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21St Precinct. Sergeant Klein in the basement. Where? 3, 4, 0. Who shot him? Who? Ah. Is he dead? He's not dead. Who's there? Sergeant Burns. There you are in the muscle room at the 21st 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 124 room at the 21st Precinct. All right, I'll send an ambulance. Emergency squad? For what? Who said so? Okay, tell them I'll call CB to send the ESD card. Yeah, right away. Right away. 21st Precinct. It's just lines on a map of the city of New York. Most of the 173,000 people wedged into the 9/10 of a 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 persons, their homes and their property is my job. My job and the job of the 160 patrolmen, 11 sergeants and four lieutenants. If who mind? The boss. My name is Kennelly. Frank Kennelly. I'm captain in Command of the 21st. What makes a city? Not buildings, not subways, not business. People make a city. From dawn to midnight. From midnight to dawn, the rich and the poor and the good and the bad pour their lives together and stir up the city as in the 21st. Even on a quiet night, I was working my 6pm to 8am tour. At 10, after I had finished reading and signing the reports and communications that had accumulated, I investigated two minor complaints about conditions in the precinct that had been brought to my attention. At midnight, I turned out the platoon for the late tour and went on patrol until shortly after 2:00am Then I returned to the station house where Lieutenant Gorman, as desk officer, and Sergeant Klein were on duty. In the muster room, I went around behind the desk to sign an entry in the blotter stating that I had completed patrol and returned to the precinct house. Thank you, Captain. Yeah. Some coffee. Hot, if you want it. Not a bad idea. What's doing? Nothing much, Captain. The hack driver turned in a woman's purse. You found the back of the cab. It had $62.08 in it. That's all. Any identification in it? No, sir. Just the money in the small exchange place, a hack strip and a pack of cigarettes. Nothing else. He thought he was a big hero. All right, 29. I tell them you guys are supposed to look in the back seat of your hacks every time you discharge a passenger. Next time you get sent down to the PAC Bureau on a violation. Well, I'll get that coffee.