The Last Crusade: A Harry Cassidy Novel

by Henry Hack

  “Not so fast, Susan…”

  “I know, I know. Not until it’s on paper.”

  Assistant Chief Francis McKenna called a staff meeting of his nine precinct commanding officers—seven captains and two deputy inspectors—at the end of his second week as the new boro commander. They all snapped to attention as he entered the conference room. “Be seated,” he said. “While this is a get to know each other meeting, there’s a specific purpose I want to get across to all of you. In three months I have to give a list to headquarters of candidates for promotion. In other words, you have ninety days to impress me.”

  Harry was sizing McKenna up as he spoke, as were all the others in the room. The chief was a red-faced, barrel-chested Irishman, and his steely-blue, pig-like eyes were definitely not smiling Irish ones. Although Harry was well aware first impressions were not often correct, he took an instant dislike to his new boss and the pompous tone of his words.

  “And,” McKenna continued, “I don’t care what you did in the past, or what your previous boss might, or might not, have told you, or what he might, or might not, have recommended to headquarters concerning you. I’m the new manager of this team and this is a brand new ball game. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” they all said.

  “Good. I’m going to have a brief chat with each of you. When I’m done, return to your commands and get busy on the recommendations I’m going to make to you. Deputy Inspector Lafferty, you’re up first. Come with me to my office.”

  As soon as they left the conference room, the remaining eight commanders let out their breath, and a few got up to refill their coffee cups. One captain said, “What the hell did we do to deserve this prick?” Another said, “Who is this guy anyway?” A third said, “I hear he’s connected in the Mayor’s office. Supposedly his brother-in-law is a deputy mayor.”

  Harry listened to the chatter, but kept his mouth shut. Not ten minutes later Lafferty entered the conference room and said to Deputy Inspector Jaeger, “You’re next, Eddie.”

  Lafferty was ashen-faced, and said no more as he exited the room. “Jack looked as if he just saw a ghost,” Captain Moran said.

  “McKenna ain’t a ghost, Jimmy,” Captain Hall said. “He’s a real live bastard.”

  “Be quiet, Pete,” said Captain Rocco. “That RFF may have the room bugged.”

  “RFF?” Moran said.

  “Red-faced fuck,” Rocco said.

  They all had to suppress a laugh at Rocco’s apt description, and the tension in the room was significantly reduced. A new nickname had been created, and as “Pop” Hunter and “Hoppy” Cassidy knew, Assistant Chief Francis McKenna would now forever be known on the Job as the “RFF.”

  Harry was the sixth one called into McKenna’s office. He stood at attention in front of the chief’s desk. “Sit down, Cassidy,” he said.

  Harry noticed his personnel folder on the desk in front of McKenna. It was noticeably thicker than the last time he saw it. Twenty years of paper accumulation would do that. He made the assumption McKenna had scrutinized the file, and as any good lawyer knew, would ask Harry questions the answers to which he would already know.

  “Cassidy. Familiar name. Have any relatives on the Job?”

  Harry smiled to himself at his correct assessment. McKenna god-damned well knew the answer to that question. “Yes, sir. My Uncle Mike was a retired deputy chief.”

  “H-m-m, Michael Cassidy. Passed away recently?”

  “About two years ago, sir.”

  “Yeah, I knew him. Let’s talk about your precinct’s crime stats.”

  Harry became immediately aware Uncle Mike and Francis McKenna had not been bosom buddies during their time on the Job together. The chief was one of the few people who did not have a nice thing to say, or a fond memory to relate, about Michael Cassidy.

  “It’s so obvious your stats are the best in the boro, but there’s always room for improvement, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And that’s what I’m going to base my recommendations for promotions on—the amount of improvement over the next ninety days.”

  “That seems a little unfair, sir.”

  “Unfair? How so?”

  “If my precinct is running at ninety-five percent efficiency and another at seventy percent, it’s certainly easier for that precinct to improve. I don’t think my past efforts should be ignored.”

  “That’s too bad, Cassidy. I make the rules now, and whether you think the rules are unfair doesn’t concern me one iota. If a precinct commander goes from seventy to eighty percent, and you don’t improve by more than ten percent, he gets the nod for promotion.”

  “But Chief, it’s not possible to improve to one hundred five percent.”

  “You do have a problem there,” he said with an evil grin, “but it seems you’ve always had problems on the Job—especially with Internal Affairs, like your capers in the Nine-Five. Too bad your Uncle Mike isn’t around anymore to help you solve them. Get out of here, and send Captain Moran in.”

  Harry rose, saluted, and did a brisk about face. No use arguing with this guy with the long memory anymore. The message from the RFF was crystal clear—Harry Cassidy was going to be Captain Cassidy for a long, long time.

  When the promotion order came out in late April, thirty-two captains were elevated to the rank of deputy inspector. Three of those captains were from Brooklyn North, and none of those three were named Harold T. Cassidy. He was in his office looking at the list of promotees. With him were his executive officer and his administrative lieutenant.

  “What a travesty, Boss,” the lieutenant said. “We were anticipating you leaving us, and not too happy about that, but happy for you.”

  “What can I say?” Harry said. “McKenna does not care for me. He’ll never recommend me for promotion.”

  “Then you have to get away from him,” his executive officer said. “Go see someone you know, and get a transfer out from under the red-faced prick.”

  “And leave you guys? No way.”

  But the seed had been planted, and Harry wondered if that’s what he would have to do. At least there were some good guys promoted on the order—Dan Snyder got his star, and was now the new detective boro commander of Queens South, and Don Campbell, his first team leader in the Task Force, got his inspector’s eagle and became the executive officer of the Narcotics Division.

  “What do you think, Susan?” he asked that evening after he informed her of of the day’s happenings.

  “Maybe it’s time to go have a talk with Gregorovich.”

  “Very risky to do that. Going over a two-star chief’s head is not something you do lightly. Could be a career breaker.”

  “What career? Seems as if McKenna already stopped yours dead in its tracks.”

  “I guess you’re right about that. Any other thoughts?”

  “Don’t go over his head. Go under it. Go talk to Dan Snyder. If anyone could give you guidance, he can.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that myself?”

  “Then why would you need me around?”

  “Because you’re beautiful, and I love you to death, that’s why.”

  “You have come a long way, Cassidy. You finally learned the right words to say.”

  Deputy Chief Dan Snyder had advice for Harry, but it was not what he wanted to hear. “McKenna is hooked up heavily in the Mayor’s office,” he said. “He didn’t get that second star because he and the PC worked together in personnel. That star came right out of City Hall.”

  “What the hell do I do, Dan? I’m not ready to retire, but I’m also not ready to spend the rest of my career as a captain. How long do I have to tough it out?”

  “Until your and McKenna’s paths go their separate ways, or until he has a change of heart or…or until the prick has a stroke and dies.”

  “What about talking to Gregorovich?”

  “Only as a last resort. He may be worried about his own position, too.”

  “Thanks
for the help, Boss. Thanks for nothing, no disrespect intended.”

  “Chin up, lad. Who knows, maybe something will pop up and change things. Curve balls happen you know, and sometimes the curve ball is a good pitch.”

  Things did not get better. They got worse. McKenna went out of his way to try to embarrass Harry at the monthly Compstat meetings. He would pick on the most minor flaws in the performance of his precinct, while ignoring major flaws in those of others. Harry wondered if the chief of patrol and the chief of department, both of whom attended the Compstat meetings, had noticed McKenna’s behavior toward him. And if they did, did they even give a shit?

  And then, at a routine Compstat meeting in late August, the situation between Harry and McKenna boiled over and blew out into the open. Harry had given his statistical reports and they were, as usual, the best in the boro. And, as usual, McKenna offered no compliments, but went right for Harry’s throat.

  “Yeah, yeah, all well and good, Captain,” he said, “but what about the incident with your officer out in Suffolk County the other night?”

  “Yes, sir,” Harry said. “Police Officer Robert Stoddard, while off duty, was arrested by the Suffolk County Police Department on a domestic complaint. He violated an Order of Protection his wife had previously obtained, by attempting to enter the marital residence from which he had been barred.”

  “Why didn’t you prevent that from occurring?”

  “Prevent it? I don’t see how…?”

  “No, Cassidy, you never see anything, do you? You should have known Stoddard’s propensity for violence, and done something about it. It seems you don’t know your men very well, do you?”

  “But that’s a personal off duty matter…”

  “Nonsense. That’s a poor excuse. How many more of the men in your command have orders of protection against them?”

  “I don’t know, sir. There’s no way of knowing. I don’t know any commander who knows that.”

  “I’m not talking about other commanders, Cassidy. I’m talking about you. So maybe you should find out. And if you can’t find out, and do something about it, maybe you’re not fit for command. Maybe you belong in the Auto Impound Yard.”

  “Sir, I…”

  “Shut up, Cassidy. Here’s what I want you to do—you’d better take notes—I want you to develop a performance objective for predicting, and preventing, domestic violence incidents for officers in the Department, and give me a full report on it.”

  “But sir, isn’t that a task for the Compstat Planning Unit?”

  “Typical of you, Cassidy,” he said shaking his head. “Can’t handle a simple task, and always looking to pass the buck to someone else. And I want that report, that full detailed report, on my desk by oh-nine hundred, Friday morning.”

  “That’s in three days, Chief.”

  “I’m glad you can count, Captain.”

  “That’s not possible to accomplish.”

  “Then I guess you’ll be counting cars on the west side pier. Friday, oh-nine hundred.”

  Harry rose to his feet and said, “You son-of-a-bitch.”

  McKenna’s face got redder and he stammered, “What? What did you say?”

  Harry moved toward him, and for a moment, McKenna’s face was reminiscent of Richie Winston’s on that Christmas Eve many years ago, when Harry had grabbed him around the throat. Harry closed on McKenna who had now gotten out of his chair. “What do you have against me anyway?” Harry yelled. “It’s my Uncle Mike isn’t it? He had you pegged for the phony rotten bastard you really are, didn’t he?”

  Harry had gotten to within a few feet of the terrified McKenna when he was intercepted by Chief Gregorovich. He grabbed Harry by the arm and said, “My office—now.”

  Gregorovich shut the door and told Harry to sit down. He went over to a small refrigerator and got out a bottle of water. “Here, drink some and then pour the rest of it over your hot Irish head. Tell me what the hell that was all about, and why you decided to commit career suicide in front of a large audience.”

  Harry took a long drink of water, and then did indeed pour some over his head and face.

  “I didn’t mean that literally, you know,” Gregorovich said.

  “Just showing you I can, and do, follow orders, sir.”

  Gregorovich shook his head and said, “Several years ago you and I had a closed door, heart-to-heart talk in my office in Nassau Internal Affairs. Do you remember that?”

  “As if it were yesterday.”

  “We’re going to have another confidential chat. You’ve got it right about McKenna and your Uncle Mike, although that doesn’t excuse losing your head and blurting it out in front of the high command. McKenna is a phony, and Mike Cassidy spotted it right away. He vetoed a promotion for McKenna from captain to deputy inspector way back when—for good reasons. McKenna never forgot, but later, when his political powers got him pushed up the ladder, Mike had retired and he couldn’t get even—until you conveniently came along under his command.”

  “That’s not fair. What…?”

  Gregorovich held up his hand to stop Harry. “Not fair? I can’t believe you said that after twenty years on this Job. Here’s the situation—you’re never going to be promoted as long as McKenna is around.”

  “Can you get me transferred out from under him?”

  “That won’t help. Wherever you end up he’ll just call your boss and advise him not to recommend you for promotion. And they’ll listen because he is hooked up politically, and he could end up sitting in my chair, or higher, in the near future.”

  “Your chair?”

  “Do you know how old I am, Harry?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Sixty-two years and nine months—and mandatory retirement age is sixty-three. And by the way, McKenna is only fifty-one.”

  “I might as well stop at Personnel right after I leave your office and throw my papers in.”

  ”Don’t be hasty, Harry. Let’s see how things play out in the next few weeks.”

  Harry’s fate was in the hands of others now. A month went by and he hadn’t been transferred, but he sensed the end was near. His only remaining hope was that Gregorovich had spoken with Commissioner Donaldson, and that was why he was still in the Six-Four. But no one had called him, and Harry nervously waited for the hammer to drop.

  He had discussed his plight with Susan who concluded he should now start getting his resume together. “Screw this McKenna, and screw your whole Department,” she said. “How could they do this to a good cop—my husband—those rats? You took bullets for them for Christ’s sake.”

  “I agree with your assessment. Will you help me with the resume?”

  “Sure. And when you get a good security job you can investigate every aspect of McKenna’s life, and find something I can bring a lawsuit against him for all he’s worth.”

  “That’s my girl. Let’s get to work.”

  The resume was soon completed and Harry was driving over to Manhattan to have lunch with Howie Mills, the Apollo Cable security director he had become friendly with while he worked in the DA’s Squad. He had an all-news radio station on when he heard the name Walter Kobak come over the speakers. He turned up the volume and listened as the announcer continued, “…a seasoned veteran of the FBI, has today been named the new Assistant Director in charge of the New York Office. Kobak replaces long-serving James Driscoll who will move on to Washington to assume the number three position in the Bureau.”

  Harry smiled as he thought of his old friend and Task Force leader. Thank God the FBI knows how to promote their good people. He made a mental note to call Walt as soon as he got himself settled into his new position.

  “So you finally decided to pack it in?” Howie said as he sipped his Belvedere martini.

  “Yes. I can’t take the politics and bullshit anymore.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “Here, give me that resume.”

  Mills read the two pages carefully, and then took out his pe
n and looked over at Harry. “Would you mind if I mark this up a bit?”

  “That’s what I came to see you for, and by the way, I’m buying lunch today.”

  “Keep your wallet in your pocket. You’ll be buying soon enough when you get your expense account.”

  “You’re something else, Howie.”

  “Listen, this looks pretty good, but I’ve crossed out a couple things and added a couple more. You have to emphasize your accomplishments which can translate into improving the bottom line. Business is all about profits, and you have to show the company that, by hiring you, they’ll make, or save, money.”

  “What if I go with a big security services firm like Sheldrake Associates instead of an individual business?”

  “Same thing, more or less. A business that hires Sheldrake wants them to solve a problem that’s costing them money, or will cost them money in the future.”

  “Got it. I appreciate you taking the time with me on this.”

  “I’m happy to do so, but tell me—what pushed you out? I figured if you could get past the politics you could have gone all the way—at least a three-star chief.”

  Harry gave him an abbreviated version of his battles with Chief McKenna and Howie said, “I see things haven’t changed one bit since I left the Job. Those humps will never change. Tell that prick McKenna to go fuck himself as you’re walking out the door on your way to becoming a first-class citizen.”

  “I may do just that,” he said.

  When he got back to the stationhouse, he accessed his home computer and brought up his resume. He made the changes suggested by Howie, and printed up five copies. For the first time in a long while he felt happy and comfortable. He had made his decision, and now he was getting ready to implement it. He picked up the phone and dialed the Pension Bureau. “I’d like to make an appointment to discuss service retirement options, please.”

  “Certainly, sir,” the civilian aide said. “Our first opening is next Wednesday, October 19 at 10:30 a.m.”

  “That would be fine.”

  “I’ll have your personnel records ready, and we can get the process going right away. See you then, Captain.”