1

    Sheila stood behind the counter of Colony Day Spa and stared at the empty space the uniformed officer was pointing to.  The man in the cheap suit paced back and forth in front of the door as he continued his conversation on the ancient cellular phone.

    “Was it the cash register, Ma’am?” the uniformed officer asked Sheila.

    “Sort of,” Sheila replied without looking up at the officer.  “It was a combination computer and cash register.”

    The uniformed officer pulled a pencil and pad out of his left shirt pocket and flipped through the pages for a clean sheet.

    “How much cash would you say was in the register?” the officer asked.

    “None,” said Sheila as she looked up at the officer.  “I make sure it’s empty every night.”

    “Was yesterday any different?” asked the officer as he jotted down a few notes.

    “Well, I only do special appointments on Sundays, and I didn’t have any yesterday… so no, Saturday was no different when I left, but I did close about thirty minutes earlier than I usually do,” Sheila explained.

    “Why is that?” asked the officer.

    “I had plans for the evening, and we don’t take walk-ins past a certain time anyway, so I let the staff go thirty minutes early and put what we had in the safe,” Sheila continued.

    “And where is that?” asked the officer.

    “The safe?” asked Sheila.

    “Yes, Ma’am,” replied the officer.

    Sheila paused for a moment and looked out the window at the man in the cheap suit.  He appeared to be looking directly at her, and was standing with his left hand tucked under his right elbow as he held his cell phone to his ear.

    “Who’s that guy?” Sheila asked the officer without looking at him.

    “He’s a division detective,” replied the officer.

    “A detective?” Sheila asked, turning her attention to the officer.  “Why would a detective be here already?”

    “I’ll let him explain that once we’ve completed our part of the investigation,” replied the officer. “Can we have a look at the safe?”

    “Sure,” said Sheila.  “It’s in the supply room.”

    Sheila stepped from behind the counter and led the officer through the etched glass door that separated the lobby from the line of treatment rooms.  The officer paused in the hallway just inside the glass door and closed it carefully as Sheila continued down the hallway to the storage closet.

    “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” the officer commented as he inspected the seascape pattern of the heavy glass door.

    “Pardon?” Sheila called from the end of the hall.

    “I’ve never seen anything like this,” the officer said loudly so Sheila could hear him.

    “Oh,” said Sheila as she searched her purse for her keys.  “It’s a copy of a Bob Ross painting.”

    “Bob Ross?” the officer asked as he ran his fingers over the etched design.

    “Yeah,” said Sheila as she found her keys.  “He’s the guy with the frizzy hair that used to do the paintings of happy trees.”

    “Oh, right,” said the officer.  “I remember that guy.”

    “A friend of mine had one of his paintings and he let me borrow it long enough to commission the etching,” Sheila continued.

    “Please don’t touch the door yet, Ma’am,” said the officer as he turned and started down the hall.

    “Oh… right,” said Sheila.

    The officer approached Sheila’s position in front of the storage closet and Sheila stepped back a few steps.  The officer inspected the door without touching it, paying special attention to the keyhole above the steel handle.

    “Do you have the only key to this door?” the officer asked as he bent over and inspected the door handle.

    “Yes,” replied Sheila.  “I had the whole thing changed about two years ago.”

    “Why did you change the lock?” asked the officer.

    “I had an incident with a manager that I hired, and subsequently fired,” Sheila replied.  “Shortly after I fired her, I changed all of the locks, just to be on the safe side.”

    “Interesting,” said the officer as he stood up and inspected the edges of the door on all sides.  “What about the lock on the front door?  Did you replace that one as well?”

    “Yes I did,” said Sheila.  “The only one I didn’t replace was the back door.”

    “Why didn’t you replace the back door lock?” asked the officer, who wrote another note in his notepad.

    “Well…,” Sheila started and then paused for a moment.  “The door is custom made, and you can’t replace the lock without replacing the door.  When I checked into it, the company that makes the door wanted four thousand dollars to remove the old one, paint the new one to match the building, and then install it.”

    “Understood,” said the officer.  “And what about the manager that you fired?”

    “What about her?” asked Sheila.

    “Do you know her current whereabouts?” asked the officer as he continued writing in his notebook.

    “All I have is the address in Manhattan where I sent her W-2 tax statement last year,” Sheila replied.

    “And what’s her name?” asked the officer as he flipped the page of his notebook.

    “Dianne something…,” Sheila said, trying to recall her last name.  “Dianne… Skoggins I think it was.”

    “How do you spell her last name?” asked the officer.

    Sheila spelled the former manager’s last name and shifted her weight from one hip to the other as the officer continued his questioning.  The officer continued jotting notes as Sheila grew impatient with the line of questioning.

    “Can we look in the safe now?” Sheila asked, interrupting the officer’s barrage of questions.

    “One more question first,” replied the officer.  “Can you give me the last known address for this Dianne Skoggins?”

2

    Colleen Caldwell and August Riley relaxed in their beds with their eyes closed, daydreaming about the past.  Room 258 was quiet, with the exception of an occasional sigh from either of the room’s injured occupants.  Even the beep of the PCA pump seemed quieter when Colleen needed an extra dose of morphine.

    Colleen thought about the way Chase used to tell the Wrigley Ranch story.  She knew that his version was a far cry better than the way she just told it to Augie, and she missed the way he used to imitate John Wayne’s voice.

    Augie’s thoughts swam lazily about her head like kelp in a blurry sea of endless images.  She thought of her husband, and wondered where he was or if he was even alive.  She pictured him standing on the busy deck of an aircraft carrier in the middle of an ocean somewhere, wearing his blue dungarees and white sailor hat.  She thought about the last time they spoke on the phone, and the bevy of lies she told about why there was no money in their bank account.

    Augie knew that her husband was becoming increasingly suspicious, and that sooner or later something had to give.  Her thoughts turned to her boyfriend and what he did to her Saturday night during his latest drunken rage.  Augie’s body had taken plenty of abuse from different men over the previous year, but Saturday night was the first time she had been forcefully sodomized since she was a little girl.

    Augie thought about what she was going to do once Doctor Eng signed her discharge paperwork.  She made a mental list of what she had to work with, which wasn’t much.  She had no cash for cab fare, her checking account was overdrawn, and she thought even if she did get a ride to her crappy apartment somehow, the rent was late and she knew it was only a matter of time before the landlord threw her out.

    Augie broke the silence of Room 258 with a sniffle, which caught her roommate’s attention.  Colleen opened her eyes and turned her head toward the sniffling twenty-five-year-old blonde’s hospital bed.  Augie had the covers pulled over her head, and Colleen knew something was wrong once again.

    “Augie?” Colleen asked quietly.

    “Y-yeah?” Augie replied with a muffled sob.

    “You alright?” Colleen asked.

    “No,” said Augie in a distressed tone.

    “What’s wrong?” queried Colleen.

    “Same old shit,” Augie said as she sniffled and pulled the covers from her face.

    “I’m sorry, honey,” offered Colleen.

    “It’s my own fault,” Augie said.  “I’m just a mess, like usual.”

    “Is there some way I can help?” Colleen asked.

    “Nah, I’ll figure it all out somehow,” Augie replied as she wiped a tear from her right cheek.  “I always do.”

    “You want me to kick the crap out of the fucker that did that to you?” Colleen offered in an attempt to bring a smile back to Augie’s face.

    “This one’s a big fucker,” Augie replied and sniffled again.

    “Shee-it,” Colleen guffawed.  “Ain’t no man ever got the best ‘o me… a horse, maybe, but never a man.”

    “Well… this man’s dangerous,” said Augie as she turned her head toward Colleen.  “He scares the shit out of me, and I don’t know how I’m gonna get rid of him when the time comes.”

    “When the time comes?” Colleen asked rhetorically.  “Don’t you think that now is a good time to kick-fuck this dude after what he did to you?”

    Augie turned her head away from Colleen without saying a word.  Colleen thought about what she just said to Augie, and the demeaning tone that she used.

    “Oh… shit, Augie,” Colleen said in a submissive tone.  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

    Augie turned her head back toward Colleen and another tear streaked down her right cheek.

    “For what?” Augie asked in a defensive tone.

    “It’s not my place to tell ya how ta handle yer affairs, no pun intended,” Colleen said.  “I wouldn’t want some bitch tellin’ me what’s what, and I just did it to you.”

    Augie’s sniffles turned to sobs again as she looked at Colleen without saying anything.  Colleen felt that she stepped over the line by telling Augie what she should do, and that Augie would never open up to her again.

    “Fuck,” Colleen said to herself under her breath as she straightened her head and clenched her right fist.  “I shot my fuckin’ mouth off too much again.”

    “No,” Augie said between sobs.  “You didn’t.”

    Colleen turned her head toward Augie again, and saw that Augie was looking at her with a sort of tender reverence rather than the hurt, tear-filled glare that she expected.

    “I didn’t?” asked Colleen.

    “No,” Augie replied.  “I can’t remember the last time somebody cared enough about me to offer advice rather than telling me what I should and shouldn’t do.”

    “But I violated one of my own rules, Augie,” Colleen said.

    “Which one is that?” Augie asked as she wiped away another tear.

    “I insulted you by telling you that you needed to get rid of the fuckhead that put you in the hospital,” Colleen said.

    “No you didn’t,” Augie said.  “You said don’t you think that now is a good time.  You didn’t say you need to do this or you need to do that.  You asked me what I thought.”

    “Yeah, but-,” Colleen started, but was interrupted.

    “I never thought I would hear the day when someone asked me what I thought,” Augie said.  “Thank you.”

    “I-,” Colleen started, but was interrupted again.

    “And you offered to kick the shit out of someone for me,” Augie continued.  “Nobody’s ever done that before.”

    Colleen took in a deep breath and then let it out as she studied Augie’s face.

    “I would do it, Augie… because you’re my friend,” Colleen said in a comforting tone.

    “I’ve never had a friend like you, Colleen,” Augie said.  “I feel like I can tell you anything.”

    Colleen closed her eyes and recited, “True friends, true soul connections… are few and far between… and when we happen upon one of those souls… we should hang on for dear life.”  As Colleen finished the quote, she opened her eyes and turned her head toward Augie again.

    “That’s beautiful,” Augie whimpered.  “Who… wrote that?”

    “One of my Facebook friends,” Colleen said.  “I’ve never met her in person, but she’s really sweet.”

    “So… are you…,” Augie bawled.

    Colleen sat in silence and watched Augie sob uncontrollably for a few moments.  She shared the moment with Augie and let her own tears flow freely.  Augie slowly gained control of her sobs and sniffled between choppy gulps of breath.

    “Col-leen?” Augie asked as she wiped her cheek again.

    “Yes, Augie?” Colleen answered with a sniffle.

    “Can I…,” Augie began.  “Can I… tell you that I love you?”

    Tears suddenly gushed from Colleen’s eyes.  For the first time since before Chase’s death, Colleen looked into another person’s eyes and wept without having to hide her tears.

    “Yes,” Colleen said.  “As long as you don’t mind hearin’ me say it whenever I feel like it.”

    “I don’t mind,” Augie whimpered.  “Besides, I’m afraid you’ll kick the crap out of me if I say no.”

    Augie and Colleen laughed together amidst the tears of joy that marked the beginning of their friendship and love for one another.

    “Where’s Amy when you need her?” laughed Colleen as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her right hand.

    “I know, right?” sniffled Augie.

3

    Sheila Jones thought for a moment about the officer’s question regarding Dianne Skoggins, Colony Day Spa’s former Manager.

    “Well, that’s part of the problem with the missing cash register,” said Sheila.

    “What do you mean?” asked the officer.

    “The cash register was more than just a cash register,” Sheila said.  “It’s also a computer that has all of my accounting software on it, and the contacts of all of my clients and vendors.”

    “Ah,” the officer began.  “I see.”

    “See what?” asked Sheila, confused.

    “How many contacts would you say you have?” asked the officer.

    “I don’t know…,” said Sheila as she thought aloud.  “Maybe a couple thousand?”

    “So you’re saying that the last known address you have on file for this… Dianne Skoggins is in the missing computer?” the officer asked.

    “Right,” said Sheila.  “But I can get the backup files within twenty-four hours from EDP.”

    The uniformed officer from the LA Sheriff’s Department stopped writing in his pad for a moment and looked up at Sheila.

    “EDP?” the officer asked.

    “It’s the data storage company that I use to back up all of my operation critical information,” Sheila replied.  “My computer uploads to them every night at midnight.”

    “And where is this EDP located?” the officer asked.

    “Las Vegas,” said Sheila.

    The officer looked down at his notepad, jotted down another quick note, and then folded the notepad and slid it in his shirt pocket.

    “Okay then,” the officer said.  “Is this door electronically monitored for intrusion?”

    “No,” said Sheila.  “Do you want me to open it now?”

    “Carefully,” said the officer.  “If you can, try not to touch the door with anything other than the key.”

    “Maybe you better do it,” said Sheila as she offered the key to the officer.

    “It’s okay,” the officer said.  “I want to see how easily it opens with the key alone.”

    Sheila positioned the storage closet key in her right hand so that the only part she touched was the very end of it.  The key slid in easily as Sheila held the rest of the keychain with her left hand so it wouldn’t dangle or touch any part of the door as the officer instructed.  She took in a deep breath and held it as she turned the key clockwise.  The door handle started to turn with the key, so Sheila stopped, held the key in place and looked up at the officer.

    “I can tell that the door’s unlocked already,” Sheila said as she looked at the officer with wide eyes.

    “Okay, now listen to me very carefully,” said the officer in a serious tone.  “Don’t move the key any further, and don’t release it.”

    “Oh, shit,” Sheila gasped.

    “Don’t be alarmed, Ma’am,” the officer said in the same tone.  “Just do as I say and hold the key where it is.  Can you do that for me?”

    “Y-yeah,” Sheila stuttered.

    Sheila looked down at her hands, which instantly started to sweat at the palms.  She squeezed her thighs together as she felt the urgency in her bladder return with a vengeance.  The officer grabbed the radio microphone that was draped over his shoulder and pressed the button.

    “Jarvis, you got a copy?” the officer said loudly, taking Sheila by surprise.

    “Jar-?” Sheila started, but was interrupted by the officer.

    “Shhhh!” the officer scolded.  “Please just concentrate, Mrs. Jones.”

    Sheila gasped again and started to panic.  A thousand images raced through her mind as she saw the look on the officer’s face turn from blank to serious.  Beads of sweat formed on the officer’s forehead and started edging their way down his temples.

    “Jarvis, you got a copy?” the officer repeated into his microphone, but got no answer.

4

    As Augie and Colleen tried their best to wipe away their tears, the door latch clicked heavily and swung open.

    “Did I hear my name again?” Nurse Amy asked as she stepped through the doorway with another nurse following behind her.

    “I swear you’re psychic,” Colleen said with a laugh.

    “No kidding,” Augie added.

    “Was there something you needed?” Amy asked as the second nurse stepped forward and took a position beside her.

    Augie suddenly pulled her covers up to her chest as she saw that another nurse had entered the room with Amy.  The nurse had her arms full of what appeared to be sheets and towels.  Colleen noticed Augie’s sudden movements and emulated her by pulling her own covers to her chest.  Neither patient said anything to Amy.  For a few moments, an uncomfortable silence filled the room, which made all four women feel uneasy.

    “I’m sorry,” Amy said, breaking the silence.  “This is Yanette, your CNA.”

    “Hi,” said Yanette as she smiled first at Colleen, then at Augie.

    “Hi, Yanette,” Augie said with a sudden tone of familiarity.  “Sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

    “That’s okay,” said Yanette.  “It’s nice to see you again, Ms. Riley.”

    “Nice to see you too,” Augie said as she nodded her head.  “I want you to meet my new friend, Colleen.”

    Augie turned her head toward Colleen and motioned toward her with her right hand like a model from The Price is Right.

    “Hello,” Colleen said to Yanette.

    “Hi, Colleen,” Yanette replied.  “I’m here to help you with your bath, is that okay?”

    “Ugh,” Colleen replied.  “Just what the doctor ordered.”

    “Okay,” said Yanette.  “And how about you, Ms. Riley?” she asked as she turned toward Augie.

    “Yes, please,” replied Augie.

    “Do you mind if we take care of Colleen first?” Amy piped in and asked Augie.

    “Not at all,” said Augie.  “I’ll just take me a little nap until you’re done.”

    “Sounds good,” said Amy.

    “I feel soooo scummy,” said Colleen.  “I’m sure I still smell like horse shit.”

    “I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Augie started.  “But…”

    “Why don’t you kiss my ass?” Colleen quipped.

    “Wow,” Amy said as she moved between the two beds.

    “Sorry, Yanette,” Colleen apologized as her face turned pink from embarrassment.

    “Oh, that’s okay,” said Yanette.  “I have heard lots worse this morning.”

    Augie giggled and then pushed her pain button for an extra dose of morphine.  The PCA pump beeped the familiar tune as the powerful drug made its way into Augie’s vein.  Amy grabbed the edge of the heavy privacy curtain and pulled it to the end of the two beds and stopped.

    Yanette set the linens on the chair, moved to the sink area and turned on the hot water tap.  Amy walked over to the open door and closed it with a heavy thud as the latch clicked and the door bounced against the metal frame that held it in place.

    Colleen waited patiently as Yanette appeared from around the end of the privacy curtain and gathered a mauve-colored plastic basin from one of the shelves near the foot of the bed.  As Yanette disappeared around the end of the curtain, Amy passed her and moved to the head of Colleen’s bed.

    “How are you feeling?” asked Amy as she put on a fresh pair of gloves.

    “Not too bad,” replied Colleen.

    “Was there something you needed before we got here?” Amy whispered.

    “Just another one of your hugs,” Colleen whispered back.  “We were thinking of pimping you out once we get out of here.”

    Amy chuckled as she finished putting on her gloves and lowered the bedrail.  Colleen shifted her position and tried to sit up straight.

    “You don’t need to move or anything,” Amy said.  “Let’s get your gown off first.”

    “Okay,” said Colleen.  “What should I do?”

    “Ummm… nothing really,” replied Amy.

    Amy removed the strap that held Colleen’s sling and then unsnapped the buttons that held the gown together along Colleen’s left shoulder.  Colleen leaned forward to an upright position and Amy untied the string at the back of Colleen’s neck.  The gown slid down Colleen’s left shoulder as Amy carefully pulled the left side of the gown from behind her lower back and left buttock.  Amy gasped with a slow inhale through her teeth as she saw Colleen’s exposed left shoulder and breast.

    “What?” asked Colleen as she looked down at what caused Amy to react the way she did.

    “Ohhh, honey,” Amy said with an empathetic squint.

    “Fuuuuck!” said Colleen with a hint of despair as she studied her left shoulder and breast.

    Just below Colleen’s left collarbone was a perfect, strawberry-colored imprint of an upside-down horseshoe.  The surrounding area of her shoulder was swollen and dirty from the dust of the show ring, and Colleen could see the beginnings of light purple splotches above her breast and shoulder.

    “What’s going on over there?” Augie called from her side of the privacy curtain.

    “Augie… you gotta see this,” Colleen said.  “Amy, can you pull back the curtain for a sec?”

    “You sure?” asked Amy.

    “I’m sure,” Colleen said.

    Amy left Colleen’s bedside and went to the end of the privacy curtain.  She turned and looked back at Colleen one last time and received a nod of approval.  The tinny “shhh” sound of the rollers once again filled the room as Amy slid the curtain back toward the head of the beds.  Colleen looked up at Augie, who was sitting in the upright position, leaning slightly toward Colleen’s bed.

    “What… in the fuck… is that?” Augie asked as she spied the horseshoe on Colleen’s shoulder.

    Yanette turned around and looked at what everyone was looking at.  She drew in the same kind of slow gasp through her teeth that Amy did a few moments before.

    “Ringworm, I think,” replied Colleen smartly.

    Amy let out a short giggle and then flexed her neck muscles as her expression returned to an empathetic squint.

    “Shiiiiit,” Augie said, emulating Colleen’s earlier tone.  “Will that go away?” she asked.

    “I fuckin’ hope so, man,” Colleen replied.  “See how it’s upside-down?”

    “Yeah… bad luck,” Augie replied.  “You got any other cool tattoos like that one?”

    “Ugh,” Colleen said and then swallowed hard.  “I feel nauseous.”

    “You alright?” asked Amy as she let go of the curtain and turned her attention back to Colleen.

    “Yeah,” said Colleen as she leaned back against her bed and swallowed hard again.  “I will be in a minute.”

    “Take a deep breath,” Amy instructed.

    “I’m okay,” said Colleen.  “But I know one horse that won’t be if this… thing doesn’t go away.”

    Augie giggled and put her right hand to her mouth.  Colleen and Amy turned and looked in her direction, just as she turned her head away from them.

    “What’s so damned funny?” Colleen asked.

    “I was just thinking that you should take a picture of that and put it on your MySpace,” said Augie as she lowered her hand and turned her head back toward Colleen.

    “Very funny,” said Colleen.  “Now I’m a fuckin’ freak, is that it?”

    “Well, the men might like it if you show your boobies,” replied Augie smartly.  “Are them things real?”

    “You bet your ass they’re real,” said Colleen.  “Are yours?”

    “Ha ha ha,” Augie mocked.  “Now who’s being funny?”

    “Okay, Amy,” said Colleen.  “The show’s over.”

    Amy chuckled and grabbed the edge of the privacy curtain.

    “Wait, don’t you want to see my boobies?” asked Augie in a girly tone.

    “What for?” asked Colleen, mocking Augie’s girly voice.  “Are they signed by the NBA Commissioner?”

    “Ha!” blurted Augie.

    “Even I get that one,” Amy chuckled as she pulled the privacy curtain to the end of the beds.

    Amy and Yanette worked quickly and methodically as they helped the two tenants of Room 258 bathe their broken bodies.  The dynamic duo of nurse and CNA changed the bed linens before moving on to their other patients, and all was quiet again as Augie and Colleen settled in their beds for a mid-morning nap.

5

    Sheila Jones closed her eyes and tried as hard as she could to concentrate on the issues at hand.  The uniformed officer stood silently for a moment and waited for a response on his radio from the person he referred to as “Jarvis” a few moments before.  Sheila had a million random thoughts racing through her head, but they all kept crashing into one another like old cars in a demolition derby.

    She asked herself question after question as she tried to concentrate on holding the key perfectly still with her sweaty hand.  Who was Jarvis?  Why did she have to keep the key from moving any further?  Where was her staff?  Why didn’t she pee after she was nearly scared to death the first time?  Who were the three missed calls on her cell phone?

    “I’ll be right back, Mrs. Jones,” said the uniformed officer.

    Sheila opened her eyes and heard her neck crack as she looked up at the officer in horror.  The beads of sweat that ran down his temples were noticeably larger and Sheila could see dark patches of wetness forming under his arms.

    “Oh my God, where are you going?” Sheila exclaimed.

    “Just keep the key still, and everything will be fine,” replied the officer in the same calm tone as before.  “We’ll be done soon.”

    “Done with what?” Sheila asked.

    “Just concentrate, Mrs. Jones,” replied the officer.  “I’ll be back in a flash.”

    “Sh-shit!” Sheila stuttered.

    “Take a deep breath,” instructed the officer.

    Sheila took a deep, labored breath and held it in, making her face turn red.  Her knees shook as her fingers started to cramp from holding the key in place.

    “Don’t hold your breath,” said the officer.  “It only makes it worse.  Just breathe normally.”

    Sheila let the air out of her lungs through her nostrils, and then gulped in another deep breath through her mouth.  She tried to control the flow of air in and out of her lungs, but her diaphragm had other ideas.

    “H-hurry!” Sheila said in a broken whisper.

    “Affirmative,” said the officer as he wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

    “Af-f-,” Sheila repeated, and then swallowed hard.

    The officer backed up a few steps, turned and bolted out the etched glass door that he spent so much time admiring a few minutes before.  The door slowly inched closed, and Sheila could see the outline of the officer through the etched glass as he quickly disappeared from the lobby.

    “Jesus,” Sheila whispered to herself as she looked down at the key again, and then closed her eyes.  “Take a deep breath.”

    “Jarvis!” yelled the officer as he ran out the front door of Colony Day Spa.

    Sheila opened her eyes again as she heard the officer’s muffled shout through the glass door.

    “Jarvis!” the officer shouted again.  “Get off the goddamn phone!  We got a situation here!”

    Sheila tilted her head to the right and tried to make out what Jarvis said to the officer, but he was too far away.

    “That answers that question,” Sheila whispered to herself.

    Sheila started to lose her concentration as her bladder made another pronounced push.  She squeezed her thighs together tightly as she carefully shifted her position and crossed her legs without moving the key.

    Suddenly Sheila heard what she thought was the slam of a car’s trunk, followed by a flurry of heavy footfalls on the pavement in front of the spa.  Sheila turned her head toward the glass door and saw the outline of two people as they hurriedly entered the lobby.

    “Careful!” the officer scoffed as he and the detective approached the glass door.  “Here… lemme get the door.”

    The officer opened the door and stood to the side as Jarvis rushed into the hallway.  The cheap sunglasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, and his forehead was wrinkled as he took a few steps into the hallway and stopped to survey the situation.  Jarvis had a pair of red bolt cutters and a roll of duct tape in one hand, and something heavy made of a shiny canvas-like material clutched to his chest with his other arm.

    “Get me some crowd control in front and in back,” Jarvis said over his shoulder to the officer in a commanding tone.  “Back ‘em up two hundred meters.”

    Sheila tried to piece together what she was seeing, but was even more confused when Jarvis mentioned “crowd control.”

    “Affirmative,” said the officer.

    “I assume you’re Mrs. Jones?” asked Jarvis as he peered at Sheila over the top of his sunglasses.

    “What the fuck gave you that idea?” Sheila quipped nervously.

    “Lucky guess,” replied Jarvis as he bent over and dropped the heavy tan thing and the bolt cutters to the floor.

    The uniformed officer stood behind Jarvis and spoke into his microphone in a low tone, giving instructions in police codes that might as well have been Greek as far as Sheila was concerned.  Jarvis tried to remove his suit jacket, but the roll of duct tape that he held in his hand made the left sleeve turn inside out.  Sheila stood and watched Jarvis as he let go of the tape, removed his arm, and struggled to maneuver the shiny gray roll of tape from the inside-out sleeve of his cheap suit jacket.

    “What the fuck?” Sheila whispered to herself.

    “Okay, Mrs. Jones,” said the bumbling detective.  “I’m Detective Jarvis, L.A.P.D.”

    “No shit,” replied Sheila as she looked down at her aching hand.

    “Believe it or not, I’m here to help you,” said Jarvis as he finally freed the roll of duct tape and let his jacket fall to the marble floor.

    “Oh yeah?” said Sheila as she looked up at Jarvis again.  “Who’s gonna help you?” she asked smartly.

    “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” asked Jarvis as he unbuttoned the left sleeve of his shirt.

    “Okay by me,” replied Sheila.  “What do you want me to do?”

    “First thing I need you to do, Mrs. Jones is concentrate on the key,” said Jarvis.  “That’s the most important thing.”

    “I’m trying,” said Sheila as she looked down at her hand again.  “But I don’t know how much longer I can hold it.

    “Crowd control in progress, Jarvis,” the uniformed officer interrupted.

    “Firm,” replied Jarvis without looking back at the officer.  “E.T.A. for B.D.U?”

    “Four minutes,” replied the officer.

    “What’s B.D.U.?” asked Sheila as she closed her eyes and grunted at the pain in her hand.

    “We call ‘em the Bad Dude Unit,” said Jarvis as he rolled up his other shirt sleeve.  “They fix things.”

    “What kinds of things?” asked Sheila as she lowered her forehead to her outstretched arms and arched her back.

    “Just things,” replied Jarvis.  “Officer Schmidt and I will get you squared away first, and then B.D.U. will clean up after us.”

    “Clean up what?” Sheila asked.

    Jarvis stepped closer to Sheila, but did not touch her.

    “I need you to look at me for a second, okay, Mrs. Jones?”

    “Okay,” replied Sheila.

    “I’m going to move to the other side of you and Officer Schmidt is going to help you hold the key for a few minutes,” Jarvis said.  “Are you with me so far?”

    “Yeah,” said Sheila.  “I ain’t exactly goin’ anywhere.”

    “Schmitty,” Jarvis said as he turned back toward the officer and motioned to him with the hand that held the duct tape.

    Jarvis turned back toward Sheila and moved to his right, just out of Sheila’s line of sight.  Officer Schmidt let go of his radio and stepped forward to where Jarvis was standing.

    “When I tell you to, hold her hands steady with both of yours… like this,” said Jarvis to Schmidt.  “But don’t touch the key, copy?”

    “Affirmative,” replied Schmidt.

    “I have to pee soooo bad,” said Sheila as she looked up at Officer Schmidt.

    “Won’t be long now, Mrs. Jones,” said Schmidt.

    “I hope not,” said Sheila.  “Or I’m gonna pee all over myself and your shoes.”

    Jarvis moved to Sheila’s right side, and Officer Schmidt moved closer to her left.

    “Look at me again,” instructed Jarvis.

    Sheila did as instructed, and looked up at the thin detective.  He was still looking at Sheila over the top of his sunglasses, which Sheila found odd.  As if Jarvis sensed what Sheila was thinking, he grabbed his sunglasses with his right hand and pulled them off of his face.  He then whipped the cheap shades over his right shoulder, and they flew through the air until they hit the marble floor and slid down the hall behind him.

    “I’m gonna rip a bunch ‘o pieces of this tape, and then stick ‘em on the wall for a minute, okay?” instructed Jarvis.

    “What does that do?” asked Sheila.

    “Just listen,” said Jarvis.

    “Okay,” said Sheila with a hard swallow.

    “And then one by one, I’m gonna place the tape over the door handle to hold it in place and keep it from moving,” Jarvis continued.

    “Okay,” Sheila repeated.

    “What I want you to do is keep the key perfectly still while I place the tape, and then we’ll see what we can do to get you out of here as quick as we can,” Jarvis said.  “Are you ready?”

    “Ready as I’ll ever be,” replied Sheila.  “Let’s go already,” she said as she looked back down at her hands.  “Can I let go of the other end of the keychain?”

    “Not yet,” said Jarvis.  “After I place the tape, Schmitty will help you hold the key while I cut the rest of the keychain off with the bolt cutters, you copy?”

    “Affirmative,” Sheila replied.

    “Good girl,” said Jarvis.  “Here we go.  Schmitty… roll up your sleeves.”

    Officer Schmidt did as he was instructed as Jarvis ripped a piece of duct tape from the roll about a foot in length and placed it on the wall.  Sheila could hear sirens in the distance through the glass door between the ripping sounds of the shiny gray tape.  Jarvis repeated his actions with the tape about ten times and then whipped the tape over his right shoulder just like he did with his sunglasses.  The tape hit the marble floor with a dull thud, which caught Sheila’s attention.

    “Okay,” Jarvis announced.  “Now I’m gonna start placing the pieces of tape over the handle like I said before.”

    “Can I uncross my legs before you do?” Sheila asked.

    “Ummm,” replied Jarvis as he looked down at Sheila’s legs.  “Let’s get Schmitty’s hands in place first.”

    Sheila turned her head toward Officer Schmidt and looked up at his face, which was dripping with sweat.

    “Schmitty, wipe your face and your arms, and then I’ll direct how and where to place your hands,” Jarvis said.

    “Copy, Gold Leader,” replied Officer Schmidt.

    “Nice shot, Red Two!” quipped Jarvis in an attempt to keep Officer Schmidt cool and calm.

    “You men and your Star Wars,” said Sheila.  “I swear.”

    “We love our movie quotes,” said Jarvis.  “Keeps us sane in tense situations.”

    “Like this one?” asked Sheila rhetorically.

6

    Joan Caldwell abandoned her stack of invoices and headed out the door in search of the items that Colleen requested.  The more Joan drove Colleen’s El Camino, the more she liked it.  She liked the car that Colleen often referred to as “The Bitch” because of its raw power under the hood and the safety of being surrounded on all sides by more than just plastic fenders and airbags.  The first time Joan rode in the passenger seat, Colleen demonstrated that she definitely knew the limits of her automobile.

    Joan “tested” a few of those limits herself as the El Camino’s tires easily let go of the pavement with each stomp of the accelerator.  Joan grew more excited each time she hit the gas and got a feel for just what The Bitch could do.  She suddenly remembered something that Colleen said after scaring her to death with her first ride in the powerful gas-guzzler.  She said, “Some cars have nuts, and some have balls.  This bitch has both.”

    “Nuts and balls,” Joan said aloud as she eased up on the accelerator and sat up a little straighter in the bench seat.  She liked the feel of the El Camino’s brown leather steering wheel cover, which was stretched tightly and held in place by a thin plastic strap all the way around the wheel.  She ran her fingers over the leather as she rolled to a stop at the red light in front of Tierra Rejada Park.  The stereo speakers emitted the same low hum as the day before, which irritated Joan.

    “Must be broken,” Joan said aloud as she looked at the stereo, which scrolled the word “ERROR” across the tiny screen.  Joan reached over and fiddled with the volume knob, and then pressed every button she could find.  The word “ERROR” disappeared from the screen and was replaced with “Eruption.mp3 – 0:00.”

    Joan looked up at the stoplight, which was still red.  Just as she looked back at the stereo, the loud thunder of drums and the ear-piercing squall of a metal guitar screamed from the speakers.  Her arms flew into the air and her right foot slipped from the brake pedal, causing the El Camino to lurch forward into the intersection.

    Joan gasped as she fought for control of the hot rod that surrounded her.  She stomped the brake pedal and gripped the steering wheel, which caused the El Camino to stop abruptly.

    “Fuck!” yelled Joan as she leaned forward and looked up at the stoplight, which had already turned green.  Her heart raced as she looked frantically in all directions and checked her mirrors.  She found herself in the middle of the intersection, but could see no other cars on the road in her immediate vicinity.  Suddenly the guitar stopped and Joan took a deep breath.

    As she slumped down in the seat a little and let out her breath, the guitar began again and startled her a second time.  She instinctively perked up again, but this time her hands continued their chokehold on the steering wheel and her foot remained planted squarely on the brake pedal.

    “Dammit, Colleen!” Joan yelled.

    Joan let go of the steering wheel with her right hand and reached for the stereo’s volume knob.  Her hand trembled as she turned the knob counter-clockwise, ending the guitar’s deluge on her ears.  She looked in all directions, took in another deep breath and then slowly eased up on the brake pedal.  Joan pulled the El Camino over to the side of the road and moved the gearshift into the park position.  She could feel the vibration of the exhaust through the floorboard as the engine idled at a pace that matched her heart rate.

7

    Officer Schmidt removed a neatly-folded white handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his face and arms as Detective Jarvis instructed.

    “Ready, Schmitty?” asked Jarvis.

    “Affirmative,” replied Officer Schmidt as he finished wiping his arms and put the handkerchief back in his pocket.

    “Ready, Mrs. Jones?” Jarvis asked as he looked down at Sheila.

    “Affirmative,” Sheila repeated, mocking Officer Schmidt.

    Schmidt ignored Sheila’s remark and stepped as close to her as he could without touching the rest of her body.  He then moved his hands into position above and below Sheila’s hands and looked at Jarvis for approval.

    “Good,” Jarvis said.  “The top one first.”

    Sheila looked down at her sweaty hands and took in a deep breath.

    “Let it out easy,” said Jarvis to Sheila.  “Go ahead, Schmitty.”

    Sheila let out her breath and then Detective Schmidt lowered his hand until it came to rest lightly on top of hers.  His palm was warm and clammy, but Sheila felt a bit of comfort from his steady, gentle touch.

    “Now close your thumb and index finger over hers, just like she has it,” Jarvis said.  “You’re doin’ fine, Mrs. Jones.”

    “I’m glad you think so,” said Sheila without looking up at Jarvis.

    Schmidt slid his fingers into position and supported Sheila’s fingers with a firm but steady hold.

    “Got it,” said the officer.

    “Excellent,” Jarvis said.  “Mrs. Jones, you can relax your fingers a little, but don’t move the key.  Let Schmitty do the work.”

    “I can’t see my hand,” said Sheila.

    “Don’t worry about seeing your hand,” said Jarvis in a suddenly calm tone.  “Close your eyes and just breathe easy for a second.”

    Sheila closed her eyes and tried to visualize her fingers.  Little by little she relaxed her grip on the key as the officer’s fingers pressed firmly against hers.  The pain in her thumb subsided almost instantly and she opened her eyes again.

    “Good,” said Jarvis.  “Now Schmitty’s gonna bring his left hand up and hold it under yours while I place the tape on the door handle.”

    “Okay,” Sheila said without looking away from her hands.

    Officer Schmidt looked up at Jarvis, who in turn nodded his approval.  Schmidt gently placed his left hand under Sheila’s wrist and slid it into position underneath.  Slowly and steadily, the officer cupped Sheila’s left hand, which loosened the tension between the key and the rest of the keychain.

    “We’re good to go here,” Schmidt said to Jarvis.

    “Firm,” Jarvis replied.  “You okay, Mrs. Jones?”

    “The sooner I get away from this door, the better,” replied Sheila.

    “Just hang in there,” said Jarvis.  “It won’t take but a minute.”

    “Okay by me,” said Sheila.

    Jarvis pulled the first piece of tape from the wall and grasped it tightly at each end.  He knelt slowly to one knee and then inched his way closer to Sheila.

    “I’m gonna count to three, nice and easy,” Jarvis said.  “When I do, take a nice deep breath and hold it until I tell you to let it out,” Jarvis instructed.

    “Okay,” said Sheila.

    “One… two… three,” Jarvis counted, and then took in a slow deep breath in unison with the owner of Colony Day Spa.

    His movements were deliberate and seemed to take forever.  He rotated the tape vertically and placed the bottom end about four inches below the door handle and gave it a quick but firm rub with his left thumb.  He then held the bottom end in place as he pulled the strip taut, and inch by inch, Jarvis pivoted the tape until the middle stuck to the handle.  After a careful pause, he moved the top end of the tape until it met the heavy door, all the while keeping it as tight as he could to keep the latch from moving.  He rubbed the top end gently with his thumb for a few strokes, and then retraced his strokes with more pressure.

    “Let out your breath nice and easy,” instructed Jarvis.

    Sheila did exactly as she was told, blowing the air out of her lungs through tightened lips and puffed cheeks.

    “Good,” said Jarvis.  Catch your breath for a second, and we’ll do that one more time.”

    “Okay,” said Sheila.  “You all right?” she asked as she looked up at the officer, who was still sweating profusely.

    “Affir-,” the officer started, and then corrected himself.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  You?”

    “Finer than a frog’s hair,” Sheila replied.

    “Good one,” said Officer Schmidt without breaking his concentration.

    “Okay, Mr. Jarvis,” said Sheila as she turned her head toward the detective.  “We’re ready.”

    “Firm,” said Jarvis.  “One more deep breath and hold it.  One… two… three.”

    All three took in a breath and held it, and then Jarvis removed another piece of tape from the wall and placed it over the latch in the same manner as before.  When he finished the second piece, everyone let out their breath again.

    “Uh-oh,” Sheila said as she lifted her head and looked straight at the heavy door.

    “What?” asked Jarvis.  “What happened?”

    “Nothing yet… but it’s a… bout to,” Sheila stuttered in a panicked tone.

    “What?” asked Jarvis.

    “I can’t hold it anymore,” Sheila blurted.

    “Oh shit,” said Jarvis.  “How long?”

    “About thirty seconds… maybe less,” said Sheila as she closed her eyes tightly.

    “Okay,” said Jarvis in a suddenly calm tone.  “Here’s what you’re gonna do.  Are you listening?”

    “Y-yes,” replied Sheila with a grunt.

    “You have no choice,” said Jarvis.  “You have to let it go.”

    “H-here?” Sheila asked as she opened her eyes and looked up at Jarvis.

    “Yes,” replied Jarvis.  “When you do, you must not move the key.”

    “I can’t-,” Sheila started, and then stopped amid sentence.

    “Yes you can,” said Jarvis.  “The most important thing is the key.  You with me?”

    “I’m so fuckin’ embarrassed,” said Sheila as her eyes welled with tears.

    “Don’t be,” reassured Jarvis calmly.  “Just let it go, and we’ll deal with it.”

    “Maybe I can hold it another minute or so,” Sheila said with a strained voice as she looked away from Jarvis and closed her eyes again.

    “No, Mrs. Jones… This will take a little longer than that,” said Jarvis in the same calm tone.  “When you’re ready, just let it go.  As you do, keep thinking about the key.  Officer Schmidt will help keep it steady.”

    Sheila opened her eyes and looked over at Officer Schmidt.  She felt utterly humiliated at the thought of what was about to happen.  Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly as she tried to say a word or two, but couldn’t.  Time stood still as the jumbled thoughts that swirled around in her head wouldn’t make the connection to her vocal cords.

    Officer Schmidt looked squarely into Sheila’s eyes with an almost telepathic empathy.  He nodded his head and blinked slowly as if to say that he completely understood what Sheila felt.  Tears streaked down Sheila’s cheeks as she closed her mouth and slowly nodded back at Officer Schmidt.

    Without uttering a word between them, Sheila and Officer Schmidt turned their heads and their attention back toward the key.  Jarvis stood up and turned his back toward Sheila and Officer Schmidt.

    “Anytime you’re ready, Mrs. Jones,” said Jarvis as he folded his arms.

    “It has to be now,” said Sheila with a sob.

    “It’s okay,” said Jarvis.  “I’ll go get a couple of towels.”

    Jarvis walked toward the back of the Day Spa and disappeared around the corner just past the last treatment room on the right.  Sheila took a breath and held it as she continued her struggle with her bladder.

    “Don’t hold your breath,” said Officer Schmidt.  “You don’t need to fight it anymore.”

    “I’m so sorry,” said Sheila.

    “Don’t be,” said Schmidt.

    Sheila felt reassured by the officer’s tone and began to relax the muscles in her thighs.  She tried to breathe normally and concentrate as she could no longer control the ligaments and surrounding tissues that regulate the flow of urine from her bladder.

    Sheila’s pink Capri pants quickly darkened between her thighs and down the length of her inseam as goosebumps formed all over her body.  She felt relief and humiliation at the same time as the steady stream of urine continued down her crossed legs and into her leather sandals, and then formed a puddle at her feet.

    Officer Schmidt remained focused on the key.  He could feel Sheila’s body begin to tense up again as she arched her back slightly.

    “All of it,” said Schmidt without looking up at Sheila.

    “I can hold the rest,” said Sheila with a calmer tone.

    “Don’t,” said the officer.  “There’s no tellin’ how long we’re gonna be here.”

    “If I let it all go, you will be standing in it,” said Sheila.

    “I have three kids,” said Schmidt.  “You don’t think I’ve stood in anything worse than a little pee?”

    “Good point,” said Sheila.  “Sorry.”

    “Don’t be,” said the officer.  “Pee is sterile.”

    Sheila emptied the rest of her bladder into her Capri’s and the puddle at her feet widened until it reached the toe of Officer Schmidt’s right shoe.

    “How we doin’?” called Jarvis from the end of the hallway.

    “Evacuation complete,” replied Officer Schmidt, quoting a line from the first Austin Powers movie.

    “You guys are unbelievable,” Sheila chimed in.  Can I uncross my legs now?”

    “In a second,” replied Jarvis as he approached with an armload of Colony Day Spa’s best monogrammed towels.

    Jarvis dropped the stack of towels a few feet away and then grabbed one with each hand and shook them out.

    “Keep still for a sec,” instructed Jarvis as he placed a towel on the floor to the left of Sheila’s feet where the puddle of urine was gathered.

    “Got any coffee?” Sheila asked with a chuckle.

    “I think you’ve had enough coffee for one day,” replied the detective.

    Officer Schmidt chuckled as he watched Jarvis place the second towel on the floor to the right of Sheila’s feet.

    “Would you care for a nice spring water or something?” asked Schmidt.

    “Very funny,” replied Sheila.

    “Okay, you can uncross your legs now,” said Jarvis as he returned to his position to Sheila’s right.  “Slowly.”

    “I know… and don’t move the key, right?” quipped Sheila.

    “The force is strong with this one,” replied Jarvis.

    Officer Schmidt tightened his grip on Sheila’s fingers as she slowly uncrossed her legs and stood with her feet about a foot apart.

    “Now what?” asked Sheila.  “I’ve already pissed myself on purpose in front of two grown men.  What could be worse than that?”

    “Now I’m gonna place the rest of the tape,” replied Jarvis.  “No need to hold your breath anymore, but you need to-,”

    “Keep the key still,” Sheila interrupted.

    “You got it,” said Jarvis.

    Sheila and Officer Schmidt watched as the detective returned to the task of placing the duct tape over the door handle.  Jarvis moved quickly with a careful and deliberate purpose until the last piece of tape was in place.

    “Now what?” Sheila asked.

    “Now we cut the keychain,” said Jarvis as he stood up and surveyed his work with the tape.

    Jarvis shuffled his feet as he passed behind Sheila and moved to where he dropped the bolt cutters and the shiny canvas-like thing when he first entered the hallway.  Sheila strained her neck to see what Jarvis was doing, but she couldn’t turn around far enough without moving the rest of her body.

    “Don’t move, Mrs. Jones,” said Officer Schmidt.

    “Sorry,” said Sheila as she turned her head back toward the key.

    Jarvis picked up the heavy red bolt cutters, turned toward Sheila and the officer and surveyed the situation.

    “Schmitty, you’re gonna need to move a little to your left so I can have room to maneuver,” Jarvis said.

    “Affirmative,” said the officer.  “Just say when.”

    “Any time you’re ready,” replied Jarvis.

    The officer shuffled his feet a few inches to the left while he maintained his grip on Sheila’s fingers.

    “That’s far enough,” said Jarvis.

    “I can’t see,” said Sheila.

    “You don’t need to see for this part,” said Jarvis.

    Jarvis inched his way between Sheila and Schmidt without touching either of them.  He spread the handles of the bolt cutters as wide as he could and moved the heavy jaws closer to the thick links between the key in the door and the rest of the keychain.

    “Gimme some slack, Schmitty,” instructed Jarvis.

    “Copy,” replied the officer.

    “What do I need to do?” asked Sheila

    “Just let Schmitty do the work,” replied Jarvis.  “I’m going to slip the bolt cutters over the chain and cut it, and all you need to do is keep still.”

    “Copy,” said Sheila, emulating the officer again.

    Jarvis moved the bolt cutters into place and Schmidt moved his right arm slightly higher to accommodate the width of the shiny red handles.  Jarvis held the heavy tool in place as Schmidt nodded his approval and signaled his readiness.  Slowly Jarvis squeezed the handles of the bolt cutters together until the links of the keychain separated with a dull click.  Officer Schmidt held his left hand in place under Sheila’s as the remaining links dropped loosely to her fingers.

    “Good,” said Jarvis as he lowered the tool and stood up.  “You can drop your left hand now.”

    Officer Schmidt lowered Sheila’s left hand and then slowly let go.  Sheila held what was left of the keychain as she moved her left arm to her side.

    “Can I put this in my pocket?” asked Sheila.

    “Can you do it without moving?” asked Jarvis.

    “Maybe you better take it,” Sheila said.

    Sheila extended her left arm toward Jarvis without looking at him.  Jarvis cupped his right hand under hers and Sheila let go of the keys.

    “I need those back,” said Sheila as she placed her left hand on her hip and slowly stood a little straighter.

    “Firm,” said Jarvis.  “Now you can relax a little, but not too much.”

    “My back is killing me,” said Sheila.

    “We’re almost there, Mrs. Jones,” said Jarvis as he dropped the bolt cutters to the floor and shuffled back to his original position to Sheila’s right.  “Schmitty, let’s get B.D.U. in here.”

    “Copy,” said Officer Schmidt.

8

    The parking lot in front of Colony Day Spa buzzed with activity.  Makeshift barricades of yellow “Police Line” tape held back nearly a hundred shoppers from the evacuated Ralph’s grocery store and the other shops nearby.  Frantic cell phone conversations filled the warm morning air with speculation about what was going on inside the Spa.

    Scores of uniformed L.A.P.D. Police Officers stood with their backs to the complex as more and more shoppers and employees from the various clothing and wicker basket stores were herded behind the yellow police tape.  Red and blue strobe lights flashed everywhere and more officers guided traffic along the Pacific Coast Highway, preventing further access to the parking lot.

    A yellow, square-shaped truck about the size of a UPS delivery van made its way through the far entrance and stood in bright contrast against the sea of black and white police cruisers.  The initials L.A.P.D.B.D.U. were arranged in a semicircle of black letters on both sides of the truck, and red and blue strobe lights flashed almost in synch with the others.

    The diesel engine of the shiny yellow truck roared as the truck made its way down the fire lane and came to a stop directly in front of Colony Day Spa.  The truck barely came to a complete stop as the rear double doors swung open and five or six men dressed in heavy black pads and helmets hurriedly jumped out and onto the asphalt.  The group of men “checked” each other’s equipment as they readied themselves for action.

    “Gimme an audio check, Gentlemen!” one of the men shouted.

    “Unit One, audio check,” said one of the other men.

    “Copy, Unit One,” said the man who requested the audio check.

    “Unit Two, audio check,” said another one of the men.

    “Copy, Unit Two,” said the first man.

    Each of the rest of the men called out their own audio checks, and the man who appeared to be the leader of the team verified two others, making the count one leader and four support members.  Each of the men had L.A.P.D. imprinted on the back of their body armor in yellow letters, and B.D.U. imprinted on the front in the same kind of letters, only smaller.  The dull black helmets were devoid of lettering, and each had clear plastic face shields on top in the open position.

    The passenger door of the yellow truck slid open and a woman in her mid-forties stepped out onto the asphalt.  She was wearing black slacks with a matching long-sleeved blouse that buttoned up the front, and sensible shoes.

    “Who we got inside?” asked the woman as she spoke into a hidden microphone in her closed fist.

    “We got Jarvis, but our contact is an Officer Schmidt,” replied the team leader, who was still standing with the rest of the team at the back of the truck.

    “God help us,” said the woman into her fist as she headed toward the back of the truck.  “Another cowboy?” she asked.

    “Negative,” replied the team leader.  “This guy’s a pro.”

    “About fuckin’ time we get a good one,” replied the woman as she rounded the left rear corner of the truck and joined the rest of the B.D.U. team.

    “Ten-four,” said the team leader as he leaned inside the back of the yellow truck and grabbed a thick, shiny canvas-like vest with a large red “X” on the front and back.

    Without saying a word, the woman approached the team leader, turned her back to him and held her arms out like a giant letter “T.”  The team leader ripped at the Velcro strips that held the vest together and carefully guided the woman’s head through the hole in the top of the vest.

    “Watch the hair,” she said with a chuckle.

    “Ten-four,” replied the team leader with a guffaw as he pulled the Velcro strips on the sides of the vest tight under the woman’s arms and the sides of her abdomen.

    “Helmet,” said the woman as she checked her equipment and made an adjustment or two.

    The team leader leaned in the back of the truck again and produced a helmet similar to the ones worn by the rest of the team.  The woman grabbed the helmet, placed it on top of her head, and checked the chinstrap.

    “Jesus Christ,” she said as she held the sides of the helmet with both hands.  “Whose helmet is this?  Carpenter’s?”

    “Sorry, Chief,” said the team leader.  “Take mine.”

    The team leader and the woman exchanged helmets and made adjustments so that each had a helmet that would fit properly.

“All set?” asked the woman that the team leader referred to as “Chief.”

    “Ten-four,” replied the team leader.

    “I want a direct line to this Officer Schmidt on channel two, copy?” asked the Chief.

    “Copy,” said the team leader.

    The team leader mumbled a few words into the microphone that rested against his left cheek.  The Chief lowered her face shield, and the other five members of the B.D.U. support team followed suit.

    “Channel two clear, Chief,” said the team Leader.

    “Copy,” said the Chief.  “I want a clean dispersal, people, and mind the furniture.”

    “That’s a copy,” said the team leader as he lowered his face shield.

    “I got point,” the Chief instructed.  “Max, you’re with me.  Bring my tool bag.  Tell your flunkies that I want the place padded with everything we got.”

“Copy,” repeated the team leader who grabbed a large black bag with a red “X” on both sides from the back of the yellow truck.  “Alright, people, you heard the lady… clean dispersal, heavy on the pads, and mind the furniture.”

    “Let’s go,” said the Chief.

9

    “B.D.U.’s on the way,” said Officer Schmidt calmly to Detective Jarvis.

    “Copy,” replied Jarvis as he stood and surveyed the situation.  “Mrs. Jones, in a few seconds-“

    “In a few seconds I’m gonna kick your ass if you keep calling me Mrs. Jones,” Sheila interrupted Jarvis with a bit of a bite in her tone.

    “What?” asked Jarvis as he stood and watched Sheila, blinking exaggeratedly, taken by surprise at Sheila’s sudden demeaning tone.

    “My name… is Sheila,” the owner of Colony Day Spa instructed.  “Mrs. Jones… is my mother.”

    “You-“ Jarvis started, but was interrupted again by Sheila.

    “SHUT UP!” Sheila screamed without turning her attention from the key in her hand.  “Just fucking listen, okay?”

    “I’m listening,” Jarvis said in an overly-cautious tone.

    “I think… that… in the situation we’re in,” Sheila continued loudly.  “I would feel a little less tense if you called me by my name, which is what?  Say it with me… Shee-luh.  Got it?”

    “Copy that, Sheila,” Jarvis replied with the same cautious tone.  “What else can I do that would make you more comfortable?”

    “You know what would make me more comfortable?” replied Sheila with a sudden contrastingly calm tone.

    “I’m listening, Sheila,” said Jarvis.

    “Stop fucking around with movie quotes and all of that bullshit, because it is really pissing me off!” Sheila shouted loudly.  “You know… I’m not stupid!”

    “I’m sorry if I-“ Jarvis started with a stutter.

    “You guys may deal with shit like this every God-damned day, but this little venture is a new one for me, you asshole!” Sheila continued her tirade, barely keeping herself in control.

10

    “Hold it, Max,” said B.D.U Chief Alice Ripley as she led her team toward the front door of Colony Day Spa.

    Without saying a word, B.D.U.’s Team Leader Max Turnbull held his right hand in the air and clenched his fist tightly.  The rest of his well-trained team stopped in their tracks awaiting further instructions.

    “Sounds like trouble in there,” Ripley said.  “Officer Schmidt, this is B.D.U. Chief Alice Ripley, do you copy?” the Chief said into the tiny microphone in her helmet.

11

    “Now look what you did!” Sheila continued her shouting at Jarvis.  “You made me use blasphemy, and that’s somethin’ I never do!”

    “Please stand by,” Officer Schmidt said quietly into the radio microphone that hung over his left shoulder, answering Chief Ripley’s call.

12

    “Ten-four,” replied Ripley as she turned her head slightly to the left to address her team leader.  “Max, I thought you said we weren’t getting another damn cowboy.”

    “I didn’t think we were,” replied Turnbull with a whisper.

    “I’m givin’ this ‘Officer Schmidt’ about thirty seconds to get the situation under control, and then we’re goin’ in, like it or not,” said Ripley, looking for a sign of support from Turnbull.

    “Copy that, Chief,” whispered Turnbull.

13

    Sheila took a deep breath and slowly wiped her forehead with her left hand as Officer Schmidt tightened his grip on her right thumb and index finger.

    “That’s a little tight,” said Sheila.

    “Sorry, Sheila,” replied Schmidt as he relaxed his grip slightly.

    “Thank you,” said Sheila, calming down a bit.  “Now will you please get the Bomb Disposal Unit people in here so I can live another day or two?”

    Schmidt looked up at Jarvis, who was still blinking exaggeratedly, and then at the side of Sheila’s face.

    “Like I said,” said Sheila.  “I’m not stupid…  That is what B.D.U. stands for, isn’t it?”

    “Copy that, Sheila,” said Schmidt as he reached for the microphone on his left shoulder.  “Chief Ripley, do you copy?”

14

    “Ripley… go ahead,” replied the Chief.

    “All clear,” informed Schmidt.  “Proceed at your discretion.”

    “Ten-four,” said Ripley, who then turned her attention back to her team leader.  “Max, we’re on again.”

    “Affirmative,” said Turnbull, who readied his team for a second time.

    “Let’s go,” said Ripley, who stepped cautiously inside the open doorway of Colony Day Spa, followed closely by Max Turnbull and the rest of the B.D.U. team.  Ripley cautiously scanned the lobby, noting the beautiful plush white leather furniture and the bronze, glass-top coffee tables that had several neatly-arranged fashion and glamour magazines displayed on their tops.

    Max Turnbull stood slightly to Ripley’s left about six inches behind with his right hand resting flat between her shoulder blades.  B.D.U. team members referred to this stance and position as “standard cover formation, man two.”

    “Dammit!” exclaimed Ripley under her breath, but with urgency that Max Turnbull knew well.

    “Come again, Chief?” whispered Turnbull, who scanned the lobby frantically, trying to find the source of Ripley’s dismay.

    “See that glass door?” asked Ripley.

    “Affirmative,” replied Turnbull.

    “Well… That’s a fuckin’ Bob Ross!” whispered Ripley in the same urgent tone.

    “Copy,” said Turnbull, who saw that Ripley was referring to the etched seascape on the heavy glass door.  “You want it extracted?”

    “Get somebody to check the hinges,” said Ripley.  If it’s gonna take more than two minutes, we gotta leave it.”

    “Ten-four,” replied Turnbull.

    Without leaving “cover formation,” Max Turnbull snapped his fingers and made a series of hand signals to one of the B.D.U. team members directly behind him.  The team member’s immediate and swift movements out the front door of Colony Day spa signaled his perfect understanding of the situation.  Other team members scurried out the front door, only to return a few seconds later with armloads of thick, gray, loosely-folded blankets, which they then piled in the middle of the floor.

    As Chief Ripley and Max Turnbull approached the ornately-decorated glass door, they saw the blurry outlines of Sheila, Officer Schmidt, and Detective Jarvis on the other side.

    “We’re at the hall door,” said Ripley into the microphone in her helmet.

    “Copy, Chief,” said Officer Schmidt.  “Come ahead.”

    Chief Ripley moved slightly to her right and pulled at the handle of the heavy door.  She was surprised at how effortlessly the door swung open, and she thought that whoever designed the well-balanced, brushed nickel hinges was a genius, considering the door weighed a good two hundred pounds or more.

    As the door swung fully open, Ripley turned her attention to the situation at hand and the reason she visited Colony Day Spa on such a hot August day.

    “Don’t let the door slam shut, asshole!” commanded Jarvis in a condescending tone without turning around to see who entered the room.

    Officer Schmidt was instantly surprised at Jarvis’ tone, and thought that the sting of Sheila’s tirade went much deeper than he originally thought.  He felt Sheila’s body tense up as Jarvis barked at Chief Ripley.

    “Copy, Detective Jarvis,” replied Chief Alice Ripley calmly and professionally, ignoring Jarvis’ condescension for the sake of keeping the situation calm.

    A shiver worked its way up the quickly-jellying spine of Detective Jarvis.  He thought about how he was going to handle himself after yelling at Chief Alice Ripley, a notoriously rigid, high-ranking officer in the Los Angeles Police Department.

    Ripley approached with her “cover” man in tow and surmised that Jarvis had lost control due to his “inability to resolve and diffuse tense situations when confronted with increased civilian stresses,” which was a comment she remembered from the last performance evaluation of Detective Clayton Jarvis.

    Ripley stopped a few steps behind Jarvis, turned her head to the left and made eye contact with B.D.U. Team Leader Maximilian Turnbull.  Turnbull shook his head and rolled his eyes, breaking eye contact with Ripley.  He then removed his hand from between Ripley’s shoulder blades and set the black bag with the red “X” on the floor.

    “Let’s see what we have here, Detective,” said Ripley, this time with a little bite in her tone.

    Sheila took in a deep breath and sighed heavily.

    “Easy, Sheila,” whispered Schmidt.  “Stay with me here.”

    “I’m with ya,” Sheila whispered back.  “I can’t see who he’s talking to,” she continued as she tried to look to her left.

    “You’ll see soon enough,” Schmidt whispered.  “It’s a little crowded in here at the moment.”

    “You got that shit right,” replied Sheila, a bit louder so everyone in the room could hear her frustration.

15

    Ripley assessed the situation; the door handle was immobilized with duct tape, Officer Schmidt was sharing beads of sweat with the pretty owner of Colony Day Spa who had too much coffee, and a Detective with too much confidence was making the situation untenable.

    “We’ll take it from here, Detective Jarvis,” said Ripley in an overtly professional tone.  “Can you help the guys with crowd control, please?  We need them back another ten yards.”

    “That’s fine,” snapped Jarvis as he dropped the pair of heavy red bolt cutters and headed for the glass door without making eye contact with Chief Ripley.  “I’m about to piss my pants anyway, and it already stinks of urine in here.”

    Before anyone in the room could say a word, Jarvis disappeared through the heavy door and gave it a hard shove from the other side.  The glass door made a deep, ringing CLANG as it made contact with the door frame, adding fuel to the fiery anger Ripley already felt because of the comment aimed at the pretty owner of Colony Day Spa. 

    The comment hit its intended mark, dead center.  Tears leapt from the depths of Sheila’s eyes.

    “I am so sorry,” said Ripley as she moved to Sheila’s right.

    “Just get me the fuck out of here!” shouted Sheila, taking everyone by surprise.

    “You got it,” said Ripley as she knelt to one knee and removed her helmet.  “Name’s Alice,” said Ripley.  “What’s yours?”

    “Sheila,” replied the sobbing mess that was fighting for composure.

    “Nice place,” said Ripley, who then snapped her fingers.

    “Thanks,” said Sheila with a hard sniffle.  “I’d like to keep it that way if we can.”

    Max Turnbull appeared to Sheila’s right with the black bag with the red “X” on it, placed it on the floor to Ripley’s left, and then disappeared again.

    “We’ll see what we can do,” said Ripley.  “First things first.”

    Ripley unzipped the “X” bag and reached inside with both hands.  Sheila could see shiny metal and dull black rubber, but couldn’t identify the apparatus that “Alice” freed from the bag.

    “What is that thing?” asked Sheila.

    “It’s like a clamp,” said Ripley.  “I’ll use it to hold the key so you can let go once it’s in place.”

    “Will it take long?” Sheila asked with a sniffle, calming at the confident tone of the heavily-armored woman with sensible shoes.

    “About thirty seconds,” replied Ripley.

    “Hal-le-fucking-lu-yah!” quipped Sheila.  “Then I can get the hell out of here?”

    “We’re gonna put some body armor on you before you let go,” said Ripley as she unfolded the apparatus she referred to as “like a clamp.”

    “Shit,” said Sheila as she shook her head and closed her eyes.

    “It’ll only take about another thirty seconds once I get this thing into position, Sheila,” said Ripley.

    “You’re the boss, Alice,” said Sheila in a suddenly distant monotone.

    Ripley speculated that she was losing Sheila’s patience, and she knew she needed to move fast.  The “clamp” apparatus had three arms that looked like the inside of a Mercedes logo, each with a black suction cup on the end of it.  One by one, Ripley pressed the arms to the middle of the heavy door about a foot below the top of the door frame.

    Once the arms were secure, Ripley reached into the “X” bag and brought out a long, shiny tool that looked like it belonged in a Dentist’s office.  It had a shiny pair of thin pliers attached to one end, and the other end slid into the middle of the Mercedes logo and was held in place with a big screw.

    “I take it you’ve used one of those before,” said Sheila as Ripley moved the pliers closer to the key.

    “Once or twice,” said Ripley.  “I ‘spect that Officer Schmidt has seen one of these before, am I right, Officer?”

    “Never this close before, Ma’am,” Schmidt added with a light chuckle.

    “Hold the key real still while I clamp the key,” said Ripley.

    Before Sheila and Schmidt had a chance to respond, Ripley already had the nose of the pliers clamped to the key between their fingers and the door.

    “That’s got it,” said Ripley as she slowly stood and snapped her fingers a second time.

    Max Turnbull appeared once again at Sheila’s right, this time with the shiny brown object that Jarvis had brought in with the bolt cutters and the tape.  Sheila finally recognized the shiny brown object as the “body armor” that “Alice” referred to a moment before.

    “Max here is gonna put the armor on you, is that okay, Sheila?” asked Ripley.  “I ask if it’s okay because it’s a bit of a violation of ‘personal space’ if you know what I mean.”

    “I know what you mean,” said Sheila.  “As long as he’s cute, I don’t mind, but I didn’t get a look at him.”

    “I promise,” said Alice.  “He’s cute.”

    “Then let’s get it on, dude,” said Sheila.  “And I take it I need to hold the key still.”

    “Well, not so much hold it still as just hold it,” said Alice.  “Officer Schmidt can remove his hand because the clamp is already doing his job.”

    “Copy that,” said Schmidt, who slowly removed his hand from Sheila’s fingers and stood up straight.

    “Max, you’re on,” instructed Ripley.

    Sheila heard the ripping of velcro straps from the body armor as Max Turnbull opened the sides of the thick, vest-like garment that looked like a shiny brown life preserver.

    “I’m gonna slip this over your head, so you won’t see anything until you see the front of the vest, okay?” asked Turnbull in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

    “Okay,” replied Sheila.

    Max did as he said he was going to do, going slow as he lowered the vest over Sheila’s shoulders, taking care not to catch her earrings on the way down.  Once the vest cleared Sheila’s ears and came to rest on her shoulders, she could feel the vest tighten around her upper chest and shoulder blades.

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

    Without saying a word, Sheila did as Turnbull asked.  The vest tightened even more as she felt the warmth of the man’s hands below her armpit and the side of her left breast.

    “You better be cute,” said Sheila with a little chuckle.

    “I am,” replied Turnbull.  “Now you can lower your left arm, but I need you to raise your right elbow a little.  It’s gonna be a tighter fit under there.”

    Once again, Sheila did as Turnbull asked.  She heard the ripping sounds of the velcro straps as the vest tightened around her upper chest, and then her abdomen.  The warmth of Turnbull’s hands on the side of her right breast sent a shiver down her spine.

    “You can move your elbow back to where it was,” said Turnbull.

    Sheila did as the “supposedly cute” man suggested, but maintained her grip on the key.

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

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

    Sheila looked slowly 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?” Turnbull asked Schmidt.

    “Both,” replied the Officer.

    “Good,” said Turnbull.  “All set, Chief.”

    “Okay, Sheila,” said Chief 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 of the store room of Colony Day Spa could be the death of her.

    “Sheila,” said Alice.

Sheila still didn’t move.  Tears once again streamed 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,” said Sheila.  “But what if-“

    “What if we weren’t here?” Alice interrupted.  “If we weren’t here to begin with, this could easily be 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 once I stand up straight,” said Sheila.

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

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

    Everyone held their breath as Sheila slowly let go of the key, lowered her arm to her side, and stood up straight with Officer Schmidt’s support.

    “Good,” said Ripley.  “You okay?”

“I’m okay,” said Sheila as she turned her head toward Officer Schmidt, who then let go of her waist and stepped back a few steps.

    “We’re almost done,” said Ripley.  “Very slowly, I want you to back away from the door, turn to your left, and then follow Officer Schmidt into the lobby and out the front door.  You can go to our truck 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 Turnbull.

    Sheila turned her head toward Turnbull and got a look at him 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 you so far… I promise.”

    “God, I hope so,” replied Sheila as she looked back to her right at Chief 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,” replied Schmidt, who slid his hand behind Sheila’s left elbow and guided her past the towels at her feet and continued down the hall.

16

    Sheila approached the heavy glass door and wondered if she would ever see it again as Officer Schmidt guided her by the elbow into the lobby.  Thick blankets hung from the ceiling on all four sides of the room, making Colony Day Spa unrecognizable from the inside.  More blankets covered the white leather furniture and bronze tables, making the place look more like a warehouse than place where celebrities can get a cucumber facial and a body wax.

    Three other B.D.U. team members checked the blankets and smoothed long pieces of duct tape against the walls as Sheila paused and took one last look at the dream she worked so hard to realize.

    Officer Schmidt tightened his grip on Sheila’s elbow.

    “We gotta go,” said Officer Schmidt.

    Sheila said nothing as she exited the front door of Colony Day Spa and approached the rear of the shiny yellow B.D.U. truck.  The wide-open space of the rest of the parking lot struck her with a feeling of eerie desolation.  Long double lines of black and white police cruisers formed a “barricade” on the Pacific Coast Highway about a hundred yards in the distance.  Fire and Rescue trucks blocked the driveways on both ends of the long parking lot and several dark blue unmarked police cars lined the side streets between them.

    Beyond the giant police cruiser barricade, uniformed police officers, news camera crews and spectators were gathered behind plastic yellow strips of Police Line tape.  Sheila had never seen the parking lot completely empty.  The shiny yellow B.D.U. truck seemed like an oasis in an asphalt desert.

    “Now what?” Sheila asked Officer Schmidt as she stood and waited for Alice Ripley as instructed.

    “Ten-nine?” Officer Schmidt said suddenly into the radio microphone over his left shoulder.

    Schmidt touched his left ear and pushed the radio receiver further into his ear canal so he could hear what the person on the other end of the radio repeated a second time.

    “Copy!” said Schmidt.  “Thirty seconds!”

    Sheila searched the Officer’s face and found an expression of horror that she had never seen before.

    “What’s wrong?” asked Sheila.

    “In the truck!” replied Schmidt loudly.  “Hurry!”

    “What the f-“ Sheila started, but was interrupted by Schmidt.

    “Go!” he shouted and then grabbed her by the waist, turned her around, and nearly threw her into the open doors of the B.D.U. truck.

    Before Sheila could get her bearing, she found herself pushed further and further toward the front of the truck.  In a flurry of noisy clutter, the three B.D.U. team members that Sheila passed in the lobby on the way out piled into the back of the truck, followed closely by Chief Alice Ripley.

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

    “Here!” shouted Turnbull as he nearly dove into the back of the truck before two of the other B.D.U. team members pulled the heavy double doors shut with a hollow double thud and the squeal of a heavy latch.  Sheila’s eyes couldn’t adjust to the sudden darkness, and heavy breathing by the B.D.U. team members filled the darkness, sending another shiver up Sheila’s spine.

    Suddenly a light flickered above them twice and then stayed on.  Sheila began to feel claustrophobic as her body was pressed against a sea of heavily-armored sardines in a big yellow can.

    “Fire in the hole!” yelled Chief Alice Ripley.

    Sheila gasped and thought she was about to scream, but was cut off by a loud crash that sounded like someone slammed the side of the truck with a sledgehammer.

    Heavy breathing once again filled what little air there was inside the packed vehicle.

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

    “Copy, Chief,” replied Max Turnbull, who removed his helmet and placed it in his lap as he ran his fingers through his short, thick dark hair.

    “Sheila?” Alice called as she leaned forward and looked toward the front of the truck.

    “I’m here,” said Sheila in a deep, confident tone that took her by surprise despite the fact that her heart was about to explode from her chest.

    “Max, you got Eddie?” Ripley turned and asked her team leader.

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

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

    “Unit four, do you copy?” repeated Turnbull into his helmet microphone.

    Sheila could hear faint sirens of all different kinds coming from outside the closed rear doors of the truck.  The sirens grew louder and louder, and then suddenly stopped, while other faint sirens grew louder and repeated the process over and over until Sheila 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.  Sheila was sure she was going to pass out.

    “Copy, unit four,” said Max Turnbull.  “We got him!” he shouted with a short fist-pump.

    Everyone inside the truck let out a breath and cheered loudly.  Team members shook hands and raised helmets in the air in celebration.

    Brilliant light filled the back of the truck as the rear doors flew open again and everyone began piling back out of the yellow sardine cane that Alice Ripley referred to as the “limousine.”

    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.

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

    “No,” replied Schmidt, who hopped down to the pavement and scurried out of Sheila’s line of sight.

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

    “Sheila?” called Chief Alice Ripley.

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

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

    “I’ll bet it is,” said Sheila to herself before she raised her head and started toward the back of the truck where Ripley was standing.

    “Careful,” said Ripley as Sheila approached the rear of the truck.  “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.  Sheila couldn’t see any smoke, but couldn’t bring herself to look in the direction of the Day Spa just yet.  

17

    Chief Ripley “blocked” Sheila from seeing much of anything beyond the open doors of the heavy truck that protected them only a minute or two before.

    “Let’s get this armor off,” said Ripley before Sheila had a chance to say anything.

    Scores of uniformed police officers, firefighters, and B.D.U. team members milled about a few feet from where Ripley and Sheila stood.

    “Hold your arms out straight,” said Ripley.

    Without saying a word, Sheila did as Ripley instructed.  She could hear a familiar voice speaking loudly just beyond the small crowd of B.D.U. team members, who were removing helmets and body armor.

    “She dismissed me like I was just some fuckin’ Rookie,” said Detective Clayton Jarvis loudly to the uniformed officer he was speaking to a few yards away.  “It’s not my fault the lady pissed all over herself.”

    The uniformed 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.

    “Oh yeah… all over herself and all over Schmitty… can you believe that shit?” Jarvis continued and added a long, demeaning guffaw.

    Chief Ripley paused for a moment as she held the velcro straps in her hands and looked at Sheila’s face.  Tears poured from the Day Spa owner’s eyes as she stood with her arms straight out in the fire lane in front of her destroyed dreams with a wet crotch for everyone to see.  She instantly hurt to her very core, and Ripley felt it with her.

    “Max, take care of this, will ya?” the Chief asked her team leader as she let go of the velcro straps, gently wiped Sheila’s tears with both hands, and gave her a wink.

    “Ten-four, Chief,” replied Turnbull without hesitation.

    Ripley stepped back slightly and Max took over.  The humiliation Sheila felt was worse than any she ever experienced.  As Max Turnbull pulled at the Velcro straps of the body armor, Sheila closed her eyes.  She suddenly remembered the only other time in her life she felt such humiliation.  She was twelve years old, and a cheerleader for her Junior High School basketball team.  Four or five hundred parents, classmates and friends witnessed her “first period,” which announced itself to everyone but Sheila during a halftime cheer in her new white pants on a cold winter night.

    “Watch your earrings while I pull this off, Ma’am,” said Turnbull, which sent shivers down Sheila’s spine as she opened her eyes and found herself back in front of the Day Spa, only to face the same kind of humiliation again.

    “Oh sorry,” said Sheila with a heavy sniffle.  “What do you want me to do?”

    “You can put your arms down, Ma’am,” replied Turnbull.  “Poke your hands through from underneath and hold your earrings while I pull this off your head.”

    “Okay,” said Sheila, who did as the B.D.U. team leader instructed.

    “There we are,” said Turnbull as he gently lifted the body armor over Sheila’s head and then tossed it in the back of the open doors of the truck.

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

    “Here you go,” said Turnbull, who 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?” asked Sheila.

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

    “Oh… thank you… so much,” said Sheila as Turnbull held the robe like a coat check person at an expensive restaurant.  Another set of tears slipped from Sheila’s eyes at the thoughtfulness of Max Turnbull.

    “Who do I give it back to when I’m done with it?” asked Sheila as she folded the robe around herself and tied the robe’s belt at the waist.

    “It’s for you to keep, Ma’am,” replied Turnbull, who already turned his attention to straightening out the equipment that was piled in the back of the truck by the rest of his team.

    Sheila didn’t know what to say as her attention turned to Chief Alice Ripley, who was slowly making her way through the small crowd of B.D.U. team members, patting a few of them on the back and shaking hands with a few others.  Ripley glanced back at Sheila and winked again as she made her way toward the front of the police cruiser where Detective Jarvis stood. 

    Jarvis continued speaking loudly and laughing as he spoke with the young uniformed police officer about the incident that left Sheila Jones heartbroken and humiliated.  Chief Ripley approached Jarvis, who was leaning against the front of the cruiser with his arms crossed.  The uniformed officer immediately snapped to attention and wiped the smile from his face.

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

    “Well, thank you-“ Jarvis started as he uncrossed his arms, shook Ripley’s hand, and then let go and crossed his arms again.

    “Don’t thank me just yet,” said Ripley.  “Lemme finish,” she said as she held her right index finger in the air.

    The young uniformed officer stood at attention and stared into space at nothing.

    “If you’ll excuse me, Ma’am,” said the officer.  “I have reports to write.”

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

    “Yes, Ma’am,” said the officer, who stood like a statue in the warm August 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?” asked Jarvis who still had a smile on his face.

    “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 earlier.

    “See what I mean?” Ripley asked.  “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 for perhaps the first time in his adult life.

    The other B.D.U. team members stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to Chief Ripley’s conversation with Jarvis.  Sheila began to move toward the Detective and the Chief, but Max Turnbull gently grabbed her elbow and stopped her.

    “I’d stay out of this one, Ma’am,” whispered Turnbull.

    Sheila didn’t say a word as Turnbull released her elbow and stood alongside her, listening intently to the silence created by Chief Alice Ripley.

    “You hear that?” Ripley asked Jarvis, still holding her right index finger in the air.  “That’s what we call in the Ripley household 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 lose consciousness.

    “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 tone as if she were speaking to her four-year-old daughter.

    “V-very much so,” replied Jarvis meekly as beads of sweat made their way down both of his temples.

    “Then here’s what you’re gonna do,” continued Chief Ripley in the same “parent” tone.  “First, you’re gonna get a glass of water,” said Ripley.

    “Water?” Jarvis asked.

“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 with a smack.  “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 the sweat from his forehead with the palm of his left 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 as she held up her right hand as if she were writing with an imaginary pencil on a piece of imaginary paper served by her left hand.

    Jarvis stood up from leaning against the cruiser and patted himself down as he searched for a writing utensil and something to write on.  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 with her left hand with a loud click.  Instantly the uniformed officer reached in his left breast pocket and pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil and held one in each hand in front of him.  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 pad of paper from the officer’s left hand as Ripley instructed, and then reached for the pencil in the officer’s right.

    Jarvis nervously knocked the pencil from the officer’s right hand, causing the pencil to fumble to the pavement and roll on the smooth asphalt under the police cruiser behind him.

    Jarvis stood up straight, mimicking the uniformed officer, who dropped his hands at his sides and stood at attention once again.

    “He dropped the pencil,” said Jarvis 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 dropped the pencil,” Jarvis replied.

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

    “Yes, Ma’am,” said Jarvis without moving a muscle.

    “Then get it and quit fucking around, do you copy?” Chief Ripley said loudly, abandoning the motherly tone, which she believed only made the situation worse for Jarvis.

    “Copy,” said Jarvis as he dropped to his chest and crawled on his belly under the front passenger door of the police cruiser.  The pencil was nearly hidden behind the right front tire, which made black marks on the Detective’s fingers as he dug it out with his fingertips.

    Finally Jarvis crawled out from under the cruiser and held the pencil tightly with his right hand.  He stood up straight next to the uniformed officer, who was sweating profusely through his brown uniform shirt.

    “Ready,” announced Jarvis as he stood at attention with the officer.

    “First, you’re gonna publicly apologize to Sheila Jones in front of everyone,” said Chief Ripley.

    “Do I need to write that down?” asked Jarvis.

    “Jesus Christ, you are stupid, aren’t you Detective?” quipped Ripley.

    “Well, you said something about… a glass of water, and I-“ Jarvis started, but was interrupted by Ripley.

    “I changed my mind about your little “plan of atonement,” said Ripley as she made air quotes with her fingers.  “Just write it down, Genius.”

    “Ten-four, Ma’am,” said Jarvis as he flipped through the pad to a clean sheet of paper and started writing.

1.          Public apoligize (mis-spelled)

    “You got that so far?” asked Ripley.

    “Ten-four, Ma’am,” Jarvis repeated.

    “Next, you will write an apology to me, signed by you.  A copy of this apology will be read… by you… at two shift briefings in front of Captain Yore, and a copy will be placed in your permanent file, you copy?” asked Chief Ripley.

    A series of loud gasps emanated from the entire group of B.D.U. team members and uniformed officers that gathered to hear the conversation.

    “Can she do that?” whispered one of the burly B.D.U. team members to another team member who was a bit taller and thinner.

    “Fuckin’-A straight she can do that,” whispered the taller one.

    “Would you do it?” asked the burly one.

    “I wouldn’t do what that fuckhead did in the first place,” whispered the taller one.

    “I hear ya,” said the burly one.  “If he hasn’t already shit himself, he will when Yore gets done with ‘im.”

    “You got that shit right,” the taller one replied.  “What a dumbass.”

    “QUIET!” Chief Alice Ripley shouted as she snapped her fingers loudly at the growing crowd noise.  “One last thing, Detective,” she said to Jarvis.

    “Ma’am,” Jarvis said as he scribbled on his pad.

2.          Write apoligize 2 Ripley

3.          Sign –

4.          Read @ 2 dailies – Yore –

    “QUIET!” Chief Alice Ripley shouted as she snapped her fingers loudly a second time, which made everyone within earshot hold their breath.  “You will do these things to my satisfaction, Detective… or I will personally see you in front of the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors, do we understand each other?”

    Before Jarvis could answer, the uniformed officer lost consciousness and tumbled quickly to the asphalt until he lay flat on his back in the “snow angel” position.  A collective gasp and a “Holy shit!” emanated from the small crowd.

    “Oh, my God,” Sheila said softly as she put her hands to her mouth.

    Two Emergency Medical Technicians who had been waiting on standby suddenly rushed to the uniformed officer’s side and rendered aid.

    “Answer my question, Detective,” commanded Chief Alice Ripley.

    “I copy… ” said Jarvis, who suddenly turned white and his hands began to tremble.  “…loud and clear, Ma’am.”

    “Then go to it, Detective,” said Ripley.  “Sheila?  Where’s Sheila?”

    “Right here, Ma’am,” Sheila spoke up and raised her hand from the back of the small crowd.

    “Let her through, fellas,” said Ripley, who raised her hand and pointed loosely in Sheila’s direction.

    Sheila made her way nervously through the small crowd, glancing at the faces of the men who put their lives on the line to get her safely out of harms way.  Some nodded at her, some smiled, and a wink or two of support gave Sheila encouragement as she was suddenly the center of attention.

    “Nice robe,” said Chief Ripley as Sheila approached her position.

    “Thank you, Ma’am,” said Sheila, who struck a nervous modeling pose and took a position at Ripley’s right side.

    “Alice,” corrected Ripley.

    “Right,” said Sheila.  “Thank you, Alice.”

    “Detective Jarvis has something he would like to say to you,” said Ripley.  “Detective?”

    Ripley raised her right hand and placed it on Sheila’s shoulder in a show of support.  Jarvis stood next to where the E.M.T.’s were tending to the now conscious but groggy uniformed officer.  The pad of paper in the Detective’s hands shook as Jarvis cleared his throat and started to speak.  Sheila crossed her arms and began to feel pity for Jarvis, even after what he did to her.