Leaving Normal (42 page)

"I think you ought to get the puppy," Tony said. "A child needs to be taught what it's like to take care of a pet. Just make sure she cleans up the crap."

"Easy for you to say, you don't have kids."

Tony let the comment go; he didn't show Walcroft how much it got under his skin being reminded of the fact he wasn't a parent. Wally didn't say it in a demeaning way. People with children often took their status for granted.

"Not yet," was all Tony commented. "But I will. One day."

"Better get married first," the captain said, brushing ashes off the dark blue cloth of his pants.

Not readily responding, Tony took a puff of his cigar. He opted to change the subject. He didn't feel like talking about kids and getting married. Not tonight.

"I know how I'm going to get Gable back." Tony's eyes narrowed in anticipation. The pranks between Gable and him had been really heating up lately. They'd been ping-ponging each other for months.

"What?" Walcroft took a sip of cola from the can resting between his legs.

"Remember that woman who won me in the Valentine auction?"

"Never saw her, but Rocky did. Said she was a looker."

"She owns a dress store. She'll call me every now and then."

"Wants you to put out her fire?" Walcroft ribbed.

Tony made no remark; the fact was, Sophia would rather start a fire with him, but he'd told her he wasn't looking for an affair. "She offered to let me borrow one of her mannequins."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Lippert and Anderson said they'd help me out. We're going to put the female dummy on the John and when Gable goes to use the bathroom, he's going to think he walked in on one of the female paramedics."

The captain and Walcroft burst into laughter.

"Good one," Wally said. 'Too bad we can't see his face when he gets a look at that."

"I know." Tony mulled that one over. "I wonder if I can get them to mount a camera in the John."

Captain Palladino chimed in, "They're talking about putting cameras in the stations."

"Hell no. We don't need the public seeing what we're doing." Wally chewed on the end of his cigar. "Remember that time Captain Rico staged a dead snake on the truck steps? Gave the driver a rucking heart attack when he was getting in for a call."

Tony's mouth curved in recollection. "Or the time we had a tennis-ball fight in the hallway."

"Hell, 1 remember that." The captain leaned forward. "Where did we get a bucket of them?"

"Frye, I think."

"Didn't Frye rig the toilet to spray water out when you flushed it?"

"Yeah, he got the back of my shirt wet—"

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The female dispatcher's voice came over the speakers. "Engine thirteen, Engine one, Truck two, Engine five, Battalion two, structure fire on 2012 Twelfth Street, map section N32 cross of Grand and River."

Cigars were tossed into the ashtray and the trio stepped into Danner boots and Kevlar pants. Turnouts were slipped on over their long-sleeved blue shirts.

'Tony, you're chauffeur." Captain Palladino stepped into the engine as the wide front door rolled up and open.

Tony took his seat, punched the engine's motor to life and the truck rolled out of the firehouse with the warning lights and wigwags flashing in alarm.

Nightfall sharpened the effect of neon lights in parking lots and the marquees on roadside businesses. Headlights blurred past as Tony turned left onto the street the captain directed him to. An adrenaline rush surged through Tony as he punched the accelerator. Sweat gathered on the back of his neck, wind from the open window blowing through the cab.

Walcroft's voice carried through the headsets. "This building's been boarded up for a year."

The captain's gaze was on the hydrant grid. "One block up, Tony."

Lights from other fire engines came into view at the end of the block; the ladder truck from Station 1 was pulled up in front of the building. Moments later, the engine from Station 5 appeared.

Smoke rose in gray ribbons from the upstairs windows. A plywood board had been removed; the remaining glass was broken and spidered with cracks.

Tony stopped the engine, and then the three of them went into action. First in was the engine from Station 1, their driver running the pump while the captain and hoseman went in to attack the blaze. It was organized chaos around them with the ladder company, as the rapid-intervention team, on standby.

Hydrants were tapped, lengths of hoses unrolled. Men in reflective turnouts worked around each other, helmets on heads and faces masked with the somber-ness of their duties.

Flames began to lick at the upstairs floors, a flicker of orange and red recessed deep within the building.

A bystander ran toward them, her voice raised with panic. "There's some homeless people in there. A family. I know there's two kids."

The battalion chief ordered Tony's engine to aid in the fire attack.

"Pull a line off Engine 1," he said with authority. "The three of you go in."

The battalion chief spoke to the woman, while the captain, Walcroft and Tony fit their oxygen masks on and prepared to enter the burning building.

The Engine 13 hose line ran down the street, hooked into a line from the Engine 1 pump and, once water was released, the hose rose to life as it filled with pressure.

There was no time to think about what they were doing. Two of the other firefighters were already in on the first floor. A thick gray haze made it difficult to see. Tony swept his gaze through the rooms, Wally forging on ahead toward the base of the stairs while holding the hand line, the captain motioning which direction they should go. Meeting the two of them at the stairs, Tony climbed the risers and they met the blaze on the second story.

"Fire department!" Captain Palladino called out. "Fire department! Hello?"

No answer.

Wally motioned to the left. Tony held back, studying the perimeter in their immediate area. Flames licked the wall ahead, closing off entry to a passage on the right. A third stairwell climbed to another floor of the Victorian-era building.

The seed of the fire got darker before it got lighter. It was extremely hot and Tony could hardly see objects in front of him as he surveyed the area to his right. A knocked-over chair, boxes, fast-food bags. He had to do everything by feel, relying on his sense of touch. He followed the hose string from Engine 1, then stopped and listened to the fire.

His breathing sounded surreal in his ears, an echo inside his oxygen mask, it was slow and steady. He felt as if he were on another planet.

Both of them manned the hand line, Wally crouching low beneath the smoke and leading the way. Tony held on to the hose, keeping a closer distance to Wai-croft than he did to Captain Palladino. Tony saw the reflective back of the captain's turnout. In his mind, Tony made calculations on how he'd drag Wally or the captain out if he had to. He was bigger than Walcroft, equally as big as Captain Palladino, and would be able to carry either of them down the stairs. Still, the thought of not being able to help his fellow firefighter out stabbed at the back of his head. He was on full alert, ready at an instant to make a move.

The roar of the fire blew up behind him, a crash and billow of sparks as the third-floor ceiling near the stairwell began to give way. The hose line jerked, breaking Tony's grip for a moment; long enough that Walcroft took a step ahead of him.

Tony looked up and saw a storm of cinders raining down, felt the sweat bead on his eyebrows and run into his eyes; he blinked, trying to focus better in the ashy haze as it suddenly grew impossible to see. And then he heard the telltale groan of strained timbers.

Not one second ticked off as time ceased to measure on the clock.

And in the following instant, everything around him went black.

The last thought on his mind was Natalie and regret over not telling her that he loved her.

Learning Middle Ground

Fred had invited Iris to his home for dinner. He wasn't much of a chef, but he knew how to spice up an easy skillet meal and he'd made it taste better than the box intended hamburger to taste. Anytime he added fresh ingredients, their flavor doctored up a processed dinner.

He'd spent all morning cleaning his house. He did a deep cleaning, getting into every nook and cranny. For Iris, he wanted his home to look inviting. It mattered to him to impress her every time she came over.

During their leisurely dinner on the patio, they'd been entertained by the squirrels and birds. His yard was made up with mature trees and he'd taken time this spring to do some summer planting. Those bushes and a bed of flowers were starting to bloom.

They'd sat outside until dark, holding hands in the new lawn swing he'd bought and assembled. Those damn instructions had been a bear to follow, but worth the effort to snuggle next to his sweetie. Now he asked her inside for some dessert. He put some fresh fruit in a bowl, spooned strawberries on top. "Would you like some whipping cream, Iris?"

"Without is fine."

He handed her the bowl. She looked nice in a white summer dress that came to just above her knees. She was a fine-looking woman, one he was proud to be seen with. They'd done so many things together; walks on the greenbelt, the Discovery Center science museum, which he'd forgotten about until she suggested it, dinners downtown, a movie at the Egyptian Theatre. Getting to know Iris these past few months had been some of the best times he'd had in years.

"Would you like to sit in the living room?" he asked, always trying to remember his manners. He tried never to swear in front of her.

"That would be great."

He joined her on the sofa, each of them eating their dessert. He had a good hold on his bowl so he wouldn't screw anything up, but dammit if a strawberry didn't roll off his spoon, land on the carpet and leave a red splotch. He'd just had the carpet cleaned not that long ago. "Son of a bitch," he uttered, then quickly wanted to cut his tongue out for having cursed.

Iris burst into laughter. "I was wondering when you'd finally let one fly."

Aghast, he gazed at her. "What do you mean?"

"I've heard you cut yourself off several times, and it's not that I don't appreciate it, but Fred—nobody's perfect." Then she added, "Even though I think you're perfect for me."

"Iris," he said, smiling at her lovely face. She had such shiny hair, so pretty and soft. "You're a peach."

"Thank you, Fred." She had a very kissable mouth. And he had kissed it often.

Feelings of love stirred in his heart, very potent and profound. He'd often wondered how he would feel when they happened for him again. He wasn't afraid. In fact, he welcomed the rush of emotions.

They set their empty dessert bowls on the coffee table. He asked, "Would you like to watch a little television?"

That was their code for "Would you like to snuggle and smooch?"

"Definitely," Iris responded, scooting closer to him.

He settled her next to him, the clicker in one hand and his other arm around her.

The television came to life. A picture focused as he began to scroll through the channels, pausing every so often.

A newscaster announced, "City officials have confirmed that one firefighter has been killed in a blaze that ripped through an abandoned building near downtown Boise."

"Wait!" Hands on her cheeks, Iris was on the edge of the sofa so he wouldn't flip to another station.

The images on the screen were that of an old building engulfed in flames.

"Several Boise fire companies responded to a blaze that broke out about nine o'clock tonight. Firefighters still don't know the cause and an investigation is under way. It was thought that homeless people were living in the building at the time, but the building was vacant. Tragedy struck just the same, and the name of the fallen firefighter hasn't been released pending notification of his familv."

"Tony…" Iris's face went chalk white. "Tony. I have to call Tony."

Fred was already getting the phone for her.

Obituaries
The Idaho Statesman