by Stalker
Cindy blurted out, “How about if I come next to you, and I take the gun?” Immediately, she heard Tropper swear, but didn’t dare turn to face him. “If you just stay still and don’t move, I can do that. I’ll take the gun—”
“Then Luis take gun from you.”
“I’m a very big woman, Estella. I could take Luis down in a minute.”
Luis said, “She es bery beeeg, Estella! You give her de gun.”
Shut up, Luis! Cindy was thinking. Anything you say, she’ll do the opposite. Time moving in slo-mo, she waited for a response.
Estella said, “Luis is bery estrong—”
“So am I!” Cindy said. “Look, I’ll talk so you can hear me, so you know I’m not sneaking up on you. Then I’ll tap your shoulder when I’m right behind you—”
“I no sure…” Estella said. “I no thin’—”
“I’ll talk you through it.”
Tropper was growling! “This isn’t what I ordered!”
“But she’s going to go for it, Sarge!” Cindy persisted. “This way I’m not facing the barrel of her gun, and you three will be right behind me.”
One second passed, then two…
“Please, Sergeant Tropper,” Cindy whispered forcefully. “I can disarm her—”
Estella said, “I no hear you. Wha’ you sayin’? I getting mad.”
She looked at Tropper’s furious face, knowing he was trapped. If he didn’t respond soon, the situation would escalate. His voice snapped like a leather whip. “Do it! But tell her we’re right behind you!”
Cindy said, “Okay, Estella, I’m coming in. My buddies are going to be right behind me, so Luis can see them. I’m starting now. I’m taking a couple of steps forward. You hear me, don’t you—”
“Sí, I hear you! Wha’ you thin’? I no have ears?”
“Now I’m taking a couple more steps. Luis is looking right at my buddies…at their guns. Is my voice getting closer?”
“Sí, I hear you.”
“Okay, I’m right behind you now. I’m going to tap your shoulder. Don’t move—”
“I no move.”
“Luis, you don’t move, either—”
“I no move.”
“That’s good. No one is going to move except me,” Cindy said. “Now I’m putting my hand on your shoulder…” She touched the woman’s bony joint. Estella remained motionless. “That’s my hand—”
“Hokay.”
“Estella, listen carefully, okay?”
“Hokay.”
“I am going to bend down and put my arms around your waist, okay? Don’t move—”
“I no move!”
Slowly, Cindy bent over, her chest touching the woman’s back, her head peering over Estella’s red-clad shoulder. She slipped her arms around a trim middle and wiggled her fingers. “You see my hands?”
“I see.”
“You see my fingers?”
“Sí.”
“Okay, I’m going to take the gun from you now.”
“Hokay.”
“Don’t move!”
“I no move!”
“Luis, if you move and I slip, you no have cojones. Do you understand me?”
“I no move, I no move!”
Cindy had had the primary academy training with shotguns. But she hadn’t done much private practice with them on the range, choosing to hone an expertise with her service Beretta. But she did know that shotguns weren’t warm and fuzzy firearms. They were hard to control, because they were heavy mothers. Estella was keeping hers stabilized by resting the stock in her lap. Her right hand was clenched around the pistol grip, the index finger inside the guard, resting on the trigger. Her left hand was underneath the slide handle—the pump. Both of her hands were shaking noticeably.
Cindy spoke quietly. “Don’t move. I’m going to touch your hands.” She placed her palms over Estella’s fingers. Her skin was hot and damp.
“You feel my hands?”
“Sí.”
“Don’t move your body, okay?”
“Hokay!”
Cindy began sliding her hands up and down the shotgun, feeling around for a stable, strong area to grip. It was difficult to find a spot because the wood and metal were wet and sticky from Estella’s sweat. She hunted until she found a couple of semidry places that gave her leverage with the weapon. She grasped the gun, not talking until she was certain she had a strong hold on the weapon.
Finally, she said, “Take your hands away.”
“I take my hans off?”
“Yes, take your hands off the gun, but don’t move your body.”
“You have de gun?”
“Yes, I have the gun. I’ve got a good grip on it. Take your hands away.”
“Hokay…” But still she didn’t move. “You está segura you have de gun?”
“I have the gun.” Cindy remained calm. “I have a good hold on it. Take your hands away, but don’t move your body.”
“Hokay.”
As soon as Estella’s fingers were off the weapon, Cindy stood up and lifted the shotgun high in the air. Instantly, Beaudry took the gun. Luis jumped up, wiping sweat from his face. He screamed, “You arress that crazy bitch!”
“Cuff her, Decker.”
“Wha’?” Estella turned an irate face toward Cindy. She was a pretty woman with big black eyes, high cheekbones, smooth skin, and deep, full lips. Why the hell would Luis want someone else?
More than that, what the hell did she see in him?
Maybe he had a big—
“Wha’ he say?” Estella was screaming. “You arress him! He have de puta!”
Cindy took out the handcuffs from her belt and, in one fluid motion, turned Estella around and brought the woman’s right arm against her back. She was seconds away from securing the left arm, but then Estella suddenly realized what was happening. Wrestling in Cindy’s grip, Estella started spewing out high-pitched Spanish, punctuating her tirade with curses and spit.
“Don’t make this difficult—”
“You es una beetch! You eslying daughter of a put—”
“Let’s not get personal.” Cindy kneed her in the back of her legs just hard enough to get Estella to buckle. Once the woman’s legs were bent, it was a snap to bring her down, and lay her facedown on the floor. Again, using knees and elbows to restrain the writhing body, Cindy held Estella’s right arm flat against her back and rooted about for the left one, which was trying to sock her in the face. Estella was no match for her in strength, but her resistance—the bucking and rolling—made Cindy sweat from exertion.
Here was the big showdown, and it was mano a mano. Because none of the others were making even the slightest effort to help her. Instead, they were standing around, watching with amusement as she struggled. Luis was buoyant, a big smile on his ugly face.
He said, “You go to cárcel, you estúpida, loca—”
Again, Estella spit in his direction. “He the one with the puta! He go to jail! Why he no go to jail!”
Luis was doing a victory dance. “Have fun wit de other beeeg ladies—”
“Graham, will you shut him up!” Cindy snapped.
To Luis, Beaudry said, “Shut up!”
Finding the flaying arm, Cindy gripped it and shoved it against Estella’s back. She snapped on the loose cuff, then held her manicled arms firmly, and brought Estella to her feet. She said, “We can’t send him to jail, Estella, because adultery isn’t against the law. Otherwise politicians would have rap sheets a mile long.”
Luis made kissy noises at his wife. Struggling against Cindy’s hold, Estella tried to break away and kick him.
“Don’t do that,” Cindy said. “Otherwise, I’ll have to tie your feet—”
“I hope de matrona in de cárcel is a beeeg woman—”
“You es un diablo with a pequeño pecker—”
“You arress her!” Luis shouted. “Slam her lardo ass in jail!”
“I no have lardo ass!” Estella screamed. “Your whore have la
rdo ass, beeg, fat ass!”
“Shut up! Both of you!” Cindy broke in. “Luis, you’ve got to come down to the station, you know.”
“Wha’?” Luis’s smiled waned. “Me? Wha’ I do?”
“We’ve got to take your statement,” Cindy said. “Also, you’re going to have to go to court and speak to a judge if you want to get your kids back. Otherwise, your kids’ll end up in foster care.”
“Me?” Luis’s face registered shock. “I go do it?”
“Yeah, you, buddy,” Cindy said. “Your wife can’t do anything if she’s in jail.”
Tropper was glaring at her. She looked back at him with innocent eyes, and tried to smile. It wasn’t easy because she was still restraining Estella. “I was just informing Mr. Ojeda of the procedure for securing his children, Sergeant. That’s assuming he wants them.”
Estella started foaming at the mouth. “You send de children away, I curse you from mi cama de muerte! I speeet on you!”
“No, no, Estella,” Luis said gravely. “I no send de children away! I tell de judge. Don’ worry.”
Ron Brown muttered, “No way a judge is going to give you your kids back. Not with a shotgun in the house.”
“I no shoot my kids!” Luis was appalled. “You take de gun. I no need it.”
Estella was crying. “They take de kids away, Luis! You no let them—”
“They no take de kids!”
“You can petition to get them back, sir,” Cindy said. “Or course, if your wife’s in jail, you’ll be responsible for them. That means you stay home at night baby-sitting while your buddies are out having fun—”
“Decker…” growled Tropper.
“Not that I’m trying to influence your decision to press charges, of course.”
“They’re not going to give them back the kids, anyway,” Brown said. “You need to be a responsible adult to raise kids.”
“Maybe there are other relatives,” Beaudry said.
“Her mother.” Luis brightened.
“You really think her mother’s gonna watch your kids after you’ve slammed her daughter’s butt in jail?”
“Decker, you’ve said enough!”
Cindy slammed her mouth shut. She couldn’t understand why Tropper was taking it so personally when she’d seen her colleagues talk other domestic cases out of pressing charges time and time again. Maybe it had something to do with a gun aimed at a pair of nuts.
Estella was sobbing. “They take de kids, Luis! They take de kids!”
Luis’s sassy petulance had been replaced by panic. “No, they no take de kids, Estella.” He looked at Tropper. “I no charge my wife! She no do nothin’. You let her go! Then, we come down and get de kids.”
Tropper was swearing to himself. “I don’t believe this!”
Estella said, “He say I no do nothin’. You let me go!”
“It’s not that simple,” Cindy said. “Even if Luis doesn’t press charges, Estella, we’ve still got to take you down to the station and book you for the illegal possession and negligent use of a firearm.”
“Then wha’?” Luis asked.
Cindy said, “She’ll wait in jail until her arraignment, which will be in maybe three, four hours. Then a judge will probably let her off on her own recognizance. Which means you won’t have to pay any bail—”
“De judge don’ put her in jail?”
Cindy shrugged. “I don’t know what he’ll do. But we’ll have to put her in jail until a judge sees her.” Tropper was giving her the evil eye. She pretended not to see him. “Usually illegal possession and negligent use of a firearm if it’s a first-time offense doesn’t warrant jail time. But I don’t know what a judge will decide. It’s not up to me.”
“If he says I go home, do we get de kids?” Estella said, anxiously.
“No,” Cindy said. “That’s up to another judge—”
“But es better if there is a mother, yes?” Luis asked.
“Probably.”
“So I no put charges,” Luis said. “You let her go.”
Brown chuckled with amazement. “She held a gun to his balls, and you’re letting her off.”
“He es hokay,” Estella said.
“I hokay!” Luis confirmed.
Tropper said, “Bring them down. Charge both of them with felony possession.”
“Charge me?” Luis said. “I no do nothin’.”
“Yeah, yeah!” Tropper turned Luis around and cuffed him. “If you’re telling me that you were both fooling around with the gun, the charges are possession and negligence against the both of you. That means you and your wife get slammed.” Tropper paused. “Unless you change your mind about charging your wife.”
“No, I no change my mind!”
“Then you’re both under arrest,” Tropper stated. “You made your bed, buddy. Now you lie in it.”
“That’s hokay,” Estella said, nodding. “He eslie in de bed, but only with me.”
Tropper rolled his eyes and propelled Luis forward. “Let’s go!”
As they stepped outside and onto the front porch, cheers and hoots from the neighborhood crowd greeted them. Estella had lowered her head as they walked to the cruisers, but Cindy noticed that Luis was smiling broadly. Probably would have waved if his hands hadn’t been cuffed.
His thirty seconds of fame. That’s Hollywood for you. Everyone’s a friggin’ star.
4
Though Bellini’s hadn’t become Cindy’s second living room, at least it was comfortable. More than just a hard-core cop bar, it offered chops and sandwiches as well as salads and soups for the lighter fare. Cozy in size, the place had dim lighting, jazz music, and a big-screen TV, which, at the moment, was airing baseball—Giants—Padres. The floors were pine-planked and worn, and the ceilings held acoustical tiles. A half-dozen tables sat in the center area while red-Naugahyde booths lined the left wall. The right side was dedicated to the bar, its mirrored wall reflecting a black counter, which spanned the length of the restaurant. Technically, the law mandated the eatery to be smoke-free. But the patrons skirted the issue by opening up the back door, claiming the area to be an extension of a nonexistent patio. A moot point because who was going to cite the owner when the law was puffing away?
As Beaudry came in, he waved to a few of his friends. Cindy waved just to feel like one of the gang. Ron Brown was sitting on one of the bar stools, but Tropper wasn’t with him. In an eye blink, Cindy caught sight of someone’s back as he left the place. It could have been Sarge, but she wasn’t sure. There were several others that she knew by name. Andy Lopez was an academy acquaintance. There was also Slick Rick Bederman and his partner, Sean Amory. Bederman was solidly built with dark eyes and thick, curly hair, his face, as always, stamped with arrogance. She had met him once at a party…hadn’t liked the way he had looked at her. Amory was lighter in his coloring, but also projected ’tude. Beaudry must have caught her ambivalence. He said, “Feel like being social?”
“Maybe later.”
They ordered their beers, then took a booth, sipping for a few moments without talking. Beaudry was beating time to the music, fingertips drumming the table. It was soft jazz, the sax singing in a breathy voice which teased like foreplay.
Finally, Beaudry said, “So you did all right today.”
“Thanks.”
“Chalk one up for the good guys.”
Cindy said, “Are we the good guys? You wouldn’t know it by reading the papers.”
Beaudry waved her off. “This ain’t the first scandal and it won’t be the last.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” Beaudry picked up his mug. “Still, I’m not losing sleep over it. So you’re sure you’re okay with today?”
“I’m okay with it.” Cindy managed a smile. “I doubt if Tropper’s okay with it. So he’s pissed at me. He’s not the first, he won’t be the last.”
Beaudry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.
“What?” Cindy asked. “You’
re gonna give me some advice?”
“If you’re okay with it, I’ve got nothing to offer.”
“So why’re you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I’ve got herpes—”
“You’re being touchy, Decker. I’m not looking at you at all. And if I was looking at you, I wouldn’t be thinking about herpes. I’d be thinking that you look good in that black pantsuit outfit you’re wearing. That it goes good with your hair, which looks pretty when it’s loose.” He sipped beer. “That wasn’t a come-on. I’ve got a marriage, and I want to make it last. That’s just an old-fashioned, blue-collar compliment, so don’t go filing any sexual harassment complaints.”
“I look good tonight?”
“You look good tonight.”
“Thanks.” Cindy took another sip of suds, then licked the foam off her lips. “So you think I fucked up?”
“Nah, you didn’t fuck up as far as the incident goes. You handled the situation pretty good.” He looked around at nothing. “Nah, you didn’t fuck up with the situation.”
“But I fucked up with Tropper!” Cindy tapped her toe. “Do you think I fucked up with Tropper?”
“Not exactly—”
“What does that—”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Beaudry held out his palms in a stop sign. “Give me a sec, okay. You didn’t fuck up with him, meaning that he isn’t gonna make a federal case out of it. But you might think of doing something nice for him.”
“Like what?” She sneered. “Getting him coffee? One lump or two—”
“Don’t be a brat. Just…think about it.”
She laughed. “I haven’t been called a brat in a while.”
“But you’ve been called one before.”
“Oh yeah.”
“It’s written all over your face, Decker. ‘I am a brat. Not only a brat, but a snotty, educated brat.’”
Cindy maintained the smile, but the eyes dimmed. “That’s how you see me?”
“No, that’s not how I see you.” Beaudry sighed. “It’s just that you’re out there, Decker. Like today. You put yourself…out there. Right in the firing line. And when you’re out there, people notice you. Like Tropper.”