Chapter 7

 

“What do you mean, he’s not coming back?”

 

Hank rubbed a hand over his forehead.  It was twenty minutes to eight on Monday morning, and already his head was pounding.  He’d called Mike, Marco, Chet, and Roy at their homes on Sunday evening, requesting that they come to the station at seven-thirty the next day for a quick meeting before roll call.  Hank had arrived at seven-fifteen so he could ask the C-shift captain if he could make use of the office for a meeting with his crew. Captain Whitman said nothing more than, “Sure, Hank,” but then Hank hadn’t anticipated anything else.  Larry Whitman was a soft-spoken man, and not one to gossip or be concerned with what might be going on amongst the members of the A-shift.

 

“Just what I said, Chet,” Hank reiterated, glad he’d closed the door so that the C-shift crew wasn’t privy to this discussion.  “John requested a transfer.  He’ll be working out of 41’s today, and wherever he’s needed from here on out until a permanent assignment comes along.”

 

“But he had a permanent assignment.  Here.  With us.”

 

As Hank had known would be the case, it was, ironically enough, Chet Kelly who was having the most difficult time accepting Johnny’s departure. Or, maybe it was better phrased to say, that Chet was the most vocal about it.  The message Hank was conveying to his men wasn’t news to Roy.  Based on his phone conversation with Roy the previous evening, Hank knew Johnny had stopped by Roy’s home on Saturday morning and told him that Wayne Franklin would be his new partner.  Roy stood apart from the rest of the crew now, leaning against the wall with his eyes cast upon the floor.  Marco and Mike were seated in the chairs across from Hank’s desk, while Chet sat next to Marco in a chair he’d carried in from the kitchen.

 

“Chet, John’s simply decided it’s time for him to move on.”

 

“But why?”

 

God, Kelly, you can be so dense sometimes, the captain thought as he sat behind his desk.  Dense, or like a dog with a bone. I’m not sure which it is.

 

Before the captain could tell Chet he had received the only answers Hank had to give him, Roy spoke for the first time since the meeting began.

 

“It’s my fault, Chet.  Is that what you need to hear?  Johnny’s angry with me because Brackett and Cap pulled him off duty.”

 

Chet turned to face Roy.  “But you didn’t do it on purpose. I mean; you didn’t do it to make Johnny mad. He was having a tough time of things because of what happened to the Tate boy, and you got him some help.  We all saw that Johnny was having a tough time. You were only doing what was best for him.”

 

“Yeah, well, Johnny doesn’t see it that way.”

 

“Roy, if you talk to Gage he’ll come back.  I know he will.”

 

“Chet, I have talked to him.  Or at least I tried to.  He’s not coming back.”

 

“But—“

 

“Chet, drop it,” Hank ordered. “No crew stays together forever.  Guys come and go. Changes take place.  We’ve been luckier than most in regards to the time we’ve worked with one another.  So, now change is upon us.  It doesn’t matter why that change has come about.  We have no choice but to accept that it’s transpired whether we want it to or not.  John has moved on, and now we have to as well. I expect all of you to make Wayne feel welcome when he joins us in a few minutes.  After roll-call we’ll have another short meeting that includes Wayne.”  The man had no concerns about Mike or Marco, and none about Roy DeSoto either, even given the fact that Roy was...or at least had been, Johnny’s closest friend.  Hank’s concern was with Chet, and he pinned his gaze on the Irishman as he finished with, “I want Wayne to feel as though he’s part of this crew right from the start.  I don’t want him to feel like he’s an unwelcome addition.  Got it, guys?”

 

Hank received a, “Got it, Cap,” from Marco.”  A, “Sure, Cap,” from Mike, and a nod of Roy’s head along with a quiet, “Yeah, Cap.”

 

“Kelly?”

 

“How come you said, ‘guys,’ but you’ve been staring at me the whole time?”

 

“Because you’re the one I’m most concerned about.”

 

“Cap, I’ll make the dude feel welcome.  Don’t worry.”

 

“Kelly, his name is Wayne. Or Franklin, if he prefers.”

 

“Oh, Lord help us.  Don’t tell me he’s another Craig Brice.”

 

“Kelly!”

 

“Cap, all I meant was that Brice insists everyone calls him by his last name, which drove Johnny completely nuts, by the way, so if this Wayne character is gonna do the same thing, then—“

 

Hank sighed.  It was going to be a long day.

 

“Chet, just do me a favor and address Wayne in whatever manner he requests of you.  Give the man a chance to get to know us and to fit in.”

 

“What if he doesn’t?”

 

“Doesn’t what?”

 

“Fit in?”

 

“Kelly, what’s with the game of twenty questions this morning?  This meeting shouldn’t have prompted an inquisition. The concept is simple, Chet.  Number one; John Gage has transferred out.  Number two; Wayne Franklin has transferred in.  Number three; make Wayne feel welcome.  Number four; the end.”

 

“I know, I know.  I understand, Cap.  But what I’m saying is, what if this Wayne yahoo doesn’t fit—“

 

“Perhaps you need to quit calling him a ‘dude,’ and a ‘character, and a ‘yahoo,’ before you’ve even had a chance to meet him!”

 

“But—“

 

“Kelly, it’s seven forty-five and I’m already in need of two aspirin.  Do you really want to take this conversation any further?”

 

Though Chet could push just about anyone to his breaking point, and had even been able to do so to Roy and Mike a time or two, which was no small feat considering how easy-going they both were, he recognized that now wasn’t the time to antagonize his captain further.

 

“No, sir, I don’t.”

 

“Wise decision, Chet,” Hank confirmed.  The captain’s gaze took in all his men.  “Go ahead and get changed.  Roy, I’d appreciate it if you would show Wayne which locker was John...which locker he can use, and just in general, take him under your wing.”

 

“Sure, Cap,” Roy agreed, though Hank could tell the last thing Roy DeSoto wanted to do was welcome a new partner.  However, the captain knew Roy wouldn’t disappointment him.  He’d be professional and polite, and in time, Roy and Wayne would likely even grow to be friends.

 

As the men filed out the door, Hank heard Chet mutter to Marco, “It won’t be the same. Nothing will ever be the same again. Ten bucks says the guy’s a bozo. I’m gonna call Johnny first chance I get and see what the hell he was thinking.  I bet I can talk him into coming back.”

 

Hank swiveled in his chair.  He opened a desk drawer and fished around for the bottle of Anacin he kept there.  He uncapped it and shook two pills into his hand.  He tossed them in his mouth and washed them down with tepid coffee.  He grimaced at the taste combination.

 

It’s not even eight o’clock yet and this shift is all ready a lost cause.

 

A few minutes later, Hank rolled his eyes and sighed when he heard Chet’s voice, too loud and filled with false sincerity, coming from the engine bay. 

 

“Hey, there! You must be Wayne. Or do you wanna be called Franklin?  I’m Chet.  Chet Kelly.  Welcome to Station 51’s A-shift, Mr. Franklin! We’re sure glad to have you, Wayne.”

 

“Thanks, I’m glad to—“

“Or Franklin.  Or hey, how about Frank?  You just tell us what you wanna be called, okay?  We’ll call you whatever you wanna us to  – darn right we will.  We sure don’t want you sayin’ we didn’t make you feel welcome, because there’s nothing 51’s A-shift does better than welcome new guys.”

 

“Uh...thanks. Just call me Way—“

 

“Of course, we haven’t had a new guy since Captain Stanley joined us five years ago, but hey, that’s not your fault.  I’m sure we’ll get used to you, and you to us, and we’ll all be best buddies in no time, Frank. Of course, we’re gonna miss John Gage something awful for a while.  Especially Roy.  Say, do you know Johnny?”

 

“Not really. I’ve seen him a few ti—“

 

“He’s a helluva paramedic, and a great guy, too.  But it’s not your fault he’s gone and you’re here, so don’t take me wrong, Frank.  I didn’t mean anything by it.  It’s just that...well, you know how it is. You work with a guy for almost six years and it takes a while to adjust to the one who shows up to take his place.  But Johnny...well, he was a good guy...not that you’re not a good guy, I’m sure.”

 

“I’ve never had trouble with anyone I’ve worked—“

 

“Now don’t be surprised if Roy is kinda quiet for the next few weeks. Maybe even months. Hell, could even be a few years.  But, don’t take it personally.  He’s bound to miss Johnny.  They were best friends, you know.  Tight, man.  Real tight.  As a matter of fact, I’m kinda worried about Roy and how he’s handling all this.  He’s like the Rock of Gibraltar on the outside, but on the inside...well, I think he’s pretty torn up.  But, hey, you didn’t hear that from me, okay?”

 

“Ok—“

 

“Gee, would you listen to us? We sound like a couple of old ladies jabbering away on a street corner.  And with you carrying that stack of uniforms over your arm and everything else piled on top of it for your locker.  Come on, Frankie. Follow me. The locker room is this way. You’re gonna have to hurry.  Roll-call is in four minutes.  Man, Captain Stanley will have your ass if you’re late on your first day with us.  Wouldn’t look too good, now would it?”

 

As Chet’s voice trailed off when he led Wayne into the locker room, Hank dropped his head to his desk and cradled it in his arms. 

 

“Thanks to Chet, this shift really is a lost cause.  The next twenty-four hours can’t pass quickly enough as far as I’m concerned.”

 

 

Chapter 8

 

Hank Stanley kept his men busy during their first twenty-four shift with Wayne Franklin as part of the crew.  If they weren’t out on a call, then they were doing drills, having a meeting, or completing their chores.  In-between all that, Roy showed Wayne where things were located both in the station, and in the squad’s compartments. 

 

Despite his determination, Chet never was able to make his phone call to Johnny. The few times throughout that shift Chet had a free moment, Captain Stanley appeared to be watching him like a hawk, or else Roy was in the room, meaning a phone conversation with Johnny wasn’t wise.  At least not if Chet wanted to be able to speak freely and get to the bottom of whatever had Gage’s shorts in a knot.

 

After supper that evening, a supper Wayne volunteered to cook even though it was Mike’s turn in the kitchen, Chet headed for the dorm.

 

“Where you going, Kelly?”  Hank asked from the dayroom where everyone had gathered to watch television now that the dishes were done and the kitchen was cleaned up - other chores Wayne had cheerfully volunteered to do, even though they had been assigned to Marco and Chet. 

 

“Um...to use the phone in the dorm.”

 

“Who are you calling?”

 

“Who am I calling?”

 

“Yes, who are you calling?”

 

“Calling?”

 

“Kelly, you sound like a parrot.  Now just answer the question.”

 

“Oh. Calling, you say?  Well...uh...no one, Cap.  I’m not calling anyone.”

 

“Then come back in here and sit down.”

 

“But I need to use the phone.”

 

“Chet, if you’re not calling anyone, then you don’t need to use the phone.”

 

“Well...uh...see, Cap. It’s like this.  I didn’t mean I was calling someone.  What I meant was, I’m checking the phone to make sure it works okay. Marco tried to make a call earlier but couldn’t dial out.”

 

Marco turned his attention from the program they were watching.  “I did?”

 

Chet glared at his friend and nodded.

 

“Oh.  Oh, yeah, Cap, I did.”

 

Hank simply shook his head.  “Kelly, sit down.”

 

“But, Cap—“

 

“The phone is fine, and if it’s not, we’ll survive without it.  We’ve got two other phones in this station.  If you need to make a call, use that phone.”  Hank indicated to the phone on the kitchen wall.

 

“Uh...no.  No, forget it.  But hey, maybe I should check the phone in your office just to make sure it’s--”

 

“The phone in my office is fine, so you keep your butt out of there, do you hear me?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Now sit down, Chet.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Wayne smiled at Chet as the man took a seat next to him.

 

Quit smiling at me, you goody two-shoes.  If Johnny were here he’d be laughing and making some smart-ass remark about me getting in trouble with Cap, and then he’d say I wouldn’t know how to fix a Fisher Price toddler phone, let alone a real one.  Geez, Gage, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet and things are already so different without you.

 

Chet looked over at Roy, who was sunk down on the opposite end of the sofa from Cap.  Though Roy appeared to be watching TV, Chet could tell the paramedic’s thoughts weren’t that different from his own.  Well, maybe not the part about Wayne being a goody two-shoes, because Roy was too nice to think something like that, but certainly the part about things being different with Johnny gone.

 

The rest of the shift passed uneventfully, without Chet ever being able to get to the phone despite two other tries that had been thwarted by Cap. The next morning when eight o’clock arrived the Irishman couldn’t help but notice the difference in the locker room. Roy was subdued without Johnny beside him chattering on about his plans for his day off, and there were no invitations issued for breakfast at the restaurant down the street, or at the DeSoto home, as happened between the paramedics once every week or so. Roy dressed quickly, said a quiet, “Goodbye,” to his shift mates, and told Wayne, “See you Thursday.” 

 

Roy was the first one out of the station that day. When Johnny was around, it was usually the opposite. He and Johnny were generally the last to leave because Gage’s yapping slowed their progress.  As Chet passed Wayne on his way out of the locker room door, he said, “You’re a pretty quiet guy, Frankie.”

 

As usual, Wayne smiled. “Is that a bad thing?”

 

“Guess not.  It’s just that Johnny talked a lot.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“He was a great guy.”

 

“So you’ve told me.”

 

“Yeah,” Chet nodded, “well, I gotta get going. See you Thursday.”

 

“Yes, see you Thursday,” Wayne said as he opened is locker.  He jumped back as a water cannon was released from its spring.  The man’s head and the upper part of his shirt were soaked.

 

“Chet!” Marco exclaimed.

 

“Chet, I can’t believe you,” Mike said as he shook his head.

 

Wayne used his thumbs to wipe the water from his eyes.  He held out his right hand to Chet and smiled.  “Good joke, Chet.  Thanks for making me feel like one of the guys.”

 

Chet had no choice but to shake the man’s hand.  He smiled weakly.  “Yeah, sure, Frankie.  You’re one of the guys now.”

 

Oh brother.  This guy is hopeless. Johnny woulda’ been ranting and raving for thirty minutes over a prank like this.  Man, Gage, the Phantom really needs to have a talk with you.

 

______________________

 

 

     Chet didn’t miss the scowl John Gage shot him when he   turned onto the driveway of the Gage ranch that afternoon.  Johnny had the hood up on the Land Rover, and had peered around it when he heard tires crunching against gravel. Chet brought his VW bus to a halt next to Johnny’s vehicle.  He shut the engine off, put the gearshift in first, set the parking brake, and exited the van while pocketing his keys.

 

     “Hey there, Johnny.”

 

     Johnny wiped his greasy hands on a rag. He wouldn’t look at his visitor as he asked, “What do you want, Chet?”

 

     “Is that any way to greet a long lost friend?” 

 

     Johnny slammed the hood down on the Rover. “It is when I didn’t issue an invitation to any friends to stop by this afternoon.”

 

     “Since when do your friends need an invitation?  You always had an open door policy before.”

 

     “Yeah, well my policy’s changed in recent days,” Johnny said as he turned for the house.

 

     “Johnny, come on.  Talk to me for a minute.”

 

     With one foot on the bottom step that led to the deck, Johnny turned.  “Talk to you about what?”

 

     “About the transfer.”

 

     “There’s nothing to talk about.  It’s done. I transferred out of 51’s. I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.”

 

     “Well, yeah.  Cap had a meeting with us about it on Monday morning.”

 

     “I figured he would.”

 

     “And that’s it?”

 

     Johnny sighed as he brought his foot off the step and back to the grass. It was growing apparent Chet wasn’t going to allow this to be a short conversation.  “Yeah, that’s it.”

 

     “Just like that, almost six years at 51’s is over?”

 

     “That’s pretty much the size of it.”

 

     “Johnny, come on, man.  You can’t do this.”

 

     “Yes, I can. And if you haven’t noticed, I already have done it.”

 

     “Oh, believe me, I’ve noticed. You’re gone, and Frankie’s moved in.”

 

     “Frankie? Who the hell is Frankie?”

 

     “Wayne Franklin.”

 

     “He wants you to call him Frankie?”

 

     “Beats the hell outta me.  The guy’s so damn compliant I could probably call him Margaret and he’d answer.”

 

     “Give him a chance, Chet.”

 

     “Do you know him?”

 

     “No, not really.  Just know he’s a good paramedic.”

 

     “Yeah, I suppose he is, but he sure is boring.”

 

     “Boring?”

 

     “Boring, and a goody two-shoes besides.”

 

     “Whatta’ ya’ mean?”

 

     “Johnny, no matter how badly I insult the guy, he just smiles at me. And not only did he volunteer to cook on Monday night, even though it was Mike’s turn, he also volunteered to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen – jobs that Cap assigned to me and Marco.”

 

     “He’s just trying to fit in.”

 

     “Maybe, but he’s going overboard as far as I’m concerned.  Then this morning, the Phantom got the guy good with a water cannon, and you know what he did?”

 

     “Told Cap?”

 

     “Told Cap?  Hell no, he didn’t tell Cap!  The bozo shook my hand and thanked me for making him feel like one of the guys.”

 

     “Is that so bad?”

 

     “Of course, it’s bad!  If I’d have done the same thing to you, you woulda’ been all over my ass.”

 

     “So aren’t you glad I’m not?”

 

     “No! Half the fun of the Phantom’s pranks is listening to you rant and rave for thirty minutes afterwards while vowing revenge for the next week.”

 

     “Oh,” Johnny nodded, as though he hadn’t figured this out years ago.  He knew he and Chet were quite the pair - part foe, part friend, and a large part of what made the A-shift fun...or annoying, depending on the day and Cap’s mood.  “So...uh...how do Roy and Wayne get along?”

 

     Chet studied Johnny’s face a long moment before answering.  The fact that Johnny even asked that question spoke volumes for what the man was feeling. Johnny dropped his gaze to the ground in an effort to avoid Chet’s scrutiny. The Irishman got the impression Gage was wishing he hadn’t asked the question, which made Chet all the more determined to answer it.

 

     “They hate each other.”

 

     That statement brought Johnny’s gaze back to Chet.

 

“What?”

 

     “They hate each other.  Roy said the guy is incompetent, and stupid besides. Might even end up getting someone hurt.”

 

     “Chet...”

 

     “No, really. He did say that. So see, I think you should transfer back before something bad happens and--”

 

     “Chet, Roy’s been my best frien...I worked with Roy for five and a half years.  He’d never say something like that after just one day with a new guy. And if he did have reason to say it, if he really had a valid concern that Wayne is incompetent, he’d talk to Cap privately.  He sure wouldn’t tell you.”

 

     “Maybe Cap told me.”

 

     “Chet...”

 

     “Okay, okay. Roy didn’t say it.  And overall, Frankie doesn’t appear to be stupid.  Boring, yes. Stupid, no.  But I can tell you this. Roy thinks Franklin’s dull, and he doesn’t like working with him.”

 

     “How do you know Roy doesn’t like working with him?”

 

     “I can just tell.  Oh, Roy was nice enough to the guy and all, but you know Roy.  He’d be nice and carry on a conversation with a telephone pole if Cap asked him to. But he’s not himself, Johnny.  He hardly said two words the entire shift except when he was forced to, and he kept himself apart from the rest of us.”

 

     “Apart?”

 

     “Yeah.  Like when we played cards last night, Roy sat on the couch by himself.  Said he didn’t wanna play.  Everyone else was playing, including Franklin - who let me win, by the way, but Roy didn’t want any part of it.”

 

     “So? Maybe he was tired.”

 

     “Or maybe he wants you back at 51’s.”

 

     “Regardless of whether Roy wants me back at 51’s or not, it won’t be happening, Chet, so just forget it.”

 

     “Come on, Johnny, give Roy a break.  He only did what he did – went to Brackett – because you’re his friend and he cares about you.”

 

     “What went on between me and Roy is none of your business.”

 

     “Might not be any of my business, but I know what happened, Gage.  Look, why can’t you just admit that boy’s suicide hit you hard?  It would have done the same to any of us. You were in the tree house with the kid when it happened.  He wasn’t more than six feet away from you.  Don’t you think any of us – me, Roy, Marco, Cap, or Mike - would have had trouble dealing with the kid’s death if it had been one of us with him and not you?”

 

     “I’m not having trouble dealing with his death!”

 

     “Gage, you are strange, you know that?”

 

     “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

     “For a guy who usually wears his heart on his sleeve about every issue under the sun, when it comes to something like this, something that really socks you in the gut, you clam up and push everyone away.  Well, this time was different, wasn’t it, Johnny?  This time it wasn’t about a nameless victim in a car wreck, or an old lady who died in a house fire that we were all a part of.  This time it was a boy named Curtis, and you were the only one with him.”

 

     “Shut up, Chet.”

 

     “This time it was up close and personal, and Roy wasn’t a part of it.  The staff of Rampart’s ER wasn’t a part of it.  And none of the rest of us was a part of it.  This time you had to shoulder it alone, not because any one of us wasn’t available for you to talk to, but just because this one call was about you and a kid you couldn’t save.”

 

     “Couldn’t save?  Chet, the ‘kid’ had a name.  It was Curtis.  And he was twelve years old.  And he put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.  And right before he did that he accused me of tricking him. He accused me of knowing his mother was going to show up.”

 

     “But his accusations weren’t true.”

 

     “No, they weren’t.  But Curtis ended his life before he could find that out.”

 

     “Which wasn’t your fault, Johnny.  It was his choice.”

 

     “He was twelve, for God’s sake!”

 

     “Yes, he was.  And that’s really sad. It is.  But whatever drove the boy to kill himself wasn’t your doing, Gage.  You weren’t a part of the problem, don’t you see?”

 

     “Yeah, I see.  But I wasn’t a part of the solution either, was I?”

 

     And with that, Johnny turned, trotted up the steps, slid a patio door open, and disappeared within the house.

 

     Chet stood outside for five minutes.  When Johnny didn’t return, the man finally headed for his van.

 

     “Guess this means I didn’t talk him into coming back to 51’s,” Chet grumbled as he climbed in his vehicle, started it, and backed out of John Gage’s driveway.

 

    

Chapter 9

 

     Dixie McCall had been off on Monday. Therefore, she didn’t see the paramedics of Station 51’s A-shift when they came to Rampart for supplies that morning, then brought in the victim of a minor traffic accident that afternoon.  It was ten o’clock on Thursday morning when she looked up to see Roy DeSoto walking toward her.

 

     “Hi, Roy.  Hi John...”

 

     Dixie’s sentence trailed off when she got a good look at the man trailing behind Roy.  Wayne Franklin was three inches shorter than Johnny Gage, had baby fine hair so blond it was white, and vivid blue eyes. 

 

     “Wayne,” Dixie swiftly amended with a smile.  She normally would have inquired of Wayne if he was filling in for Johnny, but given recent circumstances, the nurse decided it was better not to ask too many questions. She knew Kelly Brackett had released Johnny to return to work on Monday, but that was all she knew.

 

     “Hi, Dixie,” Wayne smiled at the woman.

 

     “Hi, Dix,” Roy said in a tone that attempted to convey cheerfulness, though Dixie had known the man too long to be fooled. The smile he tossed her was weak, as though his heart wasn’t in it, and the bantering he usually engaged in with Johnny when they were gathered around the nurse’s station was lacking with Wayne. Roy was all business as handed Dixie a supply list.

 

     “Can we get these, Dix?”

 

     “Sure.”

 

     Wayne caught sight of a paramedic down the hall that was a good friend of his.  He waved at the man before looking at Roy. 

 

     “Do you mind if I talk to Phil for a minute?”

 

     “No, go ahead.”

 

     “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

 

     “Take your time.  It’ll be a few minutes before I have all the supplies we need.”

 

     When Wayne was out of hearing range, Dixie turned from the supply cabinet. While it was better not to ask too many questions with Wayne present, now that he was gone Dixie felt she could speak freely.

 

     “Where’s Johnny today?”

 

     “At work, I suppose.”

 

     “What do you mean, you suppose?”

    

     Roy’s eyes dropped to the counter.  “He...Johnny’s not working out of 51’s anymore, Dix.”

 

     “Why not?”

 

     “He doesn’t think he can trust me.”

 

     “What?”

 

     Roy glanced around, making sure no one was close enough to overhear this conversation.

 

     “He doesn’t think he—“

 

     “I heard you the first time.  What makes him think that?”

 

     “Dix...”

 

     “Okay, okay.  I know what makes him think that, but he’s wrong.”

 

     “I know that, and you know that, but Johnny feels otherwise.”

 

     Dixie resumed putting supplies in a cardboard box. She chewed on her lower lip. She had grown to be good friends with Johnny and Roy.  She hated to see their partnership, and more importantly, their friendship, end over something that had been done out of Roy’s concern for Johnny’s physical and emotional health.

 

     The woman turned, handing the paramedic the box. After a moment of further thought she asked, “Roy, do you think it would help if I spoke to Johnny?  Or to Kel?”

 

     “No,” Roy shook his head.  “If that’s how Johnny feels, then that’s how he feels. You can’t...you can’t talk Johnny into trusting me, Dix. I’ve come to learn over the past few weeks that, like respect, trust is earned.  I blew it with Johnny.  I blew it big time.”

 

     “You did not. You did what you had to do.  You gave Johnny ample opportunity to talk to you about what was troubling him, and you encouraged him more than once to make an appointment with Kel. When he wouldn’t follow your advice, and only continued to have problems as a result of the Tate boy’s death, you chose the only path left you that would get Johnny some help.”

 

     “I guess,” Roy acknowledged in a tone that told Dixie the man was doubting himself. A tone that told Dixie the paramedic had mulled this over many, many times in the past three weeks, wondering what he could have done differently.  The trouble was, he couldn’t have done anything differently, and Dixie suspected Roy knew that. She only wished Johnny did.

 

     Roy saw Wayne walking toward him. “Well, we’d better get back to the station.  Thanks, Dix.”

 

     “You’re welcome.”  Dixie smiled at the man. “You hang in there.  Maybe...well, maybe things will work themselves out yet between you and Johnny.”

 

     “Maybe,” Roy agreed, simply because he was too polite to say, “Yeah right, Dix. When hell freezes over.”

 

     Dixie stood by herself behind the nurses’ counter as she watched Roy and Wayne walk out the doors.

 

     Roy and Wayne. That doesn’t sound right together.  Roy and Johnny, or Johnny and Roy, but not Roy and Wayne.

 

     Not that Wayne Franklin wasn’t a nice man, and a good paramedic, but women’s intuition told Dixie that this partnership wasn’t right for Roy, or for Wayne.  She didn’t waste time chiding herself for her foolish thoughts that were based more on nostalgia and the years she’d known Johnny and Roy, than on logic.  She picked up the phone and placed a call to the Los Angeles County Fire Department Headquarters. She identified herself by her name, and by her position at Rampart Hospital.  In three minute’s time Dixie had the information she was seeking.  She glanced down at the phone number the clerk had given her and dialed Station 65, where Johnny was working out of today.

 

     A firefighter, who identified himself as Dan Kidwell, answered the phone.

 

     “May I speak with John Gage, please?”

 

     “Sure. Just a minute.”

 

     Dixie heard the distant, “Gage! Phone!” called through the station.

 

     Thirty seconds later Dixie heard a familiar voice.

 

     “This is John Gage.”’

 

     “Johnny, this is Dixie.  I have just one thing to say to you.”

 

     Johnny’s tone was guarded and filled with trepidation when he said, “What?” leading Dixie to conclude he was well aware she called ‘em like she saw ‘em.

 

     “John Gage, you’re a fool!”

 

     And with that, Dixie slammed down the phone.  Her methods might be unorthodox, and probably wouldn’t change anything, but if nothing else, on Roy’s behalf, she felt better.

 

 

 Chapter 10

 

     George McKay had decided the Magnum wasn’t the gun to use.  It didn’t have a long enough range, or the power he needed.  He wouldn’t be aiming to wound, but rather to kill.  Therefore, a rifle would be better. Something that would allow some distance between himself and the bastard responsible for his grandson’s death, while at the same guaranteeing the results George was looking for. He didn’t have much money at his disposal, but he did have a credit card that was in his name only.  He used it for emergencies, like if the car needed repairs, or if he needed a part for the washing machine.  The car was fine, and the washer was working well, too. This time, George had an emergency of a different type.

 

     It hadn’t been difficult to get use of the old Ford LTD that Clara drove.  George had dropped her off at work that morning, saying he wanted the car in order to take the grandchildren on an outing.  Clara had been so happy he was showing interest in David and Elizabeth, that she hadn’t even questioned George as to what he had planned.

 

     As he pulled up in front of the gun shop, George turned to Davy who was seated next to him. He pulled two dollars out of is wallet and pointed up the street.

 

     “See that ice cream store up there?”

 

     “Yeah.”

 

     “You and Beth go get yourselves whatever two dollars will buy.”

 

     “Really, Grandpa?” Davy asked, wide-eyed with excitement.  Grandpa had always been a little grumpy before Curty died, but since then, he’d been one hundred times worse.

 

     “Really. The only thing is, you and your sister wait there until Grandpa comes for you.  Do you understand?”

 

     “Okay, but where are you going?”

 

     “I have an errand to do.”  The old man turned in his seat and made eye contact with his granddaughter.  “You understand, Elizabeth?  You’re to stay with David at the ice cream store until I come for you.”

 

     “Yes, Grandpa,” Beth nodded her head.

 

     “All right then.”

     The trio exited the vehicle.  George watched until the children entered the ice cream store, then he walked into Masterson’s Gun Shop.  Thirty minutes later George walked back out into the warm sun, his purchase wrapped in brown paper.  He was glad to see the kids weren’t waiting for him in the car, but instead, had listened to him for a change.

 

     The old man fumbled for his car keys.  He opened the trunk and hid the powerful rifle beneath a blanket.  As soon as he got home, and the kids were occupied in the backyard, he’d carry the gun to the cabinet in his garage and lock it inside.

 

     George slammed the lid on the trunk. He looked around, but no one was paying any attention to him.  He straightened his shoulders, and headed up the street to the store where his grandchildren were eating ice cream.

 

Chapter 11

 

 

     Roy had been working with Wayne for two weeks, and though he liked the man all right, that was about all he could say.  Yes, Wayne Franklin was a competent paramedic and dedicated to his job.  But whatever chemistry had always existed between Roy and John Gage that had caused a friendship to grow despite their differing personalities, didn’t exist between Wayne and Roy.

 

     “Because you’re too much alike,” Joanne assessed one night after dinner while she and Roy were sitting in lawn chairs on   the deck, watching Chris and Jennifer play with the kids from next door.  She’d met Wayne once, a few days earlier, when she’d stopped by the station with the children after they’d spent the morning back-to-school shopping. 

 

     “Huh?”

 

     “You and Wayne are too much alike.  That’s why there’s no magic between you.”

 

     “Magic?”

 

     “Yes. Chemistry.  You know, whatever makes a person ‘click’ with another person, that in turn blossoms into friendship. You and Wayne will never have that.”

 

     “How do you know?”

 

     “I just do.  Like I said, you’re too much alike.”

 

     “But we work together just fine.”

 

     “And you’ll likely be able to do so for as long as necessary.”

 

     “You know, Johnny did drive me crazy sometimes.  A lot of times,” Roy said in an attempt to show his wife she didn’t know as much as she thought she did.

 

     “I’m aware of that fact.”

    

     “Well, Wayne doesn’t do that.”

 

     “Of course not.”

 

     “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

     “Wayne’s quiet, soft-spoken, even tempered, and easy going.  Or so you’ve said, and so he appeared to be when I met him the other day.  Johnny’s exuberant, emotional, and an extrovert.  Naturally, with a personality like that, Johnny’s more prone to speaking whatever’s on his mind than Wayne is.”

 

     “Exactly.  And often times when he should have kept his mouth shut.  Like I said, he could drive me nuts.”

 

     “And most of the time you found him funny.”

 

     “I did not!”

 

     “Roy, you did too. You always said Johnny made going to work fun.  You always said he could lift your spirits on a day when you were down, just by being Johnny.”

 

     “But he could—“

    

     “Drive you nuts, I know.  Hence the expression, opposites attract.”

 

     “I thought that was only the case for men and women.”

 

     “You don’t think it holds true for friends as well?”

 

     Roy shrugged as he watched Jennifer and her friend, Amy, swing back and forth on the glider, while Amy’s two brothers and Chris scaled a tree in the corner of the yard.  “I guess I never really thought about it.”

 

     “Well, you should.  Prime example, besides you and Johnny, is Chet and Marco. They’re good friends, right?”

 

     “Yes.”

 

     “And are they anything alike?”

 

     “Not really.”

 

     “And don’t you think Chet drives Marco nuts on some days?”

     “More often than not, yes, I suppose he does.”

 

     “Once again, Mr. DeSoto, my point is made.”

 

     “What point?”

 

     “That opposites attract. Which is why, while you like working with Wayne, you don’t feel any special chemistry with him.  The two of you are too much alike.”

 

     “I’m not that boring.”

 

     Joanne laughed. “Wayne’s boring?”

 

     “Kind of.  Chet thinks so, too.”

 

     “If Chet’s comparing Wayne to Johnny, then yes, I’m sure Wayne does seem boring.”

 

     “Even when you don’t compare Wayne to Johnny, the guy is boring,” Roy mumbled under his breath, but not low enough so that Joanne didn’t hear his words.

 

     “Roy, have you talked to Johnny at all since the Saturday he stopped by here to tell you he was transferring?”

     “You know I haven’t.”

 

     “You haven’t even run into him at Rampart, or at the scene of a fire or accident?”

 

     “No.”

    

     “Then why don’t you drive over to his ranch tomorrow and see if the two of you can talk this out.”

 

     “Because he won’t want me there.”

 

     “Roy—“

 

     “Joanne, you heard the conversation between Johnny and me two weeks ago in our backyard. Nothing has changed since that time.”

 

     “How do you know if you haven’t talked to him?”

 

     “Because I know Johnny. When he feels he’s been wronged...well, he feels it deeper than most of us, and he’s not inclined to be forgiving about it. Or so I’m learning more than ever now.”

 

     “Do you think there’s anything you can do, or I can do even, to make Johnny see things differently?  To make him realize what you did, you did out of friendship, even if he doesn’t agree with your decision?”

 

     “Unless you can somehow turn the clock back and give me the opportunity not to go to Brackett behind Johnny’s back, then no, Joanne.  There’s nothing either of us can do.”

 

     “Would you change what you did if you could?”

 

     “Not go to Brackett, you mean?”

 

     “Yes.”

 

     Roy thought a long minute before answering. 

 

     “Right after this first happened, after Brackett and Cap put Johnny on medical leave and he was so mad at me, my answer would have been yes. I would have changed what I did if I could. But now, knowing Johnny is back to work and getting along okay...or at least as far as I know he is, my answer is no. I know I did the right thing, Jo. I know Johnny needed time away from the stress of the job. His ranch has given him a place to relax when he’s off duty, and given him a place to do the things he likes so much. That’s something he never had when he lived in the apartment. We’ve both seen how good that ranch has been for him in the year since he bought it.  Which is why I know that two week enforced vacation was just what he needed. Whether Johnny will admit it or not, I’m sure it allowed him to think things through and at least, to some degree, come to terms with what the Tate boy did.”

 

     “But not come to terms with what you did?”

     “No,” Roy shook his head as he stood, walked down the three steps, and headed toward the garage.  “No, he obviously didn’t come to terms with what I did, and I doubt he ever will now.”

 

            Joanne watched her husband open the back service door and disappear into the garage.  She knew Roy was having a hard time accepting the apparent end of what had once been a strong friendship, yet she was glad to hear he was no longer second guessing himself, and had confidence in the fact that he’d made the right decision.  Now the rest was up to Johnny.  Either he would eventually come to terms with that same fact, or he wouldn’t.  But, even if he did come to terms with it months from now, Joanne knew by then too much time might likely have passed for it to make any difference.

 

     “Come on, Johnny,” Joanne muttered to herself. “Quit being so stubborn and accept the olive branch Roy will extend to you if you only give him the chance.”

 

     Joanne thought of calling Johnny to say those exact words, but in reality she knew intervention on her part would do little good. Johnny was going to have to take the first step toward that olive branch, and until and unless he did, there was nothing anyone could do to change the current situation.

 

 

______________________

 

 

John Gage sat at his kitchen table reading the newspaper article on Curtis Tate’s death. This was the first time since that fateful day in the tree house that Johnny had been able to read the account given by the media.  It was all very matter of fact, which came as a surprise to the paramedic.  Generally, reporters were given to sensationalizing an event if afforded the opportunity, and if ever there were an opportunity to sensationalize a story, it would have been one involving a twelve-year-old committing suicide.  Johnny’s name wasn’t even mentioned, which up until this moment, he hadn’t known. He and Roy were simply referred to as the, ‘paramedics at the scene when the tragedy occurred.’ If the article focused on anything, aside from the loss of a young life in such a horrific manner, it focused on how the rising divorce rate was changing the face of the country, and changing the lives of the children caught in the middle of broken marriages. Nothing was said about how Johnny handled the situation, good or bad. The article simply stated, ‘a paramedic was trying to talk the boy into putting the gun down and coming out of the tree house when the youngster shot himself.’  No incriminating words were written about John Gage or his actions.  To the public, he was simply a nameless paramedic on a call, trying to do his job to the best of his ability.

 

There was a lot Johnny had come to terms with in recent days. One was that, no matter how hard you try, no matter what promises you make to another person, sometimes, through no fault of your own, you just can’t keep those promises.  That’s what happened to him that day in the tree house with Curtis.  He hadn’t seen it that way at first.  It was only now, given the passage of time, that Johnny was able to reconcile within himself that he’d done the best he could that day.  If he could go back and do it over, he would have wrestled the gun away from the boy.  Or at least he thought he would have. Or maybe the better way to phrase it would be to say that was his desire.  That’s what he wished he could have done.  The reality of the situation was, Curtis had a loaded firearm, which meant Johnny had no choice but to proceed with caution for both their sakes.  One of things Johnny’s father had taught him when he was no more than six or seven years old, was that you respected guns, and that you always assumed they were loaded whether you knew that for a fact or not.  And, Dad had always said that it didn’t matter who was holding the gun – a large man, a small man, a young man, or an old man.  A loaded gun was a loaded gun. One pull of the trigger was all it took for someone to end up dead.  Johnny had recalled his father’s words when Curtis wouldn’t let him fully enter the tree house. He had remained where he was throughout his conversation with the boy because he’d long ago been told, and come to learn through his work as a paramedic, that no, you never knew for certain if a gun was loaded or not, and you’d better respect the person pointing it at you, even if that person is a twelve-year-old kid.

 

Another thing Johnny had learned in recent weeks was that he was as stubborn as everyone had always accused him of being, and that just like his father, he possessed far more pride than was to his benefit at times. 

 

Pride goeth before the fall, Johnny’s mother used to say to his father when she was at her wit’s end with Chad Gage’s stubbornness. Well, now, for the first time in his life, John fully understood what that phrase meant.  Pride goeth before the fall.  It was pride that had kept him from admitting he needed help of some kind after Curtis’s death, and it was stubbornness that had caused him to transfer out of Station 51.  Not that Roy hadn’t deserved his anger to some degree, but Johnny recognized that a lot of his anger came from pride. Came from the fact that he was embarrassed because he wouldn’t go see Doctor Brackett on his own, when he knew full well he should. And wouldn’t request vacation time on his own, when again, he knew full well he needed time away from his job, only to have his closest friend do those things for him as though he was a child who didn’t know what was best.

 

There were other things Johnny was beginning to recognize, too.  The enforced vacation had done him good. Maybe that wouldn’t have been the case back when he lived in his apartment, but there was plenty for him to do on his ranch on any given day, and two weeks away from work had allowed Johnny to focus on those projects, while at the same time taking his mind off Curtis Tate.  The self-imposed isolation had done him good, as well.  No one had bothered him other than Chet Kelly and Charlie Dwyer.  Chet had called him on the phone three times during that two week period under the guise of just wanting to shoot the bull, and Charlie had called once, inviting him to go bowling.  He’d turn Charlie’s invitation down, and he’d cut the conversations with Chet short. Johnny hadn’t thought twice about the fact that Roy hadn’t called.  He knew the man well enough to know Roy was certain Johnny would have hung up on him.  Which, he would have. On the other hand, John also knew Roy well enough to know that if he had wanted to talk to Roy, Roy would have been there for him in whatever capacity Johnny needed.

 

The paramedic raked a hand through his hair as he set the newspaper article aside. He had a lot of conflicting feelings he had yet to work through, or fully find a solution for.  He’d been gone from 51’s two weeks now, four weeks if you included his vacation time, and he was miserable.  He’d thought a fresh start was what he needed.  He’d thought getting away from a permanent assignment at a specific station was what he wanted.  He’d thought not being a part of a group was just the change he was looking for. Now Johnny was discovering that wasn’t true.  Every day you were the ‘new’ guy, starting over at a new station.  Yes, John’s years with the fire department meant he knew a lot of the men he was working with, but still, knowing them was a far different thing than feeling like a part of their crew, or being a part of the kinship shift mates often developed.  Like a military brat who moved from school to school, Johnny could see he’d never come to feel that he belonged before having to move on again. He hadn’t thought that would bother him.  After all, he could generally get along with just about anyone.  But it did bother him. Especially when he thought of what a tightly knit group he’d been a part of at Station 51.

 

The paramedic stared out the glass of his patio doors.  The dreams were still the most difficult things to deal with.  Dreams of Curtis and what happened that day.  Sometimes he didn’t have any for three or four nights, and then they’d return for several nights in a row. Johnny had wondered if they’d ever stop, but then he spoke to someone who had the answers.  Someone who inadvertently assisted Johnny in further coming to terms with Curtis Tate’s death.

 

     Three days earlier Johnny was working out of Station 87.  He was partnered with Keith Anderson, a young paramedic he didn’t know, other than to say he’d seen him at a couple of the paramedic meetings on occasion. It had been pouring rain when Johnny and Keith had returned from a run that had taken them to a construction site where a worker had fallen and broken his right leg.  They were both soaked when they arrived back at the station an hour later.  The rest of the guys were in the kitchen eating lunch, while John and Keith headed for the locker room to change their clothes. As he slipped into a dry uniform shirt and started buttoning it, Johnny glanced at Keith’s open locker door to see a picture of a gorgeous redhead hanging there.

 

     “Is she your girlfriend?” Johnny asked, assuming Keith wasn’t married since he wore no wedding band on his left ring finger.

 

     “No. My sister.”

 

     “Oh,” John nodded. “Pretty gal,” was all he said after that. He wanted to whistle and say, “Man, that woman is drop dead gorgeous,” and, “Hey, how about setting me up on a date with her?” but Johnny knew how sensitive guys could be when it came to their sisters.  Hell, he had a sister of his own who was a beautiful woman.  Johnny knew how he’d feel if some guy was ogling Reah, so he kept his opinions about Keith’s sibling to himself. Possibly the opportunity would arise to get a date with her if he just laid low and got to know Keith better.

 

     “Yes, she was.”

 

     Johnny looked up from where he was sitting on the bench putting on dry shoes.  “Huh?”

 

     “I said, yes, Annie was a pretty girl.”

 

     “Was?”

 

     “She passed away last year.”

 

     “Oh, uh...I’m sorry to hear that.  Had she been ill?”

 

     “Yes...yes, she was ill.”

 

     “What was wrong with her?” Johnny asked, before realizing this wasn’t Roy he was talking to, and had therefore overstepped his bounds.  “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.  I didn’t mean to pry.”

 

     “That’s okay,” Keith assured as he shut his own locker door and sat on the bench to tie his shoes.  “I don’t get a chance to talk about her much.  It’s a hard subject for my parents to discuss, and the guys here seem to be afraid to bring her name up because of how it happened.”

 

     “How what happened?”

 

     “Annie’s death.”

 

     “Oh.”

 

     There was a long pause before Keith said quietly, “She committed suicide.”

 

     “I...I’m sorry,” Johnny offered, which he thought sounded woefully inadequate.  Where his next words came from he wasn’t certain.  “I’m sure Annie’s choice was a hard one for you and your parents to understand.”

 

     Keith’s surprise was easy to read. 

    

     “What?”  Johnny asked in regards to the expression on the man’s face.

 

     “Nothing. I was just caught off-guard by your words.”

 

     “My words? Look, if I said something wrong then I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to—“

 

     “No, no.  It’s not that.  You said, ‘Annie’s choice.’  Most people don’t realize that yes, what my sister did involved a choice she made.  A choice my parents and I were hard pressed to be able to stop when push came to shove.”

 

     “Oh.”

 

     “We’d seen it coming for a while.  Annie was having some...personal problems and was deeply depressed.  She was even seeing a psychiatrist for a period of time. I thought...well, I foolishly thought that doctor could cure my sister of her problems. Or at least help her work through them. And I’m sure to a large extent he could have, had Annie let him. I didn’t realize then, that when a person makes the choice to kill him or herself, there’s not much anyone can do to stop it.  Not if, as in my sister’s case, the person is determined to go through with it.”

 

     “You really believe that?”

 

     “Yes, I do. I’ve come to learn it’s a combination of two factors really. Determination, and a feeling of such extreme hopelessness that death seems like a better alternative than life.”

 

     “But what about those people who are left behind?”

 

     “What about them?”

 

     “Do you think...I mean...uh...” Johnny allowed his sentence to trail off, realizing once again this wasn’t Roy he was talking to.

 

     “Go ahead.  You can ask me whatever you want to.  It doesn’t bother me.  I’d rather talk about Annie in whatever way that encompasses, than pretend she didn’t exist.”

 

     Johnny nodded. “Okay. Well, I was just wondering if you think your sister gave any thought to those she left behind.  You, your parents, other family members, her friends?  If she thought about how all of you would feel once she was gone.”

 

     “No, I don’t believe she did.  I believe her state of mind at that time prevented it.  Or, if she did think about us, it was only one more burden she couldn’t bear.”

 

     Johnny thought a moment before saying quietly, “It’s a hard thing to understand, isn’t it? All the reasons why someone would reach a point where they think death by their own hand is better than life.”

 

     “Yeah, it is,” Keith had agreed.

 

As Johnny stood up to head for the kitchen Keith inquired,  “John, if you don’t mind me asking; did you know someone who committed suicide?”

 

     Johnny had looked down at Keith a long moment before finally nodding his head. “Yeah.  Yeah, I did.”

 

     Just as he was about to exit the locker room that day, Johnny had turned around. “Can I ask you one more question?”

 

     “Sure.”

 

     “Do you ever dream about your sister and how...how it happened?”

 

     “How she died?”

     “Yeah.”

 

     “Sometimes. At first, shortly after her death, I dreamed of her a lot.  Now, less than I used to.”

 

     “So that means you’re coming to terms with what happened? That you know you did all you could to help her?”

 

     “Yes, I believe that’s what it means.”

 

     “Yeah,” Johnny nodded thoughtfully right before he walked out of the room. “Sounds like it.”

 

     Nothing more was said between Keith and Johnny that shift about their conversation.  Whether Johnny would ever work with Keith again, the man couldn’t guess. Currently, John Gage went where the department sent him, as a result of his own request to be transferred out of Station 51. 

 

     Johnny sat at his kitchen table another twenty minutes while thinking over how the choices a person makes affect the lives of those you call father, or mother, or brother, or...friend. He finally pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the phone that hung on the wall next to the snack bar. He perched one hip on a stool and dialed a number from memory. When the phone on the other end was picked up and a young voice greeted Johnny with, “Hello?” he said quietly in response, “Hey, Chris. Is your dad home?”

 

     “Uncle Johnny, is that you?”

     “Yeah, sport, it’s me.  Can I talk to your dad for a minute?”

 

     “He’s not here.”

 

     “Oh.”

 

     “He went to the hardware store, and he was going a couple of other places, too, but I don’t remember where he said.”

 

     “I see. Well, would you tell him...would you tell him I called?”

 

     “Sure. You want him to call you back?”

 

     “Yeah.  Please.”

 

     “Okay, I’ll tell him, Uncle Johnny.”

 

     “Thanks, kiddo.  Bye.”

 

     “Bye!”

 

     Johnny had no way of knowing that Chris had been the only one in the house when he called the Desoto home, and that he was in a hurry to get to his bedroom to retrieve a football because a group of boys were waiting for him at the neighborhood park. Joanne was outside hanging laundry, while Jennifer and her friend Amy played with their Barbie Dolls on the deck.  Chris knew he was supposed to write down phone messages, but in his haste to get the football game started didn’t take the time to do so.  After all, it was Uncle Johnny who had called, and Chris would surely remember something that important considering recent circumstances between his father and John Gage.  But, by the time Chris arrived home three hours later to get ready to go to a sleepover his friend Dean was hosting, he had forgotten Johnny called. Which, in turn meant, John Gage assumed he was getting his just desserts, and that Roy DeSoto had no desire to talk to him.

 

    

Chapter 12

 

 

     A week had passed since Johnny attempted to contact Roy by phone.  He hadn’t tried to connect with the man a second time.  As the old saying went, actions speak louder than words, and if Roy had chosen not to call him back that pretty much said it all.

 

     Roy and Wayne were still working together on the 51’s A-shift, and Roy could see that Joanne’s prediction was true. He and Wayne could probably work together for as long as necessary, be that months, or be it years.  Though Roy would never admit it out loud, he shuddered at that last thought. He just couldn’t fathom working with Wayne Franklin for years, the way he had worked with John Gage.  There was no spark between them, meaning their relationship as partners and co-workers was bland as vanilla. Now, at one time, Roy might have thought vanilla was okay.  But, he’d worked with Johnny for too long not to know there was need for more than vanilla in your life, even if sometimes the source of that variety did drive you crazy.       

 

     The Phantom had yet to let up on Wayne either.  Chet had issued himself a personal challenge to get a rise out of the guy, and was growing increasingly frustrated when he couldn’t make that happen.

 

     “I swear, Marco, the guy isn’t normal,” Chet had grumbled more than once since Wayne had joined the A-shift, and was doing so again today while he and Marco organized the supply closet in the apparatus bay right after roll call. “Water bombs don’t piss him off. Flour bombs don’t piss him off. Eating all the cookies his mother mailed here from Arizona for his birthday, so that all he got when he opened the package was a box of crumbs, didn’t piss him—“

 

     “That was a new low, Chet,” Marco said with a frown.

 

     “Well, if he’d only reacted once, just once, to anything else I’ve done to him, I wouldn’t have had to stoop that low. It’s Franklin’s own fault, you know.  God, I just hate it when he smiles at me and shakes my hand while thanking me for making him feel like he belongs. The guy’s a fruitcake!”

 

     “He is a little...different,” Marco admitted, which was his way of saying he didn’t like Wayne any better than Chet did as far as the Irishman was concerned.

 

     “Man, I really miss Johnny. The Phantom just isn’t the same without him.  He’s downright depressed, man.”

 

     “The Phantom can get depressed?”

 

     “You bet. Especially when his best gags don’t get a reaction from his pigeon.”

 

     “Well then, in an effort to assist with the Phantom’s depression, let me suggest that he put his gags to rest.”

 

     “No way!”

 

     “Chet, if you haven’t gotten a reaction from Wayne yet, you’re not going to get one.”

 

     “Oh, I will,” Chet smirked. “Just you wait and see. Mark my words, the Phantom will not be defeated by some joker who thanks him for his gags.”

 

     Marco simply shook his head and walked away from Chet as they finished their assigned chore. He’d always dreaded the prank wars between Johnny and Chet when the two of them would get wound up, but actually, this had the potential to be much worse. 

 

     I don’t know who to pity more.  Chet, when he carries this too far and Cap skins him alive, or Wayne, because I have a feeling Chet’s gonna get him good yet.

 

 

______________________

 

 

     The last thing George McKay was thinking of that Saturday, was playing a prank. He’d thought this through many times, had even envisioned himself doing it.  He’d simply been waiting for the opportunity to get retribution on behalf of Curtis.  And now, opportunity had knocked.  Clara had come home from work on Friday evening to say she’d been asked to work again on Saturday to fill in for a waitress who was sick. Normally, George wouldn’t have been happy about that, because a forty hour work week was too much for his wife as it was.  But, Clara was right when she said they could use the money the overtime would bring, so George went along with her line of thinking and didn’t raise a fuss.  Besides, this would be perfect.  He didn’t baby-sit his grandchildren on Saturdays because Charlene didn’t work on weekends. George couldn’t carry out his plan with his grandchildren present, so it was now or never.

 

     “I’ll drive you to work tomorrow morning,” George had said as he and Clara ate dinner.

 

     “I need to be there at quarter to five,” Clara reminded.  “I have to start at five, and work until two.”

 

     “I know.  That’s fine.  I’ll pick you up at two o’clock. I need the car.”

 

     “What for?”

     “Just would like to run some errands without the kids with me. Might stop and see Bob for a while.”

 

     Clara didn’t question her husband further.  They could only afford one car now, and usually she drove it to work unless George needed it for something.  She couldn’t fault him for wanting to run some errands, or just take a drive, on a day when he didn’t have to watch David and Elizabeth. And, she was glad to hear he might stop and see Bob.  The man had been a co-worker of George’s, and a good friend.  George had lost touch with most of his friends since his forced retirement.  That had concerned Clara, and was another reason she surmised her husband suffered from depression.  She smiled across the table now.

 

     “I’m glad.”

 

     “Huh?”

 

     “I’m glad you’re going to see Bob.”

 

     “Bob?” The man questioned as though he’d forgotten what he’d said less than two minutes earlier. “Oh...oh yeah. Bob.  Yeah, yeah, I’m going to see him.  If he’s home, that is.”

 

     “Why don’t you call him after supper and tell him you’ll be stopping by?”

 

     George stood to carry his empty plate to the sink.  “Nah. It’s not that important. If he’s there, he’s there.  If not, that’s okay, too.  I’m going out to the garage.  Got some things to work on.”

 

     Clara didn’t question her husband as to what those things he spoke of were.  Instead, she rose to do the dishes.  When the kitchen was cleaned up Clara’s legs ached too much to walk to the garage to check on George. Instead, she ran the bathtub full of hot water, added some scented oil Charlene and the children had given her for Christmas, and settled in for a long soak.  If she had gone to the garage, Clara would have wondered why her husband had wasted their hard-earned money on the high-powered rifle he was cleaning and loading.

 

______________________

 

 

     After it had grown dark, George had secreted the rifle in a large gunnysack before hiding it under a blanket in the trunk of the car.  He hid the Magnum Curtis had used to kill himself under the blanket, too.  By the time he’d come into the house on Friday night, Clara was in bed sleeping.

 

     The alarm clock went off at three forty-five on Saturday morning. Clara woke to find George’s side of the bed empty. For a brief moment she panicked, wondering if he’d ever come in from the garage the evening before.  Wondering if he’d had another heart attack out there, or had fallen ill in some way. But then she smelled eggs cooking.  She got out of bed, put her feet in her slippers, and grabbed her robe.  She was still belting the robe as she stepped into the kitchen.

 

     “George, what are you doing?”

 

     The man turned from the stove. “Making you breakfast before I drive you to work.”

 

     “But you haven’t made breakfast since Curtis di...you haven’t made breakfast in a long time now.”

 

     The man walked over and kissed his wife of forty-three years on the lips.  “Well, I’m making it this morning. You work too hard, Clara. Now go on, get dressed and comb your hair.  By the time you’re done, breakfast will be ready.”

 

     The woman shook her head at this odd change of mood. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth though, and assuming that maybe some of her prayers had been answered where George was concerned, Clara did as he husband instructed. 

 

______________________

 

     George had several hours to kill after dropping Clara off at work.  He drove back home to do the breakfast dishes and make the bed.  His wife had been shocked when he’d told her to linger over a second cup of coffee because he would accomplish the household chores after she was gone. 

 

     This is how it used to be when Curtis was alive, and when Dave and Charlene were married, the man thought as he stood at the sink washing the dishes.  I didn’t feel the best on most days, just like I don’t feel the best now, but I didn’t have to watch the kids five days a week like some goddamn nanny, and I helped Clara more around the house so she didn’t have to work so hard.  Plus, Charlene was able to give us some money out of Dave’s paycheck each week to help us out.  Things weren’t so tight then, and Clara didn’t have to work so many hours. 

 

The bastard, George thought as he looked out the kitchen window at the rising sun.  That goddamn bastard took everything away from us.

 

______________________

 

 

     At nine-thirty that morning Hank raced from his office in a panic.

 

     “McConnikee’s here!  McConnikee’s here! Line up for inspection!”

 

     The A-shift crew came running from various directions at the summons. Mike had been cleaning the dorm.  Marco had been giving Henry fresh food and water.  Roy had been in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee after having just returned from a run, and Wayne was in the locker room showering and changing his clothes because he’d been vomited on twice during his ride with the patient in the ambulance. Where exactly Chet came from no one knew, but then no one was paying attention either. When Chief McConnikee showed up for a surprise inspection, you simply did what Hank Stanley ordered as quickly as you could.

 

     As the new guy at Station 51, Wayne had no idea what all the fuss was about. However, he heard the urgency in his captain’s voice when the man pushed the locker room door open and yelled, “Franklin, get dressed!  McConnikee’s here and I want everyone front and center now!”

 

     The paramedic had just finished drying his body with a towel and combing his hair.  He hurried to dress in the clean boxer shorts, socks, and uniform he’d left lying across a bench. He slipped his boots on, tied them, and ran for the engine bay where he lined up with the rest of his station mates just as Patrick McConnikee entered the building.

 

     The chief and Captain Stanley made small talk while the men of the A-shift stood at attention.  Wayne immediately picked up on Hank’s nervousness, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it, or wonder as to the reasons behind it.  Suddenly, he felt awfully uncomfortable in his groin region. Warm and itchy, then downright hot and burning.  He tried to unobtrusively scratch himself by shifting his body from side to side, then by swaying back and forth, but nothing he did relieved the growing discomfort.

 

     Thankfully, for Wayne’s sake, the inspection was a short one. Captain Stanley kept glaring at him, but Chief McConnikee didn’t seem to notice his movements. Roy apparently did, though, because he kept throwing Wayne sideways glances as if to say, “What’s your problem?”

     The chief turned down Hank’s offer of a cup of coffee.  Ten minutes after he arrived, he was gone.  As soon as he heard the back door close, Hank swiveled to face Wayne.

 

     “What’s your problem this morning, Franklin? Do you have ants in your pants or what?”

 

     “I...I don’t know, sir,” Wayne mumbled as the urge to scratch places he’d rather not scratch while standing with five other men threatened to drive him crazy.

 

     “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

 

     “I...I don’t feel very good, Cap.”

 

     “Don’t feel good?  Like how?”

 

     “I...I itch.”

 

     “You what?”

 

     Wayne danced from what foot to the other like a little kid in bad need of a bathroom.  “I itch, sir!”

 

     “Where?”

     “Where?”

 

     “Yes, where do you itch?”

 

     “Uh...uh...uh...”

 

     Although Roy had no idea what was going on, he had at least surmised where Wayne’s area of discomfort was located.  Discreetly, he pointed below the man’s belt for his captain.

 

     “Oh,” Hank nodded.  “Oh, I see. Well, then...well, go to the locker room and see if you...if you can figure out what’s wrong.”

 

     “Yes, sir,” Wayne agreed as he sprinted to the locker room.

 

     Hank flicked his head toward the locker room door.  “Roy, see what’s going on with him, please.”

 

     “Sure, Cap.”

 

     Roy headed for the locker room while Hank returned to his office.  When the man’s door closed Chet burst out laughing.

 

     “What?” Marco asked with suspicion. “Chet, what did you do to him?”

 

     “I told you the Phantom wouldn’t be defeated.”

 

     “What’d you do, Chet?” Mike asked.

 

     “You guys gotta promise not to tell Cap.”

 

     “I won’t,” Marco agreed, not wanting to get caught in the middle of this.

 

     “I won’t either,” Mike promised, for the same reason as Marco.

 

     Chet looked around, then, dropped his voice.  “I loaded his boxers with itching powder.”

 

     “Chet!” Mike exclaimed with astonishment at this prank he deemed beyond tolerable boundaries.

 

     “Chet, that was dirty,” Marco said. “Worse than anything you’ve ever done in all your years as the Phantom.”

 

     Chet simply smiled as he walked toward the kitchen. “Yeah, well I can tell you guys this. I bet old Wayne won’t be shaking my hand and saying thank you for making him feel like one of the guys after this stunt.”

 

     “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t kill you,” Marco said.

 

     Mike nodded his agreement as he and Marco did the wise thing and scattered like chickens before Hank Stanley found out what Chet had done.

 

 

______________________

 

    

Fifteen minutes later Roy knocked on Hank’s door.  When he heard, “Come in!” he entered.

 

     “Cap, we’re gonna have to send Wayne home.”

 

     “What’s wrong?”

 

     “He has a rash of some sort. He’s red and itchy from his waist to the middle of his thighs, and everywhere in-between, if you get my drift.”

 

     Hank made a face.  “Sounds uncomfortable.”

 

     “It is. He said it burns, too.”

 

     “What the hell would cause this?”

 

     “Beats me.  He said he was fine this morning.  He noticed it right after he got out of the shower and put his clean uniform on.”

 

     “Could his wife have washed his underwear in something he’s allergic to?”

     “It’s possible.  Or it could even be some chemical that was used on his uniform pants at the dry cleaners. All I know is he’s mighty uncomfortable. I told him he should stop by Rampart on his way home, but I think he’s too embarrassed to do so. For now, he’s going to try soaking in a tub filled with cornstarch and then use cortisone cream.”

 

     “Cornstarch?”

 

     “Yeah. It might help relieve some of the itching.”

 

     “All right,” Hank sighed. “Send him home then.  I’ll stand the squad down and put a call in for a replacement.”

 

     “Will do,” Roy agreed, knowing Wayne couldn’t finish out the shift with the rash he had on parts of his body where no man wants a rash.

 

     I hope they don’t send Brice, was Roy’s fleeting thought as he headed for the locker room. You never knew who might have put in for overtime, so in a situation like this it was a crapshoot as to who might replace your partner.  The last thing Roy wanted after three weeks of dealing with Wayne, was twenty-four hours of dealing with Craig Brice.

 

     Please, Lord, anyone but Brice, was Roy’s last thought as he entered the locker room and told Wayne to head home.

 

______________________

 

     Because of the way he was rotating stations, Johnny had also ended up changing shifts during that week.  Rather than being on-duty like the Station 51 A-shift, he was off duty.  When the call came at ten that morning from headquarters informing Johnny Station 51 needed a replacement paramedic, he almost said no.  Only two things kept him from doing just that.  His fear that something had happened to Roy, and his loyalty to his former shift mates and captain.  If something had happened and Roy had been injured on the job, reporting to 51’s was the best way to get first hand information.  If Roy was okay, and it was Wayne Franklin he was replacing...well, Johnny owed it to Hank Stanley to fill in the vacant paramedic spot.

 

     Johnny changed into a clean uniform before leaving home.  He’d been up at seven that morning and had his animals taken care of by eight-thirty, so there was nothing to delay his departure from the house. At eleven o’clock he was driving the Land Rover into the Station 51 parking lot. Johnny brought the Rover to a halt in the space that had always been considered his when he worked here. The paramedic hesitated just a moment before shutting the vehicle off and existing it.  He pocketed his car keys, straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and headed for the back door.

 

 

 

Chapter 13

 

     George McKay slowly drove past his destination. He smiled when he saw the vehicle was parked right where it belonged.  He drove around the block, and went past again.  He repeated this action three times before driving on. Now that he was assured the man was where George had expected to find him, George could put the second phase of his plan into motion.  It would only take a few minutes.  Very little time at all, and then, on behalf of Curtis, retribution would be at hand.

 

______________________

 

     As is often said, God does have a sense of humor.  Or so Roy DeSoto thought when it was John Gage who walked into Station 51 late that morning, and not Craig Brice.

 

     Johnny was greeted like the Prodigal Son by Chet Kelly, which Roy would have found hilarious if he hadn’t been so on edge.

 

     “Johnny!” Chet’s grin went from ear to ear as he approached the man and gave him a firm clap on the upper arms. “Johnny!  You’re back!”

 

     “Only for this shift, Chet,” Johnny said quietly while accepting and returning hellos from Mike and Marco. Hank walked in the kitchen from his office, wondering what all the fuss was about. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say given the circumstances, and how uncomfortable Roy looked, but he finally settled on offering Johnny a smile.

 

“Glad to have you back, pal.”

 

Johnny repeated what he’d told Chet. “Only for this shift, Cap.”

 

     “Sure,” Hank swiftly amended. “Right.  Only for this shift.”

 

     “Or until Franklin stops itching,” Chet said.

 

     Hank glared at the man. “What do you know about it, Kelly?”

 

     “Nothing, Cap. Nothing,” Chet assured as he moved back to the stove where he was assisting Marco with making a pot of chili. The Irishman smiled.  “You’re in luck, Johnny. Marco’s cooking today.”

 

     “So I see,” was all Johnny said, which was completely uncharacteristic considering how much John normally raved about Marco’s chili. It was also uncharacteristic for him to avoid making eye contact with Roy; that action being the one Johnny was currently excelling at.

 

     Hank’s gaze remained on Chet a moment longer. The one thing you could count on when it came to the Phantom and his practical jokes was that he eventually gave himself away. This wouldn’t be the first time itching powder had found its way into Station 51, though usually it was Johnny’s bed sheets that were sprinkled with it, as opposed to someone’s boxer shorts getting loaded with the stuff.  But for the time being, Hank had more important concerns than Chet Kelly and his pranks – like the fact that this reticent demeanor wasn’t normal for John Gage, and the fact that Roy and Johnny had yet to acknowledge one another in any way.

 

     Hank’s gaze left Chet to take in his paramedics. “Roy.  John.  Would you both come in my office for a minute, please?”

     “Sure, Cap,” Roy said.

 

     “Yeah, Cap,” Johnny nodded.    

 

     The two men followed Hank out of the kitchen, through the engine bay, and to his office.

               

     Hank was just about to close his office door when the klaxons sounded.

 

     “Station 51, man down at the Barkmann-Richter Construction site, 32565 Hawthorn Drive. Barkmann-Richter Construction site, 32565 Hawthorn Drive. Time out: 11:22.”

 

     Hank acknowledged the call while his men climbed into their respective places on the engine, and within Squad 51. The talk he’d wanted to have with Roy and Johnny would obviously have to wait.  He had always considered them professionals when it came to their jobs, so he was counting on that professionalism to now carry them through despite their current disagreements.  

 

     The construction site was just two miles from Station 51.  Roy didn’t need to rely on Johnny’s navigational skills to get him there, anymore than Mike Stoker needed to rely on Hank’s. The men passed the site on their way to the station for the start of each new shift.  To the best of Roy’s knowledge, the towering steel girders were just the beginning of what was to be a massive shopping mall.

 

     Roy turned the squad into the rough dirt lot. The vehicle  bumped over uneven ground with the engine doing the same behind it.  There was a pickup truck parked next to a construction trailer, but no one appeared to be around except for three boys on bicycles.  The youngsters, whom Hank guessed to be ten or eleven years old, rode their bikes to the engine.  The captain climbed down to see what the kids wanted to tell him.

 

     “Did one of you boys call the fire department?”

 

     “That was me,” a red headed boy with a chipped front tooth said.  “I only live a couple of blocks from here. I rode home and called you guys, then came back to wait with Jason and Brian.”

 

     “And you guys are Jason and Brian?” Hank asked of the other two boys.

 

     “Yeah.” 

 

     “Yep.”

 

     Hank nodded and smiled at the youngsters before addressing the red head again. “We have a report of a man down. Is that what you called in?”

 

     “Yeah.” The boy turned around on his bike and pointed upward.  “See him?  He’s just layin’ up there. At first we thought it was funny ‘cause we figured he was sleepin’ on the job, but then it got kinda creepy ‘cause he hasn’t moved at all.  We’ve been calling to him, but he won’t wake up.”

 

     Hank followed the red head’s finger and finally spotted a man two hundred feet in the air.  The man was seated on a horizontal steel girder, while slumped within the deep hallowed angles of a vertical girder that was embedded in the building’s concrete foundation at ground level. As far as Hank could see, the only thing keeping the man from toppling to the ground was the safety belt he had secured around his waist.  Its massive hook was latched through something in the girder he was leaning against.  Hank assumed that ‘something’ was a bolt hole, but at this distance he couldn’t tell for certain.

 

     “Boys, you go on home now,” Hank ordered as he trotted toward the construction trailer.  The boys pretended to do as the fire captain ordered.  They rode their bikes away from the engine, but stopped one hundred feet behind it so they could watch the action unfold. 

 

     Hank knocked on the trailer’s door. “Fire Department!”  When he received no answer after calling out three times, he turned the knob, only to find it locked.  He walked to the pickup truck and cupped his hands around his face as he looked in the windows.  He didn’t see any prescription bottles sitting on the dashboard or seats that might indicate the unconscious man had a medical condition.  He wanted to look in the truck’s glove compartment, but decided he’d better wait for the police to arrive before actually gaining entrance into the vehicle.

 

     Hank jogged to the paramedics who had gotten out of the squad and were awaiting their captain’s orders. Johnny already had a lifebelt on and a bulk of rope circling his right shoulder.

 

     “I guess I don’t have to ask who’s making the climb today.”

 

     “Nope,” Johnny shook his head at his captain. “I’ll go.”

 

     “I can go just as easily,” Roy said, leading Hank to believe the men hadn’t made this decision in tandem, as was their usual style. 

 

     “Forget it,” Johnny negated a bit too swiftly and sharply for Hank’s tastes.  “I’ll go.”

 

     Roy didn’t waste time arguing with his partner.  Overall, who made the climb and who didn’t was of little consequence.  The man up there needed help, and Johnny had volunteered to go. 

 

     Johnny trotted toward the massive structure while Hank put in a call for police assistance.  Roy began pulling the items out of the squad’s compartments he assumed they’d need – bio-phone, drug box, and trauma box to begin with.  The men of the engine crew followed Johnny, but stopped far enough away from the structure so they had a clear view of him and the unconscious man. 

 

     There was no stairway that would take the paramedic to the injured man, but there was a service elevator. Johnny pressed the button to summon it to ground level.  When he didn’t hear a motor whirl to life, or hear the car moving, he looked up.  He pressed the button again and watched, only to observe the car remain motionless far above his head.  Johnny sighed as he unclipped his Handie Talkie from his belt.

 

     “Engine 51, this is John.  The elevator doesn’t appear to be working, so I’m gonna have to climb up to him.”

 

     “Are you sure, John?”

 

     “That’s affirmative on both accounts, Cap.  No elevator.  Climb.”

 

     Hank smiled a bit at Johnny’s attempt at humor.  “All right.  At the risk of voicing an overused cliché, watch your step.”

 

     “You bet, Cap.  10-4.”

 

     “10-4.”

 

     Hank looked at his crew.  “We’ll have to assist Johnny if the only way he can get the victim down is by lowering him with the rope.”

 

     “Maybe the elevator will work once Johnny gets up there,” Chet said.  “If nothing else, it’ll be worth it for him to give it a try.”

 

     “Yes, it will be,” Hank agreed. “Once he’s up there, I’ll tell him to do that.”

 

     John Gage wasn’t afraid of heights, though he wasn’t such a dare devil as to take heights for granted. As he promised Hank he would be, Johnny was cautious as he ascended the structure. He climbed from level to level with the aid of the support girder that was set twenty feet from the one the victim was slumped against. Iron rods jutted out two feet from each side of the girder, giving Johnny a makeshift ladder to use. Like a skilled ironworker, he tackled each level and kept his progress steady. Nonetheless, by the time he was one hundred feet off the ground his shirt was soaked with sweat and clinging to his back.  The late August sun was hot, and perspiration trickled down from his hairline.  Johnny wished he could take his helmet off, but he knew Cap would let him have it if he did. If nothing else, he’d remove it when he was secured next to the victim with his own safety harness.

 

     Johnny heard sirens, indicating the arrival of a squad car and ambulance.  He didn’t bother looking down, but instead, continued to look up as he scaled the girder.  When he finally reached the level the man was on, the paramedic had to pause to catch his breath.  He unstrapped his helmet and wiped at the sweat on his brow. He adjusted the rope over his shoulder, took a deep breath, and walked straight ahead.  The horizontal girder that led to the victim was two and a half feet wide.  That meant it was wide enough to walk on, but at the same time, not wide enough to offer a huge feeling of security.  One misstep and Johnny could easily fall.  He’d watched ironworkers make trips like this across girders look easy. Johnny didn’t have that comfort level, and took each step with caution. 

 

            At least this thing’s not wet with rainwater.  It would sure be slippery if it were.

 

     The paramedic breathed an internal sigh of relief when he reached the injured man.  Johnny had no way of knowing that everyone on the ground breathed a sigh of relief as well, when they saw him arrive safely behind the victim.

 

     “Sir?”  Johnny questioned as he hung onto the support girder the man was slumped within and slowly eased himself to a seated position behind him. He secured the hook of his lifebelt through a bolt hole by his right knee.  “Sir?  Sir, I’m a paramedic with the fire department. Can you hear me?”

 

     Johnny reached his right hand around the man’s torso and put his fingers at the pulse point of the worker’s throat.  He frowned while repositioning his fingers.  His frown grew deeper.  Johnny released the hook on the victim’s safety belt and carefully eased the man back against him. In so doing, he was able to see the front of the victim’s body for the first time.

 

     “What the hell...” Johnny started to reach for his Handie Talkie.  The police would need to know about this. Before he was able to unclip the instrument from his belt, a rifle bellowed from the paramedic’s right.  It happened so fast Johnny would have had no way to protect himself even if he had been able to flee. But sitting like he was, two hundred feet in the air on a narrow girder, meant John Gage had no place to go.  He cried out when a bullet pinged against the support girder. Shards of metal pelted Johnny’s face and eyes.  He cried out again when something seared his forehead so fast and hot it felt like his skin had been sliced open by a knife that had just been pulled from a raging fire.

 

Johnny hugged the victim’s body, trying to make himself as small of a target as possible, while at the same time being all too aware of just what a vulnerable target he was.

 

 

______________________

 

 

     This was too easy, George thought, as he lined the man up in the rifle’s scope.  So easy it was almost funny to think of all the planning he’d done to reach this moment. 

 

______________________

 

 

     On the ground below Johnny, men scrambled for cover. Vince Howard was the only cop on the scene.  He dove into the front seat of his squad and called for backup. The ambulance attendants scrambled out of their vehicle and ran to the back of it.  They knew they had more protection there than they did sitting behind the glass windshield that was facing Johnny.  One of the men waved the boys over who were watching while still seated on their bikes, but the rifle blasts scared the kids and they took off.  Their feet churned on their pedals as they raced out of the construction yard and down the street.  No gunfire followed them, meaning the shooter either didn’t see them, or wasn’t concerned with them.  The boys turned at the next block and were long out of range of the gunman when three more squad cars arrived.

 

     Roy had still been standing by the squad when the gunfire erupted.  Similar to the ambulance attendants, Roy sought refuge behind his vehicle.  He could see Hank, Mike, Chet, and Marco lying flat in the dirt three hundred yards ahead of him.  He looked up to see Johnny still sitting on the girder, but whether he was injured or not, Roy couldn’t tell.

 

     A squad car raced by Roy, churning up dust and dirt.  When it stopped in-between 51’s crew and the building, Hank took advantage of its presence, and the thick cloud of dust, and ordered his men to run for the engine.

 

     Chet Kelly didn’t think he’d ever run so fast in his life.  The men took cover on the driver’s side of the big engine. Hank clicked the button on his Handie Talkie and said in-between pants for breath, “L.A., this is Engine 51.  We have a shooter at our location who has ambushed a paramedic. Repeat, we have a shooter at our location who has ambushed a paramedic.  Request an additional squad.”

 

     “10-4, 51.”

 

     Hank switched frequencies and tried to summon Johnny.

 

     “John? John, can you hear me?  John?”

 

     By the time Johnny was able to answer his captain, Roy had crouched low and scurried across the thirty feet that separated the squad from the engine. 

 

     Johnny’s voice was shaky, breathless, tight, and pitched just above a whisper, as though he was attempting to conceal his position from the shooter as best he could.

 

     “Yeah...yeah, Cap.”

 

     “John, what’s your status?”

 

     “I...I can’t see. I don’t know if. . .if he shot me, or if it’s...if it’s shrapnel. Hurts. . .hurts like hell.  I can feel...can feel blood on my face, too, Cap.”

 

     “Okay, pal.  We’ll work on getting you down from there.  What about the victim?”

 

     “He’s...he’s dead.” 

 

     “You’re certain?”

 

     “Ye...yes.”

 

     Hank didn’t waste time asking Johnny if the man had been dead when he’d first gotten to him, or if he’d been killed when the shooter fired at Johnny. 

 

     “Hang on, John. Don’t move. We’ll get you down.  You copy?”

 

     “10...10-4, Cap.”

 

     Two more squad cars and an unmarked vehicle that held a six member SWAT team arrived as Hank connected with the fire department dispatcher again.  He realized the police were aware of some of what he was about to say, given Vince Howard’s presence when the gunman started shooting, but he wanted them updated with this latest news from Johnny.

 

     “L.A., this is Engine 51.  Please relay to the police department personnel at this scene that one man is deceased, and that we have an injured paramedic trapped on a girder by the gunman.”

 

     “10-4, 51.”

 

Having supplied what he could to the police, Hank looked at Roy. 

    

     “What do you think?”

     Roy knew his captain was asking him to evaluate Johnny’s medical condition based on what little information they had. 

 

     “By listening to his voice, he’s in a lot of pain, Cap. Which is a given with an eye injury. Between that and blood loss, he may not remain conscious for long.  And even if he does remain conscious, he’s not going to be able to come down from there the same way he went up.”

 

     Hank chewed on his lower lip, hard pressed to make any type of decision until the officers at the scene had assessed the situation.  Hank peered around the back of the engine and watched Vince Howard, along with three members of the SWAT team, slip around the rear of the construction trailer.  A minute later Hank could hear the SWAT team leader speaking to the gunman through a bullhorn, which meant they had pinpointed the man’s location. Roy kept glancing from his watch to the girder where Johnny sat.  He was too far away to be able to discern more than the fact that Johnny was still seated behind the dead man.  When Squad 14 arrived, Hank signaled the paramedics to stop just as they got inside the gate. 

 

     “L.A., this is Engine 51. Instruct Squad 14 to stay where they are and to remain in their vehicle.”

 

     “10-4, 51.”

 

     Five tense minutes passed while more squad cars arrived.   Hank watched as Vince used the vehicles for cover.  The black man stayed low to the ground as he ran, bent over at the waist, for Engine 51.  There was no preamble to his first question, leading Hank to conclude the message he’d sent through Dispatch had made its way through the proper channels.

 

     “Do you guys have a way of getting Johnny down fast?”

 

     “How fast?” Hank asked, not sure what Vince was getting at.

    

     “Fast, like in seconds.”

 

     Hank thought a moment. He could come up with only one thing, but he couldn’t fathom how they could make it work.

 

     “The Life Net.”

 

     “Cap, there’s no way Johnny can jump into it if he can’t see,” Chet said.

 

     “That’s one problem,” Hank agreed. He looked at Vince. “Plus, all of us would be sitting ducks standing out in the open holding it, not to mention the fact that John would be an easy target on his way down.”

 

     “We think otherwise, because here’s what the SWAT team has in mind. We’ve already locked in on the shooter’s location through binoculars.  He’s tucked way back in the far right hand corner on the same level as Johnny.  The elevator is approximately four feet from him. Between the close proximately of the elevator, and the way those girders are designed, he’s cradled in there making it hard for us to get a clean shot at him unless his moves.  Or, is willing to get on the elevator, come down to us, and give himself up.  Which doesn’t seem to likely at this point.”

 

     “It doesn’t work,” Roy said. “The elevator, I mean. Johnny tried it.”

 

     “The guy probably disabled it after he reached his destination.  Regardless of that, we know two things.  The shooter is using a big game hunting rifle with a scope, not an automatic or semi-automatic rifle like I first assumed.  The drawback to a rifle like that is that it packs a helluva lot of power.  So much power that the recoil can knock the shooter to his knees, which is one reason the guy has himself tied to that girder he’s cradled in. That kind of rifle has to pack a punch in order to drop an animal as large as an elephant.”

 

     “Which means a man shot by a rifle like that doesn’t have much of a chance,” Roy said.

 

     “No, not much of one.  But the chance Johnny has - all of us have - is that the guy has to stop and reload after every shot.  The rifle is double barreled, but after the two bullets are expelled that it holds, it’s out of ammunition.”

 

     “And he just fired at John,” Hank said, “but he hasn’t fired since.”

 

     “Exactly.  So either he has reloaded, or he’s going to have to.”

 

     “And that means?”

 

     “That means we’ve got a window of opportunity here.”

 

     “Not if he has reloaded and fires at Johnny as soon as he stands up to jump,” Roy said.  “If he even can stand up to jump.”

 

     “We’re not going to let him fire at Johnny,” Vince said.

 

     “How are you going to prevent it?”

 

     “We’ll pin him down with gunfire.  If we can keep him occupied, can you get Johnny down?”

 

     Hank’s mouth set in a grim line as he thought over Vince’s suggestion. “I don’t know.  Like Chet said, we’re running the risk Johnny will miss the net because he can’t see it.  And, depending on his level of pain and amount of blood loss, and if he’s been shot and the bullet is lodged somewhere that’s going to cause it to move when he jumps...Vince, this is damn dangerous.”

    

     “It’s damn dangerous leaving Johnny sitting up there to be picked off like a plastic carnival duck, too,” Vince reminded.

 

     “Someone was trying to contact the shooter,” Hank said. “I heard the bullhorn. Did you get any response?”

 

     “No. He’s sitting up there stone-faced like he didn’t hear a thing.  No attempt to respond at all, which is a sign that he’s beyond caring about what he’s doing, or who he might hurt.”

 

     Hank gave a tight nod as he looked up to see his paramedic clinging to the girder.  “Can Roy use a pair of binoculars?  Maybe if he gets a good view of Johnny he can give me a better indication as to whether or not this will work.”

 

     “Sure,” Vince said as he took his binoculars out of the leather case they were strapped within on his belt.

 

     “Cap, if we do what Vince is suggesting, can we call in a few engine companies for more distractions?” Chet asked.

 

     “More distractions?”

 

     “Yeah.  I don’t mean that the engines should get close enough so anyone will get hurt or anything, but if the cops are going to be on the other side of this thing shooting up at the guy, what about having four or five engines racing around back there at the edge of the site with their sirens and air horns blaring. That might keep the guy’s attention off of us.”

 

     “That’s not a bad idea, Kelly,” Hank agreed.

 

     “Not a bad idea at all,” Vince said. “Put a call in for some engines, Hank, but tell them to wait out of sight down the street until we give the word we want them here.  And make sure to emphasize to Dispatch what’s going on.  I don’t want anyone else getting shot today.”

 

     “Neither do we, Vince,” Hank assured as he lifted the Handie Talkie to his mouth and said, “L.A., this Engine 51. Requesting additional engine companies at our scene.”

 

     While Hank explained to the dispatcher what he needed those additional engine companies to do, Roy accepted the binoculars Vince handed him. He held them to his eyes and took a moment to focus them.  When he had the focus correct, it looked like Johnny was sitting four feet in front of him.  Johnny’s back was to Roy, but he could see blood running down the left side of his friend’s face and soaking into the upper portion of the man’s shirt.  He also observed Johnny pressing his face into his left arm while rocking his body back and forth, which indicated to Roy that Johnny was trying to cope with the pain radiating from his eyes.

 

     The paramedic shook his head as he handed the binoculars back to Vince. 

 

     “I don’t know, Cap. He looks like he’s in a lot of pain.  I don’t know if he can do what Vince is suggesting.”

 

     “What if he has no choice?” Vince asked, which was a question that proved to have no answer when neither Roy nor Hank said anything in response. 

 

     When Hank was notified by Dispatch that the engines he had requested were in place and awaiting further instructions, he acknowledged the dispatcher with a, “Stand-by, L.A.”  He switched frequencies again in an attempt to raise Johnny.  He kept his voice low, not wanting to attract the attention of the gunman, or risk the man overhearing their plan.

 

     “John?”

 

     It took Johnny so long to respond that Hank wondered if he’d lost consciousness. 

 

     “John?  John, can you hear me?”

 

     “Ye... yeah, Cap.”

 

     This time Johnny’s voice was so faint Hank had to press the Handie Talkie to his ear to hear him.

 

     “John, we’re going to get you down,” Hank informed his paramedic with far more confidence than he was feeling.  He briefly outlined the plan to Johnny; assuring him the police were going to keep the gunman distracted, while other engine companies would provide further distraction.

 

     “Cap...Cap, I can’t...I can’t jump. I can’t...I can’t see.  Be...besides, I have a victim up here.  I can’t...I can’t leave him.”

    

     “Johnny, you can leave him.  You have to. He’s beyond helping, remember?”

 

     “But...but I can’t. Doc Brac...Doc Brackett will be mad...be mad if I leave the victim.”

 

     Hank shook his head as he looked at Roy and Vince.

 

     “What?” Roy asked. Because of the way Hank had been forced to hold the Handie Talkie against his ear, none of them could hear what Johnny had said.

 

     “He’s scared and he’s disoriented.  He said he can’t leave his victim or Doc Brackett will be mad at him.”

 

     Roy held out his right hand.  “Let me talk to him.”

 

     Hank passed the Handie Talkie to Roy.  Roy followed Hank’s lead from earlier and pitched his voice soft and low.  He kept his eyes on Johnny as he talked to him.

 

     “Johnny, it’s Roy.”

 

     When he received no response, Roy hailed his partner again.  “Johnny, it’s Roy.  Can you hear me?”

 

     Though Roy had to squint, he thought he could discern Johnny fumbling with the Handie Talkie, as if he was trying to press the Talk button.  Several long seconds passed, and then Roy received the results he was waiting for.  

 

     “I...yeah.”

 

     “Johnny, did you hear what Cap told you?  About how you’re going to jump into the Life Net?”

 

     “Roy, I...I can’t.  I can’t see.”

 

     “I know you can’t.  But it’s the quickest way for us to get you to safety.”

 

     “But I can’t...can’t leave the victim.”

 

     “Yes, you can, Johnny.  He’s gone.  You said so yourself.  You have to leave him. We’ll get him down later.”

 

     “Roy...

 

     “Johnny, listen to me.  Trust me.  You have to trust me.  Do you trust me?”

 

     “I...I...yes.”

 

     “Okay, partner, then that’s all either one of us needs to get us through this, do you understand?”

 

     “I...yes. Yeah, I under...I understand.”

 

     Roy looked at Hank and Vince.  “He’ll do what we need him to, but we have to get this over with now.”

 

     “You’re sure?” Vince asked. “He’ll go through with it?”

     “Yeah,” Roy nodded.  “He’ll listen to me.  He’ll do what I tell him to.”

 

     “All right,” Vince acknowledged before giving final instructions to Hank.  “When we’re ready I’ll give you a wave. That’s when you have Dispatch send the engines in. When they get here, and you hear our gunfire, you guys get Johnny down from there.”

 

     Hank was tempted to reply with, “Easier said than done, Vince,” but for the benefit of his men said, “Got it.”

 

     Vince dashed for the safety of the construction trailer, using the squad cars as cover again while he ran.  Once he was behind the trailer, the black man confirmed with the SWAT team that the shooter was still in the same location.  When he received an, “Affirmative,” he motioned the other squad cars to drive around him and take up the positions on the side of the towering structure opposite of where Johnny was located.  Within two minutes time officers were crouched outside their squads, using the vehicles for cover, and had their rifles aimed upward. The SWAT team leader spoke through the bullhorn again, urging the gunman to throw down his weapon.  When the man refused to acknowledge the order in any way, but instead remained perched in the corner of the thick steel girders with the rifle’s scope raised to his right eye, Vince turned to see Hank watching him from the rear of the engine.  He waved his left arm back and forth three times, and observed as Hank raised his Handie Talkie to his mouth.  In seconds, a cacophony of sirens and air horns erupted from somewhere to the rear of the construction site.

 

     For the first time in his life, Chet Kelly knew what it felt like to see the cavalry arrive. Or at least, figuratively speaking.  It wasn’t just five engine companies that had been called out by Dispatch, but rather ten.  Or maybe someone else at fire department headquarters, someone of higher authority like the chief or deputy chief, had been informed as to what was happening and had issued further orders over and above what Captain Stanley had.  Overall, none of that mattered at the moment.  All that mattered was those ten engines made the Station 51 crew feel that much safer, and that much bolder.  As rapid rounds of gunfire ensued they raced across the open site, carrying the folded Life Net between them.  Hank passed the Handie Talkie off to Roy.  The paramedic had already instructed Johnny to leave the frequency open. They stopped below John, standing fifteen feet out from the structure so Johnny wouldn’t hit anything as he dropped.  Now the key was Roy guiding him to jump out far enough.

 

     “Johnny, we’re ready!” Roy shouted into the Handie Talkie. He knew the noise was going to prevent the gunman from hearing him, and might even prevent Johnny from hearing him.  “Unhook your lifebelt and stand up!  Stand up, Johnny!”

 

     “I...I can’t.”  

 

     “Yes, you can!  Come on!  Listen to me. I’m right below you!  I can see you! Unhook your lifebelt and stand up!  Put your right hand on that support beam and use it as a guide.  Hang onto it, Johnny, and stand!”

 

     Roy felt like everything that he and Johnny had gone through together since Curtis Tate’s death, was now coming down to a bizarre game of Truth or Dare. The trust that had always existed between them had been severed as a result of Roy talking to Kelly Brackett - or at least in Johnny’s opinion it had been.  Now, the very person Johnny had said he couldn’t trust enough to work with, he was being forced to trust, while accepting the ‘dare’ Roy was, in turn, being forced to issue.

 

     “You can do it, Johnny! You can! Unhook your lifebelt and stand up!  Stand up!”

 

     Roy prayed Johnny wouldn’t pass out, or get shot in the back, as he slowly rose to a standing position on shaking legs.  Dirt and dust churned in the distance as the fire trucks raced back and forth across the rear of the lot.  The sirens, air horns, and gunfire were endless.  Roy just hoped the cops knew what they were doing and kept the gunman’s attention on themselves, rather than allowing it to shift to Johnny, or the men standing below him.

 

     “Okay, Johnny!  Good! Move three steps to your left!  To your left! Johnny, let go of that beam and take three steps to your left!  Good, good!  We’re right below you. You need to take a really strong leap, Johnny!  Jump off of there with as much power as you can.  You’ve got to clear the girders!”

 

     “Where...where—“

 

     “We’re right below you!  We’ll catch you.  Just jump, Johnny!  Jump now!”

 

     Johnny had never felt so vulnerable as he did at that moment.  Whether he’d be shot in the back, or die from falling two hundred feet, he didn’t know, but he figured the odds were pretty even of either of those things happening.  The pain radiating from his eyes was horrific, and the water that was steadily running from them mixed with the blood and sweat on his face. Other than in a training exercise years before, he had only jumped into the Life Net one other time, and that time he’d had his vision to guide him.  Now, he only had Roy.  He heard his partner’s, “Jump, Johnny!  Jump now!” come again over the Handie Talkie.  And in his head, he heard Roy’s words from earlier.

               

“Johnny, listen to me.  Trust me.  You have to trust me.  Do you trust me?”

 

     In response, Johnny heard his own, “Yes,” just as he had voiced it minutes ago.  Yes, he trusted Roy.  Yes, he could do this.  If Roy said they were below him with the Life Net, then they were.  If Roy said they’d catch him, then they would.  Roy’s final, “Jump, Johnny!” spurred the injured man into action.  He took a deep breath, then, leaped with as much strength as he had left.  Johnny had forgotten that he’d unstrapped his helmet when he’d arrived at the victim’s side.  The helmet flew off his head as he fell toward the ground, just like the bulk of rope he’d been carrying at the start of this rescue slipped off his right shoulder. With out the benefit of his sight, Johnny had no way of measuring distance.  The fall seemed to last forever as his arms paddled uselessly in the air, as though they could somehow make the impact gentler if he did miss the canvas net.

 

     Roy’s directions to his partner, and Johnny’s ability to follow them, couldn’t have been any more accurate.  He landed dead center in the bull’s eye of the net. 51’s crew hadn’t been forced to move an inch one way or another.  As soon as Johnny hit the net Roy grabbed a handle and, along with his crewmates, they used it as a stretcher to flee with Johnny to the safety of the engine.  Squad 14 raced toward them and came to a halt behind Engine 51.  On Hank’s order everyone remained cautious and used the engine for cover while bio-phone, drug box, and trauma box were pulled from Squad 14’s compartments. 
 

     The pain hit Johnny in full force once he was placed on his back on the ground.  He clawed at his eyes while rolling back and forth in the dirt.  Chet grabbed the man’s arms and held them to his sides while Marco grabbed his ankles in order to aid in holding Johnny still. Johnny arched his back and groaned, trying to escape the pain.

 

     “Johnny, calm down,” Roy ordered as he cleaned his hands with a disinfectant wipe. “Calm down.”

 

     One of the Squad 14 paramedics was in contact with Kelly Brackett via the bio-phone, while the other one assisted Roy.  Using a towel, Roy gently wiped away the blood on Johnny’s face. He saw an open wound on the man’s forehead that indicated a bullet crease.  The wound was bleeding freely, but Roy couldn’t detect any signs that the bullet had penetrated Johnny’s skull.  Johnny’s eyes didn’t appear to have suffered severe trauma on the outside. Once again, not the type of trauma Roy would associate with penetration of a bullet from a big game rifle. 

 

     “Johnny, I’m going to open your left eye and have a look.”

 

     “No!”

 

     “Yes. I have to.  I’ll be careful.”

 

     “No, I—“

 

     “Johnny.  Trust me?”

 

     There was no hesitation in the hoarse, “Yes.”

 

     “Okay, good.  I’ll be careful.  I know it hurts.”

 

     “It more...more than hurt...hurts, Roy.”

 

     Roy smiled a bit at the humor his friend was attempting to evoke.  “I know.  I’ll make it quick.”

 

     Roy was swift and efficient as he gently pulled the lower left eyelid downward. “Look up for me, Johnny.  Look up.” 

 

     Roy shined his penlight in the eye, then, reversed the procedure by carefully lifting the upper lid and instructing Johnny to look down.  Chet saw Johnny’s fists clench, and Marco felt him trying to move his legs, but that was the only indication the man gave of the pain Roy’s action was causing him. Roy repeated these actions with Johnny’s right eye before looking over his shoulder at the paramedic who was holding the bio-phone.

 

     “Tell Brackett there’s foreign matter in both eyes. I suspect it’s shards of metal from the girder.”

 

     The paramedic assisting Roy, Ed Hillman, read off Johnny’s vital signs to his partner.  Brackett ordered an IV with Ringers, cleaning and dressing of the gash on Johnny’s forehead, followed by instructions to wash the eyes out with saline solution and then cover them with sterile pads.  Despite Johnny’s level of pain, the doctor didn’t order anything to bring the paramedic relief at this time, due to the head injury. Roy was anticipating all these orders and had everything ready.  While Ed started the IV and then dressed the wound on Johnny’s forehead, Roy poured saline into a small plastic cup.  He held the rim of the cup against the bone at the base of Johnny’s left eye socket, used his thumb to lift the upper lid, and slowly rinsed the eye. He repeated this action then did the same to the right eye.  He covered both eyes with round white patches and loosely taped the patches in place.  He didn’t want to put pressure on the eyelids and risk Johnny sustaining further damage than might have already incurred.

 

     The fire engines were still racing back and forth across the rear of the site, but the gunfire had ceased when Hank waved the ambulance attendants over.  The driver raced for the front of the vehicle while his partner climbed in the back.  The gunman didn’t attempt to hinder their path as the ambulance sped to Engine 51.  Every man present flinched when they heard an explosive, “Boom!” but despite that, no one lost sight of the job at hand.  

 

     Johnny was lifted to the gurney and covered with a blanket. Ed tightened the straps around his chest and knees, and held the IV bag aloft as the gurney was loaded into the back of the ambulance. Ed secured the IV and climbed out.  He took the keys to Squad 51 from Roy when Hank nodded his permission for such a transfer to take place.  The bio-phone and drug box went in the ambulance with Roy.  Thirty seconds later the ambulance was pulling away from the construction site with siren blaring, Squad 14 and Squad 51 following in its wake.

 

     By the way Vince was walking toward Engine 51, Hank knew something had occurred that meant the danger had passed. 

 

     “What happened?” Chet asked as the man approached.

 

     “The guy put the rifle under his chin and pulled the trigger.”

 

     Hank grimaced.

 

     “Yeah,” Vince agreed.  “It’ll be a pretty gruesome sight once we get up there.  But, that’s our job to handle.  Hank, you can call Dispatch and have them contact the engine companies. They can head back to their stations.  Tell ‘em thanks for me, okay?”

 

     “Sure thing,” Hank said as he immediately contacted Dispatch on his Handie Talkie and relayed what Vince had said.   From here on out, the captain was more than happy to let this become a police investigation. 

 

     “How’s Johnny?”

     Hank shrugged. “Don’t really know.  He was in a lot of pain, but the good news is, he doesn’t have a bullet in him.  He had something in both eyes though. Roy thinks it was metal shards from the girder.  And he had a crease in his forehead from what we assume is a bullet, but until they have a look at him at Rampart, I can’t begin to guess as to what we might be facing.”

 

     “Well, you made it through the first step.”

 

     “The first step?”

 

     Vince gave Hank an encouraging smile. “You got Johnny down from there.”

 

     Hank shot the officer a small smile in return.  “Yeah, I guess we did, didn’t we?”

 

     As Vince walked away Hank leaned back against the engine a moment and closed his eyes.  He let out a deep breath, rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, then straightened. 

 

     “Come on, guys, let’s head back to the barn.  I think I’ve had enough of this place for one day, how about you?

 

     “I’ll say,” Chet agreed.

 

     “I’ll second that,” Marco said.

 

     Mike didn’t say anything, which Hank took to mean he was in agreement with the other two men.  They folded the Life Net, put it away, and climbed into Engine 51.  As Mike pulled the big vehicle away from the site, Hank glanced up. He wondered who the shooter had been, and if they’d ever find out what prompted him to go on a rampage that left two men dead, and one with injuries that might end his career and leave him disabled for life.

 

 

______________________

 

 

     George McKay remained hidden in the big, thick bushes that grew along his former son-in-law’s lot line.  This was going to be like picking off a bird.  Dave’s car was home, and pretty soon he’d come out to mow the lawn.  George knew that for a fact, because Dave mowed the lawn every Saturday after lunch like clockwork.  He had when he was married to Charlene, and he hadn’t changed his habits since taking up with the bimbo he’d left his wife and children for.  Curtis had killed himself because his father was no longer a part of the family.  Well, now Dave would no longer be a part of any family – his own, or the bimbo’s - on a permanent basis.

 

     As Dave stepped out the front door of the well-kept middle class home that was ten times nicer than what Charlene and the children were currently living in, George lined the man up in the scope of his rifle.  His finger was poised over the trigger, when someone else appeared in his sights.

 

     “Dad!  Dad!”

 

     David?

 

     Davy ran toward his father with his arms outstretched, followed closely by Beth who was grinning with delight, “Daddy!  Daddy!”

 

     The rifle sagged in George’s arms.  He sat in the bushes, watching as Charlene’s car backed out of the driveway.  When Dave had reconnected with his children, George didn’t know, other than to say this event must have occurred sometime after Curtis’s death.  Why Charlene hadn’t told George of this, the old man didn’t know that either.  Well...yes.  Yes, he did.  She didn’t tell him because she knew he’d be angry and say things about Dave in front of the children she didn’t want them to be privy to.

 

     George wiped the sweat and tears from his face.  He pushed himself from the ground, secured the rifle in the gunnysack, and moved silently through the bushes and out to the sidewalk.  He headed in the opposite direction of Dave’s home, toward the empty parking lot of the small typewriter repair business that was closed on Saturday’s where he’d left the LTD parked.  He secreted the rifle in the car’s trunk and climbed behind the wheel. For the next thirty minutes George sat there alone and cried. He was finally forced to acknowledge that blame for Curtis’s death could be placed on the shoulders of so many. The father who was absent from the boy’s life, the paramedic who didn’t take the gun from him and, as well, on the grandfather who had insisted the twelve-year-old was ready for responsibilities he wasn’t, in fact, ready for, and who had supplied Curtis’s mother with a firearm. So many possible places to place blame, and yet, in the end, no action on George’s part would bring Curty back to life.

 

When George picked Clara up at two o’clock he looked at her through red rimmed eyes, grabbed her left hand, squeezed, and whispered, “Clara, I need help.  I...if you’ll go with me to the senior center I -- I need to get some help.”

 

 

Chapter 14

 

     Roy had remained at the hospital on Saturday afternoon long enough to be assured by Kelly Brackett that Johnny’s injuries weren’t life-threatening.  The ophthalmologist Brackett wanted to look at Johnny’s eyes hadn’t arrived yet when Roy left to return to the station. About all Roy could tell his shift-mates at that time was that the extent of the damage done to Johnny’s eyes was unknown, and would remain so until the specialist was able to examine him. 

 

     “He’s got a mild concussion from the bullet, but in that respect he was lucky.”

 

     The men of the A-shift had nodded their agreement as they sat together at the kitchen table.  Better a crease from a bullet, than a bullet in your skull.

 

     “Brackett thought he could butterfly it closed, rather than putting a row of stitches across the center of Johnny’s forehead.  They were cleaning his face up when I left. Other than that, we won’t know much more until the ophthalmologist sees him.  Oh, Johnny told Doctor Brackett his back was hurting pretty bad, too, but Brackett couldn’t find evidence of any injuries.  He ordered X-rays to be taken of Johnny’s back as I was leaving.”

 

     “What would cause his back to hurt then?”  Chet asked.

 

     “I don’t know for sure,” Roy shrugged, “but I would guess he was pretty tense while he was sitting on that girder, so that could account for some of it.  The rest of it probably comes from landing in the net. Everything happened so fast I didn’t pay attention to what position he was in when he hit.”

 

     “Me either,” Hank said.  “Hopefully it’s not more than strained muscles.”

 

     “Brackett doesn’t think it is, but the X-rays will give him more information.”

 

     Roy received his second replacement partner in less than twenty-four hours that Saturday afternoon.  He didn’t know the rookie paramedic who arrived to take Johnny’s place, and in the end, the man’s skills weren’t put to the test since the remainder of the shift passed uneventfully, with the exception of the engine being called out to a trash fire behind a restaurant kitchen.

 

On Sunday morning, Roy turned down Chet and Marco’s offer to join them for breakfast at the Howard Johnson’s down the street from the station.  He headed home, knowing Joanne would have a ‘Sunday breakfast’ of pancakes, eggs, and bacon prepared. Roy didn’t say anything about Johnny in front of his children.  He waited until the kids had finished eating and Joanne had sent them to their rooms to get dressed for church, before telling his wife about everything that had happened the previous afternoon. The TV hadn’t been on in the DeSoto house the previous day, so Joanne hadn’t seen the evening news report about the gunman at the construction site.

 

“So what do you think?” Joanne asked her husband while they sat together sipping a second cup of coffee.

 

“What do I think about what?

“You? Johnny?”

 

“What about me and Johnny?”

 

Joanne shot her husband an exasperated look.

 

“You know—“

 

“No, I don’t know, if what you’re asking me is will Johnny and I be partners again. I rather doubt it. Johnny transferred out, Wayne transferred in.  That pretty much sums it up.”

 

“I’m not as concerned about the partnership as I am about the friendship.”

 

“I don’t know about that either,” Roy said as he stood to help his wife clear the table. “Maybe    I’ll find something out in that area this afternoon.”

 

“This afternoon?”

 

“When I go see Johnny during visiting hours.”

 

“Oh,” was all Joanne said in return. She didn’t suggest that she and the children accompany Roy.  Whatever happened that afternoon was between her husband and Johnny.  The outcome wasn’t something Joanne could predict...or alter.

 

What will be, will be, the woman thought with resignation as she began loading the dishwasher while Roy wiped off the table.

 

______________________

 

 

Roy couldn’t tell if Johnny was sleeping or not when he entered the man’s room at two-fifteen that afternoon.  Johnny had fresh patches over both eyes, in addition to a white bandage on his forehead. Tiny cuts from metal slivers dotted his face, some of which were already starting to scab. The head of the bed was raised to a forty-degree angle. Johnny rested against two pillows, dressed in a white hospital gown and covered by a sheet and blanket.  He was pale, but was free of IVs and appeared to be ‘resting comfortably’ as the saying went.

 

Johnny turned his head at the sound of footsteps approaching his bed. 

 

“Roy?”

 

“How’d you know it was me?”

 

“My amazing telepathic abilities.”

 

“Telepathic abilities, huh?”

 

“That, and the fact that you’re wearing your blue tennis shoes and the right one squeaks.”

 

     Roy smiled as he sat in the chair next to the bed. “I didn’t realize it was that annoying.”

 

     “Never said it was annoying. Just noticeable.”

 

     “How are you feeling?”

 

     Johnny shrugged.  “Okay. Better right after the pain medication, worse as it starts to wear off.”

 

     “Your eyes?”

 

     “Mostly.  My back too.  My head kinda hurts also. Let’s face it, pally. I’m a screwed up mess.”

 

     “I won’t deny that,” Roy teased, then regretted his words for fear they’d be taken the wrong way given the events of recent weeks.  It was a regret Roy need not have worried about.  Johnny took the teasing in stride.

 

     “Brackett says despite that...the fact that I’m a screwed up mess, that I can probably go home in a couple of days.”

 

     “I saw him on my way up here. He said the ophthalmologist was fairly positive your vision hasn’t been permanently damaged.”

 

     “Yeah. It hurt like hell yesterday when he was getting the metal out despite the local he gave me, but the only damage he saw were scratches that he thinks will heal without causing me any complications. I could see pretty good when he was done...things were fuzzy, but some of that was from the drops he put in. Or so he said. He’ll be in later today to take a look so I’ll know more then.”

 

     “Let me know when you’re going to be released.  If I’m on duty, I know Joanne will pick you up and take you home...that is if the bandages are off your eyes and you can go home.  Otherwise we’ll help you make...other arrangements,” Roy said, not sure if an offer to stay at the DeSoto home would be accepted now as it normally would have been in a situation such as this.

 

     “Thanks. I should be okay at my own place, but I guess I won’t know until after Doctor Thorne – the ophthalmologist – tells me when these bandages can come off.”

 

     “Do you need us to take care of your animals?”

 

     “No. Dixie dialed the phone for me this morning so I could call my neighbor.  He’s got things covered.”

 

     “All right.” 

 

     Of all the things Johnny could have said next, Roy wasn’t expecting what he heard.

 

     “I’m sorry about punching you.”

 

     “Pardon?”

 

     “Punching you – that day in the locker room.  I’m sorry about that.  I was angrier with you than I can ever remember being at anyone, and I still think I had the right to be angry with you, but I was wrong to throw a punch.”

 

     Roy shrugged, but didn’t say anything in return.

 

     “Don’t shrug. I can’t see you when you shrug.”

 

     Roy chuckled.  “How do you know I shrugged?”

 

     “Because I know you.  And when you shrugged you meant, ‘Don’t worry about it.’”

 

     “Okay, then I’ll say it. Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t hurt.  I didn’t tell Cap about it, or anyone else for that matter.  End of story.”

 

     Johnny nodded. He’d apologized for the punch.  He wasn’t, however, going to apologize for having been angry, and he knew Roy understood that.

 

     Roy changed the subject.  “Did the cops take a statement from you this morning?”

 

     “Yeah. A detective was here about an hour after breakfast.  I couldn’t tell him much.  I never saw the shooter.”

 

     “What about the other guy?”

     “The victim I went up there for?”

 

     “Yeah.”

 

     “He was already dead when I got to him.  Most of his face was blown away. I never had time to tell Cap that, or even fully process it, before I was being shot at.”

 

     “Did the detective give you any information as to what it was all about?”

 

     “Both the men – the victim and the shooter, worked for the construction company.  Evidently they’d been good friends at one time, until the victim started sleeping with the shooter’s wife.  As near as the cops can piece together, the shooter never told the victim that he knew the guy was having an affair with his wife. They had both agreed to work overtime on Saturday, and the cops are guessing the shooter took advantage of this and made his move in order to extract revenge.”

 

     “Then killed himself in the process,” Roy surmised of the ‘boom’ they’d heard, and the fact that he never saw anyone handcuffed and hauled off before he left the scene with Johnny.

 

     “Yeah, that’s what happened. To begin with, they think the guy panicked when those boys showed up at the site on their bikes, and then we showed up a little while later. The cops are guessing he shot at me just because he was afraid I’d see him, as opposed to the guy wanting to kill a fireman.  Whether he intended to kill himself all along, or whether the arrival of the cops and the SWAT team caused him to do it, they don’t know.  He didn’t leave a note. Or at least not that they’ve found so far.”

 

     “I’m just sorry you got hurt in the process.”

 

     “It was my turn.”

 

     “To get hurt?”  Roy questioned, wondering if Johnny’s pain medication was causing him to say things a bit more on the bizarre side than was even normal for him.

 

     “No, no.  It was my turn to climb.”

 

     “What?”

 

     “We take turns.  We always have.  The last time one of us had to make a climb it was you who scaled that radio station tower to get to that guy who’d had a heart attack.  This time it was my turn.”

 

     “You remembered that?”

 

     “Of course.  It was one of the last days we worked together. August 2^nd.”

 

     Roy shook his head and smiled.

 

     “And don’t shake your head and smile.  I can’t see that either.”

 

     “I’m beginning to have my doubts.”

 

     “Don’t. I just know you, that’s all.”  After a pause, Johnny said, “You know, Roy, I’ve learned a lot in the past few weeks.”

 

     “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

 

     “Like suicide is a choice a person makes, just like all of us make choices in life.  Even when the person is...young.  I might not agree with the choice, or understand it, and the fact that a twelve-year-old chooses to end his life doesn’t make me feel good inside, but to a large extent, I have no control over the decisions others make.  Nor do I have control over what circumstances brought the person to that choice.  Especially in a case like...Curtis Tate.  I’m not his father.  I’m not the person who left my wife and children.”

 

     “No, you’re not.”

 

     “I still wish I could have done more for Curtis, and I wish...I wish he hadn’t died thinking I’d betrayed him, but I’ve come to a point where I know I didn’t betray him, and to a large extent that’s what matters.”

 

     “You’re right. It is what matters, Johnny. Sometimes...well, sometimes all that does matter is that we have confidence we did the right thing, even if others don’t see it that way.”

 

     Johnny knew Roy was referring to his experiences with Curtis Tate, and to Roy’s own experiences this summer when he chose to go to Kelly Brackett behind Johnny’s back.

 

     There was a lot Johnny could have said.  A lot they could have hashed out, a lot each one of them could have apologized for, and a lot they could have each gotten angry about all over again.  Rather than head down a road already traveled, however, Johnny said quietly, “If you hadn’t been there yesterday I never could have jumped.”

     “Sure you could have.”

 

     “No, I couldn’t have.  I couldn’t see.  I...that scared me.  Usually heights don’t bother me, but yesterday...yesterday was a whole different ball game.  I remember thinking that I was damned if I did, and damned if I didn’t.  Damned if I stayed where I was ‘cause I might get shot, but damned if I didn’t stay where I was because I couldn’t see to make my way back down the same way I got up there.  When Cap told me what he wanted me to do I thought he was nuts.  I couldn’t imagine jumping into a net I couldn’t see.  It was really disorienting being that high in the air without my vision.  I kept trying to picture what Cap wanted me to do, how far the fall would be, but I couldn’t.  It wasn’t until I heard your voice, and you asked me if I trusted you, that I...well, that my confidence returned because...because no matter what has happened in the past, I do trust you.  I was still scared, but I knew I could do it, because you wouldn’t ask me to do something you weren’t certain would work.”

 

     “I’ll admit I was a little...concerned, but no, I wouldn’t ask you to do something that I wasn’t certain would work.  It’s like I told you yesterday.  I knew that together, we could accomplish whatever was necessary.”

 

     “Seems that way,” Johnny agreed with a smile. He held out his right fist.  Roy lightly tapped the knuckles of his own right hand against those of John Gage.

 

     “Friends?” Johnny questioned.

 

     “Friends,” Roy confirmed.

 

     Nothing was said about the men’s partnership, or if there was any way it had a future, but as Joanne had alluded to that morning in the DeSoto kitchen, the friendship was the heart of the partnership. The rest was simply details.  And details usually worked themselves out over time.

 

 

Chapter 15

          

     A week after John Gage was released from the hospital, Wayne Franklin knocked on Hank Stanley’s open office door.  Hank looked up and smiled.

 

     “Wayne. Come on in. Have a seat.”

 

     “Sorry to interrupt, Cap.  This will only take a minute. Do you mind if I shut the door?”

 

     “No, not all,” Hank said, while wondering what Wayne wanted to discuss that needed to be done behind a closed door.  “What can I do for you?”

 

     Wayne sat down across from Hank’s desk. He pulled an envelope out of his shirt pocket and handed it to the man.

 

     “I’m requesting a transfer, sir.”

 

     “A transfer?  What brought this on?”

 

     “Several things, really.”

 

     “And they are?”

 

     “First and foremost, my wife and I are moving.”

 

     “Moving?”

 

     “Yes. My father-in-law passed away last year, and my mother-in-law is having a difficult time of things.  Vickie would like to live closer to her mom, and we found a house just a couple of blocks from her.  The move will benefit all of us.  Vickie works full time in an insurance office.  My mother-in-law has volunteered to baby-sit for our son ever since he was born. We’ve never taken her up on her offer because of the distance we lived from her. Now, with living so close to her, she can care for our son. That, in turn, will be good for him, good for my mother-in-law because it will keep her busy, and good for our peace of mind.  We’ve had to change baby-sitters four times in the past three years for various reasons.  It will be nice having the security of knowing Matthew’s well taken care of by someone who won’t back out of the commitment with little to no notice. And, won’t charge us extra if my wife works late and can’t pick him up by five-thirty.”

 

     “Yes,” Hank agreed, “I’m sure that will be nice.”

 

     “So, I’m putting in a transfer for Station 144. It’s just three miles from the house we bought.  A friend of mine works there on the engine crew.  He told me they have an open paramedic spot.”

 

     “I see.”  Hank read over the papers Wayne had given him.  Everything was in order, and he had no reason not to sign them for the man, other than the fact that it would be Hank who now had an open paramedic spot in need of filling. “And there’s no other reason you want to leave us other than the location of your new home?”

     Wayne hesitated as he glanced toward the door, as if to make sure it was still closed.

 

     “Wayne? Did you have something else you wanted to tell me?”

 

     Wayne’s eyes came back to Hank.

 

     “Sir, may I speak in confidence?”

 

     “You may.”

 

     “Well, sir, there have been a few...challenges.”

 

     “And those challenges are?”

 

     “For one, and don’t take this wrong, because I think Roy is a really nice guy, and an extremely skilled paramedic. Anyone could learn a lot from Roy DeSoto.”

 

     “I’m aware of that.  So...”

 

     “So, he’s...well, sir, Roy’s kind of...he’s...”

 

     “He’s what, Wayne?”

 

     Wayne dropped his voice to just above a whisper. “Boring.”

 

     “Boring?”

 

     “Yes, sir.  Like I said, he’s nice and all. Quiet and even tempered, but just...I don’t know.  He’s just...boring.”

 

     “I see.”

 

     “Gage never made mention of it?”

     “No.”

 

     “Oh.  Well...maybe it’s just me then.  Maybe there’s just some reason why I can’t make things click between Roy and myself.  But like I said, I have nothing against the man or anything. I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

 

     “You aren’t.  I understand.  Being able to ‘click’ with your partner is very important.”

 

     “Yes, it is.”

 

     “And what are the other challenges you mentioned besides your inability to work with Roy?”

 

     This time Wayne didn’t bother to whisper. “Chet Kelly, sir.”

 

     “Chet?”

 

     “Yeah.  The guy drives me crazy.  For one thing, if he keeps calling me Frankie I’m liable to tie him to the hose tower and leave him there for an entire shift.  For another, his practical jokes are annoying and tiresome. The water bombs and flour bombs were bad enough, not to mention the time he ate all the cookies my mother sent here for my birthday. But when he put itching powder in my boxers...well, that was carrying things a little too far. My wife had to take me to Rampart. It was embarrassing.”

 

     “I’m sure it was. You should have told me Chet’s pranks bothered you so much.  You never let on.  I admit, we’ve all gotten so used to Chet’s...jokes, that we tend to overlook them when, at times, we shouldn’t.”

 

     “I didn’t want to make a fuss. I was trying to fit in.  Besides, Chet kept telling me what a good sport John Gage always was about his pranks...about how Gage practically begged to be the target of all the pranks ‘cause he liked the attention, so I though that maybe, given time, I’d get used to them. But I can’t. I hate them.  I feel like I’m the new kid at summer camp all over again.  Maybe it just boils down to the fact that Gage is better suited for this station, for the A-shift, than I am.”

 

     “How so?”

 

     “My friend at 144’s told me Gage worked there a couple of days before he got hurt. Gage told one of the guys that he didn’t like rotating stations. Said it wasn’t for him. Said he’d made a mistake by leaving 51’s A-shift.”

 

     Hank nodded. “Oh.”

 

     “So maybe Gage would want to come back. That would make things easy for you, wouldn’t it?  I don’t want to leave you in a tight spot.  I know it’s a pain breaking in a new guy. Even more so for you because of Chet Kelly.”

 

     Hank resisted the urge to smile. “Yes, maybe John would be interested in coming back.  I’ll have to look into that. Thanks for mentioning it.”

 

     “You’re welcome.”

 

     Hank signed the papers for Wayne, then handed them back to him.  He stood and held his right hand out to the man.

 

     “Wayne, thanks for having been a part of Station 51.  I appreciate the time you put in here. You’re a good man, and a skilled paramedic.”

 

     “Thank you, sir,” Wayne said as he stood up as well. He glanced at his watch to see it was seven forty-five. The shift would be over in fifteen minutes. “I’ll let Roy know right now that I won’t be returning.”

 

     “That’s fine. After you do that, please tell Roy to come in my office.”

 

     “Okay.”

 

     As Wayne opened the door and walked out of the office, Hank heard Chet Kelly’s voice echo across the engine bay. 

 

     “Hey, Frankie, there you are!  Come here!  I need to show you something in the supply closet. 

 

     “No, no.  It’s not another prank.  Frankie, now come on.  I’m hurt that you would even think such a thing, let alone say it.”

 

     Hank smiled and shook his head as he sat back down in his chair. He picked up the telephone receiver and dialed a number.  The line on the other end was answered on the third ring.

 

     “Johnny?  It’s Hank Stanley. I’ve suddenly found myself with an opening for a paramedic.  Would you be interested?”  Hank’s smile grew to a grin as he waved Roy in his office.  “You would be?  Great! I’ll let Roy fill you in on the details.”

 

 

Chapter 16

 

     One week after Hank called John Gage, the dark haired paramedic returned to work on the Station 51 A-shift. 

 

     After roll call that first morning of Johnny’s return, Chet ushered everyone into the kitchen.

 

     “I asked my mom to bake some cookies for Johnny’s first day back.” Chet indicated to the platter of homemade cookies resting in the center of the table.  “Chocolate chip, Gage, your favorite. Go ahead and have one.  As a matter of fact, have two. Or even three if you want.” 

 

     Johnny scowled as he lifted a cookie to his nose and sniffed. “Okay, Chet, what’s wrong with these cookies?”

 

     “You’d insult my mother by asking me what’s wrong with her cookies?  Gage, I’m surprised at you.  I thought you liked my mom.”

 

     “I do like your mom.  It’s you I don’t like.”

 

     “Boy, see if I ever throw you a ‘Welcome Back’ party again. Man, Johnny, I’m hurt. I’m really hurt.”

 

     Johnny shook his head at Chet’s drama before cautiously biting off a corner of the cookie. 

 

     “Hey, these are good,” the paramedic said.  “Really good.  Chewy just like I like ‘em.”

 

     “See, I told you. No tricks.”

 

     Once Johnny had verified that the cookies weren’t booby- trapped in some way, the other men reached down to take some.

 

     “Hey, Johnny, I brought in a gallon of cold milk, too, to wash them down with,” Chet said in-between bites of his own cookie.

 

     “Great. Thanks, Chet.”

 

     Johnny walked over to the cabinet next to the sink to get a glass, while Roy followed in order to pour himself a cup of coffee.  When Johnny opened the cabinet a water bomb was launched off its spring. The shower of wet, cold liquid hit John full in the face.

 

     “You knew that was there, didn’t you?” Roy said under his breath.

 

     Johnny glanced at his friend and grinned.  “I sure did. It was just one of those things I could put my trust in, if you know what I mean.”

 

     Roy smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

 

     When Johnny turned to face Chet his grin was gone as he went into full rant mode.

 

     “Chet, I can’t believe you!  I haven’t even been back here for thirty minutes and already you start with the pranks.  Kelly, one of these days I’m gonna get you and get you good.  You’re just lucky I don’t—“

 

     And as John Gage raved on, Hank Stanley smiled, secure in the knowledge that things were back to normal for the Station 51 A-shift.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

 

*From 1980 through 1997, the rate of suicide among persons aged 10 to 14 years increased by 109%.

 

*A big thank you to my beta reader, Debbie.  I appreciate your services – even more so because you never charge me a dime.  Your friendship is an added bonus. 

 

*Huge thanks go to Donna and Peggy, as well. After this story was finished and the author was still left with a few nagging uncertainties that required the opinions of two volunteer readers, Donna and Peggy took time out of their busy schedules to give Truth or Dare one last read-through. Thanks, Donna and Peggy! 

 

*Thank you to Doctor Katherine Lehman for the beta read, and thank you, Lieutenant Roger Marchek, for confirming information on firearms that was gleaned from several Internet sites and the Writer’s Guide to Firearms. Thank you, Katherine and Roger!        

 

*And, thank you to Audrey and Terri. No matter what my question is regarding something depicted in the TV series, I can always rely on these two Emergency! experts to know the answer. 

 

 

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