“Ah, neither of them meant anything by it,” Sean said good-naturedly, reaching across to squeeze her knee. Which reminded Gemma…
“Why did you keep squeezing my knee? What did you think I was going to say?”
Sean shrugged. “ I don’t know. I just thought it was a good idea to keep it light, you know?”
Gemma glanced out the window. “I guess.”
“Did you like them?”
“They were nice,” Gemma replied carefully.
“Not exactly a ringing endorsement,” Sean noted dryly.
“I don’t watch TV, Sean. I don’t care about baseball. I don’t know anyone in the firehouse. I don’t know anyone in the Mafia.”
“Just relax,” said Sean testily. “It’ll come.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
Sean turned his head to look at her. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I’m tired. Just forget it.”
———
“How’s Peppermint Pattie?”
Sean glanced up from the sports pages of the Daily News to see Mike Leary standing over him, stroking his mustache. Dinner was done, the dishwasher was churning away, and most of the guys were gathered around the TV set in the ready room watching a Sopranos rerun. It had been a pretty dead shift so far: one false alarm and one trash can fire set by a homeless man up the street.
Sean folded up the paper. “Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that.”
“Ooh, girlfriend. Owns her own business, too. Seany’s got himself a sugar mama, huh?”
“Putting aside the fact that you and your pinky-sized dick are obviously threatened by an independent woman, what did you think of her?”
Leary bit his lip, thoughtful. “Cute. Hair’s gotta go, though. They could probably find the Lindbergh baby in there.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
Leary slapped him affectionately on the back. “Ah, I’m just raggin‘ on ya, you know that. Sometimes—”
He was cut off by the shrill sound of the alarm horn as it blasted through the firehouse.
LADDER TWENTY-NINE, ENGINE THIRTY-ONE, FIRE REPORTED AT BROWNSTONE AT 334 EAST SEVENTY-NINTH OFF LEXINGTON AVENUE.
Jumping to his feet, Sean, with Leary right behind him, ran down to the apparatus floor to put on his turnout gear. Sean wondered if the quiet night was about to change.
Adrenaline rushed through him, hot and fast. It didn’t matter how long he’d been doing this or how many times he got called out during a shift: It was always a rush, the potential for facing down and conquering unknown danger the most amazing high he knew. Grabbing his tank and helmet, he swung up onto the ladder truck and into the back cabin, lights flashing and siren blaring as they sped out of the engine bay.
———
Racing to a fire always made him think of Moses and his little trick with the Red Sea: Traffic parted for them as the city flew by the outside window in a blur. In his mind Sean reviewed who’d be doing what. As the Irons Man, Sean would be going interior with Lieutenant Carrey to conduct the primary search. They’d bring Delaney with them, too, for experience’s sake. Mike Leary would be handling outside ventilation. Joe Jefferson, the chauffeur, would remain with the truck. “Socrates” Campbell would take care of the roof, cutting a hole for ventilation. Twenty-nine Ladder was a good crew: fast, strong, and competent. Even the battalion chief said so, and he wasn’t a man given to high praise.
Sean could smell the smoke as they turned onto East Seventy-ninth. If someone asked him to describe it, he wouldn’t be able to, though another firefighter would understand exactly how he could so accurately pinpoint the mixed aromas of burning wood, chemicals, and plaster. By the time they reached the brownstone and he caught sight of the thick black smoke billowing out the second- and third-floor windows of the brownstone, his heart sank. It was gonna be a real job. He hoped to Christ no one was in there.
Jumping off the truck, he waited for instructions from Lieutenant Carrey. As he suspected, he, Carrey, and Delaney were being sent inside to do the primary search. On the sidewalk, a small crowd of neighbors had gathered, their expressions anxious as they watched the guys from Thirty-one Engine unfurl their hoses and charge the lines. A woman in a pink silk dressing gown told Lieutenant Carrey she was pretty sure a child lived in the brownstone. Just a child? Carrey pressed. Two adults and a child, the woman amended. Sean filed the info away as he fixed his mask’s face piece to his head and turned on his bottled air. He ran up the front steps and broke down the door with his rabbit tool. Then, bracing himself for his inevitable plunge into the smoky maw, he went inside, following closely behind Carrey.
He was hit immediately with a rolling wall of smoke. The fire, wherever it was, had to be “going good.” Dropping to his knees, Sean crawled forward. The heat roiling through the house was intense. With Delaney right behind him, Sean crawled into what he thought was the dining room. Once or twice he stopped, backing up when he didn’t feel Delaney’s hand on his air tank. The last thing he needed was to lose a probie in smoke as dense as this was.
Sweeping his ax handle in front of him in a slow, back-and-forth motion, Sean gave two quick prayers. One was they wouldn’t find anyone in the house. The other that if they did, they’d be able to save them. No one in the dining room, living room, or kitchen. Sean paused as his radio crackled and Carrey’s voice came through.
“Battalion Six, this is Ladder Twenty-nine Carrey. Main floor appears to be clear. I’m going up to search the parlor floor with Kennedy and Delaney k.”
Sean could barely hear the battalion chief’s response on his radio as a deafening crack exploded above him, sending sparks showering down the stairwell. “Ladder Twenty-nine, proceed to parlor floor.”
Sean turned around to Delaney. “You doin‘ okay?” he yelled.
“Great,” Delaney yelled back.
Slowly, Sean followed Carrey up the stairs on his hands and knees. The higher they rose, the more intense the heat. Sweat was pouring off his forehead, down the back of his head, rolling down his carefully protected neck. One crack in his protective gear and he had no doubt his neck would be scalded. Black smoke clogged his vision, making progress slow.
The parlor floor clear, Sean waited as Lieutenant Carrey radioed back down to the incident commander that they were going up to the third floor, where most of the bedrooms were. Remembering back to his own days as a probie, Sean was impressed by Ted Delaney’s coolness— at his own first major fire, he’d been breathing so hard and heavy he went through his oxygen in fifteen minutes.
They tackled yet another set of steps on all fours. It was like crawling through hell, Sean decided as he slowly edged forward onto the landing. Dark, Like crawling into oblivion. Suddenly Carrey turned to him, speaking through the radio.
“Kennealy, you go search the two front bedrooms and meet me back here at the steps. I’ll take Delaney and search the back bedrooms.”
“Gotcha.”
Crawling down the hallway, Sean felt along the wall until he came to a door frame. Reaching up, he felt for the doorknob and pushed the door open. The room was black as dead of night. Amazing, how there were degrees of darkness, degrees of black. Search clockwise, he reminded himself. Clockwise, clockwise. Where was the goddamn fire? Fourth floor? Where was the kid? His parents? Anyone? Was anyone in the house?
Crawling into the room, Sean felt along the outer wall, hoping to find a window. The wall was hot to the touch; maybe the bastard was within the walls and the ceiling. Moving forward into the deathly darkness, he met resistance. Sean pushed; the obstacle was large and solid, some kind of chifforobe blocking the window. Fuck! He’d have to feel around further, see if there were any other windows in the room he might be able to use for a possible escape.
Fear whispered in his ear, but he pushed the distraction aside as he concentrated on continuing his search of the room, though he knew it could light up at any minute. He crawled forward three steps, his axe handle hitting what appeared to be the
leg of a bed. Anxious, he reached up and patted the top. Empty. Did the same thing on the other side of the bed. Still nothing. He checked under the bed: clear. Rising up on his knees, he rolled the mattress back so it was folded in half lengthwise. If any firefighter came in after him, he’d know the room had been searched.
He continued his circuit around the room, encountering a bookshelf and a dresser. At least that’s what they felt like. Checked the closet. No one there. Out beyond the door of the bedroom, he heard crackling. Fire had erupted in the hallway. Having completed his circuit of the first bedroom, he crawled forward into the hallway. Flames danced on the ceiling above him, creating an eerie, otherworldly glow in the darkness. Grabbing his can, Sean doused the flames just enough to enable himself to get to the next bedroom. The fire was too big for him to put out. For now, containing it this way would have to do. Besides, he had to look for this kid. Find the kid.
The heat was close to unbearable now, visibility a memory. Sean inched forward on his hands and knees, feeling the wall until he came to another door frame. This time the door was open and he crawled right across the threshold. Turning left, Sean immediately made out the shape of a bed. On top of the bed? Nothing. Under the bed? Nothing. He rolled back the mattress and continued on, feeling his way through the darkness. Dresser. Chair. Closet. Ladies dresses. No kid. No one. He glanced up: Fire was scorching the bedroom ceiling. As quickly as he could, he crawled back out into the hallway, meeting Lieutenant Carrey and probie Delaney by the stairwell as instructed.
“Both bedrooms are clear,” he said. Carrey nodded, getting on his radio.
“Ladder Twenty-nine to Battalion Six. Primary search of the third floor completed. We’re going to head on up to four k.”
“Battalion Six to Ladder Twenty-nine, this is Murphy. Carrey, I want you and your men to back out now. The fourth floor is about to collapse. Repeat: The fourth floor is about to collapse. Back out NOW.”
Shit, Sean thought, looking up from where he crouched on the floor on all fours. Flames were dripping down from the ceiling now like icicles. Any minute, the walls were going to go up. As fast as he could, Sean followed Carrey, and Delaney down. They had just reached the bottom of the steps when a portion of the fourth floor collapsed, sending burning wood and plaster crashing down, a flaming beam missing Sean by mere inches as he, Carrey, and Delaney made it back out through the front door to safety.
Whipping off his breathing apparatus and helmet, he gasped at the fresh air, more out of release than need. A chill shuddered through him as the steaming sweat rising off his body collided with the cool night air. A second later came a roar that sounded as if it had come from the depths of hell itself.
Sean forced his eyes back to the brownstone, watching as the house was consumed with flames. What the hell could have started it? Faulty wiring, a dropped cigarette? He doubted it was arson in a neighborhood like this. Sean checked his watch. They’d been at the scene for less than fifteen minutes.
———
“Shit.”
The fire had been knocked down, and the brownstone had been cleared of smoke. Sean and the rest of the ladder company were doing salvage now, covering intact furni-ture with tarps to protect it from water and debris, dragging burned items into the street to soak them with water. Hearing Sal Ojeda’s exclamation, Sean walked from where he was covering a dresser to see Ojeda standing by a hope chest. The lid was open.
“What?” Sean asked, his heart beginning to punch in his chest.
Ojeda just shook his head and backed away. Sean reached the chest and looked inside.
There, curled up on top of a brightly colored patchwork quilt, was a little boy. A thin layer of soot coated his small body. There was soot around his nose, and the ring of it circling his mouth reminded Sean of a child’s sloppily eaten ice cream cone. His blond hair fell across his forehead in wisps, and his hands were clasped together as if in prayer. He looked as though he were sleeping.
“Oh, Christ,” Sean whispered. Revulsion at himself bubbled up his throat.
“Sean.”
He jerked Ojeda’s hand off his shoulder just in time to crouch low as the first wave of vomit spilled from his mouth. How did I miss the fucking hope chest? Jesus Christ. I let him die. I let that kid die.
“Wait! I think he’s breathin‘!”
Sean lifted his head to see Ojeda gingerly lift the boy from the chest and lay him on the ground. Wiping his mouth, he elbowed Ojeda out of the way. Tilting the boy’s head back, he put his hand in the boy’s mouth to make sure all was clear. Then he pinched his nostrils and began administering CPR.
“Breathe!” Sean yelled as he switched from breathing into the boy’s mouth to compressing his chest with the heel of one hand. He gave five small pumps. “Don’t you fuckin‘ die on me, kid! C’mon!”
His mouth returned to the boy’s. Breathe. Pump five. Breathe. Pump five. Breathe.
“Sean!”
Sean looked up to see an EMT frantically racing toward him.
“Let me take over!”
“Sean, come on.” It was Captain McCloskey. “Devlin can take it from here. There’s an ambulance on the way. Go back and wait in the track. We’re almost done here.”
Heart hammering in his chest, Sean did as he was told.
———
Back at the firehouse, Sean’s shift was ending and he was getting ready to leave. Even though Carrey had done a quick diffusing at the scene, there was still going to be a debriefing at the firehouse the next day. Everyone at the fire scene would be asked to talk about what they did and how they felt about what happened. Self-loathing seized Sean just thinking about it. I fucked up. How the hell do you think I feel about it? he imagined himself sneering at the facilitating firefighter, who would be brought in from another house.
“Kennealy, come here a minute,” said Carrey.
Obeying his lieutenant’s wishes, Sean approached Carrey where he sat on the shiny chrome bumper of the engine truck. “What’s up?”
“Look, I know what you’re thinking right now. You’re thinking you’re a fuckup. You’re beating yourself up for missing that hope chest.”
“Pretty much.”
“Well, I’m here to tell you it could have happened to any one of us. It has nothing to do with your skill as a firefighter.”
Yeah, right.
“Shit like this happens, Sean. Just be grateful the kid’s still alive.”
“He at Lenox Hill?”
Carrey nodded.
“I might head over there tomorrow. See if he’s okay.”
“Good idea. It might make you feel better. Just try not to dwell on this or it’ll make you nuts. You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You know there’s a mental health unit, too, and—”
“I’m fine,” Sean cut in. “No offense, but I’m fine.”
“Okay.” Sean could tell Carrey didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t going to pursue the point any further. He clapped Sean on the shoulder. “Go home and try to get some rest. It’s been one long fuckin‘ night.”
“You got that right,“ Sean muttered.
CHAPTER 11
“His friend actually said ‘La di da’ when you told him you owned a store?”
“Yup.”
“Sounds like a jerk.”
Gemma didn’t disagree as she followed Frankie to the next street vendor, this one selling colorful handwoven sweaters from Guatemala. They were at the Park Avenue South Autumn Fair, waiting for Sean to show. Though a dinner date had been set the following week for Sean to meet her friends, she wanted him to meet Frankie alone first. It was important to Gemma that her best friend and her boyfriend get along.
“Did you at least have fun?”
“I don’t know if ‘fun’ is the word I’d use.” Gemma lifted the arm of a sweater, rubbing the material between her fingers. “It was… illuminating.” The sleeve felt scratchy. She let it drop.
“
Illuminating. Haven’t heard that one in a while.” Frankie strolled on to the next booth, where a squat, un-smiling couple in matching blue polyester sat selling paintings done on black velvet. She pointed to a large rectangular portrait of John Wayne beaming down from heaven on a circling wagon train. “What do you think?”
Gemma watched as Frankie casually forked over forty dollars, tucking the painting under her arm. “They were really nice people—apart from insulting me about my hair and the store, of course.” Thinking about it, Gemma’s heart sank a little. ‘This is going to cause problems. It is causing problems. They were talking about TV shows and someone named John Franco and I was totally lost. I mean, I couldn’t contribute anything. I think they thought I was kind of weird.“
“You are. But in a good way.”
Gemma frowned. “That’s not helpful. I don’t think ‘weirdness’ is high on Sean’s list of qualities he’s looking for in a girlfriend.”
They were about to walk on when Gemma heard her name called. She turned. Uther was strolling toward her, a big smile on his pale face. Perfect, she thought.
“Hey, you.” Gemma motioned him over. “Uther, I want you to meet my best friend, Frankie Hoffmann. Frankie, this is Uther Abramowitz. I’m teaching him tarot.”
Uther’s smile was pleasant as he shook Frankie’s hand. “Nice surprise to see you here,” he said to Gemma.
“We’re waiting for her boyfriend,” Frankie explained.
Uther’s face fell slightly. “Oh.”
“Uther’s that student of mine I was telling you about,” Gemma said quickly, fumbling to salvage the moment. “You know, with the photographic memory?”
Frankie nodded. “Yes, I remember. Very cool. Computers, right?”
Uther narrowed his eyes, intrigued. “And you’re—?”
“A DJ,” Frankie replied in her Lady Midnight voice. “WROX, the city’s best rock.”
Gemma suppressed a laugh. She’d seen Frankie perform this trick a hundred times, and it always had the same effect: Men went weak in the knees. Uther was no exception. Blood flooded his face and, Gemma imagined, other parts of his body she didn’t want to think of.
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