Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [74]
“Come on,” Michael Lazenby said, stepping close behind his officer and placing a hand on his thick shoulder. “John’s right. Let’s go home and get some sleep.”
“Bill and me were eating smoke before you were out of fuckin’ diapers, either one of you,” Balitnikoff said. “Hell, at the Ozark we had the bastards falling out of the sky on us. Back in them days we fought more fire in a year than you’ll see in your lifetime. Bill was a good man. He was a friend of mine.”
“He was a friend of mine, too,” Finney said.
“Then why did you let him cook?”
“Come on,” Diana said, tugging on Finney’s arm. “Let’s go.”
“If you’d been a real firefighter, you mighta had the balls to drag Bill out of that room instead of just crawling off to safety and saving your own ass.”
The five of them lapsed into silence. Even Balitnikoff seemed in wonder at what he’d said, the words that until now nobody had dared utter, the words Finney knew were on everyone’s mind, just as he also knew that by noon Balitnikoff’s outburst would be quoted and discussed and dissected in every station in the city.
Finney was so angry he couldn’t breathe. It was ironic that Marion Balitnikoff of all people would be the one to say it, because he’d once rescued Balitnikoff, though the wily old bastard would never admit it. If it hadn’t been for Diana’s gentle tug on his arm, he probably would have taken a swing at Balitnikoff.
“That was uncalled for,” Diana said. “You don’t know what happened in there.”
“Nobody knows,” Michael said. “Come on, lieut. Nobody knows. Lay off, will ya? Bill was your friend, sure, but the fire killed him. Come on. It coulda happened to any of us. You know that. Lay off.”
Balitnikoff stalked off.
Michael Lazenby said, “We had a long night.”
“No, he was right,” Paul Lazenby said. “What sickens me about the whole thing is this dude comes out and pretends he can’t remember.”
“What’s wrong with you guys?” Diana asked, tugging Finney to the rear of the apparatus floor.
As they left, Paul muttered under his breath, “Can’t understand normal thinking.”
Diana walked over to the workbench with the service axe she’d been carrying, sprayed the gummed-up blade with WD-40, and began scrubbing nubs of tar off the metal.
“What was that last?” Finney asked.
“It’s an acronym.”
“Christ. That sorry bastard.”
“Don’t worry about him. Being a jerk is its own reward.”
It wasn’t Balitnikoff’s diatribe that had stung so much as it was the self-assured look on Paul’s face as he’d watched Finney’s reaction. He hadn’t been there to clean Engine 10’s floorboards. He’d gotten wind that Balitnikoff was going to tee off on him and had shown up for a ringside seat.
Finney took a few deep breaths and watched Diana polish the axe. “Engine Ten lose a map book recently?”
“I know they have a new one. They get beat up. You know how that goes.”
“What about a prefire book?” There had been only one oddball item on the mock Engine 10, a prefire book for the Columbia Tower.
“You know they don’t carry prefire books on board.”
“I thought maybe the station captains had changed the policy for the Columbia Tower.”
“No, we still keep that in the watch office,” Diana said. After a few moments, she continued, “All ready for tonight?” It took a few moments for Finney to realize what she was talking about. This was the thirty-first of October, Halloween. The costume party. “You can’t come?”
“No, my truck. I was in an accident. I don’t have anything to drive. I mean . . .”
“I’ll pick you up. A little before seven?”
“I’ll be ready.”
They both knew he’d forgotten all about it. Her gray eyes registered disappointment for a fraction of a second, but she was nice enough not to mention it.
38. THE CAT IN THE HAT
Finney’s day had been more tawdry than a two-dollar toupee, and although at first he’d regretted accepting Diana’s invitation, he found himself looking forward to the party as the day wore on.
Paddling off across the lake in the morning sunshine, he realized he’d become the houseboat equivalent of poor white trash, the neighbors dubious and