Fire Lover by Joseph Wambaugh Read Free Book Online Page B

have been if he were a six-foot-three-inch cop in a blue uniform, carrying a six-inch Magnum, wearing mirrored shades. But no, he was just a five - foot-nine-inch fireman in a pale blue work shirt, like a "towel guy at a car wash."
    A case in point was the wealthy real - estate broker who had been avoiding costly weed abatement by listing post office boxes on property deeds in order to hide his true address. One of his properties was an abandoned and derelict duplex apartment. Kids would hang out there and the property was window high with weeds.
    The fire marshal had sent five notices, but got no response. John obtained the miscreant's home address but couldn't catch him there, so he staked out several real-estate offices that the broker owned until he spotted the guy entering one of them. He sneaked up to the door, doing, as he described, "a low crawl."
    John knocked at the door, calling out. "Hellooooo! Is this Dr. Beauchamp? I have a delivery for the office manager!"
    The elusive broker peeked out but couldn't see the creeping fireman, and yelled, "You have the wrong address. I am not Dr. Beauchamp."
    John knocked again and said, "Well, my package has this address on it and I've been instructed to leave it here!"
    The broker opened the door then, and said, "Look, buddy, I told you . . ."
    But there he was, staring into the grinning face of a fireman, and not just any fireman, as he would soon discover.
    "I think you're the guy I'm looking for," John said.
    "He was my target" is how John later described him.
    But even after all that, the "target" denied his true identity as owner of the property in fire-code violation, until John said, "Come on, gimme your identification and let's get this over with." And he stepped inside.
    The target was outraged. He ordered the fireman out. The fireman refused. He shoved the fireman. The fireman shoved back.
    John Orr later said, "If I was a real cop the confrontation would never have progressed. The dude woulda taken his licks."
    And when the fireman picked up his radio to call for a real cop, the target said, "What're you doing?" and snatched it away. And he shoved John again, causing the radio to clatter to the floor. They wrestled and the radio was kicked outside. They crashed into the door, and it slammed shut. The target broke free and ran for his desk, jerking open a drawer, rummaging for . . .
    A gun! John thought. He dove across the desk and pulled the guy's hand out. They grappled on the desktop.
    And then, as John Orr later maintained, "For the first time in my entire life I threw a punch."
    It turned out to be a dweeby little skittering punch, and did nothing but piss off the broker even more.
    But the broker was no Bruce Lee, and John managed to get him in a choke hold and drag him out the front door and down to the ground, where he kept the guy's neck in the crook of his arm and grabbed the damaged radio with the other hand.
    While John was calling for help, the broker wriggled around enough to slide his mouth down and sink his fangs into the fireman's forearm, and the fireman yelled "Yoooooowwww!" into the radio.
    But the son of a bitch wouldn't let go! He just hung on like a fucking alligator, so John shouted his location and "Help!" into the radio, and threw only the second wimpy punch of his entire life, smacking the guy in the back of the head. And breaking his own finger.
    By and by, the nearest engine company showed up along with a bunch of cops, and nobody was shocked to see who it was sitting there on the stoop of the real-estate office, nursing his chomped arm and broken pinkie, while the real-estate broker wheezed.
    And then, to John's surprise, out of the office walked the guy's ten-year-old stepson. He'd been in one of the other rooms during the entire donnybrook, afraid to come out. The broker screamed that this wack-job fireman had come to his door demanding identification, and that when he momentarily refused because of the overbearing attitude, the fireman