Whirlwind Passing - Pyro!
By
Nancy Fornataro
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Nancy Fornataro on Smashwords
Whirlwind Passing - Pyro!
Copyright © 2010 by Nancy Fornataro
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Thank you for downloading this eBook. You are welcome to quote the book in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Adult Language and Situations
*****
This book is dedicated to all the firefighters who risk their lives daily, as well as the firefighters who lost their lives during 9/11. God Bless you all. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
*****
Whirlwind Passing - Pyro!
*****
CHAPTER ONE
Rock music blared as the man drove his truck down the road on the outskirts of town. He stopped, grabbed his can of gasoline, and sang along as he doused the dry brush.
"Hot summer night..."
He lit a match, threw it on the gasoline, and the blaze erupted. "Everyone's on fire...."
And, as he drove off, still singing, he threw a propane lighter into the flames.
He wound a path around the city of Sheridan, lighting fires as he went, singing along with the blaring music blaring from his truck.
He lit his fires quickly, and sped to the next sight, his adrenalin pumping, the rock music pounding in his brain.
All in all that hot summer night, the man lit twenty fires around the outskirts of Sheridan, each the same, each containing a small propane blast.
And, as he headed for the hills to watch the ring of fire burning, the propane lighters started exploding in colorful effusion. He grinned.
When he reached his look out spot, high in the hills, he dumped the gasoline can in the bushes and sat on the ground. He lit a cigarette and relaxed as he watched the fires glowing in the distance.
As he rubbed his shoulders, now sore from lugging the gas can, he sang, "Hot summer night, everyone's on fire, I can feel the sizzle comin' on..."
When he heard the distant sounds of fire engines echoing in the canyon, his eyes were dreamy and he whispered, "Burn the town...burn the town..."
*****
A thousand miles away, in Washington, D.C., FBI Agent Mulligan was having a dream. Three women stood in a black room, surrounded by a ring of fire. He tried to warn them, but he couldn't.
Flames licked their feet and traveled up their dresses as he watched in horror. He smelled burning flesh and cried as their skin turned black and their limbs fell off. One by one, the women toppled to the ground, creating a mound of charred, unrecognizable corpses.
He bolted upright in bed, sweating, crying, and, as if in a trance, whispered, "Burn the town...burn the town..."
*****
Mrs. Estes was the first to hear the loud rock music echoing through the canyon. She frowned and went to the front door.
She looked out over the panoramic countryside, searching for the source of the music. Then, she saw it. A tiny lick of flame in the distance.
"Oh, my God," she whispered. And, she looked around at her overgrown yard, wishing she'd called the gardener sooner.
She ran to call the fire department.
There were twenty homes in the Saxony project where she lived. They were beautiful homes. Recently built, they stood on the outskirts of the tri-county area of Sheridan as a symbol of those who had made it. The successful ones. The rich ones.
Using her portable phone, she dialed emergency and went back to her front porch. In the distance, she spotted yet another fire and another.
As she spoke frantically to the dispatcher, the first fire exploded, sending sparks flying into the adjacent brush, making it come alive with flames.
The eerie wind seemed to blow in tandem with the walls of flame, befriending and enhancing them.
The countryside glowed red with fire. There was a circle burning around the town of Sheridan.
*****
In a different subdivision, Michael was lying in bed next to Becky, stroking her dark hair. She was thirty-two weeks along into her pregnancy. And, every week, she'd given Michael detailed accounts of how the baby looked inside her. She was excited. They had been married two years now, and they were both ecstatic about their first baby.
But, on this hot summer night, she was having problems. When he came home from work, her face was bloated and puffy. Her ankles were swollen.
"I feel so fat, Michael," she'd told him.
And now, he frowned as she moaned.
"What's wrong, Beck?" he whispered.
She turned awkwardly, and faced him in the bed. "My stomach hurts, Michael, and I have a headache."
He took her hand. "Contractions?"
"No."
The telephone rang. It was the fire department dispatcher.
"Mike! We got fires all around Sheridan! The chief says it looks like arson, and the fire marshal is on vacation. The fire's threatening the Saxony Hills project."
Michael said, "Okay. Be right there. Tell the chief I'm on the way."
Michael had been on the arson squad for two years, since he married Becky, as they couldn't continue in the same homicide division as man and wife. They were partners in the Homicide Division, but now partners for life.
He usually enjoyed his work at fires. But, this night, Michael resented it, and he wanted to stay with his wife.
"Gotta go, sweetheart," he said, as he quickly dressed. "You going to be okay?"
"Yeah," she whispered, "I'll be fine, don't worry about me."
Her skin felt hot when he kissed her cheek.
"Sure you shouldn't call Doctor Parker?"
"No...really, it's probably just the heat. I just feel like the Goodyear Blimp, is all."
"Okay…but call Mrs. Brady next door if you need help. And I'll have my cell phone with me."
Michael could smell the smoke as he left the house, and he heard the distant wail of sirens.
As he approached the fire threatening Saxony Hills, he maneuvered his jeep past frantic evacuees from the project, their cars loaded with valuables, their eyes wide with fright.
Wildlife of all types darted in front of his car, deer, rabbits, skunks, all trying to escape the flames in the distance.
He parked his jeep down the road from a pumper truck, and approached the fire chief from Battalion Five.
The smoke was intense, stinging his eyes, and the air swirled with gray ash.
"How's it coming, Roy?" he asked the chief.
The man's face was black with soot, which ran down his face along with his sweat. "Not good, Mike. Just trying, at this point, to protect the project. We got twenty spot-fires that contained incendiary devices of some kind. People reported explosions that blew the fire to the surrounding brush. We had to call county fire in Wallingford and Harrisville to assist."
"Tell me the location of the twenty."
"Just follow the road, Mike. Right around Patten Road to Berringer. Rings the project. The first one's about a quarter mile down."
"Okay. Thanks Roy."
"We got dozers coming in for the fire-break. We may have to back-fire to stop it. We're just hoping the wind doesn't pick up tomorrow."
Michael nodded, and started walking towards his Jeep.
"Hey, Mike?"
He turned.
"People reported hearing loud rock music playing in the canyon as the fires started. Looks like we got us a musical fire bug."
Michael nodded again, and continued on towards his jeep. He grabbed his shovel from the back, and started walking. After he located the first arson spot, which was quelled by Company Five, embers still glowed as Michael probed the hot ash. The heat was intense, and Michael's face was as sooty now as the chief's.
Then, he saw it in the embers. The blackened remains of something very small, but something. He picked it up with a gloved hand, and rubbed it. A faint glow of metal showed. One round strip of metal was still attached. Then, he realized what it was: the tip of a propane lighter.
He frowned. "How terribly ingenious," he said.
Picking up a shovel full of the ash closest to what he determined was the fire's origin, he sniffed it.
"Gasoline," he said aloud, "propane and gasoline."
He moved to the next spot.
A firefighter came up to him.
"Found this over there," she said, holding up the remains of another propane lighter.
He looked at her closely. "What company are you from?"
Her face was black with soot, and she stared at him through her goggles. "Five, why?"
He grinned. "Nothing. Just wondering."
*****
She walked down the road, and asked one of the men from her company, "Need some help?"
He was obviously exhausted, as he held the hose from the tanker truck and sprayed spot fires with it.
"Nah, it's okay."
"Lacey!" the captain called, "over here!"
Some of her crew stood by the captain.
"We need you guys over by the project. Dig a trench around the perimeter. Lattimer, you and Ross take the truck. Spray the yards and the roofs. Go!"
This was Lacey's first major fire. They had run on some kitchen fires and oddball stuff like drunks needing an aspirin, but nothing like this.
She trudged up the slope silently with the rest of the men. This was what it was all about, she thought. This was what it was all about.
Hot ashes flew around her, smoke grabbed at her lungs, making the climb even more difficult, and her coat felt like a lead weight.
They arrived at the top of the hill, gasping, and began to dig. Two to each home, they dug a perimeter. It was backbreaking work, and sweat flowed down her back, under her arms and down her breasts in a continuous stream.
The man she worked with was twice as fast as she, and he was silent. She knew if he worked with a man from the crew, they would be trading barbs and cussing at each other.
It had been a difficult transition for the men when she joined their crew a few weeks ago. They were often silent in the firehouse, and the silences were strained. There were some jokes about her name. They resented her, and she knew it.
A few were friendly, more out of curiosity than anything else.
"How'd you ever pass the tests to get in here, Lacey?" they had asked her. "You don't look strong enough."
"It wasn't easy!" she'd reply, good-naturedly, that being the truth. It had been a grueling test of her strength, passing all the fire department's requirements. She lifted weights and ran five miles a day for months in preparation. And now, she held the dubious honor of being the first and only woman firefighter in the county.
But, nothing could have prepared her for this fire tonight. They had been here for hours already, digging, walking, and manning hoses, fighting the blaze and the intense heat of the night.
Soon, dawn approached, and Lacey was exhausted. She dug mechanically, her mind trying to disassociate itself from her arms, which both screamed out in pain, screamed at her to stop. Her back ached, and her equipment felt heavier by the minute.
The man she worked with looked up, then down the slope. The wind was picking up, and the Enemy fire grew closer with every passing minute. Then, a huge gust of wind almost knocked her over.
"Let's get out of here!" her partner yelled, "Firestorm!"
She looked down the slope, and saw a huge wall of flame heading towards them.
"Shit," she breathed.
They dropped their shovels, and ran. He almost outpaced her, but she kept up. She felt drops of water from the pumper truck as they ran around the side of the house towards the street, now filling with firefighters from her crew.
She looked back at the house. The roof was engulfed in flames, as were the other roofs of the homes surrounding them in the cul-de-sac. They were almost trapped by the fire. The only escape was for them all to hop on the fire engine, which stood uselessly pumping water on the towering Enemy, and try to make it out of the street through flames now arcing across the road. Once the hose was disconnected, they hung on for dear life, as the engine careened through the wall of flames.
"I'm in hell," she thought, as one man screamed when suddenly his face was burned badly by shooting flames.
And, as they drove through the worst part, the Enemy and the men faced off. It singed their hair, licked at their blackened faces, and reminded them that death at the hands of this fire would be slow and painful.
They made it through, and leaped off the truck, pounding on their smoking coats, coughing blackened soot from their lungs, wiping black rivers from their noses.
Lacey fell on the ground, smelled her scorched hair, and watched the now distant houses start to crumble to the ground.
She looked up at the street sign. "Paradise Road," she wheezed.
And she knew. The Enemy won.
CHAPTER TWO
The sun dawned on Sheridan with an eerie glow.
Michael scanned the morning sky, which was filled with smoke so thick it seemed as if a nuclear blast had hit. Ash rained down on him, and the sun was bright red.
He searched for the captain of Battalion Five, and found him sipping coffee at a Red Cross truck. An ugly burn slashed across the man's face. He looked at Michael.
"We lost Saxony, Mike," he said, "but we're getting it under control. The county trucks got here about two hours ago. That helped."
"Better get that burn treated, Roy."
The man touched it gingerly, "Battle scar, Mike. It's not that bad. A few of the guys got treated for smoke inhalation. One got burned on his face worse than me. We've got some mop up to do on this side then we're going in."
"I ran into a woman from your crew last night. How'd she do?"
The captain rubbed his bristly chin, and smiled. "Lacey? Wasn't sure about her at first. She did okay, though. Kept up. Doesn't seem like a job for a woman, does it?"
Michael smiled, and thought of his wife Rebecca, the homicide detective. "I guess it depends on the woman."
Cap chuckled then grew serious. "Find the source of the fires?"
"Yeah. Gasoline, with propane lighters thrown in. That's what caused the explosions."
"Think he'll try it again?"
Michael looked at the exhausted firefighters lying on the ground around them, and then at the billowing clouds of smoke still rising from the Saxony Hills project. "Let's hope not, Roy. Let's hope not."
He heard the radio in his jeep squawk, and he walked over to answer it.
"Mike," the dispatcher said, "we've been trying to get through to you. Your wife's over at Community Hospital. You need to get over there."
Michael floored his jeep, and raced over the miles to the hospital, his hands clutching the steering wheel, his lips in a hard line.
Arriving, he threw his hat in the back seat, and ran into the emergency entrance.
"Rebecca Colvin," he said breathlessly to the startled receptionist.
"Room two-fifty-one," she said, looking at him curiously.
The doctor was walking out of the room as Michael arrived.
"Michael," he said, "I'm glad you're here."
"What happened?"
The doctor led him down the hall to the visitor's waiting area. They sat on a couch.
"A neighbor found her wandering the neighborhood in her nightgown, Michael. She had amnesia. Didn't know her name, or where she lived. It's not unusual in these cases."
"What cases?" Michael asked impatiently.
The doctor said gently, "She has preclampsia, Michael. Her blood-pressure was sky high when they brought her in. She has body and liver edema."
"What's that?"
"Fluid retention from the high blood-pressure. Her body can't pump the fluids out, so they accumulate in the tissues. We're stabilizing her with diazoxide."
Michael rose and started pacing in front of the doctor. "Is she going to be okay?"
"Probably. But, we're going to have to take the baby. We'll do a cesarean as soon as she's stable."
Michael stopped pacing, and ran a hand through his sandy hair. "Do you have to do that?"
"Yes."
"What are the baby's chances? Becky's not full-term, you know."
The doctor stood, and put a hand on Michael's arm. "The baby will be very small. It's fifty-fifty at this point in her pregnancy. I'm sorry, Michael. That's all I can tell you right now."
Michael nodded. "So, do you know when the operation will be yet?"
"No. We have to get her stabilized first. I'm sorry, Mike. I don't have many answers for you. I wish I could tell you more. Why don't you go in and see her? She seems fairly alert now. Talk to her, but try not to upset her."
"Sure."
Michael walked slowly towards her hospital room, his boots echoing in the hallway. This wasn't going as they planned. She still had time to go. Precious time for the baby to grow. And with a pyro on the loose, he wouldn't have time for his family.
The enormity and seriousness of the situation hit him. And, he had to pause outside the room for a minute to compose himself.
He entered. A nurse was taking Becky's blood-pressure before she left the room.
"Becky?" he said softly, approaching her bed.
Lying on her side, she was hooked up to monitors and an I.V. was attached to her hand. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders and, although her face was still puffy, Michael thought she was beautiful. The small mound in her stomach reminded him that there were three of them in the room.
Becky smiled at him wanly. "Is that really Michael under all that soot?"
"Yeah, sorry about that. I didn't have time to clean up."
"It's okay. Come here and kiss me anyway."
He did, and tears stung his eyes as he realized how close he came to losing her.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, with a voice that wavered slightly.
"Still a little water logged, but better than last night."
He leaned on the bed rail and tried to smile. "Guess they found you out wandering the streets in your nightgown. Were you looking for me or what?"
She gazed at him. "I don't remember. I guess I probably was. It's all blank. I don't like blank spots, Michael, it makes me nervous."
He nodded.
"How's the fire? I heard it was big. All the nurses were talking about it. They were also talking about you. The cute firefighter out in the hall, they said."
"Hey, my fan club."
"Right."
"Yeah, they're doing a mop up on it now. We got us a pyro, Beck. He set twenty fires. Ringed the projects with fire."
"Wow. What's the M.O.?"
"Gasoline and propane lighters for that explosive extra."
"Jesus, Michael. Any ideas how to catch him?"
He smiled. "Oh, I'll get him. He'll slip up. Maybe he'll stand and watch next time, while he's jacking off. Or, maybe he'll leave the gas can with some prints on it."
"Could be." She shifted awkwardly. "Michael, look," she pointed to the monitor, "that's the baby's heartbeat."
"What a champ. Thought about names yet?"
"Let's see. How about Frances?"
He grinned. "Now there's a nice generic name."
She smiled at him. "Seriously, I'd thought of Kimberly for a girl and Donald for a boy."
"Nah. I like Kimberly, but Donald it too duck-like. How about Christopher?"
"Christopher Colvin. I like that, honey. Sounds good."
She looked tired, and the nurse returned to check her blood-pressure again.
"It's up," she announced.
Rebecca smiled at him. "Honey, you have that effect on me."
The nurse stared at him, and he took the hint.
He said, "Think I'll go home and get cleaned up. But, I'll be back later."
Becky reached over and squeezed his hand. "Why don't you sleep for a while? You look exhausted."
"Yeah." He looked at the nurse. "You'll call me if her situation changes?"
She smiled. "Of course."
As he was walking out the door, Becky called after him, "Michael...my mother is flying in tomorrow."
He winced. He had seen The Beast twice now, which was twice too often as far as he was concerned. And the thought of seeing her again made him depressed.
"Okay," he turned and tried to smile at her, "I'll be good. I promise."
She laughed.
*****
Lacey and crew arrived back at their fire station at eight in the morning.
"Okay," their Captain said, "Let's clean the rigs and get some sleep. Relief shift should be here tonight."
Lacey threw her jacket and hat on a peg, and wondered if she'd make it. Her whole body cried out in pain, and she thought the extra work of cleaning the rig and folding the hoses added insult to injury.
She and Lassiter started hosing the truck and wiping it down.
She liked Lassiter. He was a tall, polite southerner who had transferred in from Memphis around the same time she joined their crew. He was one of the few men there who bothered to say anything significant to her.
"You doin' okay, Lacey?" he asked her.
She stopped and coughed up black mucus from her lungs.
"Yeah, if I can get this crap out of my lungs I will be."
"You did a good job today. Really good."
That simple comment meant more to her than anything in the world at that moment. She treasured it, and filed it in the back of her memory.
Then, she started to cry. She didn't want to, but she cried.
He pulled her around the back of the truck. "Don't let 'em see you. Don't let 'em see you cry, Lacey. We're almost done here. Then we can get cleaned up."
"Yeah, okay. Thanks, Lassiter." She wiped her eyes with the towel she held, and took a deep breath.
They finished up, and went inside.
Some of the men were showering and some sat in the kitchen sipping sodas.
Ross was among them, and he baited her as she opened a soda.
"See you made it, Lacey. What now, probie, shower and paint your toenails?"
She stopped, her soda held half-way to her lips. "No, asshole. I'll let you shower first. You stink." And, she took a long drink. She had had conversations with this man before.
The men laughed.
"Hey, Ross," one said, "she's got you pegged."
Ross looked at her, his eyes narrowing, and he stroked his chin. "Not if I peg her first."
This brought another burst of laughter from the men.
She looked around at all of them, smiled, and said loudly, "Now there's a revolting thought!"
More laughter.
She looked at Lassiter. "Let me know when the shower is clear, would you?" And, she left the room.
Ten minutes later, she was in the community shower by herself, washing her blonde hair, and watching the scorched parts fall out into her hands.
She heard a noise and turned. Ross stood there grinning.
"Hey," he said, "thought I was first in here!"
As if to ignore him, she turned around. "Nah," she said, "you're last, Ross. In my book, anyway. Now, get the fuck out of here!"
She heard him at the door, and he said over his shoulder, "You'd better work on those buns, Lacey. They look a little saggy to me."
She turned and threw the soap at him. "Asshole!" she yelled.
But, as she was toweling herself off, she looked at her backside in the mirror.
"My buns don't sag. This guy is full of shit."
She dressed in her blues, and joined the men in the T.V. room. Her shoulder length blonde hair was already in ringlets around her face. In the past, she debated cutting it. But then, she thought the men would call her Shirley Temple, and she decided against it.
Lassiter walked up to her. "Heard what happened in the shower. I'll be your look-out from now on, okay?"
"Thanks, Joe. I could use one, with dick-heads like him around."
The men filtered in, including Ross, and they sat watching a movie.
She observed Ross. He really was a good-looking man, she thought. His shoulders strained against the blue t-shirt he wore, and his arm muscles were bulky and solid. He was clean-shaven now, and his short, black hair gleamed.
Under any other circumstances, she would have been attracted to the man. But, not here. Not in this place.
Exhaustion seemed to hit them all at once, and some slept while Lacey grew drowsy in her chair. Releasing herself from events of the day, she fell asleep and dreamed of fire.
CHAPTER THREE
Across town, in a rat-infested tenement, the pyro dreamed of his mother. In his dream, he was a small boy again, playing with matches in his bedroom, watching the flame of each one glow.
Then, his mother came in. She'd been drinking, and she weaved her way towards him.
"Fire?" she screamed, "I'll show you fire, you rotten little son-of-a-bitch!"
She carried him by one arm to the stove.
"You want fire?" she yelled, "I'll give you fire!"
She held his trembling hand over the burner's flame. He screamed and screamed, and smelled his flesh burning, as the flames blackened his tiny hand.
She finally released him, and he fell to the floor, writhing and screaming.
"Rotten little fucker," she said, taking a long drag off her cigarette. And, for good measure, she extinguished her cigarette on his leg, causing him to scream even louder.
"And, stop that yelling you rotten little piss! You want to wake up the whole neighborhood?"
The man awoke, sweating, and bolted out of bed.
He turned on his blues tape, and the music calmed him.
He sat sipping a beer, and smoking a cigarette. He wondered if his mother was still alive, and where she was. One day, when he was seven, she had abandoned him at a shopping center. He never saw her again.
Looking at his hand, still scarred by the burning he received that day, the music filtered into his consciousness, as he flicked his lighter and watched the flame.
"I love you," he whispered.
*****
Michael had stopped by the division before returning to the hospital to visit Rebecca. He was in the midst of writing his report, when the Fire Marshall approached his desk.
The man wore loud, flowered shorts, sandals and a tank top. His head was partially bald, and a bit sunburned.
Michael looked at him and grinned. "Hank, you look...cute today. Very cute."
The two of them worked well together. Michael respected the man's knowledge, as Hank had been on fire crews for ten years before he moved up in the ranks to Fire Marshall.
He sat by Michael's desk. "Yeah, they found me up at Lake Tamarisk. I should have gone further away to camp."
Michael laughed, but he knew the man wanted to be here. It was in his blood, and Michael was starting to feel the same way, after working with the man for two years.
"I gotta hurry and finish this report, Hank. Beck's in the hospital."
"She's not due yet, is she?"
"No. She's got some kind of preclamp shit. Like a high blood-pressure thing, so they have to operate and take the baby."
Hank frowned and shook his head. "Geez, Mike. That's a tough break. Sounds serious."
"Yeah."
Michael wrote for a few more minutes, and gave the completed report to Hank.
The man read it and whistled. "Major pyro."
They talked about the details for a few minutes.
Then, Hank said, "Who was the builder on the Saxony Project?"
Michael checked his computer. "Now, that's interesting. Manny Lemus. Remember him?"
"How could I forget? We never did get that conviction, did we? All those people who died."
Manny Lemus had built many sub-standard buildings around Sheridan, and also owned some of the worst tenement buildings.
They had suspected him of torching a few of his own tenements. Word on the street at the time was that he wanted to renovate them for co-ops. But, the tenants didn't want to leave. After the fires, some were dead from smoke inhalation, and the rest left out of fear. Lemus had his insurance money, renovated, sold the co-ops, and made a small fortune.
"We better talk to him, Mike. We'll find out what kind of insurance he had on the project. It's been a year, and a lot of the homes haven't sold over there yet. They're having trouble selling them, I heard."
"Yeah. Tell you what. I'll see Becky, then meet you back here in about an hour. You need to change clothes, right?"
Hank looked sheepish. "What, you don't like my shorts?" He looked down at the loud, flowered print.
"Hell yeah, Hank. I love 'em. It's the sandals. You've got some majorly ugly feet, guy. Put some socks on or something."
When Michael arrived at Becky's hospital room, the gray haired mother-in-law Beast was there, in all her glory.
She sniffed as he walked in, and appraised him from Becky's bedside with beady eyes. She had the look of a woman who'd smoked all her life, with leathery wrinkles on an ashen, sunken face. And, locks of short, grayish-blue teased hair stuck out from her head in a random pattern. "About fucking time you got here!"
"Why hello, Mommy Dearest. Nice to see you, too. Did you have a good flight from Chicago?"
Now, he thought, why don't you go back where you came from.
She sniffed again, and Becky smiled at him.
"Goddamn planes. They cram you in there like a bunch of sardines. Then they bring you a little tiny cup filled to the brim with lousy soda. Then the jerk sitting in front of you decides to sit back in his seat, and the soda slides down and almost lands in your lap. Then, you have to go to the bathroom, but you can't because they're serving drinks with those stupid carts that take up the whole goddamn aisle."
She was really going now, and Michael wondered if there was any way to stop her monologue.
"Then," she continued, "they have the nerve to charge what they charge for this bullshit. For cramming me like a sardine, feeding me a lunch that tastes like someone barfed on it, and almost making me wet my pants until they get their skinny little asses out of the aisle, they charged me four-hundred plus. Do you believe that shit?"
Michael smiled, and Rebecca said, "Ma. You're hyper. You're going to make my blood-pressure go up."
"Tut! And, this one, with the blood-pressure. She has no luck, Michael. No luck at all. I can't tell you how many times I had her in the emergency when she was little. Broken arms, fingers, and then the busted head. Do you want to know what this little twirp did when she was six?"
Michael grinned, as Rebecca groaned, and he said, "No, Mommy Dearest. Do tell."
"Well, she and this buddy of hers would play cops and robbers in the basement. Bang, bang, shoot 'em ups down there. One day, I heard her yelling really loud. I go down there, and here she is, hanging off the window ledge. Then, she fell off right in front of my eyes, before I could get to her. Got a concussion when she fell backwards. She didn't even know who I was for two days."
Michael would be willing to forget The Beast too, if given the chance.
"So," he said, "that's why she's so weird. Thanks, Mom, for clearing that up for me."
Becky groaned again, and an alarm went off on her monitor.
A male nurse came in. "Okay," he said, "everybody out."
"Who the hell are you?" asked The Beast.
"I'm a nurse," he said, inflating the pressure cup on Becky's arm.
The Beast peered at him, as she rose to leave. "You gay? Is that why you're a nurse?"
Michael grinned.
"No, ma'am," the man answered, "I have a wife and two kids."
In the hallway, she grabbed Michael's arm. "It's serious, isn't it Michael?"
He looked down at the old woman. "Yeah, Mom. But, she's a fighter. She'll pull through."
"I don't know. She has no luck. I hope you told the doctor to hell with the baby. He's got to save my Becky...you can have other babies...he's got to save my Becky."
She grabbed a tissue from her purse, and dabbed at her eyes.
Michael started to hug her, then thought better of it, and said, "Don't worry, Mom. They'll both make it. They're both fighters."
Then, they walked down the hall, arguing about names for the baby.
Later that day, Michael and Hank pulled up in front of the twenty-story building that housed the offices of Manny Lemus.
They both looked up at the towering building.
Hank said, "Geez, Mike, he's moving up in the world. This is a far cry from the warehouse he used to operate from. He built this one too, didn't he?"
"Yeah," Michael said, as they entered the poshly decorated lobby, which sported ferns and modernistic furniture. "I seem to remember he did. There was a big hoop-da and the mayor was at the opening ceremonies."
The suites belonging to Manny Lemus were on the top floor, and, as they waited to interview the man, Hank whistled at the view, and at the red-haired secretary who went to get Lemus.
"Geez," he said, "that secretary's a looker. And too bad the smoke's still out there. This guy's got some view."
Lemus approached them, and Michael thought the man's suit must have been of the thousand-dollar variety. He was a young, slim man, and his hair was oiled straight back on his head, providing the nickname he and Hank often called him in private of 'Mr. Slick.'
Michael smelled expensive aftershave and felt the heavy, diamond rings the man wore as Lemus shook his hand.
They were ushered into his corner office, which held an even more impressive view of the city. It was decorated in ultra modern, like the lobby, and Michael thought the huge, black desk Lemus sat behind must have weighed five hundred pounds.
They sat on two cushiony, black leather chairs in front of his desk.
"Now, what can I do for you today, gentlemen?" Lemus said smoothly.
"Just a few questions," Hank said. His tone matched the other man's, and Michael had noticed Hank doing this in the past. It seemed like an automatic mimicking of the person he was interviewing. Sometimes, it helped him get close to suspects, and they revealed details they wouldn't give up otherwise.
Hank continued, "You are the builder of the Saxony Hills project?"
Lemus smiled. "I was until this morning, yes."
Hank smiled. "Nice homes."
"They were, yes."
"Yes, a very unfortunate thing last night. You must be devastated. You've probably lost--"
"Millions," Lemus interrupted. "Have you gentlemen determined how this fire occurred?"
"We're working on it. We're here to find out what kind of insurance you had on the vacant homes."
Lemus raised his eyebrows. "I had them insured with Globe Casualty for appraised value. I'm hoping I'll be able to collect. You realize, I'm sure, that I've had problems with fires in some of my buildings. Insurance companies get skittish. My rates are very high because of it."
"Yes," Hank replied, "that's unfortunate."
"Can you think of anyone," Michael said, "who might have a beef against you?"
Lemus smiled again. "There must be hundreds out there who'd love to see me fall flat on my face. I have enemies, gentlemen. To get this," he pointed to the panoramic view, "you make enemies. Their corpses, figuratively speaking of course, lie in the path I took to get here. It's the price I paid for success."
"Yes," Hank said, "how true."
They rose to leave.
"Gentlemen?" Lemus still sat in his chair. "You'll probably get a call from my insurance people. I hope you know by then what caused the fire."
A smile played on his lips as he spoke, and Michael thought, I'm going to nail this guy. If it takes the rest of my life, I'm going to nail him.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lacey was on duty at the fire station two nights later, when the first alarm came in for Station Three. Hearing the location of the blaze, they started preparing their equipment. The second alarm came in shortly after, and they were called.
The fire was on the west side of town, West Main Street. It was the part of Sheridan where poverty met paradise. The hilly side of Main held large, opulent homes, which sported a view of the city and the lake beyond. But, in the valley below, grinding poverty was visible. Small, hovel-like wood frame houses were crammed tightly together, and they shared space on Main Street proper with rat-infested tenements.
Some of the old buildings on East Main had been renovated, and a grant from the city had cleaned up the area. But, West Main continued to be a problem for police and fire personnel.
As Lacey rode to the fire, she remembered a story the captain had told her about West Main.
They had made a run for a possible rescue. But, when they arrived at the tenement building, what they found there had appalled them.
A boy of ten opened the door of his apartment, and inside were seven children, none being older than the boy. He told the captain that he was the man of the house, and his mother was ill.
The stench had been unbelievable, the Captain said. Human excrement was piled in a corner, as the plumbing was broken. Rats darted from the men, as they made their way into the room.
The filthy children all looked emaciated, and most had open, running sores on their bodies. There was no food in the house.
But, as they approached the mattress where the woman lay, the stench grew worse.
Cap guessed the woman had been dead from a heroin overdose for three days. Rats feasted on her rotten, swollen corpse, along with flies and maggots.
"She ain't moved for a long time," the boy told them, "can't keep the dang rats away from her."
Afterwards, the children were treated at a local hospital, and farmed out to foster homes. The men started a collection to buy them clothes and toys. And, at Christmas, they brought all of the children for a special Christmas dinner at the firehouse, where the youngsters tried on the men's coats and hats, and clamored on the fire trucks.
Lacey smelled the burn as they approached, and saw clouds of black smoke billowing from the three-story tenement building. And, her adrenaline started racing when the structure came into full view.
The scene was chaotic. Engine Three was already there, trying to lay hose, while frantic tenants scrambled out of the building and ran blindly in all directions.
Lacey looked up at the building. Although black smoke poured out of the upper eaves, no flames were visible. An old woman hung by her hands off a third-story window, and Lacey heard screaming from inside the building.
"Lattimer!" the Captain yelled, "You and Daley help Three ventilate the roof. Ross, see if you can get to that woman up there. Lacey, you and Abrams lay hose."
He went down the line, issuing orders, and giving commands to his small army.
They worked quickly, spreading the savior lifeline, which soon sprung to life in the hands of one of the crew, and joined with Engine Three's hose to spray water through the lobby doors.
Windows began popping in the old building, and shards of glass flew in all directions.
Ross, after successfully grabbing the old lady, tried to shield the woman from the falling debris, as he helped her down the ladder.
As Lacey waited her turn at the hose, a woman ran up to her, screaming.
"My baby! My baby is in there!"
The young woman's eyes were wild, and she wore nothing but a nightgown.
Lacey led the woman away from the hose, and to safety, as she tried to comfort her. When she returned, the men from her crew were preparing to enter the building.
"Lacey," the Captain said, "get your mask. You're going in, I need everyone in there. Stick with Abrams."
Her heart pounded, as she ran to the truck. And, she was terrified.
She donned her SCBA mask, which she knew contained just thirty minutes of air.
When she returned to the men, Ross grinned at her.
"You up for this, Probie?"
She didn't answer him, and looked up at the building with fear in her eyes.
Flames now shot out of the upper floors, and through the roof.
"Remember," Abrams said, "if we get separated, stick with the hose, Lacey. That way, you can always find your way out."
"Let's hit it!" Ross yelled, and they entered the inferno.
The interior of the ancient, small lobby was flooded with water from the hoses, but dense, black smoke still clung to the ceiling.
The building, Lacey thought, must have been a hotel at one point, as there were two corridors leading from the lobby to the back. They split up, and half the firemen went to the left corridor with one of the hoses, and Lacey followed Abrams towards the right.
Fire dripped down the walls as they approached, and sizzled and popped as water from the hose reached it.
They searched the first few rooms and found no one. The smoke was denser towards the end of the hallway, and Lacey was forced to grab onto Abrams coat more than once, as she lost her bearings, unable to see in the thick cloud.
She was sweating profusely in the heavy coat and air mask, and her eyes stung badly, as her own salty sweat dripped into them.
In the last room at the end of the hallway, she and Abrams finally found three small children, unconscious from smoke inhalation. Abrams grabbed one under each arm, and Lacey carried the third, as they made their way back towards the hose.
Suddenly, as they reached the hallway, a rumble came from the bowels of the ancient building.
"She's coming down!" Abrams yelled at her, "Hurry!"
Another rumble sounded, as they made their way down the smoky hallway, and the building shook.
They finally reached the flooded lobby, and ran to the outside, carrying the children. Lacey threw off her mask, as an EMT paramedic took the child from her arms, and she breathed deeply of the fresh air.
She looked around for her crew, and was relieved to see that all of them had made it out of the inferno.
Cap stood next to her, as they heard a roaring sound come from the tenement.
"Jesus God!" he breathed, as the roof collapsed, and flames shot out of the hole in the building's center.
Four hoses were shooting at the flames uselessly, and the men watched in silence. More of the building toppled inward, as the men from Company Three pumped water on the surrounding structures, to prevent them from going up in flames as well.
Lacey and crew were silently staring at the blaze, with their hats held in their hands. It was a firemen's worst nightmare. They hadn't been able to rescue all the people.
*****
Michael watched the building collapse from across the street. He scanned the faces in the crowd for one. One who's eyes would be alive with joy. One who would be caressing himself as the fire raged.
Pyros, he knew, loved to watch their handiwork. They often stood in the street during a fire, basking in the glory of it, their eyes wide and intense in the fire's glow.
Michael knew the look, and it haunted him sometimes. It was the look of death.
But, the people he watched were just refugees from the tenement. Their faces were black with soot, and most looked dazed.
An old man in pajamas standing next to him started babbling. "Couldn't get out the back. They'd locked the doors with padlocks a year ago. Said there was too much drug selling going on. What am I goin' to do now, Mister? I ain't got no place to go. Now, I ain't got nothin' and I got no place to go."
Michael put an arm around his frail shoulder, and led him to a Red-Cross worker, who had just arrived on the scene.
Hank walked up to him.
"See anyone, Mike?"
"Nah. Not really. You know, it makes me think the survivors of this might be better off anyplace other than that rat-hole. That old guy told me the back doors were padlocked. What a shitty way to live."
"Yeah. I know. Bet I know who his landlord is, too. Wouldn't hurt to check. It also wouldn't hurt to demolish these buildings one of these days. We need to inspect them all tomorrow, too, and get those fucking padlocks off."
Lacey walked up to Michael with a cup in her hand, and her fire hat held under her arm.
"You're the arson detective, aren't you?" she said.
He smiled at her. "Yeah. I saw you at the Saxony fire. What's up?"
She frowned. "I don't know. Just someone I saw. It's probably nothing."
"Nothing sometimes turns into something," he replied. "Go for it."
She sipped her Gatorade, then said, "Well, you know how they reported rock music in the canyon before the Saxony Fire?"
"Yeah."
"Well, a little while after we arrived at the scene, I saw this young guy with earphones on."
"Okay."
"And he just...looked weird, you know? I can't explain it. He was standing over there," she pointed to an area where some people still stood, "and he was smiling, but not really smiling, just a funny look on his face, then he left." She looked up at him, and shrugged. "I'm not very good at this, am I? I'd make a terrible arson investigator."
Michael grinned. "Oh, I don't know. You're doing pretty good so far." He pulled out his note pad. "Why don't you give me a description of him, just for the hell of it?"
She finished her drink, and crumpled the cup. "Okay. He was about six foot, skinny, kinda looked like a speed-freak the way he was twitching around. I think he had brown hair, longish on his neck."
"You remember what he was wearing?"
"Let's see. Um, jeans, white t-shirt, and a blue wind-breaker."
"Think you could identify him?"
"Gee, I don't know. I just saw him real quick when I helped a woman over there." She pointed to another spot.
"This is good," Hank said, smiling at her, "Miss..."
She put her hat on. "Lacey, Margie Lacey. You guys can just call me Lacey if you want. The crew does."
"Okay, Lacey," Michael said, "we'll be in touch. You're on Five, right?"
"You bet." And, she turned and ran towards her crew.
"She sounds pretty proud of it," Hank said, as he watched her.
Michael flipped his note pad closed. "Yeah. I guess she is, Hank."
CHAPTER FIVE
That night, the firefighters were able to save adjacent structures, but the old tenement quickly burned to the ground.
As Michael and Hank wearily sifted through mountains of wood and ash the next day, assisted by a fresh fire crew, they discovered padlocks, seven charred bodies in various locations, and bits of a propane tip by the fire's origin point. The burn patterns indicated a gasoline lit fire in the basement of the building. This didn't surprise Michael, though. Once an arsonist started, he usually didn't stop until he was apprehended.
But, finding the bodies haunted Michael. Five were adults, and two were small children. The children lay in black piles, in what was left of their cribs. He tried to be objective, but he couldn't. His anger grew.
They finished their work at the fire site, and left for the station to write their reports.
Sitting at his desk, Michael scanned the computer files for the owner of the building.
"Lemus," he muttered angrily, "I knew it."
And, Hank said, "Time for another visit to Mr. Slick."
After showering and changing clothes, they inspected other buildings belonging to Manny Lemus.
Many fire code violations were found, along with padlocks and chains on fire doors of the more run down buildings. They ended their inspection with the new twenty-story building, the memorial to Lemus' success, the monument built by the blood of his tenants.
They rode the elevator to the twentieth floor, and Lemus strolled out to meet them. No handshakes were exchanged this time, as they stood in the foyer talking with the man.
"Lemus," Michael said grimly, "you've got thirty-four fire code violations in your buildings, including five in this one we're in right now. The seven corpses we found today could have been saved if the back doors of the building weren't padlocked."
Lemus smiled and shook his head. "Gentlemen, I never padlocked those doors. I imagine the tenants did it. Unfortunately, we sometimes have narcotic traffic in the older buildings. Maybe they felt that would help."
Michael glared at him. "Have them taken off today, and keep them off. We'll be checking on it periodically. I want fire extinguishers at every level of those rat-holes your tenants call home. And, you'd better fix the sprinkler system in this building or we'll close it down. You've got two weeks to correct these things. One day for the padlocks."
He handed Lemus the list of violations. Lemus took it and dropped it on a desk.
"Did you gentlemen find the source of the fire last night in my building?"
Hank said, "Yes. It appears to be arson."
"A nice, clean job, Lemus," Michael added, "and you walk off with the insurance money again. Good scam. Who's the firebug you hired?"
Lemus frowned. "You're accusing me? Why would I burn down a building of my own? I get quite a good income from my properties in that area."
"Yeah," Michael said, "I'll bet you do. Poor people make you quite a lot of money, don't they Lemus?"
He smiled at Michael. "They have to live somewhere, detective. It's supply and demand."
Hank looked at the man coolly. "Just fix the violations, Lemus, or you'll be out of business."
And, as the two men headed towards the elevators, Hank said over his shoulder, "And that's a promise."
*****
Lacey woke from a long sleep that evening. Dusk was falling, and she realized she was ravenous, as she sniffed the aroma of dinner wafting from the kitchen area of the firehouse.
Hearing laughter and shouts coming from the television room, she put on her shoes and went to investigate.
The men were crowded around the pool table, looking at the evening edition of the Sheridan Times.
Lassiter called to her. "Hey, Lacey! You're famous!"
She rubbed her eyes, walked over to the grinning men, and her mouth fell open as she saw the front page. There were two pictures of her. The first was taken as she carried the child out of the burning building, and the second when she threw off her SCBA mask.
Below the pictures was a caption which read, "Woman firefighter saves child."
The men started clapping and hooting, as Lassiter read portions of the article out loud.
"Sheridan's latest addition to the fire department saved the life of a child last night. Margie Lacey, the only woman firefighter in the Tri-County area of Sheridan, pulled the child from a burning building just seconds before it collapsed into a raging inferno. And, if this wasn't enough in a night's work, Ms. Lacey was also able to give a detailed description to investigators of a possible arsonist."
"I wonder how they knew about that?" she said.
"Lacey," one joked, "you're awesome...or is it awful? I always forget."
Her cheeks burned bright red, as the men poked fun at her.
"Hey lady, you gonna save me tonight?"
"Hail the conquering hero...er, heroess!"
"Hey," Ross yelled, "how come they didn't catch me pulling the old lady from the window?" He glared at Lacey.
One man said, "Because you're too ugly, bud! You would have broken the camera!"
Lassiter folded the newspaper, and handed it to her. "For your scrapbook, Lacey." He grinned.
"God," she said, "how embarrassing."
The men drifted off towards the kitchen, but Ross remained behind.
"Well," he said, still frowning, "I guess you're pretty proud of yourself, Probie."
"Lighten up, Ross. I didn't tell them to take those pictures."
He moved closer to her, and said in a low voice, "Just remember, Probie, that's all you are. Just a Probie. You don't know shit about fires. Your ass could have just as well cooked last night. Keep that in mind."
"I hope you aren't my partner anytime soon," she said. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ross. You don't know what it means to me."
Abrams walked up to the two. "Hey, dinner is on. I'm not sure what it is, though. Riley cooked it. I hope you have strong stomachs."
"Yeah," Ross said, walking towards the kitchen, "you need a strong stomach to work at this fire station."
Lacey frowned, and watched him walk away. "Why does he always ride me like that?" she asked Abrams.
"Yeah, it's tough when you're new. They were like that when I came, too."
Abrams was the first black firefighter in Sheridan's history, and he'd been on this crew for four years.
He said, "You don't just fight fires. It seems like you go through a trial by fire here at the station, too. Most of the guys were okay to me when I first joined the crew, but there was this one guy, he's not here anymore, but he kept making all these comments and I was glad when he left. Transferred over to Three. Prejudiced mother fucker...oh, excuse the language, Lacey. I keep forgetting."
"It's okay. I've heard it before. Hell, I've said it before!" She smiled at him. "So, when does the harassment stop?"
He looked towards the kitchen. "With him? I don't know, Lacey. Actually, I think he's sweet on you. Don't tell him I told you that though, or he'll kick my ass!"
"Get back. You can't be serious!"
"Yeah. All the guys kinda suspect it. You gotta see the way he looks at you sometimes. It's pretty funny."
"Yeah. It's a real riot, Abrams. I'm splitting a gut over it."
He laughed, and shook her shoulder gently. "Let's go eat. We don't want to talk about Ross too long, or we'll lose our appetites!"
During dinner, she avoided looking at Ross, and listened to the men joking about the food.
"Hey, what is this stuff, David?"
"Wait. It's moving...I know I saw it move...maybe I'll get lucky, and it'll bounce off my plate."
"Hey, shut up you guys. I do the best I can."
"This is your best? I'd hate to see your worst!" Just then, the alarm sounded for a rescue.
"Saved by the bell!" Abrams shouted.
*****
Michael was finishing up at the station before he went to visit Becky. He started a new, special folder for Lemus. Listed in it were the properties owned by the man, and the history of arsons in his buildings. The latest one, the tenement, was the fourth in two years. All were suspicious.
But, this last one had him baffled. In the classic arson for profit scam, the arsonist starts the fire towards the back of the building, so as not to be seen from the street. A basement origin point just didn't seem to fit.
And, he wondered, if Lemus hired a torch for the Saxony fire, why were fires set in a ring around Sheridan? It didn't make sense. And, he thought maybe he and Hank were going in the wrong direction.
He flipped the folder shut. Lemus, even if he didn't mastermind the latest fires, was still an asshole, and the thought of shutting the man's operation down pleased Michael immensely.
The phone rang on his desk.
"Colvin."
"Where the hell are you?" The Beast's voice sounded frantic.
"What's wrong?"
"They're taking her in for the operation. Get your ass over here now!" And, she hung up.
"Oh, shit!"
He drove quickly to the hospital, and The Beast was outside the front doors, having a cigarette, as he arrived.
"Took you long enough." She glared at him.
"I'll go wait in the maternity waiting room."
"Yeah, I'll be right in."
Guilt plagued him as he rode up in the elevator. He hadn't seen Becky all day because of the fire investigation. But, he consoled himself with the thought that she must be better, or they wouldn't have operated.
He paced up and down in the visitor's waiting room. He knew they'd probably let him in the operating room, but although he'd seen many grizzly sights when he worked in homicide, the thought of someone cutting into his wife made him nauseous.
The arsons kept creeping into his mind as he paced, and he tried to shut them out. But, thoughts kept occurring to him. How many more people would die? And when would they catch the dark, flaming madman responsible for the deaths of seven people, and millions in property damage?
He ran a hand through his hair, and watched The Beast walk up to him.
"You aren't going in the operating room?" she said.
He shook his head.
She sniffed. "Figures."
He glared at her, not really wanting to explain, and continued his pacing.
CHAPTER SIX
Christopher Michael Colvin was brought into the world at nine o'clock that night with the assistance of a surgeon's scalpel.
He weighed barely four pounds, had bluish skin, and a weak, high-pitched cry. Immediately, he was whisked to the neo-natal care facility in the hospital, where he was hooked up to monitors, and watched closely for Respiratory Distress Syndrome.
The doctor joined Michael and The Beast in the waiting room shortly after the birth.
"How's Becky?" Michael asked him.
The doctor smiled. "She'll be fine. She's in recovery. You can see her now, if you like."
"And the baby?"
"He's in the neo-natal."
"He?" Michael grinned. "A boy?" He shook the doctor's hand, and even hugged The Beast, who stood crying.
The doctor took Michael to the recovery room, while The Beast went to look at the baby.
"We didn't put Becky under general anesthetic," the doctor explained, "we did a spinal. So, she'll be numb, but alert."