"Godzilla and The Smog Monster"

Chapter Twenty-Six

DeSoto managed to take several steps down the ICU corridor, before finally grinding to a halt. The paramedic could count the number of times he'd disobeyed a doctor's direct orders on two fingers. Well, three fingers, now, because he'd just gone as far from his friend's room as he was gonna get. "Dr. Morton?"

The physician stopped and turned to face him. "Yes, Roy?"

"First…The instant Joanne heard that I was gonna be on 'special assignment' here, at the hospital, she packed the kids in the car and went to visit her mother. The only 'family' I have—right now—is lying in a bed back there, with a bullet hole in his head. Second…I don't know if you're aware of this, or not. But Gage went into full respiratory arrest earlier this afternoon, and his doctor ordered the nurses to discontinue any—and all—sedatives. Dr. Kurtz 'prescribed' my 'company', instead. He's relying on me to keep his patient as calm and quiet as possible. So, you see, I'm not just a 'visitor'. And, third…I think he's beginning to remember what happened, and I wanna be there for him, when he does."

The young doctor considered the fireman's comments over carefully. "Why didn't you mention any of this earlier?" he wondered and motioned to the open door to Room 604.

"Johnny had just drifted off. I didn't wanna risk disturbing him. He needs all the rest he can possibly get."

Morton regrettably recalled how he had repeatedly raised his voice in the room, and suppressed a smile. "So do you!" he stubbornly restated. "Set up a cot in Room 604," he requested of a passing hospital worker.

The orderly nodded and disappeared down the hall.

The physician focused his attention back on the 'beat on his feet' fireman. "As soon as it arrives, I expect you to be in it!" he sternly decreed, and finally released the smile he'd been suppressing.

Roy flashed the understanding doctor a grateful grin and readily nodded

.

Speaking of Dr. Kurtz's dozing patient…

John Gage suddenly found himself standing in a back lot of Universal Movie Studios. It was early evening. The fireman was dressed in his civies and he was talking with one of his stuntmen friends, Gary Woolen.

Judging by all the food and drink and the festive look of things, there appeared to be a 'lot' party going on.

John suddenly recalled the occasion.

Gary—and his crew of stuntmen—were celebrating the completion of a film they'd been working on.

"We just spent the last four months on location in the Mojave Desert," Gary informed his fireman friend.

"The desert? What was it?" Gage wondered. "A Western?"

"We were shooting a sequel to Star Wars," Woolen went on. "I had to stand in for all of Luke Skywalker's heavy action shots." Gary grimaced and flexed his left shoulder. "Ol' Luke had waaaaaay too many heavy action shots in that movie!"

Gage snickered. "Where're you guys off to next?"

"We're gonna be right here in town for awhile, shooting one a' those 'tailored-for-TV' movies. Get a' load a' the title: 'Who's Killing The Stuntmen?'"

"I hope the film doesn't live up to its name!"

"No lie!" Gary agreed. "Yah know, I don't even know what it's about. The guy I stand in for gets knocked off in the first five minutes of the movie."

John gave his buddy an insincere look of sympathy.

Several members of Woolen's stuntman crew came strolling up to where the two friends were standing.

"John!" one of them exclaimed and extended a hand. "Good ta see yah again!"

"Gordy," Gage acknowledged. He took and shook the young man's hand. "It's good ta see you guys again, too!"

Three more hands shot out.

John took and shook them, as well. "Roger…Phil…Denny…"

The three young guys that the hands were attached to grinned and nodded. "John," they said, in unison.

"Where you been keepin' yourself?" Gordy LaSalle wondered.

"I've been trying to keep myself out of trouble," the paramedic replied. "I just got back from five very cold days in Seattle, Washington."

Gordy looked curious. "Fire Department business?"

John nodded.

Gordy looked tremendously disappointed. "When you gonna quit that dangerous occupation and come and work at something nice and safe…like us?" he teased.

Everyone within earshot was forced to grin.

Gage grinned and rolled his eyes. "You guys have definitely been out in the desert too long."

Their grins broadened.

"Gordy's right, John," Dennis Rygel admonished. "You should quit playin' fireman and come work with us. This is where the real money's at."

The rest of the guys in the group nodded their agreement.

John just smiled. "Thanks for the offer, Denny. But you couldn't get me to do what you guys do—for all the money in the world!"

Gordy looked confused. "What d'yah mean? You already do what we do—for about a tenth of the pay!"

Again, the rest of the guys nodded their agreement.

Gage shook his head. "Unh-uh. No way! There's a world of difference in our work."

"How do you figure?" Gordy inquired. "We all risk our necks. We all play the same game of Russian Roulette with our lives. Only, in our job, we can take the time to minimize the risks. You can't. So, therefore, your job is a lot riskier! And, the longer you work at it, the greater the risk is for you to draw the 'loaded' chamber." LaSalle placed the barrel of an imaginary revolver up to his right temple and squeezed its trigger.

John winced and looked away.

Gary saw that the conversation was getting a little too morbid for a party and decided to try and lighten the mood back up. "John only risks his life for another life," he reminded the members of his crew.

"Like total strangers," Roger Eavens tacked on.

"And old winos," Phillip Lucas lightly added.

"But never for money," Denny sadly summed up. "Now, what he has against money, I'll never know."

The stuntmen grinned.

The fireman rolled his eyes again. "C'mon, you guys. We all know that you aren't in it for the money. You just happen to love taking risks. You're natural born gamblers. And, the greater the stakes, the more 'interesting' the game becomes. The more daring you can make your lives, the more you seem to value them. Now, I admit, I'm as addicted to adrenaline as you are. I mean, I can't picture any of us quitting today, to go sell shoes tomorrow. Right? But, there's a big difference between excitement and risks. And the biggest difference between us is in how we feel about taking risks. I risk my neck because I have to. You guys do it because you want to. And, heck…we're all happy, aren't we?"

His stuntmen buddies nodded, thoughtfully.

"Well, that's the only really important thing," Gage turned to his friend Gary and grinned. "Enough philosophizing! This is supposed to be a party! Let's eat!"

John went on to have an enjoyable evening. But he couldn't seem to get the image of his friend's finger—squeezing that imaginary gun's trigger—out of his head.

He kept hearing Denny's words replaying, over and over and over. "…the greater the risk is for you to draw the 'loaded' chamber…the greater the risk is for you to draw the 'loaded' chamber…the greater the risk is for you to draw the 'loaded' chamber…"

The fireman suddenly found himself in an inner office. He set his flashlight and chalk down on the tiny room's tiled floor so he could have his hands free to 'sign'. He straightened back up again and started signing 'fire'.

The deaf guy pulled a handgun from his coat pocket.

Gage watched, in sort a' slow motion, as the barrel of the gun was raised and then carefully aimed—directly at his helmeted head. He wanted to scream, but couldn't get any sound to come out of his gaping mouth. The gun's muzzle flashed and there was a deafeningly LOUD explosion.

"NO-O!" the paramedic pleaded. The sound of his own scream jolted John awake from his nightmare and, once again, he snapped bolt upright in his hospital bed.

TBC