Case of the Drive

Twenty-first precinct, Sergeant Collins. That's my witness to the police department. So your place? Or who? What's his name? You know him? You're in the mud to room at the twenty-first precinct. The nerve center. The call is coming through.

You will follow by transcription, 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. All right, I'll tell you what. You're right around the corner.

Why don't you get to walk into the station house? You'll be tellin' about it. That's right, you come in here. Twenty-first precinct. It's just lines on the map of the city of New York. Most of the 173,000 people, white as in to the 910th of a square mile between Fifth Avenue and the East River,

would 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 properties, is the job of the men of the 21st precinct.

The 21st, 160 patrolman, 11th sergeant, and 4 lieutenant, so who am I in the boss? My name is Canelli, Frank Canelli. I'm Captain in command of the 21st. It was 8.20am. I had just turned out to platoon for the day tour and was in my office, changing from my uniform, about to go off duty after having been on the job since 4 the previous afternoon.

I mean, I like to see a man captain. Oh, come in, man. What have you got? I don't know, really, Captain. Maybe just an idea. Yeah, huh? You want a girl $0.50 to get home last night?