Pyro by Earl Emerson Read Free Book Online

to keep it under wraps most of the time, when it came to the nitty-gritty, I was a lot more volatile than Slaughter ever dreamed of being.
    What I knew about fire scenes was this: Yelling tended to stifle communication. It inflamed the emotions and took the focus off the task at hand. Firefighting was a team effort, and teams worked best when they worked cohesively. A well-drilled crew of firefighters didn’t need to be berated in public. Outwardly, Dolan, Pickett, Gliniewicz, Boles, and Slaughter all got along well, but I knew Dolan and Pickett seethed over indignities Slaughter had inflicted on them in the past, even though, as the Attack 6 officer, Slaughter had no real authority over them on the ladder truck.
    When Jeff Dolan and Mike Pickett came back with the thermal imager, Dolan was angry because he’d missed the rescue on this side of the block. “It was out before we got there,” he said. “They didn’t even need an imager. It was just two shingles.”
    “I coulda pissed and put it out,” said Pickett.
    Dolan said, “You see the tig old bitties on that old lady in the back of the medic unit?”
    Rideout remained silent. I said, “She took a lot of smoke. She might die.”
    “Oh, shit. Really?”
    “You know what Chief Hertlein was doing out here, don’t you?” Pickett said.
    “What? What was he doing?” Rideout asked.
    “Cruising for fires. He’s trying to make himself look good in the papers. I never seen a firefighter wanted to be in the papers more than him.”
    “
We
found that fire,” said Rideout. “The lieutenant did. The chief didn’t even get out of his car.”
    “Ain’t that a bitch?” Dolan reached down beside the rear duals on our rig. “Who the hell put this here?” It was a Shasta soda pop can, diet black cherry, the liquid sloshing around. He sniffed the opening, made a disgusted face, and heaved the can off toward the north end of the nursing home, where we heard it crash into the blackberries.
    “What’d you do that for?” I asked.
    “It was full of piss.”
    “Was it there when we pulled up?”
    “No way.”
    “You sure?”
    “ ’Course I’m sure. The piss was still warm. I wonder who put it there.”
    An ugly feeling began to grow inside me.

9. MY BOSS’S BOSS’S BOSS
    Cynthia Rideout
    D ECEMBER 6, F RIDAY , 0930 HOURS
             
We didn’t get to bed until sometime after four in the morning, and then the engine got up at six for an aid call to one of the local nursing homes. Right now I’m running on adrenaline and coffee.
    Wow.
    Talk about a hayride down a mountain without brakes.
    More has happened to me in the last twenty-four hours than happened all last year. I remember one of the lieutenants in our drill school saying not to get antsy about getting fires after we got out in the company, that sometimes a recruit went into the company and didn’t get a fire for two or three months. That there were cases of recruits not having a fire their entire probationary year.
    Last night we had seven. Granted, they weren’t big fires, but Lieutenant Wollf and I made a rescue. My first shift on Ladder 3—A RESCUE!
    Wollf took the whole thing in stride. He even thought it was funny the news people got mixed up and gave Zeke credit for the save.
    I keep thinking about what Katie Fryer told me about Wollf coming to Station 6 to fire me. Two things worry me. No. Three.
    Wollf didn’t fill out his portion of the daily report yet. I’m worried the reason he didn’t is because he wants to screw me over and he needs some time to think through the wording. He said he was going to wait and fill it out next shift, Sunday. But he also said I did good and that there wouldn’t be any surprises.
    On the other hand, that’s pretty much the same thing Chief Eddings told me at Thirteen’s, and look what she wrote.
    I’ve been thinking about it, and here’s what he might say. I don’t know that he will, but this is what it could be:
    (1) That I didn’t set up