Sons of the City Read Online Free

way outnumbered.”
    “Really?” I asked, and then clicked the microphone on my shirt lapel. I bent my head to the microphone, still looking at Bravelli, and tried to sound slightly bored. “Radio, this is 20-C Charlie, I need an assist in the Roma Room at Lucky’s.”
    I straightened my head back up. “OK, let’s do a count, Bravelli. We got seven thousand guys. How many you got?”
    I knew I wouldn’t have long to wait—plenty of cops would still be hanging around outside the restaurant. Two burst in from the kitchen, and then two more, and there was a tremendous banging on the main wooden doors.
    “They’re still locked,” said Nick, but a moment later the doors burst open, and blue shirts were flowing into the room. Nick looked at me, like, How come we couldn’t do that?
    Bravelli’s men just stood there, afraid to try anything now, but unwilling to retreat. Bravelli looked very pissed, which made me feel good for the first time all night.
    Lanier appeared next to me. “Everybody OK here?” he asked, looking around.
    “We’re all fine and dandy.”
    Two paramedics with orange first-aid boxes picked their way through the crowd and reached the two kids.
    “OK,” said Lanier, “now I want everybody out.”
    “Sure, Captain. Right after I lock up about a dozen assholes for assaulting my prisoners.”
    “No,” he said. “Once Rescue gets these two out of here, we’re leaving.”
    “Captain …”
    “No,” he said again. “There’s already a media cluster-fuck outside. I’m not going to let it get ten times worse.”
    I knew Bravelli was looking at me, waiting for me to glance over, for our eyes to meet. I wasn’t going to do it.
    Other paramedics were arriving, and everyone—cops, mob guys—watched as the kids were loaded onto stretchers and carried out of the room. When they were gone, Lanier turned to the largest group of cops and announced, “I’m canceling the assist. We’re all leaving.”
    Then he turned and walked out. Bravelli laughed, and I couldn’t help it, I looked at him.
    “You really are a fuckin’ failure at everything, aren’t you?” he asked me. Then he snapped his fingers, as if he had just thought of something. “Hey, North, why don’t you go to work for the Parking Authority, I bet you can handle writing tickets. If my dumb brother-in-law can do it, anybody can.”
    One of his pals standing near me started laughing, and I practically had to call on God to keep from smashing my first into Bravelli’s face.
    It was almost dark when we got outside. As I walked alone toward my patrol car, Lanier intercepted me.
    “I just wanted to let you know, Eddie, this wasn’t personal.”
    “Sure, Captain. Like getting me transferred wasn’t personal, either.”
    “Eddie, we’ve been over this—I had to report those calls to the bosses.”
    “No one has to report anonymous calls, Captain, and you know it. And now I’m not even in your unit anymore, and you humiliate me in there tonight, in front of all those lowlifes. You know what, Captain? You are the biggest asshole in a department of assholes.”
    I didn’t wait around for his reaction, I just turned and headed for my car.

TWO
    W hen they kicked me out of OC and busted me back to patrol, they could have sent me to any district in the city. They picked the 20th, probably because it was just about the furthest place from my house up in Northeast Philadelphia, which meant a pain-in-the-ass commute. That’s how the Department usually expressed its sense of humor in dealing with people it didn’t like. If I had lived in the 20th, they would have sent me to Canada or someplace.
    I wasn’t about to admit it to anyone, but I actually liked working in the 20th. A lot happened there, which was not a bad thing, at least if you were a cop.
    It was a real cross section of the city, and had just about every kind of neighborhood. It started in Westmount, which was the largest Italian section outside of South Philly. Hardly