Shift’s End

by A. R. Barley

  Hell, Diesel might have been reckless, running into a burning building without waiting for backup, but Jack couldn’t be too mad at him. Diesel paid more attention than most. He might have taken on more than he could handle, but he’d saved the kid. He’d saved the dog. He’d gotten in and out of the house fast, without ending up dead.

  That didn’t mean Jack was going to let him off easy. He’d called Diesel to his office along with the rest of the screw-ups. All three of them were lined up in front of his desk like a trio of naughty schoolboys, with Troy bringing up the rear.

  O’Malley was only halfway out of his bunker gear. He’d decided to smoke a cigarette instead of showering as soon as he got back to the station. He fidgeted, looking anywhere but at Jack’s face. “I had trouble with my boots.”

  “Excuse me?” Jack said quietly.

  “There was something wrong—” O’Malley swallowed hard.

  “Are you trying to make an excuse?” Jack asked around a sip of cold coffee from the cup he’d abandoned on his desk before the callout. Behind O’Malley, Troy Barnes was making himself comfortable in one of the guest chairs. When he noticed Jack was watching, he wiggled his eyebrows. Asshole. Jack had to take another sip to keep from smiling. He focused on O’Malley. “You tripped, twice. You fell on your ass. You could have taken someone else out. You could have put yourself in danger. You could have put other people in danger. And now you’re making an excuse?”

  “No, Captain.” O’Malley’s cheeks turned red. “There is no excuse.”

  “Uh-huh.” When Jack swallowed, loose grounds grated against his soft palate. It was truly disgusting. He put his cup down on the edge of his desk. “Mistakes happen. The key is to apologize and make sure they never occur again.” That was a lesson he’d learned at his daddy’s knee—probably the only lesson the old man had ever taught him. “You’re on kitchen duty. I hear they’re making chili. Go. Help. When they’re done, you can clean up.”

  “My boots—”

  “Did you check them before you headed out?” Jack asked. First Luke’s radio and now O’Malley’s boots. How many other firefighters had complained about screwed-up equipment recently? Jack made a mental note to take a look at the damn boots himself. Hell, he’d stay late and check all the equipment if he had to. Something was up and it was gnawing at his insides.

  “No, Captain.”

  “Juracek.” Jack’s gaze slipped to O’Malley’s left. Juracek was a few inches taller than his friend and a little bit older. He’d been a member of the firehouse’s baseball team until two years earlier. When he’d quit, he’d put on a few pounds and now his heather-gray sweatpants pulled tight across his thighs. “He tripped over his boots. You screwed up your hose. What do you think I’m going to do to you?”

  Juracek was smarter than his friend. He didn’t try to defend himself. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Good man.” Jack considered his options for a long moment. He’d planned a real punishment for Juracek, but he had to give the man points for owning up to his faults. He considered for a long minute. Troy had stopped making faces, his legs were stretched out in front of him. His face was stoic.

  Diesel Evers looked pissed.

  “You got something to say?” Jack asked.

  “No, boss,” Diesel ripped off smartly, which didn’t stop the edge of his mouth from turning up in what was closer to a snarl than a smile.

  Damn. Jack didn’t want to have to reprimand him too harshly, but he wouldn’t have a choice if Diesel decided to verbalize the attitude on his face. “You two.” He pointed at Juracek and O’Malley. “Go. Both of you are on kitchen duty.” He waited until the two of them skedaddled before turning his full focus on Diesel. “You got something to say.”

  “I don’t know about O’Malley, but I was standing next to Juracek when he unloaded his hose. It should have worked.”

  “I’ve got a son a little younger and a whole lot smarter than you. He stopped using ‘should have’ as an excuse when he was in elementary school.”

  “I’m not your damn kid—”

  “Right—”

  “—I’m a trained professional with eyes,” Diesel continued, not seeming to care that he’d just talked over his superior.

  Behind him, Troy had straightened up a little in his seat. His eyes had narrowed. His muscles were tensed like he could be on his feet any minute to stop a fight...or start one.

  Diesel was right. He wasn’t a kid. He was a man of twenty-six.

  When Jack was that age, he’d been married with a baby on the way.

  And now he had two ex-wives and a mouthy teenager. He swallowed hard, but the knowledge stayed with him. Crud, he was old.

  “Sit down,” Jack ordered. For a minute he didn’t think it was going to work but then Troy shoved the empty chair into the back of Diesel’s knees and he dropped down like a sack of dirty laundry. “You like coffee?”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “They make horrible coffee here. Never knew a firehouse kitchen that could turn out good coffee. Half the time we buy it from the guy who sets up his cart across the street.” He tapped his fingers against the table. “Juracek and O’Malley screwed up. They deserved worse than they got, and they both know it. You’re from New Jersey?”

  “Yes, boss.” It seemed to be his default answer, and it was ingrained deep. Like he didn’t even have to think about his response.

  Jack didn’t know how he felt about that. Polite was all well and good, but a firefighter had to make split-second decisions that could cost lives. He liked his men to think. “Someone screw up at your last firehouse, you’re saying the captain wouldn’t have called them out?”

  “Peter?” Diesel shook his head. “He wouldn’t have noticed, even if he’d been there.”

  Jack frowned. “Not a fan of going out to the scene?”

  “He’s good at organizing things, always managed to captain the winning team at the family Thanksgiving bowl.”

  “You’re related?”

  “He’s my cousin.” Diesel’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Of course, if my Uncle Ned saw what happened at the scene he’d have me suspended for disobeying orders. My entire family’s part of the department in Atlantic City.”

  “Huh.” It wasn’t the first time Jack had run into a firefighter with family in the business. Hell, there were entire clans who passed it down like some kind of old-time tradition, father to son. He’d never warmed to the notion. His father’d been a bartender with a stooped back from carrying heavy barrels up from the basement. His son was going to college if Jack had to drag him kicking and screaming. After college he had plenty of options: medical school, law school, or business school.

  “Atlantic City, huh?” He smiled. Some people found it reassuring, Diesel shifted a little farther back into his seat like he was trying to run away. “Sand, surf, smoke-filled casinos. You figured you’d buck the trend by coming to Manhattan?”

  Diesel just shrugged. “You can suspend me if you want. I just thought you should know about Juracek. Something happened to his equipment, but he didn’t do it.”

  Clearly, he didn’t have a sense of humor. Jack bit back a grin. “I was planning on thanking you.”

  Diesel glanced from Jack to Troy and back again. He flushed. “Excuse me?”

  “I wasn’t planning on suspending you. I was planning on thanking you. You saw the kid, I didn’t. You saved him. You saved the dog. You made us all look good.” Jack considered his options for a long minute. “I don’t know how they do things in Atlantic City, but up here we thank people when they see things other people missed.” He sighed. “Thank you for telling me about Juracek too. I didn’t know. Of course, you probably could have figured out a better way to phrase it. Something that wouldn’t get you suspended somewhere else.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  The screw-up with the hoses was o
ne more piece of equipment failure in a long line of little things, one more nail in the coffin of his career. Shit. Jack finished off his coffee. The bottom half inch tasted like silt and sludge, but the motion gave him time to think. The problems with the equipment had all started before Diesel showed up at the firehouse. If they were purposeful—which was a big if—he wasn’t part of it. “You know how to do an equipment check?”

  The look on Diesel’s face was one part insulted and one part insulting. He still managed to make it look kind of cute with his crinkled eyes and squidged-up nose. “Yes, boss.” The two syllables were thrown out like an angry slam.

  Forget cute. With that fire gleaming behind his eyes, the newcomer was definitely hot.

  “Don’t screw the rookie,” McCreedy had warned him, and Jack wasn’t about to go against the old man’s advice anytime soon. That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the view.

  “Walk me through it,” Jack ordered.

  “Personal equipment first, check my turnout, my air, radio, flashlight, make sure everything’s functional and ready to go. My flashlight’s a little bigger than most—”

  “Without the commentary,” Troy said and Jack could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

  “Whatever.” Diesel chewed mulishly on the inside of his lip. “Next I check my riding spot to make sure everything’s shipshape. If there was a callout on another shift then I replace the battery in the radio. I put my gear in my seat, make sure my straps are good and accessible, tuck everything away. Sometimes I check the air tank a second time just for shits and giggles—harness, connections, the whole nine yards. I put on the mask and make sure it’s working. I check the damn regulator. When that’s done I move on to hand tools and inspect them for operational readiness. Is that the sort of equipment review you’re talking about?”

  “Sounds about right,” Jack said. “I want you to do something a little bit different. We’re going to run a spot check on the equipment. Go downstairs, find five guys and check their gear. Then do it for the next shift.”

  “You want me to check another firefighter’s gear? Why?”

  “Because you’ve got a smart mouth, and this’ll give you something to do while you think about the right way to bring issues up with your captain.”

  Diesel’s cheeks flushed a bright red. His lips pressed together in a thin line. “I thought you were thanking me.”

  “That was the plan. I think this is better.”

  He actually had the good sense to look stunned. Whatever punishment he’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. Then again, it wasn’t a punishment Jack had ever doled out before. He wasn’t kidding when he’d told Diesel that he needed to learn how to better voice his opinions, but the task would also help him get a feel for how bad the equipment problems were.

  If he crossed his fingers and held his breath then maybe it would just be that a bunch of guys needed to go back to training. The other option was sabotage.

  Just thinking about it was enough to make bile flood Jack’s mouth. He patted down his pockets until he pulled out his antacids and popped one into his mouth. He really needed to get a new flavor. The cherry ones smelled like paint, but they had to taste better than banana.

  “Try to finish before the shift ends,” Jack told him. “Sometimes after a big fire we go to this place around the corner, Smoke & Bullets. Some of the guys play pool. Some of the guys play poker. Everybody drinks a little more than they should.”

  “I’m not much of a drinker.”

  “Bad experience?” Jack waited a beat but didn’t get an answer. He sighed. “You can keep me company. I’m not much of a drinker either, but they make a mean virgin gin and tonic.”

  “So tonic and lime?”

  “I’m pretty sure the last lime they dragged into Smoke & Bullets shriveled up and died before it made it to the bar, and the tonic water comes out of a hose.” Diesel looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. Too bad. Jack bit back a snicker. “Do the spot check, then come by Smoke & Bullets. Since you’re such a cheap date, I’m buying. We can celebrate you popping your Manhattan cherry.”

  Diesel flushed an electric red, but he also hustled out the door to do as he was told.

  Troy waited until he was gone before leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “We’re doing spot checks now?”

  “You think Juracek and O’Malley both screwed up on the same day?”

  “They’re good guys, solid. The new guy seems solid too, and he started after the trouble.”

  “And he started after the trouble,” Jack agreed.

  “You’re not going to make him popular though, sending him to do your dirty work.”

  “Then I’ll buy him two drinks.”

  Chapter Four

  The captain wasn’t half as funny as he thought he was, but Diesel wasn’t about to turn down a free drink, especially not after checking ten sets of gear by hand. He’d found three problems; two of them were nothing but the last one could have gotten its owner seriously injured. He made his report to Troy Barnes, then followed the rest of the crew down two blocks and over one to a scuzzy basement bar with no name over the door.

  “Smoke & Bullets.” The lieutenant elbowed him inside with only a little less force than he’d used to shove Diesel into the chair in Jack’s office.

  Diesel needed to thank him for that. It had helped him get a handle on his temper. If he’d kept talking, Jack might have found him something more tedious to do than the spot check, like polishing the damn fire truck with a toothbrush. Of course, it was still better than getting suspended. It didn’t hurt that the captain had delivered his dressing-down with a side of cheesy jokes and an invitation for drinks.

  It was weird, but he kind of liked it.

  Hell, he more than kind of liked it. He concentrated on that fact as bodies moved around him, pushing him up to the bar where a harried woman in a black tank top asked him what he wanted to drink. “Tonic and lime,” Troy answered for him when his response wasn’t immediate. “Two of them and a hard cider—”

  “Your boyfriend’s already got a drink,” the bartender said in a bored voice.

  Troy snorted. “Fine, two tonics and whatever you’ve got dark on tap.”

  The bartender stared the bigger man down for a long moment before moving to fill their orders.

  “I think she wants to get in your pants,” Diesel said.

  Troy shook his head. “Not all tension is sexual.”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s—”

  “Married to my ex-boyfriend?”

  “Ouch.” The thought was enough to send all Diesel’s small worries and petty anxieties straight out of his head. Then another thought hit him. The bartender hadn’t been joking earlier when she’d mentioned Troy’s boyfriend. Troy Barnes, big and tall and well respected by everyone in the firehouse, was gay.

  He knew gay firefighters existed. Of course they did. The statistics were clear, but he’d only ever met one or two and they’d been so far in the closet it was almost impossible to tell.

  Troy had a boyfriend. He had an ex. He was open about his sexuality.

  Cool.

  The tonic waters landed in front of them with a solid thunk. Despite what the captain had said earlier, there were chunks of fresh lime floating among the ice cubes.

  Diesel grabbed the drinks and left Troy at the bar to settle the tab. The crowd was crushing in around him. Heat swirled around the place and his skin prickled. This wasn’t going to work. Maybe he’d have been happy to accept a free drink a few years earlier but that was before his relationship flamed out, before he’d been cornered in a dark alley.

  Somebody jostled him from the back, and blood rushed past Diesel’s ears.

  His cousin’s wife had steered him toward a therapist who wore oversize cardigans and listened to him from the other side of a teacup. She didn’t say much
, but talking helped. When he’d told her that he was moving to Manhattan and going back to work, she’d given him some breathing exercises to do if things got too intense.

  Which just went to show how little she knew about the inner workings of his psyche.

  Everything was too intense.

  All the time.

  It took two turns around the building before he finally found the captain stretched out in a back booth, typing angrily on his phone.

  “I don’t see you as a speed texter,” Diesel said, passing one of the drinks across the table.

  “I’m not. My kid on the other hand...” The captain trailed off.

  “Let me guess.” Diesel slid into the booth across from him. “You’ve got a little girl at home.” Someone cute and shiny with the captain’s two-tone hair and symmetrical features. Maybe they went swimming together down at the ocean, racing across the sand and plunging headlong into the surf. New York might not be Atlantic City, but it wasn’t without its beaches.

  Diesel’d driven up for the Mermaid Parade the past three years running, and he was already working on his costume for next time. It involved sequins, seashells, and slippery spandex.

  “Boy,” Jack interrupted. “Not so little anymore. He’s sixteen.” His lips twisted.

  “And smarter than me?”

  “Yup.” Jack’s phone buzzed. He looked at it and grimaced. “His teacher wants to talk to us about some shit. My ex-wife set up a parent-teacher conference but he’s trying to convince us it’s not necessary.”

  “Are his arguments any good?”

  “I’m pretty sure the kid’s a genius, but he’s still sixteen. Were your arguments any good at that age?”

  At sixteen Diesel’d been captain of the swim team. Hell, he’d even been the prom king, even though he didn’t want it. His grades hadn’t been stellar, but none of his teachers had ever asked his parents to come in for a chat. He shrugged. “Some people found me convincing.”