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Chapter 98
When we got back to our building, there was a commotion at the entrance – protesters of some sort, circling in front of a News 4 camera, and other media people with microphones.
One of the picketers was holding up a sign that said KILLER COP.
What? There couldn’t actually be a group of people who were angry that Meyer was dead!
But wait a second. This was New York City we were talking about. Of course, there could be.
Then, on another of the signs, I saw a picture of a young black man. Beneath it, big bold letters read: KENNETH ROBINSON WAS MURDERED. DOWN WITH THE NYPD!
I was stu
Before I could shut my unhinged jaw, my kids went ru
“My dad’s a hero!”
“He’s the best person in the world!”
“My dad’s great. You sure ain’t!”
Eddie stayed frozen for a few seconds.
Then he shouted, “Ah, up yours with a hockey stick!”
The reporters thronged around me, hollering questions. I kept my cool and just shook my head. With the heroic assistance of my doorman, Ralph, I managed to wrangle my nutty gang inside the building.
“Guys, you can’t do or say things like that,” I told them, but Seamus, ignoring me, whooped and delivered high fives to everyone.
Ralph hurried over as we got to the elevator. “Mr. Be
“Okay, Ralph, I’ll take care of it,” I said.
When I got back to the front door, the media people thrust an aluminum bouquet of microphones under my chin. I cleared my throat loudly.
“I do have a statement to make after all,” I said. “I agree with my kids one hundred and fifty percent. Good-bye, everyone. And before I forget, up yours – each and every one of you – with a hockey stick.”