The Seduction of Penny Ramirez

Chapter One – Penny Surrenders Her Mind

Penny stood in nervous silence in front of the imposing oak desk of the Sheriff of Cavalcade County, Texas. He had ordered her to "Stand at ease," with just a hint of a patronizing smile, so she now positioned herself in a sort of "parade rest" posture, her hands clasped at the small of her back; but she couldn't help shifting nervously, moving her weight between her right foot and her left.

"Tell me why you're wearing that Mickey Mouse uniform in my office," he ordered sternly, never looking up from her record on his desk, his voice low and dark, like an afternoon cloud that threatened to grow into a storm at any moment. "What the hell IS it, anyway?"

"It's my Academy uniform. It's ... it's all I had, sir. I ... I thought I could get the proper uniform here ... um ... I mean, when I got to Rising Rapids."

The big man scowled at the papers on his desk, still not looking up. "You look like a midget female version of Barney Fife," he groused. Immediately, she bristled ... not at the professional innuendo, but at the mention of her height. She set her face into a scowl, but he didn't look up to see it. In spite of her feelings, her look of aggression fled immediately as he pushed his chair back abruptly, sat upright and fixed her with a gaze that left no doubt who was in command. She suddenly wondered if he was about to reject her. What would she do if he did that? She had no money ... nowhere to go.

He stood and walked around the desk to her. Startled, she retreated a step without thinking, staring dumbly at his outstretched right hand, not sure what he wanted.

"Deputy Ramirez," he said, somehow smiling without letting his lips curve upward, "welcome to Rising Rapids, Texas, heart of the Piney Woods. We're glad to have you here."

She blinked up at him. Finally, she broke the code and extended her own right hand, which was engulfed by his meaty paw the way large-mouth bass swallows a minnow. She cleared her throat. "Thank you, sir. It's great to be here."

He returned to his place behind the desk and lowered his massive frame into the chair again. "Now," he rumbled. "What to do first ...." He glanced at the folder on his desk, up at her uncertain expression, back at the folder. "Where are you staying?"

"Um ... at the Blue Top Motel. I'm going to have to find another place soon, though."

"Why?"

The simplicity of the question startled her. She didn't have time to think of an excuse. "Uh ... because my credit card is almost maxed out."

His brow creased in thought. He looked at her again, then quickly back down. This time, she caught it. His glance had included her body, but he hadn't wanted her to notice. He was trying to stay strictly professional. The revelation startled her. He must have been close to twice her age, and much more than twice her weight, though he didn't show any fat. He was just big.

He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a phone book. (Did anyone actually USE phone books anymore?) He fumbled with the pages a second, glanced up at her again, then at the items on his desk, as if looking for some distraction. He snatched up a coffee cup and held it out to her. "Penny, would you mind getting me a cup? The machine's at the end of the hall. One cream, one sugar."

This was it. This was the moment she'd rehearsed in her mind. All of the online assertiveness training lectures (the free ones, anyway), and the articles and the blogs; they'd all led to this moment in time. She planted her feet, shifted her hands to her hips, and imagined her deepest, sternest voice. But her voice didn't sound stern, and it certainly wasn't deep. "Sir, I didn't put all that time into the academy to be a coffee girl!"

His head snapped up, and he was looking at her now ... at HER ... at her eyes. Any bravado she imagined she had somehow acquired suddenly fled. Oh, God. All that assertiveness crap was about to get her fired. "Um ..." she stammered, "... I mean ...."

He stood and walked around the desk, the cup in his hand, and he had an entertained grin on his lips. "Sure, Penny. No sweat. How do you take YOUR coffee?"

She blinked. "I ... I don't drink it."

"Of course not," he grumbled, walking out of the room. "THAT is what's the matter with young people today. They don't drink coffee! Well ... that is, unless they're paying five dollars a cup for a fuckin' latte ... and God damned whipped cream on top ... and skimmed milk ... and ...." His voice was lost to her as he stomped down the hallway.

She leaned on the desk in front of her. Oh God, this whole day had been a fiasco! She should have known that the distance between the motel and the Sheriff's Department was farther than she thought. In Texas, distances are ALWAYS farther than you think. So, even though she'd left earlier than she'd planned, she'd been late on her first day. And now she'd gone and ruined any chance of a friendly relationship with her new boss. WHY had she said that? Why didn't she just go and get the guy a stupid cup of coffee? The only thing that could make it any worse now would be if he ....

"You looked like the 'Diet Coke' type to me. Here." He handed her an icy can of cola and went back to his chair.

She suppressed a groan. "Thank you sir. I really appreciate it. I'm sorry if I ...."

But he picked up the phone and started talking without dialing. It dawned on her that the deputy receptionist ... what was her name? Beatrice? He must have asked her to dial a number for him. "Charlie?" he barked in a loud voice. "This is Joe Rogers. Can you ...." But he broke off suddenly, listened for a moment, then slammed the receiver back down. He looked up at her, trying to figure something out. She was certain that he was struggling at the task of looking at her face and not her chest. "Shit. The only uniform shop this side of Nacogdoches, and he's closed ... on vacation for two weeks." He thought a moment. "Do you have a nice dress?"

She blinked at him. "Dress? You mean to wear at work?"

"Well, you sure as hell can't wear THAT!"

"Uh ... I only have one dress, but it's not ... appropriate."

"What? Is it a prom dress or something?"

"No. It's a summer dress."

"Well, shit, Penny! It's August!" He seemed to dismiss the entire subject. "BEA!" he screamed.

"Simmer down, Joe," Beatrice said calmly, suddenly appearing in the doorway. "I talked to June Freeland, and she has a room. She said to go right over."

He nodded and stood. "Deputy Ramirez, come with me," he ordered sternly. On the wall hung a cowboy hat, which made a sort of "thunk" as he clapped it firmly to his head, and he now reached for the only other item on the hat rack: a holster containing a massive .45 caliber Colt Peacemaker. A weapon for men, she mused ... all testosterone. Only six rounds, and not very good in the accuracy department, compared to other service handguns, but it made a lot of noise, packed the biggest punch you could get, and had been doing so since 1872. She had tried one on a shooting range at the academy and hadn't been able to hold the huge thing steady enough to hit the target. The recoil had made her drop it. He strode out of the office, through the reception area and out the door, and she felt as if every eye was on her as she ran to keep up.

"Follow me in your car," he snapped as he swung his bulk into the cab of a department Ford F-150 4X4 pickup.

"I ... I don't have car."

He glared at her. "How the hell did you get here?"

"On ... on the bus. Then I walked here this morning from the motel."

"Walked? It's three miles!" He looked at her with blank, incredulous eyes for long seconds, then sighed. "Get in, Deputy."

She nodded and complied. They rode in silence back out to Highway 21 and parked in front of the room she indicated. She was already packed ... she'd never really had the chance to unpack ... but he again ordered her to change into the dress. She was grateful that it was still relatively wrinkle-free, and she rushed to put it on and stuff her academy uniform into one of her two bags. She only had one pair of shoes to go with the dress, three-inch heels that boosted her height to a towering five feet two inches. She checked herself in the mirror, not really sure why she was doing so, and decided to take another half minute to apply some pale lipstick and run a brush through her hair before opening the door and pulling her suitcases (bearing all her worldly possessions) out to the truck. She got a little satisfaction from his expression, anyway. His eyes widened when he saw her in the flowery-patterned cotton dress. It fit her well, and showed off her curves. She hadn't had it on for more than a year, but she knew what sort of attention it attracted the last time she'd worn it. He stared, then averted his eyes, then looked again, before clearing his throat and helping her pitch her luggage into the back.

"I need to settle my bill," she told him.

"All done," he responded, helping her up into the passenger seat again. "Ryan Bullsworth ... the guy who runs the place ... he owes me a favor. More than one, as the case stands. He told me to tell you that he's happy to help."

She didn't know how to take that. She stole little glances him as they drove back into town. His hat was cocked a little toward her, keeping the morning sun out of his eyes, and she couldn't see his face clearly, but his manner was indecipherable. He started humming a tune, and she was surprised to realize that it was classical ... Beethoven, she thought, though she wasn't sure. His left elbow was leaning out the open side window, his big right hand resting comfortably on the top of the steering wheel. She recognized an Aggie ring, which somehow seemed as large and showy as the Colt revolver. She tried to imagine him sitting in a college classroom, but failed.

The two-story Victorian house was only three blocks from the Sheriff's Office, and Penny knocked on the front door, since the Sheriff was burdened with a suitcase in each hand. "Morning, June," he said to the older lady who answered. "I'd like you to meet Deputy Penny Ramirez. Penny, this is June Freeland, my third grade teacher."

"Little hellion," the woman replied playfully before turning her full attention to the girl. "Welcome to Rising Rapids, Penny. I've heard so much about you. How was your trip from Fort Worth? My, what a pretty dress!"

Penny tried to hide her surprised shock. "Uh ... thank you. I can't get a uniform because ...."

"Yes, Charlie Struthers is on vacation, fishing in Colorado. Don't know why ... he never catches anything, anyway. You won't be able to get a uniform until he gets back. Now, follow me; your room's on the second floor. Only one rule ... no men in your room. I'm old fashion that way. And if Joe's any indication, they're all going to be lookin' at you pretty hard. Can't say as I blame 'em, the way you fill out that dress." She chattered on and on as they followed her up the stairs.

Ten minutes later, they were back in the truck. He insisted on buying her breakfast in the cafe on the square. He never pressed her to talk about herself, which she found surprising. Now that she was a member of his staff, he just seemed to take her for granted. He didn't really talk about himself, either, but prattled endlessly about the town and its surrounding area. Rising Rapids, named for a stretch of water on the Nueces River "that got above a trot," was the county seat, but it was too small to support a full-blown police department. Instead, the sheriff's department handled law enforcement for the entire county, including here in town. By meal's end, she'd gotten the impression that he was very proud of the territory that was now his jurisdiction.

"Let's walk back to the office. I'll mosey back this way for lunch, and pick up the truck then," he said, finishing his coffee with a gulp and tossing a dollar bill on the table for a tip. He walked to the counter to pay, and Penny, making sure he wasn't looking, dug through her small leather purse until she found a couple more, which she tucked under a plate.

"So you think I'm a crummy tipper," he observed, strolling back, obviously slowing his pace so she wouldn't have to run to keep up.

She grimaced. "I didn't think you saw. And yes, you're a crummy tipper. That girl who was serving us ...."

"Rhonda. You have to learn names. There aren't that many of us."

She laughed. "You're telling me! Mrs. Freeland knew all about me, and I've just gotten here! And Rhonda ... well, I was her. For the past six and a half years, that's what I did ... in a place just like that, in Fort Worth."

"Six and a half years?"

"Since I was fourteen. Six days a week ... sometimes seven. Double shifts on Saturdays. From now on, tip her twenty percent. Do it for me."

He grunted, but smiled. "I'm going to give you an assignment, Deputy Ramirez," he told her.

She glanced sharply up at him. She couldn't tell if he was kidding or being serious, but she decided that she'd better be professional. "Yes sir. What do you want me to do?"

"See this place?" He jerked a thumb at the storefront they were passing. She hadn't been paying attention, so she stopped and looked at it. The sign hanging in the window proclaimed "Madam Dormir" in bold red letters. The window had professional lettering on one side. "Fortunes Told. Palms Read." And below that: "Homeopathic Herbs and Remedies." She had stared at the place for only a few moments before she became aware that the sheriff hadn't stopped, so now she had to hurry after him, her heels clicking rapidly on the concrete sidewalk.

She finally caught up to him. "What about it?" she asked, slightly winded.

"After you get settled in at the office, I want you to come back here. Afternoon is best; her ... uh ... clientele ... normally comes by at noon or just before school lets out, so make it about four o'clock."

"Who's her clientele?"

"Housewives, mostly," he answered. "A guy or two, every now and then, but mostly women ... young and old. Rich and poor. She doesn't seem to discriminate."

"Can't you at least tell me what you suspect her of doing?"

"Maybe nothing at all," he replied. They kept walking, almost to the office now. He didn't seem to want to look down at her. "She's an informant," he said hesitantly.

That really threw her. "I don't understand," Penny said, then repeated: "What do you want me to do?"

He shrugged. "Just go in and talk. Have her look in that crystal ball of hers. Get your fortune told. Be friendly. Get to know her. Come to my office in the morning and tell me what you think of her. Tell me your observations." He finally looked down at her. "Oh, and before you leave her, tell her I want to see her in the morning. My office. Nine-thirty."

She frowned. "Am I under cover? Is that why you wanted me to wear the dress?"

He barked a laugh. "I wanted you in a dress because I have a dress code, and blue jeans don't cut it for my female deputies. And that rinky-dink, sissy-ass academy uniform SURE as hell doesn't cut it. And as for being 'under cover;" well, hell! You've been on the job all of two hours, and everybody in town already knows who you are. In this town, everybody knows everybody ... and knows what they're doing."

"How can you have an informant in a town where everybody knows what everybody else is doing?" she puzzled aloud. "And what kind of name is 'Madam Dormir,' anyway? It might surprise you, but Spanish is NOT my first language. I'm kind of rusty, but isn't she trying to use a participle as a noun? Doesn't that translate to something like 'Madam ... Sleep?' What does she do ... bore people to death?"

He grunted. "Just do it, okay, Penny? I really need you to do this for me." He waited until she'd given him a nod, then strode across the parking lot toward the front door of the office. "Don't withhold anything; talk and be sociable. Be yourself. Play along with whatever she suggests."

She hustled to keep pace, and glanced up at him nervously. "Um ... Does she take credit cards?"

That made him laugh aloud. Chuckling, he took out his billfold and handed her a twenty dollar bill. As an afterthought, he gave her an additional three dollars. "I guess you'll be wanting to give her a generous tip."

Slightly miffed at his domineering attitude, she followed him into the sheriff's office while she fumbled the bills into her small purse.

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The little bell above the door didn't seem to have the power to summon anybody from the back of the establishment. "Hello?" Penny yelled plaintively. "Is anybody here?"

A woman's head appeared through a gap in the curtain behind the counter. "Hello there. Oh! You're someone new! Are you the new deputy? Penny ... is that right? What a lovely dress!" She paused and looked back into the room behind her. Penny, who had to force herself to close her open mouth, didn't have a chance to reply before the woman faced her again. "I'm sort of with a client right now. Can you give me about fifteen minutes? I've got her particularly deep ... I mean, we're in a particularly deep conversation. I need to finish up first. Can you wait? Oh, thank you! You're such a dear!" And she was gone.

She stared after the woman for a long time. This was her first assignment ... her first assignment in her first real professional job in her whole life. And so far, her first day at work on that job ... well, it had been awful, by anyone's measure. She had somehow avoided going into the restroom and crying. That's what she had felt like, more than once; curling up and crying her eyes out. Everyone had been so kind, so sweet, so accommodating. In the academy, she had felt like a failure ... and she had just kept telling herself that once she was out in the real world, it would all change ... that everything would be better ... that she would BE a professional! At long last, she was a trained expert at SOMETHING. But she wasn't. She was ... less. And she was beginning to think that she always would be.

She tried to snap herself out of her funk. The sheriff wanted impressions, observations, opinions. What had she observed? What had she felt? She looked around the sparse waiting room. There were pictures on the walls of the river ... the "rapids," she guessed, but all she saw was muddy water, jogging along relentlessly toward the Gulf of Mexico. She sat on the worn couch and tried to recall her first impressions of the woman behind the curtain. She seemed ... accommodating, friendly ... normal ... just like every elderly woman she had met in this town so far. And, she guessed, probably just like the large majority of elderly women in Texas.

Penny tried to think of specifics. The woman was obviously of Latin descent, though she had no real accent. Come to think of it, she didn't even have a Texas accent. More Midwestern, she guessed. She had probably once had beautiful hair, rich and black, but now it was shorter than shoulder length and dotted with gray. If she had to define Madam Dormir in one word, what would it be? It came to her with a sardonic finality. Motherly. It was ironic, because in that half-minute's timeframe, Penny found she liked the woman much more than she had ever liked her own mother.

The curtain parted, and a tall woman with platinum blonde hair walked out into the waiting room, looking back over her shoulder with admiring eyes at the woman who had greeted Penny, so that she didn't notice her sitting on the couch. At the room's center, she seemed incapable of containing her feelings any longer, and with a tear on her cheek, she spun around and engulfed the elder woman in her arms. "Oh, Madam, what would I do without you? You saved my LIFE! I ... I was cracking up, and you saved me!" She gave a quiet sob. "I ... I love you, you know that? I love you SO much!"

Madam Dormir hugged her in return and patted her back while looking nervously at Penny. "I love you, too, Emily. And I promise that everything's going to be alright. But, I have another client to see now."