Luis said, “She es bery beeeg, Estella! You give her de gun.”
Shut up, Luis! Cindy was thinking. Anything you say, she’ll do the opposite. Time moving in slo-mo, she waited for a response.
Estella said, “Luis is bery estrong—”
“So am I!” Cindy said. “Look, I’ll talk so you can hear me, so you know I’m not sneaking up on you. Then I’ll tap your shoulder when I’m right behind you—”
“I no sure …” Estella said. “I no thin’—”
“I’ll talk you through it.”
Tropper was growling! “This isn’t what I ordered!”
“But she’s going to go for it, Sarge!” Cindy persisted. “This way I’m not facing the barrel of her gun, and you three will be right behind me.”
One second passed, then two …
“Please, Sergeant Tropper,” Cindy whispered forcefully. “I can disarm her—”
Estella said, “I no hear you. Wha’ you sayin’? I getting mad.”
She looked at Tropper’s furious face, knowing he was trapped. If he didn’t respond soon, the situation would escalate. His voice snapped like a leather whip. “Do it! But tell her we’re right behind you!”
Cindy said, “Okay, Estella, I’m coming in. My buddies are going to be right behind me, so Luis can see them. I’m starting now. I’m taking a couple of steps forward. You hear me, don’t you—”
“Sí, I hear you! Wha’ you thin’? I no have ears?”
“Now I’m taking a couple more steps. Luis is looking right at my buddies … at their guns. Is my voice getting closer?”
“Sí, I hear you.”
“Okay, I’m right behind you now. I’m going to tap your shoulder. Don’t move—”
“I no move.”
“Luis, you don’t move, either—”
“I no move.”
“That’s good. No one is going to move except me,” Cindy said. “Now I’m putting my hand on your shoulder …” She touched the woman’s bony joint. Estella remained motionless. “That’s my hand—”
“Hokay.”
“Estella, listen carefully, okay?”
“Hokay.”
“I am going to bend down and put my arms around your waist, okay? Don’t move—”
“I no move!”
Slowly, Cindy bent over, her chest touching the woman’s back, her head peering over Estella’s red-clad shoulder. She slipped her arms around a trim middle and wiggled her fingers. “You see my hands?”
“I see.”
“You see my fingers?”
“Sí.”
“Okay, I’m going to take the gun from you now.”
“Hokay.”
“Don’t move!”
“I no move!”
“Luis, if you move and I slip, you no have cojones. Do you understand me?”
“I no move, I no move!”
Cindy had had the primary academy training with shotguns. But she hadn’t done much private practice with them on the range, choosing to hone an expertise with her service Beretta. But she did know that shotguns weren’t warm and fuzzy firearms. They were hard to control, because they were heavy mothers. Estella was keeping hers stabilized by resting the stock in her lap. Her right hand was clenched around the pistol grip, the index finger inside the guard, resting on the trigger. Her left hand was underneath the slide handle—the pump. Both of her hands were shaking noticeably.
Cindy spoke quietly. “Don’t move. I’m going to touch your hands.” She placed her palms over Estella’s fingers. Her skin was hot and damp.
“You feel my hands?”
“Sí.”
“Don’t move your body, okay?”
“Hokay!”
Cindy began sliding her hands up and down the shotgun, feeling around for a stable, strong area to grip. It was difficult to find a spot because the wood and metal were wet and sticky from Estella’s sweat. She hunted until she found a couple of semidry places that gave her leverage with the weapon. She grasped the gun, not talking until she was certain she had a strong hold on the weapon.
Finally, she said, “Take your hands away.”
“I take my hans off?”
“Yes, take your hands off the gun, but don’t move your body.”
“You have de gun?”
“Yes, I have the gun. I’ve got a good grip on it. Take your hands away.”
“Hokay …” But still she didn’t move. “You está segura you have de gun?”
“I have the gun.” Cindy remained calm. “I have a good hold on it. Take your hands away, but don’t move your body.”
“Hokay.”
As soon as Estella’s fingers were off the weapon, Cindy stood up and lifted the shotgun high in the air. Instantly, Beaudry took the gun. Luis jumped up, wiping sweat from his face. He screamed, “You arress that crazy bitch!”
“Cuff her, Decker.”
“Wha’?” Estella turned an irate face toward Cindy. She was a pretty woman with big black eyes, high cheekbones, smooth skin, and deep, full lips. Why the hell would Luis want someone else?
More than that, what the hell did she see in him?
Maybe he had a big—
“Wha’ he say?” Estella was screaming. “You arress him! He have de puta!”
Cindy took out the handcuffs from her belt and, in one fluid motion, turned Estella around and brought the woman’s right arm against her back. She was seconds away from securing the left arm, but then Estella suddenly realized what was happening. Wrestling in Cindy’s grip, Estella started spewing out high-pitched Spanish, punctuating her tirade with curses and spit.
“Don’t make this difficult—”
“You es una beetch! You eslying daughter of a put—”
“Let’s not get personal.” Cindy kneed her in the back of her legs just hard enough to get Estella to buckle. Once the woman’s legs were bent, it was a snap to bring her down, and lay her facedown on the floor. Again, using knees and elbows to restrain the writhing body, Cindy held Estella’s right arm flat against her back and rooted about for the left one, which was trying to sock her in the face. Estella was no match for her in strength, but her resistance—the bucking and rolling—made Cindy sweat from exertion.
Here was the big showdown, and it was mano a mano. Because none of the others were making even the slightest effort to help her. Instead, they were standing around, watching with amusement as she struggled. Luis was buoyant, a big smile on his ugly face.
He said, “You go to cárcel, you estúpida, loca—”
Again, Estella spit in his direction. “He the one with the puta! He go to jail! Why he no go to jail!”
Luis was doing a victory dance. “Have