A New York Minute

Chapter 1
A New York Minute

Tuesday, 19th July
13:15

The only time this city stops is when it is witness to something downright horrifying, and even then - It’s only for a New York Minute.


Another gunshot from inside the building cracked the buzzing atmosphere and screams rang out like sirens. The local police were trying to contain the scene by cutting off street access, but they were desperately outnumbered by the frenzied civilians demanding to know what was going on inside the seized building. The surrounding perimeter had been cornered off, and it seemed like everyone had come out of the neighbouring structures to get a look at the fast-escalating scene.

The press had shown up in throngs almost an hour ago but only now were a handful of tactical teams being given directions to take up arms and head to their positions. It had been seventy minutes since it began. ‘It’ being the armed robbery of the bank on Liberty Street; The name was nothing less than ironic.

Clicking at their phones and gossiping among themselves, the small clusters of citizens morphed into hoards, squirming and writhing like maggots under the relentless afternoon sun. One man had even moved his food truck closer. It was debatable which was worse: the guy cashing in on the debacle, or those who actually thought buying an ice cream and taking selfies were a good idea.

A sudden wave of stillness chocked the asphalt-scented air out of the onlookers’ lungs. Everyone’s eyes directed to the main entrance of the bank and sure enough, there stood an aged security guard. Behind him, a figure dowsed from head to toe in black held up a semi-automatic machine gun. It was clear what was going on. It was now a confirmed hostage situation and if there was one thing that the NYPD didn’t want, it was to be blamed for the death of a public servant.

The co-ordinating Officer pressed the button on the megaphone in his hand. Nerves getting to him as the Hostage Rescue Team were caught in traffic due to the roads being closed off for construction a little over a mile away, the most superior officer ran a spiel about everything being fine if the perpetrator stayed calm and didn’t hurt anyone.

“We have demands!” The figure in black yelled and like a light being switched on, the rash of speech reverberated.

The Officer turned to the beat cop beside him. “Push the perimeter back. I don’t want this all over CNN.”

“I think that’s a little too late, Captain.” He gestured to the half a dozen vans  with reportes perched on the top outside of the barrier of patrol cars.

The dull hum of a helicopter overhead caused attention to shift. Even the hostage taker glanced up when the splay of officers gave notice. Catching a break in concentration, a patrol officer lined up his gun and took his shot.

The crowd dropped in self preservation at the crack. Holding their hands over their heads, and scurrying out of harms way, a few of the braver onlookers peered up from behind the barrier of patrol cars and tried to document the happening. It was as clear as day that the robber had been shot. Knicked on his left arm at most, but that was the start of terror for those on the side street.

Falling backwards into the glass front of the building, the criminal released his leverage in his staggering. Watching the hostage make a run for the police line, the lawbreaker took aim. A spray from the semi automatic he held turned the hostage’s back into lace. Seeing his victim hit the floor, the malefactor open fired on the crowd.

Dodging, and ducking, and crawling, those witnessing the afternoon crisis scuttled for their lives as the police returned fire. Vastly outnumbered and out-gunned, the criminal was shot to death right there on the steps.

Hoping and praying for safety, a New York miracle happened upon those cooped up inside the sweaty bank. Black vans whooshed around either corner of the narrow way, and a rush of figures dowsed in ebony uniforms quickly dispersed like killer ants toward a felled bird. Scuttling towards the bank, and down its side-streets, special forces splayed out in wait for their secondary set of commands.

“Captain Jonathan Wilkins,” The tallest of the suited pair heading for the police line held out his badge. “we’re from the FBI, and-”

“We’re here to take over this shit storm.” The younger of the pair snipped, wiping the sweat from his brow in an aggressive motion before pointing.

“You took your time.” The graying male looked over the pair. “A hostage has been killed as well as a member of the group that had tried t-”

“They didn’t try - they have.” The youngest officer scoffed. Looking off, he gave a sequence of hand signals to the HRT rechecking their gear and spreading out. “They have the opportunity to over a million in cash.” His expression twisted as he squinted past the harsh rays of the sun. A contemplative groan escaped thin lips and his dark eyes returned to the local commander. “I doubt the usual group of four-to-seven could manually carry that much weight along a straight, though.” He nodded, more to himself than anyone else. “They won’t get far.”

“What do you plan to do?” The local Lead officer looked between the two FBI officers. “There are other hostages in there.”

“What do you take us for?” The youngest Fed wafted his hand over his head as his partner walked the local officer backwards.

Watching the crowd rescind like a wane in the sea at the new commands, the local Commander’s ears dulled to the cries of public and professional. Blocking out the calls from his precinct, he returned to his car. Sitting inside the old Mercedes as his radio crackled nothing but a rash of confusion, the man contemplated reversing out of the situation.

He thought about how his full retirement plan was only five days away. He thought about how his life’s long work could pay off his son’s and two daughter’s college and university fees - ‘if’ he made a breakthrough, which was impossible by himself now that the larger forces were at work. The promises he made of how he would refurbish the house he and his wife had pegged down just after they hit their twenties crumbled inside his mind. He should leave it to the FBI now. He should. He knew he should be as cooperative as could be by every rational bone in his body, but...But he wasn’t like that. He wasn’t the type to just let go of a case because his shift was over.

Then he remembered he didn’t have to.


Two years ago, he had been ‘gifted’ with a hard-ass replacement with a knack for the job. The young man which had been transferred to his care had a rap-sheet as long as any criminal he was familiar with. This man’s folder had been dropped in front of him with a mocking chuckle and a dark wish for a lack of good luck.

The guy was as sharp as any ghetto hustler, and was always way too ready too get out on the street; and that man was the last person he ever wanted to see again after his indefinite suspension. Feeling his pocket buzz, Wilkins retrieved his personal cell phone. Checking the caller ID with weary eyes, the Captain wondered whether it was divine intervention, or the Devil tempting him with a deal. He knew either way, he would have to answer to find out. And so he did. “Why are you calling me now?”

“I saw your pretty face on Cable...Sir.” There was a loud crunching down the line, and his mocking tone garbled as if he was munching. “I’m guessin’ now is the time y’need me?”

“Do you think now is the time to be messing around?” Huffing and rolling his eyes, Wilkins tried to keep his voice down. Scanning the area through the window’s, Wilkins made sure there was no way anybody would be listening in. “Are you ready to come back?”

There was a throaty hum, and then a sung tune. “Say it~”

Lurching forward in his seat, Wilkins snarled down the line as his last threat of patience with the day’s events snapped. “Who do you think you fucking are?”

“The guy who knows his senior is less than a week away from retirement.” With a huff, his obnoxious crunching muffled the line. “The same person who knows that said Senior has three kids he wants to put through Uni.”

Reigning himself in, the Captain leaned back in his seat. “You really are the worse type of person.”

His tone lightened at this senior’s desperate insult. “Good that. I have no beef with it.” The foreign accent heckled. “The fresh line it is, then.” The dial tone rang, leaving the officer alone in the suffocating heat of his Sedan.

Taking a deep breath, the old man ran his hand over his face and closed his eyes. Letting his head hit the rest behind him, Wilkins felt his heart pound and his pulse thunder. After listening to that arrogant shit’s smart-ass attitude made him remember why the guy was punched at least once by everyone he came into contact with. Now all he had to do was and see what his defiant junior would do next.

Updated: 29th May 2016 - 22:54