Engine 51 sat in the already hot late-morning sun nose-to-nose with Truck 85 at LACoFD's large live fire training facility. The crews mingled around Squad 51 and the Battalion Chief's sedan, where a little shade stretched from the big trucks. Their task today: testing a new device that holds small or large diameter hoses to the top of the ladder, allowing the fireman to pivot the hose 180 degrees. This would enable any ladder truck to provide aerial coverage and free the fireman from trying to hold the hose while also holding onto the ladder.
Any exercise utilizing the five-story 'Infernal Tower' at the training center was extremely hot duty, especially when the day's temperature neared one hundred degrees – like today. With the 85's ladder extended just past the lip of a window on the top story, the gas-fueled fire produced an abundant amount of heat that roiled out into the faces of the firemen. Marco was first up with the inch and a half hose, followed by Chet, Mike, Roy, and John; each paired with a crewman from 85's. Roy and John were also busy keeping everyone hydrated and watching closely for heat related distress.
Hank Stanley volunteered to change to the two and a half inch hose for phase two of the exercise, allowing the overheated firemen a welcome respite. Firemen from both stations knotted into small groups; discussions, animated gesturing, and good-natured laughing drifted through the air.
"Looks like it's going to be four years in a row," Marty Martinez, from 85's, boasted to anyone listening.
"Not that 'secret' family recipe again," Chet groaned, not being one to ignore anyone's boasting.
"Only the recipe that's won the department's Chili Cook Off the past three years," Marty boasted again, puffing out his chest for emphasis.
Chet gritted his teeth and stretched to his full height, which put him nearly to Marty's chin. "The only reason your chili won is because Marco hasn't entered his family's 'secret' chili recipe."
"Bring it on, Kelly. It's too late to enter the department contest this year, but we'll have our own contest. 51's against 85's."
"You're on!" Chet glared up at Marty.
Mike Stoker left his station by 51's control panel and grabbed Chet by the arm. "Excuse us, guys," he mumbled towards Marty and a growing gathering of 85's crew. He hauled Chet behind the engine, Marty and company laughing loudly at their backs. "What are you doing, Chet?"
Chet dropped onto the tailboard and shrugged. "Just a friendly competition."
"I've never heard Marco say anything about a 'secret' family chili recipe," Mike cautioned.
Chet frowned and scratched his head. "Me either. I'm sure he has one, though. His family is steeped in tradition. They must have a 'secret' chili recipe." I hope, he thought sincerely.
Mike shook his head at his conniving friend. "I sure hope you're right."
#####
"Okay, guys," Captain Bryant announced through the bullhorn from the Observation area, "time to suite up. Lopez, are you ready?"
Marco had his gear on, but wasn't getting any air from his tank. After checking everything twice, even tapping on his regulator, he waved over to the captains. "My regulator's busted," he yelled. "I'll have to get another one from the truck." Marco gestured at his regulator, then back to Engine 51. He saw Hank nod to him so he dashed to the truck.
"Kelly, you're up," the bullhorn blared. "Let's keep it moving."
Chet made his way down the ladder after extinguishing the fire; his exhaustion caused him to stumble down the last couple of rungs. His crewmates met him at the bottom and helped remove his gear.
"Man," Chet gasped, "they increased the fuel pressure. I didn't think I'd ever get the fire knocked down." He sent a glare over to the 'Observers', which included his own captain. He got a shrug from Hank and a smirk from Bill Bryant.
"Here, Chet," Johnny waved a canteen of tepid water in front of Chet's face. "Drink this."
Chet grabbed it, popped off the cap, and immediately poured the contents over his hot head. He shook his drenched head, akin to a wet dog, his soaked curls releasing on his crewmates. "Aahh…" he sighed in relief.
"Hey," Johnny exclaimed, "cut it out. You're supposed to drink it." He wiped Chet's sweaty droplets from his face.
Chet plopped down on the engine's sideboard, grabbing the water Roy offered, and gulped it eagerly. Some of the water dribbled onto his shirt, mingling with the salty stains, both darkening the shade of blue.
Marco now stood at the top of the ladder with Jack Evans, the engineer for Truck 85. He waved his arm, signaling Mike to charge the line. The charging line banged against the holding device, startling Marco with its ferocity. He pulled the nozzle lever to release the powerful spray and swiveled the handle to extinguish the flames. Already drenched in sweat from climbing the ladder in full gear, the billowing heat from the gas-fueled flames made a nearly physical wall of heat that cemented around him.
Snap! Pop! The clamps holding the swivel device to the ladder rung sheared apart; the pressure from the hose sent the device out of control. Marco and Jack struggled to get control of the device and maintain their footing on the narrow ladder. Marco reeled from a blow to his face, his mask shattered, a trickle of blood coursing down the side of his face and neck. Below, Mike shut down the pump as soon as he saw trouble atop the ladder. The hose deflated, a great relief to the two aerial firemen.
"Roy, John! That thing hit Marco in the head, he's bleeding," Jack yelled down to the gathered crews as he and Marco began their descent.
"Okay, Jack. Get him down here. We'll be ready," Roy yelled up the ladder and then ran to the squad to assist Johnny with the equipment.
#####
Marco sat on the edge of the exam table in Treatment Room Four at Rampart's Emergency Department, seven stitches richer.
"Sounds like you got off pretty lucky, Marco," Dr. Kel Brackett told his patient.
"You're not kidding, Doc. You should see what it did to my face mask." Marco probed the freshly bandaged wound under his right eye. "Doc, is my eye going to swell shut?"
Kel Brackett crossed his arms and stepped back. "It shouldn't, Marco. I do think you'll have one beaut of a shiner though."
Marco frowned. Better than being blinded by the blasted thing, he reasoned to himself. "Thanks, Doc. Am I still on duty?"
"I'm going to release you to duty, but if you experience any vision problems at all, get back here," Brackett instructed.
Marco hopped down from the exam table. "You got it, Doc. No problem."
Brackett opened the door, revealing the anxious crew of Engine 51. "Your fan club awaits," he laughed.
Marco joined his crewmates, accepting their well wishes and putting up with their jibes about his darkening eye. The engine crew made their way to the duty desk where Roy and Johnny were signing for their supplies with Dixie McCall.
"How is he?" Hank inquired to Dr. Brackett.
"Seven stitches. X-rays are negative. He's yours, but keep an eye on him – no pun intended. Get him back here if he has any problems."
Hank laughed at the pun, unintended or not. "We'll do that. Thanks, Doc. You guys take good care of my men." Hank extended his hand to Dr. Brackett.
Surprised, Kel shook Hank's hand. "You're welcome, Hank. You guys do a good job of keeping me in patients."
Hank frowned but nodded, then walked with Dr. Brackett over to the duty desk that teemed with firemen. "Mike, better put us back in service. Let's get back to the barn guys." Hank gathered the crew and headed down the hall.
"LA, Engine 51 back in service," Mike spoke into the handy-talkie as he strode after Hank.
"Engine 51," replied LA dispatch over the radio.
John picked up the handy-talkie he had laid on the duty desk. "LA, Squad 51 back in service," he winked at Dixie. "See ya later, Dix." Roy gathered the supplies and the duo trotted after the engine crew.
Dixie smiled to herself as she watched the gaggle of firemen turn the corner and exit the hospital.
#####
"Come on, Marco. You make pretty good chili, but you must have a 'secret' recipe for special family occasions or something." Chet nearly pleaded.
Marco rolled his eyes, which was slightly painful. "What makes you think my family would have a 'secret' recipe for chili?"
The tones sounded before Chet could reply, sending both men running to the apparatus bay. "Squad 51. Woman down. Rolph's Market, 650 East Carson. 6-5-0 East Carson. Cross street Avalon Blvd. Time out 1750." Sam Lanier's voice echoed across the bay.
"Squad 51, 10-4. KMG-365," Hank said into the station mic, then handed Roy the notepaper. The squad roared out of the bay, lights flashing and siren blaring.
"Mike," Hank stopped his engineer as the bay door clanged closed behind them. "Roy was fixing dinner. See if you can figure out what it's supposed to be."
"Sure, Cap." Mike nodded and headed for the kitchen.
"Thanks." Hank returned to his office and the mound of paperwork from that morning's training exercise.
Mike entered the kitchen to find Chet and Marco at it again. He gave Marco a sympathetic shrug and headed for the counter, where a bowl of hamburger sat. Mike sniffed at the bowl contents, wrinkling his nose at an unexpected aroma. Onions…and something else, he thought, eyeing the meat curiously.
"It just stands to reason, Marco," Chet explained. "Martinez from 85's won the Chili Cook Off three years in a row with a 'secret' family recipe. I figure your family recipe should be at least as good."
"Speaking of secret recipes…" Mike turned to Chet and Marco sitting at the kitchen table. "Do either of you know what Roy was fixing for dinner?" He received blank stares from both of his crewmates. Mike sighed, looked at the ingredients abandoned on the counter for a moment, then began his own preparations.
Chet returned his attention to Marco. "Now, Marco, ol' pal…"
"Okay, Chet," Marco acquiesced. "My family does have a 'secret' chili recipe."
Chet jumped up from the table, knocking over his chair. "I knew it!" he yelled.
"Geez, Chet," Mike said. "It's only chili."
"It's much more than that, my engineer pal," Chet grinned, picking up his chair. "Much more than that."
The racket from the kitchen brought Hank out of his office. "Everything okay in here?"
"Yeah, Cap," Marco answered. "Chet's just getting excited over here."
"Well, settle down." Hank poured himself a cup of coffee and returned to the office.
Chet scooted his chair closer to Marco. "Do you know this 'secret' recipe?"
"No," Marco replied with a grin.
Chet straightened in his chair. "Can you get the recipe? Someone must know it."
"Sure," Marco laughed.
"What's so funny?" Chet asked suspiciously.
"The reason it's a 'secret' recipe is because it's awful. No one fixes it anymore, haven't for nearly two generations. Mi abuela," Marco shook his head, "she refused to hand down the recipe to my mother."
Chet stood again, careful not to knock over the chair. "You're kidding, Marco. I know you're kidding."
Marco stood too, tiring of the conversation. "No, Chet, I'm not kidding." He went over to the counter to help Mike with the salad.
Chet got the dishes and cutlery and began setting the table. "Can you still get the recipe, Marco? Maybe there's something we can do with it."
Marco sighed heavily. "Okay, Chet. I'll call my grandmother tomorrow." He grinned at Mike. "She likes me, so she'll probably tell me the recipe."
"You mean it's a verbal recipe?" Mike asked.
"Well, yeah. It wouldn't be a secret if you could write it down," Marco explained the obvious.
#####
Hank sat down at the table full of food, the engine crew filling up their plates and two empty place settings mirroring the absent paramedic crew. Dinner conversation traded between the aborted training exercise and chili ingredients; Hank was unable to connect the two diverse topics.
"LA, Squad 51. Respond a second ambulance to this location." John's voice echoed through the half empty apparatus bay from the speaker mounted on the wall.
"10-4, Squad 51," Sam replied.
"Wonder what that's all about?" Hank asked rhetorically. The engine crew continued their dinner silently, the clink-clank of the cutlery the only sounds from the table.
#####
"Thanks for finishing dinner for me, Mike," Roy said, pushing himself away from the table. "Turned out really good, even though it started as meatloaf."
"Thanks," Mike shrugged, "it looked like it would make good burgers."
"They're great, Mike," Johnny said around a mouthful. "Couldn't have done better myself."
"So, Roy," Hank started, "what happened on that last run?"
"An elderly lady slipped on a grape and injured her hip," Roy began.
Johnny snorted from across the table. "More like old bat," he said under his breath.
Roy heard the remark and explained. "She was very agitated and scared. It took a while to settle her down."
"She bit me," John exclaimed, rubbing a reddened area on his forearm.
Chet burst out laughing. "That's not why you called for the second ambulance is it, Gage?"
"No." Johnny glared at Chet. "That's when things got interesting." Johnny wiped his mouth on a napkin, preparing to take over the storytelling. "You see, Roy went in with the old, uh, lady. I started cleaning up when one of the on-lookers slipped on another grape, fracturing her elbow."
"I had to practically pull him out of her treatment room at Rampart," Roy said, smiling.
"Well," John said coyly, "she was extremely grateful I was there to help her."
"A good looking chick?" Chet asked.
John nodded his head. "Man, she was incredible."
"Well," Roy picked up the story. "We both ended up at Rampart and the squad was still at the grocery store. Luckily, Vince was at Rampart and gave us a lift back to the squad."
Hank laughed. Only these two, he thought. He noticed Marco sitting on the couch, reading a magazine, not participating in the banter. "Roy, John, why don't you guys clean up the dishes tonight."
The paramedics followed their captain's gaze to Marco. "Sure, Cap. It'll only take us a few minutes," Roy agreed. He and Johnny began clearing the table. Chet and Mike lent a hand.
Hank sat down beside Marco. "You doing okay there, Pal?"
Marco looked up from his magazine. "Sure, Cap," he answered in a low voice. "It's been a long day, just taking a break." And avoiding Chet. He was in no mood to discuss even a spoonful of chili.
Hank studied Marco's injured eye closely. Still a little swollen, he concluded. "You want some ice for that?"
"No, it's fine, Cap, really." Marco sunk down into the chair a little bit, and raised his magazine a little higher.
"Okay, but you let me know if there's any problem."
"You bet…and thanks."
Hank returned to his office and the never-ending paperwork.
#####
The klaxon blared, Sam Lanier spoke. "Squad 51. Infant not breathing. 4718 West 23rd Street. 4-7-1-8 West 23rd Street. Cross street Park Avenue. Time out 1955."
Roy dried his hands on his pants as he ran for the squad. John tossed his dishtowel over his shoulder, chasing Roy out the doorway and to the squad.
"KMG-365," Hank hurriedly replied and quickly got the notepaper to Roy. A cold chill ran through Hank as he watched the squad rush out into the evening. An infant not breathing scared even fire station captains.
The garage door closed, slowly blocking out the receding sound of the squad's siren. The engine crew slowly returned to the kitchen; Hank took over washing, Mike dried, and Chet put the dishes away. Marco kept a silent vigil on the couch.
#####
"LA, Squad 51." Roy's strained voice came from the speaker at Station 51. "Cancel the ambulance to our location, we are transporting in the squad."
"10-4, Squad 51," came Sam's reply.
Mike paused wiping the table and hung his head. He knew that was a bad sign.
Vaya con Dios, Marco prayed silently.
"It'll be okay guys," Hank told the worried faces. "Roy and John know what they're doing."
"Yeah," Chet added. "If the kid has any chance, it's with them two."
"That's right," Hank agreed.
Chet put on another pot of coffee on and sat down at the table just as the klaxon sounded again. The engine crew dashed for the truck as Sam's voice echoed around them. "Engine 51, dumpster fire in the alley behind Nu Look Dry Cleaners. 1070 East Dominguez Street. 1-0-7-0 East Dominguez Street. Timeout 2017."
"Engine 51, KMG-365." Hank acknowledged the call and jogged around the front of the engine and hopped up into the passenger seat.
#####
Roy backed the squad into the empty apparatus bay and studied Johnny's long face. "We're home."
Johnny sighed heavily. "Yeah."
The weary paramedics entered the kitchen; Roy made a beeline for the coffee pot. "Still warm," he announced, pouring two cups of liquid caffeine.
"I'll pass," Johnny said from the table.
Roy brought the second cup over and set it beside Johnny anyway, then sat at the table too, sipping tastelessly at the dark liquid in his cup. "We did everything we could, Johnny. Don't beat yourself up over this."
Johnny leaned back in his chair, sad brown eyes downcast. "I know, Roy. I'll be okay. Just give me a minute." He sipped at the coffee he didn't want.
"Sure, Pal." Roy set his nearly empty cup in the sink, noticing the dinner dishes had been cleaned and put away. He wandered out into the apparatus bay, stopping briefly beside the squad before continuing to Cap's office to call Joanne. Just to check in on the kids, he told himself.
Johnny pushed his half empty cup of coffee away. He hated runs like that – when they did everything possible, and so did the doctors, and a baby boy still died. He pulled himself up and headed for the latrine. As he entered the apparatus bay, Johnny stopped as Hank's voice squawked from the speaker. "LA, Engine 51 returning to quarters."
"Engine 51," came the automatic reply.
Johnny stood in the middle of the bay with his eyes closed, sighing away his grief and blame. He looked up at the speaker, realizing that it talked all day yet he rarely heard it, unless it was 51's. A slight smile crept across John's face and he headed for the dorm to take advantage of a perfect opportunity to short-sheet Chet's bed to shake off the gloom from the last run.
#####
Roy and Johnny sat at the kitchen table having cookies and milk when the engine backed into its spot in the bay. The noise level rose as the crew made their way into the kitchen, bringing with them a faint smell of smoke.
"Ooh, cookies," Marco said, snatching an Oreo on his way to the fridge for the milk.
Mike and Chet brought two glasses each for Marco to fill and helped themselves to the pile of cookies.
"I'm having coffee," Hank informed, grabbing a couple of cookies before heading to his office.
Johnny claimed the extra glass of milk and another ginger snap.
Roy beat Chet to the last chocolate chip cookie, devouring it with a victorious grin. Chet wrestled Marco for the remaining Oreo.
"Ha!" Marco exclaimed in victory. His half of the sandwich cookie had the white stuff. Chet chewed his creamless Oreo half and snatched the remaining ginger snap from Johnny's grasp.
There was charged silence as five intense pairs of eyes narrowed on the last cookie, oatmeal raisin. Five hands shot for the lone cookie, Mike and Chet getting their hands on the prize.
"Ha! Haa!" Chet shoved his larger portion of oatmeal raisin into his mouth, crumbs catching in his bushy mustache.
Mike ignored Chet and finished off his smaller portion, chasing it with milk.
The guys settled down at the table. Mike cleared his throat. "Say Roy, John. How did it go with the baby?"
The smile on John's face faded away. With a groan, he left the table to rinse his milk glasses.
The three firemen turned to Roy, who was picking at a fingernail.
Mike stood. "Man, I'm sorry. I thought for sure…"
"It went sour real quick," Roy started, then stopped as John left the room. Roy figured the others had a right to know. "He wasn't breathing when we arrived - too long. We were losing his pulse so I decided to transport in the squad. There was just no time…" his voice caught. "Johnny bagged him on the way to Rampart, the little fella lying in his lap." Roy rubbed at a spot on the table, studying it . "He still had a weak pulse when we got to Rampart, but he just faded away despite everyone's efforts." Roy finally looked up and held eye contact with each of the three concerned firemen, then returned his gaze to the tabletop. "His name was Johnny."
#####
The klaxon blared, lights blinked on and the firemen of Station 51 scrambled into their waiting turnout gear. "Engine 51, trash fire in the alley. 23839 South Banning Blvd and East 238th Street. 23839 South Banning Blvd and East 238th Street. Time out 0320."
Johnny made it to the squad before realizing the call was for the engine only. He jogged over and hit the door button while Hank acknowledged the call. He watched the engine disappear into the crisp night air until the door closed again. He went to the kitchen for a glass of milk and found Roy sitting on the couch. "What'cha doin' sittin' out here?" Johnny asked sleepily.
"Nothing."
Johnny looked up from pouring his milk. "Nothin'?" Milk sloshed onto his hand. "Shit…" He hurriedly set his overfull glass on the table and cleaned the spill with a napkin.
Roy stretched and leaned his head against the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling. "Do you think we should have waited for the ambulance?"
Johnny stopped in mid gulp, nearly choking. "Man, Roy, you know better than that. There wasn't any time for waiting. You made the right call."
"It didn't help the outcome."
"Nothing was going to do that. Don't you beat yourself up over this, like you told me. We did the best we could."
"I guess so." Roy dragged himself off the couch, watched Johnny rinse his glass. "Let's hit the sack before we get called out."
"Right behind ya." Johnny's hand caught the light switch on the way out.