"An Apple a Day"

Chapter Three

In the rec' room at L.A. County's Fire Station 51…shortly after lunch.

Johnny was seated at the kitchen table, flipping through the Yellow Pages of an extremely thick phone book.

Chet sauntered into the room, stepped up to the Yellow Pages' flipper and offered him an apple.

Gage caught sight of Kelly's offering and cringed. "No thanks."

"Ah, go on, John," Kelly urged. "They're delicious!"

"I know," John assured him. "I just had six of 'em for lunch."

Stoker and Lopez strolled into the dayroom, munching on apples.

"I'll take a bushel," Mike announced. "Karen's gonna wanna freeze some of these for pie filling."

Gage flashed the engineer a grateful smile. "Thanks, Mike, but you don't have to buy—"

"—I know I don't have to," Mike interrupted him. "I want to buy them. I like them. So I guess the question now is…are you just trying to 'break even' on this little business venture of yours?…Or, do you intend to 'make a killing'?"

John's smile broadened a bit and he beamed it in Chet's direction. "Are we just trying to break even? Or, do we intend to make a killing?"

His business partner suddenly appeared pensive. "This makes us 'middlemen'. Doesn't it."

His fellow firefighters nodded.

"Man!" Kelly's mustached face filled with disgust. "I've always hated middlemen. They make an unfair profit off of other people's hard labor."

His friends looked equally disgusted and nodded once again, in complete agreement.

There followed a long, thoughtful silence.

Suddenly, Chet's eyes narrowed into two shrewd slits and he aimed a greedy gaze in their first customer's direction. "What—exactly—would you consider 'a killing'?"

In lieu of Kelly's previously stated stance on 'middlemen' and 'unfair profits', his crewmates found his question quite confusing, not to mention shocking.

Chet saw their facial expressions and managed an apologetic shrug. "Sorry. I must a' been momentarily overpowered by greed." He turned back to the engineer. "Since you're a friend, I s'pose we can 'break even' on you."

Mike gave the greedy bugger an 'Oh, brother,' glare. "That's very 'generous' of you…friend."

Kelly immediately went on the defensive. "Hey, these apples are delicious! They're worth waaaaay more than a buck a bushel. I'll bet they must be worth three or four times that."

"Yeah," Gage agreed. "And, a few more hours in this heat, and we're gonna have delicious BAKED apples. And we won't be able to give them away. In fact, we'll probably end up having to pay somebody to come and haul them all off to the landfill. If we just 'break even' on this deal, we'll be doin' real good. Agreed, partner?"

Kelly exhaled a resigned sigh and then nodded—glumly.

Lopez pulled out his wallet, removed a five-dollar bill and passed it on to the 'apple baron'.

The paramedic shot him back a questioning look.

"My mother, my Sister Angelina, my Sister Bonita, my Sister Louisa, my Sister Maria—" Marco paused and pulled another dollar out of his open billfold. "Almost forgot my Aunt Rosa. Do you deliver?"

John gave his dazed head a slight shake.

"Oh, well. It'll give me an excuse to visit them. Besides, fried apple crisp…apple cake smothered with Leche Quemada…apple enchiladas…apple burritos…cinnamon apple flautas covered in caramel sauce," Marco smacked his lips in anticipation. "I'm sure I'll be getting a very good return on my investment," he predicted and patted his tummy.

His fellow firefighters were forced to grin.

"Mmm-mmm. Mighty tasty," their Captain proclaimed, as he came walking into the rec' room, crunching on an apple. "My wife's gonna want some of these." His gaze settled upon the seated paramedic. "John, do you think I could possibly convince you to part with a few of your apples?"

Gage and Kelly exchanged amused glances.

"Oh-oh," Chet turned back to their boss and somehow managed to keep a perfectly straight face. "I think we could spare a few for Mrs. Stanley."

The guys traded grins again.

Concern suddenly replaced the amusement in John's eyes. "Did you send Roy home?"

Hank shook his head. "He wants to stick around, until his replacement arrives."

"In that case, he'll be here for the rest of the shift."

"I did banish him to his bunk—again."

"He needs to be banished to his own bed—in his own home."

"He claims he's okay. Says he's just sneezing and sniffling and feeling a little feverish. That doesn't sound so bad."

"You want it to sound bad? Then allow me to put that in diagnostic terms. The patient is experiencing frequent sternutations and severe rhinitis. He is also somewhat hyperpyrotic."

The Captain winced. "Sheesh! That does sound bad."

But, before he could send DeSoto home and take the Squad out of service, the tones went off.

Hank and his crew started heading for the garage—and their trucks.

"Station 51…Truck 123…Battalion 14," the dispatcher began, "Structure fire…1126 Berkley Avenue…Cross streets: 5th and General…One-one-two-six Berkley Avenue…Ambulances responding…Time out: 12:20."

"Station 51. KMG-365," the Captain acknowledged and turned to pass his senior paramedic their copy of the call address. Stanley was somewhat surprised to see Gage seated behind the rescue truck's steering wheel.

"He starts sneezing while he's driving," his junior paramedic explained, snatching on to the little slip of paper and passing it on to his sniffling partner, "we could end up in a wreck."

Hank took his copy of the call and went trotting off across the parking bay, suppressing a smile all the while.

The Captain scrambled aboard Big Red, and then both the Squad and the Engine left the fire station, with their warning lights flashing and their sirens wailing.

TBC