She said, “We can’t send him to jail, Estella, because adultery isn’t against the law. Otherwise politicians would have rap sheets a mile long.”
Luis made kissy noises at his wife. Struggling against Cindy’s hold, Estella tried to break away and kick him.
“Don’t do that,” Cindy said. “Otherwise, I’ll have to tie your feet—”
“I hope de matrona in de cárcel is a beeeg woman—”
“You es un diablo with a pequeño pecker—”
“You arress her!” Luis shouted. “Slam her lardo ass in jail!”
“I no have lardo ass!” Estella screamed. “Your whore have lardo ass, beeg, fat ass!”
“Shut up! Both of you!” Cindy broke in. “Luis, you’ve got to come down to the station, you know.”
“Wha’?” Luis’s smiled waned. “Me? Wha’ I do?”
“We’ve got to take your statement,” Cindy said. “Also, you’re going to have to go to court and speak to a judge if you want to get your kids back. Otherwise, your kids’ll end up in foster care.”
“Me?” Luis’s face registered shock. “I go do it?”
“Yeah, you, buddy,” Cindy said. “Your wife can’t do anything if she’s in jail.”
Tropper was glaring at her. She looked back at him with innocent eyes, and tried to smile. It wasn’t easy because she was still restraining Estella. “I was just informing Mr. Ojeda of the procedure for securing his children, Sergeant. That’s assuming he wants them.”
Estella started foaming at the mouth. “You send de children away, I curse you from mi cama de muerte! I speeet on you!”
“No, no, Estella,” Luis said gravely. “I no send de children away! I tell de judge. Don’ worry.”
Ron Brown muttered, “No way a judge is going to give you your kids back. Not with a shotgun in the house.”
“I no shoot my kids!” Luis was appalled. “You take de gun. I no need it.”
Estella was crying. “They take de kids away, Luis! You no let them—”
“They no take de kids!”
“You can petition to get them back, sir,” Cindy said. “Or course, if your wife’s in jail, you’ll be responsible for them. That means you stay home at night baby-sitting while your buddies are out having fun—”
“Decker …” growled Tropper.
“Not that I’m trying to influence your decision to press charges, of course.”
“They’re not going to give them back the kids, anyway,” Brown said. “You need to be a responsible adult to raise kids.”
“Maybe there are other relatives,” Beaudry said.
“Her mother.” Luis brightened.
“You really think her mother’s gonna watch your kids after you’ve slammed her daughter’s butt in jail?”
“Decker, you’ve said enough!”
Cindy slammed her mouth shut. She couldn’t understand why Tropper was taking it so personally when she’d seen her colleagues talk other domestic cases out of pressing charges time and time again. Maybe it had something to do with a gun aimed at a pair of nuts.
Estella was sobbing. “They take de kids, Luis! They take de kids!”
Luis’s sassy petulance had been replaced by panic. “No, they no take de kids, Estella.” He looked at Tropper. “I no charge my wife! She no do nothin’. You let her go! Then, we come down and get de kids.”
Tropper was swearing to himself. “I don’t believe this!”
Estella said, “He say I no do nothin’. You let me go!”
“It’s not that simple,” Cindy said. “Even if Luis doesn’t press charges, Estella, we’ve still got to take you down to the station and book you for the illegal possession and negligent use of a firearm.”
“Then wha’?” Luis asked.
Cindy said, “She’ll wait in jail until her arraignment, which will be in maybe three, four hours. Then a judge will probably let her off on her own recognizance. Which means you won’t have to pay any bail—”
“De judge don’ put her in jail?”
Cindy shrugged. “I don’t know what he’ll do. But we’ll have to put her in jail until a judge sees her.” Tropper was giving her the evil eye. She pretended not to see him. “Usually illegal possession and negligent use of a firearm if it’s a first-time offense doesn’t warrant jail time. But I don’t know what a judge will decide. It’s not up to me.”
“If he says I go home, do we get de kids?” Estella said, anxiously.
“No,” Cindy said. “That’s up to another judge—”
“But es better if there is a mother, yes?” Luis asked.
“Probably.”
“So I no put charges,” Luis said. “You let her go.”
Brown chuckled with amazement. “She held a gun to his balls, and you’re letting her off.”
“He es hokay,” Estella said.
“I hokay!” Luis confirmed.
Tropper said, “Bring them down. Charge both of them with felony possession.”
“Charge me?” Luis said. “I no do nothin’.”
“Yeah, yeah!” Tropper turned Luis around and cuffed him. “If you’re telling me that you were both fooling around with the gun, the charges are possession and negligence against the both of you. That means you and your wife get slammed.” Tropper paused. “Unless you change your mind about charging your wife.”
“No, I no change my mind!”
“Then you’re both under arrest,” Tropper stated. “You made your bed, buddy. Now you lie in it.”
“That’s hokay,” Estella said, nodding. “He eslie in de bed, but only with me.”
Tropper rolled his eyes and propelled Luis forward. “Let’s go!”
As they stepped outside and onto the front porch, cheers and hoots from the neighborhood crowd greeted them. Estella had lowered her head as they walked to the cruisers, but Cindy noticed that Luis was smiling broadly. Probably would have waved if his hands hadn’t been cuffed.
His thirty seconds of fame. That’s Hollywood for you. Everyone’s a friggin’ star.
Though Bellini’s hadn’t become Cindy’s second living room, at least it was comfortable. More than just a hard-core cop bar, it offered chops and sandwiches as well as salads and soups for the lighter fare. Cozy in size, the place had dim lighting, jazz music, and a big-screen TV, which, at the moment, was airing baseball—Giants-Padres. The floors were pine-planked and worn, and the ceilings held acoustical tiles. A half-dozen tables sat in the center area while red-Naugahyde booths lined the left wall. The right side was dedicated to the bar, its mirrored wall reflecting a black counter, which spanned the length of the restaurant. Technically, the law mandated the eatery to be smoke-free. But the patrons skirted the issue by opening up the back door, claiming the area to be an extension of a nonexistent patio. A moot