Psst...

"Psst... Psst... "

Stoker paused as he took the lid of the trash can, and looked around the back lot searching for the source of the noise.

"Mike, back here." Gage was scrunched down, leaning against the tail end of his Rover.

Mike looked over his shoulder. The back bay door was closed, he knew Cap was in his office, and everyone else was inspecting air tanks and safety equipment. Mike tossed the kitchen garbage in the can, and went to see what was up with Gage. "What are you trying to hide from whom?"

"Shh." Gage quickly gestured for him to lower his voice.

Mike humored him. "What are you trying to hide from whom?"

The back of Johnny's car was open, something large was covered by a blanket. "I need your help. You can keep a secret, right?"

"That depends, what's in it for me?"

"Just the satifaction of helping me get Chet back." Johnny pulled back the blanket to reveal what he had in store for Chet.

This could be good. "Get him back for what?" Mike asked.

"Anything, everything, you name it."

Never one to let a good prank pass him by, Mike conspired with Gage.

After two rather quick runs in the morning, the crew settled down for a lunch of soup and sandwiches. Cap pushed himself back from the table. "That was good, Mike."

"Thanks, Cap. I can open a can of soup with the best of them."

"Yeah, even canned soup is better then what Gage tried to feed us last shift." Kelly's remark only sealed his fate.

"All right, Kelly, why don't you check out the hoses, and then you and Gage can get them squared away." That was Cap's signal that lunch was over.

Johnny snarled at Chet. Just you wait.

Cap, Marco, and Roy, all with various taskes to do, disappeared from the day room. Mike and Johnny started on the kitchen, and Chet headed outside. "I'll be out in a minute, Chet." Johnny called after him. As soon as the room was clear, Mike and Johnny sprinted for the side door, and sneaked around back.

Instead of heading for the hoses, Chet detoured for the basketball sitting under the hoop. He scooped it up, dribbled past phantom opponents, faked left, then drove for the basket and sunk a right hook. Chet bowed to the roaring crowd. Then he looked up, and spied the figure laying at the top of the hose tower. "Hey, buddy, come down from there." When there was no answer, he became concerned. Whoever it was, was lying too close to the edge. "Hey, are you okay?" Chet started climbing the ladder. When he reached the top, but before he got too close, the man lying at the edge of the tower suddenly tipped over the side. He instictively grabbed for the man, but he was too far away. Chet's heart and stomach flipped over.

Horror changed to rage as Chet watched what was obviously a mannequin's head roll away from the rest of its body. He flew down the ladder, hands and feet barely making contact with the rungs. Chet's heart was still racing from the adrenaline rush, he checked out the body and found fishing line attached to the torso. The fishing line lead to the bumper of Marco's car where the rest of the line coiled up on itself as soon as the tension was released. To use the bumper as a pivot, the only place someone could have worked this was the side of the station, by the kitchen door.

Chet was about to look for more evidence by the side door when he heard Marco's voice. "All right, Henry, there you go, door's open. Happy now?"

Chet vowed revenge. He ran over to the tower, heaved the body over his shoulder, snatched up the head off the grass, and stashed it all in his van. "That was really low, Marco."

Psst... Mike... Psst."

Mike topped the mound of vegetables on the counter with the butcher-wrapped meat and closed the refrigerator door. I could have sworn I heard my name.

Instead, all Mike heard was the Cap and Marco out in the bay. "Let's make out this equipment list, and then do me a favor, and finish the latrine for DeSoto. Who knows when the squad will be back today."

"Sure thing, Cap."

Cap and Marco crossed from the office to the storage room. Chet ducked into the kitchen, but could still hear the Cap. "Hey, Mike." This time, he was loud enough for Mike to hear him. "Mike, I need your help."

Chet shifted it to the right a little more to keep it from falling off the commode. Its head flopped to the left, a clear case of whiplash. He straightened it again. This time the head spun on its post, shades of Linda Blair. Chet shuddered, then jumped when Mike opened the door.

"I thought you might need this to keep the head on." Mike handed him a roll of duct tape. "You better hurry up. They're almost done." He went back to his lookout post. A minute later Chet scurried past him, back to the kitchen.

Marco headed for the latrine to finish up. He hoped that Roy had gotten most of it done. He opened the door, and the body slipped from its throne and slithered to the floor, right under Marco's feet. Too shocked to yell, Marco jumped, but didn't quite clear it. His steel-toed shoe embedded into its temple. He shook his foot free, and kicked over the bucket of cleaner.

When his heart started beating again, he looked at the mess around him. This thing is hideous, Roy. What dumpster did you rescue it from? The back of the head was flattened. There was a huge gap at the neck, duct tape barely kept the head attached. Tattered and grass-stained clothes now had pine-scented cleaner splashed on it. And now there was an indent from the toe of Marco's shoe. "Roy, I'm going to get you for this." I'd better do something with this before the squad gets back.

Mike had dinner on to simmer and headed for Big Red. Cap and Chet had each claimed a section of newspaper and were enjoying a quiet day. The lack of runs for the engine today had Mike going through withdrawls. Before he reached his engine, he saw Marco waving at him from in front of her. "Psst... Mike."

It was 19:00 before the squad pulled into the station. They had been gone with non-stop runs since 12:47. DeSoto and Gage came dragging into the kitchen. The engine crew had already finished dinner when they heard the squad backing into the bay. Marco got up to set two more places.

Too tired to talk, they rushed to eat before getting called out again. At least they had been able to get lunch before the day went crazy. Their last patient had been combative, and Roy had spent the entire fifteen minute ambulance ride wrestling with him, trying to keep him from ripping out the IV. A little fresh kindling and they would be ready to roll again. Roy was wolfing down the food on his plate, he still had chores to finish.

"Relax, Roy." Cap said. "I asked Marco to finish the latrine for you."

Roy sank back in his seat. "Thanks, Marco."

"No problem, Roy. No problem at all."

Roy shuffled off across the bay. Normally, it would be too early to go to bed, but he would catch a few winks while he could. It would take a few minutes for his meal to raise his blood sugar and perk him up a bit; he hoped to be asleep by then. He rested his back against the door, and walked it open still unbuttoning his shirt. Roy made his way to his bed in the dark, and went to throw his shirt on the bed. He jumped, and scrambled backwards falling into Johnny's bed. His shirt flew out of his hand, over the wall, and wrapped around the captain's desk lamp.

Roy took a closer look at the man sized lump in his bed, and cautiously pulled back the covers. A face stared back at him with blank, black-painted eyes. His stomach flipped.

Roy finally realized what it was. If anyone came in here and saw this thing in his bed he would be razzed for a good month. He had to get it out of here quick. He would never make it out to his car with it, there was only one alternative. He swung the body onto his shoulder and hurried to his locker. Man this thing is heavy.

At 21:00 the station was toned out for a traffic collision. Two hours later everyone was back home, and headed for bed. Soon, Roy was the only one awake. On the drive back from Rampart, he had finally figured out how to get the body off his hands. But he was going to need help.

"Psst... Mike." Roy shook Stoker's shoulder. "Mike, wake up." Roy whispered as loudly as he dared.

"It's your cat, you let it out." Mike mumbled, and tried to turn over.

Roy shook him harder.

Mike finally opened his eyes, and took a minute to focus. "What?"

"Shh... I need your help." Roy gestured for Mike to follow him.

Mike sat up, and moved to get into his bunker pants, but Roy grabbed his arm and pulled him out the door. Once the door swung closed behind them, Roy explained why he needed his help.

"I hope you know, you owe me big time for this." Mike followed Roy around to the locker room, he rubbed his arms to keep warm. The apparatus bay was mighty chilly when you're walking through it in only underwear and socks.

Roy shouldered the body and noticed a strong odor of cologne coming from it. Even in the dark locker room he could see the bottle knocked over in his locker. "You're the only one who wouldn't be afraid to do this."

"No, not that, I mean waking me up in the middle of the night." Mike yawned and followed Roy across the truck bay.

The station was toned out for a structure fire at 01:38. It was an abandoned building, and there were no injuries. Both the squad and engine were back home by 04:00. All six men thought of nothing but hitting the sack for a few more hours sleep.

When the morning wake up tones sounded, Captain Stanley sank his feet into his boots, and slowly pulled up his pants as he stood. He got as far as one suspender over his shoulder, before he acknowledged dispatch. He watched his crew suffle out towards the kitchen, their canvas pants creaking and rustling, and boots squeaking as they scuffed along the floor. He followed them out, still buttoning up his pants.

Coffee was already starting to boil by the time Hank made it into the kitchen. He grabbed the first cup. "I'll be in the office, finishing up the logbook." Nobody else had quite found their voice yet. They waved or grunted in his general direction.

Hank sat his cup aside, too hot to drink. I'm slowing down in my old age. Five broken hours of sleep didn't refresh him like it would have when he was in his twenties.

He rubbed his neck to work out a few kinks, then reached for his coffee cup to brave the steaming liquid. He didn't notice the door beside him , slowly closing. Each inch the door moved, the body jerked forward like Frankenstein's monster.

The halting movement drew Captain Stanley's attention, he turned, expecting to see one of his men. The body pitched headfirst at him. He instinctively moved to catch it. The cup flew out of his hand, the coffee rained down both on them, and the floor. Hank's feet slipped, and he landed on his keister. The body slammed down on top of him, pinned for the three count by Gorilla Monsoon.

"Psst... Mike."

Somebody's playing my song. Mike looked around for whoever it was who needed him now. He had just stepped out of the kitchen, and saw his captain waving at him from the office. When he came close enough, the captain yanked him into the office and closed the door.

The body was now sitting in the Captain's chair. Along with a flattened head, half moon kicked into its temple, and the duck tape wrapped around its neck, it smelled of pine cleaner, cologne and now coffee. The brown coffee stains coordinated with the grass stains from earlier.

"I've got to get rid of this thing, and I don't want anyone to see me with it. I think I'll pass it on to Stoney. I just have to think of someplace good to stash it."

"Wow, he's looking a little worse for wear."

The captain eyed him suspiously. "What was that Michael, do you know something about this?"

"No, nothing Cap."

"I thought so." Captain Stanley's look assured him of Mike's silence.

Mike made sure the coast was clear, before the captain hurried past him, toward his truck, with his burden. Then Mike called after him. "I hear the hose tower is a good place."