On February 11, 1993—shortly before I was hoping to retire from the NYPD, I might add—I happened to find myself at New York’s Kennedy Airport. Up in the air overhead somewhere flew an airliner with over a hundred passengers aboard. Their lives were being threatened by a man holding a pistol to the pilot’s head.
How the hell do you start a conversation with a guy like that?
For me, as nervous as I was—and believe me, I was pretty nervous—it was simple. I said, “What do you want me to call you?”
He hesitated.
I said, “Listen, I need a name.”
“Call me Jack.”
“Okay, Jack. I’m Dom. . . . Jack, I need to ask you something. During this, do you want me to lie to you, or do you want me to be honest and tell you the truth?”
“You better tell me the truth.”
“That’s all right, I want to be honest,” I answered. “But you have to understand, it’s possible that by being honest, I’m going to tell you something that’s not what you want to hear. You have to promise me that that’s okay and if that should happen you will not hurt anyone and you and I will work it out together. Is that okay?”
“Well yeah, all right. If you’re going to be honest.”
“You want me to be honest, right?”
“Yes.”
From there, we had a basis to negotiate.