticed a parked car in the back of the lot, not far from the precinct gas pumps, in flames; a young man running from the car. 

That’s when she saw the SWAT team for the first time.  They emerged from an open bay, like you would see at any repair shop.  Some held large silver canisters, roughly the size of a fire extinguisher.  They aimed into the crowd, causing it to dispense. 
Tear gas
, Williams thought.  Then she saw six of them throwing small objects into the crowd. 
Hand grenades?
  She ran as quickly as her legs would carry her.

The devices were just used to cause a distraction but neither Williams nor the rest of the volatile crowd knew that at the time.
 

*

The officers piled out of the van and ran on foot into the courtyard.  Mark Jones heart skipped a beat. 
Holy shit
!  The usually calm, twenty-two year veteran of the New York City Police Department began to scream into the radio.  “Central, get me numerous
buses
here forthwith central.  I’ve got numerous members of the service down.”

“What is the condition of the officers Task Force 6877?”

Mark Jones was too stunned to respond.  The radio dispatcher would try again.  “Can any unit on the scene at 116-80 Brewer Boulevard advise the conditions of the injured members of the service?”

In his career as a police officer, he had never encountered a scene so violent and frightening
before this one.  His mouth went instantly dry.  He saw among the officers, one other body—it lay slumped against the black wrought iron fence adjacent to the building’s lobby.  Much to his anger and frustration, Jones instantly recognized the symbol of the New Black Panther Party on the man’s t-shirt. 

He prayed that the ambulances
which he had requested got there soon.  He briefly scanned the courtyard, trying to understand what had happened.  There were half or dozen or more police officers lying in different locations throughout the courtyard.  Each was covered in a significant amount of blood.  He noticed two of them moving and another groaning. 
At least
they
were still alive
.  He wasn’t sure about the others.  A tear began to well up in his eyes; these men who laid there were his co-workers, his friends; his brothers.  Yet he didn’t immediately recognize any of them; he didn’t have to.  They were all wearing the uniform of a police officer in New York City; that was all the recognition that he needed.

Jones raced over to the nearest officer.  The cop’s blond hair was caked in thick, coagulating blood.  Jones rolled him over; as he did so, he was
shaking.  The cop rolled over; lifeless.  Jones placed two fingers against his neck hoping; praying to feel a pulse.  He did his best to concentrate on feeling for the pulse. 
Please Lord, let them be okay.  Hang in there…please
.

The ambulance could be heard in the distance, quickly approaching.  He took his brother officer’s hand in his own.  “The bus is right up the block, buddy.  You’re going to be okay.”

Jones wasn’t sure if he were trying to comfort the unconscious officer or trying to convince himself.  Jones was shaking so badly that he wasn’t sure if he felt a pulse or not; his fingers slipping in the officer’s blood.  The officer had lost a lot of blood; Jones could see where the blood had begun to pool on the sidewalk, around the officer’s head.

Jones heard the familiar voice of Captain Blaine come over the radio.  “Central let me have a level 2 mobilization respond to the 113 precinct station house!”  There was a substantial amount of background noise. 
What the hell was going on today?  First this, now a borough wide mobilization to the precinct!
  

The first of the ambulances pulled up to the scene, parking on the sidewalk, in front of the sign welcoming visitors to the Baisley Park Houses.  One of the other officers grabbed the fallen cop by the legs; Jones by the shoulders.  As the two officers carried their brother officer to the ambulance, Jones looked down at the nameplate under the officer’s shield—Lambert, it read.

###########################

Chapter 14

Galvin slowed down enough for the EZ Pass to be read at the toll plaza.  Once they crossed over the Throgs Neck Bridge, they were in the homestretch—Galvin’s apartment was less than ten minutes away.  The ride back from the Catskills had taken over four hours; much longer than it should have.  They had stopped once to get a bite to eat on one of the many rest stopped on the New York State Thruway and then hit a considerable amount of traffic.  Neither one of them minded however.  They enjoyed each other’s company and neither wanted the weekend to come to a conclusion—probably more so Galvin than Laurie.

Galvin took Laurie’s hand; holding it as he drove.  She pulled it up to her mouth and gave it a gentle kiss.  “I had a great weekend, Tommy.  I’m so glad
that I let you talk me into getting away for a few days.”

“Me too, Laurie.”  He gently squeezed her hand.  “I’m so
happy that you were able to come upstate with me.”

He truly was.  Galvin
hadn’t thought that it was possible to fall in love so quickly after beginning to date someone, but he had.  He didn’t want the weekend to ever end.  He didn’t want to go back to work and deal with the fallout from the Grand Jury’s decision.  If not for the phone call from his union delegate, Galvin would’ve been at home at the time the media was stationed at his house.  He hoped things had blown over by now although he doubted that they had.  In reflection, he realized that he should’ve taken his cell phone with him in case they needed to get in contact with him.  Nevertheless, he had no regrets about leaving it behind.  After all, he had the best weekend he’d had in a very long time…and what could really have been that important?

*

Laurie did have a good time and she saw a side to Tommy Galvin that she had yet to see.  If the weekend was any indication of how a long term commitment would be, their relationship would no doubt be a success.  She was slightly bothered by the fact that she hadn’t told him that she loved him as well.  She wasn’t sure.  It was certainly heading in that direction, but she needed a little more time to be certain of her feelings. 

She had been frustrated a couple of times over the weekend when he refused to watch the news.  She got that he didn’t want to see himself on the news or hear of any negative impact if there
had been any, but the reality of the situation was that he would need to deal with it if there was.  She felt a bit in the dark for the entire weekend and hoped her boss—the Queens County District Attorney—had not tried to reach her for any reason. 

She took her hand back and shifted in her seat, turning towards him.  She smiled, staring at him as he drove.  She could see the two of them together
, she was pretty sure.  “So where are we going next weekend?”

“Next weekend?”
he laughed.  “We’re not even done with this weekend yet.”  He placed a hand on her knee, slowly moving it up to her thigh.

She gave a playful laugh as she pushed his hand back toward her knee.  “Oh yes we are.  Don’t you ever get enough?”

“I could never get enough of you.  It’s still early.”

She playfully slapped his hand.  “Sorry cowboy, take a cold shower.  I’ve ignored my phone and my case load all weekend and
now I have to make sure that I didn’t miss anything important.  I have to be in court at nine o’clock tomorrow.” 

Galvin flashed a playful grin.  “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

He turned off Bell Boulevard onto his block.  He hadn’t mentioned it all weekend, but he was frightened that there would still be media staked out in front of his house when he returned home.  He was relieved to see that this didn’t seem to be the case.  Maybe things weren’t so bad after all, he tried to convince himself.  He drove once around the block just to be sure.  He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary except for the dark car blending into the night at the end of the block.  It looked to him like an unmarked department auto.