by Gary Beck
Before they could celebrate the new year, an unpleasant surprise disturbed their newfound harmony. On New Year’s Eve there was a knock on the door.
When Peter asked, "Who is it?" an irate voice growled,
"The landlord." Mr. Gratin was an angry, impatient man, with a flushed red face, small features submerged in fat and glaring eyes. He wore a grease-stained lambs wool jacket and a New York Giants cap with earflaps. When he found out that Peter was subletting the apartment, he insisted that the tenant didn’t have the right to sublet and that Peter was illegally occupying the premises.
Peter got the lease and showed the sublet clause to Mr. Gratin, which infuriated him. "I don’t care what that says. He didn’t have the right to do that. I want you out of this place.
"Peter began to wilt from the tirade, but managed to reply weakly, "We’re entitled to this apartment. We rented it legally."
Beth stepped in to calm the situation. "I’m Mrs. Harmon. We just moved in after signing a one-year lease for a sublet. If you’re not happy with us as tenants after eight or nine months, we’ll find another place."
He was outraged. "Eight or nine months. Are you crazy? I want you out of here now."
"I’m afraid that’s impossible. This place is ours for a year," Beth said.
He looked at her appraisingly. "Maybe we can make an arrangement. This apartment is worth a lot more than you’re paying for it and when it’s renovated, I’ll get $3,000.00 a month for it. I’ll let you stay if you give me $500.00 more per month."
Beth shook her head. "We can’t afford that."
"Well, that’s what it’ll cost you."
Beth was adamant, "No way."
"If that’s your attitude, I’ll have the cops evict you."
Peter twitched nervously, but Beth wasn’t intimidated, "You can’t evict us. We have a lease."
"We’ll see about that," Mr. Gratin yelled furiously and stormed out.
Peter was very agitated and kept asking Beth, "What’ll we do if he has us evicted?"
"Don’t worry," she said soothingly. "If he wants to get us out he’ll have to take us to court, where we can prove we’re legal tenants."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, sweetheart. We have a lease. He can’t kick us out."
"I hope you’re right."
Peter relaxed a bit and they had a pleasant New Year’s Eve, despite the lingering tension. On New Year’s Day, the landlord phoned and offered them $1,000.00 if they would move. Peter replied that he would have to discuss it with his wife and Beth said ‘no.’ When Peter rejected the money, Mr. Gratin cursed and threatened to ‘take care of them.’
Beth had her ear next to the phone, listening to the conversation and took the receiver, "If you keep bothering us, I’m going to call the police, and have you arrested."
He laughed coarsely, "Oh, yeah? I’d like to see you try it," and hung up.
They started getting phone calls late at night with no one speaking on the other end or breathing heavily. Then the caller started muttering curses and threats in a disguised voice. One night, exasperated at the harassment, Beth snatched the phone and said, "I know you’re the one doing this, Mr. Gratin. If you don’t stop, I’ll report you to the police." The calls went on and Beth finally went to the local precinct and complained. The weary desk sergeant informed her that there was nothing he could do without proof and recommended that she get caller I.D. This way she could identify who was calling her.
"What can you do then?" she asked hopefully.
"Nothing really, unless he threatens or something and you record it."
Beth instructed Jennifer not to answer the phone and they shut it off when they went to bed. The harassing calls continued, then they started finding garbage spilled at their door. When Peter suggested they consider moving, she said reassuringly,
"The landlord’s angry at the moment. Once he gets used to the idea of our living here, he’ll get over it. You’ll see. Things will calm down soon." Beth’s words were prophetic, for the next day the calls and garbage dumping stopped, and they went to sleep that night at peace for the first time in more than a week.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jaime Perez crept up the fire escape as quietly as he could and stopped at the third floor. He leaned over the guard rail to the kitchen window that he had been told didn’t have a gate. He waited patiently to be sure that no one on the street had noticed him, while vapor from the cold steamed out of his mouth. He pressed his short, skinny, drug-ravaged body against the wall until he felt ready, then he took a metal tool from his pocket and stealthily pried the window open. He couldn’t hear any sounds from the dark apartment, so he carefully slipped over the rail and climbed inside. The landlord had assured him that they didn’t own a dog, so although still alert, he began to relax. The landlord had also carefully instructed him how to place paper next to the pilot light of the stove, run a paper strip to the nearest inflammable material and ignite it so it would appear to be an accident. There was a cardboard cake box on a table next to the stove and he ran the strip of paper to the box. He paused and listened intently, his body a menacing hulk in the darkness, then greedily opened the box. It was some kind of pound cake, not his favorite, like chocolate or pineapple, but better than nothing. He broke off a chunk with a gloved hand and stuffed it in his mouth, crumbs dribbling on the floor.
The landlord had insisted that he not take anything, but a piece of cake didn’t count. Besides, the greedy pig would never know. Jaime needed a hit on the crack pipe and the sugar from the cake would settle his jangling nerves. He silently cursed the landlord for a moment. He knew why the landlord wanted this family out. Then he could renovate the apartment cheaply and triple the rent. When the tenants rejected what must have been a low offer and other pressures failed, the landlord sent for him. Jaime was known as ‘the torch’ to a few pitiless landlords on the lower east side, whose lust for profit at the expense of decency was aroused by gentrification. He could smell the paper by the pilot light smoldering, so he lit a match, put it to the middle of the paper strip and made sure it was burning both ways. Then he slid out the window to the fire escape and closed it behind him.
As he hastily went down the metal steps, he thought, ‘To hell with those gringos. Let them burn. They forced my people out of the neighborhood. Now they’ll get theirs.’
Some kind of noise brought Peter to the surface from a deep sleep. He groggily stretched, not sure what happened, then suddenly smelled smoke. He leaped up and dashed to the kitchen and saw the fire. The flames were high enough to keep him from reaching the sink with its flexible water hose, so he tore off his T-shirt and tried to smother the flames, but this only fanned them higher. He rushed back to the bedroom, pulled the covers off his wife and shook her arm.
"What’s wrong?" Beth sleepily asked.
"It’s a fire," he yelled. "We’ve got to get the kids out."
She instantly snapped awake and took charge, "I’ll take Jen and you take Andy." They hurried to the children’s bedroom, where Jennifer and Andrew were sound asleep. As the children gradually awakened, they wrapped them in their blankets and carried them out of the bedroom.
The smoke was rapidly spreading through the apartment. "Should I try to grab my wallet?" Peter asked.
Beth looked around and quickly decided, "Let’s get the kids into the hall, then you can see if it’s safe to go back inside." Flames were pouring out of the kitchen and the acrid smoke was blurring their vision. The children were wide awake now, frightened and crying. They made their way through the living room into the hallway that led to the front door. The room was rapidly filling with smoke and when Peter opened the door smoke billowed into the hall. They paused at the head of the stairs and Peter looked back, considering if he should risk returning for his wallet and other valuables.
Beth realized what he was thinking and said firmly, "No way you’re going in there."
He protested, "All our money and credit cards are in there, and our coats. It�
��s freezing outside."
She shook her head. "At least we’re not hurt. We’ll manage the rest."
Officer Herminio Corrado was just carrying a container of coffee to his partner in the patrol car, when he saw the flames burst out of the window from a house down the block. He knocked on the hood to get his partner’s attention, pointed, then set off at a run. He moved faster than the usual officer’s cautious approach to danger, since fire couldn’t attack him from a distance and rapid response was essential. But he was already trembling, and his insides were churning, because he was terrified of fire.
He leaped up the steps of the building and knocked loudly on each door as he passed, shouting, "Police! Fire!" When he got to the third floor, he found a family of four at the landing and yelled, "Get those kids out now!" The man started mumbling something about losing all their possessions, but there was no time for that nonsense. "Get going. You can worry about your things later." He gave the man a shove and watched him start downstairs, as the woman tugged him along.
The flames were shooting out of the apartment door and smoke was filling the hallway. He hesitated, afraid of being trapped by the fire, then started upstairs to warn the other tenants. He was halfway up the flight of stairs, when someone grabbed him from behind and he almost jumped out of his skin. He turned around and saw that it was a fireman in full protective gear, looking like a giant insect, ready to dip its proboscis.
The fireman pulled up his mask and said, "I’ll take it from here."
Relief zoomed through his body. "Thanks, buddy." He watched the alien figure hurry upstairs and thought, ‘Thank you, thank you. I don’t know how you do it, but better you than me.’ He quickly went downstairs and out of the building.
His partner was waiting and congratulated him for his fast reaction. "You did good, Coro."
He nodded thanks, then confided; "I could never be a fireman. It scares the shit out of me. I’d rather face a gunman any day." His partner grunted agreement. "Me too."
Firefighter Eugene Jones was dozing in his seat, heading back to the firehouse after shopping for dinner at an expensive grocery. When the call came in they were only a few blocks from the scene, so it only took a minute or two to get there. He put on his gear as they went, holding on to the safety bar with one hand as they tore around the corner. They were the first truck on the scene and he adjusted his mask and rushed into the building, followed by the rest of the crew. Tenants were streaming out and he carefully forced his way upstairs through the panicky flow. He saw the cop ordering some tenants out, caught up to him on the stairs and told him that he’d take over. As the cop started downstairs, he thought, ‘I could never be a cop. I’d be terrified if someone was shooting at me.’ He shook his head at the distraction, then went and knocked on each door on the fourth floor. By this time, the commotion, sirens and smoke had awakened everybody, and he calmly urged them to leave the building.
One of his partners had evacuated the fifth floor and came down and beckoned him to help check the apartment directly over the fire. The door was ajar, and they entered warily, concerned with a sudden blaze through the floor. They knelt and felt the kitchen floor, which was hot, but not incendiary. They carefully checked the walls, then the rest of the apartment and followed the same procedure in the hall. They didn’t find any indicators that the fire had spread upstairs. The smoke was already dissipating, so they went downstairs to the apartment where the fire started to help the rest of the crew. By the time they got there, the fire had been extinguished and they joined the search for any further hot spots. The kitchen and part of the main bedroom were thoroughly burned, but the destruction to the rest of the apartment was moderate. Gene studied the scene and thought the damage looked peculiar but left it for the fire marshal to examine. He saw that he wasn’t needed, so he began to lug fire hose downstairs.
Peter was freezing in his pajamas and Beth wasn’t much warmer in the bathrobe she had managed to put on before their rapid escape. They had been able to snatch down coats for the children, so at least they were warm, but they were still traumatized by the sudden evacuation. The organized chaos that had followed the fire had shattered the once calm night for them. Neighbors had poured out of their houses, eager for the spectacle of disaster. Although disappointed that no one had jumped, a fiery meteor plunging to earth, or had been carried out blackened and smoldering, the crowd avidly gaped at the building, faces tense with expectation, still hoping for something titillating. The flashing red lights on the fire trucks and police cars cast incandescent glows on the savage spectators, who didn’t seem overly evolved from their ancient ancestors. Peter watched in utter bewilderment, unsure of what to do next.
Beth sensed his confusion, "Ask someone if we can go back to our apartment, now that the fire is out."
Peter looked around and saw a fireman coiling hose nearby and called to him, "Excuse me. Can we go back to our apartment now?"
The fireman turned his head and looked at him tiredly. "Sorry, sir. The fire marshal has to inspect the premises to determine the cause of the fire. Then they have to check the building for safety and stability."
Peter’s voice was getting shrill. "When do you think we can get in there?"
"Maybe tomorrow afternoon, depending on the damage."
"Can’t we just get some clothes? We’re freezing our butts off."
"That’s just not possible," the fireman said. "But I can give you some blankets that’ll at least keep you warm." The fireman walked to the truck and pulled out some gray, heavy wool blankets and handed them to Peter, who just stood there and asked dumbly,
"What do we do now?"
"Do you have somewhere to go for the rest of the night?"
"No."
"Friends? Family?"
"No."
"Why don’t you bring these blankets to your family," the fireman said. "I’ll see if I can get someone to help you." Peter shuffled back to Beth, lugging the blankets, dazed by the distressing events.
Gene saw the cop from the stairs leaning on his patrol car and walked over to him. "Hey, pal, how’re ya doin?"
The cop’s face was streaked with soot, but he looked cheerful. "O.K. What about you?"
"Good. We didn’t lose anybody." They grinned at each other in the instant camaraderie that shared danger brings, especially to the uniformed services.
The cop extended his hand. "I’m Coro."
Gene took his hand. "I’m Gene." They stood there for a moment, reassured by the bond that helped them protect civilians.
Coro said confidingly, "I almost pissed my pants."
Gene whispered, "When you’re a firefighter, they spray so much water on you that no one notices." They laughed comfortably together.
"Thanks, buddy," Coro said.
Gene smiled. "That’s O.K. Listen, there’s a family that doesn’t have anyplace to go."
"Where?" Gene pointed.
"There." Coro recognized them from the stairs.
"I’ll see what I can do. Take care, buddy."
"You, too." Gene waved cheerfully, then went back to coiling hose.
CHAPTER SIX
Coro walked to the family, who were huddling together, bewildered survivors of the sudden catastrophe. "Hi, folks. I’m Officer Corrado. I understand you don’t have anyplace to go." He was a stocky welterweight type, with blond hair that for a Hispanic man must have been a source of teasing all his life.
Peter looked at Beth, who shrugged. "If I could go upstairs and get my wallet with my credit cards, we could check into a hotel," Peter said. "It’s on the night table in the bedroom."
"They won’t let you go up there, but I can ask one of the firefighters if he can get it for you."
"Thanks, Officer Corrado, we appreciate your help. If he goes to our apartment, could he bring some clothes for us?" Beth asked.
"I don’t know, ma’am, I’ll see what I can do." They waited tensely as Officer Corrado went to the fireman who had given them the blankets. They watched the conversatio
n, trying to interpret the gestures. When the cop pointed to them and the fireman nodded, they felt a spark of hope.
Officer Corrado walked back to them and said pleasantly, "The firefighter’ll go up in a few minutes and have a look around. If you need me, I’ll be by my patrol car. Good luck." He touched his hat in salute and walked off, as Peter and Beth murmured thanks.
Jennifer and Andrew had listened to the conversation with the policeman, so they knew he was going to their apartment. They watched him go into the building feeling that after a little clean-up, they would go upstairs to the comfort of their beds.
Andy, who normally teased or insulted his big sister, asked in a quavery voice, "How long do we have to wait? I’m tired."
Jen, who usually maintained a superior attitude and occasionally yanked Andy’s hair when he was too annoying, answered gently, "I don’t know, but it shouldn’t be too long."
"It better not be. I’m cold," Andy said. Jen was tempted to smack him on the head for being a spoiled brat, after they just escaped with their lives. Instead, she pulled the blanket they were sharing closer around them and put an arm around him comfortingly.