Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [18]
The third and fourth floors of Station 10 housed the department’s administrative offices. Floor two contained the living quarters for the crews of Engine 10, Ladder 1, and Aid 5: bunk rooms, officers’ rooms, the beanery, a small inspection room, an enormous TV room, a handball court, a weight room, meeting rooms, and the same indoor swimming pool Finney had jumped into so long ago. There was a mezzanine between floors one and two where the department fire investigators maintained offices. The ground floor contained the apparatus bay.
Firefighters parked their cars beneath the station in an underground garage that was so crowded the outgoing shift had to shuttle its vehicles to a pay lot across the street before the incoming shift could squeeze in. This rite was performed each morning before the 0700 bell-testing that was still called the hitch, one of many terms passed down from the horse culture of ninety years before, when each morning that day’s team was fitted in harnesses. Finney loved all the historical ties. The apparatus bay was called the barn and, as if galloping horses were still involved, alarms were called runs.
Finney hadn’t visited Station 10 in months, and though he expected to be overwhelmed by nostalgia, oddly, he wasn’t struck by anything except the fact that Diana Moore was in the watch office. He was surprised that spotting her sent a shot of low-voltage electricity through him.
Also in the watch office were Lieutenant Balitnikoff and his crew, the two Lazenby brothers. The assigned engine officer on C-shift, Marion Balitnikoff was slightly shorter than Finney but heavier, most of it in his bulky torso. Balitnikoff had made his share of enemies in the department by letting his mouth run too far ahead of his brain, and then laughing loudly as if his crude comments were harmless gags. He’d offended Finney as often as anybody else, but Finney figured that was just the way he was and tried to ignore it. Off shift he was a hunter and drinker; on shift he bragged about empty bottles and whatever animal he’d killed recently, when he wasn’t boasting about his sons, three young men attending various state colleges on second-string football scholarships. He was married to a mousy woman who took his excesses in stride. For years he’d tried to kindle a romance between one of his sons and any of Cordifis’s three daughters, but Cordifis’s daughters were too well-bred to be interested.
“Hey! There he is,” Michael Lazenby said, grinning at Finney. “You come down to talk to the big cheese?”
“The cheese himself.”
“Don’t drop your pants for him,” said Paul Lazenby. “That’s the wrong way to get a promotion.”
“Yeah,” said Michael Lazenby. “They’ll want to do it to you again when you make captain. Pretty soon you’ll start liking it.”
Both brothers laughed raucously. The Lazenbys were hard drinkers and amateur bodybuilders. Michael was good-looking in a California surfer style, while Paul was stockier, darker, and less amiable. Paul, who had all his department shirts tailored and rarely buttoned the top four buttons, touched the gold medallion dangling in the hair on his chest. He must not be doing a bodybuilding show anytime soon, Finney thought. He shaved his whole body for shows. Paul Lazenby was the only person Finney knew who managed to look like a lounge lizard in a fire department uniform. Despite their rough personalities, or perhaps because of them, in straight-ahead firefighting the crew of Engine 10 had few peers.
Finney looked around the group, his eyes settling on Diana Moore. “Where was everybody this morning?”
“What’s the matter? Couldn’t you guys handle a little food-on-the-stove by your lonesome?” Lieutenant Balitnikoff asked derisively, stepping between Finney and Diana. “Shit, man. Helen Keller could put out a food-on-the-stove.”
“Now that you mention it, I think it was Helen Keller. She put it out and then she gave the radio report and helped us with our gear. She’s coming