The Fence - Dick Lehr [52]
In Walaikum’s, Lyle Jackson lay on the floor on his back, a pool of blood widening around him. He had three bullet holes in his chest, one on the left side and two on the right. His eyes were open, but he was disoriented. His skin paled and quickly turned cold. One girl put her jacket over him. His friend Marcello was by his side, urging him to hold on. “He was trying to talk to me. But I told him, ‘Don’t talk. Just fight it. Stay a little.’” Stanley ran to get Lyle’s mother, who lived around the corner on Warren Avenue.
The second 911 call was made from a nearby pay phone one minute after the first—at 2:40 A.M. and fifty seconds. This caller was a security guard who’d worked at the Cortee’s and knew a trick or two about jacking up the police response.
“I’ve got an officer down in Walaikum’s,” he said, “Walaikum’s on Blue Hill Avenue.”
The lie was tantamount to yelling fire in a crowded theater. In quick succession, a series of urgent calls went out over the police channel 3. “We have an officer down,” the dispatcher said. Then the dispatcher said, “451 Blue Hill Avenue. Officer down,” and a few seconds later repeated, “Officer down,” but added: “There were shots fired.”
In an instant, members of the gang unit were on their feet and heading down the stairs. “Everybody just ran out the door,” said Gary Ryan. Ryan jumped behind the wheel of one unmarked cruiser while his partner, Joe Teahan, climbed into the passenger side. Don Caisey got behind the wheel of a car carrying Sergeant Thomas and another officer. Mike and Craig jumped into their cruiser. Craig was in the driver’s seat. It was a moment when many different thoughts raced through Mike’s mind. “I hope he’s not hurt bad. I hope he’s not shot. I hope I don’t know him. I hope, you know, it’s a mistake.”
They were not the only ones responding. Police officers everywhere were on their way to Walaikum’s. The reason was a mixture of human nature and the solidarity of the cop world—a call about one of their own in trouble, said Mike, “would bring out more police officers than would normally come.”
Dave Williams and Jimmy Burgio, coffees in hand, were approaching the party house they’d decided to stake out when they heard the call. They got on the radio with the dispatcher, identifying their car and saying, “We’re heading up.” Initially there was confusion about the restaurant’s name, with the dispatcher calling it the M & M Tavern, which was also on Blue Hill Avenue. Williams and Burgio overheard another officer jump on the radio and straighten the dispatcher out, saying the tavern was “all closed up.” In short order, the dispatcher had the correct name. The key piece of information was the address: 451 Blue Hill Avenue. Burgio had never been to Walaikum’s before, but Williams knew where to go. “Everybody’s coming, you know, there’s a police officer shot,” Williams said.
One of the officers who set off for Walaikum’s was Ian Daley. Daley, in his sixth year on the force, was born in England and moved to Boston when he was a toddler. He joined the force after graduating from college and had worked mostly in Roxbury in a one-man service car—the Bravo 431. He was at the police station in Dudley Square finishing writing a report when he heard about the shooting. Daley immediately ran outside and got into his cruiser.
The call was now going out on every police channel, not just channel 3. Kenny Conley and Bobby Dwan had just pulled out of the liquor store’s parking lot, done with serving as backup in the handling of the “suspicious persons.” They looked at each other. “You never know who it is,” Bobby said. “Could be your brother, could be your friend.” Kenny tried to get a fix on the shooting’s location. Grove Hall was south from where they were—on the other side of Dudley Square. It was close by, but