Sweet Treats

By Marty P.

Roy DeSoto made his way into the dayroom and found Johnny Gage, his paramedic partner, guzzling a freshly brewed cup of strong coffee.  “How ya doin’?”

“I tried to find someone to switch shifts with me, Roy.”

“Got a hot date tonight?”  Roy unearthed an identical mug, and splashed the aromatic beverage into it.

Johnny gave him a quick glance, “No, I just don’t like working on Halloween.  You can never predict what’s gonna happen, even more than usual.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Roy shuddered as he recalled the child who found the razor blade in her apple.  After they delivered her to the hospital, he contacted his wife and insisted she discard all of the candy his offspring collected.  He had to promise six trips to the frozen custard shop to appease them.  This year there was a campaign to warn everyone about possible dangers before the holiday commenced.  Putting an outhouse on someone’s roof seemed mild after the “pranks” currently in place.  Course there weren’t many folks with outdoor plumbing in Southern California these days.  A mutter interrupted his thoughts, “Huh?”

“Chet’s cooking today.  Hope it isn’t his famous hash.” 

The morning flew by with chores and multiple disruptions.  The medics treated firefighter Marco Lopez after an ebony feline clawed him.  Shortly after lunch, Captain Stanley came out of his office and announced, “Jimmy Houts and his class are coming by for a tour.”

“Now?”  Johnny, who was on cleanup duty, tossed his damp towel on the counter. 

Roy nodded, “Begged his grandfather, the Chief, to let the kids come, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, they’ll show up in half an hour.  I heard they went to 98s last year; wished they had some candy on hand since it was Halloween and all.”

“Cap?”  Johnny didn’t have to complete the question.

The man in charge concurred, “I think you should plan on twenty-five children, just in case. “

“Who’s gonna pay for this?”  Chet groused as he slid his wallet out of his back pocket.

Johnny looked at his lone five dollar bill.  “Roy, the five and dime has a good assortment of penny candy.”

“Good idea, Johnny,” Captain Stanley clapped his shoulder.  “Notify dispatch where you’ll be and scuttle on over there.”

It didn’t take long for the paramedics to complete their assignment.  On the way back to the station, Johnny hugged the large bag, “Wouldn’t want this to tip over and dump everything when you made a sharp left, ya know.”

“Okay, but if you keep sampling what we bought; you’ll be forking out for a whole new batch.”

“I promise this will be my last one,” Johnny battled the cellophane covering and sucked on a jawbreaker.

When they got back to the station, Johnny scattered the sweets onto the kitchen table.  Chet dove for a Bit O Honey.  “C’mon, Kelly, there won’t be any left if you keep that up.”  Johnny ribbed him.

“I’ll stow them in the office,” Hank Stanley let the men shovel the contents back into the sack and then vanished for a moment.  “Station 36 will cover our calls from 1300-1400 this afternoon.  You know with that many kids around we’ll need all hands on deck.”

The third graders appeared on time; Jimmy acted like he’d lived in a firehouse all his life, but he was shadowed by a boy named Jerry, who glowed with excitement.  After a circuit around the apparatus bay, and a quick peek into the private rooms, they ended in the rec room, where the men put the sugary treats in a large bowl and let the children select their favorites.  It was then Jerry’s face fell.

Mike Stoker, the engineer, moved the bowl closer to the boy, but he briefly shook his head.  Johnny joined them.  “There’s plenty, go ahead.”

“Jerry can’t.  He has diabetes.”  Jimmy emphasized the last word and couldn’t believe the station was unaware of his friend’s condition.

“Sorry,” Johnny’s friendly face tightened for just a moment.  “That’s tough. I’ll be right back.” 

Jerry beamed when he spied the paramedic patch in Johnny’s hand.  “Can I keep it?”

After the visitors exited, Roy stood in silence, and then commented, “Ya know, those are two bucks apiece.”

“Yeah, but he couldn’t have candy and I can buy another one.”

“You made that boy’s day,” Cap retreated to his office to tackle the never ending paperwork that came with his position.

As Roy strolled toward the stove to see what supper was, Marco thrust a stick into a large, Golden Delicious apple, “Wanna give this a try?  My family has the best recipe for caramel apples.” 

“We never had a traditional Halloween meal, did you?”  Roy jabbed a popsicle stick into the center of the fruit.

The Latin firefighter reflected, “I guess we had chili and spooky music.  The lights were off and we had a lone candle on the table.”  He laughed, “Course we were so excited to go around the neighborhood we never really noticed.”

As dusk draped the skies, the crew settled in for dinner.  Station 51, fire at 347 West Lincoln.  Cross street River.  Timeout 1658.

The engine was first out but slowed to drop hose near the address.  While they were occupied, Johnny yanked a fire extinguisher out of the bay and scampered to the front porch.  He could hear a child crying as the homeowner opened the door.  “It’s out, but Haley’s hurt.”

“Fire’s out, but we have a victim.”  Johnny called back to Roy. 

Captain Stanley doffed his helmet, “Sir, what happened?”

“Haley, our six-year-old, wanted us to light the candle in the jack o’lantern.  We put it on the front porch step, and as she bent over to gaze at it, the cape on her princess costume caught fire and…” he gulped.  “I got to her as fast as I could, threw her on the ground and rolled her to extinguish the flames, but she was screaming worse than I’ve ever heard.”

“Our paramedics will take care of her.  Where’s the pumpkin?” 

The father looked sheepish, “I dumped a gallon of milk on it and threw it in the garbage can.”

“Lopez, Kelly, have this gentleman show you the where he put the pumpkin, just to make sure it isn’t smoldering.”

Inside, Haley was standing in the kitchen, sobbing.  Roy approached her first, “Hey, we’re here to help you.”  They could see scorched skin on her shoulders and arms.  Johnny readied several bags of IV solution.  Acting as a team, the medical men cut away the loose clothing, leaving any near the second degree burns for the hospital staff to remove, and then doused her with the soothing liquid.  Her father had acted quickly; it could’ve been much worse. 

Chet made a funny face for her and she giggled.  “How’s she doin’?” 

“Better.  She isn’t scared anymore.”  Johnny jotted down the vitals and reached for the biocom.  He relayed the information to the base station and it wasn’t long before she was on her way to Rampart. 

On their journey back to the station, Johnny remarked, “Your kids carve pumpkins?” 

“Yeah,” Roy tapped the brake as a pickup moved into his lane, “But we light them with flashlights.”

“That’s a good idea.  Maybe we should get the word out,” Johnny slid out of the cab as Roy parked in the station.

Roy met him at the doorway, “We’ve tried to do that for the last two years, Johnny.  Maybe you can come up with a slogan for folks to remember.”

“Kinda like stop, drop and roll?”  Johnny pondered the idea, “Uh, illuminate Jack with battery, not wax?  Doesn’t really do it, does it?”

“Keep working on it, Junior.”  Roy encouraged. 

The paramedics peered at the leftovers, and, as Johnny poured a glass of milk, the claxons redirected them.  Squad 51, child struck by vehicle.  Intersection of Millpoint Avenue and Martin Street.   Timeout 1834.  Johnny and Roy sprinted to their emergency unit and traveled Code 3 to the site.  As they pulled up, the rotating lights on the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s cruiser flooded the area.  Stooped beside the still, prone figure was Vince Coleman. He was rattled. 

“What can you tell us, Vince?”  Johnny’s voice brought the officer out of his trance. 

“I didn’t see him.  He came out of nowhere and I hit him,” Vince inhaled slowly.  “See his costume?”

“It’s all black,” Roy noted.  “And he’s wearing a black mask, too.”

“Vince, it isn’t your fault.” Johnny knelt next to Vince. 

Roy gave his attention to the shaken officer, “You gonna be all right?”

“Yeah, I just never expected to run into anyone, especially a kid.” 

“What would you tell a civilian in this case?”  Roy persisted, presenting his partner with a stethoscope and BP cuff.

Vince cleared his throat, “I wouldn’t give them a ticket.  I’d tell them the child shouldn’t have run out into the street.”

“What’s the matter with Edgar?”  A pirate spoke from the curb.

Vince got to his feet, “The paramedics are taking good care of him.  You stay right there.”

“Edgar, huh?”  Johnny counted his throbbing pulse as he sought more information.  “How old is Edgar?”

“And what’s his last name?”  The policeman retrieved his ticket book and began to log information.

The pirate removed his eye patch, “Edgar Stigers.  He lives next door to me and he’s eight.  He thought no one else would be a black panther.”

“Roy, BP is 110 over 76, pulse is 100 and respirations are 24.”  Johnny probed the boy’s limbs and torso.  “Possible broken left tibia and cracked ribs. Oh, and pupils are responsive but sluggish.”

“Got it, Johnny,” Roy communicated with the medical center.  By now a fellow officer was at scene and took over crowd control. 

Johnny nudged Vince, “I think you should follow us to the hospital.”  He saw the troubled man acquiesce.  At Rampart, Johnny and Roy transferred the patient to Dixie.

Roy said in an undertone, “This incident really threw Vince.  I think he needs a ‘Dixie McCall’ lecture on guilt.”

“I’m on it, Roy.”  She motioned toward the overflowing waiting room, “I’ll squeeze it in as soon as I can.”

Roy ambled out to the squad to discover Johnny in the driver’s seat.  He buckled his belt and tucked the call slip in the rubber band on the visor.

Johnny tapped his fingers on the steering wheel at a red light, “Roy, I don’t know how I’d take it if I ran into someone.”

“Probably exactly the way Vince feels, filled with remorse and regret, but, you learn from it and move on.  Otherwise, it tears you up.”

“Yeah, but it takes time,” Johnny focused on the side mirror as he backed into the station.

Mike Stoker greeted the two men as they entered the dayroom.  Just as they prepared to taste the dried-out casserole, the dispatcher broke in. Unknown type rescue at 728 Harbor Street, cross street Schooner.  Timeout 1923.

They passed several groups of trick or treaters on their way to the address.   A frantic mom came to the door when they knocked, “It’s Tina!  I don’t know what’s going on!”

“Take it easy,” Johnny let her guide him to the victim.  She lay on her side, struggling to breathe.  Roy positioned an oxygen mask on her face.”

“About twenty minutes ago, she was gobbling Hershey chocolate bars and I told her she couldn’t have anymore.  At first, I thought it was a tantrum but then she started clenching her stomach and wheezing.”

“Is she allergic to anything?”  Johnny verified as Roy raised her head.

The mother stared at some wrappers on the floor, “Not that I know of.”

“It’s a good thing you called us,” Johnny described the child’s condition.  “Rampart, we have a 10-year-old female experiencing anaphylaxis.  Possible cause chocolate.  Her vitals are…”
“51, administer epinephrine IM, get a new set of vitals in five minutes and transport.”  It didn’t take long for the medication to work its magic on both the daughter and the mother. 

When they arrived at the ER, it was even busier than their previous visit. 

In quarters, Roy said between bites, “Dr. Brackett recommended an allergist to evaluate Tina.” 

 “Ya know, it must be tough at Halloween for kids that are diabetic or allergic to chocolate.” 

“And peanuts can do a number on kids, too.”  Roy agreed.

“Well, I think next year I’m gonna have something on hand to give those kids.” Johnny studied his empty plate.  “Maybe a toy store owner would make a contribution.”

“Perhaps,” Roy didn’t sound too hopeful.  Marco and Chet sauntered into the room. 

Chet flicked on the television, “What’s Johnny all het up about now?”

“Chet, you’d react the same way if you saw what happened tonight.”  He elaborated.

Chet cogitated, then smiled, “Maybe we could go to garage sales.  My sisters love those things.”

“No,” Marco nixed the suggestion, “It’s not a good idea to give them big toys.  It’s not Christmas.”

“Yeah, what about the prizes they have in cereal boxes?”  Roy knew his kids begged for some breakfast foods because of them.

Johnny smiled, “Yeah, and Cracker Jacks, those have prizes.”

“And there are those dispensers at grocery stores with stuff in them.”  Marco’s nephews stopped him and pointed them out, begging for the small balls, and whistles, whenever they were along.

Johnny, pleased with the input, declared, “Okay, let’s see if the other shifts are on board. 

We’ll collect them all year and be ready next October 31st!” 

“So, you’re saying you want to work next year on Halloween?”  Roy confirmed.

Johnny deliberated, “Yeah, I guess I am!  Ya in?”

The End

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 October 2007 Picture             Stories by Marty P.