Five Firemen For A King’s Ransom?
by Ross

Southern California was stuck in an oppressive heat wave. For the fourth consecutive day, both the thermometer and the relative humidity gauge registered in the upper 90s, making things like fires and rescues—and seats—unbearably sticky for the six L.A. County firefighters who had the great misfortune of having to work forty-eight straight hours in such inhospitable conditions…conditions that might easily have melted down the mettle of lesser men.

Thirty-two hours into their torrid—and unbelievably busy—tour of duty, the alarm re-sounded.

“Station 51…”

Captain Hank Stanley's sweat-drenched, and completely exhausted crew detached themselves from the chairs they’d just sunk into and started heading for the garage—and their trucks.

“Man trapped in meat locker…Legrey Packing Company…4489 West Burns Street…Cross streets Allen and Sayber…Forty-four-eighty-nine West Burns…ambulance responding…Time out…18:27.”

“Station 51, KMG-365…” Stanley acknowledged, and handed his paramedic team a copy of the address. The station’s commander climbed up into the engine with his copy of the call, and they were off…once again.

* ~ * ~ *

Less than two hours later, the engine crew filed into their sleeping quarters and collapsed, fully-clothed, onto their bunks.

“Man! That was a cool rescue!” Marco Lopez quipped. He ignored the guys’ groans and continued, “I mean it. That was a very pleasant work environment.”

The men slowly sat back up and started stripping.

“Too bad we couldn’t’ve stayed the night,” Lopez lamented. “I bet that place would make a great environment to sleep in, too.”

“Huh!” a rather skeptical Chet Kelly commented. “Who could possibly sleep with that smell?!”

“Who can sleep in this heat?” Marco fired back. “I can’t sleep in this heat! I could always put a clothespin on my nose for the smell!”

“You could sleep with a clothespin on your nose?” a somewhat astounded Mike Stoker amusedly asked.

“Who’s sleeping with a clothespin on their nose?” paramedic John Gage inquired, as he and his partner—Roy DeSoto—came strolling into the dorm.

“Lights out in 2 minutes!” their Captain called out.

“How’s that guy we pulled out of the locker?” Chet wondered.

“Right now, he’s defrosting,” Roy replied. “If his wife hadn’t been worried and gone looking for him, he’d have been dead by morning, but, Brackett says we got to him in time. He’s gonna be all right.”

Kelly looked pleased, and then, thoughtful. “I still can’t see how that door could get so jammed…”

“Maybe there was foul play?” DeSoto proposed as he got down to his drawers.

“Who’s sleeping with a clothespin on their nose?” John stubbornly re-inquired.

Stoker finished stripping and collapsed back onto his bunk. “Marco.”

Gage was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. He paused in mid-row and raised his right eyebrow. “Why-y?”

“Why else?” the engineer’s eyes drooped closed. “To get rid of the smell, of course!”

John’s left eyebrow joined its elevated mate. “Hey, Marco—” the now undressed paramedic addressed Lopez a few moments later, as he returned from a quick trip to the latrine, “—How can you possibly sleep with a clothespin on your nose?”

Mike and Chet chuckled.

Lopez gave Gage an annoyed glare and passed him without replying.

“I can’t smell anything…” the paramedic confessed, following several cautious sniffs. More suppressed laughter ensued.

“Goodnight, gentlemen!” Stanley said with a flick of the light switch.

Gage groped around in the darkness for his bunk. He found it and then sprawled out, all the while, grumbling beneath his breath, “What a dumb idea…We don’t even have any clothespins…”

“Goodnight, Cap!” Kelly called back. “Goodnight, Mike…Marco…Roy…” he paused, “Goodnight, John-boy!”

“Goodnight, Chet-bob!” Gage shot right back, drowning out his shift-mates’ snickers.

“John-boy?” his Captain called out, “You and Chet-bob want to sleep in the garage?!”

Needless to say, there was no more talking. Well, for about five whole minutes, anyways.

Marco, who had been tossing fitfully in his bunk, finally exhaled a frustrated sigh and sat up. “It’s no use…” he whispered rather pitifully. “It’s just too hot to sleep. Can you sleep, Mike?”

“No,” Stoker answered softly. “But it’s not because of the heat. There’s a fly buzzing around my head…”

“Why don’t you kill it?”

“I can’t see in the dark…”

The lights flicked on. “Kill the fly—and the whispering!” Stanley ordered.

Roy raised his head, blinked his eyes in the blindingly bright light and glanced around the room. He saw Stoker standing on his bunk, whacking the wall with his shirt. He turned to his partner and noticed that he was more off than on his bunk. He got up, stepped over to his about-to-fall friend and gave his shoulder a slight shake. “Johnny?!”

Johnny tossed his head from side to side and groaned irritatedly. “Huh? What? What? Wha-at?!” he demanded, following a few somewhat rougher shakes.

“You’re about to fall out of bed,” DeSoto warned on his way back to his bunk.

Johnny completely ignored his pesky partner. He lay there, staring disbelievingly off across the room at Mike—who was, at the moment, still dancing up and down on his bunk and swinging his shirt wildly through the air.

“I got it! I got it!” Stoker shouted triumphantly. He saw Gage giving him a strange look. “I got it…” the engineer calmly explained.

“Whatever it is you got…don’t give it to me!” the paramedic pleaded.

Marco cracked up.

John closed his wide eyes and then covered them with his right forearm.

“Johnny, if you don’t scoot over, you’re gonna fall on the floor…” Roy reminded his precariously perched partner.

“I’m not gonna fall on the floor,” Gage grumbled. “I always sleep like this when it’s hot. It’s the only way I can sleep…”

Marco studied John thoughtfully for a few moments and then dangled both legs and one arm off of his bunk, as well. Then, he balanced his backside on the edge of his bed—until he was just about to fall. “Hey, John, you’re right!” he exclaimed with a grin, “This is downright comfortable!”

“Marco!” their Captain called out, “Stick a clothespin on your lips! The rest of you guys try to get some sleep!”

“We’re tryin’, Cap—” Kelly sleepily assured him, “—But, who can sleep with this light on?”

Stanley groaned, flicked the light off, and then lay there, listening to the sound of muffled snickering. He grinned and shook his head. 51’s captain considered it a real privilege to call these five, fine—fun-loving—fellows his friends. Heck, Hank wouldn’t trade his motley crew for anything in the world! ‘Make that the entire universe!’ the station’s commander mentally noted before finally nodding off…a smile of deep satisfaction still pasted upon his peaceful—albeit sweaty—face.

~ The End ~