Never in my life had I felt Mom’s loss more keenly than today. It should be getting easier I told myself. Why was it so hard? Five years of suffering and false hopes. Five years of constant nursing and trips to the ER wasn’t anything I could forgot just because I willed it. Besides, forgetting the pain would have meant forgetting my mother and that I just couldn’t do, no matter how much it hurt.
My stepmother came on the scene not quite ten months after mother’s death. I couldn’t fucking believe it. Don’t think that didn’t hurt a little. I didn’t blame dad though. I was always off doing my own thing and he was still a young man. I knew he was lonely. A year and a half later though, things went from dreadful to worse when dad had an automobile accident. They sent him to a nursing home after the car he was driving hit a deer, crushing his legs beneath the dash, thus making him a quadriplegic. I was devastated all over again and vowed to bring him home just as soon as I could afford a private nurse.
As I threw the mail back in the basket, the door swung open. “Oh you’re here,” said Penelope, strolling through the front door. She dropped her Gucci handbag on a chair. “Did I get any calls?”
“Just one. It was yesterday though.”
“Which pone?”
“Your cell.”
She glared at me and I swear I heard her growl. Then she shrugged out of her matching green rain coat. “I told you to never touch that phone, Amy Lynn.”
“I know but…”
“ And you should have told me sooner.” She huffed out a breath and walked away. Before turning into the kitchen, she swiveled on her hells and turned around. “Listen you! My business is my own and I don’t want you or anyone else sticking your snotty nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Excuse me….” My temper flare. Who the hell did she think she was and why was she so upset anyway? I hardly ever touched her flipping phone.
Her tone softened. “Amy darling, I don’t want you upset by anything too grownup for you to understand. Okay?”
Too grown up! What the F@#$ I took a deep breath and counted to ten.
“Just keep your little hands to yourself. That’s all.” I stared into her green eyes trying to figure her out. Then, deciding she wasn’t worth it, I simply said, “Whatever you want, Penelope.”
“Awe, Amy darling, I so want us to be friends. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, you know.”
Yeah, right.
“But if you continue to keep giving me that ‘eat shit’ scowl, we’re never going to get anywhere. Oh why do I bother? Go do the dishes…”
“What?”
“Or clean your room or whatever it is you need to do. Just get outa my sight.” She flipped the back of her hand as if I was of no consequence and disappeared behind the corner.
Then it hit me. Hard. Making me even more suspicious. She didn’t even ask who the call was from.
CHAPTER FOUR
Brock
Sunday began like any other day, only I was back on duty and not behind my desk, which in my book was always a good thing. Top that off with the memory of the night before, and I was a man on cloud nine, feeling the goddammed oats of a much younger man at that. A strong dose of crazy wild adrenaline was shooting through my veins making me excited and energetic.
Today we were short one man, plus another was out with the flu so I would be running our usual training session by myself. I usually had a second in command but not today. In addition to that responsibility, I would be on call like everybody else. That part was not usual but I loved getting back in the game. As much as I didn’t want to see anyone get hurt or become homeless by a fire, I hoped the bell would ring so I could finally see some action. I wasn’t a firebug or anything an but I’d be lieing if I didn’t say that sometimes it was downright frustrating having nothing to do. Most of the time that wasn’t the case however. People could be so stupid. It never ceased to amaze me how many catastrophes would have been avoided had someone used an ashtray, not smoked in bed, or my all time favorite, the proverbial turkey barbecue gone bad. What the hell was wrong with people? A boiling pot of peanut oil and ice cold turkey didn’t make a lick of sense. Who the hell came up with the idea? And how long would it take people to learn, you don’t cook that shit indoors!
Despite my love of being in power, the fact I had more experience than any other man on the team, I didn’t love being chief. It took me away from the real life and death action, away from the men, away from what was most important. Saving lives. Making a difference. Being a pencil pusher had never been my idea of fun, yet after a particularly incapacitating injury I didn’t like to talk about, it was the only way to keep my job. And so chief of the department I’d stayed.
With so much fucking energy this morning, I decided to take on rookie duties, give the guys a break, I told myself. I’d been up since 4 a.m anyway, lifted more weight than my usual two hundred pounds and twice as many reps. I just couldn’t seem to slow down. Amy.What the hell did a young gorgeous thing like her, see in an old coot like me anyway? Not that I was an old man or anything. I was in better shape than men half my age and only forty-one. Still, pushing close to twenty years her senior was a bit much. I chuckled to myself. When Amy was in diapers I was learning to drive. When she was in kindergarten I was graduating college. In some people’s eyes, our age difference bordered on statutory but I was never one to worry about appearances. It was just a number right. What was important was that we clicked. And boy did we fucking click!
I started the coffee machine, raised the flags in front of the firehouse, and put away all the dishes before eight o’clock in the morning. By nine o’clock I had the equipment in the ambulance all checked over. I started breakfast, flipping eggs with one hand, flap jacks with the other, and setting the table in between while it cooked. Mateo was the first to sit his ass down and gave me a sly smirk. I grinned and set a couple eggs on his plate. “Smart man,” I told him. “Got here before the rest of those greedy sons a bitches.”
“Uh huh.” He covered his coffee cup after I poured him a cup of coffee and went for the creamer reminding me he liked it black. “Someone’s awful cheerful this morning,” he told me.
And then I realized I’d been whistling the whole time. Haven’t done that in years.
“So who is she, chief?”
“What? Who?”
“Who’s the doll has you all perked up this morning? I haven’t seen you this jacked since the Saints beat the Colts.”
I looked over my shoulder and frowned at his long black pony tail, the piercing in his right ear, his cocky twenty something year old grin. “What the hell are you talking about, Garcia?” A couple of the other guys trickled in but I didn’t turn around. I caught four pieces of toast in mid air and placed them on a plate.
Williams took a seat beside Garcia. “He’s asking why you left the event last night and then showed up an hour-and-a-half later strutting like a peacock.”
I placed the toast on the table along with a tub of margarine. “Not you too,” I said.
Williams chucked the back of the younger man’s head. “Take your hat off, kid. Have some respect.” Williams was old school. Never question the hand that feeds you and don’t speak unless spoken to. The two of us were like den mothers sometimes.
Garcia took a grey knit cap off his head. He hooked it on the back of his chair as Robinson and Clarke came into the room. I poured each of them coffee and placed it by their plates.
“You had a hot date?” Clarke asked.
Robinson slapped the table, delighted with where the conversation was heading. “I’m dieing to hear about this one. Please tell me it’s not that chick from Main Street Brewery though.”
I paused with the coffee. “I don’t know who you’re referring to.”
“Sure you do. Don’t you remember? She slipped her card on the end of your pike pole, then kept calling you her Big Strong Pikeman while you questioned her about that kitchen fire.”
“Hey, how did she know it was called a pike? I’ve
always wondered about that?” asked Garcia shoveling in the food at a record pace.
“Wasn’t her first fire,” said Williams taking a few flapjacks in his plate. “Pyromaniac. Don’t you kids read the papers?” He poured maple syrup on the stack, took a big bite and moaned. “These are great,” he said, stuffing a sausage in his mouth as well.
“I knew there was something not right about that chick,” said Clarke.
Garcia got up, scraped his plate into the sink and then stacked it with the rest of the dirty dishes. He unbuttoned his cuffs and started to roll up his sleeves. “I think it’s my turn.” He smelled of cheap aftershave and sour skin. He was new to the Company and probably hadn’t read about our no-cologne policy. We lived too close to each other for too many hours. Besides who the fuck were we going to impress? I grinned to myself, knowing what a hard time the guys would probably give him. At least it wouldn’t be from me this time. “No problem, kid,” I said just so he’d move away from me. “I’ve already washed half of them already so I may as well keep going.” I hadn’t washed dishes in ages either. I was sure the rest of the crew were wondering what’s up.
“Soooo, if it wasn’t your stalker than who was your date?” asked Williams. His eyes were raised, a dangerous grin on his weathered face. He was joined by a dozen more of my fellow firemen all in various stages of curiosity. “I mean, I didn’t see you with anyone. Did any of you see him with anyone? Nope, we didn’t see you with anyone. I guess she was a fantasy woman turned on by your brilliant skill at flapping hotcakes?”
“Fuck you, Williams,” I said. This was the thanks I got for making them a full breakfast.
Williams laughed. “Not gonna tell me huh?”
“Maybe she got all hot and bothered when she saw him roasting sausages,” Clarke said. A burst of laughter filled the room. One thing I did not like was being ridiculed. It undermined my authority and I needed these guys respect. And my personal business was just that. My personal business.
“Chief…,” Garcia began but I knew if I opened my mouth at all I might regret what came out of it. I untied my apron and threw it on a chair. “Kid, it’s your turn after all. ” And then I left.
CHAPTER FIVE
Brock
Rapid Intervention Training
The guys get out of their vehicles and stare straight ahead, wide-eyed and ready to go. The tall brick three-story building looms before us, set back from a sand and gravel parking lot. We shrug into our coats and hats, button up, and pull on our turn-out gear. Today, I’m just one of the guys.
At first, no one says anything. Were they scared? Good. They should be. Even Williams appears to be at a loss for words when he sees the building. I already know what they’re thinking: This place is big! Huge, actually. Much bigger than anything we’ve used before in RIT training. “You can handle it,” I say when no one asks the unanswered question. I have to admit, I feel entranced by the flames myself. They’re so vibrant, so alive, so ready to kick our ass.
A little flutter hits my stomach. Is it wrong that I’m this excited? For a split second, I wonder if I’m the right man for the job. I’d been away from the action going on eight years now, but honestly it’s like riding a bike, right? It’s not fear for myself that grips me, but fear that I will do right by these guys. But I can’t think about myself. I have to think about them. I need to boost them up, make them realize what they’re capable of, let them know I have their backs and they in turn have each others. Project confidence to the whole crew. But how do I articulate such a thing? I straighten my spine and speak boldly. “Every one of you is good enough. Ready enough by far to take this one on. I believe in each and every one of you. Come on!” I can hear their boots crunching the gavel behind me, feel the tension in the air but I’m totally at peace with what I’m leading them into.
I trust them. These guys have a compassion for saving human lives like no other human beings on the planet. Each one would lay his life down for another. Not a man on God’s green earth can compare to a fireman’s tenacity. It’s more than a job. More than a way to draw a paycheck. It drives them. Fuels every atom of their energy. They are soldiers through and through. There isn’t a man, I don’t trust with my own life. I take a deep breath, readying myself.
The abandoned two-story brick building looks more like an insane asylum than what was once a thriving hotel. The bottom floor has bars across the windows, the words, ‘Hotel and Restaurant’ painted in big white letters scrawled across the front. Some of the bricks are so old, they’re faded white. A few air conditioners stick out of the top floor apartments. We shuffle to a halt before the front entrance and peer inside. Several tables are stacked on a back wall. All of them are a rich shade of red but the color is peeling here and there making them look speckled. From the distance, they resemble spattered blood.
I can’t take my eyes away from the flames. Yeah, it’s a dangerous location. More rooms. More opportunity for things to go wrong. Still, not a bone in my body hesitated with these men behind me as I led them through that front door.
“You’ve only got ten minutes, men,” I announce. “Fuck this up and one of you dies in here.”
“Shit,” mutters Garcia behind me. “You really know how to start a party, chief.”
There’s no laughing at his joke. No chiding with each other. If anyone felt hesitant or wanted to back out, I had no idea.
“Chief!” I turn to find two EMTs with blood pressure cuffs and stethoscopes running toward the entrance of the building. Fuck!
“Damn. Sorry. I forgot.”
We step outside just long enough to get our vitals checked by the EMTs and I look up. The fire blazes hot as fucking hell, the flames so high they lick the third floor and chimney. If I didn’t know better, I’d worry the oak tree a few yards away would catch fire but I know it won’t. I have complete confidence in the men that set up this exercise.
As exercises go, this place is perfect. Most of the windows are intact, containing much of the fire indoors. Not that it makes it any safer. On the contrary, it’s dangerous as fucking hell but I need this building to be as close to real life as possible. It’s as brittle as a haystack , which means it will burn out in record time, but those dancing flames could turn treacherous with the wrong tail wind. I’d checked the weather carefully though. No storms or even a slight breeze in the forecast. Not even a cross wind predicted for this part of the state. Just a disgustingly humid, bone melting— ninety degree August day.
I halt in my tracks, motioning the guys to gather ‘round. Just out of habit, not really because of a belief in anything, we say a quick prayer. Then I tip back my hat. “Okay, here’s the scenario… Garcia, you know there’s an old man on the top floor. He’s in a wheelchair so he can’t get out on his own and Robinson, you think you hear a baby cry but you can’t be sure if it’s a baby or a stray cat.”
Robinson, who never says much simply nods.
“Er…wait a minute,” Garcia says. “How can he be on the top floor?”
“What?”
“You said he doesn’t walk.”
Oh Jesus.
“There’s an elevator, stupid,” Clarke says.
“Oh yeah. That works.”
“And sometimes he walks but he can’t do any stairs,” adds Williams.
“Or maybe he broke his leg,” says another.
Christ! “You guys finished or you want me to write you a script?”
“No, that’s about it,” says Williams.
“Doesn’t matter anyway, Garcia. Use your goddammed imagination. Besides you get to be the odd man out today. Lucky you.”
“Huh?”
“He’s talking about your air supply running low. You’re the one we rescue. Essentially, our victim,” says Williams.
I can see the kid’s Adam’s apple sliding up and down his throat. “Kill off the young guy first. Is that it?”
I ignore his comment. I don’t have time to hold is damn hand. We’re firefighters. He may think he’s been
singled out but he isn’t. He’s the newest member of the Company so it’s his turn.
“And Williams you’re the rescuer.”
“Got it chief.”
“Clarke, you man the camera”
“Yes, sir.”
I point to Robinson, a man I hoped I’d never have to find in a dark alley. “You take the tip, Robinson.” Without a word, he heads back out the front door, ambles over to the truck with those incredibly long legs and unreels the hose.
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