By Marty P.

Chet Kelly pursed his lips in frustration. Things hadn’t gone the way he anticipated. On his last shift, when Squad 51 had been out on a run, he’d taken the shaving cream out of his locker at Station 51 and snuck outside, past the drying hoses and the outdoor basketball hoop to where everyone parked their personal vehicles. He had just shaken the can and was deciding what to write on the windshield of John Gage’s Land Rover when the claxons sounded. He stowed the canister on the floor of the passenger side and darted into the station. The fire took five hours to douse, and then there was cleanup afterwards. It wasn’t until Mike Stoker backed the engine into the apparatus bay that he remembered. He didn’t even hang his helmet on the hook in the truck before he rushed outside to see the foam from the exploded container coating every inch of the inside of Johnny’s vehicle. He knew the corrosive properties of the facial cream. Before he could attempt to eradicate as much of the damage as possible, he heard a voice behind him.

“Don’t bother.” The voice was a monotone. The dark-haired paramedic gave him a bleak look, “Why?”

Without thinking, Chet replied, “It wasn’t me. The Phantom did it.”

Johnny stepped into the man’s personal space and glared, “The Phantom can retire, permanently.”

“It was an accident, I, he didn’t mean for this to happen.” Chet was speaking to the back of his coworker as he walked away. Chet located the hose they kept outside and reached for the door of the Rover. It was locked.

*~*~*

Chet made another tour of the station. Johnny hadn’t made an appearance for the shift. It wasn’t like him to be late. Roll call began and the four men stood at attention. A few seconds later, the missing paramedic slid into place. “You’re late, Gage.”

“Sorry, Cap. I just got my car back. It had to be detailed.” He made eye contact with his coworker. Chet shuddered at the anger in the man’s eyes. If looks could kill, he’d be lying on the concrete floor, with the other paramedic, Roy DeSoto, performing CPR to revive him.

After giving assignments out for the day, Captain Stanley made one final decree. “Kelly, Gage, work it out.”

The two men were the only ones left as the others went into the kitchen for coffee. Chet cleared his throat, “Johnny, it was an accident. The Phantom was gonna put an innocuous message on your windshield like ‘For a date call 555-1212.’”

“Kelly, we’ve all seen accidents that turned tragic. Don’t you remember, I just paid off the tires I bought for it?”

“I know. I can pay for the cleanup. How much was it?”

“Forget it. Don’t you remember you just borrowed twenty bucks from me?” Johnny located an old towel and put it on the edge of the hood of the squad as he prepared to tinker under the hood.

Chet stood in silence, but his colleague took no notice of him, and, at last the fireman trudged into the dayroom. The others gave him their attention, he shrugged. “I apologized and I offered to pay for the damages. I don’t know what else to do.”

“He’ll get over it,” Roy said with confidence. “I would suggest The Phantom lays low for a time.”

“He doesn’t want to see him ever again.” The prankster paused. “He won’t show up anymore.”

~*~*~

A week passed and Chet was surprised to discover he missed The Phantom. But he’d made a promise. But he squelched the idea of him making an appearance at the station.

Engine 51 was at Mrs. Rosamunde’s again. For the third time this week, they were rescuing her cat from the tree. “You naughty, Beauregarde!” Her quavery voice scolded the feline who sat contentedly in the upper branches of the maple in her front yard.

Captain Stanley removed his helmet and gave the woman a brief nod, “All right, who went up the tree last time?”

“I did, Cap,” Chet informed him as he and Mike Stoker removed the fifty foot extension ladder. After positioning it against the tree bark, and pulling on the rope, Marco Lopez scampered up the rungs and reached for the docile animal.

The eighty-year-old woman apologized again, “I’m so sorry, officer. I give the animal love and then put him in the basement to stay out of trouble. I don’t let him out.”

“We understand, Mrs. Rosamunde,” the captain saw his crew anchor the ladder back on the truck. “We’re happy to assist you, but it takes us away from someone who might really need our services.”

The radio in the truck activated, What’s your status, 51? The long-limbed captain reached into the open window and notified dispatch, “Available.”

As the engineer, Mike Stoker, moved away the curb, Chet glanced at the Rosamunde residence and then he did a doubletake, did she have a broken window?

The rest of his time on duty was filled with so many emergencies and calls, the crew only had time for one meal before changing out of their uniforms and greeting the group of firemen taking their place.

Chet ate a hearty breakfast of three eggs, three sausages, endless pancakes and four cups of coffee at a nearby diner before heading home. After four hours of uninterrupted sleep, he rose, refreshed. After studying his blank calendar his eyes skimmed his small apartment. What should I do for the rest of the day? He rewound the past twenty-four hours, and paused. He was going to swing by Mrs. Rosamunde’s home and see if he had seen a broken window. After gobbling a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Chet made his way to his station wagon.

~*~*~

Johnny glanced from the newspaper article to his friend’s. “What happened to your mustache?”

“I shaved it.”

“So you don’t want to be recognized?”

“The Phantom is gonna disappear, permanently.”

Johnny closed the paper, folded it in half and set it next to him. “Next time ya wanna do good deeds, invite me along. I’d like to help.” He paused, “And I guess The Phantom can come around the station again. Don’t tell him, but it’s been kinda boring without him around here.”

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October Picture 2010         Stories by Marty P.