April, 1977
The squad backed into the engine bay. Two doors slammed. One hand slapped the hood of the squad.
"I cannot believe this! How many does this make now?" fumed Johnny.
"I don't know. Lots," Roy replied with an equal amount of vexation.
For the past two weeks, the paramedics on A-shift had responded to three times as many false alarms as legitimate calls. Occasionally, the location turned out to be an empty lot. Other times, they arrived at the home of a puzzled, often irate citizen who had not called for assistance. Frequently, the call led to a public place, where the paramedics wasted a lot of time trying to ascertain if they were really needed or not.
"Engine's gone. Think it's legit?"
"I don't know. I guess we'll find out."
The engine also spent a lot of time on bogus or minor calls, most of which turned out to be Dumpster fires or small rubbish fires. The net result yielded a station manned by a progressively edgy and snappish crew.
The engine returned before the two paramedics made it into the kitchen, and they waited by the doorway until Mike Stoker finished parking the rig. Two more doors slammed and four very irate men stalked across the engine bay, expressions grim.
"Another Dumpster fire?"
"Not even that! Just a little pile of rubbish someone set fire to in an alley," grumbled Cap. "I sure wish they'd catch these jokers."
"Jokers isn't the word I'd use. I'd use mother..."
"Knock it off, Kelly."
Both police detectives and fire investigators worked on the case, but had been able to make virtually no headway in solving it. The biggest problem lay in that all the calls originated from pay phones, many of which were not even in the same area as the ersatz emergencies. The only constant in the pattern seemed to be the involvement of A-shift of Station 51. Each crewmember was thoroughly interviewed in an attempt to discover possible reasons for the nuisance calls. None of the leads panned out.
Six frustrated men sat around the table, drinking coffee in an angry silence. They had talked and talked about the situation until nothing more remained to be said. Between the coffee and the stress, they would all develop ulcers if the situation continued. Finally, Cap couldn't stand it any more. "Okay, men. Sitting around here isn't doing us any good. What say we do some knot drills?"
Five groans answered the query.
"That wasn't a suggestion!" Cap responded with no little acerbity. "Move it!"
Five men scrambled to obey their captain's order.
Morning brought a less-than-perfect end to yet another less-than-perfect shift. Both the squad and the engine returned to the station in the early-dawn hour. They, along with several other companies, spent a large part of the night in battling a fire in an abandoned warehouse. No one was injured, but the blaze had been stubborn. Arson investigators were called in to examine the burned-out shell. The deserted building had neither electricity nor combustible chemicals when the flames broke out, making the likelihood of fire remote. It appeared that the fire was deliberately set.
Roy and Johnny trudged tiredly to the parking lot behind the station.
"Do you think the arson could be related to the false alarms we've been getting?" Johnny asked his partner
Roy shrugged. "No. Do you?"
"I don't know. Not really. Listen, I'm going to go for a run and do some other stuff before coming over to your place to help with Susan's playhouse." He looked at his watch. "I'll be there after lunch."
"Okay. I hope you're planning to stay for dinner. I'm doing steaks."
"Oh, man, you know you don't even have to ask! I'll bring my secret sauce."
Ever since he was a child, Johnny had always run more for the sheer joy of running than for the exercise it provided. He loved the physical aspect when the rhythm of his breathing sang in concert with his pulse and his feet, as well as the spiritual aspect when his mind broke free and he was no longer a man running, but running itself. He quickly changed into shorts and a T-shirt, tossing his other clothes, car keys and wallet on the bed.
Ten minutes later, he entered the nearby park where he preferred to run when he couldn't get out of the city. He'd been running faithfully ever since he and Mike decided to compete in the Las Vegas International Marathon in February of the following year. Once a week, the two of them went out together for longer runs in the unincorporated areas of the County. On working days, he had to run quite early in the morning, long before the sun rose, sticking to the well-lit streets in order to avoid accidentally stepping in a pothole in the dark.
But on the other days, this park offered a delightful alternative. He could almost imagine that he ran outside of the city. Little traffic flowed through the nearby streets, and the trees and shrubbery helped shield the footpaths from the noise and fumes, creating the illusion of being in the great outdoors instead of in the dirty, gritty city. He ran later in the morning on his days off, which yielded an unexpected bonus of the non-spiritual kind; namely, the proximity of the park to the university. This meant that there were lots of good-looking coeds out walking, jogging or running when he ran.
John Gage was a man who loved women. All women. He truly liked them. From little girls to grey-haired grandmothers, he flirted with them all, and, for the most part, they seemed to enjoy flirting back as well. He rarely lacked a date when he wanted one. While he knew that part of his luck came from his tall, dark, good looks and the allure of his profession as a firefighter, he also believed that he himself had a lot to do with his ability to attract women.
As he ran, he greeted many of the coeds with a cheery hello. He jogged alongside a couple of girls for a few minutes, chatting them up, before resuming his faster pace. An awesome-looking blond with legs up to her neck momentarily distracted him. He hadn't seen her before and he jogged backwards for a minute, appreciating the splendid rear view. Always on the lookout for a new catch, he debated running after her. Problem was, after he caught a woman, he didn't really know what to do with her. Most of his relationships fizzled after two weeks; he didn't seem to be able to sustain anything longer than that. Nevertheless, he kept looking for 'the one' with whom he could commit for life.
Still thinking about the blond, he ran past a clump of underbrush where he thought he heard the sound of someone moaning. He almost ran on without stopping, but his sense of duty and curiosity got the better of him. Doubling back, he called out, "Is anyone there?"
When another moan for help answered his query, Johnny quickly pushed through the brush to find a red-haired man lying face down on the ground. Johnny knelt down and touched the man on the shoulder. "Sir? Are you all right?"
In one quick motion the man rolled over and shoved a gun into Johnny's belly. "Hello, skinny boy," Toby Barnes said with an insidious grin of triumph. "Don't move, or you're dead."