Report From Engine Co. 82 - Dennis Smith [60]
The man throws his hands up in despair, and turns away from her. He turns again, and says to her quietly, but nervously, his lips twitching, “I did this?”
The woman does not answer, but continues her deadly stare. The man asks the question again, but this time his voice is loud and angry. “I did this? Man, why would I do this to all my own stuff? Why would I burn my own place down?”
“Because you told my daughter you was gonna do it,” the woman retorts. “You told her this morning when she threw you out that you was gonna do it.” I can see the hatred building up in her, and the need to strike. She attempts again to lunge at the young man, and the young man runs into the adjoining room, fearful that the firefighters will lose their grip. The woman screams, “And I’m gonna kill you for it, you sonovabitch.”
Chief Niebrock orders Charlie and Richie to lead the woman out, and down the stairs. He speaks into his transistorized walkie-talkie, and orders his aide to radio for police assistance. “The police are already on the scene, Chief,” the walkie-talkie blares.
Two policemen arrive on the floor. The Chief says a few words to them, and they go into the adjoining room to talk to the young man. Captain Albergray enters the room, and asks them if they would kindly move out to the hall, for we still have work to do. They leave, and Cosmo opens the nozzle for a final wash down. “You can take up when you’re finished,” the Chief says to our Captain. He also tells Lieutenant Lierly and the men of Ladder 31 to take up, but they will stick around to help us with the hose. They are always ready to give us a hand with the uncoupling, draining, and repacking.
The young man, the woman, and the police are not in sight when we return to the street. Charlie tells us that they have left in a police car. It seems to me that the man was genuinely affronted when accused of setting the fire, but making judgments about crimes is a cop’s job.
The hose is repacked after some trouble with frozen connections. We work fast, because that is the best way to keep warm. On the way back to the firehouse I wonder if there is an engineer back in Illinois or somewhere working on a way to manufacture hose couplings that will not freeze. It would save us a lot of hard work.
Billy-o is in the kitchen. It is almost three o’clock. He is sitting at a table reading the afternoon Post. Billy-o reads more newspapers than anyone I know. His hand is gauzed and taped. “How ya feeling, Bill-o?” I ask.
“Not bad,” he answers, “but just a little annoyed. Tomorrow is the first Easter I’ve had off in four years, but now I’m on medical leave. But do you think I would be on medical leave if I were scheduled to work tomorrow? No such luck.”
I am laughing as McCartty and Royce burst into the kitchen. “Well, how many stitches?” they ask simultaneously.
“What do you mean, how many stitches?” Billy-o asks, feigning anger. “At least Dennis had the decency to ask me how I feel first.”
“You’re walkin' aren’t ya?” Charlie says, “what difference does it make how ya feel? Tell us how many stitches—and the truth.”
“You’re not gonna believe this, Charlie,” Billy-o says, laughingly. He points to the blackboard where Vinny chalked the bets, and says, “I see you have six to ten stitches covered. Well, you should’ve asked a few more guys to bet, because I got twelve.”
“Twelve?” Charlie says in surprise.
“I don’t believe it,” Vinny says. “Take the bandage off and show us.”
“Listen,” Billy-o says, “you’ll have to take my word for it. The doctor put twelve sutures in, and promised that it wouldn’t leave a scar.”
“Sutures!” Charlie exclaims. “Just because you read The New York Times ya gotta say sutures? Don’t give us that crap. Just take the bandage off an' show us the stitches.”
Billy-o