Sizzle (St. Martin Family Saga): Emergency Responders (2 page)

He walked up to the counter and she followed close.

The friendly son of one of the owners greeted him. “My man Clay, you want your usual order?” He loved the individualized service at this place.

“Yeah Eddie and two cannolis while you slice.”

“Sure thing, coming right up.”

Clay turned to find the beautiful girl staring at him. He thought she might have even been checking out his ass. “Would you like a coffee?” She met his eyes and a blush crept across her cheeks.

“An espresso would be great. Thanks.”

He held up two fingers to Eddie. “Espressos.”

“Mr. Clay!” Eddie’s five-year-old daughter came running up to him.

“Arianna.” He held his arms out and she jumped into them. Her hands wrapped around his neck in a hug.

“Mr. Clay, you have the fire?” Sometimes he’d use lighter fluid on his finger and ignite it to impress her. Ever since then, whenever he came in to the store she’d run up to him.

“I don’t have the fire today Ari, but I do have something pretty special for you.”

Her eyes grew large. “You do?”

“Close your eyes.” He pulled a gold dollar from his pocket and held it in front of her face. “Okay, open.” She squealed and snatched the coin from his fingers. When he set her on the ground she ran off with the coin.

“Fans everywhere you go?”

That voice cloaked him in bliss. He couldn’t explain it but she captivated him.

“Something like that.” He winked. Over the counter Eddie passed him the coffee and dessert. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” He passed her a cannoli and she immediately took a huge bite, the cream smearing across her chin.

She strolled up and down the isles of imported goods. Clay followed, unable to stay away.

“What do you think about the cookie?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Delicious.”

“You’ve just got something here.” He took a step toward her and she flinched. He wiped his finger across her chin. “It’s some of the filling.”

“Thank you.” Her serious tone had him confused. They held each others gaze, neither of them blinking.”

“Clay, your order is ready,” Eddie hollered. Breaking their connection, he walked to the counter and paid for the items.

Holding the package up he said, “Thanks Eddie, you have a good one.”

He looked for her blond hair but she was gone and his elated mood waned. Swiftly he made his way outside. She’d vanished.

What the hell was he doing anyway? Chasing after some fresh young girl could only bring trouble.

Meanwhile, he needed to get back to the station. He had a probie to put in his place.

***

That day around noon, Jackson and Clay were in the garage stocking the engines and calibrating the equipment. Jackson tossed a defibrillator on a pile of discarded hoses.

“This one’s got too much water. It’s gone.” His words were draggy, his voice rough.

The two men had been friends for years and knew each other well. Jackson never got any sleep since he was in the middle of completing his hospital residency, and Clay was increasingly worried about him. In the last few months, Jackson, seven years younger than himself, could pass for Clay’s own thirty-five.

Clay climbed to the top of the truck to inspect the hoses. “You look tired. Might get a nap in before the next call comes.”

“Naw, I’m good. I gotta leave here at three anyway to get to the hospital. I’m on call tonight, but I’ll be able to sleep once it slows.”

Clay jumped down to stand next to Jackson at the back of the truck. “You know I’ve been meaning to tell you I, uh”—he cleared his throat—“I think it’s incredible how you’ve managed to stay in school and keep up with everything despite all you’ve been through these past few years.”

Clay sat on the truck’s bumper and watched as Jackson tinkered with an oxygen tank. Clay scrubbed his jaw with his hand, not sure how to say what he wanted to say. It had been evident that school was getting harder as Jackson neared the end of the program, and Clay wanted to ask Jackson if he needed assistance.

“If you need help with anything at all—a place to stay, money, time off from this place, just someone to talk to—I hope you know you could come to me or anyone in the family. You’re our long-lost brother.”

Jackson turned and offered a sincere smile. He propped his foot on the bumper, resting a hand on his knee. “You know after my parents died, it was hard. The only thing that got me through was you and your family. Getting through the holidays is always difficult, but I can’t imagine doing it without you guys.”

Money had been tight, but Jackson wouldn’t accept any. He said he was getting by, but Clay knew he needed to maintain thirty hours per week at the station to keep his finances in order. Lately he’d been asking for extra hours, and the fool had worked fifty-two last week.

“If you need help with anything, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”

Jackson dropped his hand on Clay’s shoulder. “You know I will, but I’d like to try to make it on my own. I’ll know when I need to ask for help.”

“When a Man Loves a Woman” shot through the air from Jackson’s cellphone, where it lay on the bumper next to Clay’s thigh.

“That’s Clara’s favorite song,” Clay said. Since the phone was out of Jackson’s reach, Clay picked it up and inadvertently glanced down as he passed it to Jackson. The image of Clara’s face filled the screen. “Hey, it’s actually Clara calling.”

Jackson smiled widely and then wiped the goofy grin clear before he cut off the ring. “It’s nothing. She’s probably just looking for you.” He pocketed the phone.

Clay felt for his phone in his pocket to make sure it was still there. “My phone hasn’t rung. Had she wanted me, she would’ve called.”

Jackson turned and picked up a package. “Got some new barrel strainers in. You wanna load them?”

Clay sat for a moment and stared hard at Jackson. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out a connection between Jackson and Clara. Maybe because there wasn’t one. He shook his head to clear it. Thinking about the barrel strainers, he walked to the tool compartment. The acting sieves were worn.

“Yeah, let’s stock a couple new strainers.”

A bell rang loud and crisp through the air, announcing the call to lunch. Clay couldn’t wait to see the rookie decked out in his special attire.

“I don’t think I have to ask if you’re ready for this,” Jackson said, already grinning.

“You better believe it. I’m going to run and grab the department camera. I’ll meet you in the dining room.”

They laughed as they geared up for what promised to be soul-cleansing satisfaction.

***

When Clay entered the dining room, the others were seated around the table discussing their workday plans. Two probies emerged from the kitchen with pitchers of tea and bowls full of ice cubes. Behind them came Keith carrying a pan of hamburger steak and even though Clay was ravenous, he forgot about his stomach. He laughed until tears leaked from his eyes. He tried twice to speak, but couldn’t. The kid was frozen in the doorway as he panned the room that had been rendered speechless at the sight of him.

Clay didn’t want to be mean to the kid, but he had to teach him to respect experience and authority. While those things might not be as important as they once were, in the field of firefighting they could mean life over death.

Keith looked even more ridiculous than Clay had imagined. His hairy white legs were long beneath the short skirt that barely covered his ass. The black offset the white in the costume and as he walked, the heavy layer of ruffles rubbed and crunched. The bodice was strapless and had a large white bow between what should have been breasts, but the boy had no cleavage. Thigh-high stockings hung like donuts around his ankles. As he walked into the room on black stiletto heels, he teeter-tottered, working to keep his balance. Hollywood, aptly named because it took him so long to get his hair just right, relieved Keith of the tray of meat and offered him a feather duster in return. Clay started snapping pictures, circling to get the getup from every angle. The back of the costume had a corset binding that trussed the kid up like a holiday game bird.

Pumper stood and gave the welcome. “Probies, you will be given nicknames as they come to us. We’ve already assigned one name.” Pumper turned to Clay. “Chief, you’ve been calling him Joker, but I think you’ll agree he’s more a Colette than a Joker.”

Clay lowered the camera. He cocked his head as he eyed the kid. “I agree. And if anyone asks, were it me, I think I’d say it has to do with coal baguettes rather than a French maid.”

A lunch of hamburger steak, buttered noodles, and carrots was served. There was nothing French about the lunch except for the bread, and Clay ate three huge helpings. He’d worked up an appetite running drills all morning. As they were clearing the table, the alarm went off. Luckily for Colette, he’d already changed back into his T-shirt and cargo pants. This would be his first non-simulated fire.

The experienced firemen were already halfway to the engines. Clay stuck his head into the kitchen to see the three greenhorns, eyes wide, staring back at him.

“Let’s move!” Clay bellowed, and the probies shot into action like projectiles from a long-barrel cannon.

While they rode to the scene, Clay checked the fastenings on Keith’s jacket and tested the kid on proper use of the respirator. Clay went through the protocol and waited for Keith to affirm he understood.

“I thought you were going to call me Colette.”

“It’s fine to joke around, but when we’re on a call, it’s serious. Your mind should be focused and your ego in check. Colette does not a hero make, and I’m not dead set on Joker either.”

Clay winked at the kid and he smiled. Clay trusted that with the ice broken, Keith would listen and follow every directive.

The call led them to an apartment building. When they arrived, smoke billowed from the third-floor windows. Keith followed his lead as he leaped from the engine before it stopped. Clay turned to the rookie and got in his face.

“No matter what happens, you stay right beside me. On my ass.”

From the radio attached to his shoulder, Clay knew a child was trapped in apartment 307. Without hesitation, Clay and Keith, and Ace with his rookie, ran up the stairs. At 307, smoke curled under and around the door.

“Everybody get back.”

Clay used his axe—and two well-placed swings—to break the door open.

“Get down!” he directed as thick black smoke crackled in the air. He lifted the respirator hanging from Keith’s gear. “Mask on. Glue yourself to me.”

“Clay, we need to wait for a hose team.”

He turned to Ace. “No time.” He turned again and crossed the threshold. Oxygen sucked into the apartment stirred the air, and the fire roared in response. Clay heard the flash before he saw it, and he tucked and rolled out of the entrance and into the room. He turned a three sixty, but Keith was nowhere.

“
Keith
!” His shout was swallowed by the consuming fire.

He was about to head back to look for Keith, but the wall buckled and fire flashed into his path, rendering passage impossible. The fire started at the bulge in the wall and followed a flint line across the living room to the corner and up to the ceiling. The air conditioner must have switched on somewhere because fire danced and then dissipated near the intake vents. He looked around for output vents so he wouldn’t be caught in the crosshairs as they spat fire.

“
Keith
!”

A child’s scream came from down the hall, and Clay was pulled in that direction.

Desperation ate at his gut as he thought about the kid not making it out and the choice he would have to make—as one man he wouldn’t be able to save two, so he was going after the screaming child.

As he went deeper down the long narrow passage, thick smoke replaced fire and he was pushed to his knees to avoid damaging his lungs. Shit, he should have a mask but he didn’t like to wear one because it made him feel like he was suffocating. The baby’s cries grew louder. He advanced into a room and saw the crib. The child was clutching the slats and screaming. Smoke was stirring overhead, but the baby was low enough that he hadn’t inhaled much.

Clay stood and hustled to the crib. “Hey, little fella. You ready to get out of here?”

His voice was weakened from the inhalation of smoke. The child opened his arms to Clay and bounced up and down on the mattress. Clay lifted him from the crib. “All right, I gotcha.”

With the kid in his arms, he advanced down the hall, staying low enough that the smoke didn’t get them. The fire had fully engulfed the entrance and there was no possible way he’d be leaving how he’d entered. The flames barring their passage turned from raging orange-yellow to cooler shades of blue. The color and calm were trying to play tricks on his mind, enticing him to walk through the flames, but he knew the only thing he could control about fire was his place within it.

In his gut, that path of least resistance didn’t feel right. For starters, the entire place was engulfed, so where were the bulk of the flames? Hidden like an iceberg. And Clay preferred his enemies where he could see them. He was reminded of the complete lack of control he had in this situation. He needed to make a decision. He looked ahead and back and then ahead again. He didn’t want to go out the window, but his body wouldn’t let him advance. And he’d listen to his body’s warning because he’d seen what could happen when a firefighter didn’t. His mentor had died in a warehouse fire that still gave Clay nightmares. Fire couldn’t be controlled. It couldn’t be bargained with. And it sure as hell couldn’t be trusted.

He turned and headed back down the hallway. Two seconds later a blast shot out from the spot where he’d have been had he taken the other route. He pulled the child closer and thanked God for foresight. He radioed for a ladder to the south-facing window. He didn’t want the child to breathe in any smoke, so it was time to get down and crawl. They made their way slowly and cautiously. He was especially slow because he carried the boy, but pace was something he could control. Beneath his feet he felt the weakening of the floor and as they were on the third floor, he needed to test every step before he committed to it. It took all his composure and discipline to stay steady and not make a mad dash for the window.