The following week brought a change in the ill wind that is my luck.  Sgt. Bulzerti, my supervisor at the Central Warrants Unit, called.  He left his home number and word for me to call him as soon as I received the message.

 

    I called.  I was nervous as hell.  The downfall of Wall Street had caused the City to institute a hiring freeze.  I was trying to get reinstated.  When you've worked for the City of New York, you had up to a year after the time you left, to get reinstated.  Unfortunately, the reinstatement fell under the freeze.

 

    "Sergeant B?  It's Ben Norton.  How are you?"

 

    "I'm fine, Ben.  How are you?"

 

    I'm all right.  What's up?"

 

    "A source at City Hall tells me the Mayor is going to lift the hiring freeze, tomorrow.  We've already had your paper work processed.  Once he makes the final announcement, you'll be approved.  Mrs. Brown, up at Personnel, says, your papers are on the top of her things-to-do tray.  You're a valued worker, Norton.  You've got a lot of friends in high places.  Get up and get into Headquarters by nine.  The Mayor is holding his press conference at that time.  You can be working, day after tomorrow."

 

    "Great!  And thanks.  If there's ever a way I can repay you."

 

    "Just come in and put out like you use to.  That's repayment enough."

 

    "I'll stop in tomorrow," I said.  "Thanks."

 

    In 48 hours, I was back with the New York City Police Department.

    I hadn't been working for very long, when the phone calls started.  It was Jennifer.  She wanted to know how I was doing.  She wanted to know what I was doing.  If I went out on a Friday, or Saturday night, the phone would go off through the night and the caller would hang up on my folks.

 

    The caller would also hang up on me.  It was annoying.  It was bothersome and I was really starting to get angry.  This went on for quite some time; almost a month went by before she started talking.

 

    "I have to see you."

 

    "Jennifer, get on with your life.  There isn't anything left for

us to talk about."

 

    "I just want to see you!"

 

    "Why?"

 

    "I'm pregnant."

 

    "Come on, Jennifer.  Every time you want to control my behavior, you're pregnant."

 

    "What's that supposed to mean?"

 

    "You told me that to keep me from sleeping with Theresa, once.  Have you had a pregnancy test?"

 

    "No."

 

    "Call me when you've had a pregnancy test."

 

    I hung up on her.

 

    The following week, the Captain of our Unit called me into his office.

 

    "Sit down, Ben."

 

    I pulled back a black leather chair on the other side of his desk.

 

    "Do you know," he began and paused to glance at a piece of paper.  "A Jennifer Hirsch?"

 

    "What about her?"

 

    "Well, I just got off the phone with her.  She claims you're shirking your responsibilities as the father of her child.  She said she spoke with a lawyer and if you didn't return her calls, she's going to take a legal course of action against you and that would include a formal complaint to the department.  Now your private business isn't any of my business; but I think you should give the girl a call."

 

    He passed me the phone.  I looked at it and was beaten.  TKO in the 97th round.  She probably was pregnant.  With my luck, it would be a shotgun wedding and she'd punish me for the rest of my life, for the things she couldn't have.  Or worse; she'd sue me for child support and half of what little I did have.  I lifted the receiver and dialed her number.

 

    "Hi," I said.

 

    She said the same.

 

    "I'll be over tonight.  I'll go back to Brooklyn, get my car and be over tonight."

 

    "I'll expect you around seven?"

 

    "Eight.  I'm going to have dinner at home and give the rush hour traffic a chance to thin out."

 

    She understood, God bless her soul.

 

    I hung up the phone, glanced at my C.O. and went back to work.