The making of a legend
by Julie Carter
This story has been told around campfires, roping arenas,
beer coolers and white tablecloth restaurants with ongoing hilarity that is
enhanced only by knowing the players personally.
It was the early ’90s in California and a cowboy and his
bride had been to a high-fallutin’ paint horse sale. Conversation, barbeque and
alcohol energized the crowd and encouraged hand raising and check writing.
Paul had been drinking some, but not a lot, and his wife
Ineta had only one beer before they left the party and headed home. Paul was
driving when they were pulled over by the flashing blue and red lights with a
second patrol car behind the first.
The police officer told Paul he was speeding and also noted the open container of beer between his legs. He told him to get out of the pickup and proceeded to take him around to the squad car to begin the field sobriety test.
From her side of the pickup, Ineta could see Paul performing
the clap, clap, clap, followed by a ballerina pose, a walk the line and touch
his nose performance.
Passing the field test, Paul stayed with the officer while
Ineta remained in the pickup upon the orders of the two patrolmen “guarding
her,” --one a “buffed-up blonde cop” as she described him. She watched as they
put Paul in the other patrol car and then she saw one of the officers hit him
with his flashlight. That lit a fire in the cowgirl.
As Ineta attempted to leave the pickup, a cop slammed her
back and told her to keep her backside (expletive downplayed) in the vehicle.
Ineta’s cowgirl-tough but not always smart instincts came to
life. With her knee, she rammed the cop and took him to the ground. This tiny
5’4” cowgirl, was on the fight and had lost any of her good sense in the fray.
The other cop, standing by, jumped in and even with two, they couldn’t take the
kicking wildcat down.
They called for backup and the other two cops attending Paul
joined in. It took all four of them, but they finally had cuffs on her hands
and legs. They threw her in the back seat of the squad car.
Her only question was, “What are you doing?” The officers
ignored her, talking on the radio and the words “assault on an officer” were
heard.
She and Paul were separated and she wouldn’t see him again until
the next day. Ineta was put in an isolation cell for booking and
fingerprinting. Later she was taken to the cell where she’d spend the night.
With the slamming of the cell door, Ineta looked around, now
smarter than she’d been a few hours before. She could see she was in a cell
full of prostitutes representing the night’s roundup. There was a bench on the
wall and a toilet in the middle of the room. The urge to pee that had seemed an
emergency earlier, left her in fear.
Giving her an appraising eye, the tattooed, dressed-up
“ladies of the night” resumed their conversation about the events of the
evening and the tricks they’d turned. This was business as usual for them.
With her hair, clothes and general appearance looking like,
well, like she’d been wrestling with cops, Ineta knew she was about to be
quizzed. At some point, one of the girls turned to her and asked, “What about
you, what did you bring in tonight?”
Ineta, once again in possession of her full mental faculties
that had escaped her earlier, stuttered briefly, recognizing that for her
safety she needed to fit in. This was a very intimidating, mean-looking bunch
of women.
Her quick mind knew she’d better come up with a number
they’d believe. “Twenty,” she said. “I did 20.” It seemed to satisfy the bunch
and they accepted her as one of them for the night.
As the story was told and retold, both to the entertainment
and embarrassment of the couple who did best in laughing at themselves, Ineta
was forever tagged with the nickname, “20 Tricks.”
More than two decades later, her debut as 20 Tricks remains
legendary.
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