“You really are a piece of work. Your dad kicks you out, and you show up on my doorstep telling me you plan on staying here until you move to Milwaukee? How’s that supposed to make me feel?”
Mitch clenched his lips.
“Used. That’s how it makes me feel.” Her eyes blazed.
“I’ll get my stuff and leave.” He rose from the bed.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him back. ”God, you’re impossible.”
They finished off the buns and slipped under the cool cotton sheets. He buried his nose in her auburn hair, lost in the smell of her lavender-scented shampoo. The warmth of her firm body pressed against him had him hungry for more. He slid his hand down her side and up the inside of her thigh. Her hand moved below his waist, teasing his pubic hair with her fingertips. The taste of cinnamon on her lips was intoxicating. He was ready. She crawled on top and they settled into the blissful rhythm of lovers.
Mitch slept through the night for the first time in months. No tormenting images of Maggie or his mom jerked him awake.
* * *
Mitch woke to the sound of the shower and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. He pulled the shower curtain open to a cloud of steam. Jennie stopped shampooing and handed him a bar of soap. “Here, get my back.”
He worked the soap over her shoulders and back, then around to her breasts. She spun and faced him. “I got those already.” He pulled her slippery, soap covered body against his. She pushed him away. “Sweetie, this is really good. But I have to get going.”
He reached for the curtain, embarrassed.
“Wait, I can’t leave you like that. You’ll never get your pants on.” She wrapped her long fingers around his hard-on. “This won’t take long.”
Mitch groaned.
“You’re not pushing my hand away now, are you?” She smirked.
He was done in seconds.
She gave him a playful shove out of the shower. “I love you, Mitch Garner. Don’t you ever forget that.”
Chapter 8
Over the next three weeks, Mitch and Jennie worked out a plan. He promised to come home weekends during training, and she would continue working toward her nursing degree. When his wages kicked in, he’d send Chris money to help pay farm bills.
Mitch was sworn in on April eighth, 2002 at the Bureau of Administration in downtown Milwaukee and ordered to report to the Bureau of Instruction and Training the following day to begin training.
On the drive into Milwaukee, heading east on Good Hope Road, he passed through a tidy suburban neighborhood. The early morning sun filtered through the wooded lots, illuminating neatly landscaped yards. The smell of spring drifted into his truck. He passed a white two-story house bordered by mature lilac bushes that were budding out, stirring memories of the farm when his mom was alive. For two weeks every spring the farmhouse would be drenched in their aroma. His mom loved having a vase of the purple flowers on the kitchen table.
Further along the congested boulevard, he passed rows of strip malls and fast food joints. Further still, he passed massive factories, some with full parking lots, some empty and desolate. The metallic fumes of industry masked the smell of spring.
Beyond the factories, approaching Teutonia Avenue, block after block of deteriorating apartment buildings lined the street. Throngs of black people milled around the bus stops. This was nothing like downtown Milwaukee with the towering buildings along Wisconsin Avenue and the shimmering high-rise lakefront condos he had seen when he came in to get sworn in the day before.
Mitch’s stomach tensed when he spotted the three-story City of Milwaukee Safety Academy that stretched over a city block. He wheeled his pickup into the side drive, parking at the rear of the crowded lot.
The inside of the Academy reminded him of Milroy High, but much larger. At the end of the first hallway were the offices of the Police and Fire Academies; police to the left, fire to the right.
Mitch’s hard-soled cowboy boots echoed off the gray speckled concrete floor as he passed rows of classrooms. The cool air chilled the nervous sweat on his arms and face. A murmur of voices and laughter drifted from the open door of 206. He stepped inside and paused. The tiered classroom had the same gray plastic chairs with built-in trays and baskets as high school. At the back of the room, on one side, was a group of white guys, on the other side a group of black guys, and in the front, three young women.
The room went quiet with all eyes on him. Even the two instructors dressed in blue jumpsuits at the front of the room were staring. One had a purple scar running down the left side of his face, which forced that eye into a permanent squint.
The clack, clack, clack of Mitch’s boots rang through the hushed room as he dashed to a seat in the middle of the second row. Laughter trickled from behind him followed by hushed chattering. Mitch had never felt so out-of-place.
The round clock on the wall buzzed. Eight o’clock.
“Okay, people, shut your pie holes and listen up. I’m Lieutenant Hager. I’ll be your leader and boss for the next eighteen weeks. You will refer to me as sir or lieutenant.” He pointed to the scarred instructor. “This is Captain Stockley. He’s my boss. You will not address him unless he addresses you first. If you have questions for him, you will address them to me, and I will address them to him. That is called chain-of-command. And you will follow it. If Captain Stockley addresses you, you will respond to him as sir or captain.”
Captain Stockley narrowed his dark, ominous eyes at someone behind Mitch. “Put your hand down. I’ll tell you when to ask questions.”
Mitch looked back to see a skinny black recruit with elaborate tattoos flowing down both arms, lower his hand.
Hager passed out large white binders. “This will be your Bible for the next eighteen weeks. Take it home with you and get to know it from cover to cover. Sleep with it if you have to. Make love to it. I don’t care what you do with it, just know it intimately. It’s your training manual. You’ll be tested on the material and if you fall below passing grades, you’ll be dropped from training.”
While Hager passed out binders, Captain Stockley distributed forms. “We need your personal information. That way if you die stupidly during training we know who to contact to pick up your carcass. Don’t be dying on us. That’s an order. I hate paperwork. If you dare to get injured, I don’t want to hear about it unless there’s a bone sticking out.” He didn’t appear to be kidding.
“Work on those forms while we check in with the chief,” Hager ordered. “They will be done by the time we get back.”
The officers left.
A shrill voice from behind Mitch said, “Those dudes is serious, man. Specially Captain Scarface.”
Mitch glanced over his shoulder. The voice belonged to the tattooed recruit, who was now pointing at him. “Check out dude’s green hat. Who John Deere play for?”
“You fool. That’s a tractor,” said the recruit next to him.
“What do I know about tractors? Don’t see none a that shit around here.”
“You one ignorant brother.”
“Dude, why you wearing a tractor hat?” asked the tattooed recruit, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Laughter echoed through the room. Even the three young women in front snickered.
Mitch’s face burned.
The room quieted as the recruits went back to filling in their paperwork, giving Mitch time to calm down.
Assholes.
* * *
The officers marched in. Hager said, “Pass in the forms, then hustle to the locker room and change into your reds and report to the gym for PT, physical training.”
Mitch took a locker away from the others and pulled off his polo shirt.
The skinny tattooed recruit strutted across the room and pointed at Mitch’s arm. “What’s that spose to be?”
Mitch ignored him.
Three black guys scrambled over, gawking at the tattoo on his arm, a green squared oval with a yellow leaping deer in the middle.
“Dude, I
’m talking. What’s that shit on your arm?” the tattooed recruit said.
Mitch refused to answer.
“Dude, your girlfriend a deer?” The tattooed recruit turned to the three others. They all laughed. “I heard farm boys fuck animals. That some crazy shit there.”
Before he turned back, Mitch had him by the throat and slammed him against the locker. “You need to shut the fuck up.”
The recruit’s eyes bulged. His three friends moved in. Mitch let go. From the corner of his eye, he saw a group of white guys moving toward them.
The tattooed recruit raised his fists. “Who you think you’re fucking with?” He bounced on his toes. “Want some? C’mon then, bitch.”
Mitch went into his wrestling crouch.
A dark mountain of a man pushed through the others.
Holy crap, I’m dead.
The huge man turned his back to Mitch and said, “Stop acting a fool, LaMont. You get in a fight, they’ll kick you both out. Looks like he could mess you up anyway. Step off.”
“But, Jamal.”
“Step off, now.” Jamal scanned the room. “You all might want to get your shit on. I don’t think those bosses play.”
He leered at Mitch. “And you best watch yourself.”
Chapter 9
Hager strolled back and forth across the gym examining the segregated recruits. “You better become one big happy family fast or this will be one hell of a long eighteen weeks. Forget about your stupid cliques. You’re not in high school. You need to work as a team. If you do that, you just might get through the drills. When I call your name, stand where I point. This will be where you’ll start each day.”
After they were all in place, Hager said, “Most of you will be good at some things and suck at others. When one of you struggles, I expect the others to step up and help. When your ass is on the line, it won’t matter if your partner is black, white, or plaid, male or female. Only thing matters is they step up. So, first and most important lesson, never leave your partner behind. I’ll say it again, never leave your partner behind. You do that during training, you’ll be dropped. You do that in the field, we lose a firefighter. At the very least, you get a reputation as a stone. And the chief will be asking me why the hell I let you through.”
While Hager led them through the workout, Captain Scar stalked the group, shouting at slackers, shoving them down with his foot when they slowed on the pushups, and kicking their feet when they dropped their legs during the lifts. Before taking a break, Hager made them continue doing burpees until half the class collapsed, groaning. For Mitch, this was like training for a wrestling meet. Captain Scar watched him and nodded. Mitch chuckled to himself. Who’s laughing now, assholes?
Hager led the group out to the five-story concrete tower. The area above every window opening was blackened, giving it the appearance of a burned-out medieval castle. “This is the training tower. We’ll be climbing it, crawling through it, and puking in it. This is where you’ll see the gates of hell up close. We’ll be busting your weak asses so when the shit hits the fan, and it will, you don’t panic and screw up. Now, form a single line.” He pointed to the narrow, metal ladder that went straight up the fire escape connecting all the landings. “We’ll start each day by climbing the cat ladder. When you get to the top, come down the steps on the other side, then go up again. Climbing that needs to become second nature so when we start training in full gear, you don’t fall and wreck our schedule.”
The recruits gawked at the top of the imposing tower. Mitch wasn’t impressed. He’d been climbing ladders on silos and in haylofts since he was a kid.
Captain Scar stood next to the ladder holding a clipboard. “Shout your name when you get to the ladder.”
The first recruit approached the ladder. “Murphy.”
“You some kind of idiot, Murphy?” Hager asked.
Murphy glanced at the recruits.
“Look at me, not them. What did I tell you about addressing the captain? My five-year-old has a longer attention span.”
“Murphy, sir.”
“Better, now go.” Hager turned to the line of recruits. “Keep one floor between you. If you panic and can’t make it, get to the next landing and get off. Turn in your gear and have a good life.”
The fleshy white guy in front of Mitch, who struggled through calisthenics, stepped from the line. Mitch was now behind LaMont, who sneered at him.
Screw you, too.
Hager pointed the recruit toward the main building. “Turn in your gear at the office.” To the rest, he said, “There’s no shame in walking away. This job isn’t for everyone. In fact, it isn’t for normal people. Now, back to work.” Hagger nodded at Jamal.
“Jackson, sir,” the big man said. He attacked the ladder, scaling it with ease.
The others followed, shouting their names to Captain Scar. It was obvious most had never been on a ladder, at least not one going straight up five stories. Two recruits stepped off the ladder before reaching the top.
Mitch followed LaMont up the ladder. They covered the first three floors at a good pace. Between the third and fourth floor landings, LaMont slowed. Just below the fifth-floor landing, he stopped.
“Damn it, Franklin, you’re almost to the top. Keep going,” Hager hollered from the ground.
Captain Scar made for the stairwell.
LaMont looked down at Mitch with the terrified look of a wounded deer, his eyes wide and glazed. This was the same look Chris had the first time he climbed the ladder to the hayloft and froze near the top. After Mitch talked him into climbing the rest of the way, Chris never had a fear of heights again.
LaMont’s legs quivered. As much as Mitch wanted to beat the crap out of this guy, he couldn’t let him fall. “Listen, LaMont, only one floor to go. Look up and take one rung at a time.”
LaMont pulled himself tight to the ladder.
Mitch climbed to him and tried to pry one of LaMont’s hands off the ladder and run it up the outside beam. LaMont had a death grip on it. A surge of adrenaline crashed through Mitch. If LaMont fell, he’d take them both down. “You some kind of pussy? Guess you ain’t so tough, huh? C’mon, get pissed and stop screwing around. Goddamit, stop looking down.”
Captain Scar was one landing below and closing fast.
“Go. Now.” Mitch swatted him on the ass. “Snap out of it.”
LaMont’s eyes cleared like he was seeing Mitch for the first time. He blinked hard and looked up. LaMont slid his hands along the beam of the ladder and climbed, slow at first, then faster until he was over the top. He hurried down the stairs without looking back.
Mitch passed Captain Scar on the way down the stairs. The captain squinted his good eye at him. “Solid.”
After the recruits climbed the cat ladder a second time, Hager took them to the utility building at the far edge of the parking lot where the equipment, apparatus, and turnout were kept. It was designed like a firehouse with a hose tower for hanging wet hose and a classroom for lectures and demonstrations.
The rest of the morning the recruits were instructed in the proper use of the SCBA, self-contained breathing apparatus, and turnout gear. Hager demonstrated how to pull on the gear and how to don the breathing apparatus. Mitch watched the others struggle to don the SCBAs in under twenty seconds. He had drilled on this hundreds of times with the volunteer department.
Watch this, assholes. He did it in ten seconds, getting stares from the group, including Captain Scar.
After lunch, they gathered at a stack of old telephone poles smelling of tar. Hager picked up a long fire axe, examining the thick steel blade “You’ll become well acquainted with this technological miracle. It starts every time and never fails. You need to be like this axe and never fail.” He leered at the recruits. “I need a volunteer.”
They all gazed at their shoes except Mitch. “I’ll give it a try, sir.” He heard a few groans from the others. Yes, he was sucking up to the boss. Screw them.
“Okay, Farm Boy
. Let’s see what you got. Chop through that pole.”
Mitch lit into it, sending wood chips flying. Hager stood back with folded arms, watching. Halfway through the creosote hardened pole, Mitch’s arms burned. He gasped for air but kept chopping, barely able to grip the axe.
Hager tapped him on the back. “You can stop. Nice job.” He turned to the recruits. “Garner showed you how it’s done. Now it’s your turn. Have at it.”
The recruits banged away with most making little progress.
“I see people giving up. If you’re chopping a ventilation hole in a roof, you can’t give up, ever. The crew in the attic will be relying on you to get it open so they don’t get their asses burned. You need to keep chopping like Garner did when he was gassed.”
Mitch got some nasty looks. It wasn’t his fault they sucked. And maybe he was showing off. With the way they had laughed at him, he didn’t much care what they thought.
* * *
Before leaving for the day, they assembled in the classroom. Hager informed them there will be timed drills, and anyone not able to accomplish a task in the allotted time will be dropped from training. No grading curve, just pass or fail. Hager finished by saying, “Now go shower. And read the first chapter. You’ll be tested on it tomorrow.”
The subdued locker room clanged with slamming lockers. Mitch caught LaMont eyeballing him. “You’re welcome,” Mitch said.
LaMont’s head jerked sideways.
Figures.
Jamal lumbered over to Mitch. “Why’d you do that?”
Mitch’s body tensed. “LaMont said some things that pissed me off.”
Lockers stopped banging.
“I ain’t talking about that. He’s always peacockin’ and flapping his big ol’ Gumby lips.”
“I don’t—”
“What you did on the ladder. I passed you on the way down. Heard what you say to LaMont. Get what you did. Don’t get why.”
“The lieutenant said we’re supposed to help each other.” Mitch forced a smile. “You know, like one big happy family?”
“The way he messed with you this morning?” Jamal cocked an eyebrow. “Man, you one strange dude.” He went back to his locker.
Beneath the Flames Page 5