Basics of Life

March 1977 - Bank of America adopts the name VISA for their credit cards.
                       Average salary, $7,564
                       Average California house price, $23,100


"Chet, Marco, wet everything down. If anything catches we could have our own little brushfire here." Fenced in by chain-link, the scrub brush and Pampas grass would make an impressive bonfire. Industrial buildings on each side of the vacant lot reverberated the sirens announcing station 14's arrival. The ring of fog around the streetlights captured and reflected back its light before it could reach the ground and be of any use.

Friday morning, one linen delivery truck and two passenger vehicles met in the intersection; it proved to be a very bad experience. Movement from inside the yellow Roadrunner rocked it on its top in the middle of the intersection. The rocking motion walked the vehicle counter clockwise until it finally ran out of momentum.

Roy and Johnny grabbed their equipment and ran for the nearest vehicle. The overturned car began rocking again as they approached. Before they got close enough, the driver braced one hand on the ceiling, releasing his seat belt. He tucked his legs to roll out from over the steering column, then lay out along the roof. "Sir, stay still. Let us get you out." Roy tried to get the man's attention. "You might be hurt and not know it."

"I'm going to put this collar around your neck, slide you onto a backboard and get you on your way to the hospital. Understand?"

The young man in mechanics overalls finally had to agree. "Uh...okay." That was as profound as he was going to get this morning.

"I've got this one, go check the next." Roy shoveled his hands under the man's shoulders and slid him out. "Good thing you had your seat belt on."

"Always do... feel naked without it."

Johnny followed the path of broken glass and twisted metal, evidence of how the vehicles skittered and spun to their current positions. The linen delivery truck had tipped on its side and slid into the base of a shopping center marquis, smashing in the roof. Fourteen's crew was busy freeing the trapped driver.

From the combined glow of the street lamps and the way Mike positioned the rig to get the most light across the scene, Johnny could make out the short sideways tire marks of a car forced ninety degrees from its intended direction. The maroon Cordova had rolled at least twice before coming to rest on its twisted frame. Johnny shook his glove off and reached through the open window to check for the driver's pulse. The inside of the car was covered with a jumble of bedspreads and pillows. To bad the cushioning wasn't up front. "Cap, I'm going to need the jaws over here. The driver is pinned by the door and the dashboard."

"Poppy... Poppy, me asusto'. Dónde estás, Poppy? " The bedspreads in the backseat began to move, two small arms reached up through them behind the driver's seat, then Johnny recognized a face among the rumpled blankets on the far side of the car.

"Cap, I've got three victims here. How's Roy coming with his? I'm going to need help."

The rear window of the Cordova spidered, the whole sheet was loose in its frame. The front passenger side roof flattened against the seat top. Johnny replaced his gloves and braced his foot against the rear quarter panel. Chet and Marco ran to help him pull the back window away.

"Poppy! Dónde estás?" Marco heard the girl crying. As soon as the window was out of the way, he climbed up on the hood and stretched out through the opening, ignoring the metal clasps of his turnout coat digging into his chest and stomach. He could see the little girl's leg was trapped under the seat.

Marco's helmet forced his neck down at an awkward angle and he couldn't turn his head to look at the children. Knowing he would have to endure a safety lecture from Cap later, he ducked his head back out and lost the helmet. The space was so tight there wasn't room for anything to hit him on the head. "Es mejor, ahora te puedo ver. Mi nombre es Marco y este es mi amigo Johnny." His smile and gentle voice calmed the young girl down. "Estaras bien, te vamos a ayudar. Poppy, es tu papá?"

"Es mi abuelo. Oscar es mi hermano."

As Mike worked on the steering column, the crunching and snapping of the jaws frightened the little girl even more. Johnny hadn't heard the other child or seen him move. That's what frightened him. He wiggled through the window to check for a pulse and respirations on the boy. Not even Johnny, as small as he was, could fit in the back. He burrowed into the blankets to cut through seat belts then packed Oscar up onto the backboard.

Marco blocked the girl's view and kept her occupied while Johnny worked on her brother. "Como te llamas?"

"Gabriele."

"Bien, Gabriele, tan pronto como los saquemos del carro, los tres van al hospital."

"Marco, I need you." Johnny scooted off the trunk holding onto the head of the board. "Here, hand him through to me."
Marco reached as far as he could to slide the boy through without jarring him. Marco wriggled his way backward with the boy when the back of his head smacked against sharp metal. The jolt loosened his grip on the backboard. Johnny felt the added weight on his end of the backboard "You okay?" he asked.

Marco resisted the urge to grab the back of head and give himself away. "Yeah." Brilliant.

Chet was there to help Johnny take the boy out the rest of the way. Now Marco had more room to work on getting the girl out. "El cuidara a tu hermano. Ahora te pudemos sacar."

"Van a morir?"

Marco shot a quick look to Johnny. He knew John understood the word "morir".

Marco sat on the exam table rocking Gabriele cradled against his shoulder, singing softly to her, hardly above a whisper. He had tried to keep her from seeing her grandfather and brother being worked on at the accident site. Cap had him stay with her to keep her calm while his paramedics worked. Tense, frightened sobs had finally wound their way down to a few sniffles and shaky sighs. She was almost asleep.

Dr. Early stood for a moment in the open doorway watching and smiling. "Marco, it looks like you're a natural."

"Well, I have enough nieces and nephews. I guess I have the experience." Marco kept his voice low so he wouldn't startle Gabriele.

Dixie and a woman in civilian clothes joined them in the treatment room. "Do you know if she speaks any English?"

"I haven't heard any." Marco answered. "How are her grandfather and brother?"

Dixie avoided Marco's question. "I'll call Julia to translate for us, so you can get back where you belong. Johnny and Roy will be done soon."

Dr. Early stroked her hair to wake her up and looked to Marco to translate. "Gabriele, your brother is going to be fine. He's going to stay here for a few days. Right now it's time for me to make sure you're alright."

Gabriele looked up at Dr. Early, but kept her arms wrapped around Marco's neck as he told her what the doctor had said.
Marco unhooked her arms from around him so he could look her in the eyes. She didn't protest, so he scooted her off his lap then hopped down to face her. "Si quieres, puedo quedarme contigo, m'ija. Dr Early es muy agradable, él no lastimará." He brushed the hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear, then looked over as the door opened; Dixie had returned with another nurse to assist.

"Sí, él es muy agradable y le diré un secreto." Julia looked around and leaned in close. "A el le da cosquillas."

Gabriele giggled, Julia winked, Marco covered a smirk and didn't dare look over at Dr. Early. As tired as he was he wouldn't be able to keep himself from giggling. He was struggling to keep a straight face now. He saw his exit and quickly followed Dixie out of the treatment room. When the door closed, he got serious again. "So, how is her grandfather?"
"He's critical, but he is expected to make it." Dixie knew it didn't sound like encouraging news, but it was the best she had for now. "He'll be with us a while."

They stopped at the nurse's station. The same woman who came into the room was at the desk setting up paperwork. He thought of asking Dixie for some aspirin and chasing it down with a cup of coffee, but figured he could hold out until John and Roy were ready, and they made it back to the station. "What happens to Gabriele and Oscar?"

"Marco Lopez, I'd like you to meet Teresa Ramirez. She's the social worker assigned to their case."

Teresa searched through the pockets in her briefcase and handed a card to each of them. Manila envelopes and folders so overstuffed their metal prongs strained to keep order teetered in the open case. "Here's my work number if you need... to ... contact... me." An avalanche of papers dropped from her briefcase to the floor, the cascade slowed. Her last few words were spoken in time, as she watched the remaining forms follow the mass like lemmings and plop into the paper sea.

His automatic response came from a childhood of training and example. From over the desk, Dixie watched Marco's dark head bob as he scooped papers, then sat on his heels to tidy the stack. She realized the matted wet patch of hair she'd thought was sweat, wasn't. "Marco, you've got blood on the back of your head." She eyed him suspiciously. "It's not yours, is it?" Marco's hand automatically reached for the sore spot. "You wouldn't be trying to hide an injury, would you?" Guilty. "Tsk... tsk... tsk..." She beckoned him with a finger. "You, come with me."

He'd been caught. There was no use avoiding his fate, first from Dixie and then from Captain Stanley. Marco stood to return the folders to Teresa. "I'm fine, really" The attempt was in vain. He knew he would never convince Dixie, or Roy or Johnny if they had been the ones to see it. Maybe he would be lucky and draw Dr. Early. After all, 'he is a nice man, he won't hurt you'.

On their way to an empty treatment room, they passed the two paramedics. "Be back in a minute." Dixie called out.
Teresa added a few notes to the growing folders of Gabriele and Oscar Torres and some references for herself. Marco Lopez, LACoFD Station 51, Carson. Tired, dirty and apparently hurt, he still had a nice smile, a gentle touch with children, and Gabriele trusted him. Maybe he would help her with her limited Spanish next time she talked to the kids.

By 0745, Roy was backing the squad into the bay. The three firefighters were greeted by Captain Stanley and a ringing telephone. "Marco, is there something you needed to tell me about this morning?" He used his best command stare, the one usually reserved for a Kelly-Gage fracas.

"Um... Cap..."

Charles Martel, a hose jockey from B shift, leaned out from the kitchen, "Marco, phone." Cap softened his stance, and Marco, grateful for the reprieve, escaped to the phone. Seeing he had an audience, Marco turned his back trying for a little privacy. Change of shift, and it appeared nobody had anything else to do but listen in on his call.

"Teresa... yes, I'm fine. But then I haven't talked to the Captain yet. "Three stiches...You don't? Sure, I can do that... no problem... I'd like to... even better, I could teach you. Okay, see you then... bye."

The milling crowd exchanged glances, 'Teresa', eyebrows arched, 'that's a name we haven't heard before'. Nine firefighters, coffee mugs in hand, watched Marco's back and speculated on who Teresa was. Not that they were intensely interested in Marco's half of the conversation, but the instinct to tease their fellow crew mate was too deeply ingrained to overcome.

Shooting a quick glance over his shoulder, he hung up the phone and smoothed his mustache in an attempt to hide a smile. Looking around at the circling wolves told him a speedy exit to the locker room was in order, instead of the cup of coffee he had hoped for. The rest of A shift ditched their cups in the sink and trotted after him. The door swung closed behind them and muffled the "hey..." shouted from the remaining men. They'd stuck B shift with the dirty mugs.

Late Saturday morning Teresa Ramirez waited down in Rampart's emergency room for the fireman she had met yesterday. She appreciated his help, but didn't want to take up a lot of his time on his day off. Her own paperwork on the Torres children would take the rest of the day. She had heard once about people who worked Monday through Friday and only during the daytime. Must have been fairytale.

The Padilla's would be a wonderful family for Gabriele and Oscar to stay with. They'd just returned from visiting their daughter's family and their newest grandson. Three children grown and gone with families of their own left only three children in the house. There would be plenty of room for these two little ones.

Teresa hoped that Marco would be able to help her explain everything to Gabriele, and that she and Oscar would give the Padilla's a chance. She laid aside the paperwork on the vacant chair beside her in time to see Marco coming through the ER's entrance. "Good morning," She waved him over. "Thank you again for helping me. I just don't speak enough Spanish to really talk to them."

"I don't mind at all. I'm sure she's scared. Do you know what room she's in?"

"I was going to check with Dixie."

Their short stroll down the hallway led them to Dixie's desk. "Good morning you two. I believe the person you want to see is in room 312."

Marco startled when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. "As long as you're not here to see me." Joe Early scowled at him.

"Dr. Early." Nervousness replaced the usual smile in his voice. "I even told Gabriele how nice you were."

"Sure, frightened little girls, I'm a pussycat. Firemen who take off their helmets, I can be nasty." Dr. Early tried the scowl again, but gave it up for a grin as he watched Marco's expressions change. Firefighters make such good sport. Besides, he still hadn't found out what was so funny yesterday. Joe traded charts with Dixie and headed off to his next patient.

Marco tried to figure out how much of that was a joke and how much belonged to the chewing out he'd received yesterday morning.

"Room 312, now shoo." She brushed the pair away from her desk.

"Do you know the staff here very well?" Teresa asked while they waited for the elevator.

"No, I've tried to make a habit of not coming here."

"Good plan."

"How about you?" They waited as the elevator emptied, then Marco held the door and ushered Teresa in.

"Better then I'd like." She pushed the third floor button and watched as the lighted numbers changed. "Wait, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. What I mean is they're great people, I just wish my job didn't bring me here so often." She turned toward Marco. "Were you serious about teaching me Spanish?"

June 1977 - First personal computer, Apple II, goes on sale.
                     Former Whitehouse Chief-of-staff, HR Haldeman, enters prison.
                     Roy C. Sullivan of VA is struck by lightening for seventh time.

Stoker stood, stack of dishes in hand, looking out over a hodgepodge of papers covering the kitchen table. "Cap, Johnny, is there something I can help you with so we'll have a place to eat lunch?"

At the prospect of food, Johnny swept together his papers, condensing them to two piles, logged and unlogged, before tucking them into the logbook. Cap's task was a little more daunting, and infinitely more colorful. Sorting through all the finished inspection forms and making sure each different color paper was sent to each different proper address had to be the most tedious paperwork there was. "Did they invent a new color?" He stared at the paper in his hand trying to decide if it was canary or goldenrod. When the phone rang he was happy to grab it, eager to distract himself from the papers. "LA County Fire Department, Captain Stanley speaking..."

"Marco!" Cap stuck his head out of the day room. "Hey Roy, you seen Marco?"

"I think he's still in the dorm. You want me to go get him?"

"No, that's okay." Cap headed for the dorm, then called back over his shoulder to no one in particular, "don't touch my papers!"

"Hey, Marco hows the shoulder?"

Marco looked up from buttoning his shirt. "Just a bandage... the scratches are fine. It's the tetanus shot that hurts."

"Ow. Well, if you hadn't caught Mr. Bergen when he slipped he could have been hurt a lot worse." Marco's quick reflexes prevented the elderly man from falling down the storage room steps, but acting as a shock absorber led him straight into the exposed nails. "That was brave of you to sacrifice your body like that."

Marco held up his uniform shirt to inspect the damage. "That's why I joined the department, Cap", he folded his torn shirt and tucked it into his gym bag, "for the chance to be a hero. When I go fix Mama's screen door, maybe she can fix my shirt. There's not even any blood on it."

Cap almost slapped him on the shoulder but pulled back just in time. "Well, I'm glad you're okay. Almost forgot, telephone."
"I'll be right there."

Before the words were even out of his mouth, the klaxon sounded. Station 51, car over embankment, mile marker fifteen, Sugar Creek Road, time out 1149.

Stoker was already scribbling down the address and acknowledged, "Station 51, KMG-365"

Chet climbed up across from Marco and settled into his turnouts. "Hey, man, that was Rosita on the phone. I said I'd tell you she called."

"Hey, Toad--I mean Todd, give me a drink." Everyday, the way home from school meant a stop at the 7-11.

"Here..." Todd passed the Coke bottle over. "You better not backwash. Look what I found in my brother's car."

"So, whatcha gonna do with them?"

"I don't know." They cut behind the post office, to the hole in the parking lot wall.

"Why couldn't your brother pick us up from school? It's hot already."

"Hey, I know."

"You know what?" Jason dove through the hole to follow Todd, landing with his hands on the ground and feet still hooked on the rough brick. He made like a wheelbarrow, walking forward on his hands until he was free.

"What to do with these. Give me the coke bottle...." Todd angled the empty bottle until it concentrated the sunlight into a speck on the cardboard. "I always wondered if this would work."

"Oh... wow... cool. Let me do one."

"I wonder how long the whole book will burn?"

"Let's find out." Each match stick ignited with a brief flare. Jason picked up the book to watch the flames closely. He turned it over in his hand, watching as the paperboard burned faster than he realized, and the fire reached his fingertips. "Whoa... Eeeow... Let's get out of here!"

August 1977 - Elvis Presley dies of heart attack at Graceland at age 42.
                       Groucho Marx, comedian, dies in Los Angeles at 86.
                      President Carter establishes Department of Energy.

The instant the engine, stopped Chet stormed off into the dayroom. "This is really beginning to tick me off." His Irish temper was rising along with the summer temperatures. He stomped around the kitchen forgetting that he'd come in there for a glass of water.

Mike and Marco headed for the captain's office. Mike handed July's logbook to Marco and grabbed the current one from the drawer. "There is no way these are all accidental."

Marco looked over the previous months record. "There's been too many of them, but how do you tell the difference between a careless match and a deliberate one?"

Roy and Johnny looked up from their late lunch. The engine crew had finished their lunch, and been called out before the squad had returned from their last run, so they didn't know what Chet was upset about. Hoping to calm him down before steam started to escape from his ears, Roy went over to the sink filled a glass with cool water and placed it in Chet's hand. He made sure the man realized it was there before he let go.

Chet downed that glass without coming up for air, quickly refilled it and made it halfway through the next in one breath. That, at least, made him feel civil. "Thanks, Roy."

"No problem, so what happened out there?"

Chet proceded to fill them in on the latest trash fire. "Cap said, since there's been no real loss of property, and except for today, no injuries, other than having the police take an extra look down alleyways and behind stores, there's not much we can do."

Johnny held up his hand to stop Chet from going any further. "What do you mean, except for today, no injuries? Where is everybody?"

"Relax, everyone is okay. One of you might want to look at Cap's eye, though."

"What happened?" Instantly concerned, Johnny laid aside the rest of his food and headed for the sink.

"Gust of wind blew ash at us. Cap got some in his eye." Chet drank the rest of the water slowly and moved aside so Gage could wash his hands.

Before Johnny made it out of the kitchen, Cap came in and headed straight for the couch. He leaned his head back, hand cupped over his right eye to keep himself from rubbing.

"You okay, Cap?"

Hank raised his head, but not his hand. "I'll live. I think I got it washed out."

"Well, let me check and make sure."

Mike and Marco joined the rest. Mike stood by and watched Johnny rinse Cap's eye. "Paperwork is all tucked away, Cap. In the past two months we've been called out on 19 trash fires, and that's just A shift."

"You know, those dumpster fires started the day school let out." Marco added.

Cap wiped at the water running down his face and under his collar. "Great, does that mean this is going to continue until school starts again?" He handed the wet towel to Johnny. "You know Gage, I just put on a dry shirt."

September 1977 - Hamida Djandoubi, convicted murderer, is last to die in the guillotine.
                             Cheryl Ladd replaces Farrah Fawcett on Charlie's Angeles.
                             US Voyager I takes first space photograph of Earth and Moon together.

Marco shut off the shower humming. Yesterday was a good day, so what if his shoulders and neck were a little crispy. He looked in the mirror, inspecting the lines left by the tank shirt. He didn't burn red, but it sure smarted. He hadn't planned on walking around Griffith Park all day in a sleeveless shirt, but Oscar spilled his grape Slurpee all over Teresa's top, so he'd given her his shirt to wear. Besides, he liked the way she looked in the oversized shirt.

The first time Teresa asked for his help, it was only business. He already knew the situation, and the kids liked and trusted him, probably more then they liked and trusted her. Bombero Lopez was their hero; she told them they had to go live with someone they didn't know. Later on, if he wasn't on duty, he went with her to visit their foster home, their Poppy had been released from Rampart, but only as far as Clairemont Nursing Facility. Marco really didn't need to translate for her any more, the private language lessons were going pretty well, and the kids learned English quickly, but he didn't mind one bit.
By the time he had driven to work and walked inside the station, the soft hum had become quite a cheerful whistle.

"Any bets on where today's trash fire is going to be?" Gage and Kelly were at it already.

"I don't even want to think about it, Gage. They must have been really bored last shift. Three... three times. I wonder how the other shifts made out? I'll tell you this is getting really old."

Marco strolled over to his locker, and nodded to the rest of the guys, not paying any attention to their questioning looks.

Chet sensed something was up, and set his sites on his hose mate. "You're awfully happy this morning, had a nice couple of days off, huh?" Chet slapped Marco across the shoulders.

"Teresa and I went to the zoo to see the tiger cubs." Marco resumed his whistling.

"Chris and Jennifer are trying to convince us to take them before school starts, maybe we'll take them tomorrow. I'm just not crazy about tigers." Roy knew it was inevitable. It was better to go now, then have to wait for a weekend because the kids were in school. That was one of the advantages of an odd work schedule.

"Roy, tiger cubs... what's not to like? You know, that's not a bad idea for a date. I could give Marcy a call." Johnny was already planning his next day off.

"Oh sure, fifty pounds they're adorable. It's the 450 pound ones I've seen enough of."

Dan Helber, from C shift came to track Marco down. Dan had heard the stories. In fact, the whole department had heard the story about a woman chasing Marco with an axe. Marco nodded a greeting not missing a note of his tune as he changed into his uniform. Dan leaned against the locker with his foot on the bench trying to think of the easiest way to tell him. "Someone came here looking for you yesterday. Does the name Rosita ring a bell?"

His cheerful song died mid-pucker. He took a few stumbling steps backward until his legs met the bench and sat as a feeling of dread started to take hold. Kaleidoscopic images tumbled in front of him. Rosita, beautiful on the dance floor, making Marco the envy of whichever party they happened to be at, became angry Rosita moving closer, threatening, holding an axe. Okay, forgetting her birthday was a big mistake. Then came a vision of shining, raven-black hair caressed by the breeze as they stood on the pier. Next, his underwear flapping at the top of the station's flagpole for all the world to see. Now, that was uncalled for. Ring a bell? Sure, like Madison Square Gardens. "Did she say anything?"

"Just that she hadn't been able to get a hold of you and wanted to let you know she was leaving town for awhile."

Johnny finally asked what everyone, especially Marco, was afraid to ask. "Did she seem angry?"

"No, she seemed to be in a hurry. She said she was just stopping by in case you were working." Dan didn't understand the strange mood that settled over A shift like they were watching a condemned man. "You all look like you're afraid of her. She seemed nice."

"Nice," Chet snorted.

"Sure, she's nice. It's just she can be a little..." Johnny snapped his fingers hoping that Roy would supply him with the right word.

Roy looked up from tucking in his shirt. "Fiery."

"That's it."

"Fiery, that's a good word for it. I would have chosen volatile, myself." Mike closed his locker then gave Marco a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder before heading for his morning coffee and with any luck, a pristine paper.

Marco still hadn't found his voice. His lips, head and hands all moved in a silent debate but no sound came out. Rosita was leaving town? Was that a good thing or would she be even more angry that she didn't see me before she left? The first time she had called at the station they had just been too busy. He did call her once, when he had the weekend off and Teresa had some sort of class to go to, but Rosita was out for the day. Since then he was either spending time with Teresa, or doing work around his mother's house. The more time that passed between calls the more he was sure any conversation with Rosita would be dangerous. It's not that he had ignored her on purpose.

"Roll call!"

Engine 36, Station 51, structure fire, 41 Opal Lane, 4*1 Opal Lane, cross street Ruby, time out 1545.

Engine 36 was first in, Captain Wilson's voice came over the radio. "Engine 51, set your men up on the inside. We'll take it from the alley."

"10-4, 36." Captain Stanley acknowledged. "Lopez, Kelly, get an inch and a half up there." A minute and a half; Kelly may get flustered during drills but this was no drill. Both of his firefighters were suited up and headed for the stairs with time to spare.

Johnny jumped out as Roy was still rolling to a stop. "Are you alright?"

Mrs. Montgomery was comforting her son's landlady. "We're fine, but I think Ace is home." She pointed to the upstairs apartment where smoke was pouring out of the screened windows. "Everybody else is at work."

"Cap. We have a possible victim in the upstairs unit."

Gage took a few seconds to appraise the women for injuries. As he turned to leave the elderly landlady collapsed, almost slipping though Mrs. Montgomery's arms. The two lowered the frail woman to the ground. "Roy, bring the equipment."
Roy left his SCBA and started pulling cases from their compartments.

"Kelly, Lopez" Cap stopped them with a shout. "Possible victim up there." Stanley pocketed the HT and reached for his own SCBA. Two men on the hose and two men to search. His paramedics had one victim already. He'd have to settle for one man to search. "Roy, I need you."

Flames grew from the outside in. Someone outside wanted it gone. Inside was easier, more places to hide. Pressboard cabinets need little convincing. There's more beyond this room. Using the carpet to speed its way deeper into the apartment, reaching the roll top desk with reams of paper to play in. Envelopes and stationery whipping in circles, carrying the blaze on currents to seed other rooms.

Marco crouched down at the top of the exterior staircase, nozzle ready. Chet rammed the door. The flash knocked him back to where Marco was waiting to catch him. He took his place behind Lopez and pressed him forward. Flames sizzled and whimpered, taken aback by the intrusion of water.

Over the roar of the fire, Chet heard coughing coming from the bedroom. He signaled to Marco, released the hose and hurried into the room. He pulled the victim to his feet and dipped his shoulder to scoop him up, ready for a quick retreat across the threshold and down the stairs to deposit this guy with Gage and DeSoto. Seeing Cap was on his way to back up Marco relieved him.

Marco turned back the flames threatening the rest of the apartment. He took a few steps back to the door to regroup and trained the spray where he saw the flames creeping toward the back rooms.

Diverted from its path, the frustrated blaze subtly changed tactics. It backtracked, looking for the path of least resistance and found contentment among the bottles of chemicals.

An ecstatic blast heaved Marco past the threshold. His feet ran out of balcony and the weight of his air tank flipped him into a violent somersault landing on his facemask. He rattled down the iron stairway knocking Cap's feet out from under him when there was nothing he could do to stop his fall.

Johnny's first patient no longer needed oxygen and was sitting up. Roy had almost reached Chet, who carried the second victim over his shoulder. The roar overhead claimed Chet and Roy's attention in time to witness Marco's unexpected ejection from the scene. The hose whipped across the balcony. "Kill the line!" Stanley and DeSoto yelled at Stoker in stereo.

Cap was kneeling next to Marco at the base of the stairs when Roy reached them, and together they carried him across the grass. Chet deposited the original victim next to Johnny and raced back to the line. What he found was useless. "Cap, the end of the hose is gone."

Great. The upper floor was now fully involved from the explosion. Stanley keyed the HT. "LA this is Engine 51, we have a Code I, respond another engine and an ambulance." Chet and Mike scrambled to replace the line.

Roy removed what was left of Marco's facemask as gently as possible. A large laceration on his upper lip and one along the hairline was the worst damage from the shattered plastic. Marco started to come around as Roy stripped him of his tank and coat.

It wasn't hard to decide which body part demanding attention was most important. "Can't... breathe."

Roy reached for the now idle oxygen. "This will help. Take it easy." He looked over at Johnny and started taking Marco's vitals and asked, "how are yours?"

"Smoke inhalation, he's doing okay. Mrs. Johnson fainted, she seems to be fine now."

"Do you have Rampart?"

"Got 'em. Do you have vitals yet?"

Johnny repeated Marco's vitals to Rampart and waited for Brackett's orders.

Marco swatted. Somebody was trying to grab his arms, trying to keep him from pulling away the mask. The pent up air didn't want to go into his lungs. He didn't care about needle sticks, he didn't care about his ribs. He wanted the clammy, plastic mask off his face. His SCBA mask was rigid and didn't try to smother him.

Roy kept pulling Marco's hands down while attempting to start the IV. "Cut it out, Marco." Frustrated, Roy pinned him arm to the ground with his knee. "Come on, give me a good vein here."

He obeyed for a while but he felt the pliable mask suck in around his mouth and nose and panicked. He grabbed for the mask again. This time, with the IV in and both hands free, Roy gripped Marco by the shoulders and leaned in close to make him understand. "Leave the mask alone, Marco. You are getting air. You'll start to feel better soon." The glassy look in his eyes faded and he finally nodded that he understood.

Hank kept one eye on the fire even as he knelt to reassure Marco. "Ambulance is here, pal, won't be long now."

"I told you to leave that mask alone." Roy pulled Marco's hands away - again. "Keep your hands away or I'll tape them down."

"Don't like it." He could breath fine now, but he chose as few words as possible because of the gash over his lip.

"I don't care. You're keeping it on until the doctor says differently."

"Which he does." Dr. Brackett came in, x-rays in hand. "I've got good news and bad news. Good news, ribs are cracked not broken. I'll wrap then up for you. That will give you some support and remind you not to overdo anything. Your head looks fine. You get away with a mild concussion. I still want to keep an eye on you so you will be spending the night with us." Marco looked relieved. He wanted whatever was going to happen to be done with so he could go to sleep.

"You said bad news, doc?" Roy asked.

Doctor Brackett studied Marco for a moment. "The bad news is - before I can stitch up your lip, the mustache has got to go."

Marco's hand shot to his face again, this time to protect his prized mustache. "Doc, do you have to?"

Brackett thought about it. "Well, we could just shave the left side, but I don't think that would be an improvement." Marco snorted; he didn't find that particularly funny.

Brackett looked up over Marco at Roy. "I don't know what it is. The biggest, bushiest mustaches I've ever seen have been on firefighters. Aren't you afraid of it getting singed off right under your nose?"

"Don't ask me, Doc. Joanne always said I looked like a villain in a melodrama whenever I've tried to grow one, so I just gave it up."

"Roy, will you call Teresa for me? We were supposed to go to the swap meet tomorrow. Number's on the calendar in my locker."

"Sure, do you want me to call your mom, too?"

Mama would find out soon enough, Marco didn't want her making a fuss over him now. He frantically shook his head, but that just reminded him of all the pains he'd rather forget.

Roy laughed. "I understand." Carol came in carrying a tray that contained, among other things, a razor and a local anesthetic. Roy winced, "Good luck, that stuff burns." He patted Marco's shoulder before leaving. "See you later."

Chet's knock barely registered on the door before swinging open to the accompaniment of Johnny Olsen's "Come on down... you're the next contestant..."

"We have to tell him, Chet. He'll know it was just an accident." Johnny, following right behind Chet, realized he was already in Marco's hospital room, and it was too late to back out quietly.

"Can I do something for you?" Marco glared at Chet and Johnny's booming entrance. Teresa sat by his side. She didn't try to hide her amusement.

"No, man, just came by to tell you we dropped your car off at your place." Chet still didn't want to tell.

"You could have used the telephone."

"Well... you see.. if Chester, here, didn't stop in the middle of the street..."

"Look, it's just the fender, that's what it's there for, right?" Chet didn't know if he was trying to defend himself or Gage.

Marco was getting nervous. It was his car they were talking about. "What is just the fender? Spill it - now."

"I think he's ungrateful, Gage." Chet threw up his hands. "Try to do a guy a favor."

The guilts were getting to Johnny. "I... kind... of... put a little dent in your fender. If Chet hadn't stopped the car in the middle of the block to gawk..."

"Me gawk! Like you weren't doing the same thing when you drove into the back of my - correction, Marco's car."

"Well, it is small, it kind of blends in with the other dings. I'll help you straighten it out, if you want." Johhny added optimistically. "Besides, that was some... some... dress." Johnny chose his words in deference to Teresa.

Kelly's mustache twitched. "Right, there should have been a caution sign, dangerous curves ahead."

Johnny ignored Marco's stare and instead apologized to the woman sitting on the edge of his friend's bed. "You'll have to forgive Chet, he has no manners. You must be Teresa, you came to the station once."

"Nice to meet you, again." Teresa nudged Marco. "So, these are your friends?"

Johnny noticed how comfortably she sat on the edge of Marco's bed, her arm tucked under his. "Well, maybe they would like to be alone, Chet."

"Yeah, maybe they would like to be alone." Marco echoed.

"They have the rest of the day to be alone. I have other things to do today."

"Your kindness amazes me." Marco glared at his personalized version of Mutt and Jeff.

"Say, how do you like his new look?" Johnny motioned to Marco's upper lip, now bare except for a handful of stitches and a bandage. Chet sucked in a breath like he was in pain and stroked his own lavish mustache in commiseration.

Action from the TV screen caught Chet's eye. The game show contestant leaned over the board and released a disk. He watched the Plinko chip bounce off the pegs and rattle its way down into the bottom slot. "Oh, man! That's exactly what you looked like going down those stairs yesterday."

This time both Marco and Johnny shot him a murderous look. You don't say things like that around wives, mothers, or girlfriends.

Teresa squeezed Marco's hand a little tighter. "The first day we met he had three stitches. Yesterday it was an even dozen." She brushed at his hair above the other bandage. "I told him he better not be starting a trend."

"Well, we can see you're in good hands so we'll be leaving now." Johnny shoved Chet towards the door. "Let us know if you need anything." The door finally swung closed behind the two of them.

"That was John Gage and Chester B. Kelly." Marco offered, as if that was all the explanation he needed. "Everybody else I work with is normal... really... most of the time."

"Interesting."

February 1978 - China lifts ban on Aristotle, Shakespeare and Dickens.
                            First "micro on a chip" patented by Texas Instruments.
                            Leon Spinks beats Muhammad Ali in 15 rounds for world Heavyweight crown.

Roy attached the last length of hose and began hauling it up to Mike at the top of the hose tower, not that they would actually dry in this drizzle. "So... finish telling me... how was your anniversary?" Roy tried drawing the rest of the story out of Mike, this could take a while.

"Great! We dropped the boys at Laurie's parents. They'd brought so much stuff you'd think they were staying for a month instead of four days." Mike finished securing the hose, climbed down the ladder, skipped the last three rungs, and dropped to the ground. "Then up the coast to Pismo."

Johnny, half listening to the conversation, looked up from rinsing his mop at the back of the truck bay. "Hey, didn't it rain all week up there?" He looked into the dirty bucket and mumbled, "it sure did here." He swiped the mop over the remaining muddy footprints. "Don't go messin' up my floor."

Mike and Roy made a show of wiping their feet before crossing the threshold and passing into the kitchen. "A little rain does wonders; drives everybody away."

"What drives everybody away, your snoring?" Chet just couldn't help himself.

"Try doing something constructive," Marco tossed an onion at Kelly, "slice." Chet tried to look offended. It did extract a 'please' from Marco.

"No, the rain. The beach and the dunes were empty. I'll have to get some paddles and slicks for the buggy and go up there again." Mike roamed around the kitchen, grabbed one of the apples sitting on the counter, then scrutinized it, anticipating that first bite. Before he could bring it to his mouth, Marco snatched it back. "That's for the chicken."

"It's already dead, it won't eat much." Mike frowned, and went for the coffee instead.

Cap had put away his paperwork and joined everyone in the kitchen. He held out a coffee cup for Mike to fill. "You didn't mention the part about the dune buggy to Laurie, did you?"

"No... the couch is too short for me to sleep on. I figure, I'll wait until Thanksgiving, when everybody heads to Glamis. Then it will be safe."

When John finished the bay, he joined everyone in the kitchen and pick up on what he had heard Mike and Roy talking about out back. "So... Mike," he clapped him on the shoulder and broadcast to the room, "tell us about Pismo." Cap looked up from perusing the newspaper, Gage certainly knew how to call attention to something.

Mike found he had an eager audience waiting for details of his trip. There was no way they were going to get any. "Alright, here is all you're going to get." Chet, itching to hear something good, interrupted his slicing . "Rainy beach, Jose Feliciano and take-out Chinese."

Johnny and Chet almost fell on their faces waiting for more. "Ah... come on..." they whined in unison.

Mike had said all he was going to on the subject. Deprived of the apple, he started to rummage through the cabinets for something to eat. His search was rewarded with a box of Ritz crackers.

Captain Stanley tried to diffuse the inevitable. "Let the man have his privacy." Hank refolded the paper and reached across the table for a sleeve of crackers. "Being discreet isn't a bad thing, you know." His last statement was directed at Kelly and Gage. He knew exactly what Mike meant. Hank enjoyed his wife's taste in music. During last Christmas's gift exchange, the album Emily had bought was the hot item. Stoker ended up with it in the last round, but it had taken a couple of threats and one bribe to do it. Take-out Chinese?

"Maybe they're just looking for lessons on how to be romantic." Roy teased. He and Joanne had a few Sinatra albums. I'll have to check out Jose Feliciano.

"Hey, Marco, you'd have an advantage." Mike pointed the sleeve of crackers at him. "You actually know what he's singing about."

An unexpected visitor startled everyone, except Marco, who was busy paring apples with his back to the rest of the room. "Jose Feliciano? Teresa mentioned him last time we were at Tower Records."

An eerie silence made him turn around. "Rosi...!" He squeaked, then tried again forcing his voice down into its normal register. "Rosita, you're back in town."

A person would have to be blind not to see why Marco had been attracted to Rosita, even if their personalities didn't exactly match. "Marco, could we go outside? I wanted to talk to you."

"Um... well... Cap?"

"I think we can spare you for a few minutes, pal."

Marco wiped off his hands and moved to escort Rosita back outside. Her whole demeanor was more relaxed and peaceful than he had ever remembered. Maybe she hadn't heard him say Teresa's name.

Chet was the first to break rank. Roy and Johnny ran into him when he stopped and stooped next to the door jamb to peek over the hood of the squad. They snatched him back by the belt and collar, preventing him from splatting onto the equipment bay floor. Mike and Hank stopped before crashing into the rest and craned their necks to see around the corner without Marco and Rosita knowing they were being watched. It was a lousy vantage point.

Five paces to the driveway, then five paces away, out of view, and the unbearable wait until they reappeared again.

"I'm not liking this , Cap." Chet was worried. "We can't just abandon him like this. What if he's in trouble out there?"

"I don't hear any yelling, give them a few minutes."

"If he's in trouble, we'll hear him." Roy reassured him.

"Wait, here they are." Mike hushed everybody.

"Would you look at the size..."

Three people reappeared on the sidewalk. Rosita held on to Marco's arm until they reached the driveway, then released him and took the arm of the other man. The man, dressed in a business suit, stood a head taller than Marco. Rosita's hand rested on the man's chest, and even from the truck bay, the guys could see the brilliant flash off her left ring finger. They watched as Marco shook hands with the man, then kissed Rosita on the check and turned up the driveway back into the station.

He was whistling again. He nodded to his crew mates as he passed through the gauntlet in the bay, and took up his place again at the counter paring apples. Five dumbstruck men scrambled into the kitchen, dodging chairs and surrounded Marco, waiting for some sort of explanation.

"Well..." Captain Stanley finally had to prompt him. "What was that all about?"

"Oh, I was just giving the bride a kiss."

"The bride?"
"Yes, Gage. Remember when Martel said Rosita stopped by and said she was leaving town?"

Everybody nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"When she was gone, she meet Hector. He's a businessman, has an office here in LA and one in Mexico. They're getting married next month."

"Next month? They can plan a wedding that fast?" Cap asked.

"Sure, she started planning her wedding the day after her quinceanera."

April 1978 - US Senate approves transfer of Panama Canal to Panama.
                     Korean Airlines flight 007 was shot down by Soviets in Russian air space.
                     Mommy Dearest by Christina Crawford is bestseller.

Station 51, garage fire with injuries, 2751 Eleanor Road, 2*7*5*1 Eleanor Road, cross street Orangethorpe, time out 1152.

Eleanor Road was one of the older residential areas of the county. The houses stood on lots of an acre or more. Built individually over the years, wood-sided farmhouses covered by wisteria and California bungalows, foundations framed with hedges, grew up between long established oaks. No matter what shape the house, in each yard peach and plum trees and jungle-like figs unified the look. A few had been rezoned and supported businesses, their shingles hung at the end of the driveways.

Trapped by the overcast sky, black smoke rolled over the rooftops then flooded the small citrus grove that made up the rest of the neighborhood. Only a few flames were visible along the wall of a detached garage 30 feet from the side of the farmhouse.

Officer Vince Howard stood back from the front porch of the house, holding on tightly to the shoulders of a woman. Roy stopped the squad next to Vince. Mike moved the engine up the gravel drive as a few hot spots on the garage roof started to ignite.

"Inch and a half... let's nip this before it finds something it really likes." Captain Stanley eyed a group of 55-gallon drums chained together against a wooden perimeter fence. It would have been too easy to have the contents of the drum legibly written across the side. There aren't too many harmless substances that are stored in 55-gallon drums. Even a skull and crossbones would have been a hint.

Roy came up beside Vince, "What have you got?"

"Hey, Roy, Johnny, I was called out to a domestic disturbance. When I pulled up, I saw smoke then I saw Mrs. Rothwell here by the side of the garage. I ran up, and thought I was helping her pull a burning box of rags away from the garage. Well, she wasn't trying to put out the fire... she was the one who started it."

Mrs. Rothwell pulled her arm from Roy and stormed over to scream up at the side window. "YA, RIGHT WHERE HE COULD SEE IT FROM HIS ROOM."

"Ma'am... please... calm down. Let us take a look at your arm." Roy tried to placate the woman. Vince stayed in the background; the charges against her could wait until after her burns were treated. Johnny had already set up the biophone and sterile saline and dressings.

Mike shut down the water pressure, and Chet and Marco headed for the rig to get the tools and start looking for hot spots. Captain Stanley moved to join the group at the porch, which now included the ambulance attendants; his goal - to find out what was in the unmarked barrels.

Johnny had the squad's compartment doors open, replacing supplies and equipment. "Cap, we're ready to transport. Roy is going to ride in with her. Mostly first, a few second-degree burns, not too bad."

"Hold up a minute," Cap yelled over to Roy. "I need to get some information from your patient."

Enough time had passed, and the distraction of having her arms bandaged dissipated Mrs. Rothwell's anger. At the mention of the drums and her husband, her fury spewed; accusations and curses crackled in the enclosed space of the ambulance. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S IN THOSE THINGS, I BET HE DOESN'T EITHER."

"Mrs. Rothwell, calm down..."

Her tirade plowed right over Roy as she continued in the same breath. "THEY'VE BEEN THERE SO LONG I'M SUPRISED THEY HAVEN'T BLOWN UP ON THEIR OWN YET."

Stanley gave up trying to get any details from her. He rolled his eyes slightly, gave Roy a pitying look, and closed the ambulance doors.

"THAT NO GOOD, LAZY... HE WON'T EVEN GET OUT OF BED TO TAKE A P..."

The closing door cut off the last part of that statement. He'd apologize later to Roy for trapping him with Mrs. Rothwell. Captain Stanley rubbed at his temples. Smoke still hung in the air, and was begining to sting his eyes. This was not a good way to start the day. When he opened his eyes, Stoker appeared beside him. "Almost done Cap, twenty min..." Hacking and coughing carried down through the open window from whoever was in the upstairs room, making them both cringe. The rest of their conversation forgotten.

Johnny immediately reversed what he was doing, "Oh, man, I forgot there was another person here."

"Mike, why don't you give Gage a hand. I've got to contact Haz-Mat about those mystery drums over there."

"Sure, Cap." Mike grabbed the oxygen from the squad and followed Johnny. From the sounds he heard coming from the upstairs window, it was a safe bet he would be using it.

John trotted up the porch steps. The screen door, instead of opening, twisted in his hand barely holding on by one hinge. Gage ducked the loose edge then caught the door as it sliced past his shoulder on the way to Stoker's head. They tried again, this time holding the broken hinges in place. One step into the house, and Gage pulled up short. "Geeze... did something die in here?" He tried covering his mouth and nose with his shirt collar. An odor like raw sewage came from somewhere inside..

"I don't think I want to find out."

"I don't think we could find out... not without a dog." The living room held all the usual furnishings; couch, chairs, bookcases, but there was also a double bed, dresser, armoire, and nightstands. Someone moved an entire room of bedroom furniture into the same room. A three foot wide path connected the front door, stairway, and presumably the kitchen through the far doorway.

"Just breath through your mouth." John elbowed Stoker and lead the way to the staircase. "Come on."

The wooden floor creaked underfoot and felt a bit spongy in places. Stair treads were covered in matted shag so stained it was impossible to distinguish the carpet's original color. Gage's running gait usually carried him two steps at a time, but the short treads were awkward to climb; the narrow, steep staircase was built before standarized safety codes. A few of the steps bowed. Those that didn't, snapped and cracked, threatening to seperate from the risers.

Incredibly, the smell was getting worse at the top of the stairs. Johnny pushed the door open to the first bedroom only to recoil from the stench. He braced himself to walk through the doorway. "Sir, LA County Fire Department..." The rest of what he was going to say died on his lips, when he caught sight of a shotgun standing up in the far corner of the room, an arm's length away from the bed. He backed up, never taking his eyes off of the weapon and half turned to Stoker, whispering, "Get Vince."

Mike took off down the stairs and spotted Vince just outside the front door. "Vince, the man has a shotgun in there."

"He what..." Without hesitation, Vince sprinted up the staircase, Mike close behind. "Was he threatening you?"

"We didn't give him a chance to."

Vince reached the doorway, unsnapped the thumb break to free his service revolver, and placed a hand on Johnny's chest as he edged past him into the room. "Mr. Rothwell, don't make a move toward that shotgun. I'm going to hold on to your weapon here while this paramedic takes a look at you and makes sure you're okay."

The man in bed stared at the officer and looked a bit confused. "Oh, that...? That thing has been sitting there for years. It's not loaded."

"Just the same, you stay put. Don't make any kind of move toward the rifle." Vince walked to the far corner of the room, one hand reaching out toward the shotgun, the other hand hovering above his own weapon. Mr. Rothwell sat calmly in bed, and if anything, looked annoyed at the fuss going on in his room. Vince wrapped his hand around the shotgun then stepped back toward the door.

"I told you it's not even loaded."

"Glad to hear that. I'll just check anyway." Vince set the butt on his thigh, and pulled back the bolt to clear the chamber. Dozens of cockroaches dripped from the barrel and swarmed out of the chamber over his hand, dropping to the floor and scurring for the nearest dark recess.

Vince turned pale for the fraction of a second it took for a shudder to run down his spine. "I... uh... I'll just take this with me." He leaned into the firemen. "Will you two be okay?"

"Uh, sure... thanks, Vince." Johnny managed to say. Now that the shotgun that held his attention was safely removed, his eyes roamed the rest of the room. Now, he identified the origin of the odor. Lined up next to the bed and shoved underneath were full plastic urinals. His mind blocked out the site and jumped into gear. "Mr. Rothwell, we heard you coughing from the smoke. I wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Go away, I'm fine where I am." Mr. Rothwell waved his arms at Johnny, like trying to brush away a fly.

"Sir, I'm here already. I could take a quick look at you." Gage tried his most harmless and friendliest smile, but his mind and stomach, not quite up to the task, sabotaged his effort. Wrinkled nose and pinched eyebrows detracted from his genuine empathy. Mr. Rothwell didn't seem to notice.

"If I'm sick, you'd take me to the hospital, right?"

Thinking he had an opening, Johnny said, "Yes, that's right."

"And that's where you took my wife, right?"

"Yes sir."

"Then forget it! I'm staying right here!"

John knew the man needed help, but not just from smoke inhalation. His respiration seemed normal, and although he was pale beneath the dirt and beard, he guessed it was from his self imposed confinement. "Okay, Mr. Rothwell, if I can't get you to change your mind, I need you to sign a paper saying that you refused treatment."

"Sure, I'll sign whatever you want, but I'm not leaving!"

John turned back to Mike. "Would you go get that for me?"

"I advise you to see your own doctor..." Mike was sure the paramedics all passed around a list of standard speeches. He picked up the squad's O² tank, thankful to be leaving the room, and eager for a deep breath of LA smog. Maybe he would send Chet in with the paperwork for Johnny. Nah, I wouldn't do that to somebody, not even Chet. The view from the top of the stairs actually put the rest of the house in a better light. Crowded, sure, but at least nothing was decaying. Another shudder ran through him.

Treads strained from their unaccustomed duty; seven trips in rapid succession was more traffic then they could bear. The top few steps shook and bowed as Mike jogged down. By the time he realized how unstable the whole thing was, his foot came down on another rotted tread, this one pulled away from the riser. His right leg shot out from under him. He dropped the O2 canister and grabbed for the rail, but twisted instead. Surprised transformed into pain when he slammed down onto his back and shoulder and tumbled to the landing.

Johnny started at the clattering sound on the staircase, then bolted from the bedroom when Mike's cry suddenly cut off. Cap had finished his call to the haz-mat unit when he heard wood cracking and a pained sound he knew came from his engineer. He raced through the living room maze but halted at the foot of the stairs. He saw Johnny frozen at the top.

Mike lay there until his body realized its need for air. Even the thought of taking a breath made him want to groan, but first he needed air. He gasped for that first breath. The movement sent pain from his leg racing to the base of his skull, with other, lesser ones from his back and ribs. With his nose only a few inches away from the carpeted steps, the smell was as revolting as the room he had just left. Focusing on the pain was a better choice than thinking about what he might be lying on. He squeezed his eyes shut. At least he was still wearing his turnout coat, and the heavy fabric provided a barrier from the filth.

Gage crept down the staircase, carefully distributing his weight evenly across multiple treads. He couldn't see from his angle if Mike's eyes were open or closed. "Hey, Mike, can you hear me?"

A barely audible "Ya" was all he could manage. Mike felt Johnny come along beside him before he opened his eyes.
"Where are you hurt, Mike?"

"My right... leg..." His breath was used up entirely too fast for those few words.

"And you got the wind knocked out of you?" Johnny finished for him as he checked him over for other injuries. Mike nodded, preferring to breathe rather than talk. Johnny looked down to his captain. "Cap, I'm going to need a splint before we can move him.

"Okay, on it." Captain Stanley headed back outside. "Kelly!"

"Yeah, Cap?" Chet looked up from where he and Marco had finished repacking the hose. The ends of his mustache dropped when he saw the seriousness in the captain's face.

"Bring the splint box on the double. Mike fell down the staircase. Marco, call for another ambulance." This hasn't been a good year for staircases.

Chet was at the squad before Marco was even down from the hose bed.

"Johnny" Mike closed his eyes to concentrate on what he was saying without screaming. "Get me out of this house!"
"We're working on it. Have you out in two shakes of a dust rag."

It'll take a lot more than a dust rag." If he had any air left, he might have tried laughing.

An early morning run for the squad had Desoto and Gage at Rampart past 0800. They stopped at Dixie's station to refuel and refit. Roy inventoried the contents of the box. Dixie concentrated on the morning's paperwork; get the schedule out of the way and the rest of the day seemed to run smoother.

"I don't understand how someone could live like that." Johnny finished off his coffee and stared down at the empty cup. "Why am I drinking this? All I want to do is go home and go to sleep."

"Maybe it will make sure you get home and not fall asleep at the wheel." Dixie laid aside the finished schedule. "As for Mr. Rothwell, depression, phobias, the mind can be a strange place."

Laurie Stoker, on her way to the pharmacy, spotted her husband's co-workers and detoured toward them, greeting each one with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. A quick tear at the corner of her eye surprised her. Embarrassed, she wiped it away. "I don't know where that came from. I was fine yesterday."

"So, how's Mike this morning?"

"Oh, he's doing good. You know, the phone rings all day long. But your call, on the first ring I knew something had happened. I imagined all sorts of terrible things. Dealing with a broken leg is a relief." She folded and refolded the small piece of paper in her hand. "I came down to get this filled. We should be home by noon."

"Speaking of home, Junior." Roy elbowed Johnny in the side and picked up the box of supplies. "We need to get the squad back unless you want to go on the next run too."

Johnny dropped the Styrofoam cup in the trash by the desk, and before Roy could get out of the way, he spun around, "before I forget..." The handie-talkie in his hand whacked Roy's funny bone and the box he held flew across the hallway.

"Sorry" mumbled Johnny.

Laurie and Dixie wanted to hide their snickers, but the more they tried to ignore what happened, the funnier it became. Roy shot him a dirty look then knelt to retrieve the supplies one-handed.

"Before I forget," Johnny started again, pretending not to notice Roy's glare. "I wanted to tell you both about the engagement party."

"Engagement party! You?...Johnny!" Dixie's attention was definitely captured now.

"Uh...me?...but..." Johnny finally put together a coherent statement, "No Dixie!" The women enjoyed Johnny's predicable over-reaction. "As I was trying to say," he interupted their laughter. "It's an engagement party for Teresa and Marco." He finish with a self-satisfied smile.

"It was supposed to be next week at the beach but it's going to be rescheduled." Roy added.

"Rescheduled, why?" Laurie asked.

"Sand in a cast, not a good thing."

"You should know, Johnny." Dixie teased. "Anyway, tell Marco congratulations and give him a kiss for me."

Johnny was about to agree, then realized exactly what it was that Dixie had said. Roy marched him toward the ER's doors when Johnny called over his shoulder. "Funny, Dix...'give him a kiss' she says..." The rest was lost as the doors closed and Dixie and Laurie burst out laughing again.

Outside the ER doors, Johnny stared out across the top of the squad. "How do women do that?"

Okay, what exactly are we talking about now. "Do what, Johnny?" Roy slipped the key into the ignition.

"Know things... you know." Johnny settled into his seat.

Roy mouthed the words hoping it would help him understand. "Ah, are we talking about women's intuition?" He ventured a guess.

"Yeah."

Roy offered his expertise on the subject. "Joanne explained it to me like this. There is only one of her and three of us, me and the kids. It's strictly self-preservation. Knowing something is coming makes it that much easier to deal with."
That made sense. "But HOW do they know?"

He put the truck in gear, rested his hands on the steering wheel and considered the question a while longer. "I don't know."

"Mr. Kelly, Mr. Gage?" Alicia Stanley and her sister approached the two men still sitting underneath the volleyball net. "My sister and I have been watching the younger kids, but we want to go down to the lake. My dad suggested we ask if you would mind keeping an eye on the kids. Please?" The girls chorused. "We'll bring you sodas and brownies." They hoped the bribe would help their cause.

"So, where'd everybody go?" Chet asked. He didn't mind watching the kids, after all, it wasn't like he was here with a date. But he didn't want to appear too eager. And yes, the bribe did help.

"Our parents and the DeSotos are starting the grill, and Mr. and Mrs. Stoker are asleep under the tree by the playground."

"Sure girls." John looked to where the girls were pointing, then winked across to Chet. "Bring us sugar and we'll watch 'um." Three furious sets of volleyball had mellowed them. The women had bowed out of the game after the first set, and left the men to fight it out. After a morning of verbal barbs and a few playful, but painful spikes, Johnny and Chet called a truce. They decided it was just too nice a day.

The smell of cooking hamburgers drifted past the sleeping pair by the playground. Mike woke first, stomach rumbling. His right leg, still in a cast and propped up on a blanket, was aching down in the bone. He hadn't needed the stronger pain medication for a couple of weeks, some aspirin usually did the trick, but this was going to need something stronger. He would have to eat before taking the medicine. I might have overdone it just a bit this morning. His wife was still using his stomach for a pillow and he didn't want to wake her yet. He rested his hand on her shoulder, then absentmindedly traced figure eights on her back.

Motion on her back, the smell of hamburgers cooking on the grill, and her noisy pillow finally woke Laurie. Her first thought was to make sure she knew where her children were and what they were doing. Seeing the boys busy playing, she rolled over to look at her husband. "Hungry?"

"What... you didn't notice?"

"Alright, let's get you on your feet and get you some food." She took his hands, leaned back and pulled, then they started on their hobbling trip across the grass. The novelty of crutches are only for people who don't need them. Mike's had proven to be quite entertaining for the boys, until the day Laurie came home from grocery shopping and caught them in the back yard using them as stilts, while their father slept. One broken bone in the family was enough.

Joanne was setting out the salads and hamburger fixings from the ice chests. "Have a nice nap you two?"

"Yes, but my pillow started getting noisy, so I thought I'd better feed it."

"Well, here ya go Michael." Hank set a well-done burger down with a flourish in front of his friend, while Mike handed his crutches to Laurie and sat down at the end of the picnic bench. Easy access for a gimp.

Marco and Teresa, along with Dave Howell, a new engineer who was filling in for Mike, and his wife Michelle, strolled up to join the group at the table.

"Beer or soda?" Emily Stanley asked and started handing out beverages.

Nobody else had started eating, but Mike ate a few quick bites, then fished in his shirt pocket for his meds.

"So, Laurie, how are you feeling today?" Laurie and Michelle had talked quite a lot after first meeting a month ago.

"Oh, I guess I've been a little tired lately." She played with her hamburger, unsure if eating it would help her queasy stomach or make it worse. Roy and Emily noticed the sour look on her face.

"Um... Hank..." He was still at the grill, chasing with his spatula one stubborn patty intent on plunging into the coals. Emily slid up next to her husband as carefully as she could, dodging his flying elbow, and tucked herself under his arm. "I wonder if the department keeps statistics like that?"

"Like what, hun?" Success! He plated the rescued burger and reached for his beer.

"Oh... you know... a firefighter is injured and then nine months later he has to put in a change of paperwork."
Joanne caught on now. "Really?"

Laurie tried to shush them. "Well, I don't know. I haven't even gone to my doctor yet."

A few words of the conversation around him grabbed Mike's attention. 'Nine months?... doctor?...' He forced down the medicine with a drink of soda. The pills lodged at the top of his stomach, then the carbonation bubbled back up to burn his nose, making his eyes water. "What?" was the only word he could choke out.

She couldn't help but smile. "Well, I hadn't planned on telling you this way... but yes... I think so."