Cemetery Cop 2 - Chapter 4 excerpt
STALLED OUT It wasn’t unusual to have a car battery die every now and then in the cemetery. I had a problem with that the very first time they let us drive the new VW patrol cars. I pulled in front of head office at the end of the night to secure the building, file my report and when I came out to head home the engine was dead. Fortunately, Vincent was in the area and popped by to give me a boost. It was inconvenient only in that I ended up getting back to the security office to sign-off my shift an hour late. No harm done.
However, on two occasions there were stalled cars that needed a boost. Unfortunately, my employers failed to supply us with anything like cables or anything else we might need in an emergency situation (like a shovel, First Aid kit, fire extinguisher or blanket). I’m not sure if it was a liability issue or another example of being too cheap to keep us supplied.
The first stall was an older model GM van that was converted into a wheel-chair accessible vehicle for an old couple who was at head office to do some pre-planning for their funerals, hopefully, far in the future. It was already dark and the gentleman had come out to fire up the vehicle and get it heated before fetching his wife who had the mobility issues. Alas, the van wasn’t turning over. The assistant manager called me to see if I could help. I drove over to check the situation but I had no cables. We spent ten minutes ringing up the staff members who were still on site until we could find someone and I went and retrieved the cables.
I brought them back for the old man and he swiped them from my hand in a huff, “I’m not impressed with the service at this cemetery. First you have the nerve to try and take all our money for the plots we bought and now you can’t even give us a boost right?”
I was at a loss to respond to him. He wasn’t wrong but it wasn’t my cemetery and it wasn’t actually my job to boost his car. I technically had the right to just leave him there and have the car towed away at closing time if he couldn’t move it. But being a dick would only get me fired. I offered my apologies on behalf of the cemetery and pulled my car around to facilitate the boost. He banged on the front of the car and I popped the hood. He was testing my patience.
By the time I got out of the car he’d already put the terminals on my car battery. As he turned and walked over to his van to do the same I realized immediately he had the polarities reversed. If I didn’t fix it immediately he could blow both batteries and we’d all be stranded.
He turned to see me re-arranging the cables and scowled, “What are you doing?”
“Double checking the connections.”
He raised his eyebrows and turned to put the cables on his own battery. He couldn’t reach it. The battery was at the back of the engine compartment near the firewall. With the suspension elevated for the automated wheel-chair accessories the van was too tall for him. He looked defeated and let his guard down. The red and black cables in his hand touched momentarily and sparked scaring the crap out of him. He dropped the cables on the ground and they shimmied and sparked.
I walked over and put one foot in the middle of the cables and bent down to untangle them. After picking them up I waved at him, “Get in, I’ll hook it up. You’re going to need to pump the gas when I do.”
He mumbled, “I know how this works, young man.”
I ignored him and reached over to connect the cables to his battery, “Fire it up!”
He gave the ignition a couple of turns. The headlights flickered for a minute then died.
“Do it again!”He yelled out his window, “It’ll burn out the starter.”
“Wait until I fire up my car. Then give it another try.”
I got in and started up the patrol car. I flicked the spotlight on the roof of my car to signal him. He turned the ignition and the van started up immediately. I continued revving the patrol car. I looked up and he’d grabbed the cables and yanked them with all his strength from where he stood in front of the van. There was a shower of sparks and he dropped the cables to the ground, slammed his hood shut, got in the van and took off.
You’re welcome, ass-hat.
The second stalled vehicle was a little more complicated to resolve. There is a ravine leading to a valley and a river in Beacon Hill. It’s where I’d previously had a staring match with a coy-wolf on a snow bank one winter’s night.The road leading through the ravine has a cul-de-sac at the end. It’s a one-way road leading in and a secondary road heading back out. That road went up the opposite side of the ravine and was quite steep. Water run-off from the embankment was unending as the cemetery only had natural drainage so as to maintain the natural setting of the ancient trees and foliage.
On this particular day the run-off had frozen across the width of the road and down its length. It was a skating rink. The cemetery crew had dropped brine to help melt it, but it wasn’t very effective. Having seen the icy effect before I avoided leaving the ravine on that stretch of road. I’d cheat and go back up the one-way stretch in hopes I didn’t meet another car coming at me.
The visitors weren’t as savvy or knowledgeable. A woman had taken the icy embankment road in a restored old school 1965 Fiat 500F which was stick-shift driven. She got about halfway up the hill and the car stalled out (I suspect she popped the clutch). Restarting meant engaging the brake, clutch and gearing down again quickly before the car rolled backwards. She didn’t manage the transition. When I found her the car had slid down the hill and partially up the retaining wall where the road curved down the ravine. The front of the car was on the road. The back of the car was about two feet off the ground propped up by a tree trunk. She’d effectively slid up a tree…backwards.
She was standing beside the car talking on her cellphone when I arrived. I parked in the ravine and walked up to where she was.
“Having some trouble, I see.”
“Ugh. I can’t believe this. I have to meet a client to show a house. I don’t have time for this right now.”
I noticed the pantsuit and faux fur coat. She was clearly a real estate agent.
“Do you mind if I try and move the car for you?”
“Please do. My husband took the Jag and left me with this God damn antique. It’s a piece of crap.”
I barely fit in the driver’s compartment. It was the same problem then new Fiat 500’s had when I drove them at the rail yard. The drive compartment is about the size of the original Mini Coopers in the 1960s. Apparently, Europeans weren’t very tall back then. I put the emergency brake on and moved the stick shift around to get it into Neutral. With my right foot on the brake, I depressed the clutch with my left and turned the key. Nothing. I tried it again. Still nothing. I tapped the gas and repeated the procedure. Nothing. It wasn't turning over. In fact, the car wasn’t making a sound. The woman was pacing and still talking on her cellphone. I opened the driver’s door again and the interior dome light didn’t come on. I flicked the toggle on it. No change. I shut the door again and pulled the handle for the headlights – it was a long metal bar with a button on the end. As I pulled it back it should have transitioned through the stages of all the exterior lights on the car – parking, running, headlights and with a twist the dashboard lights on the inside should have come on. Nothing. I got out of the car and waved at the woman. She looked perturbed, “Well?” “Well, you’ve got a dead battery. You’re going to need a boost or a new battery. I won’t know until we try and hot wire it.” “Are you fucking kidding me?” She turned and started yelling into her phone. She was going to be late for her client meeting. I called the office and asked them to send one of the ground crew out with cables. I went back down the hill and sat in my warm car. I continued to watch the woman yell and gesticulate with her arms flailing about in anger. A truck arrived about five minutes later with one of the lead ground crew guys, Tyrell, who brought a jumper pack with him. It was a large battery with cables attached so you could boost a vehicle even if you had no other vehicle nearby. It proved to be exactly what we’d need. Tyrell looked at the car backed up on the tree and looked at me and started to laugh, “Here I thought I’d seen everything.” We both walked up the incline together. The woman stepped aside and didn’t break from her conversation for even a second. “Fiats have the engines in the back,” I told him. “No shit, eh? This should be fun.” “That’s only half the problem. The battery isn’t in the engine compartment. It’s under the back seat which means removing it to get at the battery. The old Volkswagen Beetles were the same. Not the best design idea. They changed it in the ‘70s. Maybe this is a later model.” I waved my arms to get the woman’s attention so I could ask her what I knew was going to be a futile question, “What year is the car, ma’am?” Her answer didn’t surprise me, “How the fuck should I know?” Thanks. Thanks for all your help. “Tyrell, go around to the passenger side and look under the seats. I’ll do the same over here.” He opened the door and kneeled down to get a better look. We were able to see each other as we looked under the seats from both sides of the car. “There’s a black box underneath the middle of the bench seat in the back. Just like I thought.” “Sonofabitch.” “I’m not tearing this car apart just to find out that the battery is dead. If we were to boost the car we’d still need to push it down off this tree and get it up the hill.” Tyrell scratched the stubble on his chin, “I wouldn’t trust a tow truck on this icy hill. I can get the tow-motor from the Section 3 utility shed. It has a winch on it. We can pull it up the hill and a tow truck to haul it off site.” I had to distract the woman again, “Do you have CAA, ma’am? We’re going to have to pull the car off the tree and up the hill and then have it towed to a garage. The battery is under the backseat and will need to be removed by a mechanic.” “Oh, ferfucksake. This is absolutely fucking great. Just great!” Tyrell went and retrieved the tow-motor and brought manpower reinforcements. There was now four of us standing around looking at this car on a tree. I should have taken pictures but I was afraid prima donna lady would have sued the cemetery or me or all of us. We grabbed the rear of the car and eased it down off the tree. The guys put the tow-motor at the top of the hill and we fastened a hook underneath the car. He began to slide slightly. Two of guided the car on the icy slope as they reeled in the cable. It took about 20 minutes to get it to a clear area at the top of the hill. We were freezing our ass off.
To our surprise CAA was waiting for us. The woman had at least made the call to save her own ass. She never thanked anyone. She sat in the cab of the tow truck while the driver hooked the car to the back. All in a days work, ma’am. Don’t worry about us.