Beneath the Flames

by Gregory Lee Renz

  Mitch stepped outside when Alexus came skipping across the street, her long braids bouncing. Jasmine trailed close behind. Alexus crashed into him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You my boyfriend. You best know that.”

  Mitch’s chest tightened. That’s what little Maggie used to say.

  Jasmine grinned. “So, Mr. Teacher, what’s planned for today?”

  “Thought we’d all get down and bust some moves.”

  “You’re too funny.” She pulled a notebook from her book bag and thrust it at him. “Check it out.”

  At the top of the page was an A+ in red and a note: “Jasmine, you are doing such great work. Keep it up.” It was a book report on A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

  He lowered the paper to see her broad gap-toothed smile. Her face glowed.

  “I’m not surprised. You’re a smart young lady.”

  After the tutoring sessions, Jasmine had been staying behind to talk about school and what she was reading. Mitch had suggested she read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. He told her how it was his mother’s favorite book when she was Jasmine’s age. Jasmine loved it and couldn’t talk enough about this story of a young girl growing up in poverty. Reading it made her feel like Francie even though Francie was a white girl growing up a long time ago.

  Jasmine crammed the notebook back in her bag. “My teacher said if I keep doing well I might get into Riverside next year. Says that’s where you need to go if you want to get into college.”

  “You’ll get in. What do you want to be?”

  “Um, teacher maybe?”

  “Not maybe. You’ll make a great teacher.”

  A group of children filed into the firehouse, giving Mitch high-fives as they passed. He looked down the street and back at Jasmine. “Seen Kyle yet?”

  “Won’t be seeing him anymore. Had a bad fit. They got him at the nursing home over on Hopkins.” Jasmine nodded toward the firehouse. “Better get in there before those kids tear your firehouse apart.”

  Mitch choked. Kyle had become his little buddy. He lived in the Donald Driver jersey, and when it got nasty, Mitch exchanged it for a clean one. The boy would thank him by resting his head against him, but pull back if Mitch tried to hug him.

  * * *

  The next morning Mitch went to see Kyle. He walked down the long hallway of the Orchard Manor Nursing Home looking for Kyle’s room. The strong odor of bleach stung his nostrils. The bleach barely masked what? Urine? Feces? Decaying flesh?

  Kyle appeared tiny in the full-sized hospital bed. His head swayed back and forth, his mouth in a perpetual “O”. The boy’s eyes were open but vacant. When Mitch was able to talk, he said, “Hey, Kyle. Heard you needed another jersey. Donald Driver, he’s the man, remember?”

  Mitch held out the green and gold jersey with the number “80” on it. He pried the boy’s stiff arm up and slid the jersey under it. He kissed the top of Kyle’s head. The boy’s hair was matted and sour smelling. “I need you to come back. You’re my man.”

  Nobody came by during the two hours Mitch was at Kyle’s bedside.

  * * *

  Before going up to his flat, Mitch stopped by Miss Bernie’s to see what she had planned for Thanksgiving. This would be her first Thanksgiving without Jamal. Mitch suggested they have a fancy Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant of her choice. She said she wasn’t up to going anywhere. Said she’d be glad to cook if he wanted to join her. He couldn’t say no.

  * * *

  Miss Bernie had prepared a feast for them. Her kitchen was saturated with the cozy smell of turkey, buttermilk biscuits, and sweet potato pie. Enough turkey and trimmings for a dozen.

  While they ate, Miss Bernie told him how Jamal would invite friends over for Thanksgiving. They’d have a houseful. The young people would gather in the front room and cut up with each other while watching the football games. And she’d keep pushing more food at them. When they got older, there was beer and drinking, but they behaved themselves. She even had a beer or two with them on occasion.

  This got him thinking about Thanksgivings on the farm. After his mom died, Betty Hillenbrand, Maggie’s mother, demanded the three Garner men join them for Thanksgiving dinner. Spending Thanksgiving with the Hillenbrands became a tradition. And Mitch’s place was always next to Maggie’s. It started when she was a toddler, pushing anyone aside who dared sit next to her Mitch.

  He ached to be back there but knew, for him, that world no longer existed. He imagined the table loaded with turkey, mashed potatoes, stuff­ing, green bean casserole, and homemade loaves of sourdough bread. They’d be gathered around that farm table right now, without him, without Maggie.

  Miss Bernie sighed. “Ain’t we a pair? All wrapped up in ourselves. You don’t have to set here with me.”

  Mitch pointed at Miss Bernie. “You told me we need to share our pain.”

  “You right. I ain’t so good at taking my own advice.” She placed her fork across her plate. Her lips quivered. “Can’t turn away from the pain no more. It’s taking me down. Jamal’s gone, and it pains me bad, but I accept it.” Her eyelids drooped. “But my Lettie, where my sweet Lettie? Oh, Lord, why can’t you give me an answer?”

  Mitch squeezed her hand.

  Her voice faded. “Used to feel better after a good cry but can’t cry no more. It’s like I’m all dried up.”

  Mitch studied his white hand entwined with her small, dark hand, wondering what he could say or do to comfort her. He’d been making such great progress with the children, and Jasmine had grown in so many ways the last few months. But he was powerless to help this woman who had been like a mother to him.

  “Pack up this food and give it to them children you teaching. Imagine some ain’t getting a proper meal today.”

  He talked her into letting him clean the kitchen. She agreed as long as when he finished he got out for a while. After drying the dishes, he found her dozing in her easy chair.

  He headed over to Nic’s apartment. She had invited him to have Thanks­giving dinner with her and her family. He declined. There was no way he was leaving Miss Bernie alone all day. Nic said to at least stop by her place later for a Thanksgiving drink.

  She greeted him in a black lace camisole. He had become hopelessly addicted to that body, that face, that sex. He constantly craved more.

  After a final round of volcanic sex, he drifted off.

  * * *

  Mitch’s eyes snapped open to Nic’s face inches from his. She whispered, “Love watching you sleep.” She planted a warm kiss on his forehead. “Your scar is sexy.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost five.”

  “Crap. I gotta get ready for work.”

  “Of course. Always have to be the first one in.” She kissed his mouth, her morning breath a touch sour. “Call in sick. I’ll make it worth your while.” She went to the bed and patted a spot next to her.

  He yanked on his jeans, tightened the belt, and clasped the brass John Deere buckle.

  She watched him from the bed, lying naked on her stomach. “You need to move in with me.”

  He pulled on his shirt and laughed. “Right. You’d get sick of me and toss me aside like a used dish rag. Add me to the pile.”

  “I mean it, Mitch.” She went to him and pressed her naked body against him. “I love you.”

  He kissed her and left.

  Chapter 32

  Mitch lingered in the parking lot before reporting for duty, stewing over Nic. She was drop-dead gorgeous. He loved being with her. And the sex was incredible. What the hell stopped him from telling her he loved her?

  He went inside.

  He had told the kids he’d be here if they wanted to come in for a fun session since it was the day after Thanksgiving.

  At three o’clock he stepped outside in the light drizzle, waiting for the children to arrive. The battered screen door on the Richardson house slammed. Alexus ran across the street and crashed into him. Jasmine shuffled well behind. Mitch told Alexus to go on in.


  “Jasmine, you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Mitch pointed to a darkened bruise on her neck. “What’s that?”

  She slapped her hand over the bruise. “Ain’t nothin’.” She pushed past him.

  Eight more children showed. Mitch had Alexus select one of the hip-hop CDs he purchased that didn’t carry the adult advisory warning. The chil­dren jumped up, busting their best moves to the thumping bass. Jasmine stood back, her arms folded, staring at the back wall. Mitch went to her side. “Don’t feel like dancing?”

  She continued staring at the wall.

  He knew better than to push her and went back to the others. They danced around him, challenging him to mimic their moves. He looked silly exaggerating their rhythmic movements. This had them squealing with laughter. They danced to two more tracks on the CD and then played some word games. This is where Jasmine would normally step in and help. Not today.

  When it was time to go, Mitch handed the children the brown paper bags of food Miss Bernie sent along. The bags rustled as the kids inspected the contents. They weren’t impressed with the turkey and biscuits.

  Mitch pulled giant chocolate chip cookies from a white paper bag. “How about these?”

  “Dude!” the kids hollered. The cookies were frosted in green with “80” written in gold frosting. Each child gave him a high-five as they ran by. Alexus buried the side of her face in his waist.

  “C’mon, we need to go,” Jasmine said.

  Mitch raised his hand. “Wait. Lexi, go to the kitchen. You can eat your cookie in there. Tell Kenny to give you some milk.” She skipped to the kitchen.

  Mitch gripped her slender shoulders. “Jasmine. Talk to me. What happened?”

  “Don’t matter.”

  “What don’t matter?”

  “Don’t matter.” She shook her head while looking past him.

  “Please, Jasmine. Talk to me. You get in a fight?” He lifted her chin. Her eyes dilated. “C’mon. Let me help.”

  “That crackhead of Momma’s. That’s who did it. That what you wanna hear?”

  “He hurt you bad?”

  “Don’t matter.”

  “Your mother know?”

  “Says kids need a good beating once in a while so they grow up right.” Her face pinched into a scowl. “Guess she needs a good beating too, because he sure beats on her plenty.”

  “Why doesn’t she kick him out?”

  “Says it’s hard to keep a man, so you gotta put up with their shit.”

  Alexus skipped into the room. “You done?”

  Jasmine stepped toward Alexus. “We’re going.”

  “Lexi, go back in the kitchen,” Mitch said.

  He clasped Jasmine’s clammy hands. “When did he do this?”

  Her scowl wilted. “Yesterday. He was drinking forties and smoking that pipe after Momma left. She had to work: double time on Thanksgiving. Now that DeAndre gone away we need the money.”

  “Wait. What? What’s DeAndre got to do with anything?”

  “He used to help Momma. Said the One-Niners owed it to her.”

  “Why? Why would they owe her money?”

  “It was about my sister Preddy.”

  Mitch hunched forward, their faces inches apart. “You know DeAndre killed two firefighters, two of my friends?”

  Her head dropped. “I know they saying he killed Miss Bernie’s son.”

  “He did. He’s a killer, Jasmine. You know that, don’t you?”

  “All I know is he kept Momma’s crackhead off us. Told him he’d cut his heart out if he messed with us.” Her voice trailed off. “Now that DeAndre gone, that crackhead says he’ll take what he wants.”

  A vision of Jasmine in DeAndre’s car flashed in his head. He had to know. “DeAndre ever, you know, try anything?”

  Her emerald eyes flared. “You mean, he try to fuck me?”

  “Jesus. No.”

  “Well, he didn’t.”

  Mitch let go of her hands and stepped back, figuring it was time to change the subject. “What happened after your mother went to work?”

  She groaned, then said, “That crackhead keep giving me the bug eye while I cleaned up. I got Lexi settled and went to bed. Woke up to that nigger standing over me holding his…” She gagged.

  It took a second for her words to register. Mitch’s voice cracked as he asked, “Jasmine, what did he do to you?”

  Her head twitched. “I gotta go.”

  He gripped her shoulders again. “Jasmine. Tell me what happened so we can put him away.”

  “What you know about anything? You come from the farm.”

  “What if he tries that with Alexus?”

  Her emerald eyes turned steely cold, sending a shiver through him. In a deep voice he didn’t recognize, she said, “I cut his heart out myself.”

  Alexus peeked around the corner, “Now?”

  Jasmine took Alexus by the hand. Mitch followed them to the door and watched Alexus skip across the street, clutching what was left of her giant cookie. Jasmine trudged behind, her shoulders slumped and head hanging. She stopped on their porch and looked back at him, slowly shaking her head before disappearing into the house. The screen door slammed shut.

  * * *

  A haze of tobacco smoke watered Mitch’s eyes as he shuffled into the firehouse kitchen. Crusher, Kenny, and Ralph were seated at the long oak table puffing on cigars and laughing.

  Crusher studied him. “Why so grooblick, kid?” The others stopped laughing.

  “The older girl from across the street, the one who’s helping with the kids? She was molested by her mom’s boyfriend.”

  “That the scumbag wears the long coat?” Crusher asked.

  “Name’s Maurice. Bastard needs to be put away. And get this. The girl said he left them alone until DeAndre took off. Said DeAndre protected her and her family.”

  Ralph exhaled a cloud of smoke at the ceiling. “Protect? Bullshit. He’s grooming her.” He pointed the cigar at Mitch. “Get used to the shit that goes on down here. Think you’re gonna save those porch monkeys? Forget it. Ain’t happening.”

  Mitch’s face burned. “That’s such bullshit.”

  “Bullshit? Get some time on the job, then tell me what’s bullshit.”

  “So I should let that creep…? That’s total crap.”

  Ralph ground out his cigar in the clay ashtray that looked like a grade school project, painted red like the fire trucks. He stood and rammed his finger into Mitch’s chest. “You got a lot to learn. Most of these animals around here are a waste of skin. Don’t think you’re gonna come down here and save the world. The girl you think you’re saving? Once she grows tits, she’ll be on the street selling her body for another rock.”

  Mitch shoved Ralph’s leathery hand away. “Why don’t you transfer out if you hate them so much?”

  The captain stormed from the office. “Hey, you two. Back off. Now.”

  Ralph stepped back. “Screw you, Bambi. You’re an ignorant jag.”

  “Yeah, well you’re an ignorant bigot.”

  “You’re talking out of your ass.” Ralph stomped past the boss, turned and grabbed his crotch. “I got your bigot right here, jag.”

  Mitch glared at Ralph through a red mist of rage and punched the wall.

  Crusher chuckled, rolling a cigar around in his mouth. “Nice shot, kid. I think you got to the cranky, old pus bag. Won’t be seeing him the rest of the day. He’ll be off to the dungeon worshiping at the altar of Fox News. Think I’ll go see if I can settle him down.” He grinned at the captain.

  Captain Reemer shook the end of his pipe at Crusher. “Leave the man alone. Don’t need you stirring the pot.”

  “Ya vol, Herr Commandant.” Crusher saluted and left, laughing. Kenny followed.

  Mitch couldn’t stop shaking.

  The captain motioned him to the table. “Sit. Those kids from across the street ever tell you about their older sister?”

  “God, he gets to
me. He’s the jag.”

  “Mitch!”

  “Sorry, boss. I heard they had a sister who died.”

  The captain shook the pipe into the red clay ashtray and refilled it. He lit the fresh tobacco with a wooden farmer’s match, sending a cloud of sulfur and tobacco smoke toward the ceiling. After three short puffs, he ran his fingers through thinning, silver hair and said, “Name was Preddy. Quite a while back, long before you got assigned here, there was a fire in the base­ment of their house. Not much of a fire really, but Ralph found Preddy in a back bedroom and carried her out. She started coming over to the firehouse wanting to know if Ralph was working. If he was she’d follow him around pestering him with questions about anything and everything. He tried to act like she irritated him, but that cute kid broke through his thick hide.”

  “Why does he talk that way?”

  The captain puffed on his pipe and continued. “Ralph’s worked in the Core over twenty years. It changes you. Changes the way you think. Some of us put up walls and act all macho; I guess to hide our emotions. I don’t know. I’m not a damned psychologist. When you get more time on you’ll understand.”

  “How long you worked in the Core?” Mitch asked.

  “Too long.”

  “You feel the same way Ralph does?”

  “Listen, Ralph’s made impossible saves. Risked his ass umpteen times to save these people you think he hates, the people he wants us to think he hates. Why? Damned if I know. But I’d rather have that man next to me when all hell breaks loose than anyone else. And you’re right, he can be a jag, but a he’s damn fine firefighting jag. You could learn a lot from him.”

  “Why—”

  “Let me finish. When Preddy got older, she started hanging with the One-Niners and stopped coming around. We’d see her on the streets and then she disappeared. Ralph wouldn’t admit it, but it tore him up to lose his little friend. Around two years ago Preddy’s body was found in a dumpster. She’d been beaten, raped, and strangled.”

  Captain Reemer waited while Mitch absorbed the gruesome details.

  He handed Mitch the red clay ashtray. “Turn it over.”

  Mitch emptied the ashtray and ran his hand over the coarse inscription scratched on the underside for my frend Ralf luv Preddy. His anger faded.