Late in the afternoon, Mitch was at the joker stand, studying the training manual. Rattling. Alexus stood at the glass door of the firehouse wearing a fluorescent pink T-shirt, smiling wide, exposing two missing front teeth. Tight black braids hung over her face. Her pencil-thin legs peaked from her baggy shorts which hung to her knobby knees. Mitch recognized the four other kids crowding around her. They were the same ones who were there last month. He remembered the name of one of the boys, Kyle, but couldn’t remember the others. Kyle’s face was as grimy as the last time. He wore a grungy Green Bay Packer jersey that hung past his knees. The faded “80” and the name “Driver” were barely visible.
Jasmine hovered behind the group. She had straightened her jet-black hair that now hung past her shoulders and accented her smooth, coffee-colored complexion. She didn’t appear twelve anymore.
Mitch swung the door open and Jasmine said, “About time. We’re getting wet out here.”
Alexus giggled. “We back.”
The elation Mitch felt from seeing them was tempered by Jasmine’s unsettling appearance. Was this DeAndre’s work?
The children scampered past him to the apparatus floor. He caught a whiff of Kyle as he ran by. The boy smelled like Mitch’s high school locker room.
Jasmine pointed at his chest. “Hope you better with them than last time.”
By the time he locked the door and followed them in, Kyle was on top of a smaller boy trying to wrestle an unbroken crayon from him. The three girls chased each other around the table, squealing. Mitch went to the end of the table. “Hey, guys, guys, listen.”
They ignored him.
“Kyle kick me in the nuts,” shouted the smaller boy.
“C’mon, listen up. We should work on school stuff.”
The kids paid him no attention.
The smaller boy twisted and squirmed under Kyle, who grinned deviously. Mitch yanked Kyle off the sobbing child. “Okay, that’s enough.”
Kyle whirled and punched Mitch square in the groin, bending him at the waist, sucking the wind out of him. He instinctively clenched his fist but caught himself. “Damn, you. Don’t you ever do that again.”
Jasmine giggled. “Yup, I can see you sure know kids.”
He had never seen her smile, much less laugh. “You teach him that?”
He dragged the two boys to the table and plunked them down. As soon as he turned to rein in the girls, the boys were back at it.
“Any suggestions?” Mitch asked Jasmine over the loud squealing and shouting.
“Not my job.”
“Thanks.”
“Just chill. Suppose I owe you.”
“Don’t owe me anything. I know your mom made you bring the kids back.”
“Don’t know as much as you think.”
Jasmine snatched Kyle off the other boy, dragged them both to the table, and jammed them in the miniature chairs. “Now sit.” One mean look from her and the girls ran to their seats. “Now keep your behinds in those chairs and listen to the man. He got something to teach y’all.” She flashed Mitch a mocking grin. “They all yours, Mr. Teacher.”
Now what? “I forgot some of your names. Can you introduce yourselves?”
The kids looked at each other with scrunched brows.
“He mean, tell him your name,” Jasmine said.
Alexus sprang from her chair. “I’m Alexus. Everybody call me Lexus. Rather be called Lexi though and this here—”
“Why don’t we let the other kids tell me their own names?” He raised his hand. “Wait, I’ve got an idea. Stay put. I’ll be right back.” Mitch rushed to the study room and brought back a large whiteboard they used for training.
“Okay, Lexi. What’s your favorite color?”
“Like me some red.”
In large red letters, he printed “Alexus” followed by a dash then “Lexi.”
He handed the marker to Alexus. “Now copy what I wrote right below it.”
Alexus neatly printed her name and nickname. Before she got back to her seat, Kyle snatched the red marker from her hand.
Mitch grabbed the boy’s wrist. Kyle punched at him. He caught the boy’s hand and squeezed hard. This kid was beyond pissing him off.
The boy struggled to get free. Jasmine covered her mouth, trying not to giggle.
“Soon as you cool down you can take your turn,” Mitch said.
The boy stopped struggling.
Mitch released his hand. “Ready for your turn now?”
The boy nodded. Mitch wrote Kyle’s name on the board and handed him the red marker. Kyle hesitated, so Mitch wrapped the boy’s hand in his and together they wrote his name. Kyle smiled at the board.
The other children all took their turns printing their names in their favorite colors.
“You all know how to write your names now. Nice job.”
Kyle arched his back and tilted his head to the ceiling. He clenched his fists and whimpered, “Uh, uh, uh.” His eyes went wide and mouth gaped open. The moaning stopped abruptly along with his breathing.
A chill shot through Mitch. He lifted the stiff boy from the chair and carefully laid him on the floor. “I gotta get help,” he said to Jasmine. “Can you watch him?”
“Kyle was a crack baby. He has fits. He’ll sleep a while when it stops,” Jasmine said in a matter-of-fact way as if she were telling him the boy was born with black hair.
The other kids were oblivious to Kyle’s seizure.
“Doesn’t he go to the hospital?”
“Nope. His momma probably forgot to give him medicine again.”
“I gotta let the boss know. Keep an eye on him.”
“He ain’t gonna do nothing.”
The captain told Mitch the boy had seizures here before. As long as it subsided quickly, there was no need for medical attention. He usually recovered pretty fast. If not, they’d call in a med unit. The first time it happened they took him in, and the mother went ballistic about how she had to go all the way downtown to Sinai Hospital and pick him up. She said the next time she’d leave him there; the fire department could get him home.
Mitch raced to the dorm and brought down a pillow and blanket. He lifted the boy off the cold concrete floor and slid the blanket under him, gently lowering his head onto the pillow.
“Sure he’s okay?” Mitch asked Jasmine.
“Just leave him be.”
He was taking advice from a young girl, a kid. How smart was this? But this young girl seemed wise about things he knew nothing about. Seizures had been covered in the EMT manual and he saw calves having seizures but never a person.
“Jasmine, can you stay with Kyle while I show them the truck?”
She sat down next to the softly snoring boy.
Mitch stood. “Guys, c’mon over to the fire truck. I’ll let you sit in the driver’s seat.”
The children sprang from their chairs and dashed to the rig. He lined them up and lifted each one into the driver’s seat when it was their turn. They grabbed the steering wheel, swinging it back and forth, pretending to drive. The warning lights washed the apparatus floor with beams of red and white.
Mitch was lifting Alexus into the rig when Jasmine and Kyle shuffled over. “Do I get a turn?” Kyle slurred.
“Is it okay if Kyle goes next?” Mitch asked.
Alexus nodded. He put her down and lifted Kyle into the cab.
Kyle wanted to know what all the controls and dials were for. When Mitch showed him the cable for the air horn, Kyle yanked it. The deafening blast rattled the inside of the firehouse. A broad smile broke across Kyle’s face.
Crusher burst from the kitchen. “Get those kids off my rig.”
“Okay, guys. We’re done for today. See you Monday.”
It was worth getting a bite in the ass from Crusher to see the smile on Kyle’s face. He ushered the kids to the door.
Jasmine stopped. “You one strange cracker.”
Chapter 26
Before getting off work the follow
ing morning, Crusher invited Mitch for a drink, telling him to stop by Norby’s Squeezebox on Lincoln Avenue around seven. He and Kenny wanted to take him out to show their appreciation for fixing the rig on Wednesday.
This had to be another prank.
* * *
The solid white door was darkened with smudges around the pitted chrome handle. Above it, a flickering neon sign read Norby’s Squeezebox. At eye level were the handwritten words Polka Spoken Here. Mitch took a deep breath before pulling the heavy door open.
Inside he was assaulted by a fog of tobacco, the smell of stale beer, and oompah music playing from a jukebox in the corner. Four men and two women seated at the mahogany bar eyed him suspiciously. At the back of the dingy room, five men sat around a small table studying their cards and flicking cigarette ashes into clear glass ashtrays. This was nothing like the lively crowd at the Rock River Hideaway. He spotted Crusher’s wide ass hanging over the back of a round barstool at the far end of the bar. Kenny stood next to him in serious conversation, his hands flailing in the air.
Crusher waved Mitch over and pointed toward an empty stool. “Well, well, well. Look who showed.”
Mitch glanced around the bar. “Ahh, nice place.”
“Yeah, a real four-star lounge. The maître d’ show you in?”
Kenny slapped him on the back. “Hey, kid. What’ll you have? I’m buying.”
Mitch took the stool between them. “Beer’s fine.”
Kenny hollered to the beet-faced bartender at the far end of the bar, “Norb, a round of boilermakers.”
The portly man waddled to their end of the bar, lined up three shot glasses, and filled them to the brim with Jim Beam. He poured three mugs of foaming Miller High Life from the tap and placed one in front of each of them. Crusher and Kenny splashed the whiskey into their beers. Mitch followed suit. Crusher lifted his mug. “Here’s to our ace mechanic.”
They clinked their mugs together and chugged.
“You come over the Sixteenth Street Bridge?” Kenny asked.
“Yup.”
“You know that’s the longest bridge in the world?”
“What you talking about?”
Kenny raised his eyebrows. ”How many bridges connect Africa and Poland?”
Crusher scowled. “Jesus, you’re such a knob.”
Kenny thrust a finger in the air. “Norb, set us up again.” Kenny winked at Mitch. “When we drink, we drink. We don’t fuck around.”
Two rounds later the booze took effect, and Mitch couldn’t hold back. “What you did with those donuts was nasty.”
Crusher frowned. “Listen, kid. Things aren’t always what they seem.”
“You jam donuts in your asses and trick those guys into eating them. How’s that not nasty?” Feeling bold from a belly full of whiskey and beer, he went on. “And how can you guys joke about people dying?”
“Look,” Crusher said. “We see shit nobody should have to see. I know it’s sick, but if we sat around feeling grooblick about it we’d all take the route, or end up dribbling down our chins. That’s how we deal with it.” Crusher stared at the bar. “Lost some good firefighters over the years who couldn’t. Most quit. A few took the route. Lost a good friend that way.” Crusher paused. “Okay, enough.”
Crusher’s words cut through the alcohol fog. A few took the route.
“Should I tell him?” Crusher asked Kenny.
“Probably better.”
“The doughnuts we sent over weren’t the ones we had sticking out of our asses. But those jags don’t need to know that. We’re sick, but we do have limits.”
Mitch had to laugh. Nic was right. These guys were masters.
Kenny belched. “So, kid, you getting laid or jagging off?”
Mitch’s face throbbed. “I have a girlfriend back home.” At least I used to.
Kenny frowned. “Not what I asked.”
He didn’t want to piss these guys off, so he answered with another lie, “Well, yeah we’re having sex. Why’d you ask that?”
“Wanted to see if you’d bullshit me and say something stupid like you weren’t doing either one. Listen up and learn from the oracle in your presence. Forget that snapper back home. You’re young. Never miss a chance to get your cane polished. No such thing as a bad piece of ass. Love is something dreamed up by Hallmark.” He belched again. “They’re all bipolar. Every one of ’em.”
Kenny pulled a wallet from his back pocket and slammed it on the bar. “There’s true love.” He pointed at the faded leather wallet. “Right there.”
Mitch held onto the cracked black vinyl padding lining the front of the bar. The beer and whiskey had him reeling. “You married?” he asked Kenny.
Crusher choked on his beer. “Who could stay married to a dickhead like him?” He grinned at Kenny. “And I mean that in the nicest way.” He turned back to Mitch. “The man’s been divorced three times; pays child support and alimony to all of them. So the oracle here might not be all that full of wisdom.”
Kenny waved his middle finger at Crusher.
“You meet anyone here yet?” Crusher asked.
“I’m thinking of asking Nic out. Seems like she’s interested.”
Kenny and Crusher howled with laughter.
“What?”
Kenny restrained a belch. “That girl ain’t interested in dick. She’s a carpet muncher, for Christ’s sake. Gotta love you, kid. You crack me up.”
“Crap,” Mitch said. “She’s really hot.”
Crusher waved his palms. “Hot’s overrated. Now listen to my advice. Forget what the oracle told you. Find yourself someone to laugh with. You can laugh all day, but you can’t screw all day. My sweet Brunhilda ain’t much to look at; in fact, she looks like she’s smuggling apples in her jeans. But not a day goes by we don’t have a laugh. Even when she went through her cancer, we’d find something to laugh about together. Best medicine in the world.”
“Your wife’s name is Brunhilda?”
“Course not. That stays in the firehouse.”
Me and Jen used to laugh a lot.
Crusher wiped the foam from his lips. “My advice is find yourself a gal with thick ankles who you can laugh through life with.” Crusher took a sip of beer. “Ignore the oracle unless you want to end up like him.”
Kenny let out a loud breath. “Why do I waste my time drinking with you?”
“Because nobody else will.”
They all laughed.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Ralph stomped toward them.
A jolt shot up Mitch’s spine.
Crusher sprang off the barstool. “Ralph, c’mon cool it. We’re just having a few drinks.”
“Since when do we drink with cubs?” Ralph pressed against Crusher.
Crusher hung his thick arm on Ralph’s shoulder. “C’mon, sit, have a drink. Kenny’s buying. You know that don’t ever happen, hey?”
Ralph swung onto a stool on the other side of Crusher, glowering at Mitch.
Mitch looked away from Ralph, trying to calm the pounding in his chest.
“I hate fucking cubs, especially that one,” Ralph said to Crusher, loud enough for Mitch to hear. “Come out of the academy all full of themselves thinking they’re fire-eating warriors. But they ain’t shit. Know just enough to get their asses burned.”
“Wasn’t he ever a cub?” Mitch said to Crusher.
Ralph leaned around Crusher. “Got something to say, Bambi?”
“You heard me. I asked if you were ever a cub.”
“I was pissing out fires when you were shitting yellow.” Ralph’s gravelly voice deepened. “Goddamned piss pot.”
“Well fuck you, just fuck you.” Mitch charged around Crusher.
Ralph spun off the barstool to meet him. They went chest to chest. Before Mitch could react, Ralph’s hand went to Mitch’s throat. “What’d I tell you about talking to me like that?”
Mitch struggled to turn away from Ralph’s hot, sour breath.
Ralph ti
ghtened his grip. His bulging eyes bore into Mitch, their faces inches apart. ”You want to dance, Bambi, we’ll fucking dance.” He slammed Mitch against the back wall.
Mitch tried to pry Ralph’s leathery hands loose, but the man’s grip was relentless. Mitch’s knees buckled. The lights dimmed.
Crusher and Kenny pulled them apart. The card players rushed toward them. Crusher shouted, “We got this. Go back to your game.” He looked from Ralph to Mitch. “You two. Stop. You want the cops here?”
Ralph shoved Crusher. “You want to drink with this jag, go ahead.” He marched to the door and kicked it open.
“You didn’t tell me he’d be here,” Mitch said, rubbing his raw neck, his voice hoarse.
“Ralph didn’t know either. The oracle there thought if we got you two together, had a few beers and a few laughs, you’d both lighten up.”
Kenny shrugged.
Mitch’s head cleared, but he wasn’t ready to trust his rubbery legs. “What the hell is Ralph’s problem? I should have kicked his ass. He’s lucky I was drunk.”
Kenny chuckled. “Yeah, you had him right where you wanted him. Clever how you wrapped his hands around your neck.” Kenny turned serious. “You should know Ralph was an Army Ranger before coming on the job. They don’t fuck around. They called him the Jawbreaker of South Milwaukee when he got out.”
“I’m not scared of him.” The words didn’t even sound convincing to Mitch.
Crusher narrowed his eyes. “You sure didn’t help things. Might want to work on that short fuse of yours.”
“He started it.”
Crusher snapped his fingers in front of Mitch’s face. “Pipe down and listen. You need to know some things about Ralph. The man’s had a tough go of it. He’s third-generation firefighter. Family tradition. His only son’s been trying to get on the job for years, but the kid’s not very sharp. Ralph blames the minority hiring and outsiders for the kid’s struggle to get on. Says you’re taking jobs away from Milwaukee people. You’re not the first cub Ralph’s tried to drive off the job but you sure get to him.”
Beneath the Flames Page 14