The fire in the older, wooden structure was well involved when Station 51
arrived. A middle-aged woman in curlers, pink fuzzy slippers and a house
dress approached the cap as he stepped down from the engine.
“I’m the one who called,” she said around the cigarette that
dangled from the corner of her mouth. “I come out to water my lawn and
I seen the smoke. I called you fellas right away but look at it now.”
She was amazing that flames were now shooting out the windows and black smoke
curled high in the air.
“Yes ma’am. Do you know if anyone was inside?”
“Don’t think so. Mr. Grubbs, the owner, had a stroke last year.
He’s been in a home since then. His grandson comes around pretty regular
to check on the place. He’s real good about tending to the garden and
such. See that boy here a lot fertilizing and weeding and such but ain’t
nobody livin’ there.”
“Okay, thanks ma’am. Why don’t you step back up onto the curb
where you’ll be safer? We’ll take care of this,” the cap assured
her.
“Y’ain’t gonna let that fire spread ta my place, now are
ya?”
“We’re going to try and contain it right here, but my men need
room to work. Please step back up onto the curb. These hoses are heavy and
you don’t want to be hit by one of them.” It was all he could think
of to get the women to get away from the engine and out of harm’s way.
Reluctantly the woman waddled back up onto the sidewalk and back to her own
front yard.
“Gage, you and DeSoto grab a two and a half and attack from the western
exposure. Chet and Marco take the eastern. Let’s try a surround and
drown. The lady doesn’t think there’s anyone in there but we’d
better be sure. Using the two sided offensive they worked their way up to
and into the old house. The cap stood just outside and co-ordinated their
efforts.
Black smoke billowed up from the roof but the prevailing wind drove all of
it back down into the street where the engine was parked. They had found
no one inside. Once the blaze was out, they worked on ventilating the walls
and the roof to let the trapped heat and smoke escape into the air. All of
the men working the fire wore complete safety gear including breathing apparatus.
Mike Stoker, who worked the engine from the street did not and most of the
smoke found its way to him.
While Chet and Marco were busy on the roof, Roy and Johnny dowsed the remaining
hot spots inside until their water pressure failed them. “Cap,”
Roy called from what had once been the living room window. "We’ve got
no pressure.”
The cap was about to walk back to the engine to see what the problem was.
He was surprised to see Mike Stoker standing beside him, absently watching
the others work. “What’s wrong, Mike?”
“Nothing,” Mike said with a shrug.
“Well then don’t you think you should be tending the engine?
DeSoto’s losing pressure.” This was not a mere suggestion.
“Okay. Where is it?”
“Where is what?” The cap was rapidly losing patience.
“The engine.”
"Stoker!" Captain Stanley exclaimed. "How could you forget where you parked
the engine?!" He stepped closer to Stoker. There was an odd, almost bemused
look on his face. Was this some kind of joke he was attempting to pull? If
so, it was hardly the place for it. Stoker’s face was covered with a
thin layer of soot from the smokey fire. It was his eyes, though, that had
the cap’s full attention. They were completely dilated. And there was
an oddly familiar smell about him. “DeSoto! Gage!” he called.
The paramedics came running out of the house fearing that one of the guys
might have fallen from the roof.
“Take a look at him,” the cap said with some disgust.
Roy and Johnny exchanged curious glances. They didn’t know how Mike
could have gotten hurt but anything was possible at a fire.
“What’s the matter, Mike?” Johnny asked.
“Nothing,” Mike smiled pleasantly. “Everything is jes
fine.”
Mike swayed slightly and Roy took him by the elbow. “How ‘bout
if we sit down here on the ah - grass,” Roy suggested, trying not to
grin. He, too, smelled what the cap had smelled.
“Anything you say, Joy. You and Ronnie are the best marapedics in the
County,” Mike stated, while grinning happily.
“Tell me it’s not what I think it is,” the cap implored.
“Sorry, Cap,” Johnny laughed, “but he’s completely
stoned.”
“Now we know why the grandson is so good about taking care of the
garden,” the cap groaned.
“Not the outside garden,” Chet said, as he and Marco joined them.
“It’s the pot farm inside that is what’s real interesting.
What’s with Stoker?”
“He -ah- got downwind to a little smoke,” Johnny grinned.
“Well, if we weren’t wearing our SCBAs we’d all be in that
condition,” Marco vowed. "There’s plants and grow lights in just
about every room in the place. All the plugs are overloaded. That’s
probably what started the fire in the first place.”
“Must be some good stuff,” Chet commented after watching Stoker
for a while.
“And just what would you know about that, Kelly?” the cap asked
with disgust.
“Who me? Nothin’, Cap. Nothing at all,” Chet assured him
nervously.
“I’d better notify the police. I just hope they don’t run
Stoker in,” the cap sighed.
Stoker was laying flat on his back on the lawn seemingly happy with the world.
“If we’re done here, can we go back to the station. All of a sudden
I’m really hungry.”
It would be a long time before anyone would let Stoker live this one down,
they all decided. How often did anyone get anything on Stoker?
