Shift’s End

by A. R. Barley

  Time to call in the cavalry.

  “I’m in the front of the building. I’ve got a body. Female.” He put two fingers to the blonde’s throat. “Unconscious, not dead. I can’t get out the same way I came in. Not if I’m carrying her.” The floor wouldn’t hold. Hell, he didn’t even know if it would be safe for him to cross back to where Lee was waiting. “I hope you’ve got a plan, boss.”

  “Open the window,” Jack said. “Break it if you have to. We’re getting out the ladder.” His tone was sharp now, brittle. Behind him, Diesel could hear the creak of machinery being put to work. “Lee, you with him?”

  Diesel turned his head. He could just make out a flash of yellow as Lee retreated back through the kitchen. “He’s on the way down.”

  A collection of snow globes were balanced on the edge of the bedframe. The mattress was curled up on the far side to fit into the room. He’d have to climb over the bed to get to the window.

  His gloves were stiff and awkward as he wrapped the comforter around the woman’s body. Everywhere his fingers touched left sooty tracks behind. Fuck. When the comforter was solidly in place he gave it a sharp tug.

  The whole contraption moved like a sled, sliding the blonde over to the left side of the bed. With that done Diesel knelt down and crawled over to the two small windows. The first window was stuck. He didn’t even bother trying the second one. Instead, he grabbed his flashlight from the loop on his belt and used it to break the glass.

  Gloves might be uncomfortable, but they were damn useful when it came to dealing with a mess.

  Beep. Beep. Whirr. The fire engine’s mechanical noises bounced off the canyon created by the street’s tall buildings, making the ladder sound super close. It wasn’t.

  “You need to change the angle,” he said. “The ladder’s not going to make it.” No answer. Shit. He tapped his radio, but it was still buzzing away. It worked; Jack just wasn’t transmitting. “Boss, we got a problem?”

  The ladder turned six inches. It began to shudder back and forth. It wasn’t quite there.

  “Back the truck up,” Jack ordered down below.

  Grrr. The engine thrummed to life. The truck lurched backward, moving faster than it should have. Had the driver accidentally put his foot on the gas? He was shouting angrily, audible through the open window instead of over the radio.

  The street was less than twenty feet wide and full of people, but the truck was still moving.

  What the hell was going on?

  Clang. The fire truck backed straight into a metal streetlight. Crunch. It collided with a brick building and the engine died.

  Diesel’s entire body flinched and his eyes squeezed shut. He forced himself to take one deep breath, then another. It had to be a coincidence. Their saboteur was into penny-ante bullshit. He swapped out batteries and tied people’s shoelaces together. He wouldn’t screw with the damn truck, right?

  “Boss.” He wanted to say Jack’s name but was afraid his voice would crack. There was nothing casual about the anxiety he was feeling now. “Boss,” he repeated a little more firmly. “Are you there?”

  “Yeah.” Jack coughed. “We’ve got a problem. The truck’s acting kind of tetchy.”

  “Tetchy? From up here it looks like it’s completely out of control.”

  “Yeah, well, are you sure you can’t get back out the same way you got in?”

  The living room floor didn’t look too bad from where he was standing. Maybe? Except, he remembered the ceiling of the restaurant down below. It was charred, black and ugly like the fire had carved away at the structure with a dull blade.

  It was impossible to predict what would happen if he walked across it, and it wouldn’t just be his life he was risking.

  The collection of snow globes came in every shape and size. He picked up the largest one. It was heavier than it looked. The base was made out of wood. The glass was solid. Inside were palm trees and surfboards, a family Christmas in Hawaii.

  He tossed it through the door and into the middle of the living room floor.

  Wood crunched, crackled, and came apart. The floor practically disintegrated underneath the weight of the snow globe. The fire must have been worse than he thought or else the building was more spite than screws and timber.

  “Talk to the driver,” he said out loud, working the problem. “Can you get the truck started again?”

  “Maybe. We’ll give it a try.” Jack was visible now, pacing back and forth in front of the engine like a caged animal. His hair was sticking straight up, his shirt wrinkled. He turned his head look up at Diesel. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  It wasn’t a declaration of love—they didn’t have that kind of relationship—but that didn’t stop Diesel’s heart from fluttering against his ribs. He sucked in a breath and hunkered down for the wait.

  Cough. Bang. The engine struggled to start up, but it quickly became clear the truck wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Maybe if you try extending the ladder all the way?” The angle wouldn’t be right, but it’d be close. “I might be able to swing out?”

  “Fuck no,” Jack swore. “We’re not getting a reputation for that Tarzan shit.” This time he didn’t bother explaining his comment. “Wait for me. I’m coming to get you.”

  The radio fizzled, but noise was still coming in through the open window. Down on the street, horns were honking as the everyday traffic of New York City tried to force its way through the blockade but underneath that was a layer of voices, men in yellow uniforms arguing loudly as they came up with a plan.

  Whatever they decided on, Jack clearly wanted to participate. He grabbed a bunker jacket from the truck and finished pulling on his equipment in the middle of the road. A dark-haired man stepped in front of him? Lee? No, Theo. They exchanged heated words and Jack pushed past him on the way inside.

  He wasn’t alone.

  The whole team of firefighters swarmed into the crumbling building behind their captain, and now Diesel could make out what they were saying through the hole in the floor. “Do we know who owns this place?” Jack said. “They need to be fined.”

  “They need to be shot,” someone said half a second later.

  It was funny but nobody laughed.

  Feet scraped and stomped on the impossibly narrow stairs. Then, “Wilkes, Lee, I want you checking the third floor. Be careful. Everyone else, you’re with me.” Jack wasn’t about to let some little thing like the laws of physics get in his way. “Evers?”

  “I’m here, boss.”

  “Uh-huh.” There was a long pause where he couldn’t see anything and then movement on the other side of the dark living room. “You still got your flashlight?”

  “Always.”

  “Toss it over so I can see what we’re looking at.”

  The metal flashlight was hard and heavy. If it hit someone the wrong way then it could do serious damage, but Diesel didn’t hesitate to issue a warning. He tossed it across the void. Thunk. It hit something on the other side and rolled for a few seconds before someone picked it up.

  Light poured down into the open hole.

  “Shit. Someone actually lives up here?”

  “There are worse places.”

  “Uh-huh.” The light flashed upward and the bottom half of Jack’s face was visible for two whole seconds. He wasn’t smiling. “Your apartment’s a shit show. This is like something out of an Upton Sinclair novel.”

  Diesel didn’t get the reference, but he was too happy to have help to give a rat’s ass. Maybe they could go back to the bookstore after the shift was over. Jack could teach him about literature, and he’d bask in the other man’s presence. It would be comfortable, cozy in a way he’d never experienced coziness before.

  Like when the two of them had snuggled up on Jack’s couch, eating pizza and playing video games.

  Damn
, that’d been good.

  Jack’s jaw tightened. He was surveying the scene like a master engineer, making plans and working angles. A moment later he was moving to the side and gesturing toward the men behind him. He gave a quiet order. Together, they started moving the tattered tartan sofa, shoving it out into the void.

  Shit. The entire place was going to come apart underneath them and Diesel would still be stuck like a fairy-tale princess in a damn tower.

  Then the sofa made it across the void like the world’s most awkward bridge. “You sure that’s going to hold?” Diesel asked.

  Jack leaned against the couch, hard. He bounced it up and down. “It’ll hold.”

  Not exactly reassuring. Nerves thrummed through Diesel’s entire body, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he slid his arms underneath the girl’s body and lifted her up. She was slender and petite, a hundred pounds maybe. That made it easier. He could do this.

  No, he was going to do this.

  There was no room for error.

  The floor was squeaking and screeching under his boots. A crisp burst of air billowed against the back of his neck. His nostrils flared and his stomach rolled. The chemical scent was getting worse, not better. That shouldn’t have been possible. He held the girl just a little tighter as he put a foot on the couch and—

  The entire world wobbled like he was in some kid’s teeter toy. “It’s not going to work.”

  He wasn’t going to risk it.

  He couldn’t.

  Not with her life.

  “You got a backup plan, boss?”

  “This is the backup plan.”

  “It’s not going to hold both of us.” But it might hold the woman by herself. She was so damn lightweight. If they got out of this alive, he was going to buy her a burger and a milkshake.

  Diesel backed up a few feet and knelt down at the edge of the couch. The cushions had holes in them. All their bounce had been squished out of them years earlier. When the girl was settled down on top of them, he stood and picked up the end closest to him.

  Across the void, Jack and the other firefighter squatted down on either side of the couch. They pulled. He pushed. When they were done, the sofa and its occupants were on the other side of the hole in the floor.

  Jack took her pulse and checked her reflexes. When he was sure that she was going to make it, he handed her off to the guy at his side. Boots thudded as firefighters carried her out of the apartment.

  Then it was just Diesel and Jack and a hole in the floor four and a half feet across. He could jump it, maybe. It’d be easier if he could get a running start, but he’d have one stride if he was lucky.

  “You want to try the sofa again?” Jack asked. He pushed the furniture back toward the edge and—

  Crack. Wood floorboards came apart like Legos thrown against the wall.

  The hole was almost six inches bigger now, and it was growing. Jack pulled the couch back fast. The shift in weight should have helped stabilize the damage. It didn’t. The hole was getting bigger. Eventually, a jump would be impossible.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Jack growled. “You’re not a damn superhero.”

  “No, but you are.” He grinned. “You’re not going to let me fall.”

  Something flickered in the back of Jack’s eyes. For a moment it looked like he was going to say something, but then his gaze hardened. His jaw tensed. “You better hurry.”

  Permission granted. Diesel took a half step back, gathered all of his energy, strode forward and leaped across the void like a damn ballerina in full bunker gear with an oxygen tank on his back. His right foot landed solidly. His left collided with the crumpled edge. For a moment it held, but then it collapsed underneath him. He tipped backward.

  He was going to fall.

  He—

  Strong hands brushed against his arms, individual fingers hard to make out through the clumsy gloves. Jack’s grip was like a vise. He yanked hard. Diesel’s arm twisted. His bones felt like they might break in two, but it didn’t matter. He was safe. He was going to be okay.

  They were both going to be okay.

  And then the ground disappeared underneath them.

  Gravity worked its magic.

  They slammed downward, hitting the edge of the counter before landing in the clear space between the kitchen and the bathrooms. Something broke, or maybe it just felt that way. Diesel’s eyes flickered and everything went dark.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Beep. Beep. Beep. Every bone in Jack’s body ached. He felt like he’d been gone over by a steamroller or worse. The lights weren’t helping. Fuck. He wanted to turn away, but it felt like the glow was prying open his lids to crawl inside. When his eyes finally focused he was staring at a bright white ceiling.

  Beep. Beep.

  A hospital. He was in a hospital. His breath caught in his throat. He tried to roll over on his side and couldn’t. Something was trapping him. His right arm was completely immobile.

  It hurt.

  Fuck. Pain arced through him, making him buck against the hospital bed. It hurt so damn bad.

  Beeeeeeeep.

  “Easy.” A hand landed on his left shoulder and pushed him down against the bed. “Easy, Dad. You broke your arm. Take a deep breath.”

  Eric. It was Eric.

  Jack might want to come apart at the seams, but he wasn’t about to let that happen in front of his son. He drew more air into his lungs. His bare foot kicked out against a crisp sheet. Smoke still clung to his hair, but he’d been stripped down.

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Mom pulled me out of school a couple of hours ago.”

  “Right, and Diesel?” The floor had given out underneath their feet. Letting go had been impossible. Not when it was Diesel falling to the ground. Instead, he’d gone over the side with him, twisting to take most of the damage himself.

  And now he had a busted arm.

  Freaking genius.

  Of course, it’d be worth it if it meant that his lover was safe. “Diesel was with me,” he told Eric. “Do you know what happened to him?”

  “Sorry.”

  Jack’s gut clenched. He wanted to send Eric out to ask about Diesel, but their relationship was still a secret and he couldn’t ask his son to lie for them. Not when Eric looked like he’d gone through the ringer himself. His hair was sticking straight up. His shirt was a button-down and the buttons were crooked. Really crooked.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he promised.

  Eric blew out a long breath. “You scared the crap out of us.”

  “I can see that. Did your mom make you change before coming here?”

  “What?” Eric glanced down and flushed. His fingers moved clumsily, rearranging the small buttons. “I was in gym class when she showed up. We were playing soccer.”

  “Were you winning?”

  “Coach says I should try out for the team.” Eric stuffed his hands into his pockets. “That thing Mom keeps wanting to talk about—graduating early—you think there’s a soccer team at CUNY?”

  “Probably.”

  “Think I could play there?”

  Probably not. Eric was tall and geeky. In a couple of years he’d be handsome and graceful, but he hadn’t grown into himself yet. Unlikely he’d be able to play sports against men with more years and experience. “You don’t have to go to college early if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. Mona tells you any different, let me know. I’ll talk her around.”

  “Thanks.” Eric shifted back and forth from foot to foot. His stomach grumbled audibly.

  Good. Jack had read a dozen parenting books over the years, they all said not to lie to kids but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. Finding Diesel had to be his priority. “My wallet’s probably in a plastic bag somewhere. Take wha
tever cash is in there and get yourself some food.” He pushed himself a little farther up in bed. His right arm thumped heavily against his side. A removable cast held him in place from his wrist to his elbow.

  “You want anything?” Eric asked.

  Paternal warmth flared in Jack’s belly. “Coffee.” He held his breath as Eric turned and walked out of the small hospital room.

  Then he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

  Mostly. He mostly stood up.

  His bare feet definitely connected with the cold linoleum floor. His back straightened. The muscles in his legs strained.

  And then he collapsed back against the bed, breathing hard.

  He wasn’t about to let gravity get the better of him. His hands clenched tight—

  Pain.

  His left hand clenched. His right hand was going to stay open if it killed him.

  The floor really was cold. He concentrated on that as he forced himself into a standing position. Two steps to the doorway and he reached for the knob.

  Hard wood connected with his fingertips. The door knob had moved. The door was opening. It swung a little farther and Troy walked in. He wasn’t alone. Nico Reese was a few steps behind him. Neither of them looked happy.

  Reese was a big man with a red nose and a bushy white mustache. He played Santa Claus every year at the department Christmas party. Now, he raised a caterpillar-like eyebrow. “Are you supposed to be up?”

  “No,” Troy said. “He’s not.”

  “Fuck you.” Jack dropped onto his bed with a sigh. It felt good to get off his feet, even if he’d been standing for less than a minute. “You want to tell me what you’re doing here?”

  “You’ve been hurt,” Reese said. “I wanted to say hi.”

  “Uh-uh, that’s why Troy’s here.” It would be weirder if the lieutenant hadn’t shown up. “You could have sent a damn fruit basket. Now, what the hell are you doing here?”

  “He, uh—” Troy cleared his throat and shifted forward on his toes, almost as though he were about to run away. But the man was army through and through. He’d never run from a battle in his life. His back straightened. Impossibly broad shoulders looked like they were growing even wider. He took a deep breath. “They sent an investigator to look at the truck. Somebody definitely fucked with it.”