Robert Rangel - The Red Dot Club

The Red DotClub

by Robert Rangel

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 by Robert Rangel

Cover design by Christy Lifosjoe

More information at www.robertrangelbooks.com

ISBN: 978-0-9903173-1-9

First edition 2014.

Second edition 2014

The Red Dot Club / Robert Rangel.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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This book is dedicated to all my fellow Red Dot ClubMembers alive, and honored dead. I salute you.

This is a very exclusive club. It has veryfew members in relation to the population of the world. No onewants to be a member, and the mark of the red dot is forced uponthose who after receiving it become members. This is the mark madeon the human body after being shot.

Taken from Robert Rangels personal homemadedictionary

To my academy Drill Instructor Ramrod, James JimMahone.

Feared by all, hated by some, loved by others.

Personally? I am, and was of the latter group.

Thank you for making us bleed, throw up, and curseyou. Your methods, harsh though they were, were correct.

I credit you with saving my life. Thank you.

Robert Rangel

Los Angeles County Deputy Sheriff, Retired

Los Angeles County Sheriffs Academy, The Hill.

Class 217

Wyatt Earp and the O.K. Corral.

How many times have we heard the story, seenthe movies? To my count there are eighteen movies and films on theO.K. Corral. Why?...Im not saying its not a good story. It is. Itis a true event which makes it all the better. But eighteen movies?Again I ask why?

I think it is because it titillates ourimagination. Whats it like to be in a gunfight? What were thoseguys like? Those guys mustve been really tough, brave, smart, fastand the good was on their side and they won. What a story.

Butyoure missing something.

The here and now. They walk amongst us now.Real day Wyatt Earps.

Yep. I know, cause I know them. You mighttoo and dont even know it. Some are my friends. Some areacquaintances. Maybe our real life, present Wyatt Earps are evenbraver and tougher than the original one. You decide.

Maybe the only difference between Wyatt Earpand these men is that you dont know their stories.

Well Im going to tell you.

It was my first hour in a radio car. Ever. Itwas 1982 and I was a civilian. Not sworn. There was a program whereif you had applied to be a Los Angeles County Deputy SheriffTrainee you could go on a ride along.

The ride along program was instituted so thatyou could ride in a radio car and see what it was like to workpatrol as a deputy. It was an unspoken thing that if you wanted tobe a deputy, you should go on a ride along before gettinghired.

Jerry was my cousins husband. He worked atthe Firestone Sheriffs Station. I knew so little at the time thatI did not realize the intensity of the crime that occurred in theWatts and surrounding area of Los Angeles. I later learned that itwas believed that anyone who spent any time working patrol in thesouth area of Los Angeles could handle police work anywhere in theworld. I came to believe it because when I later trained at LennoxStation, there were six murders in the first week where I worked inthe Vermont area.

I was riding along with Jerry and hispartner. A call went out. It was a man and woman fighting in themiddle of the street. Other deputies had arrived before we gotthere and were breaking up the fight when we pulled up. Theseparated man and woman were quieting down as we got out of thecar. There were several other patrol units standing by as backup tothe handling unit. It was a balmy evening, about eleven thirty, andeverything was quiet. The deputies were quietly talking to thecouple and they were all polite saying, yes, sir and no, sir tothe deputies. My heart slowed to a normal beat as I could see thiscall was a non-event.

Out of nowhere it happened! Bam, bam,bamdamabam, bambam. Gunshots! Everyone suddenly looked at eachother, and just as suddenly sprinted to their various radio cars,leaving the couple in the street looking after us. I realized thiswas for real. My heart was beating wildly, all my senses were onhigh alert and my adrenaline was pumping. I was high. It was aweird mixture of excitement and apprehension. This was not somepretend movie; I was living it. We went to the end of the block andturned right.

An African American man was sprinting at us,wildly waving his arms in the air. He was hysterically yelling, Mycudin, my cudin, he done gone crazy!! I think he done kiltsomebody!!

We were going to the gunfire. Where theshooting was. I knew right then, there was nothing else I wanted todo than to be a Los Angeles County Deputy Sheriff.

Robert Rangel

These stories include the actual locationswhere they occurred. The author has included the locations at thebeginning of each chapter, so if the readers want, they can go tothe Internet and look up the site and see the actual street view.In some instances the places changed as the events unfolded. Thestreet names are all included as they change so the reader canfollow the route on their maps. In the chapter titled Norco atleast one of the streets no longer continues through the route astold in the story. This is due to changing community developments,but for the most part the locations are still as they were and arevery accurate.

Hayworth Ave. and Norton Ave., WestHollywood, CA

I was sitting at the bar with Frank. I reallylike Frank. He is my kind of man. He has that sarcastic cop senseof humor that I love. He is really smart. I love that too. He seesthings when you dont think he sees them and is brave enough to saythem as they really are. This is not popular with society nowadays.I dont care. I love that too. Id rather sit with Frank and hearhis blunt truthfulness than sit with a bunch of clueless tippy toepeople.

Another thing I love about Frank is that hecan drink. And that night at the bar he turned to me and saidsomething Id heard before but always discounted. When he said it Itook notice, You know you are a hero.

I looked at him, No Frank. I just had thatexperience and survived.

He looked at me and said something else. Thatsomething else got me to thinking

Humph. He got me thinking

* * * * *

Some months after the event, I was at Seanswedding. It had not started yet. I was walking down the aisle ofthe church when a middle-aged woman came up and started kissing meon the cheeks. Thank you, thank you. Kiss. You saved him.Another kiss. You saved my son. Kiss. Without you he would bedead. Kiss, kiss, kiss.

I told her I didnt do anything. That it wasnothing. She would not hear of it and denied me my protestationsand continued to kiss me.

I write this now, thinking about her, and Iget teary eyed. I didnt tell her, but in the millisecond ithappened I thought Sean would die. How can you possibly win agunfight when someone has a gun to your partners face? In thatsituation someone is going to die, and that someone that night wasSean because he was the one with the gun to his face.

But Im getting ahead of the story.

* * * * *

I was assigned to detectives at WestHollywood, but that night I was working overtime. It was anon-detective nighttime plainclothes assignment where we were goingto find and arrest street-walking male prostitutes.