Flynn's World Read Online Free PDF Page B

have for others, I strongly suggest you resign. If you wish to avoid an investigation, the commissioner should have your resignation on his desk tomorrow morning.”
    Grover looked as if he’d heard Santa’s sleigh land on the roof.
    Walsh asked Flynn, “What do you think of me now, Frank Flynn?”
    Flynn said, “I see you’ve never been in Afghanistan.”
    The intercom on Walsh’s desk buzzed. He pushed the button. “Yes?”
    “Captain, the commissioner called to ask Inspector Flynn to come to his office right away. He heard Inspector Flynn is in the building.”
    Grover beamed. “I sent a copy of my report to him, too.”
    Captain Walsh said into his intercom, “Tell the commissioner we’ll all be there right away.”
    “What’s this?” Police Commissioner Edward D’Esopo looked up from his desk as Inspector Francis Xavier Flynn, Captain Timothy Walsh, and Sergeant Richard T. Whelan paraded into his office. “Who sent for you guys?”
    “You did,” said Captain Walsh.
    “I did?” D’Esopo looked at his assistant, Captain Reagan, sitting in a side chair. Reagan was dressed, as always, in full parade uniform, down to brass buttons and gold braid. “What do you guys want?”
    Captain Walsh sat in a chair facing the commissioner. Grover lingered behind him.
    Flynn wandered over to the floor-to-ceiling windows fourteen stories over the city.
    “I’ve had a good discussion with Inspector Flynn,” Walsh said. “Explained his options to him: either resign or face a long and thorough investigation by Internal Affairs.”
    “You have?”
    “I have. After studying the report prepared by Sergeant Richard T. Whelan, which doubtlessly you haven’t had time to study fully.”
    “I have studied it. Fully.” D’Esopo looked at Grover. “Are you Sergeant Richard T. Whelan?”
    Grover nodded enthusiastically.
    “Flynn’s problems can be boiled down simply.” Walsh adopted the kindly manner of speech of one of his teachers at Boston Latin School, long since dead. “First, there are Inspector Flynn’s frequent, prolonged absences from work, for which he offers the most ridiculous excuses: supposedly he’s had his appendix removed twice; he’s buried his mother five times . . .”
    D’Esopo frowned at Reagan.
    “Then there’s the matter of his questionable finances. Owns a large, mortgage-free house on the water in Winthrop; he owns a farm in Ireland—”
    “Locked Phooey,” Grover said.
    “—has four children in private school—”
    “Went to the wrong courtroom this morning.” Grover grinned in Flynn’s direction. “He was supposed to go to Courtroom 6 but went to Courtroom 9 instead.”
    “Did he?” Walsh asked with great interest.
    “Who is this guy?” D’Esopo asked Reagan. “Sergeant Richard T. Wailing? Whatever?”
    “Captain Timothy Walsh’s nephew,” Reagan said. “Promoted ahead of his time, you might say. Ahead of your time, too. We put him over in the Old Records Building with Frank to keep him out of harm’s way.”
    Flynn muttered, “He’s Grover.”
    D’Esopo asked the standing sergeant: “You’re Grover?”
    Grover nodded less enthusiastically.
    “Well, we can fix that.” To Reagan: “Are we still planning nightly foot patrols in the combat zone?”
    Reagan said, “Eddy, you might as well send Grover directly to the emergency room at Boston City Hospital.”
    D’Esopo cleared his throat. “Are you applying for early retirement, Timothy?”
    “Me?” Captain Walsh’s nose reddened. “No. At my age? Whatever made you think that?”
    “It seems to me that you are.”
    “How can you say that?”
    “It seems to me you’re questioning my judgment.”
    “That’s a very good way to win early retirement, Timothy,” Reagan advised him.
    “Why are you questioning Inspector Flynn at all, Timothy?”
    “Grave irregularities concerning Flynn have come to my attention, Eddy. Commissioner. I outrank ‘Inspector’ Flynn. So—”
    “Who says you