Helmets, Hooks And Turnabout

Part 2

Monday morning dawned bright and clear. The men of 51’s A- shift drifted in to replace the men of C-shift. Each man was given an update on conditions while they had been off. No coats or other gear had been taken, and no fireman had been injured.

As the C-shift crew left, the klaxons sounded. The men of A-shift scrambled to the trucks and were ready to roll by the time Captain Stanley had acknowledged the call.

The structure was small; barely the size of a storage shed, but the black smoke and the stench that came from the building alerted the firemen that at least one body would be found.

Captain Stanley waved the paramedics back. “Don’t bother. There’s nothing you can do. I’ll contact LA and have the police sent out.”

“Right, Cap,” Roy acknowledged for both of them.

“Head on back to the station, men. We’ll not be very long behind you.” Hank walked away.

“Come on, Junior. You heard the man.” Roy tapped his partner on the shoulder. When he received no reply he turned to see what was holding the dark haired paramedic’s attention.

Johnny was staring at a group of trees lining the driveway of the home where the shed had burned. He took two steps toward the trees, then stopped as a man charged from his hiding place and jumped the captain.

A blood-chilling scream sliced through the morning calm. Hank turned at the sound. The man knocked Hank to the ground. The glint of sun on metal blinded the captain temporarily. When his attacker shifted, Hank saw the knife and raised his hand to ward the blow he could see coming.

Yells and pounding feet alerted the attacker to help arriving for his victim. He sliced downward once and jumped up to flee. Hank made a grab for the man. Cold metal sliced at his hand. The thick gloves he wore saved him from a life-threatening wound.

Johnny ran after the attacker while the rest of A-shift went to help their captain.

“Roy, go stop Johnny! That man has a knife and he knows how to use it!” Hank ordered the paramedic. “Go on, I’m not hurt!”

Roy nodded and headed in the direction he had last seen his partner and the man go. He had not gone far when Johnny walked up to him, huffing and blowing. A small scratch above his left eye was bleeding.

“He cut you?” Roy asked with concern.

“No,” Johnny puffed. “He cut through some trees and I got slapped in the face. I saw him get in the same car I saw driving away the day Cap’s turnout was stolen.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

“Not really. I know he is partially bald and has a bad limp. If he hadn’t cut through those trees I would have caught him!”

“And you would have been hurt worse than a scratch. Cap said he had a knife and wasn’t afraid to use it!”

“Man, we gotta catch this nut!”

“Let’s leave that to the police. Come on, I think Cap may actually be hurt. He wouldn’t let me near him until I came after you.”

The two ran back to the scene of the attack. Captain Stanley was sitting on the bumper of the squad. He was holding his arm against his chest. A grimace of pain crossed his face. Hank was talking with Detective Crockett as they walked up. With a quick nod of acknowledgement Johnny turned to the captain.

“Let me see your arm, Cap!” Johnny said as Roy pulled their gear from the squad.

“I don’t think he cut my arm with that knife. There’s no bleeding. But his grip sure made the original injury hurt.”

“Let’s take a look, just to be safe.” Roy backed his partner.

Hank submitted to the quick exam. Johnny pulled the glove from his captain’s hand and whistled long and low.

“Look at this! It’s a good thing you had these on, Cap!” Johnny showed the men the glove that was almost cut in half.

“I don’t see any damage. Flex your hand and move your fingers for me, Cap.” Roy ordered.

Once the paramedics were satisfied their captain had sustained no injury; the men quickly cleaned the area of their supplies and headed back to the station.

Detective Crockett was waiting for the men’s return. McConnike walked from the office and watched as the men filed into the day room.

“Sheesh, man, how’d you get back here before us?” Johnny asked the burley detective.

“I left the arson crew and forensic team in charge. I wanted to check up on Hank. How bad did he get you?”

“He cut my glove, nothing else.” Hank slid his hand deep into his pocket. His arm was still throbbing a little, and a new bruise was starting to form.

“Something wrong with your hand, Hank?” McConnike asked, noticing the movement.

“Aw, no, sir. Just the old injury hurting a little.” He removed his hand from his pocket and held them behind him in a simulated relaxed stance. The move did not fool the Battalion Chief, who looked to the two paramedics still standing in the doorway.

“Roy, is Hank okay to work? I know he just got stitches out from an earlier injury, but if he has been re-injured, I can call in a replacement.”

“He appears to be fine. His arm may hurt a bit from the rough handling.” Hank gave Roy a look of appreciation.

“Well, if you need a replacement, don’t hesitate to let me now. I’ll be getting back to headquarters. I’ll be in touch.

“Ron, good to see you again, although I could wish for better circumstances.” McConnike shook hands all around and hastened from the station.

Detective Crockett watched as the chief left. He turned to the waiting crew of A-shift.

“Let’s have a talk.”

The men gathered around the table and answered the questions the detective had prepared. Once the formalities were complete Roy filled him in on Johnny’s adventure. Ron eyed the tall lanky paramedic.

“Did you get a good look at him, or the vehicle he was driving?”

“All I can tell you is that he is about as tall as me, has a bad leg, right one, I think, and drives an old Cadillac. In between the rust spots you can see some light green paint.”

“You still couldn’t make out the license number on his tag?” Crockett was scribbling notes rapidly. He looked up when the paramedic did not answer immediately.

Johnny was staring into space, his brow wrinkled in concentration. “I think the first two letters of the tag were ML, something and the last number was either a three or an eight.” He shrugged in frustration. “It was pretty much coated with mud and grass.”

“Did you see the color of the mud? Was it red or dark brown? Did it flake off as he drove away like paper, or sift down like fine sand after it was dried?” Crockett fired the questions at the junior paramedic.

“I don’t recall,” Johnny answered, anger tinged his voice, then quickly faded as he recalled another detail. “It was a reddish-brown mixture, almost like it had been deliberately put on the tag. Long stemmed grass was hanging from the bottom of the bumper!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! Some of it fell off when he took off. It landed right next to the curb!”

“Great! This may be a good break for us! What was the street name?”

“Elm and Gordon, right by the stand of cactus in the rock garden by the curb.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll go now! Hopefully it’s still there!” Crockett snapped his notebook closed and barreled from the station.

“Man, people sure come and go quickly around here!” Chet muttered as he walked from the day room and headed for the dorms.

The remainder of the shift, while busy for both engine and squad; was uneventful compared to the beginning of the day.

~*~*~

He grumbled and mumbled in his sleep. A snarl escaped from lips tightly drawn against teeth stained with tobacco. He flopped over to his back, then again to his side. Dreams made him twitch and jerk. One face kept looming in his dreams. He had to get him! The coat would be no good if he did not do some serious damage to the man.

With a jerk, Jimmy sat up and looked around. The room remained in twilight. His dreams began to fade as he became more awake. Angrily he tossed aside the covers that were tangled around his legs. He stomped to the bathroom and splashed water on his dirty face.

He looked at the faded and torn news story he had taped to the mirror. His sister had died because of him. He felt guilt eating at his mind. She had firmly believed it had been him that was down in the sub-basement of the building that had collapsed. He sighed and left the small room.

He paused and looked with pride at the collection he had begun once more. When Tracy thought he was dead she had returned all the coats and other fire equipment he had managed to collect. He had waited, biding his time, until the fire department had decided that the person responsible for the thefts was indeed, dead.

Sixteen hooks lined the wall. All sixteen had a coat and helmet hanging from it. The seventeenth hook remained empty. He had meant to collect only seven coats and helmets, to replace those lost in the cave-in, but the game had gotten out of hand, and now he had more than he really wanted.

This last one was proving to be more difficult to collect than the others were. Each time he tried to finish the job, someone, or something ruined his perfect plan.

Anger boiled over once more. He struck out with his meaty fist and knocked another hole in the wall. Blood oozed from a deep cut along the knuckles, but he just laughed and licked it clean.

Two more days and he would again try to finish the job he had started. Why this one particular man was so hard to kill, was beyond him.

He looked at the coats and helmets once more. With an insane giggle, he grabbed a shovel and left the room.

~*~*~

Hank sat in his office. His two days off had been spent trying to find where Candy had been buried. He finally was able to get the information when he cornered Dixie McCall and asked for her help.

She had contacted the morgue and they had given her the number of the funeral home where Candy’s body had been sent.

Her body had been shipped back to Texas and buried beside those of her parents. Hank had never heard of Canton, or of any of the cities near it, but the florist he contacted had assured him that flowers would be delivered and placed on the grave, since no services were held.

He sighed, then pulled the logbook to him. He quickly scanned the entries, made a few notes, then rose to greet the men at roll call.

Laughter filtered from the locker room. Chet’s voice rose in defense of an accusation then was followed by a loud shout from Johnny, who had been hit by a water bomb. Chet flew from the area with a smirk and a laugh. Hot on his heels came the younger paramedic, calling threats of revenge. Hank shook his head. “What a zoo!” he thought with a grin.

“Roll call in five, gentlemen!”

Johnny shot back through the truck bay and into the locker room. Roy dodged as he flew through the door. Mike and Marco exited the room laughing at Johnny’s antics and mutterings.

The men stood at attention in line, one man short. Suddenly Johnny slid around the squad and fell in to place, bumping Roy, who gave him a look of irritation. Johnny shrugged and gave a lopsided grin.

“Glad you could join us, Gage.” Hank looked down at his clipboard to hide his grin. “And since the one who caused your tardiness is still smirking, he gets latrine duty.”

“Cap! I had it last time!” Chet whined.

“And you’ll have it again, if you keep it up, Tinkerbell.”

The men snickered and snorted. Hank gave them all a stern look, but the twinkle in his eyes belied the stern expression. Chet turned red, but refrained from replying.

“Okay, today we have a chemical rescue drill at the studios. We need to have chores done by ten thirty. Roy, you and Johnny are to go to Rampart and get supplies while we finish up here. You’re to meet us at the sight.

“Marco, you’re cooking today. Mike, you’re backup chef.

“Roy, you have the dorms. Johnny, you have the truck bay. Marco, since you’re cooking, you get the day room. Chet knows his assignment. Mike, you get to do logbook duty.”

Mike sighed, but said nothing. He hated doing the logbook!

“Any questions? No? Okay. Let’s get to work. Roy, could I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure, Cap.” Roy followed the captain to his office. Hank motioned for him to close the door.

“Hey, what’s Roy done to get called in?” Chet wanted to know.

“How should I know? I haven’t even said ‘morning’ to him.” Johnny stalked away and pulled mop bucket, mop and broom from the supply cabinet. A few minutes later Roy walked past, lost in thought.

On their way to Rampart Johnny sat and watched his partner silently. Finally his curiosity got the best of him and he asked, “What’d Cap want this morning?”

“Hum? Oh. Nothing, he just needed a little advice. I gave him my opinion.”

“Advice on what?”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself. But, I wouldn’t push it. He’s still pretty tore up over Candy’s death.”

“Then it had something to do with her? You might as well spill it. I’ll find out anyway.”

“Not from me, you won’t.”

Johnny snorted, then retreated back into the friendly silence they often shared.

Once at Rampart, they quickly re-supplied the squad then headed for the movie studios where the drill was to take place. The engine crews were just arriving as they pulled up. Stations 24, 110 and 51 were participating in the exercise.

McConnike met with the Captains at the curbside and gave them the necessary instructions concerning the drill.

“You’re to be prepared to combat three different types of chemicals. Two of them you’ve had dealings with before. The third is new and we don’t know how it will react to the equipment and supplies on hand.” He turned to the paramedics. “You two will stand by in case of an accident. I want communication to the hospital open and ready. They know we’ll be contacting them and are prepared should anything unexpected happen.”

Roy and Johnny went about getting a triage area set up. Johnny contacted Rampart and had them standing by. They joined their crew mates once the preparations were complete.

“Okay men. Your captains have briefed you. Let’s get this show on the road!” McConnike walked away and prepared to give the signal for the exercise to begin. With a nod and a whistle, the men were put to work, testing their skills and knowledge.

For the first hour all went well. The chemicals were tested for the different types of ways they would react to foam, water and dry powder. The men were ready for the last chemical to be released into the special holding container when a shout went up.

All eyes turned to the source of the cry, but no one was in view. Roy and Johnny ran to the place where their captain had been standing.

“Cap!” Roy shouted. Johnny ran to the other side of the engine. The grinding of gears alerted him to the car that was suddenly barreling down on him. He jumped aside, hitting the door of the big engine. Roy caught him before he hit the ground.

Gravel and small shards of glass spewed from under the car’s wheels. The man driving had a gun pointed out the window, he fired once, making all those around fall to the ground. With a laugh filled with madness, he spun his wheels then pulled sharply away.

“Johnny! Johnny, are you all right?” Roy checked his partner over. A large swelling was growing on his left temple.

“I’m okay! Where’s Cap?” Johnny swatted at Roy’s hand when he tried to check the welt forming on his head.

“Roy?” McConnike ran up to the paramedic. “Is he going to be okay? Was he hit by the bullet?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think he just hit his head on the door. What about Captain Stanley? That guy must have him in the car!”

“The police have been called. Take care of your partner. I think this exercise is over for now.” He walked away and spoke to the other crews from stations 110 and 24. Within minutes the sight was cleared of equipment.

Three police cruisers screeched to a halt beside the Battalion Chief’s car. Detective Crockett and two other policemen ran to the scene. McConnike immediately began to give them the details of the events that had just occurred.

The men returned to the station and sat around waiting. McConnike entered the day room and saw the gloomy faces. He sighed.

“We’ll have a replacement here shortly. Until then the station will stand down.”

“Does this feel like a repeat situation to anyone besides me?” Chet asked the silent group.

“Yeah, deja vue,” Mike Stoker answered.

All heads raised and looks of apprehension greeted the two paramedics as they walked through the door. A general sigh of relief escaped them as Johnny’s tall lanky form filled the doorway.

“I guess you being here means that hard head of yours isn’t broken?” Chet tried to tease.

“Nah, just a bump. All I have is a headache that some aspirin will take care of.” Johnny crossed to the cabinets and took down a glass. He filled it partially then took an aspirin bottle from his pocket and swallowed two of the small tablets.

“I’m still surprised that door didn’t knock you out!” Marco said with a grin. “I guess that head of yours is a lot harder than I thought possible.”

“Gee, thanks Marco. Nothing like a good friend to cheer you up. Has anyone heard anything about Cap?"

“Rest assured, men, when word is heard, we’ll be told!” a new voice said from the truck bay. A low moan came from the men in the day room. Captain Hookraider strode through the door.

“Why don’t we do some cleaning of equipment to get our minds off the problem, gentlemen?”

The men rose from their seats without a word and headed for the truck bay. Cleaning rags, polish and other paraphernalia were collected as they began the arduous task of cleaning both vehicles to Hookraider’s satisfaction.

~*~*~

Hank sat up and blinked. It was twilight, and cold here, wherever here was. He stretched out his hands and felt around the floor. He was sitting on an old mattress with a smelly blanket. A sense of deja vue set in. He reached up to feel his head, but there was no blood. Something in his pocket pressed against his side. He reached in and pulled out a flashlight.

Quickly he flipped the switch and instantly recoiled at the sight before him. Hanging on the wall was six coats and six helmets; and an empty seventh hook! His feeling of deja vue settled deeper on him. Dread filled his gut. He rose from where he had been laying and flashed the beam of light around.

He quickly realized he was once more in a hole, only this one was small and cramped. No moisture dotted the walls. Looking up he saw a piece of plywood covering the opening.

“Hello! Is anyone there? Hello!” He waited, thinking he had heard someone moving around. “Hello! Is someone up there? Can you hear me?”

A giggle filtered down to him. A high-pitched voice answered, “You’re back where you belong! You should never have been taken from the hole! You should have died!”

A chill ran up his spine. The voice was tinged with hysteria. Hank tried to climb the wall, but only succeeded in bring more dirt down on top of himself. The giggle was repeated.

“Would you like to get out, little man?” A shadow passed over the only light available. “If you had not interfered my sister would still be alive!”

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” Hank wanted desperately to keep the person talking until someone saw or heard him and came to investigate.

“Oh, think about it, little Fire Captain! You will know!” A savage snarl followed the statement and a new voice took over.

“You should have just shot him! Why did you have to bring him here? Now you have ruined everything!”

“No! No! I didn’t want to kill him!” the original voice had returned.

“You idiot! Now we will have to hurry! It won’t take them long to figure out where he is, then we will be caught! I should strangle you right here!”

A hysterical laugh filled the air. “If you do that then you can’t finish the game!”

“Let’s get out of here, now!”

“Wait! Who are you? Why are you holding me here?” Hank jumped, trying to reach the top, but the hole was too deep.

The footsteps faded as the two men left. Hank swore under his breath. Something nagged his mind. He turned off the flashlight in order to conserve the batteries. He sat on the mattress and tried to think about the things he had heard.

“His sister had died? Six coats, seven hooks. Oh, man! It was Jimmy! It had to be! Then, who had died in the collapse?” Hank leaned against the dirt wall. The twilight of his prison was rapidly getting darker. It was also getting colder. In the distance came the sound of thunder. “Great, all I need is for it to rain!”

Hank had no idea how long he had been in the hole. He had counted at least two twilight times before his stomach began to do more than just growl at him. Cramps hit hard and fast. The bucket that had been sent down to him was gone. Presumably it would be returned before he needed it again. What he really wanted was out, then food!

The board moved. Dirt rained down on him. Hank ducked his head, trying to protect it from any large debris that might fall.

“Here’s some food, Mr. Fireman!” A small package fell at his feet. “Here’s some water, too! Oh, and your potty!” A laugh followed the last statement and the bucket dropped to the dirt floor. At least it had been cleaned. “It’s just too bad you aren’t the one I originally wanted!”

“Who are you? What’s the deal? Jimmy, I didn’t kill your sister!” Hank called up to the dirt-covered face that was peering into the hole.

“It’s your fault, Mr. Fireman! You killed my sister! You ruined the game!” The board fell back into place and dirt was scratched over it.

Hank sighed, then unwrapped the small package of food. A dry peanut butter sandwich and a stale bag of chips were inside. Anything was better than nothing he decided, biting into the sandwich.

Something woke him. A sound, different from what he was used to, came from above. Hank listened. Digging sounds penetrated the layer of dirt and plywood. A whine and more digging reached his ears.

“Come on, boy! Keep digging!” Hank called.

The digging became frantic. Hank egged the dog to a greater frenzy. Suddenly the digging stopped and Hank nearly cried out in disappointment when he heard Jimmy’s voice chasing the dog away. A few minutes later he heard the dirt being replaced.

Hank shivered and sneezed. His turnout coat was heavy with moisture from the rain that had fallen the previous day. The floor to his prison was churned mud and the mattress was soaked. He briefly thought about exchanging his coat for one of those hanging, but quickly decided against it. The last thing he wanted to see was his coat hanging along side those already there.

“What was the ‘game’ Jimmy kept talking about? How did it involve the coats and helmets? Why was ‘he’ the one chosen to be next?” The questions kept coming, but he had no answers.

“Oh Mr. Fireman!” Jimmy’s voice called down through the cover of his prison. “Are you ready to die?”

“Quit stalling and do as I ordered!” the other voice growled.

“You leave me alone! I’m doing it in my own time! I want to play the game as long as possible!”

“What game, Jimmy?” Hank called. “What are the rules? How can I play if I don’t know the rules?”

“Oh, you don’t need to know the rules, Mr. Fireman! Today is your day to leave me your coat and helmet!” Jimmy laughed at his own joke. “You see, we have found the perfect way for you to go. Why, they’ll think you were caught in the fire and couldn’t get out!”

“It won’t work, Jimmy. My men know me better than that!” Hank’s heart had begun to pound with apprehension. What did he mean? “Jimmy, have you been setting the fires?”

“Don’t answer him, you fool!” the rough voice commanded. “He’s trying to trick you! Just get on with it!”

“All right, all right! Don’t rush me!

“Mr. Fireman, I’m sending you down your last meal. Enjoy it, since you won’t be here tomorrow!” Jimmy moved the plywood and dropped another package of food to Hank. A small canteen followed it.

“Good-bye, Mr. Fireman! The game has been fun!”

“Jimmy wait!” Hank cried, but was cut short as the board was replaced and dirt once more shoveled over it.

Hank slouched against the wall, his appetite gone, but knowing that if he wanted any kind of chance to escape, he would need to keep his strength up. “He unwrapped another very dry peanut butter sandwich. He wolfed it down, then opened the canteen and was surprised that it held milk instead of the foul tasting water he had gotten the past few days. The last thing he remembered was trying not to fall asleep on the soaking wet mattress.

~*~*~

The men of Station 51 staggered back to the dorms and collapsed onto their bunks. The fire had been small, but hazardous. The chemicals that had filled the air made breathing without air tanks dangerous.

Roy rolled to his side and watched his partner, who was lying with one arm flung over his eyes. A soft whistling could be heard with each breath he drew.

“You sure you’re okay, Johnny? You breathed in quite a bit of those chemicals before we found you.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just need to relax for a minute.” Johnny’s voice was rough from the smoke and chemicals he had breathed in during the fire and following rescue. He gently massaged his head then rolled to his side, facing away from his partner. He grimaced as a coughing fit shook him.

“I still think you should have gone to Rampart and been checked out. You sound worse now than at the fire.”

“I’m fine, I told ya! Sheesh, just give me a minute to recoup!”

Roy shook his head but did not say anything else. He knew why Johnny did not want to go to Rampart. None of the men wanted to be away from the station, in case the police called to let them know of any new information.

Quiet settled over the station. A gentle snore was heard from the captain’s bunk. The men smiled at the sound. Mike motioned to the others to leave the room and let the captain rest.

They gathered in the day room. Chet pulled cups from the cabinet and poured a round of coffee for himself and his crewmates. Each man smiled tiredly at him and accepted the proffered cup.

“Man, I wish we knew what was happening. Not knowing anything about Captain Stanley is really getting to me!” Chet pulled a chair from under the table and sat beside Johnny.

“I think it’s getting to all of us,” Mike said quietly.

“You know,” Marco said to the group, “I’ve been thinking. Remember where Cap was found the first time?” The men nodded. “Do you think he might be there again?”

“No way, man. That hole was completely filled in and covered over with asphalt. In fact, I think there’s a new building going up.” Chet said, tugging on his ear. “I went by there the other day on my way to the market. It’s going to be an artsy fartsie type place for people who are in the acting field.”

“Yeah, but there’s still plenty of space where a new hole could be dug and hidden. Remember, Marsha was in a hole with a piece of plywood over it, covered by dirt.” Marco persisted with his theory.

Roy, Mike and Johnny looked at the Hispanic fireman as if seeing him for the first time.

“You just might have something, Marco!” Roy jumped from his chair and raced for the telephone, Johnny and Mike hot on his heels.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Chet asked.

“Calling the police department. They may not have thought of that.” Mike answered for Roy, who was busy dialing the number.

~*~*~

Jimmy carried the unconscious firemen to his waiting truck. Sweat ran in rivulets down his back. With a grunt he dropped his captive into the bed of the vehicle and quickly covered him with a waiting tarp.

“I don’t understand how you can carry people over your shoulders and make it look so easy!” He wiped the sweat from his face with a dirty handkerchief, then stuffed it back in his pocket. He glanced around furtively to be sure no one had seen him with his burden. He climbed into the truck and cranked the engine to life.

A few minutes later a black and white police cruiser pulled up and parked. Two police officers walked to the sight and looked down into the freshly dug hole. They sighed in frustration as they realized the pigeon had already come and gone. With him was the man they knew as Hank Stanley.

Another car pulled up and parked along side the cruiser. Detective Crockett joined the two policemen. “What did you find, Pete?”

“Well, someone’s been here. There are fresh tire tracks over by those trees. These footprints are pretty deep, so I bet whoever it was that was here had a heavy load.” Pete Malloy gazed across the lot, his eyes following the tire tracks that vanished once the road was met.

“These tracks are really fresh. I’d say less than five minutes old.” Jim Reed, Pete’s friend and partner said as he knelt beside one section of tracks.

“How can you tell that?” Crockett asked sharply.

“The tracks are still damp and there aren’t any wind marks to obscure them. Plus, the grass alongside,” he pointed at the ground, “ is just starting to stand back up.”

Crockett looked at the young policeman with new respect. “What school did you learn that from?”

“I used to do a lot of tracking with my dad as a kid. He made sure I could tell almost to the minute when something, or someone had been in an area.” Jim followed the deep ruts a few feet then stopped and knelt once more. He gently moved a stalk of grass aside and waved the other two over. He pointed to an object on the ground. It was a fireman’s badge, torn from a uniform.

“Good job!” Crockett exclaimed when he saw the badge. “I better get the team out here to get photographs and take impressions of these tracks. I hope this means we are getting closer to finding Hank Stanley, before it’s too late.”

~*~*~

Several hours later Crockett entered the station and found the men out on a run. He was about to leave when he heard the trucks backing into the bay.

Chet and Marco walked through the door and headed for the coffeepot before they realized someone was in the room. Marco nudged his friend, who stopped and gaped at the detective who was sitting on the couch petting Henry.

“Hey Lieutenant! Did you find Cap?” Chet and Marco waited, hoping for good news. The others walked into the room and heard Chet ask.

“Well, we found where we think Hank was being held. Unfortunately, he was gone when we got there, but we have some good leads. We also found Hank’s badge in the grass.”

“Is that good, or bad?” Marco asked as he pulled out a chair and sat at the table. The rest of the crew followed suite. Soon the table was surrounded with worried men.

“Actually, that’s good, because we’re fairly certain he’s still alive. But it’s also bad, because the perp has moved his victim. We don’t know if he’s getting ready to harm your captain, or if he moved him because of possible discovery.”

Hookraider walked into the room and saw the men gathered around the table. He studied their worried faces for a minute than said, “These trucks are filthy! Let’s get them cleaned up!”

The men looked up at the temporary captain. Hookraider thought they were going to object, but they rose as a group and headed for the truck bay. No one said a word as they took the needed supplies and began to clean up the two vehicles.

“Why not let them rest for a minute, Captain?” Crockett asked the older man quietly.

“This gives them something to do besides sitting around brooding over Hank’s disappearance. I don’t care a fig what they think about me right now, but I do care about their current mind set.”

Crockett nodded his agreement and understanding. He started to speak when the klaxons began to sound. Tone after tone rolled from the speaker above the microphone bay. The men paused in their cleaning to listen. One tone suddenly stood out. They tossed rags and buckets aside as they scrambled to the trucks.

“Station 51….Station 8….Station 110….Truck 24…….Structure fire on the docks……2123 Industrial…….2-1-2-3 Industrial……..Approach from West Bay Drive…………Time out 13:25”

“Station 51, KMG 365!”

The trucks barreled from the bay and headed to the fire. Each man had put the problem of their missing captain to the back part of their minds.

Station 51 made it to the fire, first. Hookraider jumped from the engine and began calling instructions that the men followed without question. Lines were quickly laid and a steady stream of water was aimed at the burning building. Hookraider called in to headquarters and informed the dispatcher that the structure was fully involved and to call a second alarm.

The building was huge. Inside had been stacked boxes and crates that had been emptied and stacked for later removal. The fire was burning hot near the center of the building where the crates were stacked the thickest.

Marco and Chet entered with caution. They continually scanned the area for any signs of danger from above or from the wall sections. Suddenly Marco stopped. Chet bumped into his partner and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Marco, what’s wrong?”

Marco pointed to a spot high above them. Two men were on the catwalk, struggling. The roar of the fire drowned anything the two might be saying to each other. Marco reached for the HT he carried in his pocket. Chet grabbed the hose and kept the water flowing as his partner contacted the captain waiting outside.

“HT 51 to Engine 51!” Marco waited until he heard Hookraider’s voice. “Cap, we have two people on a catwalk fighting! I don’t think they’re aware of us being here!”

“10-4, Marco! I’ll warn the police. Can you hit them with the water?”

“Negative, Cap! They’re to high above us!” Marco gasped as one of the men fell through the barrier. He was struggling with a chain that was wrapped around his neck and torso. The other man also fell. He landed with an audible thump in a pile of boxes just beyond the two fireman’s sight.

“Cap, both men have fallen! One is caught in some chains and is hanging above us, the other landed on some boxes. We can’t see him from our current location!”

“10-4, hold your position! I’m sending in the paramedics!”

Chet continued to move the hose in a circular motion. The water went from heavy deluge to a softer stream. Mist rose from the burning boxes as the water drenched them.

Roy and Johnny saw the two firemen standing with feet braced apart. The water danced and dripped from the contents of the building. Marco changed places with Chet, giving him relief from the heavy weight of the charged hose.

“Where’s the fallen victim?” Roy yelled to Chet, now supporting the hose for his partner.

“Over there, behind that pile of crates and pallets! I haven’t seen him moving around. The other guy is up there!” Chet pointed over head at the hanging figure.

Johnny looked up and grimaced. Even in the dim light, surrounded by smoke and steam, it was obvious the hanging man was beyond any help the two could offer.

“I’ll go up and check him out, just in case!” Johnny shouted above the roar of the fire.

“Okay, but be careful! It looks like that catwalk could go any minute!” Roy headed for the second victim.

Johnny looked around and spied a ladder that would get him to the catwalk. He quickly scaled the steps and paused before stepping on the rusty grate. The walkway swayed and bucked with the heat currents rising from below. Johnny was instantly covered in sweat from the intense heat that had collected in the ceiling. Gingerly he made his way to the victim hanging in mid air.

“Mister, can you hear me?” Johnny approached with caution. The iron walkway groaned from his weight. Johnny could feel the heat pressing in around him. “Mister, if you can hear me, wave your arm!”

The man remained motionless. Johnny saw he was close enough to touch the man. He reached out and carefully pulled the man to him. The man’s face was pale. His eyes were opened and staring into nothing. The life was gone. Johnny quickly pulled the body free of the chains and began to carry it back to the ladder.

The catwalk moaned in protest of the added weight. The grating gave way. Johnny felt himself falling through the already compromised webbing. He dropped the man’s body on the grate behind him and made a mad grab for the sidebars.

The grate gave way and split in two. Johnny felt himself swinging in space, then saw a bright flash as he slammed into the side of the building. He never felt the landing, or heard the sickening thump as he hit the pile of debris far below him.

The body also slid from its half of the broken walkway. It landed with a dull thud onto some barrels stacked beside the only door with a caution sign.

Far below the paramedic, his friends and coworkers watched with horror as the walk gave way. Marco and Chet yelled for Roy when Johnny fell. Marco again pulled the HT from his pocket and contacted the Fire Chief and Captain.

“HT 51 to Engine 51!” Marco was running to his fallen comrade. “We have a Code I at our location! There is also a Code F!”

Outside, all activity around the Fire Chief’s car halted. Hookraider and McConnike winced at the pronouncement and call for help. Who was the Code I, and who was the Code F?

Hookraider punched the button on the handy talkie and called, “Squad 110, get inside and help 51!”

“10-4, 51!” Brice answered over the HT.

The captain and chief watched in silence as the new paramedic team ran inside the still burning structure.

“This monster is out of control!” Hookraider said to himself, but loud enough for the Fire Chief to hear.

A few minutes later Brice, Bellingham and Roy exited the building. Brice had one man over his shoulder. Bellingham was helping Roy support another man between them. They laid both men beside Squad 51.

Brice began to remove the coat of the man he had carried while Roy and Bellingham worked on the second man. All three men worked in harmony of a well-trained team.

Bellingham rose and pulled equipment from the side compartment of the squad. He flipped open the bio-phone and contacted Rampart. He read off the vitals of first one man, then the other.

From their position the Fire Chief and Captain could not tell who the men were working on. Hookraider strode to the paramedic’s side and knelt beside the senior partner of 51’s team.

“Who do we have?” Hookraider paused when he realized whom the man was that Roy and Bellingham was working on. “How is he?”

“He’s alive and breathing on his own, but the fall broke his collarbone and arm. I think his leg and ribs may be broken, too.” Roy was taping the IV tube down in preparation to transport the victim to Rampart.

“How’s Johnny?” Hookraider asked, changing his focus from one victim to the other.

“Not good, Cap. He hit the wall pretty hard.” Bellingham reached across the still form to give his partner the needed medical equipment.

Hookraider nodded and left the men to their work. He and Chief McConnike discussed other strategies about combating the fire. Several small explosions had sent five firemen to the hospital already, and if care were not taken, more would go.

The temporary Captain of Station 51 watched as the two men was loaded into the ambulance. Bellingham and Brice, he noted, had stayed behind. Roy was riding in with the two victims. He made a mental note to have Chet or Marco drive the squad to the hospital later. He turned his attention back to the fire.

Three hours later the men were back at the station. They sat around the day room waiting their turn to shower when the squad was heard backing into the bay. They jumped up and met Roy at the door of the squad. Roy’s face showed the strain of his vigil at the hospital.

Eyes asked the questions that voices could not. Roy sighed and motioned to his shift mates to let him pass. They followed, anxiously waiting for any news he might have.

“Johnny’s got a small crack in his skull and two broken ribs. He regained consciousness in the ambulance. Brackett said he’d be out for about six weeks.” Roy rubbed the back of his neck then continued, “Cap has a severe head injury, four broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder and a broken leg. He was still unconscious when I left. Dixie said she’d call if there was any change in either of their conditions.”

“What about the man who died? Who was he?” Marco asked.

“I can answer that one,” a new voice answered. Detective Crockett walked into the room. He carried a folder that was full to bursting with photos and typed sheets of paper. He dropped the folder to the table then motioned for the men to gather around as he began to pull sheets from the battered file.

“Seems the man whose body you found was the real Jimmy Douglas; brother to Tracy Douglas, who died last year.”

“Then, who died in the building collapse?” Chet stared at the detective in confusion. The other men waited to hear the answer.

“That’s a good question. We don’t know. There hasn’t been a missing person filed, other than last year. Other than exhuming the body of the man buried and doing dental checks, we may never know.” Crockett dug through the papers before finally pulling the one he wanted from the pile.

“Seems Jimmy Douglas was a patient of the Quiet Rest Sanitarium in Palm Beach. He broke out last year and disappeared. According to the records we were able to obtain, he had a major grudge against all fire departments. He was turned down three times by three different counties in California, alone. I’m running a check to see if he’s on file anywhere else.”

“Why was he refused?” Mike Stoker asked. He had picked up one of the black and white photos and was studying the likeness of a well-built young man. He appeared to be bright eyed and intelligent. Mike gave the photo to Chet who glanced at it, then gave it to Marco.

“He had a problem with his temper. That plus his tendency to steal anything not nailed down, put paid to his chances. When he flunked out of the school, he swore, as most do, to get even with the whole shebang.

“When he was caught setting fires to several abandoned buildings he was sent to the prison for s few months. He went through the psychiatric evaluation while there and was found to be extremely unstable in more ways than one.

“His sister begged the courts to let her take care of him, but he was sent to Quiet Rest, instead. When he broke out, she hid him until she could send him back to Arkansas. Unfortunately, before she could get the money together, he vanished from her home and showed up later, back here in Carson.”

“But why pick on Cap?” Roy asked as he handed the photograph back to the detective.

Crockett shrugged. “We don’t know. As far as our investigation shows, Hank never knew Jimmy Douglas. It could be that Jimmy had his own agenda. He was diagnosed as paranoid/schizophrenic. He also had MPD.”

“MPD?” Marco asked.

“Multiple Personality Disorder,” answered Hookraider as he entered into the conversation. His hair was still damp from the shower.

“You mean he thought he was someone else, sometimes?” Marco looked in disbelief at the detective, who was nodding his head.

“It’s quite possible that Jimmy didn’t have a clue as to what was going on. Then again, he might have. We’ll never know for sure.”

“Man, that is just too weird!” Chet exclaimed as he left the room to head for the showers, his curiosity satisfied about the man.

“How’s Hank and Johnny, Roy?” Detective Crockett asked.

“They’re both critical at the moment. Dixie promised to call if there was any change in either of their condition.”

“I have to get back to the crime scene. Keep me up to date, will you?” Crockett shook the men’s hands then left.

“Who’s cooking tonight?” Hookraider asked, deliberately breaking the somber mood of the men.

“It was Johnny’s turn, Cap, but I’ll do the honors. I think he was planning on hamburgers again.” Marco rolled his eyes.

“Good man, Lopez. I’ll be in the office when everything’s ready.” Hookraider walked swiftly from the room. He wondered briefly, if they had even noticed he had not said a word about cleaning the engine or the squad.

The men were sleeping soundly when the strident ring of the telephone disturbed the quiet of the station. Hookraider jumped up and grabbed the receiver from the hook before it could ring a third time.

“Station 51, Captain Hookraider speaking.” All the men had sat up and were now listening to the Captain’s conversation.

“Yes, uhuh. That’s good. When? Nine o’clock? What about Hank? Um-hmm, yes. Yes, thank you for calling. I’ll inform the men. Good night.” Hookraider looked around and saw five faces peering at him anxiously.

“Johnny woke up around nine o’clock. He’s out of danger. Nurse McCall said he will make a complete recovery.” He held up his hands as the men cheered for their friend and co-worker. “Hank is till unconscious, but his vitals have improved. He’s been moved from ICU to a private room. Johnny will be moved, also. Now, let’s get back to bed and get what rest we can before the morning tones.” Hookraider climbed into his bunk and pulled the covers up to his chin. He sighed softly, relief flooding his soul.

~*~*~

The next day the men quickly left the station and headed for the hospital. Dixie had called just before their shift had ended and told them that Hank had regained consciousness and would be talking with the police later in the day.

It was a happy, rambunctious group that entered Rampart General and headed up to the sixth floor. Johnny and Hank had been placed in a room together, instead of two private rooms. A young nurse was leaving as they entered. She smiled at the men as she held the door for them, then slipped through just as it was closing.

“Hey, guys!” Johnny greeted his friends. “Man, I’m ready to blow this place! Hey, Roy, think you could talk to Dixie and Dr. Brackett?”

“You twit!” Hank said hoarsely from the other bed. His nose was red and his eyes were puffy. A cough shook his thin frame. “Even with a cold, I’m sure glad to be out of that hole!”

“I bet!” Mike Stoker said as he sidled up next to his Captain’s bed. “Did you find out why this character picked on you?”

Hank coughed again then shook his head. “No. But I wasn’t the original target of this guy. I think he had a partner, too. I heard them talking at one point. Funny thing is, I never saw the other guy!”

“Yes, you did, Cap. He had, what was that Crockett called it? MPD.” Chet tugged on his ear. “He thought he was someone else for a while!”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of that.” Hank blew his nose.

“So, what was his beef? Who was the original target, if not you? You know he had some reason for what he was doing.” Johnny scooted around in his bed looking for a more comfortable position.

Roy and Mike quickly filled their Captain and Johnny in on the findings of Detective Crockett’s investigation. They explained about Jimmy’s mental problem. The man buried in the cave-in was not identified, and probably never would be. Hank and Johnny listened with rapt attention to the telling.

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of Detective Crockett and another officer. He introduced her to the men.

“She’ll take down your statement, Hank. Later it’ll be typed up and brought by for you to look over and sign. Start from where you were abducted. Try not to leave anything out. If you remember something later, you can call and we’ll ad it as a codicil.” Crockett motioned Hank to begin.

The men listened to Hank’s story. They recalled the similar incident from the previous year. Hank was able to fill in a few of the missing pieces of the story for Crockett.

Jimmy had decided that collecting the coats and helmets would be a harmless way to pass the time until his sister could raise the money to send him back to Arkansas. It had turned into a passion, then an obsession as the alternate personality had gradually taken control of his mind.

Hank paused in his story as he recalled the conversation he had overheard. With a shudder he picked up his story. He recalled eating the stale sandwich, then waking up in the warehouse where he had fallen.

“We were on the catwalk and he was trying to get a chain, or rope around my neck. I struggled with him. I recall the fire burning below us. He panicked, afraid that he would be caught in the blaze. He was scared of the fire! I felt the side rails break and felt myself falling.

“That’s the last thing I remember, until I woke up here.”

The men remained silent. The policewoman’s pen scribbling across the paper was the only sound in the room. Hank’s sneeze startled the men back into laughter.

“Oh, before I forget. Here, Johnny, this is for you.” Chet handed Johnny a small box wrapped in bright shiny paper.

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“Just a little something to let you know all is forgiven with the glitter incident.” Chet’s eyes twinkled.

“That’s great, man!” Johnny happily ripped the paper from the box. He opened the lid and was immediately showered with silver and gold confetti. “Oh man! Sheesh! Thanks a lot, Chet!”

“The Phantom always gets revenge!” Chet chortled. The others joined in the laughter. Crockett joined in with the teasing.

After waiting a few minutes for the policewoman to finish her notes, he waved his good-byes. The two left the room with six happy men talking and laughing. Johnny had joined in the laughter as well. Revenge would be sweet!

~*~*~

Dixie sat at the table in the staff lounge. She was staring into space. The newspaper was spread out before her. Her hand was resting over a picture of a small schooner. The headlines above it read:

BERMUDA TRIANGLE CLAIMS SIX MORE LIVES !

A list of names appeared under the photograph. One name stood out, Marsha Prentiss. Dixie read the account once more then slowly rested her head on her arms.

Kelley Brackett entered the lounge and saw the head nurse crying.

“Dix? What’s wrong?” He touched her shoulder. Dixie showed him the article. Brackett read the story. “Dix, maybe they were wrong. Marsha will come walking through that door in a couple of days.”

“No, she won’t, Kel. Her vacation was over three days ago. I’ve been trying to contact her, but no one answers her phone.”

Dr. Brackett sat at the table in silence. He had no idea what to say. In the short time Marsha had been at Rampart, she had made a great impression on her fellow co-workers. Brackett looked at the story once more then sighed and left the room, any thoughts of coffee now gone.

Dixie gathered the scattered paper together, then tossed it into the trash bin. She poured her cold coffee down the sink and left the room.

A few minutes later Dr. Morton walked into the lounge. He spied the crumpled paper and pulled it from the can. He sat down at the table and began to read the headlines.

The End

Stories By Peggy J. Bedingfield Guest Dispatchers