The Package

Twenty-first precinct, Argentina. Yes? What kind of bomb? Wait a minute, just a second, take it easy. New York Gallery, where? You are in the master room at the twenty-first precinct. The nerve center. A call is coming through.

You will follow the action taken pursuant to that call from this minute until the final report is written in the one twenty-four room at the twenty-first precinct. No, no, don't do that. Your position will be right there.

Yeah. Yeah. Now I'll sign the sidewalk and wait for them. Just lines on a map of the city of New York, most of the 173,000 people who waged into the nine tenths of the square mile between Fifth Avenue and the East River wouldn't know if you asked them that they lived or worked in the 21st.

Whether they know it or not, the security of their homes, their persons and their property is the job of the men of the 21st precinct. The 21st, 160 patrolman, 11 sergeants and four lieutenants of whom I am the boss.

My name is Canelli. Frank Canelli. I'm Captain in command of the 21st. I was working my day tour 8am to 6pm. It was warm and sunny. After I turned up to a tune, I cleaned up the paperwork that had accumulated since I was last on duty 24 hours before.

Then after seeing two visitors in regard to their applications for gun permits, Secretary number three came by the station house for me, and I went on patrol of the precinct with patrolman Eugene Dillon as operator.

The other kid comes home, Captain. You said to me, Pop, you promised me this year I could have a new mitt. Uh-huh. Trappery once. You know, the new style throughout the field is... The movie house down on the next plot.