CHAPTER 3

Pulling into the lot of Station 51, the elated whirlwind was slashed by the sharp sword of unease. Somewhere between his driveway and the station parking lot, a nagging veil smothered all enthusiasm, a veil that at some point would need to be torn. A hint of merriness was observable in his gait, but heaviness was apparent on his shoulders. Stopping at his locker to change before heading to meet with B Shift Captain John Mancuso for the customary debrief, he took caution to avoid looking around, lest the nagging feeling overcome him.

"So, that about covers it Hank. Nothing too abnormal this shift, but as you can tell by this paperwork, it was quite busy."

"You can say that again" he replied, taking in the mound of paperwork on the desk.

Hank shifted his weight uncomfortably as he surveyed the papers.

"This is what your "captain" managed to pull off on Saturday." He gulped.

"Anyways, that's what happened here…" A loud voice spoke from the bay.

"Yeah, your gonna have to send your boys to Rampart for a resupply," John advised. Hank nodded.

"So in other words, there are no IVs left and no gauze bandages?" This time Roy's voice echoed in the bay.

"10-4."

John chuckled, Hank forced a pained smile.

"Let's go Hank. We'll see who from your crew is here so that mine can go home."

The rec room was an assortment of chatter. Stories from B-shift were abundant, but nothing overly exciting. Stories from A-shift's day off were more engrossing. Marco's twin nephews had turned five a few days earlier, so his family had hosted a birthday party. Chet's downstairs neighbor had locked her keys in her apartment so Chet had to "break in" to retrieve them.

The ticking clock grabbed his attention. 8:55. Noting the time, Captain Mancuso made to release his crew.

"Okay, Dwyer, Mullen, and Haines, beat it. I'll see you back here in the morning. Nottingham and Abbott, looks like your stuck for a few more minutes."

The sudden quiet permeating the room grabbed Hank's attention. The door swung shut, blocking out the voices of the three men leaving for the day. Roy, joined by Abbott and Nottingham, headed to the squad to finalize his list of supplies. Only the subtle rustling of newspaper could be heard now, as Chet and Marco relaxed on the couch anxious to read the sports page.

"Well Captain, do you have any qualms if I head out for the day?"

"What?" Distraction was evident in his voice, but reality quickly apprehended his mind. "Oh, yes. That is fine."

"Are you okay Hank?" Chet and Marco looked over.

"Yeah, John. I was just thinking."

"Anything in particular you'd like to share?" His eye twinkled.

"No. I'm just thinking about that mound of paperwork sitting on the desk." It wasn't a total lie.

"If it's any consolation, it's my paperwork. Nothing that I can't do tomorrow, eh? I'm gonna go file it before I leave."

"In that case, I'll keep you company while I get my paperwork ready."

The moment he walked out of the kitchen, Hank realized that something was not right. He admittedly had not been paying much attention to his crew, but somebody was missing. He checked his watch. 8:57. Before he could think further, laughter bellowed from the locker room as the door swung open, the three men from B-shift walking out towards the parking lot. It never ceased to amaze him how long it could take to get changed into uniform but how quickly a man could change out of one. Before the door could fully close, a fourth figure shoved it open, a loud and stern voice calling out, "Well Tim? Make sure you tell your wife that. She'll find it reeaalll funny."

As the men cackled, he couldn't maintain the serious countenance on his face and he joined in with their laughter. With a light pace, he graced towards the squad and slapped the rear-most compartment.

"Morning!"

"Who you talking to? Us or the squad?" Johnny Gage grimaced at Roy's humor while Nottingham and Abbott chuckled.

"You. Who else?" He was about to say something else, but suddenly clamped his mouth shut as he noticed his captain standing at the front end of the squad near the office door.

"Morning Cap."

"Morning John." John stood up straight.

"Sorry I'm late Cap. I overslept." He looked toward the floor and Hank could see a light flush making its way over his cheeks.

"Likely story Pal. And you're not late," he checked his watch, "not this time. Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you have your list together?"

"Yeah Cap."

"Okay. You men go to Rampart and resupply."

"Resupply?" John gave Roy a quizzical look.

"Busy shift." Nottingham confirmed.

"Oh."

"LA Squad 51 10-8 to Rampart for a critical resupply." Hank spoke into the radio.

"Squad 51 KMG 365. LA Clear."

"See you guys tomorrow." Nottingham left.

Despite the nonchalant posture of his high cheek bones, the deep brown eyes seated in the middle of his face betrayed John Gage's doubt. Tucked within his soul, Johnny was carrying the burden of culpability. There were exactly two people who could look into those eyes and see the self-loathing sense of inadequacy: Roy DeSoto and Hank Stanley. When he'd first met these men, he was jealous of their bond, of the deep-rooted trust. It wasn't until Johnny's close encounter with a rattlesnake that he'd finally begun to open up to his captain. The quick glimpse into his soul as he sat in the squad told Hank that John was feeling inadequate, insecure, and maybe a bit guilty.

I'll have to call him into the office later and chat with him, see how he's doing. Maybe he's still shaken by that run last shift.

"Hank?" A firm hand patted his shoulder. The tall stature of John Mancuso hovered in his periphery.

"John." Hank managed to choke out, using a cough to stifle the raw emotion in his voice. Stepping back, he clapped his hands, rubbing his palms together.

"Paperwork is filed…" John paused. "By 'filed', I meant I shoved it in my drawer. Took about 3 seconds. I'll deal with it tomorrow. I just want to see Trina."

"Oooh Cap! You got a girlfriend?" Abbott joked.

"Can it Abbott or that's latrine duty for a month!" The serious of his done was balanced by a gentle smile, indicating the Captain's acceptance of light-hearted banter.

"Yessir!"

The captains shook hands, per the custom of the department, transferring the responsibilities of Station 51 into the capable hands of Hank Stanley. Observing John walk across the bay, Hank noted his comrade's posture. A humble man of 56, the grueling work of a fireman was beginning to catch up with the seasoned 36-year veteran. Imperceptible at the beginning of a shift, a tense limp was easily spotted by the time the man was ready to leave. He had spoken of retirement a few months ago, back when Captain Hookraider almost retired, but not since. Well, not directly at least. Still, Hank couldn't help but wonder why such a dedicated and skilled captain would not advance his career by taking the chief's exam. After all, he had much more experience than, say, McConnicke. With experience comes knowledge, skill, and instinct, three traits worn proudly in Mancuso's many scars.

Two heads popped out from behind the kitchen door.

"Where's the squad?"

"Emergency supply run to Rampart. We had a busy night!" Nottingham, who happened to be leaving the locker room, answered from across the bay.

"Hmm…"

"Roll call?" Chet asked.

"Roll call in five."

"Yessir!"

Author's Note

I just wanted to give a heart-felt thank you to everyone who is reading this. It's been a while since I've felt comfortable sharing a story with anyone. I know the story may seem to being going off on a tangent (it will in the next chapter too). I tend to do that, but I promise that everything will come together in the end. Everyone is welcome to leave feedback if they feel like it. Any comment is appreciated. I hope you are enjoying the story and again, thanks for reading.