“Godzilla and The Smog Monster” By Ross   Part I

A police squad car pulled up to Rampart General’s Emergency entrance.

Its driver flicked its headlights and revolving overheads off, and then piled out to pull its left rear door open.

“Get the cuffs off ‘im, will yah, Mike!” one of its two passengers requested, as he came backing out of the car.  “I’m gonna go get us a gurney!”

“Forget the gurney, Nick!” Mike protested, sounding every bit as unhappy as he looked.  “Let’s just drag the druggie inside…drop ‘im…an’ go—” he stopped, right in mid-rant.

His ‘Florence Nightingale’ partner had already disappeared behind the hospital’s sliding glass doors.

Mike pulled a key from his shirt pocket and reluctantly removed the handcuffs from their no-longer-rowdy prisoner’s wrists.  He gave the junky, who was sprawled across their squad car’s back seat, a disgusted sneer.  “Lousy hypes!” he griped, sounding every bit as disgusted as he looked.

Nick returned, less than a minute later, with two orderlies and a gurney.

Their unconscious suspect was pulled from the squad car, placed on the stretcher, and then wheeled inside.

Nick followed the gurney as it was guided off down a hall.

His peeved partner headed over to the ER’s Admitting Desk.

“What d’yah got for us?” the pretty young thing behind the counter inquired of the police officer.

Mike gave the girl a once over and smiled.  He liked what he saw.  “Huh? Oh. Yeah.  We found a junky in an alley.  Looks like he must a’ fell and hit his head.”

The pretty lady placed a form in her typewriter.  “Name?”

“Alexander Michaelson,” the cop told her, with a grin.  “But my friends just call me Mike.”

The girl gave the flirting fellow an icy, un-amused, impatient glare.

The officer’s grin vanished.  “John Doe!” he smartly replied.

The look on the young woman’s pretty face immediately switched from disappointed to disgusted.  “Not another one!  We’ve had five ‘John Does’ tonight already!”

Mike smiled sympathetically at the girl across the counter. “Sounds like you hate ‘John Does’ about as much as I hate ‘hypes’.”

Nick stood in the busy ER’s main corridor, staring down at the body on the gurney beside him.  The officer watched, with growing alarm, as the rhythmic rising and falling of their prisoner’s chest suddenly became somewhat erratic.  He latched onto the arm of a passing nurse.  “Excuse me, but do you think you could take a look at this guy?”

The nurse exhaled an impatient gasp.  “What’s wrong with him?”

“I think he’s dying!” Nick exclaimed, giving voice to his alarm.  He read the nurse’s nameplate: Rita Moore, LPN.  “Look, Ms Moore…I ain’t really sure what’s wrong with him.  We found him crawlin’ around in an alley.  He’s got a lot a’ needle marks on his arms, like a junky has. Maybe he’s O.D.ed?”

The woman’s face filled with disgust.

“We think he must a’ hit his head on something,” Nick quickly continued.  “He’s got a bloody nose and there’s some kind a’ fluid coming out of his left ear here…See?”

Rita obligingly glanced down at the gurney.  She saw its occupant’s blood-streaked face for the first time—and did a beautiful double-take. 

“Something wrong?” Nick asked, noting that Rita suddenly looked a little rattled.

Ms. Moore couldn’t seem to raise her gaze from their prisoner.  “Huh? Uhhh…No.  No-o.  It’s just…he looks an awful lot like a guy that works around here!  What’s his name?”

“He wouldn’t tell us…and we couldn’t find any I.D.”

“The exam rooms are all filled right now,” the nurse numbly informed him.  “But I’ll see if I can find you a doctor…” The woman began backing down the hall, her eyes still riveted upon the familiar face of the fellow on the gurney.  She bumped into another nurse.  “Helen, you wanna see the winner of the John Gage look alike contest?”  She pulled Helen up to the prisoner’s stretcher.  “The police just brought him in…found ‘im crawlin’ around in an alley…claim he’s a junky.”

Helen’s reaction to the young man on the gurney was identical to Rita’s.

Ms. Moore looked smug.  “Amazing, huh?”

Helen nodded numbly.  “He could be his twin!”

Rita finally turned and hurried off down the hall, to see about fetching a doctor.

Helen stopped a passing orderly.  “Ricky, who does this guy look like, to you?”

Ricky glanced down at the guy on the gurney.  “One of the Fire Department paramedics?”

Helen nodded.  “John Gage!”

“Right!” Ricky concurred, with a snap of his fingers.  “John Gage!”  He turned and called another orderly over.  “Hey!  Marty!  Come here a sec’!  You gotta see this!”

Nick stared at the gawking hospital staffers in complete and utter disbelief.

Mike came dodging his way down the corridor.  “C’mon!  Let’s go!”

“I’m not leaving here til I can get somebody to take a look at this guy!” his partner announced.

Mike was about to protest, when he noticed a crowd had gathered around them.  “What’s goin’ on?”

“Seems our prisoner strongly resembles someone who works around here.” Nick gave the crowd of onlookers an angry glare.  “And—whoever it is—he must be the only one who does!”

The huddled hospital people took the officer’s hint and began to disperse.

Mike gave his fellow officer a rather angry glare of his own.  “You won’t keep Maggie waiting twenty minutes, to have a friendly little drink with your partner.  But you’ll keep her waiting half the night, for some lousy junky?"

The guy on the gurney began choking just then, and saved his partner from having to reply.

Nick rolled their suspect’s head further to one side.  “He stands about as much chance of dying in this corridor, as he did back in that alley!”

Mike glanced down at the gurney and saw that blood was, once again, streaming from the corner of their suspect’s mouth.  “Next time, phone ahead—like the paramedics do.  Then maybe they’ll reserve a room for you…”

Ms. Moore had found every treatment room occupied and every doctor extremely busy.  Treatment Two’s occupant had been sitting up, however.  Now, anybody who could sit up while being treated might be able to wait…

Rita stepped back up to Exam Two and poked her head through the door.  “Dr. Early, the police have a John Doe O.D. out in the hall who is hemorrhaging from his nose and mouth.  He’s also got cerebral-spinal fluid draining from his left ear.”

Joe Early was in the process of stitching up a six-inch gash in a young teenaged girl’s leg.  He stopped, right in mid-stitch, and turned to the doorway.  “What makes you think he’s an O.D.?”

“The officer says there is evidence of needle tracks on his arms.”

“Are there any obvious signs of head injury?”

“He has a small cut on his right temple and there is some slight bleeding.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah.  You wouldn’t believe how much this guy looks like John Gage!”

The doctor arched an eyebrow, but then immediately dismissed the thought. “THEY say everybody has a double—somewhere in the world.”

“Still, it’s rather unnerving.  Kind a’ spooky, even…”

“Miss Moore, would it be asking too much for you to get me a set of vitals?”

“Yes, doctor!  I mean, no, doctor!  I’ll get them right away!”  The woman’s head disappeared from the doorway.

The doctor sighed and went back to his sewing.

Joe tied off his last suture and turned to the nurse who’d been assisting him.  “Bandage this for me, will you, Carol?”

The nurse nodded and reached for a sterile compress.

Early flashed his completely silent patient a warm smile.  “Twenty-six stitches…and you haven’t made a sound.  You are a very brave young woman!”

The girl returned his smile.  “Just a little road rash.  No big deal.”

“I’m recommending that you stay off your brother’s motorcycle for the next few weeks, to give that leg of yours a chance to heal.”

The girl moaned and groaned and suddenly looked as though she were about to cry.

Joe suppressed another smile and then turned to have a little talk with one of his patient’s anxious parents.

Rita finished taking the guy on the gurney’s vital signs.  “This man needs a treatment room right no-ow!” she determined and hurried off down the hall.

Joe was still speaking to his ‘road rash’ patient’s anxious mother, when an even more anxious Miss Moore suddenly came barging into the exam room and began blurting out her findings. 

The condition of that John Doe O.D. the police had brought in was critical! 

“Get him in here—STAT!” Early ordered, sounding somewhat anxious himself.  He turned and helped the room’s current occupant back into her wheelchair. “Remember, Pam…no more motorcycles for the next few weeks.”

The girl blinked her tear-filled eyes and frowned.  “Bummer!”

Joe rolled the wheelchair out of the way, as two orderlies suddenly burst into the exam room, guiding a gurney.

The body on the gurney was transferred to a treatment table and the empty stretcher was quickly wheeled from the room.

Joe turned to the two nurses who were there and began barking out orders.

“What’s this about somebody looking like John Gage?” Cheryl Norquist asked, as she came rushing into the treatment room.

“Never mind that!” Joe told her.  “Get an IV and some oxygen going!” 

Nurse Norquist was frozen in place.  The woman was gazing down at their patient, wearing a look of shock and disbelief.  In fact, for a moment, it appeared as though she might pass out. 

Early latched onto the woozy woman’s elbow and steadied her, before following her gaze—to the body on the treatment table.  Joe suddenly felt a bit stunned, himself. 

The patient’s pallid face was streaked with blood, but still and all, the guy could’ve been a dead ringer for—.  The doctor stopped in mid-thought and stiffened.

Joe lifted the un-tucked tails of their patient’s dirty, white dress shirt. 

The young man was wearing an empty paramedic’s assessment kit, and a solid silver belt buckle with J-O-H-N engraved upon it. 

Early ripped J-O-H-N’s shirt open and stared down at the surgical scar on his abdomen—the scar he had made when he removed the paramedic’s ruptured spleen!  The physician glanced up, his face filled with rage. “This is John Gage!” he bellowed. “What the hell’s happened to him?”

Joe Early did not hear his colleague, Kel Brackett, enter the treatment room.  He and his medical team were too busy trying to keep their surprise patient alive.

“What a night!” Kel complained.  “I’ve sewn so many stitches, I’m beginning to feel like Betsy Ross…” When his comments failed to elicit even a single glance of sympathy, the feeling-somewhat-slighted doctor stepped up beside his silent associate and studied the lit x-ray exam screen his friend was staring so intently up at.  “Hmm…depressed skull fracture.  You can bet this guy’s gonna be needing an O.R.”

“I’ve got one reserved,” Early assured him, “and a surgical team is already standing by.”

“What’s the holdup?”

“We’re still trying to get him stabilized,” Joe replied and passed his doctor friend their critical patient’s medical chart.

Kel noted some of the alarmingly low numbers that were recorded on it and winced.  “I see-ee…” He handed back the chart and directed his concerned gaze to the young man, lying motionless, on the treatment table.  “Any idea how it—” the doctor’s dark eyes widened in shock and recognition and his mouth suddenly stopped moving. 

“The police just brought him in…claim they found him crawling around in an alley,” Early informed the still too stunned to move or speak physician.  “I was able to reach Paul Kurtz at a New Year’s Eve party.  He’s on his way now.  We hope to have him stabilized and prepped by the time Kurtz gets here.”

Brackett gave his informant a grateful glance. 

Paul Kurtz was the best neurosurgeon the hospital had on staff. 

Hell, Kel considered Kurtz one of the top neurosurgeons in the entire country!  The doctor recovered from the shock of the depressed skull fracture patient’s identity and stepped up to the exam table. “What on earth happened to you, Johnny?” he quietly inquired of their unconscious young friend.  Then he turned back to Joe, looking even more confused.  “How did the police end up bringing him in?”

“He wasn’t wearing his uniform or carrying any I.D.  The officers thought they were dealing with ‘an over-dosed junkie’.”

“Are they still here?”

“I had someone ask them to stick around.  I was hoping to talk to them…when I got the chance,” Early added and stared solemnly down at his not quite stabilized patient.

“I’ll talk to them for you,” Brackett volunteered, taking both the hint and his leave.

Kel’s eyes searched up and down the crowded hospital corridor, but failed to find any blue uniforms.  The physician gasped in frustration and hurried off down the hall, in the direction of the ER’s main entrance/exit.

Two police officers were seated in the waiting area, sipping coffee.

Kel exhaled a silent sigh of relief and promptly approached them. “Excuse me.  I’m Dr. Brackett.  Did you two just bring in a young man with a head injury?”

The two officers got stiffly to their feet.

“If you’re referring to the John Doe junkie,” Mike replied, “yeah.  We brought ‘im in.  Why?  Somethin’ else wrong with him?”

The right corner of Kel’s mouth twitched twice and he mentally began counting to ten.  His seething anger diminished with each additional number, until he was finally able to address the arrogant officer somewhat civilly.  “You-our…‘junkie’ happens to be a Los Angeles County Fire Department paramedic!  He has several things wrong with him at the moment, but I can assure you that one of them is NOT a drug overdose!” He stopped shouting and started his silent counting again.  The physician’s fury finally sank back below the surface.  “What happened to him?”

The two officers had been stunned into silence.

“We don’t know,” Nick was finally able to answer.  “He was lying—face down—in an alley, between Harbor and Ames.  Look, he wasn’t wearing a uniform or carrying any I.D. when we found him.  How were we supposed to know who he was?”

“Yeah!” Mike concurred.  “He appeared to be drugged, and he was acting disorderly!  Plus, his arms are all scarred up, just like a junkie’s—”

“—Then,” Kel suddenly interrupted, “he was conscious when you found him?”

The two men exchanged thoughtful glances.

“Sort of,” Nick said.

“You mean, he was disoriented?”

Mike nodded. “Very!”

Kel managed an exasperated gasp.  “So-o…you have no idea how he ended up in that alley…or how he got hurt.”

The officers frowned and shook their heads.

Nick suddenly remembered something and brightened.  “Mike, here, said he saw a Fire Department Rescue Squad parked not two blocks from where we found him!”

Brackett’s gloomy countenance instantly brightened, as well.  “You didn’t happen to catch the number on the truck’s door, did you?”  The doctor was hopeful.  He knew cops were trained to be observant.

Mike racked his brain for a few moments and then smiled.  “I’m fairly certain it said 16.”

The physician flashed both officers a grateful smile.  “Thank you, gentlemen!” he declared and then hurried off down the corridor.

The two officers watched the doctor disappear.  Then they turned back to one another, still looking and feeling somewhat dazed and amazed.

“A paramedic!” Mike exclaimed.  “Can you beat that?”  His right eyebrow suddenly arched in thought.  “If he ain’t a junkie…then…what did happen to him?”

“Right now, it appears the only one who can answer that,” Nick turned to stare sadly off down the hall, “is him.”  The officer exhaled a weary sigh and then turned back to his equally exhausted looking companion.  “What d’yah say we go back to the station and get outta these uniforms?” He draped an arm across his bachelor friend’s slumped shoulders and began ushering him toward the exit.  “Then we’ll find a nice, quiet bar somewhere.  So I kin buy my partner a drink.”

Mike flashed his best buddy a big, broad grin.  “Now you’re talkin’, Nicholas!”

Early heard someone enter the treatment room and glanced up.  His friend had returned from his fact-finding mission. “Where you able to learn anything?”

“Nothing!” Kel regrettably replied.  “Except that Johnny was conscious when they found him.”

“That’s a good sign.”

Speaking of signs…

Brackett suddenly noticed the deep purple bruise over the paramedic’s left ribcage…and the bright blue diamond stamped onto the back of his right hand.  “It seems he was found just a few blocks from where Craig Brice and Gregg Garnett were parked with Squad 16…”

Early arched an eyebrow. “Coincidence?”

“Could be-e…I’m having them come here for questioning.”

Joe suddenly recalled something.  “Speaking of coincidences…Johnny was wearing Garnett’s assessment kit when they brought him in.”

Kel’s head snapped up.  “You sure?”

Early picked a black leather paramedic’s assessment kit up from a countertop and handed it to the questioner.

Kel flipped the kit over and saw that Gregg Garnett’s name had been carved into the back of it.  “It was empty?”

Joe nodded.

Brackett’s puzzled gaze settled back down on the black object in his hands.  “Why would he be wearing this, if he wasn’t working?”

Early had an even better question.  “Why would he be wearing Garnett’s, when he’s got one of his own?”

“He wouldn’t…unless he was working for Garnett and forgot his.”

“Or didn’t have time to get his,” Joe joined in.  “Which would also explain why he wasn’t wearing his uniform.”

The two men seemed pleased with the combined power of their deductive reasoning.

But then both doctors’ countenances quickly grew glum again.

They still hadn’t a clue as to what had happened.

Everything that had happened had started happening eighteen hours earlier…

Gage and DeSoto were returning to their stationhouse, following several back-to-back early morning runs. 

The entire shift had been exhausting, and the weary travelers were anxious to call it quits. 

The pair rode along in silence, willing their radios to remain equally still. 

About five blocks from the Station, the completely pooped paramedics abandoned mere ‘hope’ and actually began to pray that they would make it back for the shift-change—before they got another run.

The two tired firemen turned to each other as their Squad’s radio suddenly crackled to life.  They both breathed sighs of relief as the tones that sounded were muted.

“Engine 16…Squad 36 in place of Squad 16…Vehicle accident…with injuries—”

“—Wonder where Brice and Manning are?” Gage inquired, interrupting the dispatcher. "Speaking of Brice…Did you notice how quiet he was at the meeting yesterday?  The poor man must a’ been sick, or somethin’.  He didn’t say three words to me the entire time.  It’s not like Brice to pass up a perfectly good opportunity to be insulting.  Come to think of it, he didn’t give his usual cover-to-cover summary of the latest paramedical journals, or lecture us all on the perils of ignoring department regulations, either.  Plu-us, I don’t recall him quoting from his precious ‘rule’ book a single time.  Ma-an!  Somethin’ must be really really wrong with him!  I wonder what it is?  I sure hope it’s nothin’ serious…”

The Squad’s driver glanced at its passenger in disbelief.  “You’re too much, yah know that!  You’re actually worried that Craig Brice might be turning into a regular, normal, likeable guy!  Well, I wouldn’t worry too much, if I were you.  He’s just been a little distracted lately.”

“Whatever’s bothering him has gotta be more than just a little distraction.  Brice has always been very distracted.”

“Okay,” Roy reluctantly came clean, “I think Brice may be in love.”

“So-o?” his partner replied.  “What else is new?”

DeSoto couldn’t help but smile.  “With someone other than himself.”

Gage was genuinely surprised.  “Oh yeah?  Who is she?  I wanna be sure to send her my condolences.”

Roy suppressed another smile.  “You’re not being very fair to Craig.  Actually, he’s not a bad guy…once you get to know him.”

“Of course he’s not a bad guy,” John came back, his voice oozing sarcasm.  “He’s a perfect guy…a perfect paramedic, a-and I’m confident he’s going to make the poor imperfect girl a positively perfect husband.  That’s why I feel sorry for her.  It’s hard to live with perfection.”

DeSoto thought his friend’s comment over for a few seconds.  “That certainly explains why you are so easy to live with…”

His ‘far from perfect’ friend gave him a ‘Ha. Ha. Very funny.’ glare, but then was forced to grin.  Sheesh! Roy could sure come up with some dandy zingers!  “All joking aside…If you’re suspicions are correct…then I’m really very happy for him.  Everybody should be in love at least once, or—in his case—twice.”

“At least,” Roy agreed, and finally released the grin he’d been suppressing.

Whether it was through the power of prayer, or not, will never be known, but—somehow—the two men did manage to make it back before receiving another call.

They strolled into Station 51’s locker room and found both crews busy changing, B-shift into their uniforms, and A-shift into their street clothes.

Paramedic Don Lorey tried, unsuccessfully, to get Johnny to work his shift for him.  “Ahhh, c’mon, Gage!”

John was sympathetic but adamant.  “Sorry, Lorey.  But I’ve already made plans for tomorrow.  Besides, I made sort of a New Year’s resolution to cut waaaaay back on the TX.”

Don was completely devastated. With Gage no longer willing to work overtime, and a lot of the guys abandoning the paramedic ranks for their promotions, how would he ever find anyone to fill in for him?

As if on cue, Captain Donnelly came into the locker room.  “Gage?  DeSoto?

The paramedics stopped what they were doing and glanced up at him.

“Headquarters just called.  It seems more manpower is needed over in Pasadena tomorrow.  Volunteers are needed to work the Aid Stations at the Rose Bowl…”

“Don’t look at me,” DeSoto told him.  “I promised my kids I’d take ‘em to see the parade.”

The Captain’s gaze shifted to Gage.

“The closest I intend to get to the Rose Bowl,” John announced, “is the distance between my living room sofa…and my television set.”

Donnelly grinned and departed.

Kelly finished tying his shoelaces and turned to his shiftmates.  “Anybody wanna get together at the Twelve Alarm later on?  We could toss back a few beers…order some pizza…maybe shoot some pool…”

His married crewmates gratefully declined the offer.

His two bachelor buddies glanced at one another for a few moments and then chimed in unison, “Sure!”

Chet was delighted.

John finished dressing and closed his locker. “Have a happy New Year’s, partner!” he wished, and flashed his friend a warm smile.

Roy returned both his smile and his wish. “You, too, Johnny!”

Gage latched onto his laundry bag and his jacket and started heading for the door.

“Hey!  Don’t forget!” Roy called after him.  “Joanne is expecting you for dinner tomorrow night!”

“Thanks!  I won’t forget!” his dinner guest promised and then disappeared.

Gage, Lopez and Kelly stopped—right in mid-stride—as a shiny, red firetruck suddenly pulled into Station 51’s back parking lot.

Paramedic Greg Garnett parked Squad 45 directly in front of John Gage’s Land Rover, and then baled out.  “Johnny!  Thank God you’re still here!”

“It’s been a lo-o-ong shift, Greg,” Johnny wearily declared.  “And I couldn’t work another one—even if I wanted to…which I don’t.  I’ve been turning guys down, for the past 24 hours.  I’m really beat!  I could never make it through another shift.  Heck, I barely made it through this one!  Besides,” he glanced at Chet and Marco, “I’ve already made plans for this evening.”

The three friends exchanged grins.

Garnett couldn’t argue with so many excuses…so very many good excuses.  So he kept his mouth shut and pulled out a secret weapon—a small, red-velvet-covered ring box.  He held the little box up in front of his fellow paramedic’s face and lifted its hinged lid.

The three bachelors stared down at the box’s sparkly contents for a few moments and then whistled softly.

“I’ll bet that rock must a’ set you back a few bucks,” Chet determined, upon seeing the size of the engagement ring’s diamond.

“You have no idea,” Garnett simply said.  “It’s taken me all week to work up the nerve to ask a certain young lady a certain question, pertaining to this ring.  Up until twenty minutes ago, I was going to pose it to her at midnight tonight.  I’ve already had to break three dates with her this week.  I can’t break another one—especially not this one!  If I stand her up tonight, I’m afraid she’ll never say ‘Yes.’ We were supposed to spend a quiet, romantic evening at her place.  Then headquarters calls and tells me Beckman is out—sick.  Now, I gotta spend tonight over at 16’s, with a bunch a’ ugly guys—instead a’ with my girl!  It’s just not fair!”

John exhaled a long, weary sigh.  “Have you asked anybody else?”

“There isn’t anybody else to ask!  Brian Sager has been tryin’ to find someone for the past four days!  I’m tellin’ yah, there’s nobody available!  Look, if you can’t make the full shift, how about just workin’ a split shift?  Even 10:30 to 12:30 would do, in a pinch.  If this were just any old average date, I wouldn’t be here right now, begging you to cover for me.  But tonight was supposed to be one of the most special nights of my life…” his words trailed off and he stared sadly down at the ring in his hands.  Both the stone’s size and its beauty were pretty gosh-darn impressive.

So was Garnett’s power of persuasion.

Gage exhaled a quiet sigh of surrender.  “Okay.  I’ll do it,” he informed his very persuasive friend.

The groom-to-be grinned from ear-to-ear.  “Thanks, Johnny!  I really appreciate this!”

“There’s just one problem though,” Gage teased. 

Garnett suddenly felt somewhat nervous.

“It’s gonna hafta be from 10:00 p.m. til the shift-change,” his replacement specified, “or I can’t make it.”

Greg’s face lit back up. He latched onto his generous colleague’s right hand and practically shook his arm from its socket.  “Thank you!  Thank you!  Thank you, Johnny!”

“You’re welcome, welcome, welcome,” Gage assured him and promptly pulled his hand back.  “Good luck, Greg!”

“Thanks!  Yahoo-oo!” the happy paramedic declared and hurried back over to his Rescue Squad.

John suddenly thought of something.  “Hey, Greg!” he called after his fleeing friend.  “Who am I gonna be workin’ with?”

Garnett was in the process of sliding in behind the wheel.  He cringed and hollered back, “Craig Brice!”  Then he slammed his door shut, backed up, turned around and drove off, before Johnny could change his mind about working for him.

“John Gage and Craig Brice,” Kelly dramatically declared, “working…together.  Sheesh!  That could be even more fun to watch than ‘Godzilla and The Smog Monster’!”

Marco was amused to no end.  “What do you mean?  They are ‘Godzilla and The Smog Monster’!  Sure! Gage is Godzilla…and Brice is The Smog Monster.”

“Yeah,” Chet chimed in.  “And, by the end of the shift, LA will be completely destroyed…and only one of them will be left standing.  I’m betting it’s The Smog Monster.”

“No way!” Marco countered.  “I predict Godzilla, here, will prevail!  No matter how many armor-piercing rockets are launched against him, Godzilla always manages to recover in time to make it into the next movie.”

Speaking of Godzilla…

Gage hadn’t moved, or spoken, since being informed of his temporary partner’s identity.

Kelly studied their statue-like companion carefully for a few moments and then turned to Lopez.  “We might have to use the Heimlich Maneuver on him,” he teased and was immediately rewarded with some movement.

A slight smile played upon the paramedic’s lips.  “Heimlich Maneuver…” he grumbled beneath his breath and gave both of his mustached amigos an eye-roll.  His gaze returned to the spot in the lot where Greg had just been standing and his face filled with a grimace.  “Crai-aig Bri-ice?”

“What happened?” his permanent partner suddenly pondered.

John jerked, in startlement, and quickly spun around.

Mike and the Cap and Roy were standing right there and, judging by the amused looks on their faces, the three men had witnessed everything that had just transpired.

“Did you forget about your New Year’s resolution already?” DeSoto inquired further.

“This is still the Old Year,” John stated, in his defense.  “My resolution doesn’t really take affect ‘til after midnight.”  He stopped and stared back across the lot at THE spot.  “Crai-aig Bri-ice?” he whined—again.  “The perfect ending for such a perfect shift!”

The rest of the guys exchanged highly amused glances…and then began heading for their cars.

The Twelve Alarm was an old, two-story, redbrick firehouse that had been completely restored—and then renovated—into a family restaurant/lounge.

The establishment was the ‘labor of love’ of one Andrew ‘Mac’ McPhearson.

Being as how the building was an old firehouse, and Mac was a retired LACFD Battalion Chief, the Twelve Alarm’s décor was—most appropriately—all Fire Service related.

There were dozens of paintings depicting fire scenes, hundreds of old fire department photographs, pieces of antique fire gear and equipment, and various other odd bits of fire-fighting memorabilia, mounted—or hanging—everywhere! 

Why, liquid refreshments were even dispensed from tiny brass fire hose nozzles and the draft beer was even stored in fire-hydrant-shaped kegs.

The building’s top floor housed the Twelve Alarm’s family restaurant. Its ground floor contained its pool tables and lounge.

The restaurant’s fine cuisine, and its Fire Service theme, made it a popular hangout for off-duty LA County firemen—and their families.

Being a place where guys gathered made the establishment a magnet for girls. Which turned the Twelve Alarm into an even more popular hangout for single off-duty LA County firemen.

The restaurant’s big, antique brass cash register was situated on a circular checkout counter in the center of its large, open dining area.

In the middle of the enclosed checkout counter, was a gaping hole containing a shiny, brass fire pole.  The top of the two-stories-tall pole was secured to the restaurant’s ceiling, and its base, to the lounge’s carpeted floor.

Mac allowed anyone who flashed a Fire Department badge access to the pole.  Which meant firefighters could slide, instead of step down, into the building’s first-floor lounge.

John Gage finished placing his party of three’s pizza order…and then did just that!

Kelly and Lopez were in the process of screwing their custom pool cues together.  The two men looked up just in time to see Gage come sliding into the lounge.

He was wearing a well-tailored, white, long-sleeved dress shirt, tight black blue jeans, polished black leather boots, and a broad black leather belt with a solid silver buckle engraved with his name.

The six-foot-one firefighter’s rather dramatic entrance, and snazzy attire, had turned more than a few female heads in the room.

“They said it could be awhile,” John reported, as he rejoined his friends.  “Orders are a little backed-up, on account a’ this crazy holiday crowd.”  He pulled a cue stick right from the wall rack and rolled it across the closest pool table a few times, to judge how badly it was warped.  The stick didn’t wobble a bit.  So he kept it and began chalking the little round leather strip glued to its tapered tip.

“I’ll buy the first round,” Chester B. volunteered.  “Name your poison, gentlemen…”

“I’ll take a beer,” Marco told him.  “Anything domestic.”

“Milk,” the paramedic promptly replied.  “Make it a large.”

Chet’s mustached face scrunched up.  “Mi-ilk?”

“I gotta go to work in two hours,” John reminded him.

“Oh…yea-eah…right.  It sucks to be you,” Kelly realized and began heading for the bar.

“You sure you don’t want him to bring you some coffee, instead?” Marco teased.

“I’ve already had ten cups, today.  I figured I better ease up on the coffee for awhile.  I’m starting to experience a little caffeine-induced ‘sinus tachycardia’.”

“You guys were gone most of the night, a-and most of the morning. Were you able to get any sleep at all?”

“I think I may have dozed off at the Laundromat for a few minutes.”

Lopez gave his weary companion a look of profound sympathy.  “Chet’s right.  It sucks to be you.”

“It really sucked to be me this morning!” the paramedic confessed.

“Why-y?” Chet inquired, upon his return to their table.  He set their beverage order down and picked his custom pool cue back up.  “What ‘sucky’ things happened to you this morning?”

“First, this guy with a pacemaker gets invited over to his new neighbors for a cup of coffee.  The neighbor’s wife notices the guy’s coffee is a little cold, so she sticks it in the microwave and turns it on.  The guy’s pacemaker goes on the fritz.  He’s in v-fib, by the time we get there.  We can’t get a conversion…the ambulance is delayed.  So Roy and I ended up performing CPR on the guy—for over an hour!

Then—and you’re not gonna be-lie-ieve this one—this lady is having this New Year’s Eve party tonight, right?  So she decides she’s gonna make a bunch of confetti for her guests, so they can have something to throw up in the air when the little hand and the big hand hit twelve,” the paramedic paused, looking rather lost.  “I still haven’t figured out yet how she did it.  But, somehow, she managed to get her little toe caught in this paper shredder.  I had to stand there—for over twenty minutes—with this chick shrieking in my ear—while Roy tried to disassemble the thing, so we could extricate her poor little piggy from the jaws of the terrible shredder machine.  I tell yah, it was unreal how that woman could scream!”

Marco was fascinated.  “So…did it make confetti out of her toe?”

“Not hardly!  Her toe came outta there with just a little nick.  Morton told us later that it only took one stitch.  Which he should a’ put in her lips!”

“Whatever became of the guy with the pacemaker?” Kelly inquired.

“Last I heard, he was still in CCU.  The docs were able to recalibrate the pacemaker, and they’re hopeful that he’s gonna make it.” John flexed his aching shoulders.  “He’s sure gonna have a sore chest for awhile, though…”

His companions were pleased to hear that he’d made it.

The paramedic started pulling quarters from his pocket. “So…who’s gonna break first?”

Two hours, two pizzas, seven games of pool, four beers, two large glasses of milk, and a cup of coffee later, Gage returned the cue stick to its rack.

“Ah-ah, c’mon!” Kelly moaned.  “I demand retribution!”

John just smiled.  “I’d love to beat you—again, Chet.  Bu-ut, I gotta go to work.”

Chet glanced at his watch.  It was only 9:22.  “What’s your rush?  16’s is only about eight blocks from here.”

“I wanna get there early.  So I won’t hafta rush,” Gage explained.  “I hate being rushed!”

“I gotta go, too,” Marco announced.  “My mother has invited our relatives over for a New Year’s Eve party, and she’s threatened to disown me if I don’t show up.  She told me to invite you guys, too. You coming, Chet?  My mom’s got plenty of food!”

Chet brightened and began dismantling his pool cue. “Thanks, Marco!  Don’t mind if I do.  Just as long as I make it home by twelve…”

Kelly’s curious time comment caused Gage and Lopez to exchange glances.

Marco turned back to Chet.  “Why?  What happens if you’re not home by midnight?  Does that lemon you drive turn back into a pumpkin?”

John snickered.  “Nah-ah.  He turns back into a toad.”

Chet gave both of his chuckling chums an annoyed glare.  “There’s an all-night Godzilla movie festival on channel four. ‘Godzilla and The Smog Monster’ starts at twelve—and I don’t wanna miss it!”

Gage gave Kelly a confused stare. “I thought you just watched that movie.”

“Yeah…well…it bears re-watching.” 

John was even more confused.  “Isn’t that the one where he takes a deep breath and blows and goes sailing across the sky—backwards?”

Kelly nodded.

Gage gasped in disbelief.  “That’s gotta be one of the silliest, most ridiculous movies ever made!”

“Exactly!  That’s what makes it such a classic, cinematic treasure! It’s so ba-ad…it’s good!”

John and Marco just glanced at each other and rolled their eyes.

“You guys still comin’ over to watch the bowl games at my place, tomorrow?” John wondered, as he snatched up his black leather jacket.

Both of his buddies nodded.

“I’ll bring the food,” Marco offered.  “I’m sure there will be plenty of leftovers.”

“And I’ll bring the beer,” Chet chimed in.

“Great!” the paramedic proclaimed, sounding both pleased and relieved.  “Because I didn’t get a chance to stop and shop.”  John tossed his jacket on and then flashed his friends a warm, slightly askew smile.  “See yah next year,” he teased.  He bid them both a good evening and a happy New Year, and reluctantly disappeared up the stairs.

The second he was out of earshot, Kelly and Lopez turned to one another and whined—in perfect unison, “Crai-aig Bri-ice!”

Gage’s highly amused companions swapped grins.  Then they stuck their custom cue sticks back inside their little black cases, and left for the Lopez Family’s party.

John Gage arrived at Station 16 a full fifteen minutes early and found Greg Garnett waiting for him out in the back parking lot.  ‘Uh-oh…This can’t be good,’ he thought. The paramedic opened his car door and started to step out.

“Gage!  Thank God!” Garnett grabbed his replacement by the arm and began dragging him toward the building’s back entrance.  “Squad 36 just put in a request for additional squa—”

“—Wait! I hafta—”

“—They’re at a T.A. over on Milbourne. Which means we are gonna be getting the ca—”

“—Greg, let me—”

“—And the response time to a T.A. over on Milbourne, counting treatment on scene, hospital follow up, and the ride back here, will make me over an hour la—”

“—Greg!  Will you just—”

“—I can’t afford to be an hour late!  I mean, I can’t just walk in her front door and say: Cindy, will you marry me?  I need some time to set the moo—”

They’d reached the brick building’s open back entrance and the loud blaring of the Station’s tones drowned out the rest his words.

Both the back entryway and the garage were well lit.  Which allowed Greg to get a good look at the way his replacement was dressed.  The pushy—er, pully paramedic froze in the open doorway and a look of pure panic filled his face.

His upset captive was finally able to plant his feet and pull his arm free.  “Don’t rush me!  I hate being—”

“—Squad 16…Squad 12…” the dispatcher suddenly cut in, “Assist Squad 36 with a multiple injuries traffic accident…in the 1200 block of East Milbourne Avenue…one-one-two-zero East Milbourne…Time out…22:45”

Greg’s facial expression changed from pure panic…to shock and horror…and, finally, utter disbelief.  Johnny was still in his street clothes!  “Where’s your uniform?”

Gage gave Garnett an angry glare.  “That’s what I was trying to tell you!  It’s out in my car!”

“Squad 16…KMG 393,” Captain Mason acknowledged.  He passed Craig a copy of the call slip and then aimed a rather annoyed glare of his own at the two statue-like paramedics, standing in the Station’s back entrance.  “Will one of you kindly get yourself into this squad!” he ordered more than asked.

Greg gave the Captain a desperate, pleading look.

John gave the Captain a confused, questioning look.

Mason, who’d been informed of Garnett’s engaging plans for the evening, momentarily allowed compassion to cloud his better judgement.  “Keep your turnout coat and helmet on—at all times—Gage!  And change into your complete uniform, the instant you get back!”

“Aye, aye, Cap!” John promised and quickly climbed into the passenger’s side of the squad.  “I’m gonna need your assessment kit!” he shouted out to Greg.

Garnett unclipped his paramedic’s assessment kit from his belt and tossed it into the truck’s open window, just as it began pulling out of the parking bay.  “Thanks, Cap!” the groom-to-be told Mason.  “Thanks again, Johnny!” he called after his departing replacement.

“Don’t mention it…” Gage grumbled, still sounding somewhat miffed.  He hated being rushed.  He slid Garnett’s helmet on—repeatedly, and was finally able to adjust its band to a comfortable fit.  He snugged up its chinstrap and then turned his attention toward his temporary partner.  “You know where we gotta go?”

Brice nodded—once.

“Good.  Because I sure don’t know how to get there.”

His temporary partner made no attempt to respond.

The squad’s driver seemed pretty intent on completely ignoring its passenger.

In fact, Brice drove the whole entire way to the accident scene without giving Gage so much as a single glance.

Within eight minutes, they’d reached the 1200 block of East Milbourne Avenue.  It appeared as though four vehicles were involved in the multiple injuries T.A.

John jumped out, shrugged his leather jacket off and tossed it onto the truck seat.  He clipped Garnett’s assessment kit to his belt and then went to pull the compartment containing Greg’s turnout coat open.  “Ah-ah!” he cried out in agony, as something in his right wrist gave—but the compartment door didn’t.  He grimaced and gasped and stood there, flexing his wrenched wrist and staring down at the stuck door, in complete confusion.  “What the—?”

“I see DeSoto didn’t warn you about the compartments,” Brice said, as he came trotting around the back of the squad.  He inserted a key and twisted it.  “I like to keep them locked, at all times.” 

John just continued to stand there and watch, as Craig continued to insert and twist his key into each and every compartment’s lock.  “No.  No-o.  He di—wha—why-y?” he wondered, but then gasped in frustration.  “Never mind.  We can discuss it later…on the way back to the Station.”  He pulled the now unlocked compartment containing Garnett’s turnout gear open, donned the coat, grabbed the bio-phone and the drug box and went jogging off across the debris-strewn street.

Gage trotted past several police squad cars, a couple of completely demolished sports cars and up to two other paramedics, who were busy working on one of the vehicles’ severely injured occupants.  “What d’yah got, Mark?”

Squad 36 paramedic Mark Griesen glanced up.  “A bloody mess!  Everybody’s been triaged and tagged!  Just pick a car and go to work!”

John nodded and went to work.

Forty-five frantically busy minutes later…

John heard the sound of metal grating on pavement and turned to watch a wrecker tow a badly mangled vehicle away, clearing one of the busy street’s three lanes for traffic.

‘Take the human bodies to the hospital, the car bodies to the junkyard.  Sweep up the broken glass and debris.  Wait for one good rain to wash the crimson stains from the street…and the stage will be all set for the next real life tragedy,’ the paramedic thought, rather morbidly.  There were times when he just wished he wasn’t one of the stagehands.

Watching the final curtain come down on peoples’ lives would never be an easy thing for him.  In fact, it was the hardest part of his job.  He used to rationalize that ‘Oh well, somebody has to do it.’ 

But a young kid had just died in his arms, and—right then—he just wished it could’ve been somebody other than him.

“I got it, Malcolm!” Gage said, latching onto the side of a stretcher and helping an attendant load it into the back of a waiting ambulance.

“Thanks, Johnny!”

“No problem!”

One of Squad 12’s paramedics climbed in with the victim.

The ambulance’s back doors were closed and it sped off, with its lights flashing, its siren blaring—and Squad 12 trailing in its wake.

Mark Griesen heaved a heavy sigh.  “Well,” he stated wearily, “that’s the last of them…” The relieved rescuer then turned and flashed his reinforcements a grateful grin.  “Thanks for the help, guys!  Yah did great!”

Gage returned his grin.  “Yeah?  Well, you guys were pretty ‘great’, yourselves!” 

One of Engine 36’s guys was hosing down a fuel spill.

John jogged over asked him to spray the blood-splatter from Garnett’s turnout coat. 

The guy agreed.

Not desiring to get wet, the paramedic removed the bloody coat and then held it out at arm’s length.

Griesen saw Gage’s strange attire and turned to Brice.  “What’s he doing dressed like that?  That don’t exactly look like a standard regulation uniform!”

“It’s not supposed to,” Brice replied, his voice and expression perfectly serious.  “Gage is working undercover.” 

Mark’s jaw dropped.

John caught the comment and was forced to grin.

“It’s something new the Department is trying,” Craig solemnly continued. 

The undercover paramedic pursed his lips.  Gage gave the guy from 36’s a grateful grin. Then he redonned his soggy—but clean—coat, and started gathering up their gear.

“If one of us botches something up,” Brice went on as he, too, began to gather up their equipment cases, “the paramedic dressed as a helpful bystander assumes full responsibility for it.  That way, the Fire Department avoids a costly lawsuit, and the paramedic dressed in street clothes simply disappears into the crowd, protected from any damages’ suits—under California’s Good Samaritan Law.”

John and Mark couldn’t help but laugh.

Heck!  Everyone, within earshot of Craig’s comments, was now chuckling.

Brice somehow managed to maintain his perfectly straight face.  Which he suddenly turned toward his temporary partner.  “I am afraid this new ‘undercover’ policy will only work in theory.  I for one feel—and I think Griesen, here, would agree—that you are simply too good at what you do.  You could never pass yourself off as an innocent by-stander.  The odds of someone—randomly stepping from the crowd and successfully establishing an IV in a nearly collapsed vein—are simply too astronomical.  So, when we get back to the Station, I strongly recommend that you change into your uniform.  I’ll explain to the Captain.  I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Gage realized this must just be Brice’s way of saying he did okay.  He gave Craig a grateful nod, and then said, with a smile, “Thanks!  I’ll be sure to do that!”

Griesen turned to Gage and grinned.  “It must be a real joy, working with someone who has such a great sense of humor!”

John replaced his equipment cases and then watched, as Craig started locking all the compartments back up.  “Yea-eah,” he agreed, his hushed voice filled with sarcasm.  “He’s a regular laugh a minute…”

Mark caught the quiet comment and his grin broadened. “Bye, guys!”

“See yah around, Mark!” John called after him.  Then he turned to his temporary partner.  “Look…when we leave the Squad unprotected, the drug box and bio-phone are with us.”

“True.  But we carry a lot of other valuable supplies and equipment, as well.”

“That is true,” Gage was forced to agree.  “But why are you locking the doors now?  We’re the only ones here! You afraid one of us is gonna steal the equipment?”

“I am merely following Department Regulations.  Department Regulations state that all compartments, on all Rescue Squads, shall be kept locked when not in actual use.”

“When what is not in actual use?  THEY don’t say whether it’s the compartments or the Rescue Squads.”

“They mean the compartments, of course.”

“You sure?  They don’t actually come right out and say ‘the compartments’, now do they…”

“Perhaps not.  But that is what they are inferring to.”

“They may be inferring that to you.  To me they are inferring to when the Rescue Squads are not in actual use.  An’ another thing…If you’re so ‘hep’ on following regulations—to the letter, why did you leave the compartments open after we took out the gear?  Why didn’t you lock them back up when they were no longer in actual use?”

“There was no need, with two police officers standing right—” Brice cut the rest of his remark off and heaved a sigh of resignation.   “Your point is well taken.”

“Great!  Then, we can keep the compartments unlocked?”

His fellow paramedic appeared horrified at the very notion.  “Of course not.  I meant your point about there being no exceptions given in the Department’s regulations.”

Gage stared at Brice in disbelief.  He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the sudden ‘bleep’ ing of their Squad’s radio. 

“Squad 16…What is your status?”

Gage reached into their truck’s open passenger door and grabbed its dash-mounted mic’.  “LA, Squad 16 is available at scene…”

“10-4, Squad 16…Standby for a response…”

John climbed the rest of the way into the truck and closed the door.

Craig slid his body back behind the wheel and his helmet back on his head.

Two seconds later, their Station’s tones sounded.

“Squad 16…Management at the Diamond Groove Disco reports a woman down…unknown cause…1411 West Corey Blvd…cross-streets Nathan and Paris…one-four-one-one West Corey…Ambulance is responding…Time out…23:03”

John jotted the address down on a call slip and then thumbed the radio’s mic’ again.  “10-4, LA…Squad 16 is responding.  Request ETA at our incident of police back-up…” He caught Craig’s questioning glance and shrugged.  “What can I say?  I’m basically a very insecure guy,” he joked, over the sound of their siren.

It was several blocks before the dispatcher finally got back to them. “Squad 16…No police back-up has been dispatched to your scene…No officers are available for routine follow-ups at this time…Authorities advise that you assess your situation thoroughly—for just cause—before requesting police assistance…”

John stared down at the mic’ in his hand.  “Well, now, that’s just great!” he insincerely exclaimed.  “They’ll only come when we need ‘em real bad!  And I want ‘em to come before we need ‘em real bad!”

“Squad 16…Did you copy that last?”

Gage exhaled an exasperated gasp and reluctantly thumbed the call button.  “Squad 16…Roger that, LA.”

Less than five minutes later…

Brice braked Squad 16 to a stop, about fifty feet from the Diamond Groove Disco’s front doors, and cut its siren.

Judging by the long line of people waiting to get inside the club, the Diamond Groove was apparently a real ‘happening’ place to spend New Year’s Eve.

John eyed the rather large, ‘masked and costumed’ rowdy crowd for a couple of seconds. “Pull right up in front of the main entrance,” he nervously requested. “The area has a lot better lighting,” he quickly added, catching his partner’s questioning glance. “A-and I want us to be able to make a fast getaway…if we have to.”

Craig obligingly pulled the truck ahead and then parked it, almost right in front of the club’s main entrance.

The two men bailed out, and one of them waited—impatiently—for the other to unlock the compartments containing their gear.

“There is a medical term for your condition, Gage,” Brice determined, as he began inserting and twisting his key. “Paranoia.”

“I’m just being cautious.”

“Overly cautious,” Craig quickly corrected.

John could feel his BP beginning to rise. “Talk about paranoia! You keep every compartment in the entire Squad locked!… At all times!”

“I am merely following Departmental—”

“—Oh! That’s rich!” Gage angrily interrupted. “When I’m ‘overly cautious’, I’m being paranoid! When you’re ‘overly cautious’, you are merely following Departmental Procedures!” He grabbed some of their gear and then elbowed the empty compartments’ doors closed—rather forcefully. “We-ell? Go ahead. You’d better hurry up and lock ‘em! Lock the front doors, too, while you’re at it. Somebody could steal the call slip! In fact, maybe you should sit out here on the hood—so nobody steals the battery!” The paramedic completed his angry outburst and went stomping past the club’s front door bouncer.

Craig calmly finished locking the Squad’s compartments. Then he picked his equipment up, and followed his complaining partner into the club.

Brice found Gage waiting—impatiently—for him in the entryway.

The two men stepped up to a man behind a counter and requested the where-abouts of the woman in need of medical assistance.

The guy complimented them on the authenticity of their costumes and props, and then informed them that they would have to pay a cover charge of $3.50—each—to get inside.

They assured him that they were the real deal, and that management had summoned them to the club for a real medical emergency.

The man behind the counter remained somewhat skeptical, but—reluctantly—waved them both inside.

The firemen carried their equipment into the club and were immediately assaulted by colorful flashing strobe lights and LOUD pulsating music.

Fittingly, the ‘groovy’ club’s décor was diamonds. The walls were covered with huge, diamond-shaped mirrors. The dance floor’s pulsating tiles were patterned in the shape of diamonds. There were rotating disco balls suspended from the ceiling and even their tiny mirrors were all in the shape of—diamonds.

The dimly lit nightclub was packed to capacity, and the whirling and twirling, and bumping and boogying couples were obviously enjoying the combination New Year’s Eve/Costume party—immensely!

The paramedic’s wove their way over to the bar.

“Did somebody here call the Fire Department?” John half-shouted, to be heard over the blaring, diamond-shaped speaker that was embedded in a nearby wall.

The bartender picked a phone up from behind the bar and pressed a button. His lips moved for a few moments. Then he hung up and nodded to them. “Ladies’ Lounge!” he half-shouted back, and pointed off across the dance floor. “Right down that hallway! Third door on the left!”

They gave the guy a pair of grateful nods and began weaving their way over to the Ladies’ Lounge, getting complimented on the authenticity of their costumes and props, all along the way.

The firemen stepped down the designated hallway and stopped in front of the third door on the left.

John set their drug box and bio-phone on the floor and began knocking. “LA County Fire Department!” he shouted out. “We’re coming in!” he warned and started opening the door.

No one screamed.

So he picked their drug box and base kit back up and stepped into the Ladies’ Lounge.

Craig followed him inside.

The two of them gazed around the Lounge’s elegantly furnished interior for a few silent moments. Then they glanced at each other and exhaled a pair of exasperated gasps.

The plush, red-velvet sofa and four matching lounge chairs were devoid of any victim. In fact, the entire room was empty! There wasn’t a ‘woman down’ anywhere!

They heard a toilet flush and a metal door bang.

There was the sound of water running in a sink and then paper toweling being torn.

A few moments later, an extremely attractive young lady came out of the adjoining washroom, wearing a pair of tight, figure-flattering, faded blue jeans and an old worn T-shirt, tied at the waist. Judging by the bright yellow hard hat perched upon her pretty blonde head and the lunch pail clasped in her delicate left hand, her costume was that of a construction worker.

The girl didn’t act the least bit surprised to find the two firemen standing there. “Hi, fellahs!” she greeted them with a grin. “You’re a little lost, aren’t you?” She stepped up to an ornately framed mirror and set her lunch pail and hard hat down on a ledge. “The only thing burning around here is the dance floor.” She opened the pail, pulled a make-up compact from it and started powdering her nose.

The two fellahs sighed and set their heavy equipment cases down.

“Was there a woman lying down in here when you came in?” Gage suddenly inquired.

The girl gazed at his reflection in the mirror, looking thoughtful. “Yeah. The Bride of Dracula.” She replaced the compact and began brushing her hair. “I remember thinking how she really looked the part…Sorry,” she added, realizing her comment was unkind. “Why? Did you lose your date?”

John glanced around the Ladies’ Lounge. The fireman suddenly felt extremely awkward and out of place. “We…uh…we got a call that a woman was sick…well down…well in need of medical attention…and we were told that she was in here…But she’s not in here…and she probably wasn’t…in need of medical attention, that is.”

The girl found the tall stranger’s obvious embarrassment endearing. She picked her lunch pail/purse up, tossed the hard hat back on her head, and then quickly closed the gap between them. “I tell yah what,” she proposed, latching onto his left hand and giving it a slight squeeze, “if it’ll make you feel any better, you can give me all-all the ‘attention’ you would’ve given her…”

Gage gulped and then glanced at Brice.

Craig rolled his eyes and started reaching for the HT that was strapped to his left wrist.

“My name’s Karen,” the girl introduced. “What’s yours?”

“LA, Squad 16 is available at the scene…Cancel the ambulance.”

John pulled his appendage free and snatched the radio from his partner’s hands. “LA, Squad 16. Correction. Cancel the ambulance, but show us Code 7 at this address. Also, standby for possible request for police back up…”

“10-4, Squad 16…LA standing by…”

Gage handed the HT back to Brice.

Craig was just standing there, in a state of shock and confusion.

John exhaled another exasperated gasp. “Don’t you see? This has gotta be a setup!”

Brice’s confusion gave way to disbelief. “You really are paranoid. We get a ‘no show’ at a disco…and, right away, you assume someone is setting us up?”

“Okay. I admit. I may be mistaken. But I really don’t think so! And we ain’t leavin’ here til we check it out!” Gage slid his helmet and turnout coat off and passed them to his doubting partner. “Can I borrow that?” he asked the pretty miss, and pointed to her hard hat.

The girl was somewhat stunned by the stranger’s new ‘look’. She nodded, rather numbly.

“Thanks!” the paramedic adjusted the hat’s band. Then he tossed it on his head and started heading for the door. “Stay put,” he advised Brice. “And, if I’m not back here in five minutes, call for the back-up!”

Brice headed his rapidly departing partner off at the door. “Where are you going?”

John suddenly recalled Craig’s dry-humored joke from earlier in the evening and smiled, rather wryly. “Undercover,” he teased, and immediately took his leave.

John stepped out into the hall and nearly collided with a young lady dressed as Little Red Riding Hood.

The girl stood there in the hallway, giving him a strange, suspicious stare.

“Uhhh…Sorry,” he apologized, speaking in Spanish.  “I, uh, must a’ opened the wrong door.  Sorry,” he repeated and began backing down the hall.

He reached the end of the hallway and winced, as the LOUD music and pulsating strobe lights assaulted his senses once again.  He heaved a heavy sigh and started weaving his way back across the crowded dance floor.

“Hi!” Gage half-shouted to the guy behind the bar.  “I need to speak to the manager!”

The bartender had a kind a’ funny look on his face. 

The paramedic smiled, as he realized the poor guy was probably trying to figure out why his visitor’s voice sounded so familiar.

The bartender picked up his phone again.  Once more, his lips moved.  He then replaced the phone and nodded—again.

The undercover fireman felt a hand on his shoulder and he was spun, rather forcefully, around.  John suddenly found himself face-to-face with a big, brawny, mean looking dude, wearing a Western outfit, and a bright, shiny Sheriff’s badge. Upon his right hip was a rather large holstered gun—which looked far too real to be a prop. “Upstairs!” the big dude ordered gruffly.

“Uhhh…Can’t we just talk over the phone?”

“Follow me!” the Sheriff said and started heading toward a spiral staircase.

John tipped his hardhat to the bartender and obediently followed after him.

The spiral stairs led to a small cubicle suspended over the bar area.  They reached the top step and a heavy metal door slid open.  John followed the Sheriff into the little cubicle.

A man, with his back turned toward them, was seated at a DJ’s console, watching the club’s partying patrons through an enormous, diamond-shaped, two-way mirror.

The metal door slid shut and there was complete silence in the tiny—apparently soundproof—room.

“There, Arnie!” the guy behind the console suddenly exclaimed, and pointed to a couple out on the dance floor.  “See them?  Romeo and Juliet!  Gawd they’re good!  And graceful, too!”  The man spun his chair around, whipped his headset off and glared—annoyedly—up at the guy in the bright yellow hardhat. “You wanted to see me?”

John nodded.  “Did you call the Fire Department?”

“Yes.  As a matter of fact, I did.  But I can assure you that nothing is burning—” the manager stopped suddenly and turned to the Sheriff.  “Is that fire truck still here?”

Arnie nodded.

The club’s DJ looked outraged.  “Well, find those clowns and tell them to move it!  Right no-ow!  They’re hurting business!”

Arnie gave his boss another nod and turned to leave.

Gage stepped between the lawman and the door, blocking his exit.  “Wait a sec’,” he requested.  Then he leaned to his left, so he could see around Arnie, and addressed the manager once more.  “Why did you put in a call for paramedics?”

“Ahhh, some chick, dressed up like Dracula’s Bride, doubled over on the dance floor.  I didn’t think it was anything serious.  But she insisted that I call the paramedics.  Threatened to sue, if I didn’t—” the manager turned to Arnie again.  “Speaking of paramedics…What are they still doing here, anyway?  I just saw the sick chick leave here with some cowboy, not two minutes ago, looking very healthy—for one of the living dead!”  The DJ turned back to his visitor.  “What’s with the questions?  Who are you?”

“I’m, uh, one of the clowns responsible for parking the fire truck on your front doorstep,” the questioner confessed.

The manager exchanged astonished glances with the Sheriff and then gazed, disbelievingly, at his guest.  “If you’re a fireman, than why aren’t you dressed like one?”

John pulled his wallet from a back pocket and flashed them both his Fire Department badge and I.D. “I’m working a split shift for a friend and I didn’t have time to change.  And, right now, I don’t have time to explain.  I’ve gotta get outside!” He turned toward the door and started searching for a knob.

“Why?” the manager wondered.

“We have reason to believe that we were lured here under false pretenses, for the purpose of being robbed.”

“That’s ridiculous!  Who would ever wanna rob firemen?  You don’t even have anything worth steal—” the DJ halted in mid-sentence.  “You guys carry a lot of drugs, don’t you…”

“We carry small quantities of several different drugs,” the paramedic confessed.

“But enough to help some kids celebrate the New Year, I’ll bet…What do you intend to do about it?”

“I’m going to go check out our Squad.  If there’s a lady vampire, or a cowboy, standing so much as within a hundred feet of it, we’re calling for police assistance.”

“There’s no need to get the cops involved.  Arnie, here, will just go out there and scare them off.”

“We don’t wanna just scare ‘em off.  We want to catch them and stop them from ever trying to pull something like this again,” Gage gave up on the knob and glanced back over his shoulder.  “Can you get the door, here?”

The manager reluctantly pressed a button on the side of his console.

The door slid open and John was hit, full force, by a wall of smoky air and LOUD pulsating music.  “Thanks.  You’ve been a big help!” he called back over his shoulder.  Then he skipped down the spiral stairs, stepped into the swaying crowd of costumed dancers…and disappeared.

“I’m just gonna step out for a breath of fresh air,” Gage explained to the cover charge guy behind the counter.  “But I’m coming right back in.”

The guy nodded, disinterestedly.

John stepped out of the Diamond Groove and onto the still crowded sidewalk.

There was still a rather long line of people waiting—er, hoping to get into the popular nightspot.

The undercover paramedic’s heart about stopped.

A young man, wearing a mask and a cowboy costume, was leaning against their Squad’s front grill, talking to a lady vampire.

John took a few deep breaths of fresh air into his lungs and then sauntered a few feet closer to the street, hoping to catch a little of their conversation.

“Where the hell are they?” he heard the Midnight Cowboy wonder. “They should a’ been out by now…”

“How should I know?  Maybe they fell in?” Drac’s bride bitterly suggested.

The cowboy came up with a suggestion of his own. “I say we go find Gillian and then split.”

 “We’ve waited this long. Let’s just give ‘em a few more minutes…”

Gage had overheard enough—more than enough.  The tired fireman yawned and stretched.  Then he nonchalantly turned back around and leisurely strolled up to the club’s main entrance.

Just as John was about to rejoin the party, someone latched onto him by his right arm and jerked him to a stop.

“$3.50 to get in, buddy!” he heard that someone say.

The fireman turned and found an unfamiliar, unsmiling face glaring at him from behind the entryway counter.  “Look, I already was in.  I just stepped out for some air.”

But the new guy was not buying his story.  He kept a firm grip on the storyteller’s arm and stared down at the back of its attached hand.  “So where’s your stamp?  Everyone who goes in gets a stamp!” he smugly added and squeezed the liar’s arm for emphasis.

John winced in pain and started digging out his wallet.  ‘Why did they have to change shifts NO-OW?’  He removed a five-dollar bill and begrudgingly extended it to the gloating guy. He winced again, as the man moved his vice-like grip to his wrist and his right hand was slammed down on the counter.

The now grinning guy stamped the back of it—very hard. 

Gage grimaced, outright, and promptly pulled his hurting hand back.  The fireman frowned down at the bright blue diamond stamp.  One thing was certain.  Working ‘undercover’ had its advantages…and disadvantages.

The man behind the counter passed him back his change.  “Everyone!”

John gave the guy an annoyed glare and then left…for the Ladies’ Lounge.

John hurried down the hallway, past a lo-ong line of flustered females all waiting to get into the Ladies’ Lounge.

Little Red Riding Hood was the first in line and the girl gave him another strange, suspicious stare.

“I, uh…forgot my plunger,” he explained and attempted to gain access to the Lounge.

“Sorry, but you can’t come in yet!” he heard Craig say.   “The toilets are backed up and we’re still mopping!”

Gage couldn’t help but grin.  “It’s me-e!”

“Ga-age!” Craig exclaimed, relief evident in his voice.

The door opened and John ducked inside.

“What took you so long?”

“Never mind that.  This is definitely a setup. Besides Mrs. Dracula and her cowboy boyfriend, there’s—at least—one other person in on it.  Did you call for the back-up?”

Craig appeared duly contrite and gave his head a reluctant shake.

Gage exhaled a groan of disappointment.  “They’ll get away for sure, no-ow. They can’t understand why it’s taking us so long to leave.  They’re talking about splitting.”

“I decided to give you another minute,” his temporary partner explained.  “But I was just about to call when you arrived.” He turned to Karen.  “Wasn’t I…”

Karen nodded.  “He really was!  Gosh this is so exciting!”

John grabbed the HT from Craig and thumbed its call button.  “LA, Squad 16.  Request police assistance at our location…” He gave his fellow paramedic a glum glance.  “Wish there was a way to keep them here until the back-up arrives…”

 “There may be a way…” Brice thoughtfully determined.  Then he turned to Karen…and smiled…rather deviously.

“10-4, LA.”  John released the call button and lowered their HT.  “Well, I told them to respond Code 3, and to look for a lady vampire and a masked cowboy and—” he paused, looking miserable, “—I’ll bet the cops are thinkin’ we can’t possibly be sober…” He started reaching for his turnout coat and helmet.

His temporary partner stopped him.  “Go back undercover and spread it around that the paramedics will be bringing their victim out shortly.”

John stared at Craig in confusion for a couple of seconds and then turned to Karen.  “Yeah…Yeah!  That just might work!”  He held out his blue diamond stamped hand.  “Give me the keys…”

“Why?”

“Our victim is gonna need a backboard.”

Brice dug the keys out and dropped them into his partner’s open palm.  “You’re not considering going back out there…” he hopefully stated.

“No,” Gage assured him.  “I’ll send the Sheriff.”  He turned and started heading for the door.  “I’ll be back in a minute.”  He glanced at their victim.

The young lady’s lovely blue eyes were sparkling with excitement.

John was forced to smile.  “Be ready to transport.”  That said, he shoved the chair they were using to keep the door closed away, and disappeared out into the hall.

The paramedic cringed as at least a dozen riled, costumed females immediately converged upon him—all demanding to know what was going on in the Ladies’ Lounge.  Gage realized he wasn’t gonna get away without giving them some kind of an explanation.  “Uh-uh, ladies…Ladies? LADIES! Calm down, ladies!”

The ladies quieted down…some.

“Uh-uh…” John decided to go along with Craig’s original story.  “There’s been a plumbing accide—”

“—Yeah!  We know!  We Know!” a feisty redhead dressed as a belly dancer interrupted.  “The toilets are backed up and you’re still mopping…Right?”

“Uh-uh, no. No.  We’ve finished mopping.  But the paramedics are still in there, working on their victim.  They’ll be out in just a minute or two, if you’ll just let me go—so I can get them a backboard out of their Rescue Squad.  See for yourselves,” he invited, as some of the ladies remained highly dubious.  “It’s parked right outside the front door.”

Several of the women admitted to seeing fire truck, all right. 

The skeptics believed them…and began backing off.

John breathed a lo-ong sigh of relief and then made another attempt to leave.  He gasped in exasperation, as he was again held back. 

Little Red Riding Hood had grabbed a hold of his belt. “You forgot your plunger again,” she said rather sweetly.  But then her hazel eyes narrowed into angry slits.  “What have you done to Karen?”

“She’s fine!  Honest!” the forgetful plumber assured her.  Gage could tell—by the look on the girl’s face—that his words had fallen on deaf ears.  “Look, would you like to see for yourself?” he offered and dug his wallet out.

Red looked even more suspicious and confused. The stranger’s true identity was inconsistent with how he was attired.  “You bet I would!”

Gage stepped back up to the door.  “Brice!  Open up!”

The portal opened a crack.  “Where’s the backboard?” Craig inquired, upon noting John’s empty hands.

“Don’t ask.  This lady, here, would like to talk to your victim.”

“All right,” Brice grabbed the girl by the arm and pulled her into the Lounge.  “But not for long.  She’s very weak.”

The door closed.

Gage managed an amused gasp.  Then he turned and hurried off down the hall.

Craig shoved the chair back in front of the door and then escorted Red over to his victim’s side.  “Karen?  Karen!  You have a visitor…”

Karen was lying, motionless, on the sofa.  She emitted a pitiful moan and forced her eyes open a crack.  Her peepers suddenly snapped fully open and she propped herself up on her elbows. “Hi, Nance!”

‘Nance’ was too stunned to return her friend’s cheerful greeting.  “Karen, what is going on around here?”  She studied her friend’s heavily bandaged left leg…and the IV tubing taped to her friend’s right wrist.  “You were gone so long, I was beginning to think you must a’ fell in!  So I decided to come and rescue you.  But these two firemen beat me to it.  Then this Spanish guy, who ain’t really Spanish, comes out—wearing your hardhat! Then you keep the door shut and tell everybody the toilets are backed up!  Then the guy in the hardhat comes back for his plunger!  Then he comes out—without it—and says there’s been a terrible accide—”

“—Oh, Nance!  It’s all a put on!  None of this is real!” Karen held up her right wrist.  “See?  No needle!  Just a lot a’ tubing and tape and bandages!  I’m helping these two—really cool—undercover firemen catch a gang of notorious ‘dope fiends’!”

The ‘really cool’ fireman winced and shuddered and then placed an oxygen mask over his victim’s nose and mouth—especially her mouth.  “I’m afraid there’s been a BIG misunderstanding…”

John made it back to the Lounge in less than three minutes. He carted the backboard into the room and set it down on the carpeted floor beside the sofa. “Well, I spread it around. And I had Arnie spread it outside, too. He says the cowboy is still standing in front of the Squad.”

His partner seemed pleased. “What do you think?” he inquired and motioned to his finished product.

Gage stared down at their heavily bandaged victim, his facial expression a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “It’s a bit thick. Isn’t it?”

“Well, we have been in here a lo-ong time,” Brice reminded him.

His partner’s slight smile graduated into a grin. “I gue-uess…”

The paramedics placed Karen down on the backboard and then proceeded to completely immobilize her.

John suddenly realized that their victim’s friend’s right arm was in a sling.

“Your plumbing accident has claimed another victim,” Red explained.

“Good news!” Gage announced, stepping up to the girl and sliding her arm from the sling. “You’ve just experienced a miraculous cure! And it’s a lucky thing, too. Because, with the two of us on the backboard, we’re gonna be needin’ both of your arms to carry our equipment.”

The girl’s pretty face filled with disappointment.

“Here,” the paramedic rearranged the sling into an impressive looking head wrap and then ushered her up to a mirror. “You fell…again…and now have a severe scalp laceration.”

Red took the news surprisingly well. In fact, she appeared to be downright delighted.

John just had to smile. His smile suddenly vanished and he turned in Craig’s direction, as the handheld radio that was strapped to his wrist began to ‘bleep’.

“Squad 16…Be advised…Police back-up is now at your location…Officers on scene request you delay your departure until they can get into position…”

“10-4, LA. Squad 16 delaying departure,” Brice replied and began piling gear onto the backboard with their victim. He handed Nance their trauma kit and bio-phone.

“Gosh! These are heavier than they look!” Nance complained.

Gage placed the hardhat and lunch pail down on the board and then slid his turnout coat and helmet back on. He placed their victim’s IV packet between his teeth and then stooped down to pick up the foot of the backboard.

Brice crouched down and latched onto its opposite end.

“On two,” John told him, through clenched teeth. “One…two.”

They raised the backboard off the floor, and themselves to their feet.

Gage got himself turned around and then led the way over to the door.

Nance set the bio-phone on the floor, so she could shove the chair aside and hold the Lounge door open for them.

The ‘ladies in waiting’ gasped in horror as the paramedics exited the Lounge with their victims. Their ‘How is she?’s and ‘What happened?’s filled the crowded hall.

John was saved from having to reply, by the IV packet he’d strategically stuck between his teeth. He suppressed a grin and listened, as his partner patiently explained how the two ladies slipped on the wet floor, after the toilets backed up.

Craig went on to truthfully announce that both girls would soon be just fine, and that the Ladies’ Lounge had been officially certified as being perfectly safe and dry.

The waiting ladies were tremendously relieved to hear the news. Especially that last part, about the Lounge. Everybody suddenly started heading for the washroom—and more pressing matters.

The paramedics’ little procession reached the end of the long hallway. The two men watched, as a sudden wave of frigidity rolled over the swaying, costumed couples.

The dancers stopped moving and started parting, providing them with a wide—and perfect—path to the exit.

John took very short, deliberate—er, delaying steps and realized their slow and solemn exodus probably resembled a funeral procession.

The firemen left the dance floor and stepped into the club’s exit/entryway.

John brought their little procession to a halt in front of the counter, and then stood there, hesitating to go any further.

The cover charge guy’s jaw went slack, as he saw how the ‘liar’ in the bright yellow hardhat and white shirt was now dressed.

Gage gave the gaping-mouthed man another annoyed glare. “Not everyone,” he taunted, through tightly clenched teeth. Then he glanced back over his left shoulder. “They don’t expect us to actually go out there? Do they?”

“They evidently intend to catch them in the act,” his partner calmly replied.

John’s eyes widened and he gritted his already clenched teeth even harder. “In the act of doing wha-at? We sure can’t take these two out there!”

Both girls voiced their determination to ‘see this thing through to the end’.

“C’mon!” Karen urged, her voice somewhat muffled by her oxygen mask. “Let’s get out there and nail ‘em!”

Her supporters were both amazed and amused.

“Okay. You, we’ll take,” the lead fireman informed their victim. Then he turned to their equipment carrier. “You-ou, stay put!”

Nance looked tremendously disappointed, but nodded her compliance to his order.

The backboard toting paramedics reluctantly exited the nightclub and stepped out onto the crowded sidewalk.

The masked cowboy stiffened suddenly and then made a mad dash—straight for their drug box.

A plain-clothes officer attempted to cut the assailant off, but the cowboy had built up such a tremendous head of steam, he just blew right on by the guy—and snatched up the drug box.

The plain-clothes policeman was spun completely around and ended up plowing right into the lead paramedic’s solar plexus.

Gage gasped, as the air was forcefully expelled from his lungs, and he was knocked to his knees. The IV packet fell from his mouth and his face filled with a grimace.

Police were now everywhere—shouting out warnings and orders, scuffling with suspects in the shadows…and checking on fallen firemen.

“You two—er, three okay?” another plain-clothes officer anxiously inquired.

The first one had scrambled back onto his feet and gone racing off after the drug box thief.

“Yes. No thanks to you-ou!” Craig smartly replied and slowly lowered his end of the backboard to the sidewalk.

“There’s no law against ‘standing around fire trucks’,” the policeman reminded the upset paramedic.

Brice’s attention suddenly turned to Gage.

His silent partner was still kneeling on the sidewalk and his hands were still holding onto the backboard. John still hadn’t spoken, because his wind still hadn’t returned.

Craig crouched in front of his fallen comrade and placed his steadying hands upon his hunched over shoulders. “Will you be breathing anytime soon?”

His perfectly calm question transformed Gage’s grimace into a grin.

John gave his concerned associate a grateful nod and then gently set the backboard down on the sidewalk. The paramedic’s breath eventually returned, in several sharply inhaled, and exceedingly painful, gasps.

“Lieutenant Bristol, LAPD,” the plain-clothes officer introduced and extended a hand.

“Brice,” Craig stiffly acknowledged. The still unhappy fireman stood just as stiffly. Then he reluctantly took and shook the policeman’s proffered appendage.

“Gage,” his partner replied. John accepted the officer’s re-extended hand and was hauled up onto his feet.

All heads turned, as two uniformed officers dragged their kicking and squirming handcuffed suspects out of the shadows and into the streetlights’ eerie glow.

John saw that there was a fourth member of the gang, and that he was fittingly costumed as ‘Count Dracula’.

The arresting officers got their first good glimpse of their suspects.

“No-ow,” one of them began, “this is what I call a real ‘blood-thirsty’ pair of criminals!”

Gage suppressed a grin and turned to his partner. He saw that Craig had Karen un-immobilized. He stooped and pulled the oxygen mask from their victim's pretty face. “You sure you’re okay?”

The girl grinned and nodded. “I’m sure! Gosh! That was so-o exciting!” She propped herself up on her elbows and stared off down the dark sidewalk. “I hope they catch that cowboy! My wallet and car keys are in that box!”

John gave his partner a confused, questioning look.

Craig calmly picked the lunch pail up and opened it.

Gage stared disbelievingly down at all the drug bottles it contained. His gaze returned to his impressive partner and he flashed him an appreciative smile.

“I don’t believe in leaving anything to chance,” Craig modestly explained, and gave the Lieutenant another annoyed glance.

John’s appreciative smile broadened into an appreciative grin.

The other plain-clothes officer came scuffling back up to the Squad, half-dragging and half-carrying the handcuffed cowboy. “The posse never would a’ caught ‘im,” he breathlessly began, “if he hadn’t a’ tripped on his spurs!”

Everybody within earshot grinned and snickered—with the exception of the cowboy’s two accomplices, of course.

Karen was delighted to see that the cop had also managed to recover the stolen drug box.

Speaking of almost getting away…

John suddenly recalled that there was one gang member missing from the police roundup. He shed his coat and helmet, snatched up Karen’s hardhat and began heading for the club.

“Whoa-oah!” the Lieutenant urged, latching on to the fleeing fireman’s? arm. “Where are you going?”

“I need to speak to the manager!”

“Let him go!” Karen pleaded and pulled the policeman’s hand from John’s arm. “He’s working undercover!” She gulped and flashed the fireman an apologetic smile. “Gosh! I’m so-o sorry! That’s supposed to be a secret, isn’t it…”

The undercover fireman gasped in frustration. “Look, I’ll explain everything when I get back!” he promised. Then he turned and disappeared into the club.

Nance carried the paramedics’ heavy equipment cases over to their Rescue Squad and set them down on the sidewalk. She saw the suspects that had been taken into custody and turned to her companion. “Notorious dope fiends?” she incredulously inquired. “They’re just kids!”

“Yea-eah,” one of the uniformed officers agreed, his voice oozing sarcasm. “But they’ve been very naughty tonight. So we had to take away their toys.” He held up a .22 caliber handgun and an extremely sharp looking knife.

Nance gazed at the lethal weapons for a few moments. Then she glanced back at the innocent-looking ‘kids’, and gulped.

Brice swallowed hard and then stood there, feeling somewhat queasy.

John waved his bright blue diamond stamp in the guy behind the counter’s face and stepped nonchalantly back into the nightclub.

Although the music was blaring just as lively and LOUDLY as ever, the costumed couples no longer felt much like dancing.

Gage felt a little guilty about that as he made his way back over to the bar.

The fireman held a brief, half-shouted conference with the bartender, who then placed a quick call to his boss.

The barkeep’s lips moved.  Then he replaced the phone’s handset and leaned over the bar.  “He says a lady magician has been staring at the front entrance, ever since you two clowns came out and crashed the party!”

The paramedic looked appropriately apologetic and began backing away from the bar.

John spotted their ‘missing suspect’ almost immediately.

‘Gillian’ wasn’t the only patron wearing a magician’s costume.  But she was the only lady magician who couldn’t seem to take her anxious eyes off the club’s front entrance.

Gage saw the Sheriff standing at the base of the spiral staircase, and hurried up to him.  “Tell Lieutenant Bristol that there is a fourth ‘dope fiend’!  Her first name’s Gillian and she’s wearing a magician’s costume!”  He’d been keeping one eye on the girl the entire time.  Which is why he noticed her suddenly turn and bolt for the EMERGENCY EXIT at the back of the room.  “Hurry!  She’s getting away!”

Arnie headed for the front entrance.

John headed for the back exit.

In hindsight, it would probably have been much wiser for the two men to have reversed directions.

Security alarms began sounding, as the lady magician blew through the emergency fire exit and out into the alley.

The paramedic went dashing out the same door, just seconds behind her.

The fireman tackled the fleeing female from behind, and the pair went rolling across the dirty, damp alley that ran in back of the building. 

The disco’s fire exit door closed, and John suddenly found himself grappling with the black-costumed girl—in total darkness. 

‘What if she’s armed?’ the paramedic suddenly pondered, about three brash actions too late.  ‘You’ve slowed her down.  Let the police handle it from here.’  He released his grip on the invisible young lady. 

Gillian started scrambling to her feet.

Instead of trying to stop her, the fireman began crawling back over to the nightclub’s EMERGENCY EXIT, hoping to place a ‘safe’ distance between the two of them.  Gage grunted and groaned involuntarily, as the feisty female proceeded to give him a good swift kick in his already tenderized ribs.  He groaned again, mentally, as he realized that—even in such poor lighting conditions—his bright, white shirt must make for a pretty damn good target. 

Things suddenly grew even gloomier for John Gage when the woman draped her long black cloak over the fireman’s head and began whacking him on the top of his hardhat with her magic wand.

Between ‘thwacks’ the paramedic could hear the sound of running footsteps—approaching from both ends of the pitch-black back alley.  He decided to ‘play dead’. At least, until all the guns—and suspects—were put away.  So he slumped—face down—onto the cool, damp pavement and then lay there…perfectly still.

The footsteps drew closer and closer and finally stopped, just a few feet from his head.  “POLICE!  Don’t move!  You’re under arrest!”

Gage managed a gasp of relief and started to pull the long black cloak from his head.

“I said FREEZE!” the policeman ordered icily.

The fireman FROZE.  “Uh-uh…You got the WRONG guy!”

“I can see every move you make!” the cop continued. “And I’m warning you!  You make another one…and it’ll be your LAST!”

John swallowed hard and lay there, feeling almost too scared to even breathe.

“I’ve got him covered.  Check ‘im out, Denny…and be careful!  The others were armed!”

“I’m a paramedic with the Los Angeles County Fire Department,” their suspect tried to explain, as the cloak was pulled from his head.  His arms were wrenched back and his hands were folded onto the back of his head.

“Su-ure you are,” the officer frisking him taunted, “and we’re with the Russian Ballet!”  The cop pulled several items from a leather holster on their suspect’s belt.  “Nasty!  Very nasty!  Not your usual weapons, but lethal—all the same!”

“What are you talking about?” the paramedic demanded.  “I’m not carrying any ‘weapons’!  Lethal or otherwise!  I’m tellin’ yah, you’re making a HU-UGE mistake!  Please?  Just check my wallet!  Check my badge and I.D.!  You’ll see!  I’m tellin’ yah the TRUTH!”

The officer pulled the wallet from their suspect’s pants’ pocket and passed it back to his partner.

John squinted, as a bright beam of light was suddenly shone in his face.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” the light shiner quietly exclaimed.  “We DO got the WRONG guy!”

The paramedic exhaled an audible sigh of relief and untensed.

“B-Bu-ut…” Denny stammered, “we came in from BOTH ends of the alley!  He can’t be the WRONG guy!  There’s nobody else out here!”

John shoved the flashlight out of his face. “Look…kin I get up now?”

“Sure!  Help him up, Ben.”

Ben lowered his drawn weapon and obligingly assisted their former suspect to his feet—er, his unsteady feet.  “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Gage replied—er, lied. The fireman was a far cry from ‘okay’.

In just the past thirty-eight hours, the sleep-deprived paramedic had been:

Trapped in a burning building—twice!

Shoved off a cliff

Chased by an angry Doberman

Forced to take part in a chest-compression marathon

Screamed at for twenty minutes

Given a plain-clothes police officer’s version of the Heimlich Maneuver

Kicked in the ribs

Whacked over the head with a magic wand

A-and scared half to death, by a couple a’ trigger happy cops—who had just threatened to blow his bloody brains out!

And those were just the highlights!

The firefighter braced his weary body against a trash bin and silently vowed that he would never chase another purse-snatcher, ‘dope fiend’—or any criminal of any kind—EVER again!

“I don’t get it…” Ben flashed his light’s bright beam up and down the alley. “Where could he have gone?”

“He’s a magician, ain’t he?” Denny reminded him.  “Maybe he pulled a vanishing act?”

“He’s a SHE,” John corrected.  “And she has to be here.  I would’ve heard her lea—” he stopped talking and started tapping the trash bin he’d been leaning upon.  He picked the magician’s cape and wand up.  He draped the black cloak over the bin and then tapped its lid three times with the wand.  “Hocus pocus!  I’ll bet yah a million…that when you open this lid…you will find Gillian!” 

Light flooded out into the alley, as Arnie suddenly threw the EMERGENCY EXIT door open.

John passed the magic wand to Denny.  “Funny, you guys don’t sound Russian.” That said, the Los Angeles County Fire Department paramedic spun on his heels and disappeared, himself—back inside the discotheque.

TBC in Part II