Bells and whistles, smoke and mirrors
by mapark
The characters depicted in Emergency! are the property of Universal Studios/Mark VII Productions. No copyright infringement is intended. All original characters (and mistakes) are mine alone.
[ ] Bells and whistles: Attractive additional features or trimmings [an allusion to the various bells and whistles of old fairground organs]. Smoke and mirrors: The obscuring or embellishing of the truth of a situation with misleading or irrelevant information. [with reference to illusion created by conjuring tricks]
"No, Marco, put it on channel 3. They've got a rerun of that hypnotist from the other night. Ab-so-lute-ly hilarious." Chet pulled a chair from the dining room table and settled in front of the television set. "You guys'll love this fella – he's really good, and funny too. He had these folks in the audience clucking like chickens and dancing like Elvis."
Johnny snorted, his expression somewhere between disbelief and an actual sneer. "If you're gonna tell us everything that happened, what's the point in watching? Hypnotism is all fake, anyway,"
"Hypnotism isn't fake, John," Mike said, his tone serious. "Hypnotists manage to help people remember the details of traumatic incidents, and the police wouldn't resort to hypnotists if they couldn't offer at least a bit of help, now would they?"
Johnny shrugged, tilted his head, and gave a grudging nod. "Well, okay, some hypnotists help – but not like the guys who you see on a television show." He jabbed his thumb at the man on TV, dressed in a flamboyant red cape, which the hypnotist swirled to full dramatic effect with every gesture. "That's just show biz, and I bet every one of those people who is 'hypnotized' is actually working for him."
Chet waved him to silence. "Just shut up and enjoy the show, Gage."
Johnny had opened his mouth to retort, when the station's tones blared.
"Squad 51, unknown-type rescue. 1930 Riverside. 1-9-3-0 Riverside. Cross-street Blair. Time out, 1705."
Johnny jotted down the address and smirked at Chet, pleased to escape from being forced to watch a program that didn't interest him in the least. "See you later!"
Chet wrinkled his nose as the paramedics hurried to the squad. "Turn up the sound, Marco – some of the comments from the audience are almost as good as the hypnotist."
-E!-
Roy tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as they heading to the call. "Man, I hate that term 'unknown rescue'. You'd think people might have more of an idea of what the problem is when they call for help. Just a hint would make it a lot easier to know how to prepare… what equipment we might need, how many people might be involved, whether an ambulance is necessary…"
Johnny nodded. "Yeah, that's always bugged me. I mean, we've had anything from that kid with a finger caught in a hole in the wall to a full-blown gas explosion. Kinda from one end of the scale to the other."
Roy frowned. "You know, there's something awfully familiar about that address. Like we mighta been there before?"
Johnny snapped his fingers. "You're right – isn't that close to the rec centre where C-shift had all those cases of food poisoning last month?" He shifted in his seat so he was facing his partner. "You remember how cheesed off Bill and Jack were? They spent about three hours there doing triage to figure out which ones were the worst off, when Rampart had to divert them over to Harbour?"
"Oh, yeah," Roy replied, a grim expression crossing his face. "Not something I'd've wanted to do, even for half an hour. Hey, it's probably nothing like that. Maybe it's pretty straightforward…"
"Man, I hope so. I really don't want to spend the hour before dinner losing my appetite. Mike's cooking his spaghetti tonight."
Roy nodded, a grin crossing his face. "Yeah. I've been looking forward to that. Nobody cooks spaghetti like Mike. Cheer up, maybe we'll get lucky. The last 'unknown-type rescue' we had was for that kid with his finger caught in the back of the antique chair."
Johnny chuckled. "And his grandmother kept going on and on about how that chair was a certified and very valuable antique, and if we had to amputate his finger, to make sure not to get any blood on the upholstery." He checked the side street of the intersection they were approaching. "Clear on the right," he announced.
Roy laughed as he made a left turn onto Blair. "Man, the look on that kid's face… It sure worked, though. She got him to drop the yo-yo and pull his hand right outta the mechanism."
"At least we don't have to worry about any wild animals this time… or do we?" Johnny's eyes widened at the site of a circus van parked across three parking spaces next to the rec centre. He pointed. "The address is just around the corner. You don't think they let an animal loose or something, do you?"
Roy shrugged. "I didn't hear them dispatch for animal control." He pulled over and gave a sigh of relief as he recognized the sheriff's car. "At least Vince is here, so that's something."
They pulled to a stop next to Vince's car, got out and started assembling the equipment they thought they might need. They waved at the officer as he approached their car.
"Hey, Vince. What do we have?" Johnny asked, his mind supplying several possibilities based on the setting.
"Hi, fellas. Looks like something to do with drugs – got a woman who's sitting there, staring at nothing, but unresponsive, kind of like she's in some kind of trance."
"Great," replied Johnny. "A trance. We get away from a hypnotist on TV, only to run into something like it on a run."
Vince shrugged. "Well, I don't know about that. She doesn't look like she's in distress or anything, but we can't wake her up at all." He shook his head. "Damnedest thing I've ever seen."
-E!-
Roy clenched his jaw, and kept silent all the way back. He didn't think his partner would ever stop harping on the dangers of untrained people trying to show off. He backed the squad into its usual place in the apparatus bay, and parked it. "Stop! We're back, and I'm just about as hungry as you are. And I agree with you, so you don't have to try to convince me of anything."
Johnny slammed the door of the squad, and strode into the kitchen, inhaling deeply. A smile tugged at his lips. "Stoker, that smells fantastic…" He broke off; the kitchen was deserted, and he heard the men on the engine crew laughing from the lounge area. He nudged Roy, who had also stopped to take an appreciative sniff.
"Huh. They must still be watching that hypnotist. Let's hope he's more talented than that idiot from the circus."
Roy poured himself a cup of coffee and held up the pot to Johnny, who shook his head and poured a glass of milk. "C'mon, Johnny, that wasn't his fault. How was he to know that woman was narcoleptic?"
"Good think she woke up on her own. I was surprised that the ammonia caplet didn't bring her around, though. It was weird that her eyes moved, but nothing else."
"We're lucky that her husband arrived and let us know what was really going on." Roy paused, holding his cup near his mouth but not taking a sip. "You know, we really should talk to Dr. Brackett about including something like that in the next training class. I know it's unusual, but it sure is easy to come to the wrong conclusion, and possibly do the wrong treatment."
Johnny nodded slowly. "That's a good idea." He rolled his eyes at another burst of laughter from the day room, and grabbed a handful of crackers.
"It's nearly time for dinner," Roy said, shaking his head.
"Think of it as an appetizer," Johnny quipped, leading the way to the day room. He started munching as they joined their crewmates.
"Watch this, watch this," Chet urged, pointing at the screen.
Marco shot him a look of exasperation. "Chet, we are watching."
On the television show, the volunteers from the studio audience were all seated on the stage, leaning over in various attitudes of sleep. A bell rang and the people on the left side of the stage sprang up from their seats, tucked their hands into their armpits, bent at the waist and strutted around, clucking like chickens. The members of the audience started laughing and applauding.
Marco snickered. "It's a good thing we're having spaghetti tonight, and not chicken – I'd be afraid we're eating one of them."
Chet mouthed the words as the emcee announced: "Cue the music!" At the sound of a whistle, the remaining seated audience members jumped up and began impersonating Elvis Presley as the strains of "Heartbreak Hotel" began playing.
After about a minute, during which the crew laughed as much as the audience, the hypnotist called out, "Very well done! You've won the dancing contest!"
At these words, all of the volunteers clasped their hands together in a gesture of victory, and took a bow.
"It's time to have a seat at your victory press conference," the Great Mesmerlin prompted, and all the participants sat down, some shaking their neighbours' hands in a magnanimous fashion.
"Great game," Mesmerlin said, his voice becoming soft yet intense, "but it's time to take it easy. Three… your mind is relaxed…. Two…. Your eyelids are becoming heavier… and heavier… One, you are asleep."
As one, the volunteers slumped in their chairs, asleep. A couple of assistants tiptoed among the participants, ensuring that they wouldn't fall out of their chairs. At a nod from the last assistant, the Great Mesmerlin spoke.
"When I count to three, you will wake up, feeling refreshed. Three… it's getting lighter and lighter… Two… you're happy and ready to start the day… One… you're awake!"
The participants lifted their heads and blinked. Some rubbed their eyes; others yawned.
"How about a hand for our lovely – and brave – volunteers?" The Great Mesmerlin swung his arm to the side in a flamboyant gesture to the audience participants, still blinking, who looked a bit bewildered at the sudden burst of applause.
"Wonderful!" enthused the host. "And let's have some applause for…. The Great Mesmerlin!"
Marco got up to turn off the television set. "You were right, Chet. That guy was really amazing. I wonder how he manages to hypnotize all of those people at the same time."
Johnny snorted, crumbs dribbling from the corners of his mouth. "You gotta be kidding , Marco. He's fake. It's all a setup. Those people weren't hypnotized – they must be on his payroll or something. I could probably do that, with the right 'volunteers', too."
Chet guffawed. "Ah, c'mon, Gage, you couldn't hypnotize a golf ball, never mind people." He smirked. "Unless you wanna put your money where your mouth is. Five'll get you ten that you couldn't hypnotize me. Whaddya say?"
Johnny rubbed the back of his knuckle under his nose. "Okay, you're on," Johnny snapped. He fumbled for his wallet, pulled out a five-dollar bill and slapped it on the table. "Let's see the colour of your money, then," he challenged.
Chet cleared his throat, taken aback. "Uh, it'll have to wait until next shift. Rent's due tomorrow…"
John quirked his eyebrow and shrugged. "Okay, at the beginning of next shift, then," he agreed, snatching back his five-dollar bill.
Roy sighed. He was not looking forward to spending the rest of this shift, and his days off, listening to yet another one of Johnny's elaborate schemes to pull one over on 'The Phantom'.
