Chapter Seventeen - The Cops
The Misery of Mrs. Geesky Number 17. The Red Reticule.
BEFORE CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A wise disciple hears this message:
...form does not differ from emptiness, emptiness does not differ from form, that which is emptiness, form. The same is true of feelings, perceptions, impulses, consciousness. There is no selfish interest. No seeking gain.
What’s in it for me?
What does Mrs. Geesky hear? Her selfish interests?
Oslo’s form is dead. Mrs. Geesky is compelled to retrieve his body and bury it without regard for anyone else. Is it her feelings or impulses that drive her forward into the night disturbing the neighbors to the point the police are called.
She has not heard the message that the wise disciple hears.
She is out to get his body, to accomplish what she set out to do. Hindered by her thoughts, her feelings, her impulses she resists the cops even when they tell her they will help her.
Have you ever been driven in this way? Where your thoughts, feelings and impulses compel you to do something, accomplish something, keep something to the point you find yourself in hot water.
The wise disciple practices the mind of emptiness, and does not get caught in doing something, getting something or keeping something for self-satisfaction.
Chapter Seventeen – The Cops
The Cops
There is the faint sound of a siren in the distance. An emergency vehicle is enroute. The high pitch sound is like a cat squeal. It screams. Grows louder and louder in the middle of a single incessant screech, then suddenly stops. Red and white lights flash cutting across the face of buildings, along the sides of trees and sidewalks. A police squad car pulls up, stops, idles, the red lights remain flashing. A small overhead light glows inside the vehicle. There are two police officers inside.
“Do you see anyone?”
“No.” says the officer as he turns the spotlight on and swings the light from side to side to get a better look.
They both scoff.
“It’s that woman.”
“The cat lady.” They say in unison.
The two officers look at each other. They both get out of the car and walk towards Mrs. Geesky, who shields her eyes from the bright beam of light.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Peters and this is Officer Cross.”
“What are ya doing, Ma’am?” warbled Officer Cross, his bulky silhouette in the bright glow.
“It’s none of your business.”
“Ma’am, it is my business. We just got a call someone set off a car alarm. Ma’am,” his voice changes from a trill to hard and stubborn. “Stop what you’re doing.”
“Mrs!” She barks back at him.
Officer Cross breathes a noisy sigh before he continues. “Miss-sus….” He elongates the word. “You need to stop what you are doing and stand up.”
“No, I don’t.”
Both officers look at one another and in tandem move closer to Mrs. Geesky. Before the first officer gives another injunction, he moves his left hand away from his gun to find the handle of his taser. In a much louder voice the officer demands, “You need to stop what you are doing…. Missus!”
“No, I don’t. I have every right to be here.”
The officer takes a gulp of air. With both hands on his gear belt, he wants to be ready for a quick move. Officer Cross grabs his partner along his upper arm signaling to let him speak.
“What do you have there, Missus?” His voice is softer, almost curious…. a calm timbre.
Mrs. Geesky remains callous and cold as she covers the bag with both hands. “None of your business.” She squeezes her eyes together as she begins to talk to herself. ‘I gotta get ahead of it, be ahead of the pack, I gotta be ahead of their game.’ Mrs. Geesky feels an impending collapse, an inevitable, unstoppable drop off from an interior cliff. An inner voice presses. It pushes. Kicks and goads her. It halts and jerks inside her as it moves along an unseen track. ‘I can feel it climbing up behind my ribs down my arms. Oslo is dead in the bag.’ She grabs the bag on her lap. She stops there. She looks down. She bites into the inside corner of her cheek; bites the wet red tissue, probes it with her tongue. No tears. She rolls her eyes backward. Eyes close. “Shish. Shish. Shish. Shish. Shish.” The sound leaks from her mouth.
A small beat, an echoing beat bounces from one side of her sternum towards her heart. She sits forward and gags. Coughs. Gags again. She is unaware of how it begins. Where it comes from. It is familiar; the friendly wickedness that comes with such pain. A dog barks…. a recognizable sound in the distance….it jumps up from behind one of the houses…. a short, abrupt uff….uff….uff. She looks up. The police are standing, facing one another. They mill about as a pair. The barking stops. Followed by one more lone uff. The sound fades. She looks blank, fish eyed. The ground feels cold and damp. Her back itches. She presses against the wheel rim and wiggles and scrapes her shoulder blade to end the itch crawling up her shoulder.
Fed-up, Officer Peters sounds off. “This is the last warning. Put the bag on the ground and stand up!”
By this time, the man and the woman who own the car are standing in front of their building, and a second squad car with flashing headlights has pulled in front blocking the street. Two more police officers join the Peters and Cross duo to see if they need to assist.
Mrs. Geesky hears the familiar sounds of leather holsters rubbing against strapped police gear as all four officer’s hunch together. She hunkers over Oslo. The officers try to decide whether they need to call a female officer to the scene. Mrs. Geesky continues to sit on the ground leaning against the front tire of the car.
“Look it” She screams. “How you guys come in here! Siren’s blaring…. lights flashing…. waking everyone up. You’re disturbing the peace. Not me.”
“Ma’am?” asks one of the new arrivals.
“We here….”
“Everyone knows you’re here. I have every right to be here. Look at how you caused the trouble here. Leave us alone. You’re blocking the street. Blocking traffic. You don’t have any right to come in here and cause all this trouble.”
This officer turns his back on Mrs. Geesky.
A small number of nearby neighbors from the apartment buildings have gathered…. several in housecoats and robes….one man walking his old white lab…. another man talking to the police. The third officer from the second squad team stands over Mrs. Geesky who continues to criticize the police barging in and barricading the neighborhood.
“This is what people who care do. I have every right to be here. It’s my job.”
The officer is quiet with his hands hanging along his belt. He looks down at her, he knows who she is. She’s well-known; has a thick file in about every department of the city’s small government. With a trained cadence to his comment, he explains to her, “This call, Mrs. Geesky is the second one tonight. You know we have every right to tell you to put the bag down and to stand up. It’s our duty.”
“On whose authority.” She cuts him off. “You must admit you have no right to come down here and disturb the peace? Isn’t that so? Just admit it. Then maybe we can get somewhere.”
The sound of static followed by a garbled command sputtered from the officer’s shoulder receiver. The officer was able to make out the word standby and responds to the wheezy sounds of the caller. “10-4.”
“It’s just a matter of time. Best to get up Mrs. Geesky. Don’t make things worse for yourself.”
“I’m not. You are. You can’t see the trouble you are causing.”
“You need to get up and show us what you have in that trash bag?” He checks his duty belt for the handcuff grip.
She refuses to obey. Goes mute. Wraps her arms around the bag and bends her head down to cover it.
With his hand securely around the plastic handcuff grip he follows up. “This is my last warning. Put the bag on the ground and stand up.”
“On what authority. You never answer direct questions. You are all alike, you are. When are you going to stop going over things that aren’t true? You make empty threats.” She cuts him off with a skill of a butcher.
The officer squats down with one hand on the plastic release and the other near his holster. He looks her in the face. “Get up!”
She stares back at his face and sticks her two legs out in front of her.
He stops coaxing.
“You know how this is going to end, Mrs. Geesky. One way or the other we will get you up. It’s better if you get up on your own.”
“Or what? You’ll manhandle me? I’ll have my day in court. I’ll bring charges against you. What is your badge number?”
“We will get a female officer here. You’ll be forced to go down to the police department. You don’t want that. So, let’s get you up now…. let’s have a look in the bag and take you home.” In one last solicitation he offers his hand.
“I am not leaving.” She says in a crusty voice as she tightens her arms against her chest with Oslo in-between. “I know the law. I haven’t broken any laws. I have every right to be here.”
“Mrs. Geesky you are making it worse for yourself. Let’s get you up.” The officer places one knee on the ground as he moves to touch her.
Before he can grab her arm Officer Peters comes back from speaking to the couple who called in the complaint.
“All they want to know is if she’s stolen something. Let’s look in the bag and see if it’s nothing. Take her home.”
The officer down on one knee asks her, “What were you looking for?”
She remains silent.
The officer continues. “You heard Officer Peters. The complainant doesn’t want to press charges. They just want to make sure you haven’t taken anything that belongs to them. Show us what’s in the bag…. then we’ll take you home.” She looks at the officer’s round young face with a blank stare. He tilts his head and asks her, “Is it a cat you got there in that bag?”
She looks at him and yells, “Leave the cats out of this. They are innocent victims.”
The officer raises his hand in the air above his shoulders as he gets to his feet. “We can help you. If you tell us what you were doing here.”
“I don’t need your help. I can do this myself. But…. here is what you need to hear. It’s too late. You crossed the line. I am no fool. I will file a complaint.”
“You do that!” the officer stops his angry dare, checks himself then makes an attempt to coax her, “We don’t want you to file a complaint. We want to help you. Get you home. All you must do is let us see what you are doing here. It’s simple. That’s all.”
“I don’t care what you want. See. See. Now you’re scared. That’s right. You broke the law. I can see you are scared. I’m not scared. You are. So why don’t you just go home like good, little boys.”
Officer Peters picks up the dialogue. “We are not saying anyone broke the law. Show us what’s in the bag. Then one of the officers here will get you home.”
With a sudden recklessness, she snatches the ties along the top of the bag, pulls on the drawstring to close it.
Officer Peters tries again. “We know and you know you have a stack of complaints. You don’t want to keep adding to it. We’ll need to handcuff you. Take you in. You know how it works.”
Officer Cross yells over. “There’s no getting through to her.”
Hearing, as though for the first time, Mrs. Geesky stands up clutching the bag. Steady on her feet she flogs back the approaching officer. “You know you can’t take me in. You know you broke the law. You know I haven’t. You won’t admit it. I have to call my cats. That’s not a crime. I’ll call my cats. I’ll call them. You stay out of this. Take yourselves home. Or I’ll add harassment to my list of complaints against you.”
With a surety that comes with practice she turns away to call her cats.
Officer Peters, standing near her, turns over his hands to show his palms. He yields and submits then in simple words limits his request. “Look. Just look. You hold it. I’ll shine my light into the bag. You hold it.” He reaches to release his stream light from his belt and points it at the bag.
“Look!” she shouts her demand at him as she jerks and loosens the tightened band across the top of the bag. The officer shines the light in.
“It’s a dead animal.” He announces in a sensible tone.
“It’s not a dead animal.” She corrects him. “It’s Oslo. It’s my Oslo.”
“OK.OK.” He brushes the air with his hand. “It’s Oslo. Keep the cat. We’ll take you home.”
One of the officers standing by the second squad car calls out to remind someone in the team, “Give her a warning.”
“Just wait. I’ll have my day in court.” She says to override his threat.
Officer Peters looks as if he is going to help her with her tools when she yells, “You have no right to touch my property!” The officer straightens up and backs away with both palms in a gesture of surrender.
“Ok. Ok. Take it easy. Just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
Mrs. Geesky is stalwart in her strapped, tight defiance. With the dead cat in the bag, she bends down, lifts and tucks her gray bladed shovel under the same arm and cancels the thought of wearing the leather gloves. Instead, she slips her Smith & Wesson penlight into one of the open fingers and wraps it together with the other glove. She hangs her camera around her reciting under her breath.
‘I make them happier. I do. I make them happier. I do. I do.’
She glares at Officer Peters before she turns and stalks away.
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