A/N: My apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out, but real life has had me exceptionally busy lately. Hopefully, I'll be able to keep this story moving along to the finish from this point on. Thanks to everyone who is still reading it. There are no words to tell you just how much I appreciate you.
Warning: extreme language
Chapter 11
The morning sun was beating down on the two firemen as they finished hanging hose behind the station. Thankfully, the crisp autumn air kept them cool. Marco climbed down from the hose tower, noting the serious look on his engineer's face. Their work had been completed with minimal conversation, but with the other men busy with their respective chores, and the tones maintaining their silence, now Marco had time to question his friend.
"Find what you were looking for in your locker?" the lineman asked, stepping off the bottom rung and leaning against the metal post.
Mike looked down at his shadow, toeing at a stray sprig of grass growing up in a crack in the cement. It was trying desperately to survive where the seed had found a hint of dirt, but it wasn't thriving. He twisted his foot, putting it out of its misery, then cringed at the metaphor he had inadvertently created in his own mind. Failing to grow where she had been inadvertently planted… Someone deciding her life wasn't worth the effort and snuffing her out…
"Mike?"
The engineer's head jerked upwards at the sound of his name. "Hmm?"
Marco grimaced; he knew that whatever was bothering his friend, Lexi had to be a part of it. "I asked if you'd found whatever it was you'd lost?"
Mike considered his words carefully, looking over at the other man. "Can I tell you something… and… you not get mad at me?"
Marco crossed his arms over his chest, feeling his defenses rising. He saw the sincerity on Mike's face and knew this was serious. "Yea… It's about Lexi, isn't it?"
Mike nodded his head. "I want to trust her, but… I just… Marco, you're the only person I know to talk to about this… the only person who might understand, but…" The engineer looked intently at his friend. "I need for you to listen as my friend… not as Lexi's brother."
The older man exhaled loudly. "I can't stop being her brother, but I also won't stop being your friend. Whatever it is… Just say it… Please?" Marco had his own questions and concerns about his sister, and he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he and Mike were concerned about the same things.
Mike looked back down at his boots. "Sometime between Friday afternoon and this morning… ten bucks got stolen out of my wallet."
Marco pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're sure?"
"Positive."
"And you think Lexi did it?" the lineman asked, no hint of judgment in his voice. He knew it couldn't have happened at the station.
"No one else could've done it, Marco. I know how much was in there on Friday after I cashed a check. I've gone over every penny I spent Friday afternoon. While Lexi was there Friday night, I got in the shower and when I came out of my bathroom, my bedroom door was open. I always… always close my bedroom door when I get in the shower." The engineer ran a finger beneath his nose, much like he had seen their junior paramedic do when he was thinking or worried about something. Any other time, he would have found this learned behavior humorous, but this was no laughing matter. "I never left my apartment until this morning, and no one else visited me. I don't know who else could've taken it."
"There's no way you could've dropped it… or…"
Mike gave his friend a knowing look.
"I know, Mike… I'm just trying to…" Marco shifted his position, turning his back to Mike for a brief moment. When he turned back around to face the engineer, he spoke from his heart. "Mike… I haven't told anybody else this, not even Beverly… When I got to your apartment Friday night to pick Lexi up, she was standing on the sidewalk… there was a guy in a car pulled up close to her… and… he sped away when she waved at me, but…"
Mike felt his gut clench and bile began rising in the back of his throat. "But?"
"I asked Lexi about it, but she tried to convince me that the guy was just asking if there were any vacancies in your complex."
Mike gave a sarcastic snort. "You mean those big signs by the road saying 'move in special' and 'vacancies' didn't answer his question?"
"I know… I didn't believe her, either."
Mike watched Marco unfold his arms and shove his hands into his pockets. There was something his friend wasn't telling him. "Marco?"
The older man closed his eyes. "I know I saw him holding out his hand to her and… there was money in it."
"WHAT?" Mike questioned, squaring his shoulders up with the other man.
Marco raised his hands, palms out. "I know, man. I know… but I also know what I saw."
"You think she's… doing it again?" He didn't have to explain what 'it' was.
"I don't know… I don't know what to think… but why would she take money from you?" As soon as he asked the question, his eyes widened.
Mike, knowing exactly what his friend was thinking, immediately halted Marco's runaway sordid thoughts. "NO! No, we didn't do anything, I swear. So… No, she didn't take money for… ahem… services rendered, alright?" the engineer remarked.
"Mike, I wasn't thinking that, I promise, but… what if she's on drugs?"
Mike's blue eyes darkened. "She wasn't on anything. You know that as well as I do. We would've seen the signs by now… and… Beverly wouldn't have let her stay at the shelter if she was a junkie."
Marco ran his fingers over his mustache. "Then what else could it be? Do you think she owes somebody some money?"
Mike shook his head. "That bastard, Ricardo, is in jail; at least for a little while longer. Who else could she owe?"
"Listen to me, Mike. Beverly has told me stories about how pimps have other guys who watch their girls, to keep them in line… What if Ricardo has one of his guys following her and…"
"Threatening her?"
"Either threatening her, or someone she loves." Marco commented, casting a glance at the ground. "Did she say anything that night?"
Mike rubbed his forehead. "She apologized to me… offered to give me a back massage… she was being nice."
"Too nice?"
Mike's piercing blue eyes tried to discern what the lineman was trying to say. "You think she could've been setting me up, somehow?"
"I dunno."
Mike shook his head, a mixture of anger and frustration coloring his face. "She sure was insistent about the back rub. Maybe she WANTED me to fall asleep, so she could… um… take the money." He hated being the accuser.
Marco ran a hand through his dark hair. "A year ago, I would've said it was crazy to think that any woman would do something like that to you, especially my own family. But after learning all I've learned from Beverly, and from watching Lexi and Bri after their rescues… Well, if she's paying off some kind of debt, then… I have no doubt that she'd steal what she needs."
"Stealing would be easier for her than telling us the truth, wouldn't it?" Mike added.
"And she might've been trying to do something to, um, pay you back for what she was planning on stealing," Marco said, his own words stabbing his heart.
Mike sat down on one of the lower rungs of the hose tower ladder. He leaned his elbows on his thighs. "Oh, Jesus, Marco… She didn't have to steal it. All she had to do was ask me. I would've given it to her… more, if she needed it."
"You know she couldn't do that," Marco said softly, his dark eyes scanning the back of the station to make sure that none of the other men could overhear their conversation. "If she's in trouble with Ricardo… owes him money, then… she can't tell us… She can't tell anyone."
"And if she can't pay the extortion money, then… she'll go back, won't she?"
Marco didn't answer the question. The thought of his sister going back out onto the streets was more than he could handle. "I need to talk to Beverly about all this." He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet.
Mike saw what he was doing and rolled his eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Marco? You don't owe me anything."
"I need to make this right, Mike."
Mike stood up, looking Marco in his eyes. "I don't need your money, but Lexi might. Give it to her."
"She won't accept charity. You should hear her complaining about being on welfare for Antonio," Marco sighed, repocketing his wallet; he could tell by the tone of Mike's voice that he wasn't going to accept the gesture.
"Then what do I do? I can't let her go around thieving… and I sure as hell won't let her sell herself, Mike!"
"I've invited her over to finish our talk. Maybe I'll leave a few dollars lying around and…" He released an audible sigh. "I hate setting her up," he admitted.
"But we've got to know for sure that it's her… That she's resorting to stealing," Marco added, his voice strained. "But if she is… We've got to help her… but how? We don't even know what she needs the money for."
Mike's voice softened. "We'll find a way to help her, Marco. We have to."
E!
"Packin' already?"
Lily glanced over her shoulder at her mother, then returned to folding her clothes, a smile on her blushing face. "Maybe."
Iris slowly sauntered over to her daughter's side. "Lilianna Campbell," she said softly, using her daughter's formal name. "I know you miss him. But just a few more days and we'll be back in Los Angeles." She picked up a sweater she had recently purchased for her daughter. It was a soft peach color, perfectly complimenting her daughter's mocha complexion. She carefully folded it and placed it neatly on the bed beside Lily's other clothes. "Does he have any idea about the party?"
"I don't think so," Lily replied. "I've been keeping my phone calls short."
The older woman raised one eyebrow in her daughter's direction. "Why? I know it isn't the cost of the calls since you make them late at night."
Lily blushed, curling her hair behind her ear. "Because I'm afraid I'll let something slip," she giggled. "I don't want to ruin the surprise party." She angled her head at her mother. "Do you think he'll be mad at me when he finds out why I haven't been talking to him much?"
Iris placed both hands on Lily's shoulders, shifting the girl so that they were looking eye to eye. "I think he might be feeling a little unimportant to you right now, but when he sees you standing there on the DeSotos' deck, I believe that crooked grin you love so much will definitely make an appearance."
Lily's white smile lit up the room. "Oh, Mom… He melts my heart," she said, smoothing out a pair of jeans that she had just folded. She needed to keep her hands busy, and she just couldn't bear to look at her mother when she asked her the next question. "Did my Dad melt your heart, too?"
Iris sat down on the edge of the bed, patting the spot beside her. When her daughter complied with the unspoken request, she reached over, grasping Lily's trembling hand. "Yes… Yes, he did. I'm glad you made this trip back to Selma with me. I hope it's given you a better understanding of what hindered our relationship back then. But our love for each other was so much stronger than the bigotry and hatred that tried to separate us. And it was that love that created you, baby girl."
Lily nodded, not trusting her voice.
"I've seen the way you two look at each other," Iris added, needing to say what was on her heart. "It's the same way your dad and I used to look at each other." She wrapped her daughter in a warm sideways embrace. "I want you to have what your dad and I had, sweetheart. But I want you to have it for many years. He was taken from us too soon, but I know in my heart that he knew how much I loved him."
Lily felt her eyes stinging. "Should my next call be longer?"
Iris released her daughter. With twinkling eyes, she snickered. "That all depends… Can you have a serious, meaningful conversation with him without giving away the surprise party?"
Lily felt herself blushing at the thought, but didn't respond.
"John may come across as shallow at times, but we both know that he feels things very deeply and passionately. I would hate for him to feel like you're brushing him off, but I also know what a wonderful surprise the party will be. He deserves to know how much his station family cares for him… but he deserves to know how you feel, too."
Lily sighed, feeling torn by the dilemma. "I hate lying to him, but I think he'll forgive me under the circumstances."
Now it was Iris' turn to look at her daughter, questioningly. "What kind of tale have you concocted?"
"Nothing crazy," Lily said. "I just told him that our flight will be getting in on Sunday. That way, he won't have to change his work schedule to plan to pick us up at the airport. I didn't want him to schedule a vacation day when it's all a ruse. He's gonna be so shocked to see me early," Lily said, standing up and returning to her task at hand. "I've given him all our flight details, but instead of telling him that we were going to be arriving at LAX on Friday afternoon, I just told him that it'll be Sunday evening. Oh, Momma… I can hardly wait."
E!
The sound of the klaxons sent the men of Station 51 scrambling, but the paramedics were stopped in their tracks when only the engine was called out. Roy rushed over to open the bay door, allowing Mike to maneuver the engine into the yielding traffic.
Johnny began humming to himself as he wandered back into the day room. He scratched Henry on the head, offering the lazy hound a crooked grin when the animal relaxed further, barely wagging his tail in appreciation.
Roy followed Johnny into the dayroom, wondering what had his partner in such a good mood. The dark-haired man loved animals, but for some reason, neither of the station mascots had been very fond of the junior medic. Of course, Henry did not display his disdain in quite the same way as Boot. Where Boot had been more prone to growling, Henry tended more towards snorts, eyerolls, and yawns.
"Warming up to you?" Roy asked.
"Nah… He'll let anybody scratch him behind his ears."
"You seem to be in a pleasant mood… Talk to Lily while we were off?" Roy asked, curious.
Johnny suddenly had a spring in his step. "As a matter of fact, I sure did," he said, straightening up to his full height. "She and Iris will be flying into LAX exactly one week from today, and since we're off, I'll be picking them up." The grin on his face was contagious.
Roy, deciding to play it cool so as not to give away any secrets, spoke up. "That's great, Johnny. And since Lily won't be home yet, you have no excuse to back out of trick-or-treating with me and the kids. Chet's bringing Corrie over and Marco is going to bring Antonio. Joanne's already planning the menu for us. It'll be fun, and it'll take your mind off Lily."
"I'm not gonna change my mind, Pally. Even if I don't have a kiddo to bring along," Johnny snickered.
"Like hell you don't," Roy shot back with a chuckle. "Jennifer has already claimed you as her official escort for the night."
"Weeelll," Johnny laughed, sitting on the kitchen table with his feet in the seat of a chair – a position that had caused him a verbal reprimand more than once by their captain. "We can't deny the little lady her knight in shining armor, now can we?"
Roy rolled his eyes at Johnny's comments, but couldn't stop the laughter when he saw Johnny deftly swatting at a fly that buzzed around his head.
"Ah, man," Johnny groused, quickly retrieving the flyswatter to exterminate the offending pest. "It must've heard Cap assign kitchen duty to Chet," he said, contorting his face as the insect made another zooming lap around his shaggy head. Johnny stealthily followed the tiny fly until it made the mistake of landing briefly on the television set.
THWACK!
"HA! Got 'im!" Johnny announced, unnecessarily. Henry raised his head up at the sound, but quickly returned it to the sofa upon realizing that he was not the intended target. The pleased paramedic looked down at the dark form on the floor, tiny feet in the air. He kneeled down, carefully scooping the decedent's remains onto the yellow plastic surface of the weapon of its demise. He was heading over to the kitchen trash can, where Roy stood holding the lid open, when a sneer appeared on the handsome paramedic's face. "Nu-uh… I've got a better idea," he said, heading out the kitchen door into the apparatus bay.
Roy followed behind him, shaking his head. "Poor, Chet," the older man mumbled, knowing that the junior linemen would soon be the recipient of an unwanted gift.
Balancing the fly on the swatter, Johnny slowly made his way across the empty expanse where the engine normally was parked. Using his hip, he pushed the door of the latrine open, setting the swatter and its cargo on the bench in front of Chet's locker, before scurrying over to his own.
Roy looked on in silent amusement as his partner began setting up his next prank, knowing that 'The Phantom' would be caught off guard. "You might want to think this through, Junior."
Johnny pulled out the container he had hidden in the back of his locker. "Nah, I've thought about it enough… I've got plans for that little guy over there," he said, pointing his finger at the bench where the miniature body lay in repose atop the flyswatter, "and Chet's prob'ly gonna puke!"
"Johnny…"
"C'mon, Roy," Johnny began, removing the lid and scooping out a little of the contents, forming a heap on the locker shelf that resembled a toxic scoop of ice cream. "You know that Chester B. Kelly has tormented me since the first day this station opened." He carefully lifted the swatter, dumping the remains strategically on the peak of the gelatinous goo. "Oh, yea… this is great," the pranking medic commented to himself, closing the door of the locker and heading to the nearest sink to wash his hands.
"Aren't you gonna say a prayer or something for the dearly departed?" Roy asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Nope," Johnny replied, drying his hands with a paper towel and dropping it into the wastebasket. "But feel free to say a prayer for Chet, if you want. He's gonna need it."
"Not if Cap finds out what you did just now. 'Cause if he does, you'll be the one needing prayers."
Before Johnny could respond, the klaxons sounded, toning the paramedics out on a medical run.
"Man, I hope I'm here when Kelly opens his locker," Johnny grumbled, tightening his chin strap as Roy pulled the squad into traffic for their first run of the day.
E!
Lexi opened up the middle drawer of the desk in her bedroom. She had been keeping a journal ever since escaping from Ricardo. It was part of her therapy that was started at the Wellhouse. She turned to the first blank page, staring at the folded up ten-dollar bill she had stashed there. It wasn't much, but it was a start. She was going to need quite a bit more and she didn't have much time to get it. She looked up from her desk, seeing the beautiful new yellow dress hanging on the back of her closet door. It was the dress she would be wearing at the wedding in just a few weeks. It was the most beautiful garment she had ever owned. She knew that Marco had paid for it, and his intension was for her to keep it. But her circumstances dictated differently. Beneath the ten-dollar bill was a folded receipt for the dress. If she was careful not to spill anything on it, then she should be able to return it to the store after the wedding. The dress had cost $46.00 and that refund would go a long way in carrying out her plan.
Setting the money and receipt aside, she picked up her pen and began to pour her heart out into the journal. It was the only place where she could be honest about her life and what was happening to her. And she knew it was safe, because the one thing that Beverly had repeatedly told her family was that they could never read her journal entries, and never ask her questions about her time on the streets. They had to wait for Lexi to tell them what she wanted them to know. The parts they knew were bad enough, but there was one part of her time away from them that she never, ever wanted them to know about; and if all went well over the next couple of months, then she would be able to take her secret to her grave.
She clicked the end of the blue pen she had stored in the drawer for her journaling, and began spilling her random thoughts on the page. Her previous therapist had told her not to worry about how her statements sounded; they didn't even have to be in complete sentences. The idea was to simply get what was festering inside of her soul out into the open. Then she had to read it back to herself in the hopes she would gain some insight.
She began the process as she always did – jotting down words that seemed to manifest inside her head of their own accord. She didn't bother to read what she was writing; she simply wrote at a feverish pace, hesitating as she neared the end of the page.
Again, she stared at the dress hanging on the back of her closet door. She considered the beauty in the simple A-line garment. The elbow-length gloves were neatly folded in a box on her dresser and her matching shoes were in a box on her closet floor. She wished she could somehow return the gloves and shoes for a refund, but that would be impossible. The wedding was outside, so the shoes would have dirt on them… And she had another purpose for the gloves.
She reached up, twirling her hair around her index finger as she thought of the contrasting beauty of the clothing, and her perceived ugliness of the young woman who would be wearing it. She already dreaded having to look into the mirror as she took great care to prepare for the big day. She had neither worn heavy make-up nor styled her hair in a sweeping up-do since her time on the streets. She would do it for Marco and Beverly – she owed them that much – but their wedding day would be the absolute last time she would try to make herself look pretty. She could hide her true feelings for just a little longer. She had to.
With a heavy sigh, she lowered her gaze and stared at the words she had just written, feeling them assaulting her like tiny electrical shocks. HATE… BITTERNESS… MISERY… USELESS… HOPELESS… REGRET… LONGING… NO WAY OUT… TRAPPED… TOO LATE… LIES… EMBARRASSMENT… UNFORGIVEABLE… SORRY… I'M SO SORRY…
She felt her lower lip begin to tremble. This was her real journal, not the fake one she had used to get out of attending more therapy sessions. As far as anyone else knew, she had managed to make the transition from working the circuit as an underage prostitute, back to a happy home life with her family. It had been a little rocky, but somehow, she had managed to keep the truth hidden. Bri had almost revealed Lexi's secret shame at the DA's office, and that's when she had made the decision to follow an alternate course for her future.
Obviously, her future sister-in-law had caught a glimpse of her internal upheaval because she had spent most of their time shopping talking about how great her new therapist was, and how the woman had somehow managed to relieve so much stress from Beverly and Marco's relationship with only one session. Beverly had made several requests for Lexi to schedule an appointment with the new therapist, but Lexi had staunchly refused. How could she waste someone's time pretending to be working on her personal issues when she really wasn't? How could she make them think she actually wanted to feel better, when the truth was, she didn't? She had to control her anger, nurture it and grow it, until she could harness it and use it in the most beneficial way possible. As difficult as the next couple of months would be, it would be worth it all in the end. She had to protect her family – especially Antonio.
Lexi jerked her head up at the sound of car doors outside. She hid her journal back inside her desk, then stepped over to the window for a peek. She saw Antonio bounding towards the front door. A quick glance at her alarm clock confirmed what she already knew. She had lost track of time. Her mother and Antonio were returning from church. She had made an excuse about a headache, knowing that her mother hadn't believed her, but she was grateful that her mother had taken Antonio to Mass without insisting on Lexi attending.
Lexi retrieved the coins she had taken from Mike's apartment on Friday night, depositing them in her purse as she walked out of her room.
Maria saw her daughter coming down the stairs and felt her breath hitch in her throat. Lexi's face had returned to the dark and sullen appearance she had when Mike had rescued her from her burning apartment. It was a shadow that sent a cold chill up Maria's spine. The older woman shuddered, but forced a smile onto her face.
"Feeling better?"
"Yes," Lexi replied, offering her son a smile as he climbed onto the sofa. "Antonio? Did you get sleepy during the service again?"
"It's boring," the child said, yawning as he snuggled into the closest pillow.
"It is not boring, Ant," Maria chided. "Worshipping our Lord is not boring."
The child knew not to push his grandmother when it came to her faith. Instead, he remained silent, allowing a nap to overtake him.
Lexi returned her attention to her mother. "Um, do you mind if I borrow the car? I really need to talk to Bri… apologize, you know?"
Maria offered her daughter a weary smile. "I think that's a wonderful idea." She held out the keys that she was still holding in her hand. "Please be careful. LA drivers are loco!"
Lexi accepted the proffered keys. "I know how crazy the drivers are, Mama. I'll be careful," she said, giving her mother a quick kiss on the cheek, hoping she was keeping the façade going by her behavior. It was imperative that her mother not foil her plans by being overly protective today. "This may take a few hours, so don't worry about me, okay?" she tossed over her shoulder. "I won't be late."
Maria didn't respond. Her dark eyes followed Lexi out to the car, and as her daughter backed the car out of the driveway, Maria made the sign of the cross, silently praying for her safe return.
E!
At station 51, six exhausted firefighters disembarked from their respective vehicles. The afternoon sun was beginning to set, and the crew had been battling a large fire along the edges of the freeway. Gusting winds had carried the embers across the freeway, spreading the flames. Multiple stations had responded, and eventually, the fires had been quenched without causing any injuries. The fatigued and soot-covered men trudged towards the locker room, ready to take showers and settle in for what they all hoped would be a quiet night.
"Aw, man," Johnny groaned, stripping out of his sweat-soaked shirt to await his turn in the shower. "My arms are gonna be sore."
"Poor, Gagey," Chet cooed, as if he were talking to a small child. "Those little boxes you haul around jus' don't measure up to the hose us real firemen know how to pull."
The younger paramedic couldn't resist the temptation. He propped one foot on the bench in front of his locker, leaning a forearm across his elevated knee. "Oh, yea? I'm sure you do have a lot o' experience pulling on your own hose." He snorted through a chuckle as he made an obscene gesture with his right hand.
"Knock it off, will ya, fellas?" Mike spoke up, surprising everyone. He was tired and in no mood for the juvenile joisting the two youngest members of the crew seemed set on dishing out to each other. He quickly disrobed, slipping quietly into the respite of the shower stall.
Marco was the only one not stunned by the quiet one's uncharacteristic remarks. He began unbuttoning his own shirt, knowing that Mike would be quick in the shower and he was next. Beside him, Chet opened his locker, reaching in without taking his eyes off his nemesis. He was waiting for Mike to turn on the water, so the noise would drown out his next smart-aleck remark. When his hand reached to the top shelf for his toiletries kit, his fingers fell upon a cold, clammy mound.
"What the…?" Chet looked down at the green substance coating his fingers; the fly that seemed to have died in the icky goop was clinging to the end of his middle finger. "GAGE!"
Marco saw his friend lunging toward Johnny as the taller man backed up, pinning Roy against the wall. The senior lineman used his arms to reach beneath Chet's armpits, pulling the shorter man's arms up and back, away from his intended target.
"Lemme go," Chet yelled, twisting out of Marco's grasp, just as Hank pushed through the door from the dorm.
"What's goin' on in here?" the captain asked as he charged between the rows of lockers; he was in no mood to deal with station antics.
"THIS!" Chet said, raising not only his voice but his muck-adorned middle finger in the direction of his superior. "Oh, uh, I-I, um…" Realizing his error, he stammered and stuttered, reaching for a paper towel to remove the offending glob.
"John?" Hank turned, lifting his bushy eyebrows.
Johnny gulped and stumbled forward when Roy planted his flattened palms against the younger man's back and pushed, freeing himself from his confined space against the brick latrine wall.
"Um, I dunno, Cap."
"I call bullshit," Chet argued back, slamming the soiled paper towel into the wastebasket like it was a slam dunk in the fire service championship basketball game.
"Fucking twits," Mike mumbled, stepping out of the shower with only a towel covering his modesty. He walked briskly towards his locker, grateful that it was on the second row, away from the argumentative firemen.
While Mike began dressing in a clean uniform, Hank continued to sort through the muddled mess that was his two youngest crew members.
"Man, Chet hasn't even served us dinner yet, and he's already killin' flies," Johnny joked, hoping to avoid the wrath of a very pissed off fire captain by appealing to the older man's sense of humor. He failed.
"Okay, John. You make a great point. I can't have my men eating food cooked by a man who kills flies. So, perhaps you should take over kitchen duty for the rest of the shift… And perhaps the next few shifts, as well." He fought the urge to grin as Johnny's face flashed multiple shades of crimson. The paramedic was struggling to find the right words to get himself out of the predicament, when the tones dropped.
The men scrambled to their positions, their previous scuffle forgotten. Mike tucked his light blue shirt into his navy pants, finger-combing his wet hair as he made his way to the engine. Johnny pulled open the passenger's door of the squad, donning his helmet and tightening his chin strap as Roy passed the slip of paper with the address on it over to him.
Hank opened the bay door as he made his way to the officer's side of the engine, his long strides carrying him with practiced ease. The two linemen climbed into the jumpseats while Big Red rumbled to life.
Roy saw the worried look on Johnny's chiseled face while the younger man silently mouthed the address, recognition darkening his features. Roy saw him swallowing hard and felt his own mouth suddenly growing dry.
"Yea… It's the Pourhouse," the older man said, shifting into gear and heading out into the yielding traffic.
