Legacy and Redemption Read Online Free Page A

Galvin with a hundred questions and no answers. Galvin sat down for the first time behind the desk at the Sixty-Seventh Precinct in Brooklyn. He sat at the helm of one of the busiest precincts in the city with nothing more than classroom training to guide him. He looked at the command log, reading through the prior entries. There were nearly a dozen logs scattered about, memos from the commanding officer, the executive officer, the administrative lieutenant, and lists upon lists of phone numbers. Galvin was a bit frazzled, but couldn’t overlook the irony of the situation, forcing a chuckle to himself.
    So much for not having the desk until I know what I’m doing .
    The phone then rang for the first time since Galvin sat at the helm. Galvin started at it momentarily before picking it up. “Six-Seven Desk, Sergeant Galvin speaking; how can I help you?”

Chapter 2
    With over six months in the Police Academy, another two weeks of Brooklyn South Borough orientation, community sensitivity training, and dozens of boring lectures behind him, today was the first day that Timothy Keegan would hit the streets as a New York City Police Officer. He felt that he looked sharp in his crisply pressed uniform as he studied his reflection in the precinct’s bathroom mirror. He inched in closely to inspect his face; fearing he may not have shaved closely enough. He had heard from those before him that the supervisors at the precinct were not as stringent as they were in the police academy. Still, he wanted to look as professional as possible; he was clean shaven, his wavy reddish-brown hair was short and neat.
    Keegan walked back to his locker and strapped his unblemished, black leather gun belt tightly around his waist. He removed a Glock 9mm handgun from the top shelf of his locker and locked it into the stiff leather holster with a clearly audible snap, indicating a proper fit. Keegan walked through the rows upon rows of grey lockers, making his way to the staircase. He took them two stairs at a time, not even slightly out of breath as he reached the main floor. Timothy Keegan knew that he was in the best shape of his life. While he went to the gym on a regular basis before he entered the police academy, the physical rigor of the training in addition to his own routine, had his six foot, one hundred and eighty-five pound frame, in top physical condition.
    His body was a battle of nerves and excitement. Keegan’s mixed emotions were probably similar to the rest of the rookies in the NYPD, all of whom were all taking to the streets for the first time, but there was something slightly different for Keegan. If there were such a thing as a legacy in the NYPD, Keegan would undoubtedly be considered one. Keegan’s father, James Keegan, was a Lieutenant assigned to the Joint Terrorist Task Force back in the early 1990’s. The elder Keegan was murdered in the line of duty when Timothy was only eight years old. From all of the research that he’d done, and from the stories that he had been told of his father’s career, Timothy knew that he had big shoes to fill if he truly wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps.
     
    There were two people standing behind the desk as Keegan approached. One a sergeant, presumably the desk officer, the other was an old time cop. Keegan felt it would be more appropriate to speak cop to cop than it would be to bother the sergeant. His thinning grey hair and the sagging skin around his cheek bones were a clear indication to Keegan that the cop was easily in his very late fifties or even his early sixties. The cop looked up as Keegan approached. They made eye contact, making it easier for Keegan to begin. Keegan read his nameplate before he addressed the man.
    “Excuse me, Officer Gilbert. Today’s my first day. Can you tell me where I’m supposed to report?”
    “You’re the first one here, rookie,” Gilbert began, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.
    Gilbert held a finger up to Keegan as a