According to Compstat numbers, 112 Pct. cops have been very lucky lately. As part of an overall decline in command felonies, grand larceny auto has dropped precipitously from 3,477 in 1990 to a mere 228 in 2006. “However you slice it, that’s a pretty steep fall,” notes Charlie Madrid, partnered with DePasquale on a recent four-to-midnight tour. “You have to think a lot of it is part of the general decrease in crime in the city. But you have specifics around here, too.”

What the specifics come down to are more eyes. On this particular evening, for example, the command has turned out six cars, appreciably more than are usually found even in violent, high-crime precincts. Then there are the private security firms that patrol the gated areas of Forest Hills and developments like the Parker Towers complex and the Anita Terrace coops. Finally, you have the residents themselves who, especially along the upper middle-class streets that seem to have been landscaped by God, are not known for their patience with unfamiliar faces or automobiles. Duryea, working another of the sectors with John Litjes, smiles at the vigilance of the homeowners and apartment dwellers. “Let’s just say that a lot of people around here believe in an ounce of prevention. That makes for a lot of calls to the station house. Community cooperation has rarely been a problem.”

Both the DePasquale-Madrid and Duryea-Litjes teams will end their tours at midnight with new experiences in keeping “silly busy,” but the hours will also bring new lessons on why they can’t afford to take anything for granted. “It’s like a lot of things connected to the job,” DePasquale says. “You have a Compstat sheet that says this is down and that’s down, but if there’s just one shooting or one bad scene, you might be the one in the middle of it. Those numbers don’t mean much then.”

Madrid nods. “Same thing with the Academy. They’re great. They try to anticipate as much as they can for you, but there is absolutely no substitute for reality.

"Once you hit the streets, away from the controlled environment of the Academy, you have to learn all over again.”

Judging from their backgrounds, the 23-year-old DePasquale and 24-year-old Madrid have already learned a great deal both on and off the job. DePasquale’s mother is a Finn, prompting several trips to Scandinavia to meet his maternal grandparents and glean a little about life near the Arctic Circle. Madrid’s parental roots are in Cali, Colombia, where he has been several times to mingle with cousins. “You gotta love it,” DePasquale, himself a resident of Commack, laughs as he tools by one of the command’s 27 synagogues. “What can be farther apart than Finland and Colombia? And here we are trying to keep the lid on in Queens!”

On this particular evening, that means first of all pulling over a Ford Explorer on 77th Road because of a driver who didn’t get the bulletin that driving and speaking on a cell phone at the same time is not a bright idea. But the man is already close to ventilating as DePasquale approaches his window. “It’s my grandfather, he’s been rushed to the hospital for surgery,” he says in anguish. “I know I shouldn’t have done it, but my sister called and I’ve got to know what’s going on!”

“Can’t you do that when you’re parked?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, I know. But I’m trying to get to North Shore Hospital and I wasn’t sure ....Well, you know.”

DePasquale knows, and isn’t about to alert Homeland Security to a potential terrorist threat. But at the same time he makes sure the driver takes a refresher course in why driving and talking on the phone simultaneously usually means dangerous driving and badly understood conversations.

The next call is to PS 139 on Booth Street, one of 21 elementary and high schools in the command. By and large, the schools pose few problems, especially compared to some other neighborhoods in the city, but on this day a woman across the street from the playground reports an “assault by a gang against a couple of students.”

When DePasquale and Madrid get there, however, only the basketball hoops are being assaulted. Elsewhere in the spacious play area, soccer moms are gabbing while keeping an eye on their after-school charges. What the call is eventually reduced to, at least according to a couple of the nonchalant basketball players, is a lot of “Richie said this so Eddie got mad and he had his brother Victor and both of them threatened to smoke Richie the next time he said it, etc.” One of the eavesdropping mothers shrugs to the cops that that was about all she saw, too. “Whoever called you has a vivid imagination,” she says.

Since graduating from the Academy and going directly to the 112 Pct. in July 2005, DePasquale says, he’s never been involved in a school bust, for assault, drugs, or anything else. In fact, where drugs are concerned, he’s made only two arrests period. Burglaries, though, that’s another story. “I guess the single worst time I’ve had was when we got a call about a series of home invasions in Rego Park, off Queens Boulevard. We go into an apartment house, and there’s a guy with a gun. He’s been breaking into one apartment after another, grabbing whatever he can, usually from a pocketbook in the vestibule, then moving on down the hall. He never used the gun, thank God, but it sure was visible when my partner and I got there. We got him to give it up and no one was hurt.”

With little more than a year at the 112 Pct., Madrid’s single worst moment still dates from the few months he was assigned to the 115 Pct. after his January 2006 graduation from the Academy. As the Jamaica resident tells it: “The call was about a guy with a butcher knife threatening his girl friend. She certainly had no doubt he was serious because just as we got there, she jumped out into the street from her second-floor window. For a few minutes the guy acted even crazier that she would do something like that, but finally he just dropped the knife and surrendered. The girl came out okay, too. Barely a broken bone.”

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