Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [72]
“A perfect replica of Engine Ten. Exact right down to the greasy rag under the driver’s seat.”
“You’re talking ’bout a plastic model?”
“Full size.”
“Out of cardboard, or something?”
“Steel and Fiberglas. You wouldn’t have known it wasn’t Engine Ten.”
“You kidding me?”
“Last night about half a mile from here an engine ran me off Airport Way and almost killed me. Tonight I found it right there.”
“So where is it?” When Finney didn’t reply, Kub said, “I don’t know which is worse, what you’re telling me you thought you saw, or the fact that you’re telling me you thought you saw it.”
“It was here. I swear.”
“Maybe they’re out on an alarm.”
“Not funny.”
Kub’s laugh echoed off the walls in the empty warehouse. “I think it’s hilarious. But let’s assume you saw it. It was probably some rich collector building a model so he can drive around in parades. God knows there’re enough firefighter freaks out there, and now with all these Microsoft millionaires running around . . .”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Maybe the building has a silent alarm,” Kub said.
“All I saw when I came in was the fire panel.”
“The best burglar systems, you don’t see them.”
At the front entrance, Finney turned off his flashlight and peeked out through the tall, narrow window alongside the door. They stepped outside and Finney pulled the door shut just as a brilliant light swept across the wall next to him. “You guys need help?”
“SPD,” Kub whispered. “Shit fuck shit! I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
Finney couldn’t see a squad car or the woman speaking or anything else except the light.
Traditionally the police and fire department in Seattle were amicable. Cops came into fire stations to use the telephones or the rest room, to write reports, and to bullshit, and if a traffic cop pulled over a firefighter for speeding, more often than not the firefighter was let off with only a warning. Until thirty years ago their unions had even negotiated city contracts together.
“I’m commissioned,” Kub said. “Marshal Five.”
“Hands on the wall. Step back.”
“I’m commissioned,” Kub protested.
“You heard me.”
They were frisked by two uniformed police officers, one male, one female. Though he couldn’t see much of her in the glare of the spotlight, Finney recognized the voice of the redhead who’d taken his accident report the night before. Kub knew them both.
“What’s going on, Robert?” the woman asked.
“We were out driving when we heard an alarm. Thought we’d investigate before the dispatchers sent out a full response.”
The male police officer said, “Monitoring company said somebody was on the premises.”
The female stepped to the front door while the second police officer kept his eye on them. The officer cupped her eyes against the dark window and tried the door handle. “Okay,” she said, turning around. “You two be careful. Some officers would get real jumpy seeing two guys in the dark like that.” She looked at Finney closely. “Ever find your fire truck?”
“Nobody reported an accident.”
A minute later when they were alone, Kub said, “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. They got here two seconds sooner and we’d be in their backseat sitting on our hands. I would have lost my job.”
“Sorry, Robert.”
“Turn on the damn heat.”
After they’d driven a mile, Kub said, “You really saw an engine?”
“I know how weird it sounds.”
“Do you? Somehow I don’t think you do. Goddamn! Lavernia better be there.”
The Ford Tempo was still in the driveway when they got back to Kub’s house. Finney said, “Do me a favor?”
“What now?”
“That night at Leary Way when we bumped into each other?”
“Not this.”
“I was changing my bottle. You were on the other side of the rig. Bill was over there talking to Stillman.”
“I don’t remember what they were talking about. Whatever it was, it was just talk. Bill went into the building and the next time I saw him he was dead.”
Loud music drifted from the front door as Kub disappeared inside.
37. WE HAD THE BASTARDS FALLING OUT OF THE SKY ON US
Still clad in his department T-shirt and uniform trousers, Finney circled Engine