The Best Laid Plans of …

By Linda Reiche

 

Note:  I’ve used snippets of the song throughout the story.  They aren’t obvious, sometimes just a word or two, sometimes more.  To help you out I have put the snippets in bold type.  Fans of the 50’s should be able to figure it out.  For those who can’t, I’ve put the song in its entirety at the end.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

Mike stifled a yawn as he leaned back against the seat to wait for the traffic light to change.  The silence from the seats behind him confirmed that Chet and Marco were just as tired as he.  Probably more – they had had to fight that stubborn blaze for over four hours.  If this light would change sometime soon, they might even beat Johnny and Roy back to the Station.  A late injury to one of the guys from Engine 19 had sent them off to Rampart on a follow up.

 

They were lucky that there hadn’t been more victims.  The late night showing of Jaws had ended about 10 minutes before the fire had broken out.  The theatre had been almost empty except for the cleaning crew.  And they had followed their evacuation plan to the letter.  Unfortunately, the fire had caught a good hold before the first units had arrived. 

 

 It had been a little disconcerting, seeing the life-size picture of a shark on the theatre’s billboard whenever he had turned away from the pumps to check the progress of their battle.   If a real shark had such teeth then he was hoping never to have the misfortune of meeting one that wanted to show him pearly white originals.

 

Captain Stanley was taking the opportunity to record the details of the last run in his notebook.  It seemed that Headquarters was on another one of their statistics gathering jags.  Not only did he have to list the number of air bottles used, but also the number of hose sections, gallons of water, salvage covers, and any other equipment that left the Engine.  That was just the equipment.    Add to that the information on how many men were used where, for how long, and suddenly the job of fire-fighting took on a whole new dimension.     

 

At last, thought Mike as the cross-street light turned yellow.   He was just about to pull the engine forward in anticipation of a green when he leaned his body forward instead.    “Cap,” he said quietly.  “Take a look over there.”  He pointed to the gray stone building across the intersection.

 

Cap sighed and looked up at Mike’s words.  “I feel like a damn accountant.  What –“  His eyes caught the thin trail of smoke that drifted across the road.  Automatically he followed it back to the source. 

 

He nodded at Mike before snatching up the radio mic.  “LA.  This is Engine 51.  We have a still alarm.  Smoke issuing from a two-story building at 1925 Scarlet Road.  1-9-2-5 Scarlet, cross-street Billows.  Respond a first alarm assignment.”

 

At Cap’s nod Mike had flipped on the flashing lights.  The siren stayed silent since they were only moving 20 feet.   Marco and Chet had heard Cap’s report and were instantly alert, ready to move into their familiar routine.

 

Mike swung to the right slightly, stopping at the fire hydrant on the corner.  Marco jumped out and quickly pulled a feeder line from the rear of the engine and looped it around the hydrant.  Mike watched his side mirror for Marco’s signal to continue on. 

 

At Marco’s wave Mike cut diagonally across to the target building, trailing hose behind him.  He could hear the tones of the stations being called out to assist.  If they were lucky they might be able to get a good jump on the fire, and knock down the flames before they start to spread to the nearby buildings.  

 

Chet jumped down to pull out the hose clamp almost before Mike had the parking brake set.  It didn’t take long for them to attach the feeder hose to the pumps and string a line out to the building’s entrance.  Cap signaled Marco to open up the hydrant while Mike adjusted the tank pressure.  This routine was something that they could do in their sleep.  But never did.  The adrenaline that started pumping through their veins at the sight of smoke always drove away any thought of sleep.  Eventually, though,  it wore off and weariness  caught up with them.

 

Within three minutes of radioing in the fire, Cap was at the building’s entrance, checking the door for heat or any evidence that a back-draft might erupt when they opened it.  Marco and Chet were right behind him ready to open up the nozzle if needed.  Mike checked the pumps again.  The line was charged.  The gauges would tell him when they found the fire and started to drawn water.  Until then he’d wait.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

Louie knew it was over.  He could see it in the cold dark eyes that seemed to drill right through to his soul.  He never should have agreed to help out his cousin.  Nothing he had tried had worked, and now here he was alone in a quiet alley with him.  A nightmare come to life.

 

 His eyes focused on the fancy gloves and the chilling object that they tossed.   Absently he remembered all the rumors about those gloves.  They were a trademark.  Everyone said that ‘when MacHeath  wears them, the job is as good as done’.   No one knew where he got them, but they figured MacHeath had an endless source, because whenever they were seen, there was never a trace of red on them. 

 

He heard MacHeath’s next words, “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller.  It’s nothing personal, you understand.”  On the last syllable the tossing stopped.  Then the object was open and flying toward him.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

Mike split his attention between watching the gauges and the hose that lay on the sidewalk behind him.  The needles hadn’t moved.  Which meant that they still hadn’t found the fire.   Sometimes waiting out here, not knowing what was going on, almost made him regret becoming an engineer.

 

The quiet that surrounded him didn’t help any.  This section of town held mostly commercial offices, so at 5 am on a Sunday morning the streets were deserted.  No sirens split the air to announce the arrival of the other engine companies.  The closest station would still be about 5 minutes out.  Right now the only sounds he heard were the thunk of hose couplings as they dropped from the engine to the ground and the slither of canvas on pavement as another section disappeared into the building.

 

What a difference from the one they had been returning from.  That one had made him wish for an aspirin.  Almost 100 people had gathered, talking and pointing.  Cars had honked incessantly as they’d tried to find a path around the blocked off section of Carson’s main thoroughfare.  It had taken them four hours to knock that one out.  And the cars had honked for all four.

 

The needles he’d been watching shot upward.  Aaha, they’ve found something.  His hands flew across the panel, adjusting the pressure.  Now he’d have something concrete to do.

 

A few minutes later he heard Cap’s voice floating out from the cab.  “LA, this is engine 51.  We have an electrical fire on the second floor, south end.  The fire is contained to one room.  Cancel other units, except  Station 36 for overhaul.   Time out 30 minutes.”

 

Mike relaxed.  They’d caught this one early.    He glanced at his gauges again.  Still drawing water.

 

Thud.

 

Frowning, Mike turned.  That wasn’t hose.  He cocked his head for an instant to consider the direction, then trotted around toward the front of the engine.  He’d do a quick check then get back to the pumps.

 

There was nothing in front of the engine.  He was about to turn back when he heard what sounded like a moan.  Pivoting around he glanced up the empty street, then stepped to his right to look into the alley.

 

He gasped.

 

Fifteen feet in from the road lay a body just oozing life onto the pavement.  He could see a pool of blood rapidly collecting under the man’s stomach.

 

Running forward, Mike scanned the alley.  Further up the alley he could see someone sneaking around the corner.  Could that someone be the attacker?  He snapped a mental picture of the man, then knelt beside the injured man.

 

“Hey.  Hang on.  I’m going to call for help.”  He put his hand lightly on the man’s shoulder then moved to stand up.

 

The man’s right hand clutched at his foot.  Mike could see his lips moving as well.  He leaned forward, catching the man’s hand.  “Shh.  Don’t talk.  I’ll get you some help.”

 

The man shook his head weakly, then whispered, “…Mac…was…the…stabbed…knife…way…”  With a shudder the man went limp.

 

“Hey man! Hang on!” yelled Mike.  He could now hear the sirens of  an approaching engine and squad. “Help will be here in a minute.  Just hang on!”  He squeezed the hand he held.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

MacHeath turned off the engine.  Rolling down the window he listened intently.  Sirens?  They couldn’t have found Louie already.  At this time of the morning this area should be as dead as Louie.  He considered his options, then pulled out the key.  His car was far enough away to be outside of any search zone.   He locked the door and headed for the next alley.  He’d circle around to Silberry’s.  He could watch without being seen from there.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

Cap patted Chet and Marco on the shoulders as they shut down the nozzle.  “Good work, guys!”

 

“Thanks, Cap,” said Chet.  “All in a day’s work.”

 

Water dripped from the blackened ceiling panels and metal circuit boxes.  The room smelled of smoke and ozone from the shorted wires.  They’d have to rip down the panels and some of the walls to check for any hidden hot spots.  But right now it looked like they had caged this beast in time.

 

“Well, Chester B.  I will say that you’re expertise with an inch and a half just made our day shorter,” teased Cap. 

 

Chet grinned and opened the nozzle again to drain the hose in preparation for hauling it out of the room.  They’d need some space to work with the overhaul tools.  The force of the water would have knocked him down, except for Marco’s quick grab at his waist.  “Yah.  Now if Mikey would just shut down the pump,” gasped Chet.

 

Cap frowned.  Mike was a very observant engineer.  Normally he would have shut down the pump 15 seconds after they’d stopped drawing water.  He pulled out his handi-talkie again.  “Engine 51.  This is HT51.  Mike, shut down the pump.”

 

“HT51, this is Engine 36.  Give me a minute, Hank.  My engineer’s on his way.”

 

“Engine 36.  HT51.  Your engineer Phil?  What happened to Stoker?”  The question was tinged with worry.

 

“HT51.  Engine 36.  Stoker’s helping my squad with an injured civilian.”

 

Relieved, Cap replied, “10-4 Engine 36.  Send your guys up to the second floor, south end with the overhaul equipment.  I’m on my way out.”

 

“10-4 Engine 51.”

 

Cap turned to Chet and Marco.  “I wonder what Mike’s gotten himself into.  You guys stay here and give 36s guys a hand.”

 

“Okay, Cap,” confirmed Marco.

 

Cap could hear them debating as he walked toward the stairway. 

 

“I’ll bet some driver was looking at the engine and ran into a telephone pole,” suggested Chet.

 

“Nah,” answered Marco. “There isn’t any traffic around here at 5 in the morning.”

 

“All it takes is one car…” countered Chet.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

“Sorry, Mike,” said Anderson with a shake of his head.  “There’s nothing we can do.  He’s dead.”

 

“Damn.”  Mike slowly stood up.  “I was hoping… but all that blood…”  He stared at the man, his voice trailing off.

 

Anderson nodded his understanding.  “The knife must have hit the aorta.  It wouldn’t have taken more than a few minutes for him to…  Well, even a team of doctors and a hospital wouldn’t have helped.”

 

Mike gazed at the man a moment more, then looked up at Anderson.  “Yah.  I guess I’d better see if a sheriff’s unit is on the way.”    He shuffled his feet and started to stick his hands in his pockets.  Then he stopped and stared at them.  They were covered in blood.

 

“Mike,” said Anderson quietly. “Let’s move away from here and wash off your hands.  I’ll get some water.”

 

“Yah, Mike.  Don’t worry about the deputy, one’s pulling up behind your engine right now.  I’ll get him while you clean up,” added Anderson’s partner Samuels.  He could see that Mike was a little dazed.  He didn’t blame him.  As firefighters they were familiar with death and injuries caused by fires and accidents.  They never got used to it, but it was something they had learned to accept.  Murder on the other hand was something completely different.  They risked their lives to save people.  They couldn’t understand why someone would purposely take a life.

 

Anderson nodded at Samuels then pulled Mike toward the strip of grass that bordered the front of the building.  He didn’t want to contaminate the murder scene any more than they already had.  “Okay, Mike.  Hold out your hands.”

 

Mike didn’t look like he was listening, staring past him at the body, but after a slight hesitation he held out his hands.  “How could anyone kill someone like that?” asked Mike. 

 

“It’s beyond me,” answered Anderson as he poured water over Mike’s hands.   The dark red quickly lightened and disappeared as the water dripped to the ground.  It didn’t take long.  Just like it hadn’t taken long for the man to die.

 

They stood quietly, watching the deputy check the body.

 

Mike jumped when Cap placed a hand on his shoulder.  “Sorry, Mike.  What’s up, pal?”  Cap was puzzled.  Mike was one of his most solid and dependable men.  He wasn’t fazed by much; not even the Phantom’s pranks.

 

“That’s okay, Cap.  I…” Mike stopped.  The deputy was headed his way.  May as well wait until he’s here, thought Mike.  It’ll save one telling of the story.

 

“Mike Stoker?” asked the deputy.   At Mike’s nod he continued, “I understand you found the man before he died.  Can you tell me what happened?”

 

Mike squared his shoulders and took a deep breath.  “I was working the pumps on Engine 51,” his hand moved to point out his engine.  “I heard a thud and walked to the front of the engine.  Then I heard a moan and looked down the alley.  The man was lying on his stomach…”Mike paused for a moment.  “I could see the blood pooling under him.  He was still alive when I got to him.  He mumbled some words then faded out on me.  Squad 36 arrived a couple of minutes later.  They said he was dead.”

 

Cap listened to the tale in amazement.  His engineer had found a murder victim.  No wonder he looked so pale and dazed.

 

“What did he say?” asked the deputy.

 

“The words were pretty garbled,” answered Mike slowly. “And I didn’t get all of them.  He said ‘Mac, was, the, stabbed, knife, way.’”  Mike looked down at his now clean hands.  “ I could barely hear him even though I was kneeling right beside him.  It doesn’t make much sense does it?”

 

“Did you see or hear anything else?”

 

“Yeah.  While I ran toward the man I saw someone further up the alley.”  Mike closed his eyes, bringing back the mental image that he had memorized. “A man, about 6 ft tall,  170 lbs, medium brown hair not long, sideburns.  He was wearing a dark green sport coat, dark gray pants, black gloves.  He turned right onto the next street.”

 

The men around him gaped at him, stunned into silence.  Mike was most likely describing the murderer.

 

“Did you see his face?”

 

Mike shook his head.  “No, just a profile.  He was clean-shaven, his nose had a bump.  He had a very confident walk.  Very sure of himself.”

 

The deputy took a deep breath.  Stoker made an excellent witness.  The detectives were going to love him.  “We’ve got detectives on the way.  They’re going to want to talk to you; take a statement.” 

 

Mike nodded.  He knew that he’d have to recount this story a few more times.  First the detectives, then to the rest of the guys.  He preferred to listen instead of talk, but he didn’t have any choice this time.  A man was dead and he would do everything he could to help the police find the killer. 

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

MacHeath peered through the slats in the window shade and considered the scene across the intersection.  The detectives had arrived, and after a brief stop at Louie’s body, had moved on to a small group of firefighters.  The cops were spending a lot of time talking to one of the tall ones.  His eyes narrowed.  Had he been seen?

 

The detectives put away their notebooks and shook hands with two of the firefighters.   They turned and headed back to Louie’s body.  The Coroner’s wagon and crime scene team had arrived.  But MacHeath wasn’t interested in them.  His attention was solely on the firefighters that were climbing onto an engine.  The number on the side was 51.  The one that had gotten into the driver’s seat was the one that had done all the talking.

 

MacNeath nodded to himself.  Perhaps the job wasn’t finished yet.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

“Ugh!” yelped Johnny as liquid poured down the outside of his coat.  He jumped forward, barely avoiding tripping over the ambulance attendant’s foot.  With distaste evident in his voice he looked up at the shop supervisor.  “What is this stuff?”

 

“I’m sorry.  You didn’t get any on your skin, did you? It’s a methylene chloride/methanol degreaser.  Nasty stuff.  The valve must have been damaged when the shelves went over. “  The foreman turned to the onlookers.  “Terry.  Put on a pair of the liquid gloves and get a containment pail under that.  Phil, put some spill socks around the spill.”  The two workers quickly moved down the aisle to a large yellow box labeled Spill Kit.

 

Roy stared intently at Johnny from the far side of the gurney.  “Did you get any on you?”  He asked with concern.

 

“Nah,” replied Johnny as he carefully shrugged out of his coat. “The coat’s the only casualty.”

 

Roy rolled his eyes.  “Better wash that off when we get back to the station.  Otherwise you’ll turn into a giant shish-kabob at the next fire.”  He picked up as much of the equipment as he could, then headed toward the door.

 

Johnny grimaced as he carefully folded the coat.  Looking up at the departing Roy he said very plaintively, “Why me?  Why do I always get gunk on me?  If it’s not the Phantom and his water-bombs, it’s something else.”

 

Roy stopped at the door to wait for Johnny.  It was difficult to hide a grin.  Johnny was exaggerating, except for the water-bombs, of course.  Chet was on a pretty good streak right now, landing about four bombs per shift.  The locker-room was looking more like a laundry room with shirts in various stages of drying hanging off the towel racks.  Glancing at Johnny, he said carefully, “Well, at least your shirt isn’t wet.”

 

Johnny shot him a dirty look as he picked up the bundled coat and the drug box.  “Thanks for the sympathy.”  He didn’t say another word as he stalked past Roy.

 

With a silent sigh, Roy followed him out.  He knew that Johnny would be drawing out the shift by obsessing about this and every other similar mishap.  Maybe he’d talk to Chet about putting the Phantom on hold for the rest of the shift.  It probably wouldn’t work, but it was worth a try.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

MacHeath was angry.  Only those who knew him well would be able to see just how angry he was.  A narrowing of the eyes, tightness around the lips.  When they saw that, they rapidly decided to attend to business elsewhere.

 

Gripping the paper, MacHeath stared at the headlines.  It was bad enough that the papers had reported that Louie had been found alive.  And that  “an unidentified witness had seen a man leaving the murder scene”.   Then to top it off, Louie had been able to say a few words to that same witness. Words that had practically identified MacHeath.  Now LA was too hot for him and he would have to leave. 

 

But not before he corrected his mistake.  No one had ever tied him to any of his victims. And if he had his way, no one ever would.  The ‘unidentified’ witness would regret ever having been in that alley.

 

All the research into this job had been done.  MacHeath knew which district Engine 51 worked.  His target was on the A-shift and would be working today.  MacHeath grinned like a shark.  The LA County Fire Department had made his life easier by putting names on the back of those coats the firemen wore.  His men would have no problem spotting the guy he wanted.

 

Now all he had to do was arrange a little fire.

 

MacHeath’s grin widened.  Louie’s hard earned cash had been a bonus.  He would pay off the men who brought Stoker to him.  He wouldn’t even need to touch the original contract money.

 

Whistling, MacHeath headed off to the rendezvous point.

 

                                                       ~E!~E!~E!~

 

“Squad 51.  What is your status?”

 

Roy lifted the handi-talkie.  “LA. Squad 51.  Available from Rampart Emergency.”

 

“10-4, Squad 51.  Stand-by for response.”

 

Roy snatched up the box of supplies and looked around the corridor for Johnny.  Spotting him at the water fountain, he hurried over just as the tones sounded from the handi-talkie.  “Come on, Johnny.  They’re playing our song.”

 

Johnny wiped water from his face and listened to the broadcast as they moved toward the exit.  “Engine 51.  Squad 51.  Engine 18.    Station 110.  Kitchen fire at La Caliente Restaurant.  1920 Smithson Road.  1-9-2-0 Smithson Road.  Cross-street Bailey.  Time out 10:04.”

 

While Roy responded via the handi-talkie, Johnny swung open the Squad door and jumped in.  He pulled out his notebook and recorded the information.  “I know that place.  Went there once with Karen.  Or was it Sharon?  No, definitely Karen.  Small place – a converted frame house. Two stories.  The kitchen is on the second floor.”

 

“Great,” groaned Roy as he started the Squad.   They would be going in at a disadvantage with the fire already over their heads.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

Smoke and flames had engulfed the second floor by the time the Squad arrived.  Cap already had Chet and Marco working the front of the building.  He motioned them over to the Engine.

 

“Everyone got out.   Roy, check the west exposure.  John, check around the back.  See if there’s room for monitors. ”

 

“Right Cap,” replied Johnny as he fastened his turnout coat.

 

Roy nodded and started to move off.  He only got a few steps away when he turned and grabbed Johnny’s arm.  “Johnny.  You can’t wear that coat.  Remember?”

 

Johnny paled slightly.  “Yeah.  Thanks, Roy.  I forgot.”  He turned to Cap who was listening to them while watching Chet and Marco’s progress.  “Uhh, Cap.  I got some methylene chloride/methanol degreaser on my coat at the last rescue.  I haven’t had a chance to wash it off yet.”

 

Cap’s eyes widened in disbelief, then looked skywards momentarily.  Only Johnny.  “Great.  I don’t want you anywhere near the fire in that coat.  You’d turn into a torch if an ember hit you.”

 

Mike looked up from the pumps.  He knew that every second counted when a fire was this far advanced in a high-density area.   Flying embers could quickly set adjacent buildings on fire.   “Cap, he can wear my coat.  I’ll wash his down with the reel line and have it ready for him when he gets back.”

 

Cap nodded his approval.  “Good idea, Mike.”

 

Johnny grimaced as he handed his coat over.  He knew how thorough Mike was.  He’d wash down both the outside and the inside.   “Great.  Do you know how uncomfortable a soaked turnout coat is?”

 

Cap rolled his eyes.  “Wet is better than barbecued, don’t you think?  Besides everyone’s going to be wet by the time this one’s knocked down.  You’re just getting a head start.”

 

Johnny ducked his head and mumbled. “Right, Cap.”   As he moved away he could hear the last words of the sentence Cap was mumbling  – “ya twit”.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

There wasn’t much room behind the restaurant.  The owners had expanded the building back so that it was only a few yards away from the fence separating it from the alleyway. The alleyway was only a car’s width wide. We’re going to need some fire axes to knock down part of the fence, thought Johnny.  The monitor wouldn’t be effective otherwise. 

 

Making a mental note, Johnny headed back toward the engine.

 

“Don’t yell.  Don’t scream.  Don’t do nothing,” warned a voice. “You’ve got an appointment with the Boss.  He told us exactly what to look for.  And that’s you.”

 

Startled, Johnny swiveled his head to stare at the distorted faces that had moved up beside him.  He couldn’t make out any features.   The stocking masks were doing a great job of making each face look like a melted candle.  “What?  Who are you guys?  What do you want?” 

 

He took in a breath to yell for help when he felt some blunt objects push into his back and sides. He flinched and tried to pull away.  His helmet tumbled to the ground as they jerked him back.

 

“You don’t listen so good, do you, Stoker?”  Growled the man on his left.  “We told you not to try anything.  The Boss will be mad if we offed ya.  But he’d be madder if we let you get away.  So behave, Stoker.”

 

“Stoker?  I’m not Stoker.  I’m Gage.  John Gage,” explained Johnny to the faceless men surrounding him.   

 

“Don’t give us any jive, man,” snorted a nasally voice on his left.  “Your coat says you’re Stoker.  So you’re Stoker.” 

 

With two goons gripping his arms and quick stepping him down the alley, Johnny couldn’t do much except shake his head.  “I’m telling you, I’m not Stoker.  I borrowed his coat.  Take a look at the name tag on my shirt.  It says Gage.  J. Gage.”  Even if he couldn’t see them, he could feel the muzzle of the guns that they pressed into his sides.  The pressure wasn’t easing any as they walked.  Definitely not good, thought Johnny hopelessly.  No way I’m going to get away from them without being shot.  But I’ve got to do something.

 

Johnny darted looks at the buildings that bordered the alley.  Wooden garages and wooden fences painted in various colors hid the houses they belonged to.  Johnny couldn’t hear any voices or sounds of children playing.  Either everyone was at work or watching the fire.  Nowhere to go and no one to help.

 

A third gun poked into his back.  “Relax, man.  You ain’t getting away, so don’t even think about trying.  We’ve got you covered six-ways to Sunday.  Besides, we’ve got silencers on.  We could shoot you and no one would hear it.  So what good would it do you?”

 

“And,” he added threateningly. “We won’t shoot just once.”

 

Johnny swallowed hard.  The odds weren’t good.  Four guys with guns to one paramedic with scissors and a pocketknife.  He’d probably end up dead if he let them take him.  But he would definitely be dead if he tried anything now. 

 

Taking some deep breaths to calm his racing heart, he decided to bide his time.  There might be a chance to get away later.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

“Roy, go check on John.  He should have reported back by now,” ordered Cap.

 

Roy nodded and started to hurry toward the rear of the house. He had only moved a few yards when an explosion ripped through the building.  He dropped to the ground as glass, wood and brick spun through the air.  The roar of the fire increased with  the influx of oxygen-rich air.

 

Roy pushed himself off the ground, shedding bits of wood and glass as he rose.  The building was now completely engulfed in flame, the second floor collapsing into the first.  Am I glad no one was inside, thought Roy.  Cap had immediately written the building off as being too far gone to save.  They were going with the surround and drown strategy.  So far none of the other buildings had ignited.

 

The sirens of Engines 18 and 110 growled to a halt behind him.  Good, he thought.  Once 18 and 110 get their monitors set up, we can get ours in position.  Then we can really drown the beast.  I hope there’s room around back..  

 

Roy jogged around the corner of the building.  He was surprised when he didn’t see Johnny.  Maybe he went back along the west side? 

 

He continued moving through the debris littered back alley, automatically noting the problems of the narrow space and tall fences as he stepped over pieces of wood.  But the explosion had eliminated at least one section of fence.  He had a clear view of the burning building.   They’d have to put the monitor at the corner, otherwise it would be uncomfortably close to the blaze.  

 

He almost missed it.

 

It was wedged between a curbstone and a dark gray fence.  He had just moved past when something caught his eye, making him glance to his right.

 

Johnny’s helmet.

 

“Johnny!  Johnny!  Where are you?  Are you okay?”  yelled Roy.  He started checking under the larger pieces of wood.  Nothing.

 

“Engine 51.  HT 51.  Cap!  I’ve found Johnny’s helmet, but there’s no sign of him.   The explosion blasted out the back fence.”

 

“HT51.  Engine 51.  Keep looking, pal.  I’ll send Squad 110 to help.”

 

Roy scrambled back along the alley, checking under and behind everything.  He could hear Cap sending Squad 110 to help and calling in a possible Code I.  A few moments later McCaffrey and Brown were beside him.  Together they moved systematically down the alley.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

MacHeath’s eyes narrowed.  The blindfolded man his guys were pulling along the deserted wharf didn’t look quite right.  He was tall enough, but even with the turnout coat on, he could see that the build was wrong.  The hair was wrong too.  Stoker was broader and had one of those ‘clean-cut-All-American-boy’ haircuts.  This guy was skinny with hair covering his ears.

 

He closed his eyes and took a few seconds to put a leash on his temper.  Once, at the start of his career in the contract business, he had let his temper get away from him and had done something rash.  As a result the cops had almost caught him.  Since then he had learned to consider his actions and even his words.  Any anger he felt was carefully banked for use at a more appropriate time.  So, despite wanting to rip these idiots into bloody pieces for messing up the job, he would stay calm. 

 

Satisfied that he had his temper under control, MacHeath started formulating a new plan.  In the back of his mind options popped up, were examined closely and either discarded or flagged for further thought.  He didn’t have Stoker yet, but he had been dealt a joker, which, if played correctly would get him Stoker.

 

“Hey, Boss.  Here he is, just like you wanted,”  crowed Frank as he moved away from their prisoner.

 

MacHeath shook his head.  “Wrong.  That’s not Stoker.  You grabbed the wrong guy.”

 

“What do you mean, Boss?  We did like you said.  The name on his coat is Stoker.  We saw him walk away from the fire engine. Engine 51.  It must be Stoker.”

 

MacHeath continued to shake his head.  “I don’t know why he’s wearing Stoker’s coat.  I do know that he isn’t Stoker, because I watched Stoker talk to the cops for 10 minutes.  Stoker is bigger,”  McHeath held his hands apart at shoulder height.  “And has short hair.”

 

Frank looked over at Johnny and gulped.  “But he’s wearing his coat.”

 

MacHeath sighed and walked over to Johnny.  The men on either side let go of  Johnny’s arms and stepped back slightly.  Johnny straightened up and unconsciously rubbed his arms, grateful that that one bit of freedom had been returned to him.   They hadn’t hurt him.  At least not yet, supplied his brain.  When they didn’t remove his blindfold, he raised his hands to do it himself. 

 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.  At least, not if you want to get out of this alive.”

 

Johnny froze.  After a moment he dropped his hands back to his sides.  He didn’t believe that they’d let him go, but there was always an outside chance.

 

The voice that had warned him spoke again.  “Who are you? And why are you wearing Stoker’s coat?”

 

Johnny knew that one of the guys had moved away to talk to someone.  So this must be ‘the Boss”.  They had talked too quietly for him to overhear much.  All he had heard was Stoker’s name and Engine 51.   This was probably the guy who murdered the man Stoker found last Sunday.

 

“My name is John Gage.  I borrowed Stoker’s coat because mine got splattered with a flammable liquid before we were called out to the fire.  I’d be happy to leave if someone would just drop me off somewhere.”

 

MacHeath grinned.  This guy is either a fool, or thinks that I’m an idiot.  “My apologies, Mr. Gage, but we can’t do that right now.  You see, your little coat switch has ruined my plan.  Now I have to work out a new one.  I can’t have you warning Stoker, now can I.  So, for the time being, you will be our guest.  Behave and I’ll let you go after I deal with your friend Mike Stoker.”

 

Johnny was skeptical.  Why would they let him go?  True he hadn’t seen any faces, but he had heard their voices.   He forced a grin, “Hey sure, no problem.  I’ll be the perfect guest.”

 

MacHeath heard the skepticism that the man had tried to hide.  So he wasn’t a fool after all.  And after this little exchange, he was satisfied that Mr. Gage knew that MacHeath wasn’t someone to trifle with.

 

He inclined his head slightly toward the back rooms.  “Put Mr. Gage in the empty storage room.  Make sure that there is nothing in there that he could hurt himself with.”

 

Frank nodded his head silently.  He was glad that MacHeath wasn’t too mad at them.  It had been an honest mistake.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

A disheartened group of fire fighters sat around the kitchen table.  The fire had taken two hours to bring under control.  Roy, Squad 110 and six sheriff’s deputies had searched every inch of the alley and adjoining yards for those two hours. 

 

The only sign that Johnny had even been there was his helmet.

 

The search for Johnny was now in the hands of the police.  The chief had refused them permission to continue searching for themselves.  He had said he understood how they felt, but everything pointed to a kidnapping.  He didn’t want them interfering with a police investigation.   The Station had been stood down, but they couldn’t leave.   All they could do was sit and wait, and answer questions.

 

Lt. Crockett was certain that Johnny had been kidnapped.  Why was anyone’s guess.  Crockett had settled in at the table and was going over the same questions for what seemed like the hundredth time.  Had Johnny seemed okay today?  Was he worried about something?  Did Johnny have any enemies?  A run-in with a girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend or a victim’s relatives?  Did something unusual happen?

 

Everyone jumped when the phone rang.  It had become a habit in the last hour.  Would it bring good news or bad news?  Or no news?

 

“Station 51.  Captain Stanley speaking.”

 

<<Hello.  I would like to speak with Mike Stoker please.>>

 

“Hold on a minute.”  Cap held the phone against his chest and waved across the room.  “Mike.  Phone.”

 

Cap continued to hold the phone until Mike reached his side.  “Remember Mike, keep it short.  We’ve got to keep the lines open for the police.”

 

Mike nodded. They had been inundated with calls from other stations since they got back.  Everyone wanted to know how the search for Johnny was going.  Unfortunately they knew as much as the guys at 51 knew. 

 

“Hello.  Mike Stoker here.”

 

<<Mr. Stoker.  How good it is to finally hear your voice.  I’m very disappointed that you managed to avoid my invitation to meet.>>

 

Puzzled, Mike asked, “Invitation?  Meeting?  I don’t understand what you’re talking about.  Who are you?”

 

<<I’m the person you want to put in jail, Mr. Stoker.>>

 

Mike blinked in surprise.  Then he waved frantically at Cap and Lt. Crockett, motioning them over.  He covered up the receiver with his hand.

 

Cap practically flew back across the Day-room with the others close on his heels.  “What’s up, Mike?” whispered Cap.

 

“It’s him,” he whispered.  “The guy who murdered Miller.  MacHeath.”

 

Crockett quickly took charge.  “Keep him talking.  I’ll try for a trace.” 

 

Mike tried to listen to both the voice on the phone and Crockett.  He was very good at listening to everything going on around him.  Suddenly his heart felt like it had dropped into his stomach.  He concentrated on MacHeath’s words. 

 

<<Don’t even consider calling the police.  I’ve got two of my men phoning your other lines.  If they find them busy, your friend John Gage dies.>>

 

With panic stricken eyes Mike reached out and pulled Crockett back from the doorway.  He could hear the phone in Cap’s office ringing in counter-point to the payphone in the corner.  Loudly he asked, “Do you want us to answer the other phones?”  He moved the receiver away from his ear so that Crockett and Cap could listen in.

 

<<That would be an excellent idea.  I know that there are five of you left.  I certainly don’t want anyone doing something that Mr. Gage might regret.  Oh, and don’t bother using your radio either.  Your loud-speaker comes through quite clearly over the phone.  As you can see, I’ve done my homework.  I know everything there is to know about your Station 51.>>

 

Mike stared at Crockett and Cap.  His eyes asked ‘What do I do?’

 

Crockett rolled his hands over each other – keep him talking – then pantomimed that he was going to go use the radio in his car.

 

“Chet.  Marco,” whispered Cap.  “Go answer the other phones.  See if you can pick-up anything in the background.”

 

<<Mr. Stoker?  Are you still there?>>

 

“Yah.  I’m still here.  What do you want?”

 

<<Before I tell you that, I want to give you one last piece of advice.  We are watching your Station.  If someone leaves the building, Mr. Gage dies.>>

 

Mike held his breath. This time Cap had to dodge into the Vehicle Bay to catch Crockett.

 

“Okay.  You’ve convinced us that you’re good.  How do we get Johnny back?”

 

<<It’s simple, Mr. Stoker.  You are the real threat to me.  You come to me, and I will set Mr. Gage free.>>

 

Crockett shook his head and mouthed, “No deal.  This guy never leaves witnesses.”

 

“How do I know Johnny’s still alive?”  asked Mike.  He felt chilled.  He forced his mind to work.  Johnny might die, and this guy would still be after him.  “Let me talk to him.”

 

<<That can be arranged.>>

 

Mike thought he heard other voices, and the sound of a door opening and closing.  Then silence. 

 

Time seemed to pass very slowly.  Mike could see Roy, Cap and Crockett huddled in the back corner, whispering and occasionally shaking a head or gesturing with a hand. 

 

“The Bio-phone!” said Roy excitedly.  “I can take it into the dorm and call Rampart.  They can relay to the police.”

 

Crockett snapped his fingers.  “Perfect.  Let me know when they’ve got it set-up.  I’ll fill them in.” 

 

Mike cleared his throat to draw their attention back to him.   “He’s back,” he mouthed.  Roy cast an anxious glance at the phone as he hurried out to the squad.  Cap and Crockett stepped up beside Stoker to listen.  Chet moved as close as the payphone cord would allow, one hand covering the mouthpiece.

 

<<Mr. Stoker, your friend Mr. Gage is here.  Ask him anything you want.>>

 

“Er..  Johnny.  Are you okay?”

 

<<Hi, Mike.  I’m just fine.   They’ve given me a very nice room. No telephone, no TV and no window.>>

 

Mike could hear the forced cheerfulness in Johnny’s voice. “I’m sorry Johnny.  It’s me they want.”

 

<<Yah, I know.  Don’t give them what they want!>> Johnny finished urgently, knowing that they’d pull him away as soon as he said it. He wasn’t disappointed.

 

<<Mr. Stoker.  If you want Mr. Gage to return to Station 51, you had better disregard his words.>> MacHeath said conversationally.

 

Gazing at Cap and Crockett, Mike asked.  “Okay.  What do you want me to do?”  He ignored the tug on his arm and the shaking heads in front of him.

 

<<Very good.  As soon as I finish giving you the instructions, I want you to leave the Station and walk west to the Montgomery building.  In the parking lot behind the building you’ll find a cab waiting for you.  Climb in and the driver will take care of the rest.  No one is to follow you.>>

 

Crockett was emphatically shaking his head now.  If he let Stoker leave, he’d have two dead firemen.  He pulled Cap away from Mike and whispered, “He can’t go.  If he does, he’s dead.   And so is Gage.  We need time to set up a tail and outfit him with a transmitter.”

 

Cap heard Mike ask, “How do I know you’ll let Johnny go once you have me?”

 

“I know!”  Cap argued with Crockett. “But this guy isn’t going to wait around for you to set something up.  You heard him, he’s got all the options covered.  If Mike wants to leave, there isn’t much I can do to stop him!  If there’s any chance he can get Johnny back, he’s going to take it.”

 

Chet pulled on Cap’s sleeve.  “Cap,  I’ve got a transmitter we could use.”

 

Cap and Crockett turned to stare at Chet.  “You’ve got a what?”  asked Cap incredulously.

 

Chet turned slightly red.  “Umm.  A friend of mine got me some small transmitters and a receiver last week.   The Phantom was going to put the receiver in Gage’s locker.”  He reddened further under Cap’s glare.  “I…I was just going to use it for a prank.  I was going to make him think he was hearing things.”

 

Crockett’s jaw dropped momentarily.  “Chet…  Never mind.  Show me this equipment.”

 

“You’re kidding,”  said Mike with a touch of anger. “Do you really think that I would take your word for it?”  He watched Chet hand the phone over to Cap and race out of the room with Crockett.  I hope they have a plan, prayed Mike    

 

<<You don’t have much choice, now do you, Mr.  Stoker?>>  The voice was infuriatingly calm and patient.

 

“Okay.  Let me talk with Johnny again.  I want him to tell me.”

 

<<I’m hurt that you don’t trust me, Mr. Stoker.  But, I’ll let you speak with him again.>>

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

Crockett examined the two small transmitters.  They were about the size of a fingernail.  “What’s the range?”

 

“My friend says that they’ll transmit voices for a mile.  See, here.”  Chet flipped one of the tiny devices over.  “If you switch it to here, you can change it over to a pulse transmission.  That will be picked up over two miles.”

 

“Chet, I won’t ask you where your friend got them.  Right now they’re our best hope.  What frequency do they transmit on?”

 

Chet paled slightly at the first sentence.  “Umm.  He wrote it all down on a piece of paper for me.”  He frantically sorted through the pile of stuff at the bottom of his locker.  “Here it is.”

 

Crockett read the information then nodded to himself.  “Okay.  This just might work.”  A plan was forming in his brain.  It would be risky.  But knowing these guys, they’d go off on their own if he didn’t control them.

 

“Okay, Chet.  This is what I want you to do.  I assume you’ve got something to fasten it to objects?”  At Chet’s nod he continued, “Put one of the transmitters on voice and attach it to the back of Mike’s badge.  Put the other on pulse and attach it to his belt somewhere.   I’ll use the Biophone and have my men monitor the frequency.  We’ll be able to track Mike from here to where ever they take him.”

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

<<Are you satisfied that I have no reason to harm Mr. Gage?  He hasn’t seen us, and he doesn’t know where we have taken him.>> asked MacHeath.

 

Mike tried to think of some other way of stalling.  Chet had come back and whispered with Cap for a moment.  They were now motioning him to take off his badge and belt.  Crockett must have come up with something.

 

“Okay.  Let me get this straight.  When I hang up, I’m to walk west to the Montgomery building, go into its parking lot and climb into a cab.”  Mike watched carefully as Chet attached small devices to his badge and belt. “What if there is more than one cab?  How do I know which one to take?”

 

<<It’s unlikely that there will be more than one cab.  But I have told the driver to say, “Where would you like to go, Mr. Gage?”   If he doesn’t say that, wait for the next one to drive up to you.>>

 

Mike repeated, “Where would you like to go, Mr. Gage.”  Chet handed back his belt. “Got it.  And once he’s brought me to you, he’ll take Johnny away?”

 

<<Once you are here, Mr. Gage is no longer of any interest to me.>> said MacHeath smoothly.

 

Crockett stepped into the room and held his thumb up.

 

Closing his eyes briefly, Mike said steadily, “Okay.  I’m on my way.”

 

<<Very good, Mr. Stoker.  Remember, only you.  No one else is to leave the building for the next ten minutes.>>

 

Mike repeated out loud, “No one is to leave the building for ten minutes.”

 

<<Good.  We are watching.>>  The sentence ended with the click of the line disconnecting.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

Ordinarily Mike would have enjoyed the walk.  The day was just about perfect, fluffy white clouds drifting across a beautiful blue sky.  The brown haze of pollution that would appear in the summer hadn’t started to collect yet.   The light spring breeze kept the air circulating, pushing the county’s emissions far out to sea. 

 

Walking down the sidewalk, he didn’t hear the sounds of the cars and trucks moving past him.  He didn’t notice the faces on  the men and women intent on their own business.  It was as if he was walking through a silent world of cotton.  All he could concentrate on was putting one foot in front of the other and obeying the traffic signals at the cross streets. 

 

Silently Mike wished he had his jacket with him.  The temperature was a pleasant 66, but he was chilled to the bone.  His heart pounded in his chest.  He knew that if something went wrong, he would die.  And so would Johnny. 

 

The last few blocks seemed to take forever to cross.  Then time crashed to a halt when a blue and orange cab pulled up in front of him and a voice asked, “Where would you like to go, Mr. Gage?”

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

“What?” yelled Crockett into the phone.  “How the hell did that happen?”

 

The remaining members of Station 51 glanced at each other nervously.  This didn’t sound good.  The tenseness of Crockett’s shoulders as he paced back and forth fueled their worry.  Something had gone wrong.

 

Okay.  Start a circle pattern search from the last fix.  I’ll call in a helicopter to help.”  Crockett hung up the phone and turned to look at them.  “I’m sorry.  They’ve lost contact with Stoker.”

 

A heavy silence settled over them as they grappled with the implications, fearing the worst. 

 

Crockett could almost see the accusations in each face.  He was supposed to keep a tight watch on Stoker.  Now they had lost him and Gage too.  “I’m going to request more units and a helicopter to scan for the transmitters’ frequency.  We have the general area – south of Anaheim Street.  Now we just have to narrow it down.”

 

“Before it’s too late,” added Chet bitterly.

 

“We’ll do our best,” said Crockett.  “Stoker’s last transmission might help.  He said Lucy Brown.  Does she sound familiar to anyone?”   He looked at them questioningly.

 

The mumbles and headshakes dashed his hopes.  He knew that every minute they were out of touch with Stoker, put him and Gage closer to early graves.  MacHeath was no fool.  Once he had Stoker, he’d move fast to eliminate him. 

 

“Hey, Chet,” called Marco slowly.  “Do you remember last Saturday?  When we went down to the wharves?  Wasn’t there a boat named Lucy Brown down there?”

 

Chet twisted the end of his moustache thinking.  “Yah, now that you mention it, there was.  Mike pointed it out.  It was a…a…a tugboat!” Chet concluded triumphantly.

 

“Yah, that’s right.  Mike said one of his cousins worked a tugboat just like it down south by the  What was that river?”  Marco stopped himself and  turned to Crockett.  “Never mind.  Mike was trying to tell us that they’re headed for the wharves!”

 

“Good,” said Crockett, reaching for the phone.  “I’ll concentrate the units down at the docks.  A helicopter should be able to pick up the signal, even if they’ve pulled out to sea.”

 

His words brought their jubilation crashing down.  Out to sea.  If the police didn’t regain contact soon, Mike and Johnny would never be found.  The Pacific Ocean and its denizens would swallow them up without a trace.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

Mike stumbled off the end of the gangplank.  He was too busy looking at Johnny to look where he was walking.

 

“Careful, Mr. Stoker.  I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

 

Johnny’s head swung around at the words.  “Mike?  What are you doing here?  I told you not to come!”

 

Mike moved toward him, followed closely by the two men that had escorted him from the cab.  He could see the blindfold around Johnny’s head and the tied hands.  He didn’t see any bruises or blood or other signs of injury.  “Hey, Johnny.  I couldn’t let them kill you.  It’s me they want.”  He turned to the man lounging against the cabin wall.  “MacHeath I assume?  You’ve got me, now let him go.”

 

MacHeath signaled to his men.  “Now, Mr. Stoker. You really didn’t expect me to keep my end of the bargain, did you? Both you and Mr. Gage have caused me no end of trouble.  Soon that trouble will be over.”

 

A loud horn and the jolt of the boat moving forward made Mike and Johnny jump.  The Sukey Tawdry was heading out.

 

“Sit down, Mr. Stoker.   We’ve got twenty minutes to get acquainted with each other.”  MacHeath nodded toward Johnny.  “Why don’t you untie him and take his blindfold off?  It’s too beautiful a day to miss entirely.”

 

“I’m sorry I got you into this, Johnny,” apologized Mike as he pulled the blindfold off.

 

Blinking against the bright sunlight, Johnny grimaced.  “Nothing to be sorry about, Mike.  We were both at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

 

Johnny watched Mike’s face closely.  There’s no way that Cap would have let Mike come out here unless they had a plan to rescue them.  Silently he tried to communicate with Mike,  Just give me the signal and I’ll follow your lead.

 

Mike shifted his eyes from the dock to Johnny’s face.  He tried to hide his despair as they moved further away from the docks.  He had hoped to see the police jump out and demand that the engines be turned off.  When they didn’t he knew that Crockett’s plan had failed.  It wouldn’t take long before they were outside the two-mile range of the transmitter.

 

Johnny looked from Mike to the receding docks and back again.  He could see the change in Mike’s eyes.   The anticipation when he first looked at the dock had changed to despair as they moved out to sea.  Something’s gone wrong.   He closed his eyes briefly.  Then opened them to glare at MacHeath.  He wouldn’t go down without a fight.

 

Mike sat down beside him.  Johnny could see him out of the corner of his eye glaring at MacHeath as well.  They’d worked together long enough to read each other’s expressions.  He knew Mike was scared.  Hell, so was he.  But they wouldn’t give MacHeath the satisfaction of knowing that.        

 

“So.  Now what?”  asked Mike with a calm he didn’t feel.

 

“Nothing much,” commented MacHeath.  “As soon as we’re out of sight of shore, you and your friend, Mr. Gage, are going for a swim.”

 

“Before or after you kill us?” asked Johnny sarcastically.

 

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you.”  At their raised eyebrows, he continued. “At least not directly.  I don’t think they’ll ever find your bodies, but if they do, I don’t want any evidence of, how do they put it– foul play?  You see, you are just going to be thrown overboard.”

 

Mike and Johnny glanced at each other.  They weren’t great swimmers, but they knew enough to stay afloat for a long time.  The water wasn’t warm, but it certainly wasn’t frigid.

 

MacHeath watched the silent by-play.   This game of cat and mouse delighted him.   “Oh, yes.  I forgot to mention.   You’ll be taking those cement bags you’re sitting on with you.  They’ll just be dropping you on down to the bottom, where the fish will take care of any evidence.”  He grinned widely at the stunned look on their faces.  Maybe he’d try this method more often.  Give his trademark jackknife a break, and throw the cops off track.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

“They picked up the signal again!”  called out Crockett.  He held his hand up as voices babbled excitedly around him.  “Okay.  Don’t wait.  Intercept now….No, I’ll hold on.”

 

Crockett put the phone against his shoulder and looked at Cap.  “That was Copter 10.  They picked up the signal about two miles off-shore.  There’s a scattering of boats out there.   The Jenny Diver,  Sukey Tawdry, Miss Lotte Lenia, but no Lucy Brown.  Two are cruise ships, the third is a tugboat.  We’re betting that it’s the tugboat – the Sukey Tawdry.  They’re going to board her in a couple of minutes.”  He paused for a second.  They weren’t going to like the next bit of information, “We’ve called in the Coast Guard to assist in case a water rescue is needed.   They’ll be right behind the police chopper.”

 

“You mean you think they’d throw them overboard?”  asked Chet quietly.

 

“If they’re still alive, then it’s a very real possibility.  It would divert the chopper away from the boat while they make their escape.”

 

The other option was left unsaid.  If they were dead, there wouldn’t be any evidence.

 

“Is the chopper going to be able to get in close enough to prevent that from happening?”  asked Cap.

 

Crockett shrugged.  “The pilot is going to come in low along the water.  The tugboat’s engine should muffle the chopper’s engine.  So, unless someone is looking in its direction, they won’t notice it until it’s too late.”

 

“Sounds like we’re going to need a lot of luck,” said Cap grimly. 

 

“Well , keep your fingers crossed and pray,” answered Crockett reluctantly.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

MacHeath scanned the water.  They had moved away from the main shipping route, and now the sea was free of boats.   It was unlikely that anyone would have seen anything, but considering the misfortune that seemed to plague this job, MacHeath wasn’t going to take any chances.

 

“Frank.  Tell the Captain that this looks appropriate.  Our guests will be leaving us here.”

 

Frank smiled and headed back toward the control room.  He moved as fast as he could.  He wanted to get back in time to watch the exits.

 

“Now, Mr. Stoker.  You’re going to tie that bag of cement to Mr. Gage’s feet.  Make sure the knot is secure.  Then he’ll tie the other bag to your feet.”

 

Mike looked at him in amazement.  “You’re kidding.  We’re not going to help you kill us.”

 

MacHeath rolled his eyes and gestured to the men standing beside him.   “Mr. Stoker.  If you do not do as I ask,  I’ll shoot Mr. Gage right now.”  Two guns now pointed at Johnny.

 

Mike looked helplessly at Johnny who shrugged. 

 

“Not much else we can do,” said Johnny.  He dropped his eyes quickly to the cement bag then lifted them to look at the gunmen.

 

Mike nodded.  He thought he knew what Johnny was thinking.  It would be their one and only chance to get away alive.  “Okay.  Give me the rope.”  He’d tie it to the bag first, then they’d make their move. 

 

He worked as quickly as he could, hoping to finish before Frank returned.  Three to two odds weren’t too bad.  He nudged Johnny’s foot.  Ready.

 

He was just about to grab the bag and throw it at the gunmen when he felt a gun press into his back.  “I don’t think so,” said a gravelly voice. “Just do as you’re told.”

 

Mike froze, then did as he was told.   A minute later, Johnny was forced to attach the other bag to his legs. 

 

Johnny had just finished tying the last knot when the tugboat’s engine throttled back. 

 

“Well, gentlemen.  I would like to say it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but I can’t.  You have caused me much distress.  It’s now time to say good-bye.”  MacHeath nodded at his two men.

 

As one they moved forward, guns held at the ready.  Their free hands outstretched to push Mike and Johnny over the side.

   

Mike knew that he should scream and fight, but he couldn’t make his limbs obey.  His mind thought only of the cement bag.  It wasn’t heavy enough to stay in the boat when he was pushed in.  It was too heavy to swim with.  Johnny seemed just as dazed.  He murmured to Johnny, “Sorry, man.”

 

“THIS IS THE POLICE.  TAKE ONE MORE STEP AND YOU’RE DEAD.”

 

Mike and Johnny jumped at the voice that echoed down from overhead.  No one had heard the helicopter approach.   MacHeath and his men stared skywards in shock.

 

“Down!” whispered Johnny, giving Mike a nudge before he dived to the deck.

 

Almost as if they could read each other’s minds, Mike and Johnny grabbed the cement bags and swung them at their captors.  

 

Guns flew across the deck as the gunmen went down with heavy thuds.  Thirty-pound bags of cement were excellent weapons when used properly.   Quick jabs to the jaw finished them off.

 

Breathing heavily Mike and Johnny struggled to get back on their feet.  MacHeath was still a threat.  

 

Hands on their shoulders made them swing around, fists ready to fight.  With the police hovering overhead, they now had a chance to stay alive.  And they weren’t going to waste it.

 

“Whoa, guys.  Take it easy.  We’re the good guys!”  said a smiling deputy.    He shook his head at the two unconscious gunmen.  MacHeath was standing quietly, hands in the air. “You really should have let us do the work.  We need the practice.”

 

Mike and Johnny sagged against each other, then shakily sunk to the deck.  “Man, are we glad to see you!” breathed Johnny.

 

“Hey, are you guys okay?” asked the deputy, concerned at the way the two men had suddenly collapsed.

 

Mike and Johnny looked at each other, then at the deputies rounding up MacHeath’s men.  “Now we are,” answered Mike.

 

Johnny nodded in agreement.  “If you’d been a few seconds later, we’d be at the bottom of the ocean now.”  He pointed at the ropes that still attached their feet to the cement bags. “Man, that was close!”

 

The deputy watched them closely as he cut the ropes off.  They didn’t seem to be injured, but he’d send them into the hospital anyway.  He grimaced at the cement bags.  MacHeath was going to drown them.  They must have been terrified.

 

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

“They’ve got them!  They’re alive!”

 

Crockett’s shout set off a round of cheers and shoulder slapping. 

 

“The Phantom triumphs again!”  crowed Chet.

 

Cap smiled.  “You saved the day, Chester B.”  Then he put on a serious face, “But that doesn’t mean that you can use that stuff here.  When Mike gets back, that stuff goes back to your friend.  Got it?”

 

Chet was too happy to argue.  “Sure, Cap.  Anything you say.”

 

Crockett hung up the phone and waited for them to quiet down.  “The Coast Guard is taking them into Rampart.”  He held up his hands to stem the sudden onslaught of concerned questions.  “No they aren’t injured.  From what my deputy says, not a scratch.  We’re just having them checked over as a precaution.”

 

Cap sighed in relief.  “I’d better call the Chief.  Let’s see if he’ll let us leave the station to meet them.”

 

“He’d better,” said Roy.  “Otherwise, he’s going to have to discipline us for disobeying orders.”

 

“Yah, right!” seconded Marco.

 

~E!~E!~E!~

 

The thump, thump of the helicopter blades made it difficult to talk.  But this would probably be their only chance to put the events into perspective before the police started asking their questions.

 

“Mike.  Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

 

“Hey, Johnny.  I couldn’t let them kill you.  It was my fault they grabbed you.  I gave you my coat,”  Mike said quietly.

 

Johnny understood.  He would have done the same.   They all would have.  None of them would turn their backs on the others if they could help it.

 

“You know, Johnny,  just before the cops arrived, I thought it was over.  It didn’t look like we’d get out of it alive.  I was terrified.”

 

“Yah.  I know.  I’ve been trapped in buildings, surrounded by fire.  But that never scared me like this did.”  Johnny shuttered.  “MacHeath didn’t care.  It was as if the life of another human being was just an object to be thrown away without a second thought.”

 

“Yah.  That’s what was so terrifying.  He didn’t care.”  Mike shook his head sadly.  “How can someone like that live?”

 

“By the time we finish testifying, he’ll be living in jail,” answered Johnny firmly.  “For a long, long time.”

 

“Amen to that.”

 

“So,” asked Johnny suspiciously.  “What do you think Chet was going to do with those transmitters?”

 

Mike chuckled.  Trust Johnny to bounce back so quickly.  It would take him a little longer to put this behind him.   But he would. 

 

P.S.  Thank you to Theresa Melton for finding the words to the song for me.  I hope the story meets the expectations of the gang on the Flights-of-Fancy egroup.  I’ve been teasing them with bits and pieces over the past month.  I enjoyed teasing them too.  It’s a character flaw, I guess. <LOL>

 

MACK THE KNIFE

Oh the shark babe, has such teeth dear

And he shows them pearly white.

Just a jackknife has ol' MacHeath babe

And he keeps it out of sight.

You know when that shark bites

With his teeth babe

Scarlet billows start to spread.

Fancy gloves though, wears ol' MacHeath babe

So there's never, never a trace of red.

On the sidewalk, ooh Sunday morning uh-huh

Lies a body just oozing life, eek!

And someone's sneaking round the corner

Could that someone be Mack the Knife

There's a tugboat, down by the river don't you know

Where a cement bag's just drooping on down

Ooh that cement is just, it's there for the weight dear

Five will get you ten ol' Mackie's back in town

Now did you hear about Louie Miller

He disappeared babe

After drawing out, all his hard-earned cash

And now MacHeath spends just like a sailor

Could it be our boy's done something rash?

Now Jenny Diver, yeah Sukey Tawdry

Ooh Miss Lotte Lenia, and ol' Lucy Brown

Oh the line forms on the right babe

Now that Mackie's back in town.

I said Jenny Diver, Whoa Sukey Tawdry

Look out for Miss Lotte Lenia, and ol' Lucy Brown

Yes the line forms on the right babe

Now that Mackie's back in town

Look out ol' Mackie is back!