Remembering August (Triple C Ranch Saga)

by Rodney V. Earle

  “Okay,” said Sheila.

  Max moved slowly and deliberately as he lowered the vest over Sheila’s shoulders, taking care not to catch her earrings on the way down. Once it cleared Sheila’s ears and came to rest on her shoulders, she felt the vest tighten around her upper chest and shoulder blades.

  “Can you raise your left arm straight out, please?” asked Turnbull.

  Sheila nodded and moved her arm. The vest tightened even more as she felt the warmth of his hands below her armpits and the sides of her left breasts. “You better be cute,” she said with a little chuckle.

  “I am,” said Max. “Now you can lower your arm. All set here, Chief.”

  “Copy,” said Ripley. “Officer Schmidt, you can go now. We’re almost done here.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I’d like to stay,” replied Schmidt.

  Sheila looked to her left and saw that Schmidt stood at attention, but she could not see the look on his face.

  “Max,” said Ripley with yet another snap of her fingers.

  “You wearin’ plate or fabric?” Max asked.

  “Both.”

  “Good,” said Max. “All set, Chief.”

  “Okay, Sheila,” said Ripley. “Let go of the key nice and slow, and then stand up straight right where you are.”

  “Okay,” said Sheila.

  Sheila didn’t move. Every bone in her body told her that the next moment in time could be her last. The snug body armor was proof that there was a chance that whatever was on the other side of the heavy door could be the death of her.

  “Sheila,” Alice repeated.

  Sheila still didn’t move. Tears once again streamed down her cheeks at the thought of what could happen next.

  “Sheila,” Alice said calmly. “You can let go now.”

  “I can’t,” sniffled Sheila.

  “Yes you can,” said Alice. “You’re gonna have to trust me.”

  “I trust you. But what if—”

  “What if nothing,” Alice interrupted. What if we weren’t here to begin with? This could easily have been a recovery operation instead of a rescue. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah,” Sheila sniffed.

  “You’re in good hands,” Alice said reassuringly. “Let go and stand up.”

  “I need someone to hang on to me so I don’t fall over”

  “Got it,” said Schmidt, who moved back to his position at Sheila’s left and slipped his arms around her waist. “Ready.”

  “Okay,” said Sheila. She struggled to draw a deep breath, and then let it out. “Here goes nothing.”

  Everyone else held their breath. Sheila slowly let go, lowered her arm to her side, and stood up straight.

  “Good,” said Ripley. “You okay?”

  “I’m okay,” said Sheila.

  Schmidt let go of her waist, stepped back, and winked a reassuring wink as if to say, “Well done.”

  “We’re almost done,” said Ripley. “Very slowly, I want you to back away and follow Officer Schmidt into the lobby and out the front door. Go to our truck outside and wait for me there.”

  “Okay,” said Sheila. “Are you gonna be okay?”

  “Max here will take care of me… won’t you Max?” replied Ripley.

  “I always have,” said Max.

  Sheila turned and got a look at Max for the first time.

  “I thought you said he was cute!” Sheila said with an almost relieved tone of voice.

  “Sorry about that,” said Ripley. “That’s the only lie I’ve told today. I promise.”

  “God, I hope so,” Sheila said as she looked back at Ripley. “Can I get the hell out of here now?”

  “Officer,” said Ripley with a snap of her fingers. “Please escort the young lady to our limousine.”

  “Copy, Chief,” said Schmidt. He slid his hand behind Sheila’s elbow and guided her past the towels and down the hall.

  †

  Sheila approached the glass door and passed through it. Two men dressed in body armor crouched nearby and rifled through heavy tool bags. She paused for a second, and the men looked up at her. Before she got the chance to say a word, her escort squeezed her elbow and guided her across the lobby.

  Thick blankets hung from the ceiling, rendering the lobby unrecognizable. More blankets covered the furniture and tables, making the place look more like a warehouse than a place where celebrities came for a cucumber facial and a body wax. Sheila paused again. Officer Schmidt tightened his grip on her elbow, causing her to wince. “We gotta go,” he said.

  Sheila looked up at him with her mouth open, but said nothing. She resumed her course and exited the front door. She was met by uniformed officers and whisked away toward the B.D.U. truck. The wide-open space in the parking lot beyond struck her with a feeling of eerie desolation. Long double lines of police cruisers formed a barricade on the Pacific Coast Highway about a hundred yards in the distance. Fire and rescue trucks blocked the driveways at both ends and several dark blue unmarked cars lined the side streets.

  Camera crews and spectators were gathered behind the POLICE LINE tape. Sheila had never seen the parking lot completely empty.

  “Now what?” Sheila asked her escort.

  “Ten-nine?” Schmidt said suddenly into his radio. He touched his left ear. “Copy! Thirty seconds!” he shouted.

  Sheila searched his face and found an expression of horror that she had never seen before. “What’s wrong?”

  “In the truck!” Schmidt yelled. “Hurry!”

  “What the f—”

  “Go!” he shouted and then grabbed Sheila by the waist. He whipped her around and nearly threw her into the truck.

  Before Sheila could get her bearings, she found herself pushed in further and further. In a flurry of noisy clutter, the three men she passed in the lobby piled in, followed closely by Ripley.

  “Ten seconds!” yelled Ripley. “Where the fuck is Max?”

  “Here!” shouted Max as he dove in. Two uniformed officers piled in after him and pulled the heavy double doors shut with a squeal and a loud, hollow thud.

  Sheila could see nothing. Heavy breathing filled the darkness, sending a shiver up her spine. Suddenly a light above them came on, flickered twice, and then stayed lit. Sheila began to feel claustrophobic as her body was pressed against a sea of heavily-armored sardines in a big black can.

  “Fire in the hole!” yelled Ripley.

  Sheila gasped and thought she was about to scream, but was cut off by a loud crash that sounded like the side of the truck had been struck with a sledge-hammer. There was a moment of silence that lasted an eternity, and then the heavy breathing started again. Everyone let out a collective sigh.

  “Everybody okay?” Ripley asked, out of breath.

  “Copy, Chief,” said Max, who had already removed his helmet. He ran his fingers through his short dark hair, sending droplets of sweat into the air.

  Ripley leaned forward and peered through the pile of armored bodies to the front of the truck. “Sheila?” she called.

  “I’m here,” Sheila said confidently, in spite of the fact that her heart was about to explode.

  Ripley then turned back to Max. “Max, you got Eddie?” she asked frantically.

  “Stand by,” said Max. He replaced his helmet atop his head. “Unit four, what’s your status?”

  Silence suddenly filled the air again, and Sheila felt as if she were going to faint.

  “Unit four, do you copy?” Max repeated.

  Sheila heard faint sirens of all different kinds coming from outside. She was sure that there must be twenty trucks within a few feet of their position. Thick tension filled the air inside the truck. B.D.U. team members looked at each other with horrified expressions.

  “Copy, unit four!” shouted Max. “We got him!”

  Everyone inside the truck let out their breath and cheered loudly. Even Sheila. Team members shook hands, gave high-fives, and raised their helmets in the air. Suddenly the rear doors fle
w open and brilliant light flooded in. Two by two, men piled out and gave high-fives to waiting firemen and uniformed LAPD. Officer Schmidt slid toward the open doors and paused to look back at Sheila.

  “I’m okay,” said Sheila with a familiar sniffle.

  “I’ll be right back,” said Schmidt. “Don’t move.”

  “Okay,” said Sheila. “Do I even want to know what’s happening out there?”

  “Nope,” he said as he hopped down to the pavement, turned, and scurried out of her line of sight.

  All Sheila could see were firefighters and B.D.U. men hurrying past the open doors. The sound of diesel engines and water pumps echoed through the inside of the empty truck. She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands.

  “Sheila?” Ripley suddenly called to her.

  Sheila said nothing as she held her breath and fought back more tears.

  “Come on, Sheila,” said Ripley. “It’s okay. It’s all over.”

  “I’ll bet it is,” Sheila whispered to herself. She raised her head, wiped her eyes and scooted across the seats to where Ripley was waiting for her.

  “Careful,” said Ripley. “Take my hand.”

  Sheila took Ripley’s outstretched hand and hopped to the asphalt. Fire trucks and police cruisers were everywhere, and the smell of smoke filled the air. A large fire truck blocked her view of the spa.

  “Let’s get this armor off,” Ripley said before Sheila had a chance to say anything. Scores of men in different uniforms milled about a few feet from where they stood. “Hold your arms out straight,” Ripley instructed.

  Without saying a word, Sheila did as she was told. She heard a familiar voice speaking loudly just out of Sheila’s line of sight.

  “She dismissed me like I was just some fuckin’ rookie shitbag,” Detective Clayton Jarvis said loudly. “It’s not my fault the lady pissed all over herself.” There was a brief pause, and then he said, “Oh yeah… all over herself and all over Schmitty… can you believe that shit?”

  Ripley paused for a moment as she held the Velcro straps in her hands and looked at Sheila’s face. “Max, take care of this, will ya?”

  “Ten-four, Chief,” Max acknowledged without hesitation.

  Ripley let go of the Velcro, gently wiped Sheila’s tears with both hands, and gave her a wink. Tears poured from Sheila’s eyes as she stood with her arms straight out. She hurt to her very core, and Alice Ripley hurt with her.

  Ripley stepped back and Max took over. The humiliation Sheila felt was worse than any she had ever experienced. She closed her eyes. Suddenly the memory of the only other time in her life she felt such humiliation flooded her thoughts. She was twelve years old, and a cheerleader for her junior high basketball team. Four or five hundred parents, classmates and friends witnessed her first period, which announced itself in her new white pants during a halftime cheer.

  “Watch your earrings, ma’am,” said Max.

  Sheila opened her eyes and shivered in the August heat, only to face humiliation again. “Oh. Sorry,” she said with a heavy sniffle. “What do you want me to do?”

  “You can put your arms down now,” said Max. “Poke your hands through from underneath and hold your earrings.” When she did as instructed, Max said, “There we are.” He then pulled the armor over her head and tossed it in the back of the truck.

  “Thank you,” Sheila sniffed as she nervously adjusted her earrings and wiped her cheeks.

  “Here’s a little present for you,” Max said. He was holding a long, white terry cloth robe with the L.A.P.D. seal embroidered on the left chest pocket.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Just thought you might like to wear this until you can get freshened up,” said Turnbull.

  “Oh… thank you,” said Sheila. Max held the robe like a coat check person at an expensive restaurant. “Who do I give it back to when I’m done with it?” she asked as she folded the robe around herself and tied it at the waist.

  “It’s for you to keep, ma’am,” said Max. He had already turned his attention to straightening out the equipment that was piled in the back of the truck.

  Sheila didn’t know what to say as her attention turned to Ripley, who was slowly making her way through the crowd. She patted a few people on the back and shook hands with others. She suddenly glanced back at Sheila, winked again, and then made her way toward the front of a police cruiser where Jarvis was standing.

  Jarvis joked loudly and laughed as he spoke with a young officer about the incident that left Sheila Jones heartbroken and humiliated. The officer cocked his head to the right in dismay, but didn’t say a word as he stood with his feet spread wide and his arms folded at his chest.

  Ripley approached Jarvis, who was leaning against the front of the cruiser with his arms crossed. The young officer immediately snapped to attention and wiped the smile from his face. Jarvis glanced at Ripley and did a double-take, but didn’t move from his position.

  Ripley extended her right hand and said, “You’re good at what you do, Jarvis. I gotta give you that.”

  “Well, thank you, Alice,” Jarvis said as he uncrossed his arms, shook her hand, and then crossed his arms again.

  “Don’t thank me just yet,” said Ripley.

  The young uniformed officer stood at attention and stared into space at nothing. “If you’ll excuse me, ma’am,” he said. “I have reports to write.”

  “You can stay right where you are,” Ripley said without turning her head to look at the officer. “Maybe you can learn a thing or two here.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the officer, who stood like a statue in the warm Malibu sun.

  “Jarvis… Detective Jarvis,” Ripley said loudly with a sigh. “You’re good at what you do, but you’re an insensitive prick.”

  “What?” Jarvis asked, still smiling.

  “When it comes to dealing with situations that involve people,” Ripley said and then paused. “Particularly women… you are an insensitive prick.”

  “I—” Jarvis stuttered, blinking exaggeratedly like he did when Sheila caught him by surprise.

  “See what I mean? You can’t keep your mouth shut even when a superior officer is speaking, can you?”

  Silence filled the air for what seemed like an eternity. Jarvis stood nervously, first with his arms crossed, shaking his head back and forth, and then uncrossing his arms, blinking, unable to say a word perhaps for the first time in his adult life. The other B.D.U. team members stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to the confrontation.

  Sheila began to move toward them, but Max Turnbull gently grabbed her elbow and stopped her. “I’d stay out of this one, ma’am.” Sheila didn’t say a word as Turnbull released her elbow and stood beside her, listening intently to the awkward silence.

  “You hear that?” Ripley asked, holding her right index finger in the air. “In the Ripley household, we call that a short time-out.”

  Another pause followed, and when Ripley was sure that Jarvis was about to say something, she spoke again.

  “See? There’s another one,” said Ripley, now holding a second finger in the air in a makeshift peace sign. “You might call it an uncomfortable silence, but I doubt you’ve had many of those, because you don’t know when to keep your mouth shut.”

  A long pause followed once more, even longer than the two before. The young police officer stood at attention and started to turn white as a sheet. He looked as if he were about to pass out.

  “That’s three now,” Ripley said as she held a third finger in the air and spoke to Jarvis as if she were speaking to her four-year-old daughter after a rage-filled temper tantrum. “I don’t think you’re very comfortable with the short time-out, but I’m gonna help you with that. How many years do you have on the force… Detective?”

  “Eleven,” said Jarvis nervously as he started to cross his arms again but decided against it.

  “Wanna make it twelve? Detective Jarvis?” Ripley asked in the same “mommy” tone.
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br />   “V—very much so,” Jarvis replied meekly. Beads of sweat made their way down both of his temples.

  “Then here’s what you’re gonna do,” continued Ripley. “First, you’re gonna get a glass of water,” said Ripley.

  “Water?” Jarvis interrupted.

  “Awwwww! You were so close, Detective!” Ripley said with the smile of a game show hostess as she clinched her fingers into a fist and pounded the palm of her left hand. “You had the opportunity to keep your mouth shut and listen, but you didn’t take it! That’s okay… you’ll learn soon enough… I guarantee it.”

  Jarvis wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand and wiped it on his pant leg. He took in a slow, deep breath and let it out loudly through puffed cheeks and pursed lips.

  “Do you have a pencil and some paper?” Ripley asked, returning to the motherly tone again. She held up her right hand as if she were writing with an imaginary pencil on a piece of imaginary paper that was her left hand.

  Jarvis stood up from leaning position and patted himself down. Without saying a word, he stood up straight and held out his empty hands like a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

  Ripley snapped her fingers. Instantly the uniformed officer reached in his left breast pocket, pulled out a notepad and a pencil, and held them at parade rest like a Marine holds a gun in a color guard ceremony. He remained at attention and continued his stare into nothingness.

  “Take it,” said Ripley to Jarvis, who was still standing with his upturned palms in front of him.

  Jarvis took the notepad from the officer, and then reached for the pencil. He then fumbled it to the pavement, and it rolled under the police cruiser behind him. He stood up straight, mimicking his uniformed counterpart, who dropped his hands at his sides and stood at attention once again.

  “He dropped the pencil,” Jarvis said meekly.

  Ripley crossed her arms, leaned her head back, and rolled her eyes as she took in a deep breath and let it out loudly.

  “What did you say?” asked Ripley.

  “I said… I—I dropped the pencil.”

  “Do you know how to get it… Detective?” Ripley asked in the same motherly tone as before.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said without moving a muscle.