It’s 7:24 on a May weeknight and Lt. André Menzies, assigned as a reserve officer with the New Orleans Police Department, slowly steps out of his car and radios over to Dillard University campus security.

“My leg is killing me,” he says. The pain in his left leg from a recent surgery is evident as he walks with a slight limp, relying on his right leg for assistance.

Menzies, who doubles as chief of security for Dillard University, hops back into the car and heads down to roll call at the Municipal Training Academy at City Park Avenue.

“Irvin,” he yells to another officer as he stands at the door to police headquarters, which refuses to open.

“Step aside, Lieutenant,” says Patrolman Irvin Boult. It’s 7:43 p.m.

With a Coca-Cola can in hand, Boult kicks the bottom of the door while Menzies jimmies the lock, which clicks open.

Menzies walks into an office and sits down at a long wooden table surrounded by file cabinets and a sketch of a Peanuts comic of Charlie Brown looking at Snoopy’s doghouse on the chalkboard behind him.

Menzies and the other officers assembled are reserve police officers, working a minimum of 40 hours a month with the New Orleans Police Department in addition to their primary jobs. Menzies says they receive the same training as police officers and are no different than any other member of the NOPD except that reserve officers are unpaid.

Conversation in the office is now in full swing.

“What are we going to do about hurricane season?” asks one officer.

The memory of Katrina still lingers, like a darkening sky with the possibility of rain. The hurricane season begins June 1, bringing an unspoken fear of what could be and memories of a fateful few days in August 2005.

“This city will never be the city it used to be before Katrina, never,” Menzies says.

“Fellas, listen up,” Menzies says, and the room becomes silent except for the sound of shuffling police boots. It’s 8:02 p.m.

Roll call begins.

Menzies scribbles on a clipboard, making note of where officers will patrol during their six-hour shift, his police academy ring gleaming from the fluorescent lights above.

Roll call is over and everyone steps outside into the humid night air. It’s 8:07 p.m.

“Irvin,” Menzies calls out again. Boult comes over and they once again perform their choreographed dance, this time to lock the door.

“Irvin and I are close. He carried my brother’s body,” Menzies says whose brother was also New Orleans  police officer.

It’s 8:10 p.m. and as he walks back to his unmarked patrol car, Menzies calls out one last order to the group.

“Be careful, fellas. It’s better to be tried by 12 than carried by six.” The other officers nod in agreement and he slides into the car, ready to patrol the French Quarter for the night.

“It’s good to laugh when you are doing police work,” Menzies says. “Because it might be the last time you see any of those guys. You can get nailed at any time – trust me. I know.”

The radio cracks with a code 103F, alerting police to a fight in the area.

Menzies laughs. “That’s Lil Pookie and Pookette fighting,” he says, using the names he has used for 10 years to describe any and all troublemakers, regardless of race or age.

Mary J. Blige’s “No Drama” wafts through the speakers, filling the Impala as Menzies parks under a lamp and steps into a huddle of chatting officers on Bourbon Street at 9:22 p.m.

“See, about 10 p.m., you won’t even be able to walk down here,” Menzies says.

Only moments after getting back in the car the sound of “OWWY, OWWY, OWWY” blares as Menzies hits the siren and heads toward Rampart Street, the scene of a reported  fight. Cars swerve out of the way and the Impala picks up speed, hitting a few bumps in the road.

It’s 9:42 p.m.

“Normally when a fight breaks out and police hit the sirens, people run,” he says.

He sees that his officers have everything under control, so he keeps driving. Parties spill into the streets, with some partygoers sitting on curbs and sidewalks, drinks and food in hand.

“In New Orleans, folk party anywhere,” Menzies says.

The clock reads 9:45 p.m. as he pulls up outside the NOPD headquarters and walks toward a monument dedicated to his fallen colleagues. It’s at this wall, with its mirror-like material, where visitors see their silhouettes, a reminder of life’s fragility.

“You wouldn’t be a policeman if you didn’t fear coming home,” Menzies said. “Those were some good guys and girls who were killed,” he says, recalling one officer who served during Katrina and died in 2007 in the line of duty.

The pain of his leg increases as he trudges back to the car. It’s 10:41 p.m.

“There’s only one police department in the United States and that’s the NOPD,” Menzies says, the pain from his leg leaving his face and replaced with a smile.

“You look up one in the dictionary and you’d see a picture of us. We’re that good.”