"Typically, the FTO program is fourteen weeks long," the Sheriff's Office training sergeant said. "Your FTOs tell me you don't need to do the whole program, so we're going to end it at six weeks. You'll have two more nights as a check-out ride and then you'll be off on your own."
"Sounds good to me," Jerrod said. "What shift am I going to?"
"Dayshift. Right where you started," the sergeant said. "They're short one deputy now and Roger asked for you to come back... how'd he put it... 'so he could keep an eye on you.'"
"Thanks, Sarge."
* * *
Jerrod left the SO parking lot in a green-and-white on his first day as a solo patrol deputy. All of his FTOs had been fun to ride with and learn from, but he cracked a smile when he looked to his right from the driver's seat and there was nobody sitting in the passenger seat blocking the view.
He had been assigned to work the Two Beat -- a square unincorporated patrol area sandwiched between the cities of Mesa and Willowmere to its north and south. The sandy beaches of the Pacific Ocean bordered the west and the PCH was its eastern boundary.
"1-2, 1-3," Roger Collins radioed on Orange channel.
Jerrod switched the Motorola police radio channel knob to Orange. "Go ahead."
"Meet at Sophie's?"
"Yeah. Sure."
Jerrod drove south down the PCH and turned off onto Willowmere Boulevard and right again into the parking lot of Sophie's. One green-and-white was already in the lot and was parked next to a blue Pontiac 6000 sedan close to the fire exit.
The Pontiac belonged to Nikki Verdugo and he smiled knowing she would be at work in the restaurant.
Jerrod sat down in The Hot Tub with Roger as Nikki walked toward the table with a blue mug of coffee and a menu.
Nate King Cole sang "Unforgettable" from the jukebox.
"Good morning, Nikki."
"Good morning, Jerrod" she said. "No partner today?"
"Not anymore. I'm so lonely."
"Sounds sad," she said. "Something to eat?"
"Ham and cheese omelet with sourdough toast. Please."
Nikki asked, "Want a little shredded cheddar sprinkled on the omelet -- like pixie dust?" She made a sprinkling motion with her fingers. Her smile lit up the room.
"Sure. Add some pixie dust."
"Coming right up," Nikki said as scribbled on an order pad and turned to hang it in the kitchen pass-through window.
"Hey, now that your officially off training," Roger said, "you can get involved in some of our off-duty activities."
"Such as?"
"Do you play poker?"
"Not really?"
"Perfect. We play poker at my house every other Tuesday night."
"Sounds good."
"Bring ten bucks and a six-pack of beer. Dealer's-choice games. Nickel, dime, quarter. Some of the games get pretty silly, but it's a lot of fun. You can meet the guys from the other shifts and a few of the detectives show-up too. We play again next week."
"I'll be there."
"Perfect."
The table was quiet as the two deputies sipped their coffee and watched Nikki at the cash register making change for a customer.
"She's not 'protected' any more," Roger said. "You can ask her out... if you want."
Thanks... Dad. I happen to be dating someone else right now. A lovely redhead who doesn't have two kids. But thanks for the permission. I'll be sure to get your blessing if that changes."
"Sure. Anytime."
CHAPTER 22
September 1986
Jerrod Gold walked into Sophie's Diner and found Nikki Verdugo sitting in The Hot Tub with some paperwork involving time cards.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked.
"Please. Sit down.
Jerrod sat down at the second table in the booth. He placed on the table top the black aluminum clipboard containing the variety of report forms patrol deputies used each shift.
"Where's Roger?"
"He got a call while he was on the way here."
A young male server walked over carrying a menu.
"Coffee only, please," Jerrod said.
"Coming up."
Nikki wore jeans and a black silk blouse. A small gold cross hung from a fine chain around her neck. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail and she wore an over-sized pair of blue-framed reading glasses.
The server filled a blue mug with steaming coffee for Jerrod and topped-off Nikki's cup. Jerrod stirred half-and-half and sugar into the cup and looked across the table at Nikki. "Anyone ever tell you you look like Lynda Carter in that Wonder Woman TV series when you wear those glasses?"
"No," she said without looking up from her project, but cracking a subtle smile. "But I might get out the Lasso of Truth some day and discover who the real Deputy Jerrod Gold is."
"Very funny. Not much to 'discover,' I'm afraid."
"I suspect there is," she said as she looked over and studied him for a moment. The subtle smile turned into a full grin. He smiled back.
"The Tracks of My Tears" by Smokey Robinson played on the jukebox.
He sipped the coffee and started filling in the boxes on the face-sheet of a crime report. He couldn't resist glancing over and watching her work.
She paused to sip her coffee.
"I notice you still wear your wedding ring," Jerrod said. "Roger told me about your husband -- I'm very sorry."
She took off her glasses. "It's been very difficult since he's been gone. The girls miss him. I miss him."
"I can't imagine. Roger told what a great guy he was."
"He really was. Blake was a great father and a great husband. A girl like me couldn't have asked for more."
"How old are your daughters?"
"Lilly's six and Marty's four now."
"'Marty?'"
Nikki laughed. "It's short for 'Martina.' That was Blake's grandmother's name. We just call her 'Marty.'"
"If you don't mind talking about it, how did you and Blake meet?"
Nikki sipped her coffee. "I don't mind. He walked into my family's business about ten years ago looking for work. He was twenty years old, new to the Mesa area... and flat broke."
"What business is that?"
"My family runs a roofing company -- Souza Roofing."
"Sure. I know where the yard is."
"Blake told me later he played the 'Portuguese card' when he walked into the office and asked my dad for a job. My dad liked him right away and put him on a crew. He did all the nasty parts of the job -- tear-offs, torch-downs, and tar -- and never complained. He had never worked on roofs before, but was smart and learned the business pretty fast. He stepped up when my dad got sick about five years ago and was pretty much running the crews until...."
She looked out the window as she fought back tears.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Brain aneurysm," she said as she carefully blotted her eyes with the corner of a white paper napkin.
They were quiet for about a minute.
"You seem to know your way around a roof pretty well."
"I can roof a house all by myself. So can my mom." She sipped her coffee. "Not that we would want to -- it tends to ruin our manicures." She smiled and she presented the four nails on the fingers of her right hand... with a beautiful, warm, sincere smile.
"I mostly work in the yard office now," she said.
The conversation was interrupted by the portable police radio on his belt. A shoplifter in-custody at a K-Mart.
"I've got to go," Jerrod said as he slid out of the booth and picked up his clipboard. "It was a pleasure talking to you."
"I enjoyed talking to you too, Jerrod."
CHAPTER 23
September 1986 -- Tuesday Night Poker Game
Jerrod Gold's silver Toyota 4x4 pick-up became one of several family cars and trucks parked in the driveway and along the curb in front of Roger Collins' modest Mesa home. No expensive imports were to be seen.
The simple, single-story home in the m
iddle-class family neighborhood -- on the north side of the City of Mesa near the University of California campus -- was a fine place to raise a family... and sponsor a bi-weekly poker game.
Jerrod carried his six-pack of Heineken and wove through the maze of vehicles in the driveway to the concrete walkway leading to the front porch. The chatter of conversation and laughter from male voices grew louder as he walked closer to the open front door.
"Come on in," Roger said after Jerrod knocked on the door frame. "Ten bucks, please."
Roger sat at one of two octagonal green-felt poker tables with padded black vinyl perimeters set up in the living room. A television in a corner of the living room was on, but with the volume muted. The Oakland A's were playing against the Texas Rangers in Texas.
Jerrod fished two crumpled five dollar bills from his pants pocket and handed them to Roger. In turn, Roger handed him a stack of poker chips. "Blue is a nickle, red a dime, and black a quarter."
"Okay."
"We'll get started in a few minutes. Grab an empty seat anywhere. Unlimited rebuys, so feel free to reload when you get busted."
"'When?' Thanks, for the confidence boost, pal."
Jerrod found a vacant seat at the second table, pulled a bottle from the six-pack, and placed it the cup holder of the poker table. He stood next to the table with the five remaining beers.
"You can put the rest of your fancy imported beer in the kitchen," said the pale, rotund senior graveyard shift deputy already seated at the table.
"Okay," Jerrod said as he carried his carton of five remaining beers to the kitchen and added them to the collection of Budweiser, Coors, and Miller bottles and cans already resting on the counter.
Jerrod sat down in his seat and uncapped his beer as Roger stood to address the group.
"Welcome all. We have a few people running late, but we'll get going now. We have a new player tonight. Some of you know him already. He's a 'lateral' from the Valle Verde PD and is just out of the FTO program. He's working dayshift in the Two Beat. Jerrod Gold."
Jerrod raised his hand and looked around. A few players greeted him, but most just gave head nods.
"Please introduce yourselves to the new guy," Roger added. "Dealers choice. No limit. Let's get the cards in the air."
The rotund deputy, who wore a yellow O'Neil Surf Shop t-shirt one size too small and hadn't shaved since his last shift, reached over to shake Jerrod's hand. "I'm Marshall Sutton, but everyone calls me 'Beach.'"
Jerrod shook his hand.
"Why do they call you 'Beach?'" Jerrod asked. "Do you surf, or something?"
The players at the table erupted in laughter. Roger and the players at the other table looked over to see what caused the uproar.
"What's so funny?" Jerrod asked.
"Visualize Beach... in a wetsuit... trying to surf," the young, black, lanky deputy seated across from Jerrod said through his laughter.
"He'd look like a nice, plump sea lion and be Great White food in no time," the huge Latino player next to Beach said -- causing more laughter.
"Or some bull sea lion would try to mate with him," the lanky deputy added -- to another round of snickering.
"'Beach' is short for 'Beach Cruiser,'" the Latino deputy said. "You know, the bicycles tourists putt around town with the fat tires and only one gear. That's Beach. He only operates at one speed -- and it's not very fast."
Everyone -- including Beach -- laughed.
"I'm Rudolfo Saavedra," the Latino deputy said. "Everyone calls me 'Rudy.'"
Jerrod nodded.
"I'm Nate Boxley," the lanky deputy said. "Everyone calls me... Nate."
More laughter.
The other players introduced themselves.
"Can we please play some cards now?" Beach asked.
"You play poker much, Jerrod?" Rudy asked.
"Not really. A long time ago."
Nate smiled widely and rubbed his hands together as he whispered "I love 'fish''' to the player next to him.
Jerrod would later learn a "fish" was a new player who had no chance of winning against other experienced players.
"We'll help you out here a little," Beach said as he shuffled a deck of blue Hoyle Shellback cards. "We rotate the dealer position clock-wise. Dealer gets to pick the game. Hold 'em, Stud, Draw, Omaha, Lo Ball, or any game you want. Okay."
"Sure," Jerrod said.
"Let's keep it simple," Beach said. "Seven Stud. Nothing wild. Dime ante."
Each player placed a single red chip on the table in front of them. Beach dealt each player two "hole" cards face down and one card face up.
When all seven cards had been dealt and winner of the hand determined, Jerrod's chip stack was one dollar and thirty-five cents lighter. His three tens was no match for the flush and full-house the other two final players showed-down.
The rest of the session was pretty much the same: Play a hand. Lose a hand.
After Jerrod had gone "all-in," lost again, and was out of chips, he got up to get a fresh, but warm, Heineken from the kitchen.
"Anybody want a beer?" Jerrod announced to the remaining players. Ten male voices shouted at once, starting with, "I'll take a..." and ending with "Bud or Coors or Miller."
Jerrod filled two cardboard six-pack containers with two each brand of the domestic lager beers and returned to the living room. Players around the tables chugged the last of their current beer, pulled new beers from the carton, and slipped the empties in their place.
Jerrod got to Roger as he took a last, long drink to finish his Budweiser.
"Is this how it works? Bust the new guy early, so he can be the cocktail server the rest of the night."
"Pretty much," Roger said as he twisted the top off a bottle of Bud and returned to his game.
Jerrod left the empties on the kitchen counter and opened a fresh Heineken. He returned to the living room. A player had left Roger's table and was seated on the sofa watching the A's game. "Mind if I join you?" Jerrod asked.
"Sure," the man said as he scooted to the right edge of the sofa to make room.
Jerrod sat down and they watched the muted game.
"I've seen you around, but I don't think we've really met," Jerrod said.
"Brent... Brent Rozman," the man said as he raised his bottle of Miller and Jerrod clanked the neck with his bottle.
"Cheers," Jerrod said.
"Cheers," Brent said. "You an A's fan?"
"Giants. I've got nothing against the A's -- I've been to plenty of games at the Coliseum and root for them to win in the American League -- but I guess if they played against each other in the World Series, I'd be with San Fran."
Brent smiled. "I foresee a sizable wager in the future if those two teams ever face-off in... I guess it would be... a Bay Bridge Series."
"Deal," Jerrod said.
"Where are you working, Brent?"
"Was a detective, but just got promoted to sergeant and came back to Patrol. Swing shift."
"Do you miss Investigations?"
"Yeah. Sure. I'll sneak back in there some day."
"I'll pass. Did my time as a detective at the PD. Patrol's by far the best place for me to be."
They watched the game for a few minutes and the A's scored three runs to take the lead in the top of the eighth inning.
"What happened to your hand?" Brent asked.
Jerrod looked at the back of his right hand. The scar was pink and didn't tan with the rest of his skin during the summer.
"Had a little accident," Jerrod said.
"Tablesaw, or something?"
"Nah. I got this in a fight last year when I was with the PD."
"Pretty serious scar."
"The scar was the least of it."
"No need to elaborate."
"Thanks."
CHAPTER 24
December 1986
Christmas decorations had gone up around Sophie's Diner. Twinkling lights were on the rain gutters. A Nativity scene, Santa Claus, and candy canes had been p
ainted on the windows. A small imitation tree was squeezed into a corner of the dining area.
As they typically did, Jerrod Gold and Roger Collins met for coffee and breakfast before the daily swarm of details and reports started coming in.
Nikki poured the coffee and made the "sprinkling" motion with her hand as she looked at Jerrod. He nodded back and smiled. The pantomime had been repeated dozens of times over the course of the previous months -- ham and cheese omelet with a sprinkle of cheddar on top.
"Got any Christmas plans?" Roger asked as he stirred sugar into his coffee.
"Not really. Christmas Day is on a Thursday, so we have to work. My mom usually has a big dinner, so me and my brother just go over there. I honestly wish the holidays were optional."
"I love Christmas," Roger said. "You need some little kids. It'll change your mind about the holidays."
Jerrod scoffed. "Kids. That's funny. Can't seem to keep a girlfriend at the moment, so I think kids are a long way away."
"What happened to that cute little red-head you were dating?" Roger asked.
"Didn't work out. Fight. Make-up. Fight. Make-up. Fight. No make-up. I just couldn't ride that roller-coaster anymore."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Roger said."
"I'm not. Like my partner at the PD used to say: 'Is the juice worth the squeeze?' I think there wasn't much juice left to squeeze out of that relationship."
Nikki brought the omelet to the table and topped-off Jerrod's coffee. She said, "We're having a little party at my house on December 28th. One year... you know... for Blake. Just a few people. I'd really appreciate it if you two could be there."
"We'll both be there," Roger said before Jerrod could swallow the bite of toast he had just taken.
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