Nothing to Report (37 page)

I advised the dispatcher that I was present on the scene. When I shone my flashlight to the front of the bar, I saw a gaping hole and broken glass shimmering in the newly fallen snow. There wasn’t a soul anywhere to be found. The Sergeant arrived and we checked out the shattered glass, quickly determining that the break was initiated from inside, not from anyone trying to brea
k
in. We advised the dispatcher not to have any other units respond, saying we would investigate it further.

The bar had apparently been closed for a while because it was weeknight and colder than a witch’s teat outside. Sergeant Helmeslooked closer at the scene and noticed some bloodied footprints going down Bay Street. We each got into our sol
o
cars and slowly drove down Bay Street with our driver’s doors open, following the bloodied prints. Traffic was practically non-existent s
o
we didn’t have any problems on that end.

The prints led to a dead end alleywa
y
just a few hundred feet north of Victory Boulevard and finall
y
stopped between two houses at the end of the alley. We noticed the bloody prints only went into the alley and not out. When I wondere
d
why this was, Sergeant Helmessaid that the flow of bloo
d
usually stops when death occurs.

I saw Joey first. He was lying on his back just a few feet away. When I turned him over, I quickly sa
w
that his face was so smeared with thick blood that he was almost unrecognizable. His hands were a mass of cuts and looked as if he had been defending himsel
f
against a knife attack. When I looked closer I could see that his palms were imbedded with shards of glass.

The sergeant contacted the radio dispatcher.

“120 Sergeant to Central.
”


“Proceed, Sergeant.”

“Central, have an ambulance respond to the side of 215 Bay Street. We hav
e
a heavy bleeder,” said Helmes.

“10-4.”

Sergeant Helmesalways kept a small first aid kit in hi
s
supervisor’s auto. He retrieved some moist towelettes thenreturned to me and cleane
d
some of the blood away from the victim’s face. It was only after we had cleane
d
him up that we both saw who it was. The injured man was Joey Grayson.

“Joey, can you hear me? Are you okay?” the sergeant asked.

Joey was stewed to the gills and it didn’t take long for the smell of booze and urine to reach our nostrils. He began regainin
g
consciousness and must have realized we were cops because he began calling out the name Willie, over and over.

Within a few minutes we bot
h
heard the ambulance’s sirens and saw the approaching red lights glimmering across the snow. The two technicians on board entered the alleyway an
d
recognized Joey immediately.

“Joey, again,” one of the techs said. “The last time we had him in the emergency room he attacke
d
one of the doctors.”

“We’ll escort you there and stay with him until you stitch him up,” offered Sergeant
Helmes.

Turning to me, he said, “John, tail the ambulance closely and stay with him until they patch hi
m
up. You know Joey. He’ll sign himself out as soon as they finish with him.”

Sergeant
Helmesthen instructed me to finish my paperwork at the hospital then go to the station house. Once there, I was to infor
m
the desk lieutenant that Sergeant Helmeshad given me permission to come in and h
e
would meet me there later. The Sergeant knew it would be easier for me to finish up in the station house and he was rewarding me for good work and giving me a break by allowing me to finish up inside instead of going back out onto patrol.

When I arrived at the hospital, I helped the attendants whee
l
Joey into the emergency room. On the way there, I noticed they had shackled Joey u
p
with leather restraints.

“What gives with the restraints, guys?
”
I asked.

“He started to fight us in the back of the ambulance like he normally does so we restrained him,” said one of the technicians.

“How the hell are they going to patch him up if he fights us inside?
”
asked the other technician.

All of a sudden, Joey noticed me again and began shouting at me.

“Willie, take me home!” he demanded with unmasked frustration.

“Joey, you need to be stitched up. Let the
doctors work on you and I promise you that as soon as they finish, I’ll take you home.”

“No, Willie. You stitch me up,” he said with breath that could kill
a
bull rhino.

I had an idea and walked into the nurse’s station to speak to the inter
n
on duty, Kenny Schonetube, who would be handling Joey’s case. I went to high school with Kenny and had been in a few classes with him; I remembered how he was a down-to-earth kind of guy.

“Today he is a pediatrician right here on Staten Island after fulfilling some of hi
s
residency requirements at Staten Island Hospital,” Lt. A. said as a smile tweaked the corners of his mouth.

Kenny always had an open handshake for me whenever he saw me.

“John, how are you?
”
he asked.

“Hi, Ken. I’m fine and I have an idea on how to treat Joey that might just prevent some of his rampages,” I said.

“John, at this point I’m open to anything. Last time he practically destroyed ever
y
piece of equipment in here,” Kenny said with a frown.

“Why don’t I stand next to you in the treatment room when you start workin
g
on him, Ken? You wear my uniform hat and I’ll talk to him as if I’m the on
e
stitching him up. What do you say?

Kenny got a kick out of my suggestion and said he was game.

Joey was wheeled into the treatment room and prepped for his suturing. His face and hands were washed and parts of his hair on hi
s
scalp had to be shaved. He was given several shots of a local anesthetic, not that he needed it. Then he was ready to be sewn up.

I gave my hat to Dr.
Schoentube to wear and I put on some green scrubs just for antiseptic purposes. Kenny began to suture Joey and, just as we expected, he resisted. I started speaking to him quietly, instructing him to not move because I was sewing him up. Joey must have actually thought it was me doing the sewing because he instantly began to calm down.

“Joey, I’m going to start with your forehead and I want you to be still,” I told him as Kenny worked on him, moving from Joey’s forehead right down to hi
s
hands and fingers. I continued talking to Joey the whole time as if I was doing all th
e
suturing.

The entire procedure took over an hour. When it was over, Joey had received over one hundred stitches. Kenny recommended that he stay overnight for observation but just as Sergean
t
Helmeshad predicted, Joey signed himself out. I drove him home and onc
e
again deposited him at his front door a little after 7:00 A.M.

“What’s really funny is after that, the hospital staff called me doctor every time they saw me coming in. The nickname stuck and after a while the guys in the precinct began to call me Doc. That’s a true story, Charlie, and I laughed every time I told it because I actually lived it.

“This one was both funny and sad, but the story has a happy ending because Joey is still alive today. What’s even better is that he is on the wagon and hasn’t touche
d
a drop in a long time. And, he still calls me Willie,” Lt. A. said with a grin.

They rode around for a while then decided to take a trip into the confines of the 122
nd
precinct. Under normal conditions, the lieutenant had to remain within the confines of the 120
th
and act as Platoon Commander, but on this night he was also assigned to cove
r
for the emergency service unit, which was based out of Patrol Bor
o
H
eadquarters. Normally, the ESU had a sergeant assigned to work th
e
midnight tour but tonight its sergeant, Shane Sullivan, had taken the night off
,
and neither the 122
nd
nor the 123
rd
had an available boss to cover.

Charlie headed out along Bay Street and drove up Vanderbilt Avenue passing
BayleySeton Hospital then continued to Richmond Road and into th
e
confines of the 122
nd
precinct. When he reached Burgher Avenue the lieutenant told him to make a left.

The boss lived on Burgher Avenue and just wanted to make sure hi
s
house was secure. That was one of the positive perks of living withi
n
the borough where you worked. The radio car slowly passed the boss
’
house and all was quiet. Charlie continued down Burgher Avenue unti
l
he reached Hylan Boulevard where he made a right turn.

The 122
nd
was a huge precinct; it covered approximately 1/3 o
f
Staten Island. One sector covered as much territory as an entire precinct in Manhattan or Brooklyn. It was a fairly quiet house but coul
d
erupt on weekends. Cops who needed back up sometimes had to wait as muc
h
as four or five minutes, which could be a lifetime if you really were i
n
danger. The 120
th
precinct would also lend a hand in calls for assistance and were often the first cars to arrive at the scene.

Charlie continued to drive along
Hylan Boulevard and soon they were passing the Hy TurkinLittle League ball field, which was meticulous and well kept. State
n
Islanders were very proud of their little league teams, both before and after they won a few little league world Championships.

A moment later, they finally saw the 122
nd
precinct station house coming up on their left.

“Lou, do you want to stop in and sign the log?
”


It was customary for visiting supervision to stop in the station hous
e
to sign in the log and do a brief inspection.

“No, I have no love lost for the brass of the 122
nd
,” Lt. A. answered.

The 122
nd
Precinct had a city-wide reputation that wasn’t much to b
e
proud of. Most cops there had second jobs and didn’t want to get involved with collars.

Charlie continued driving and soon came to a 7-11 convenience store o
n
the corner of Hylan Boulevard and New DorpLane. The store was noted fo
r
its fresh coffee and was a gold mine of customers at all hours of bot
h
day and night. Charlie went in and got two coffees to go as well as a large cinnamon roll and the lieutenant’s favorite, a French Cruller.

When he got back to the RMP he handed the lieutenant the bag and asked, “Where do you want to have this, Lou?”

“Let’s head back into the 120
th
. If a job comes up it will likely be i
n
the 120
th
anyway.”

Charlie headed back north on
HylanBoulevard and made a left ont
o
Clove Road, passing the Nissan dealer of Staten Island. He then made a right onto Howard Avenue and brought them up to one of the most spectacular views that ever existed. He brought the car to a stop near the Wagner College Campus and parked at the curb.

The scenery was breathtaking. In th
e
distance the Verrazano Bridge was all lit up like a Christmas tree while the full moon shining above cast a reflection of peace across the water. Brooklyn was directly across the Narrows and they could see traffic blinking along the Bel
t
Parkway.

Although it was hard to imagine now, just a few hundred years earlier Henry Hudso
n
sailed through the Narrows on his ship, the Half Moon. Staten Island wa
s
all forest back then and home to all kinds of wild animals as well as native Indians. In the neighborhood just below Howard Avenue, numerous streets had bee
n
named after many of the tribes that had lived both on Staten Island as well as upstate New York. The lieutenant’s grandfather, Giovanni Audenino, had settled on one of those streets, Tioga Street.