by JL Curtis
Marlene threw up her hands saying, “Okay, fine. But we’re going to pay for the munchies and lunch.”
At eight a.m. they had eleven of the twelve wives that signed up present, and Jesse kicked off the lessons with Matt and Sergeant Burt acting as assistant instructors.
At the first break Burt said, “Okay, I’ve got to admit I’m impressed. I thought this was going to be a lot worse than it is. I’m hearing good questions, and they’re actually listening. And they’re willing to take direction. Hell, I’m amazed!”
Matt said, “Well, you gotta remember they are married to Marines. At least three of the women here had carry permits at other bases, and most of them have a basic familiarity with pistols and rifles through their husbands. And the bigger point is, we’re not married to any of them.”
They all laughed at that and Burt replied, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Jesse, I gotta admit you’re a damn good instructor! You’ve got a lot more patience than I do, and you seem to anticipate questions before they get asked.”
Jesse laughed again and said, “Well, I just watch the audience. And I now know most of these women from the Wives Club, so I can kinda read them. I remember asking lots of dumb questions as a kid, when Papa taught me how to shoot.” She sighed, “He was always pushing me to remember the four rules, and always check to make sure guns were safed, even if I watched him do it. I’ve seen a gun handed around at the ranch and every person that handled it cleared it and checked it safe.”
Matt chimed in, “Yeah, that’s because every gun in your house is loaded!”
Burt looked at him curiously, and Matt continued, “Well, the first time I stayed there, I was told all the rifles were loaded and where the spare ammo was. And there was one in every bedroom, and even though they are antiques, I have no doubt every one of them would shoot. And that doesn’t even count the bank vault y’all call a safe.”
After the break, they continued instructing the women, and Sergeant Burt even stepped up and gave a couple of the lectures, punctuating them with jokes about trying to train his wife. Jesse and Matt let him roll with it, and both had to work to keep from laughing. Finally, it was time for actual range work, and Burt gave the safety lecture one more time. They’d decided at the lunch break to just use two lanes, and Jesse would be the lead for all range work.
Jesse stepped to the line and loaded a single round in magazine for the Woodsman then turned, “Okay, what I’m going to do is walk through each step we are going to have you do. First will be a single round, then three rounds. How many rounds will one of these magazines hold?”
A chorus of, “Ten,” came back at her and she nodded, “Okay, everybody got eyes and ears on? Sergeant, if you will?”
Burt gave the range commands, “Ready on the right? Ready on the left? All ready on the firing line. Commence firing one round and one round only.”
Jesse loaded the magazine into the pistol and racked the slide, consciously reminding herself to take it slow and easy, she exaggerated the firing stance, calling out, “Remember, nose over toes,” and put one round down range. Happily, she hit the x in the center of the bullseye. She released the magazine, safed the pistol and placed it back on the bench.
Burt called, “Cold range.”
Jesse finished the demonstration and they walked through the rest of the firing sequences, then started the women through the course of fire in pairs. After they had all been through one round of the course of fire, Jesse stepped back to the line, “Okay, that was the twenty-two, now I’m going to demonstrate a revolver, for those who would like to try it.” Again taking one step at a time, she demonstrated each sequence of fire. Another round of the women through the course of fire, and it was approaching 2:00PM. Jesse did the same demonstration with the Colt Ace and they did a third course of fire.
Jesse stepped up one more time, “Now I’m going to demonstrate some more powerful pistols and revolvers. You don’t have to shoot any of these if you don’t want to. But I want you to at least see and hear the difference in the sound and the recoil.”
Jesse fired all the remaining pistols and ended with the old Single Action Army. Most of the women tried at least one of the more powerful pistols and Marlene asked if she could shoot the little snub-nosed .38. Jesse was pretty sure Marlene and Darlene both had shot pistols, as they seemed to be pretty comfortable with them. As Marlene went to the line, Darlene smiled and whispered, “It’s not her first rodeo with one of those.”
Marlene proceeded to put all five rounds in the 10 ring, and casually remarked, “That was fun!”
Once she’d done it, a few of the other women tried it, with mixed results. After two more courses of fire, Jesse led them back into the classroom and they took the test. Afterward, Jesse presented them with their course certificates, their targets, and at least one shell case for each gun they’d fired, taped to the targets.
All of the women thanked them and left in a laughing group, proud of their accomplishments. Sergeant Burt looked at Jesse, “Can I shoot the SAA? I’ve actually never shot a real one!”
Jesse laughed, “Only if you load it. My fingers are tired from loading magazines.”
Burt lit up like a little kid, “Oh no problem!” They went back out to the range and he put two cylinders through the SAA and turned to Jesse, “How in hell do you shoot this thing accurately?”
Jesse emptied the cylinder and showed him the two single handed grips, one a high grip and one with the little finger under the butt, explaining the advantages and disadvantages of both. Burt tried it again; this time shooting one handed, and was grinning from ear to ear when he put the pistol down.
They cleaned the guns and Jesse treated everyone to dinner. Sergeant Burt told Jesse he’d be more than happy to help her if she put another class together. On the ride back to the apartment Jesse, Matt and Felicia laughed at how the day had gone. Felicia admitted she’d actually never shot a gun before today. Jesse fell into bed with a real sense of accomplishment, and dropped off to sleep with a smile on her face.
***
Two weeks later, Jesse got a call from the Chief, “Jesse, can you come to my office?”
Jesse groaned and stretched as she got up from the computer grumbling to Lieutenant Gonzales, “This damn ten-thirty-three grant is driving me nuts. They’ve added so much crap… The chief wants me for something.”
Gonzales nodded, “No problem. Go see what he wants.”
Jesse walked down to the chief’s office and knocked, “You wanted to see me, Chief?”
The chief said, “Yep, come in.” Jesse stood in front of his desk, and he handed her a sheaf of papers, “Read this.”
Jesse took the papers and started flipping through them. She quickly realized it was a transcript of an interview with an arrestee, who’d been caught in a home invasion. Halfway through the interview transcript, she was grinning, by the end she was laughing outright. The chief smiled, “Does the name Jessie Gauntt ring a bell?”
“She’s in the Wives Club. Her hubby is a staff sergeant. Why?”
“The part about the girl holding a cannon on him? That was Mrs. Gauntt.”
“Jessie was in the training class. She’s one of those that took to the pistols like a duck to water. Did he really say it wasn’t fair? That it was California, and people weren’t supposed to have guns?”
The chief laughed, “Yep, it’s even funnier on tape. He wants to sue her for mental distress. Says he shouldn’t have to fear for his life for just breaking into an apartment.” The chief slid a picture across to Jesse, “He’s another one of those surfer dudes that lives at the beach with no apparent means of support, but I think we’re going to clear up a bunch of B and E’s with this interview.”
“Good, maybe the word will get out, and the women will be a little safer while their hubbies are on deployment.”
The chief chuckled, “Oh yeah, we’re going to make sure this gets a lot of publicity.”
Depositions
The old man picked t
he county’s lawyer up at the sheriff’s department at six a.m., “Morning Mrs. Randall. ‘Preciate your riding along on this damn deposition.”
Nancy Randall glared at the old man, “Yeah, it’s morning. Too damn early in the morning. I hope you brought coffee!”
The old man chuckled, “That I did, in the floorboard behind my seat. A full thermos. Just a question, did you notify Hector Rodriquez you were coming?”
Randall grinned, “Oh hell no. They want to play games with these early depositions, then turnabout is fair play! Billy said he’ll meet us at seven at the ice cream place on Murphy Street to go over last minute details. Did you bring your little book?”
As the old man accelerated smoothly onto I-10 he glanced over, “My wheel book? No. Billy told me to just copy the appropriate pages plus one in front and one behind and mark out anything that didn’t relate to the stop. I also had the sheets notarized at the bank.”
“Good! I wouldn’t be surprised if Hector and the New York asshole, Moretti? Yeah, Moretti would try to have the whole book in discovery, just to see what else was in there.”
Taking a sip of coffee, the old man asked, “So, can I ask how you know Billy?”
Randall grimaced, “That goes back to law school. I was a bright, energetic… Idealistic, is probably the best word. Anyway, I graduated from Baylor, all ready to take on the world. Human justice and all that… I got a scholarship to the UT-Austin law school, and I was just finishing my second year. I was helping with the civil rights clinic.”
“Civil rights?”
“Primarily immigrants. You know, discrimination by the man.”
The old man shook his head, “Um, how did you go from that to where you are now?”
Randall sighed, “I blame Billy for that. He came in as an adjunct professor one semester in criminal law. I was running late for the lecture, and the only seats open were on the first row. I stumbled on the last step, and almost did a face plant, but caught myself and sat down just as he started the lecture.”
“So Lurch?”
“Remember how I said I was idealistic? Well, I got into a discussion with Billy, and since I hadn’t put my nametag up, he started calling me Lurch. He pretty much destroyed my entire argument, citing references I’d never even heard of. I went off and read them, realized I was wrong, and apologized to him.”
The old man laughed, “Oh damn, so that set Billy off again? Right?”
Ruefully, Randall agreed, “Oh hell yes. He challenged me to get out of my little world and look at the bigger picture of as he called it, the real practice of law. I ended up with the Houston DA’s office working as a prosecutor for almost fifteen years. Now I’m here.”
The old man took a sip of coffee, only to find the mug was empty. Reaching behind his seat, he pulled the thermos out, and Randall took it, filling his cup for him.
“Thanks. Feel free to help yourself to the coffee.”
They passed the rest of the ride to Alpine in desultory conversation, finally pulling into Alpine at six forty-five.
Pulling into a parking place in front of the ice cream shop, they saw Billy leaning against the front windowsill. “About damn time you got here, John. Morning, Lurch.”
“Dammit Billy, stop that shit. It’s too early for that crap!” Randall said.
Billy grinned, “Yes, dear!”
A young lady unlocked the front door and the old man held it open for Randall and Billy, “After y’all.”
Coffees in hand, they sat at a table near the kitchen, with Billy’s ever-present briefcase open and his yellow pad out. Running through the plans for the deposition, Billy told the old man to look at him prior to answering any questions. Billy said he would interrupt if he felt the question was inappropriate. He also reminded everyone to expect repeated questions, worded slightly differently each time, looking for anything that could be twisted.
Billy piled in the backseat, and directed the old man to a rundown office building on the outskirts of town. “Oh joy, Hector’s playing games. Good thing we went to the bathroom before we left the ice cream shop. Plan on no AC here either.”
Billy opened the door to the shabby little office and waved the old man and Randall through, following them in. The secretary greeted them in Spanish, and Billy said, “Cut the act. We speak English, not Spanish. Go tell Hector we’re here.”
The secretary looked up at Billy, “No hablo Inglés, Senor.”
Billy leaned on her desk, “You have thirty seconds. Then we’re leaving.” He stood up and pointedly look at his watch, as the secretary scuttled down the hall. Thirty seconds later, Hector still hadn’t shown up, and Billy said, “Okay, we’re out of here.”
As Billy opened the front door, Hector Rodriquez and Antonio Moretti came down the hallway. Hector said, “Well, well, the great Billy Moore deigns to visit my poor little hovel of a law office. Maybe I should get a picture with you to prove you’re actually here.”
Moretti smirked in the background until he noticed Randall standing there, “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
Nancy Randall drew herself up, “Based on your accent you must be Moretti, the ‘Noo Yawk’ lawyer. Hector knows who I am, don’t you, Hector?”
Hector did a double take, “Counselor Randall, what are you doing here? You’re the county lawyer.”
“That I am, Hector, and remember that little police brutality complaint y’all filed? Well, I’m here as an observer to watch out for the county’s interests.”
Hector looked at Moretti and his face fell, “Uh, I guess we can allow it. We’ll have to get another chair for you.” He turned to the secretary and told her in Spanish to go find one of the folding chairs from the back. Waving them into the small, hot conference room, he pointed to where he wanted the old man and Billy to sit, facing the windows and the sunlight. There was already a camera set up, and Billy just smiled.
Billy set his briefcase on the table and pulled out a small tripod and another video camera, starting to set it up on the end of the table. Moretti protested, “What are you doing?”
“Oh we’re going to record the deposition too. You know, just in case y’all happen to lose your tape, we’ll have a backup.”
***
An hour later, Billy called for a break, “Hector, you know by now that Deputy Cronin was in fact not involved in hitting, beating or brutalizing your client, or should I say Moretti’s client. Both of you have been playing games, and I’m tired of having to tell my client not to answer your leading questions, or questions that are conjecture. I’m also tired of your pushing for my client’s wheel book. All you are going to get is the pages you have in your hand. I know you’ve done the FOIA request and the county had provided you all relevant documents and videos.” Turning to Nancy Randall, “Isn’t that correct, Counselor?”
Randall replied, “Yes it is. I personally reviewed and provided all records and,” turning and glaring at Rodriquez, “You damn well know we’ve provided them. I also know you FOIA’ed the Rangers for their investigation documents too!”
Hector held up his hands, “Okay, ten minute break. I’m sorry to say our bathroom is out of commission, so I can’t help you on that count.”
***
As they reconvened in the hot conference room, Billy backed the tape up to the last movement in the conference room, and started the recording again. Hector and Moretti were huddled in the hall, conversing in low tones, but they finally came back in.
Hector rustled through his paperwork, “Captain Cronin, at approximately zero four hundred on the morning of the sixteenth, you entered the jail area and had a conversation with one Lieutenant Holt, your shift officer. What was the subject of that conversation?”
The old man looked at Billy who nodded. This was one they’d expected, “Mister Rodriquez, you know very well why I went to talk to the lieutenant. You and Moretti had questioned why MHMR[10]…”
Hector interrupted, “No I want to know the subject of your conversation with Holt. That w
as the question.”
The old man continued, "MHMR had not arrived, nor why your client hadn’t availed herself of the facilities. And why she was in a TACO[11]…”
Moretti slammed his hand down on the table, “Answer the question you fucking asshole!”
The old man looked calmly at Moretti and said softly, “Call me an asshole one more time, and I’ll put you through the fucking window. Do you understand me? Or do I have to spell it out for you?”
Moretti looked at the old man in amazement, “Are you threatening me?”
Billy laid a hand on the old man’s arm, interjecting, “No, Moretti, that’s a promise. And I’d suggest you really not push it. You’ve already stepped over the line a number of times today.”
Moretti looked at the old man and felt a chill run down his back. Cronin was looking back at him, with a little smile on his lips, but his eyes were cold and distant. They reminded Moretti of a killer he’d interviewed one time in Sing-Sing and he looked quickly away.
The old man’s lips quirked, “I discussed the fact that your client made the initial suicide threat about zero three hundred. MHMR has got, by law, seventy-two hours to respond. And the TACO suit? That was related to both the suicide threat and her refusal to clean herself. She claimed our male officers wanted to film her nude, and also claimed the female deputies were all lesbians and just wanted to watch her get naked. This is all logged, and on both video and audio, which you have.”
Hector asked, “But what did you tell the lieutenant to do that was off camera? We know the two of you purposely walked off so you couldn’t be seen.”
Billy said, “Okay Hector, I told you no more of that shit. We’re done. We’re going to interrogatories.” Billy turned to the old man, “Don’t say another word in here. This bullshit is done.”
Hector and Moretti both protested, but Billy continued packing his camera up. He flipped his yellow pad into the briefcase, shut it, and motioned the old man and Randall out ahead of him.
In the car, Billy finally said, “Let’s go to the diner. It’s lunch time, and they’ve got pretty good burgers and fries.”