Free Fall

50

Ceepak slams on the brakes, cuts the wheel hard to the right.

We skid sideways into the Oceanaire’s entry road.

Bruce Southworth, the kid with the clipboard, is out of his guard hut.

Brian Ersalesi and John Johnston, two of our SHPD uniform cops, are standing in front of their cruiser, which has its roof bar lights swirling. No weapons are drawn. Well, except for Bruce Southworth’s clipboard.

Mr. Ceepak stands between the two SHPD officers and the security guard. All smiles. He’s carrying a bakery box. Guess he’s bringing sweets this time instead of flowers.

Ceepak and I yank open our doors and head out.

“What’s the situation?” he hollers.

“He still wants to see your mother,” Southworth hollers back.

“You know this guy, Detective?” shouts Ersalesi.

“10-4.”

“I’m his Papa!” wheezes Mr. Ceepak as he stumbles forward a foot or two. “And since when is paying a courtesy call to your spouse a crime, Johnny?”

“Since you were advised to stay away.”

“Yeah, well, that was before your mother went bonkers. She’s throwing my money down the crapper. Buying this Christine girl another lawyer? I heard all about it from Dave Rosen in H.R. at work. Your nurse pal killed Dave’s dad but your mother’s still bankrolling her? Adele’s losing it, Johnny Boy. Someone needs to make her come to her senses.”

Then he makes a big mistake.

He tucks that bakery box sideways under his left arm and balls up his right hand into a fist to show how he’s going to persuade Adele to see the light.

Ceepak goes toe to toe with his old man. My hand hovers over my Glock.

The two uniforms see me make my move. Their hands are hovering over holsters now, too.

“Do you intend to beat that sense into her, sir?” demands Ceepak.

His father gets a devilish glint in his eye. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, son.”

Ceepak’s told me stories. His father used to hit his mother. Until Ceepak turned thirteen. Then he was finally big enough to protect his mom, even if it meant taking a few punches himself.

By the time Ceepak was fifteen, his father was too terrified of his giant, muscle-bound son to even think about ever using his wife as a punching bag again. That’s when Joe Sixpack shifted his rage toward Billy, Ceepak’s little brother.

“Hell’s bells, son. Somebody needs to teach that woman a lesson. You don’t piss away a family’s fortune on total strangers unless you’re crazy or drunk or both. That’s Ceepak money!”

“What’s in the box?” asks Ceepak.

“Cookies.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

Mr. Ceepak pulls back. “They’re not for you.”

Ceepak repeats himself. “Mind if I take a look?”

His father grins. “You got a search warrant?”

“No. However, I know you had your gun carrying rights restored. In Ohio.”

“So? I worked a lot of county fairs last fall. Needed protection. Some of those carnies are tough customers.”

“And you don’t have a weapon in that white paper box?”

“I told you-it’s a dozen damn cookies from the bakery at the supermarket.”

“Then why did they forget to tie it with string?”

“Because I was in a hurry …”

Ceepak leans in. Sniffs his face.

“Are you drunk, sir?”

“No. I had a couple beers after work. Arrest me.”

“We will. The next time you come within one hundred yards of my mother.”

“What?”

Ceepak reaches into his back pocket. Pulls out a document.

“This, sir, as you might recall, is what is known in New Jersey as an emergency restraining order. They may be obtained at any police station in the state.”

“What? What’d I do?”

“You foolishly threatened a family member with physical violence in front of five witnesses, four of whom are law enforcement officers, thereby giving me grounds to invoke these emergency powers as a protection against future domestic violence.”

“Don’t do this, Johnny.”

“It’s already done.” He slaps the paper against his father’s chest. “Judge Mindy Rasmussen signed it the day we heard you were coming to town. Just in case.”

Mr. Ceepak sneers. “Be prepared, right? You overgrown Boy Scout fruitcake.”

Mr. Ceepak grabs the ERO out of his son’s hand. He still has that bakery box stuck sideways under his arm.

If there were cookies inside it, they would’ve toppled out by now.

“You’re backing me into a corner, Johnny,” Mr. Ceepak hisses. “You ever see what happens when you corner a hungry alley cat?”

“No, sir. I’m more of a dog person.”

“Don’t you give me lip, boy. I brought you into this world, I can take you out of it, too.”

“I highly doubt that, sir.”

Yeah. Me, too.

“However, if you’d like to continue to make threats against an on-duty police officer, once again in front of all these witnesses, we can inform your friends at Sinclair Enterprises that you will not be coming to work tomorrow.”

Mr. Ceepak backs down.

“Fine, Johnny boy. Fine. You win this round. But I want my million dollars.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“This isn’t over, son.”

“You are correct. This emergency order will last until a judge of the Family Part of the Chancery Division of the Superior Court grants or denies a final restraining order. You will receive notice of that hearing within ten days.”

“Okey-dokey. See you in court, Johnny-if not before.”

When Mr. Ceepak says that, he gets that glint in his eye again.

Why do I think he is already hatching some new scheme to get at Mrs. Ceepak?

Probably because he is.