“Yeah. I can see you fellas just doing business with the arsenal you got.”
“Those burners keep the niggas out.”
“And the bar owner? That just business too?”
Spiked Hair snarled. “DeAndre kill that man. We was acting out in there. Wasn’t right what he did. Can’t say I’d be tore up if DeAndre never come back.”
“Then go to the cops. Tell them what he did.”
“Don’t work that way.” He stepped closer. “Just thought you should know.”
Spiked Hair swaggered to the green Riviera and turned back to Mitch. “We only wanted to check on Jasmine that day you run us off. She a good kid.”
A shiver shot up Mitch’s spine. He had almost killed Peaches’ dad that night.
Chapter 39
The department doctor finally allowed Mitch to return to duty on Thursday, January ninth. When the charcoal skeleton of the Richardson home came into view, he thought back to how tidy Jasmine kept the house; the pride she had in her home. He shook off the grief as he pulled the rusted van into the firehouse parking lot. Stepping from the van, he exhaled white vapor clouds. The frigid air stung his nostrils.
Nic was sitting on the bumper of the rig when he went inside. “Hey there, Farm Boy. Been a while.”
“Yeah, things got crazy lately.”
“Laubner’s working a trade for your captain today. Thought I better warn you.”
“Crap.”
“He’s been spouting off how reckless you were, going into that fire with no mask. Said he would have put you on charges if he was the boss.”
“Maybe he’s right.”
“Bullshit. By the time you masked up, that girl would have been dead. Laubner’s an imbecile.”
“Working today?” Mitch asked.
“No, but I can come back for a workout later.” She raised an eyebrow seductively.
“Nic, you’re—”
“Sexy?” She laughed. “Hey, I’m fucking with you. How about stopping by tomorrow night? We can finish that bottle of Jack.”
“I don’t know.”
“Hey, I’m not asking for your hand in marriage. Just want to have a drink, and you know…”
“It might be late.” Like Jamal always said, a man’s got his needs. “I’ll be at the Odyssey School most of the day. I could use help with the shop class I’m teaching.”
“Nah. You know kids irritate the hell out of me.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I told your crew you turned me. Told them after you, I’ll never go back to women.” She grinned. “I love screwing with those old fucks, they’re so easy.”
* * *
Mitch fell into the morning routine, laughing to himself over Nic. It felt good to be back.
Crusher was the first one in. “Glad to have you back, kid. Missed your sorry ass.”
Kenny wasn’t far behind. He tried to kiss Mitch on the lips. Kenny folded his arms. “Sure, now that you’re tapping Nic, you toss me aside like a used rubber.”
“How can I make it up to you?”
“Get my dick back.”
They laughed.
Cigar smoke clouded the kitchen. The three old friends roared with laughter over some story Kenny was telling. Mitch got another pot of coffee brewing on the Bunn machine, adding the smell of fresh-brewed coffee to the bite of cigar smoke. As soon as the coffee started flowing, he headed to the sink to finish the morning dishes.
“Hey, kid. Come on over. Join us,” Crusher said.
Mitch hesitated, uneasy about what they had in mind for him.
“It’s okay, c’mon. Sit. Have some coffee. Even gulags had breaks.”
Ralph nodded once.
Kenny slid next to him on the bench. “What do you farm boys know that we don’t? You know how many Romeos tried to get in Nic’s pants?”
“Not allowed to share country secrets with city guys.”
“At least tell me if she’s got a chia pet between her legs. Or better yet, she shave?”
“Jesus, you ain’t right,” Ralph said. They all hooted.
The banter felt good.
“Hey, cub. Off your ass.” Lieutenant Laubner stood in the kitchen entryway, hands on his hips.
Ralph pointed his cigar at Laubner. “Listen, asshole. We’re drilling here. Talking fire tactics. Try it sometime. Maybe you’d be worth a shit.”
“I’m gonna write your ass up, Eberhardt. You’re over the line.”
“Pension number 47389. Make sure you spell my name right. See you downtown.”
Laubner stomped to the office.
Mitch rose from the table. “I should get back to work.”
“Firefighter Garner to the office, immediately,” blared over the loudspeakers.
Laubner was pacing when Mitch entered the office. “You want a career on this job, you ignore the shit those guys feed you. They’re a bunch of outlaws.” Laubner’s face turned crimson as he ranted. “We get a fire today, you’ll follow my orders or I’ll have your ass. Got it? None of that cowboy shit like you pulled across the street. Any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Get out of my sight.”
After lunch, Mitch headed to the joker stand to hit the books and stay clear of Laubner. He was well into the chapter on the Jaws of Life when he heard shouting from the apparatus floor. “Goddamn piece of shit.”
Mitch peeked out at the apparatus floor in time to see a crescent wrench skip across the concrete. Ralph stood in front of the open hood of his old gray Chevy Cavalier with his hands on his hips.
Mitch knew he should steer clear of Ralph, but his curiosity trumped caution. He joined Ralph at the car. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Why you want to know? So you can show me up again?”
“Sorry. Just wanted to help.”
“After all the shit I gave you? You want to help? Seriously?”
“Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”
Ralph sighed. “Wait. Can’t keep the son of a bitch running. Gotta keep giving her gas or she dies. Replaced the plugs, distributor cap, and plug wires. Didn’t help.”
“This an eighty-nine?”
“Yeah, you want it?”
Mitch rubbed his temple. “I had a buddy with one of these. Fuel injectors went bad. They’re pretty easy to replace.” They leaned under the hood, standing side by side, resting their elbows on the fender.
“Now who’s the butt buddies?” Kenny said from behind them.
Ralph flipped him off without looking back. “How do you know which ones are bad?”
“I got a tester that picks up the tapping of the injectors.”
“I don’t get it. Why you want to help?”
“Just hoping to keep the Jawbreaker of South Milwaukee from strangling me.”
“Yeah, that.” Ralph straightened and faced Mitch. “You got balls, kid. Crawling into that fire with no mask was damn impressive. But you gotta learn when to pull back on the throttle. Need smarts to go with those gonads.”
Feeling bold, Mitch asked, “How about teaching me to be smarter?”
“When’s your probation up?”
“In three months, April eighth.”
“You’re one stubborn son of a bitch. I’ll give you that.”
Ralph stepped back and rubbed his chin.
Mitch waited.
“From now on, you’ll be with me on the pipe. Kenny will be third man. I’ll clear it with the boss. He should be good with it. Thinks you could make a solid firefighter.” Ralph paused. “We’ll see.”
“Sorry about getting you in trouble with Laubner.”
“If we get a fire today listen to me, not that idiot. He couldn’t piss out a wastebasket fire.” Ralph surprised him with an evil grin. “It wouldn’t go well for Laubner to go after me, and he knows it. The deputy chief was my cub.”
“I won’t let you down.”
“You do, I’ll remove those oversized gonads.”
* * *
Ralph pushed Mitch relentlessly over
the next three months. He was as ornery as ever but now Mitch was intent on impressing him. Ralph had the boss get them access to vacant homes and businesses. They addressed different construction types and the best tactics to use on them. Ralph stressed the dangers of balloon construction in many of the older Milwaukee structures as there are no fire stops in the walls. Fire can spread from the basement to the attic in seconds when it gets in the walls. Plenty of crews had been fooled into thinking fire on a lower floor was out, only to have the attic explode in flames.
They practiced laying hose lines into these structures while Ralph peppered him with impossible scenarios that would have Mitch’s brain swimming. While laying out the lines, Ralph would shout questions: “The house is closed up tight, no ventilation, smoke is puffing in and out of the cracks. Now what? Thick black smoke is gushing from a basement window, what’s your first move? Fire’s blowing out the roof. Where you gonna take the first line? Fire’s impinging on a propane tank, now what?” When he faltered and grasped for an answer, Ralph would hammer him about focusing through the panic and chaos.
After fires, they’d go over what Mitch did right and what he could do better, mostly what he could do better. He pushed Mitch to think beyond what’s in front of him; to anticipate the worst possible outcomes. He needed to be smart because there was nothing more unforgiving than the fireground. Ralph warned him you can do everything right and still die. Just don’t die being stupid.
Chapter 40
On April eighth, Mitch’s recruit class planned to celebrate their year-on at Roscoe’s. They would no longer be probationers. They would be professional Milwaukee firefighters. With Jamal and LaMont gone, Mitch could not go back to the bar where the three had spent so many Fridays celebrating another week of training. He made a trade to work on the blue shift, the day of the party.
Before heading to the firehouse that morning, Mitch picked up Kyle from the nursing home. He had begun taking him to the school at the end of January. Brother Williams had agreed that bringing him to the school would be good for him and the students. Mitch had repaired the wheelchair lift in the old van so he could transport the boy. Each day a different student was in charge of taking care of him. Brother Williams explained how critical it was for them to learn how to care for someone with greater challenges than they have. Kyle taught them well. He became an adored member of the school community.
On the way to the firehouse, Mitch rolled down the van window to let in the fresh April air. The Core smelled alive. Abandoned trash hadn’t begun to ferment. Back home, Chris would be busy plowing fields to ready them for planting in May. He had been checking with Chris through the winter. Their phone calls were usually short with Chris assuring him the farm was doing okay. Mitch sensed something wasn’t quite right, but he didn’t press him. He’d have to trust Chris to take care of things. Mitch was busy teaching a shop class at the Odyssey School, mentoring kids at the firehouse, and spending as much time with Jasmine as he could. She went to school every day and helped tutor the three girls but remained distant and sad.
Mitch dreaded working with Lieutenant Laubner but working with Nic and DeWayne, her partner on the blue shift, would be fun. The morning went by smoothly with Laubner only bitching about how his bed wasn’t made properly. It was.
At lunchtime, Laubner pranced into the kitchen, spotted the tray of burgers and the bag of chips and said to Nic, “Don’t you know how to make anything else?”
“Sorry, boss. Not all girls can cook. Some of us are good at other things.” She winked at Mitch. He had to look away to keep from cracking up. They ate in silence; nothing like the raucous meals on his shift. Nic kicked Mitch in the shin. She ran her tongue over a potato chip. He bit his lip to keep from laughing.
Mitch headed to the watch room after lunch for some quiet time. He was no longer a probationer and no longer had to study the training manual for the monthly tests. Besides, Ralph told him to forget most of that shit. He now had time to read about his favorite hero, Dirk Pitt, in Clive Cussler’s Valhalla Rising.
Nic sauntered into the room. “Mitch, read later. I need you to spot me.”
“What if Laubner catches us?”
“Catches us what? Working out?”
Mitch raised his brows.
“Jesus, Garner. Get your mind out of the gutter?” She grinned.
The fire alarm chimed. “Report of a fire, 2145 West Wright Street. Engine Fifteen, Engine Thirty-Two, Engine Thirty, Ladder Nine, Ladder Twelve, Battalion Five, and Battalion Two responding.”
They met DeWayne at the rig. The three young firefighters hustled into their turnout gear, then waited along with the driver in the idling rig while Laubner strolled across the apparatus floor and pulled on his gear.
“We should be first-in but not with that slug,” Nic said, spitting the words. “Could he go any slower? Fuck.”
The blue-shift driver rarely exceeded the speed limit, pausing at every red light. Nothing like Crusher who finessed the engine like a shiny red twenty-ton stock car.
Two engines, a ladder truck, and battalion chief were on scene by the time they pulled up. Smoke billowed from the basement windows of a rectangular four-story brick building that covered half the block. A Miller Lite sign in front read Ebony Lounge. Mitch knew the layout from training with Ralph. Businesses would occupy the first floor with the top three floors divided into apartments.
Laubner keyed the radio, “Incident command, Engine Fifteen on scene.”
“Engine Fifteen, check the second floor for occupants.”
“Engine Fifteen, ten-four,” Laubner said in a cheery voice.
Mitch went for the hose.
“Fire’s in the basement. Forget the line,” Laubner barked.
They entered through the back exit. Heavy smoke from the basement choked the stairwell. They donned their masks and followed Laubner as he squeezed past Engine Thirty’s crew who was pulling hose to the first-floor bar. Engine Thirty-Two would be working their way to the fire in the basement with Ladder Nine forcing entry and taking out windows for ventilation.
Mitch’s crew completed a quick search of the second floor and found nothing. The third floor was vacant, much of it gutted, the studs bare.
As they searched the fourth floor, a tsunami of greasy brown and black smoke cascaded into the apartment. Flames erupted from the stairwell.
“Hey, boss! Better let the chief know we got fire up here,” Nic said, her voice muffled by the mask.
“I can’t find my radio,” Laubner said.
The heavy smoke banked to the floor. Total darkness set in.
Mitch flared. “How could you lose it?”
“Put it down to glove up.”
“Nic, you got a radio?” Mitch called into the darkness.
“Boss has the only one.”
“Ralph’s right, you’re an idiot, Laubner. Jesus.”
Air horns sounded from the rigs below, signaling all companies to evacuate. They were losing the building.
A warning bell rang. “I gotta get out,” DeWayne said, his voice wavering.
Another bell rang. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Nic yelled.
They only had minutes of air left. Mitch’s stomach squeezed into a nauseating ball. Fire crackled from the stairwell. He crawled to the window, praying to see a ladder. Flames shot up the side of the building from a lower window. They were trapped.
Think.
Sheets of plaster and insulation rained down on them. Orange and red swirled over their heads. Mitch dropped to the floor to stay below the searing heat. If the others were calling for him, he couldn’t hear them over the roaring fire. He was going to die being stupid. Why did he listen to that idiot? He should have grabbed a line.
Mitch’s vision reddened with rage. He’d never see Jennie again. And Jasmine. What would happen to her?
Think.
He crawled back toward the stairwell, hugging the floor. The heat bled through his turnout, stinging his back.
Think.
It struck him that the third-floor walls had been opened. Had the fire traveled up the walls and come out on the third floor right below them? Could he make it to the next landing before being incinerated? His mind reeled from the adrenaline surging through his body. The nearly thousand-degree heat would burn through the turnout within seconds, and he’d die an agonizing death if the stairwell was in flames from top to bottom.
Wait for the rapid intervention team. No. Nobody knows we’re here.
He fought the urge to vomit in his mask, clenching his teeth against the sour bile in his mouth.
Ralph’s words punched through the chaos. Focus through the panic. Mitch swallowed hard and launched himself headfirst at the flaming stairwell. The steps dug into his chest as he clawed and kicked his way down. Too many steps. Too hot.
The blistering heat gave way to dense smoke just below the third-floor landing. He tumbled down the stairwell and outside where the crew of Engine Thirty-two was changing their air bottles. Their mouths dropped at the sight of his smoldering turnout.
“My crew’s trapped on the fourth floor,” Mitch hollered through his mask.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday,” the shocked officer shouted into his radio. “Engine Fifteen trapped on the fourth floor. Engine Thirty-two taking a line up the back stairwell. We’ll need backup.”
They scrambled up the stairs and encountered heavy fire on the third-floor landing. They blasted it with their hose line and tried to fight their way through. The high-pitched blaring of PASS devises from above sent a chill through Mitch, bringing back the scene of 9/11 where the eerie silence after the towers collapsed was shattered by the high-low chorus of these devices.
Mitch’s bell rang.
“You need to back out,” the boss ordered.
“I gotta show you where they’re at.”
“Back out.”
Mitch would suck the last breath of air from the bottle before he’d back out. His company was up there.
The wall of flames forced them back.
“Give me the line,” Mitch hollered.
Beneath the Flames Page 22