KEMO SABE
by ardavenport
Smiling, Valerie spooned out big gobs of white potato salad from the deli. There was pie for dessert. John looked down at his paper plate. There was something orange and something green and something yellow. Where was the chicken? Weren't they having chicken? Or maybe it was hamburgers? But who had hamburgers on a picnic?
They were at the beach, the round white table right on the sand by the ocean, a big blue umbrella shading them from the sun. The waves were a little rough. He felt Valerie's foot rubbing his pant leg under the table. He grinned.
"Oh, yeah . . . " Valerie smiled back. What a great looking chick. Her blond curls disappeared as she ducked down under the table. He felt her hands on his legs, pushing his knees apart. But where was the chicken?
"Johnny?"
He kept staring down at the plate. Green, orange, yellow. What was it? The yellow things were long and narrow and thick around the middle, and that wasn't right. So were the green and orange things, but they were supposed to be that way. Vegetables were that way.
"Johnny?"
Maybe the yellow things on his plate weren't vegetables. Bananas? But these didn't look like bananas. Bananas were soft. These things were hard. And where was the chicken?
"Johnny?"
John Gage started awake, the sunny beach and fresh sea breeze evaporating into a dark ceiling in a dark room and a faint smell of stale socks.
"Hunh?" Under blanket and sheet, he was lying in his narrow bed at the station.
"Johnny. I didn't wake you, did I?" His partner, Roy DeSoto, lay in his own bed, on his left, completely covered up.
He answered without thinking. "Uh, no, no. I was just lying here." It wasn't quite dark. It had been almost five AM when they got back from their last run - - an unconscious drunk in an alley found by a garbage crew - - and it had still been dark. But now it was getting light.
"I was just lying here, thinking, too. I'm . . . I'm sorry I snapped earlier."
"Oh, hey, that's okay." He again spoke without thinking; he was still trying to remember what happened on the beach, his dream rapidly slipping away from awareness.
"I mean, there was the fight with Joanne . . . "
Memory of the night before clicked into place. John's eyes flicked toward Chet Kelly's bunk across the aisle, but the blanket was thrown aside, the boots and pants gone. The engine crew was still out on their trash fire.
" . . . and you kept bugging me about it."
Johnny turned his head toward Roy. There was enough gray light coming in through the frosted window above his bed to make out his profile, lying on the white pillow, looking up.
"I wasn't bugging you about it."
"You were bugging me about it. All afternoon. If it wasn't such a busy shift I would have snapped at you sooner."
Johnny knew he hadn't been bugging Roy about it. He'd seen that something was bothering his partner when they got into work. And all he did was give his partner a few opportunities to talk about his problem instead of holding it inside, which was never a good thing for anyone to do, especially Roy. But . . . . he had to admit that sometimes a few subtle hints could look like 'bugging' to some people. All Roy admitted to was having a fight with his wife.
"Yeah, well, okay. I just thought I might give you a chance to talk about what you and Joanne had a fight about. I mean it must have been pretty bad."
"It wasn't that bad of a fight."
"Then what are you so upset about?"
"I'm not upset." Roy came close to snapping again. There was a long pause before Roy continued. "It's just . . . . it was about you."
John took his own moment to understand the statement. He pushed himself up on his elbow. "What? You were fighting with Joanne about me?"
Pushing the blanket aside, Roy sat up, swinging his feet to the floor to face him. "Well, it wasn't exactly about you. It started . . . we were talking about what the kids were going to wear for Halloween."
In under-shorts and t-shirt, John sat up as well. "Huh?"
"We were sitting at the dinner table talking about what the kids are going to wear for Halloween, and they want to be cowboys. I guess they get it from TV or something."
Unable to figure out where this was going, John didn't say anything. There was enough light so he could see Roy in his under-shorts and white t-shirt.
"Anyway, I'm not working that day, so I can go with them and Joanne for trick-or-treating. And Joanne thinks we should dress up, too. And right then, my daughter looks at me says that I can't be a fireman again this time. My own daughter. And then Chris says that I have to be a cowboy, too."
"So?" He held his hands up. "So, be a cowboy. What's wrong with that?"
"Chris doesn't want just any cowboy. He wants me to be the Lone Ranger."
"Well, get a mask then. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing! Nothing's wrong with it. Except for some reason, you can't just have some guy dressed up as the Lone Ranger by himself, even though he's called 'The Lone Ranger'. He's got to have Tonto with him. And that's when Joanne suggested that I ask you . . . "
Startled, he sat up and leaned forward. "What? Roy are you kidding?"
Roy stood up. "I'm not asking!"
John jumped up. "Are you kidding me?"
"I"m not asking, Johnny! I know its a stupid idea! That's what I told Joanne!" He took a big breath and let it out, the air and yelling going out of him. "That's when she got mad at me."
"I can't believe it." John didn't know what to say. "I can't believe it. Joanne wants me to dress up as some cheesy TV Indian."
"Well, some people don't take it seriously, Johnny. And anyway I told her I wasn't even going to ask you. And she got upset that I wasn't willing to even ask you."
"You're asking now!"
"I am not asking you, Johnny!" Pointing, Roy raised his voice again. "You're the one who wanted to know what Joanne and I had a fight about - - "
The room lights came up.
"Oooooooeeeeeeee-mmmmaaaaahhhh - BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Squad Fifty-One – Man choking - 244 Anchor – 244 Anchor – cross-street Vernon - Time Out, Five-twenty-two."
Their argument evaporated faster than John's beach dream. He looked down at his boots, stepped into them, pulled the suspenders and turn-out pants up and was heading toward the door, fastening the fly, Roy right behind him.
"Squad Fifty-One, KMG-365" Roy answered dispatch while John hit the door openern on his way around to his side of the squad and got in. Roy climbed in a second later, handing him a piece of paper with the address scrawled on it. Adjusting the strap of his helmet under his chin, John looked down at Roy's handwriting.
244 Anchor . . . . 244 Anchor . . . They could go down to Wilmington, take a left, that would get them to Vernon. . .
Roy started the engine, lights and siren. The squad pulled out of the station. John kept staring at the paper. He didn't have to say anything; Roy was heading the right way.
"Roy . . . this is the Gilmores' place."
His partner's eyes flicked toward him before returning to the road. There was hardly any traffic so early in the morning, but they were on a run with siren and reds.
"The Gilmores, remember? Martha? She'd fake a heart attack every time she and her husband had a fight."
"Oh, yeah." Roy nodded, without looking back. "It's been quite awhile. It could still be somebody else in the building."
"Yeah, I guess." There wasn't much else to say until they got there. But a few minutes later, when they double parked the squad in front of the old apartment building, an unhappy landlord, a middle-aged balding man in pajamas, robe and slippers came out and confirmed who had made the call.
"It's the Gilmores on the third floor. That crazy woman won't stop screaming, says her husband's dying, choking on something."
The landlord didn't know anything else, so they hurried up to the third floor, down to the Gilmores' apartment. The door was ajar.
"Mrs. Gilmore?" John looked around the living room; he heard a woman somewhere in the back, a warbling crying of distress.
"Oh, back here! Back here! Please, hurry!"
They did, finding Martha Gilmore kneeling by her husband, prostrate on his back in the bathroom. Roy had to ask her twice to step out of their way so they could help him while John put the drug box down and took out the BP cuff.
Eyes bulging with fear, Mr. Gilmore was clearly conscious and there was a hint of recognition in them. Gobs of white foam ringed his mouth and dripped down the sides of his cheeks onto the floor.
"Mr. Gilmore, now just relax; we're here to help. Can you tell us what's wrong?" John leaned close; he smelled mint. The man was gasping, but his color was still good; he was getting air. He pointed at his gaping mouth, but all the paramedic could see was foam.
Roy tried to get information from Mrs. Gilmore with limited success.
"I don't know! I don't know!" Frantic, Mrs. Gilmore, in a long flannel nightie, her hair in curlers and hairnet, waved her hands. "We were just talking about what I was going to get him for breakfast, that's all!"
The only other useful thing that she told Roy was that he had not had any chest pains and he was feeling well when he got up. Roy opened the biophone.
"Rampart, this is Squad Fifty-One, how do you read?"
Doctor Brackett answered. John gave Roy the vital signs to pass on, took out his pen light and wiped away the foam. The minty smell rose and fell with every labored breath from the victim who watched him with eyes cross. Shining the light down, he saw something at the back of the throat. It looked like . . . .
"Roy. Have a look at this."
Leaning forward, Roy looked into Mr. Gilmore's mouth, down at the small, reddish pointy thing affixed to something green poking up from the esophagus. The two paramedics exchanged surprised looks before Roy's head whipped around back toward Mrs. Gilmore.
"Mrs. Gilmore, was your husband brushing his teeth when this happened?"
"Of course he was brushing his teeth! He always brushes when he gets up! We were just talking about breakfast!"
Roy ignored the rest of her rant and picked up the biophone again. "Rampart, it appears that the victim has aspirated his toothbrush."
"His toothbrush?"
"Yes, Rampart; we can see the tip of it at the back of his throat. It looks like the rest of it is lodged in his esophagus."
Brackett ordered an IV, D5W and oxygen. John got out the equipment and Roy helped with the IV bag and tubing and set up the nasal canula, but Mr. Gilmore resisted when John tried to swab his arm.
"It's alright, it's alright, Mr. Gilmore. The IV is just a precaution for the hospital."
Mr. Gilmore made a gasping sound as he made a grabbing gesture up at John.
"Now don't try to talk, Mr. Gilmore. Just try to relax; they're going to take the toothbrush out at the hospital, but you've got to keep still."
Mr. Gilmore pointed and John looked down at the front of his shirt.
"Do you want to write something down?" John took out the pen and pad from his front pocket. Mr. Gilmore's head shuddered up and down slightly in an affirmative.
"Oh, can't you see he's choking!" Mrs. Gilmore hovered over them.
Taking the pen and pad that John held for him, Gilmore scrawled a few words. 'Call work. Can't come in.' John read it out loud.
"Do you want someone to call your work and tell them you can't come in?" John got another shuddering affirmative.
Behind them, Mrs Gilmore exploded. "What? You're more worried about that bus route of yours than you are about all the worry you've put me though? I don't believe you Myron - -"
"Mrs. Gilmore, please!" Roy turned and stood over the hysterical woman. "Your husband is injured!" He was taller, and she cowered back. "If you care about him and want to help him, go call his place of work and tell them that he can't come in today!"
She backed up. "Well, nobody said I didn't care! But - - but - -" She left, hopefully to go to the telephone.
Mr. Gilmore tugged on John's arm again and scrawled another few words on the pad. 'She cares,' he read.
"Well, let's worry about you right now, Mr. Gilmore." John did not trust himself to say anything about his wife.
They quickly got the oxygen and IV going. By then, the ambulance that the landlord had called arrived and they carefully loaded Mr. Gilmore on the gurney. Mrs. Gilmore had gotten her shoes, coat and purse to ride in the front of the ambulance to go to the hospital with her husband.
From his expression, Gilmore didn't like being carried down to the street, but he looked calmer once they were in the ambulance and on their way. John checked his vitals again, they were a little high, but nothing unusal for a man with a toothbrush stuck down his throat.
When they got to Rampart, John and one of the attendants wheeling the victim in, Brackett met them in the hall. Gilmore seemed to sigh with a little relief at the dark-haired doctor in his white lab coat. Brackett had two nurses with him, so after John told the doctor what he knew he started to leave, but Mr. Gilmore stopped him. John loaned him his pen and held the pad of paper for him one more time.
'Will you cut it out?'
Brackett smiled at his nervous patient and patted his arm. "I don't think surgery will be necessary." John left them to take care of him. A toothbrush had all rounded edges, so he supposed that Brackett could just pull it out with a pair of forceps, but it wouldn't be any fun for Mr. Gilmore.
To his left, at the other end of the hall, John saw Mrs. Gilmore, still in hairnet and curlers, settling down in a chair, dark coat wrapped tightly around her. He turned to his right. He would take Mr. Gilmore word that she really cared.
He saw Roy's turnouts standing by the base station and he went there. Dixie, ash blond hair tucked under a white nurse's cap and Dr. Early, with silvery-gray hair and a white doctor's coat, listened to him. John supposed that his partner was telling them about Mr. Gilmore's toothbrush problem, but that was not what he heard as he got closer.
" - - we can't even watch a western at the station, because we'll have to listen to Johnny complaining about the treaty-breaking white man."
"Hey!" How could Roy so casually talk to Dr. Early and Dixie McCall about something that took him all day and all night to get around to discussing with his own partner? He put biophone and oxygent tank down and hefted the drug box up on the counter. They needed more syringes and D5W. "Did you tell them about you asking me to dress up as a cheesy TV Indian?"
"I didn't ask!"
"Oh, I don't think Tonto was that cheesy." Sitting at the counter, Dixie calmly looked back at them. "Wasn't the man who played him an Indian?"
"That's right." Dr. Early held a finger up. "Jay Silverheels, what was wrong with him dressing up as Tonto?"
Roy jumped on that. "That's right. That's what Joanne said. If it was okay for an Indian to play Tonto, what was wrong with asking you to do it?"
John couldn't believe it. An actor playing Tonto was a completely different thing. "Well, if she thinks it's such a good idea, then why doesn't she do it?"
Roy froze, mouth open, hand up. Something was going on behind those wide blue eyes.
"That's it." Roy suddenly grinned. "That's it. Joanne can do it!" He grabbed John's arms.
"Joanne can dress up as Tonto?" Dixie raised her brows, a little skeptical.
"Yes!" Roy let go of him to turn to the other two. "The neighbors down the street, last year, they dressed up as Laurel and Hardy. They looked great; it was a big hit! All we have to do is what they did, except as the Lone Ranger and Tonto when take the kids out trick-or-treating!" He looked at his watch. "She'll be up now; I'm going to call her." He lightly slapped John's arm. "Johnny, you're a genius. Thanks." They all watched him hurry to the pay phone in the waiting area at the other end of the hall.
Dixie shrugged. "I wonder which one of them was Laurel and which one was Hardy?"
"Well, I suppose it depends on which one of them was fat and which one was skinny. I suppose probably the wife was Hardy, since woman are usually heavier . . . " Dr. Early's words trailed off as Dixie's expression soured. He knew he was on thin ice and he quickly excused himself.
John saw his partner talking on the phone over in the waiting area, but he was much too far away to hear what was being said. Did he care if Joanne DeSoto dressed up as one of the worst Indian side-kicks in history? Well, no, he didn't. White people had done a whole lot worse things than make themselves looks stupid by wearing fake Indian costumes. Besides that, he liked Joanne. And her thinking that there wasn't a problem with him dressing up as Tonto wasn't any worse than anything Roy might have said when they first became partners. John had long since set him straight. Joanne just hadn't had that advantage.
Smiling, he turned back to Dixie. "Well, guess I solved that problem." He patted the drug box. "Hey Dix, we need some supplies."
"Well, Genius, you know where everything is." Dixie stayed in her seat. She was not impressed.
"Oh." He went to the metal drawers behind her. He had the drug box re-supplied and signed for by the time Roy came back with a big grin on his face.
"She loves the idea, just loves it. She's going to start on getting the costumes right away." Roy happily patted John's arm. "Thank-you. I really mean it. That was a great idea, a stroke of genius." He picked up the biophone and the oxygen tank.
John grabbed the drug box and they headed down the hall together, going back to they squad. "Hey, anytime you need my help on something, all you have to do is ask."
Dixie rolled her eyes as they turned the corner.
"Me heap big problem solver, Kemo Sabe." She smiled to herself as she picked up the paramedic supply form and put it away.
=O=O=O= END =O=O=O=
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Mark VII Productions, Inc., Universal Studios and whoever else owns the 1970's TV show Emergency!; I am just playing in their sandbox.