Free Fall (6 page)

And then, BOOM!

If there were people riding the ride, they'd be screaming their heads off and kicking their dangling legs. Because the thing plunges 120 feet in eight seconds flat. Your stomach would be in your nose, which is why you should never eat funnel cakes right before riding this ride. There is a quick puff of white mist. The car slows. Impressively. Then it eases itself down to the loading platform.

“Pretty neat, huh, guys?” cries the over-caffeinated dude as he bounds over to greet us. He shoots out his hand to Ceepak. Ceepak shakes it.

“Detective Ceepak. We've been expecting you.”

“This is my partner, Danny Boyle.”

“Well, hey there, Danny. I'm Bob.”

I knew that already. It says “Bob” on his plastic nametag.

Ceepak pulls a sheaf of paper out of his sport coat's inside pocket.

“As you may know, Mr. …”

“Please, Detective—call me Bob.”

“Very well. As you may know, Bob, this ride was formerly erected at a small amusement park in Troy, Michigan.”

Bob clucks his tongue. “Tragic what happened. But that's ancient history. Water under the bridge.”

Guts on the ground
, I want to add, but don't.

“We've cleaned the ol' gal up. Given her a new paint job. Jazzed up the lights and sound effects. Added some additional safety devices.”

Bob hands Ceepak the thick accordion file.

“Here's all our paperwork. The engineers' reports. Structural analysis. Maintenance reports. Everything the state requires for a passed-with-flying-colors pre-season, pre-operational inspection. As you'll see, Sinclair Enterprises is in full compliance with title five, chapter fourteen-A of the New Jersey Administrative Code as it pertains to Carnival and Amusement Rides.”

Bob is rocking back on his heels, proud to be the smartest kid in the class.

Ooh. He memorized a law book
.

Ceepak flips through the documents tucked into little slots inside the file holder. He skims and scans them. Lets Bob sweat some.

“Good work, Bob,” Ceepak finally announces. “Everything seems to be in order.”

“Thank you. Now, if you fellows are on the same page …”

“How did you score on section five-fourteen-A dash four point eight?” says Ceepak.

“Come again?”

“The section pertaining to training and certification of ride operators.” Ceepak nudges his head toward the control booth where Ben Sinclair sits, thumbing a text message into his phone.

“I believe the State Inspector was fine with our setup. Should be a paper in there …”

“Is Benjamin your proposed ride operator?”

“Yes. And you guys can thank me later for finding a way to keep him off the streets this summer. I hear he had another run-in with the law this morning? Some kind of misunderstanding in the Olde Mill?”

“No, Bob,” says Ceepak. “There was no misunderstanding. Benjamin Sinclair attempted to snatch a purse. He then resisted arrest. He should be sitting in a jail cell right now, contemplating the consequences of his actions, not operating a potentially dangerous ride.”

“Whoa, ease up, detective. There's nothing ‘dangerous' about this ride.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Ryan would disagree.”

“What? Who are they?”

“The parents of the fourteen-year-old girl who died on this Free Fall ride when it was called the ‘Terminal Velocity' up in Michigan.”

Ceepak lets that sink in as he pulls a laminated card out of another sport-coat pocket.

“Was Benjamin Sinclair trained by Sandusky Amusements, the manufacturer of this ride?”

“Huh?”

“Does he have a certification from the manufacturer, Sandusky Amusements, in a format prescribed by the New Jersey Department of Community Affairs?”

“They didn't really ask for anything like that …”

Ceepak turns to face the control booth.

“Mr. Sinclair?” he calls out.

Ben is so startled, he nearly drops his cell phone.

“What?” It's amazing how he can make one word have so much snarky attitude.

Ceepak glances down again at his laminated card. “What is the weight limitation on this ride?”

“Huh?”

“The weight limitation.”

“You don't have to answer that, Benjamin,” says Bob.

“Yes, he does,” says Ceepak. “Mr. Sinclair? The manufacturer's suggested weight limitation?”

Sinclair shrugs. “I dunno. Two fatties and one dude with a big butt?”

Ceepak turns to face Bob again.

“You will not be opening your ride any time soon.”

“Wait a minute … the State.…”

“We will inform the State of your failure to comply with five-fourteen-A dash four point eight.”

“Do you know how much money …”

“I'm not interested in financial details. But, rest assured, Bob, this ride will remain closed until such time as you hire a certified operator who has been trained by the manufacturer to operate the ride in accordance with the manual and any supplemental safety bulletins, safety alerts, or other notices related to operational requirements.”

Poor Bob. Ceepak memorized more of the rulebook than he did.

“Danny?”

“Sir?”

“We're done here.”

We turn to leave.

“Sore losers!” mutters Bob.

We turn back around.

“I beg your pardon?” says Ceepak.

“I know what's going on here. You two are still upset about the election. First you haul Hugh's kid off to jail on a trumped-up charge. Now this crap about operator certificates? Face it, boys, you backed the wrong horse. Adkinson lost. Sinclair won. Get over it.”

Ceepak simply smiles.

“Hire a certified operator, Bob.”

“We will.”

“Then it's all good.”

And this time when we turn to leave, we turn and leave.

All the other rides we inspect during the week pass, even the ones owned by Sinclair Enterprises.

His other operators all know their height requirements and weight limitations. “Two fatties and one dude with a big butt” is never the correct answer.

After work on Friday, Ceepak invites me to join him at his mother's condo for dinner.

“If you have no other plans this evening.”

I don't. So I do.

Ceepak's wife, Rita, is working the Friday night dinner rush at Morgan's Surf and Turf, so it'll just be Ceepak, Adele, and me.

Mrs. Ceepak lives in an Active Adult Retirement Community called The Oceanaire. You have to check in at the gatehouse and be announced before the guards will even let you drive along the winding road that snakes around The Oceanaire's clubhouse and meanders through its manicured landscape of 25 semi-identical cape-style homes.

Mrs. Ceepak is waiting for us on the front porch of her unit. It's brand-new; neat and tidy.

“You like spaghetti and meatballs, Daniel?” she says when we climb out of my Jeep.

“Yes, ma'am,” I say.

“Good. I know John does. Come on in. Let's eat. And then you boys need to help me find a good lawyer.”

12

“W
HY EXACTLY DO YOU NEED A LAWYER
,
MOTHER
?” C
EEPAK
asks as we pass around the wooden salad bowl that has its own wooden salad-tossing forks.

I wonder if I'll ever own the kind of stuff Mrs. Ceepak has in her snug and cozy little home. Silverware that actually matches. Serving bowls. Drinking glasses that aren't movie souvenirs from Burger King. A framed needlepoint sampler and Princess Diana plates hanging on the walls.

Do you get the complete home starter kit when you finally decide to grow up and settle down? Or do you just collect stuff along the way?

“The lawyer's not for me, John,” says Mrs. Ceepak as she passes the breadbasket, which is actually a basket lined with a checkered cloth to keep the bread warm. “It's for a friend of mine's caregiver. A gentleman named Arnold Rosen.”

“The one who lives on Beach Lane?”

“That's right. Do you know him? He's ninety-four. Comes with his nurse to our afternoon bingo games at the senior center.”

“Is the nurse named Christine?” I ask.

“Yes! Do you boys know her, too?”

“Yes, ma'am. She's a friend of a friend.”

“Danny knows just about everybody in Sea Haven,” says Ceepak.

“Well, this Christine is very pretty, Daniel. Has those dark Mediterranean features. Big brown eyes. Nice figure, too. From what I've picked up at the bingo games, she's a single gal. You should ask her out on a date. Nothing too flashy. Maybe just coffee or a light lunch. Definitely not a movie. You don't really get to chat at the movies …”

Across the table, Ceepak is grinning at me.

I guess now that her son is all settled down, it's Adele Ceepak's mission to fix me up so I can start collecting matching salad bowls of my own.

“Something to think about,” I mumble and pop a plum tomato into my mouth so I don't have to say anything else.

“Why, exactly, does Christine need a lawyer?” asks Ceepak.

“Oh, some nonsense about attacking a former employer.”

Okay. I put down my salad fork. “Mrs. Shona Oppenheimer?”

“That's right. Do you know her, too, Daniel?”

“Not really. I was on duty last Friday night and caught a call to investigate an altercation at the Oppenheimer home between Mrs. Oppenheimer and Ms. Lemonopolous.”

“Danny and his partner were the first on the scene,” adds Ceepak.

“Then you know this is all a bunch of hooey. No way did a sweet girl like Christine Lemonopolous ‘attack' this Mrs. Oppenheimer. But Mrs. Oppenheimer, whose late husband I hear was a big Wall Street muckety-muck, has a boatload of money and bamboozled some judge into issuing what they call a TRO against Christine.”

“A TRO is a Temporary Restraining Order,” explains Ceepak.

“Oh. So it's not permanent?”

“Not until there is a formal hearing, which must take place within ten days of the filing of the TRO.”

Ceepak knows a thing or two about how restraining orders work in the state of New Jersey. He should. He had one issued against his drunken father the first time Joe “Sixpack” Ceepak stumbled into town.

“Well, I want Christine to have the best lawyer in the state of New Jersey,” says Mrs. Ceepak. “Do you boys know any crackerjack criminal defense attorneys? Because that's what Dr. Rosen says Christine is going to need to beat this thing. He says Mrs. Oppenheimer is probably assuming that Christine won't have the financial means to defend herself so she can just steamroll right over the poor girl.”

Ceepak leans back from his mountain of spaghetti and erects a two-handed tapping finger tent under his nose. This is what he does sometimes when he thinks.

I use the free time to spear a crouton.

“If I were in a similar predicament,” Ceepak finally says, “I would want Harvey Nussbaum to defend me.”

Ceepak's right. Nussbaum is a pit bull. I've seen his ads on a couple benches up and down Ocean Avenue. “
I Turn Wrongs Into Rights!
” is his slogan. His mascot is a snarling bulldog wearing one of those curly lawyer wigs the barristers wear over in England.

“Good,” says his mother. “Let's hire this Harvey Nussbaum.”

“Wait a second,” I say. “You want to pay for Christine's lawyer?”

“Heavens, yes. Somebody has to! I'm sure she's earning little more than minimum wage working for Dr. Rosen. She can't afford a lawyer. The girl doesn't even have a home of her own. She's living in Arnie's house in a guest bedroom.”

“Mother,” says Ceepak, “an expert criminal defense attorney such as Harvey Nussbaum can cost upwards of three hundred dollars per billable hour.”

“So? I'm rich, remember?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Besides, this is what Aunt Jennifer would want me to do with all that money she left me. See that sampler on the wall?”

“Yes,” I say. “I was admiring it earlier.”

“Well, it originally belonged to Aunt Jennifer. Did you read what it says, Daniel?”

“No. I couldn't really make out the words …”

Mrs. Ceepak pushes back her chair.

“I'll get it, Mother,” says her son.

“Thank you, dear.”

Ceepak goes to the wall and carefully lifts the framed sampler off its hook.

“Read it,” says his mom.

Ceepak's not much on making speeches (another reason he hated being Chief of Police so much). But he does what his mother tells him to.

He reads the needlepointed words:

“
Do all the good you can
,

By all the means you can
,

In all the ways you can
,

In all the places you can
,

At all the times you can
,

To all the people you can
,

As long as ever you can
.”

Okay. I think I finally know how Ceepak became Ceepak. He inherited it from his Great Aunt Jennifer.

“That's a quote from John Wesley,” says Mrs. Ceepak. “He wasn't a Catholic but, still, it's a good prayer.”

“Yes, ma'am,” says Ceepak.

“So you'll call this Harvey Nussbaum for Christine?”

“Danny and I will pay Ms. Lemonopolous a visit tomorrow. We will advise her of your generous offer and see if that is how she would like to proceed.”

“Good. Now eat your spaghetti before your meatballs get cold.”

And, once again, Ceepak and I both do like his mother says.

13

I
F
I
EVER NEEDLEPOINT A SAMPLER TO HANG ON MY WALL
, I think it'll be these lyrics from Bruce Springsteen's “The Ghost Of Tom Joad”:

Wherever there's somebody fightin' for a place to stand

Or a decent job or a helpin' hand