Walking back to the squad car carrying two fresh wrapped pastrami sandwiches, my heart is pounding and hands sweating, the growl in my stomach doesn’t drown out the voice in my head that scolds me, “See. You should have listened to your old man, you idiot.”

This is my first day as the Sergeant’s Operator, and basically, I am the Sergeant’s driver. My old man called in some favors to get me this spot, and the one thing he warned me about last night, the night before I was to start, I ignored, totally ignored, and went to my favorite bar to watch the Yankees get their butts kicked, again.

I had told myself at my favorite watering hole that I was just going to catch the first three innings of the Yankee game, go home, and come up with a story. Next thing I know it’s 2 a.m., they’re locking up, and the girl I had been chatting up all night leaves with her husband built like Carl Weather in Rocky, who, by the way, she failed to mention as I was buying her drinks all night long.

Of course, I had thought to myself last night that I had hundreds of good cop stories. But, as the saying goes, you can’t remember any decent stories when you really, really need to.

I’m nearing the back of the cruiser. Both windows are down. The Sergeant says the AC gives him a runny nose.

It’s freaking ninety degrees, and the humidity is like at two hundred and forty-two percent. He’s sitting there with the window down, arm sticking out the window. Whistling some Buddy Holly tune.

 I go to the driver’s side and at the same time pray for a short, short, unbelievably cool summer. Sarge sees my hands are full and leans over and opens the door. “Thanks, Sarge.”

“You’re welcome.”

As I get in the car he says, “You remind me of your old man. Same walk. Same movement. Same look in the eyes.”

I  hand him his bag with pastrami on rye and a diet orange Sunkist.

I open my bag and pull out my salami and cheese on whole wheat. I take a deep breath as I begin to eat my sandwich, and I hear my father’s voice, “The first thing he’s going to ask about when you’re eating lunch is if you got any good stories.”

In my mind I pray for divine intervention. “Please, God, don’t let him ask me for a story.”

I keep my mouth crammed with food hoping and praying that if he sees me enjoying a hearty meal, then he won’t bother about a story.

We both are eating, no one is saying a word. That’s good, I think.

After the Sergeant takes his last few bites, he wipes his mouth and burps, and turns to me, “You married?”

“Me? No Sir.”

“Lucky.”

On summer days like this one, Coney Island has a breeze coming off the beach that carries an odor of salt water and rotten garbage. The humidity is boiling and the window is open. “Why?” I ask myself. The one good thing in the midst of the sirocco winds sweeping into the car from the nearby beach is a hint of salt water. Just the smell of the water seems to lower the boiling temperature and ease the stifling humidity.

Dispatch calls on the radio and Sergeant takes it. Something about he needs to reach out to the Union about one thing or another.

While all this is going on, I am stuffing my mouth thinking, “If I finish before he does, I can start driving and maybe then I won’t have to be Aesop.”

Before I even start to swallow, he asks, “Hey, buddy, you got any good cop stories? Your old man had tons of great stories.”

I mumble, “Gmn, Cmgh Stmm.” I swallow and wipe my mouth. “Good Cop Stories?”

“Your dad sure could spin a tale. Boy, he sure knew how to weave a story. A modern Aesop.”

“Aesop my arse,” I say to myself. I turn my head toward the window and think fast.  I squint hard and squeeze my forehead with my left hand. “I got this. I got this...” I say to myself.

Nothing. I am blank. Damn.

I refuse, I flatly refuse to be outdone by my old man. The first thing after this shift ends, Sarge will call my old man and tell him that I don’t have stories. He would ask my dad, “How is that even possible?”

The saying goes, “All cops have stories.  Good cops have good stories. Great cops have great stories.”

If I can’t come up with something,  I would not hear the end of that. Ever.

I am racking my brain. Struggling. Then, the lightbulb comes on. I got one. A good one. “Sarge, you hear about Willy Wonka taking his first lead with the Hostage Team?”

“Willy Wonka?  Wait, who’s Willy Wonka? That’s Petey, right? Petey... Petey Giamo, Italian. A bona fide lady’s man. Looked like Richard Gere. He’d hit on anything wearing a skirt. Nice guy though. Good cop.”

“Did you hear he got promoted a little bit ago?”

“Nah.”

“He’s with the Hostage Negotiation Team now.”

“No kidding.” Sarge goes, “I know him. At least I met him before. They called him Willy Wonka because he’s smooth like chocolate.  He’s the type that could talk a rabid dog off a meat truck. I can see him working with H.N.T.”

“Well, Sarge, someone was telling me this morning that last week or the week before last, he had his first lead at the door with the Hostage Negotiation Team.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was a doozy. Listen to this one. Call comes in, right. Male, mid-late twenty’s, Hispanic, behind a locked door, possible hostages. So, they roll out the HNT trucks. ESU is called for their electronic shit and special weapons. Petey’s team is up in the 48^th in the Bronx. They call out everything and everybody. You know how they do. Got a sniper on the roof across the street. Sniper has a view into a bedroom and a room that looks like a den, couch, TV, stuff like that. They got listening mike set up in the neighbors’ apartments. They secure the perimeter and all that crap. Ninth or tenth floor, one of the high-rise projects near the Pathmark on Grand Concourse.”

“Pathmark located in the 48^th, off the Bruckner.  Yeah, yeah, I know it. Apart from the rowdy kids. It’s usually pretty quiet in that neck of the woods considering it’s the Bronx.”

“That’s it.”

“What happened?”

“Someone dialed 911. Something about neighbors yelling and fighting in one of the apartments. Squad car shows up, goes to the 18^th floor.  They ask around and find out there are hostages inside the apartment, so they radio for the Hostage Negotiation Team.

“H.N.T. rolls up. They set up all their intel equipment, listening devices, telescopes and stuff.  They find out that there are at least two men and two women in the apartment. The Sergeant tells Petey to take the lead on this. So, they send Petey to the door.  His first negotiation. Sergent or Lieutenant next to him with pen and sticky notes. You know how they do. The whole floor has been evacuated.

“Petey starts, ‘Sir, my name is Pete Giamo.’ Finds out the guy on the other side is named Charles. This guy says that his friends call him Chucky.  Petey asks ‘What do you want me to call you?’ The guy goes call me Chucky.

“Petey says, ‘Hey, Chucky, first, thanks for sharing your name. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.  Just so you know and won’t be surprised, there are police out here with me, and there are cops outside just to control the area. Keep people safe. Keep folk from sticking their noses where they don’t belong. Again, we don’t want anyone to get hurt, Chucky. Okay?’”

“Okay,” Chucky says.

“So, Petey keeps going. ‘Chucky, it seems to me that this isn’t what you’d call a good day for you, is it? Nah. What happened man?’”

So, long story short, Chucky and his wife, Kate, got into a beef about Chucky’s sister Rita coming over borrowing food. Somehow, Rita’s husband, Sammy, comes downstairs and they start arguing and a fight breaks out, and Chucky gets his gun.

“Petey on the outside of the door tells Chucky, ‘Dude we all have bad days. Yesterday my fiancé hurt her ankle playing volleyball at the Y on Jerome Ave. Do you know it?’”

“Claro,” Chucky says.

“Petey is lying of course. Chucky knows that Y.  He says that when he was young, he took swimming lessons at that Y.

“Chucky asks Petey how his wife is doing.

“Petey tells the guy they put her in a soft brace.

“He asks Chucky if he’s ever hurt his leg or something.

 “Chucky gets into how he hurt his back at work, and how they turned down his application for worker’s comp.

“Out of nowhere, a woman screams from inside he got a knife. Seems like Sammy, the neighbor, got a knife from the kitchen and now is threatening to stab Chucky’s wife if Chucky doesn’t let them go.”

“Oh shit.”

“Oh shit is right. This is Petey’s first run as a negotiator. His first time, he’s freakin’ got two hostages and two weapons. My man’s first time at bat and he’s facing fucking Justin Verlander.”

“So, wait, the guy Chucky takes this Sammy, his neighbor, hostage. And then this Sammy guy takes Chucky’s wife hostage. Holy shit.”

“Holy shit is right. But oh, it gets worse.”

“Worse?”

“Yes. As Petey and Chucky go back and forth, all of a sudden Petey hears crying from inside.”

“Crying? Who’s crying?”

“Who’s crying? Babies.”

“A baby or Babies?”

“Babies.”

“Babies. Two sets of twins are in the apartmentt. Chucky’s kids and the neighbor’s kids.”

“You know how Petey feels about babies. Oh my God.”

“Oh my God is right. Petey loses it. I mean he loses it.  He’s trying to stay calm on the outside but inside he’s boiling. He says, ‘Hey Chucky, are their babies in the apartment? Chucky says, yessir. Petey asks whose kids? Turns out a neighbor, Alisa, a Dominicana, got an extra shift at Pathmark and asked Chucky and his wife to watch her babies, twins. They do it as a favor. They do it all the time. She’s single and just trying to get it together. So, they help her out. Single mom trying her best, you know? Now, if you remember, Petey would go nuts with anything that had to do with kids.”

“Boy, do I remember, my patrol was Upper Harlem when that craziness went down at the complex Esplanade Gardens.”

“So you know.”

“Know. Yeah, that’s an understatement.”

“So, now Petey loses his shit. For real. He starts screaming like a madman, ‘Chucky, are you crazy? Are you crazy man?’ This is not training, this is the real Petey talking.

“Petey screams, ‘What are you thinking man? Chucky, pal, you seem like a nice man and all but think about this. You are telling me that you are babysitting your neighbor’s babies, a Dominicana, and you are running around her precious twins with a loaded weapon. That’s some dumbass shit man. If you ask me. Estúpido.  You know, pal, that when she hears about you running around her precious twins with a loaded weapon, I swear to you she’s going to kick your ass. Chucky, you seem like a nice guy man but what do you think this woman gonna feel when she learns that you, her neighbor, who she trusts to watch her babies, her darling precious babies, is running around with loaded weapons while her babies are in the apartment, and... and the police are swarming around at the door.  How do you think she’ll feel about that, huh? Tell me man, how’s she going to feel about that someone she trusted. Tell me.’”

 “Petey keeps going, ‘This senorita obviously trusts you. How can you break her trust like this, dude? How? And worse, both you assholes know that there are infants in the apartment and yet you two assholes are walking around with loaded firearms like it’s the goddamn Alamo. How would you feel if the situation was reversed? How would you feel, Chucky?

“‘The other officers out hear ready to light your ass up for having hostages. Now, you add babies to the mix. Dude. Do the right thing. Open the door. They guys out here are about to lose it. Babies. Man. Babies.’”

“Petey goes, ‘Chucky, look, I give you to the count of ten man, crack the door slowly and show me your fucking hands. Or these guys are going to storm in there, and, my friend, you don’t want that.

“One... Two... Three... Four.... Click click.  The door opens and hands poke through the crack.”

“Damn my man is a hero.”

“Sometimes, he is smart enough to get out of his own way.”

“Petey’s first job and Petey acting like he’s the head of HNT. Good for him.”

“As they say, but wait, there’s more.”

“More?”

“After all is said and done, both men get arrested, the babies are taken to the ER just to see if everything is okay. The mom is contacted, leaves work and comes to the hospital. She walks in and Petey freaks the fuck out.”

“I would too if I found out my babies were being held hostage.”

“No. That’d be too easy. No, the kicker is that when the mother of the babies is notified and rushes home, comes to find out...”

The Sergeant raises his hand because he already knows where this is going.

 “No. No. No Stop. Just stop.  No. Don’t say it man. Just don’t...”

“You know for a while we used to call Petey, PSP.  Paternity Suit Petey.”

“That was a remarkable story. Your old man never had one that good.”

I whisper to myself, “Touché.”

I’m thinking, I can’t wait to talk shit when I call my old man. Can’t wait.