No Lights, No Sirens by Robert Cea

Author:Robert Cea
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2011-11-09T17:00:00+00:00

9

“Shots Fired! 10-13, K!”

My resolve to move on and away from Billy Devlin grew every day. I had told Conroy about the potential breakup and he was glad. He thought Devlin was soft in the street and he didn’t trust the fact that Devlin would be in a 100 percent test-i-lie mode at court; he didn’t trust him. He thought Devlin would be a better fit with the crew of guys he had working for him on his team. Those cops just weren’t on the same page as Conroy. Yeah, they would do what needed to be done, but they just did not understand the darkness as we did. They could not communicate with a lot of the perps in the street, and that is 90 percent of the game, being able to get down on their level, so we could all speak and understand the same language. John and I were just biding our time till the hookup would occur. And the more I enjoyed the darkness that the streets afforded me, the quicker that was going to happen. Especially after the Tuff Gong incident.

It all started when Sergeant Mahoney called us over the point-to-point radio band to see if we would pick up a job, man down, for the precinct commander. There had been a major backlog within the confines of the 7-6 he said, and they needed backup at the Tuff Gong Bar and Grill. Mahoney was one of the good ones; he was squat in size but had incredible strength, as he worked out in the precinct gym every chance he got. He had a streak of white hair that he desperately tried to blend into his orange hair as he headed toward the wrong end of middle age quicker than he had ever anticipated. He had twenty-five years on the job, and at his age he should have been long retired and working toward a second pension, but this job, he felt, was a young man’s job, and by his remaining on the job, in these nasty streets, he was going to stay young forever.

The Tuff Gong was a Jamaican hangout that was located on Smith Street, at the ass end of the precinct. It was a transient bar, located close to the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges, bringing in blood from that other borough. It was right off the corner of Atlantic Avenue, which ran the entire northern part of Brooklyn from west to east, bringing in its own denizens from every nasty section that Brooklyn had to offer. There was always a gunfight between Jamaican posses, the occasional stabbing, or really fun-to-watch catfights that would erupt outside the place every Friday night. Riding with Mahoney one night we picked up a half dozen eggs (a six-pack of Bud) and sat in our unmarked across the street from the Tuff Gong. We watched the chicks fight, just tear into each other, ripping the clothes off their backs; someone would always end up naked. Many a

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