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Chapter 8: Charlie
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It was an unusual evening at Station 51. Everyone on the A Shift was done with their chores. Chet and Johnny had cleaned up after Mike cooked dinner. Roy had completed a weekly checklist on the squad. Marco had oiled and fueled all the saws from the engine.
In a rare moment, the television wasn't on. None of the local sports teams had a game, and nobody was interested in the Prime Time viewing for that evening. Chet was studying for the next round of the Engineer's test. Roy was writing a letter. Cap was in the office, possibly doing paperwork but possibly retreating from the rest of the men. Marco was playing solitaire, Mike was reading a novel, and Johnny's nose was buried in a magazine. The station was completely, utterly qu—
BWAAAMP, BWOOMP BWEEEEP!
"Station 51, unknown type incident. Report of a loud noise and a smoke odor; occupant believed to be home but not answering door. 1578 Pearl Street, Apartment A as in Adam. 1-5-7-8 Pearl Street, Apartment A as in Adam, cross street Santa Fe. Time out: 2006."
Reading and writing materials, playing cards, and paperwork were set aside hastily as the men piled into the vehicles to respond to the incident. It was likely to just be burnt food, at this hour. And sometimes people left their apartments to escape the odor of their own disasters. But there was always the possibility of something more sinister.
Mike pulled the engine past the house, up to the hydrant at the next address. Cap did a quick size-up, noticing the single door, the two doorbells, and the two mailboxes, and reported in to dispatch.
"L.A., Engine 51 on scene at a two-story up-down duplex, with nothing immediately showing." Cap put the radio down. "Chet, pull an inch-and-a-half to the front door. Marco, do a quick walkaround. John, Roy, go on in."
Cap hardly had to give these instructions, since they were the standard duties of each of the men at a scene like this. Roy and Johnny went to the front door with the tools they'd need for a forcible entry.
A woman flew out from the front door.
"Thank goodness you're here! There was a commotion of some kind downstairs in Linda's apartment, and then a terrible smell. I think the water is running, but I'm not sure. I know she's still home, because her car is here, but she won't answer!"
"All right, ma'am; we'll go in and have a look," Cap said, walking the woman over to the squad. "Would you happen to have a spare key?"
"No, I'm afraid not, and I don't think she keeps one hidden outside, either." The woman began to calm down, as she saw the men working efficiently to find out what the problem was.
Roy went in through the open shared front door. Inside, there was a door labeled 'A' and staircase up to what was presumably another apartment. Roy pounded on the 'A' door as Johnny peered into a window at the front of the house.
"Fire department!" He pounded again—no namby-pamby knocking; an unambiguous, impossible-to-ignore pound with a raised fist. "Fire department! Anyone home?"
"Roy? Cap? I see movement inside; there's definitely someone in there," Johnny called. "I don't see any flames, but it sure smells awful, even from outside. Like burnt hair. I think we oughta get in there."
Roy tried the door on the off chance it was unlocked. It wasn't, so he noted the fairly flimsy-looking construction of the front door, jammed his halligan between the door and the frame, and pried until the frame buckled enough that the deadbolt cleared it. He opened the door, and he and Johnny entered the house. Chet stood by with his attack line.
"Definitely burnt hair. Let's look around," Johnny said.
Roy and Johnny entered the apartment, looking for either flames or an injured person. They didn't need to look far—a woman was kneeling in the bathroom, running the tub faucet over blistered hands.
"I'll get the equipment," Johnny said, as he headed back outside. "No fire," he said to Chet on his way out.
"No fire, Cap, but a woman's injured in there," Johnny said, as he began opening compartments.
Inside, Roy was talking with his patient. "Ma'am, I'm Roy DeSoto, firefighter/paramedic with the County Fire Department. What happened here?"
The woman finally allowed herself to break down. "My cat," she sobbed. "You have to find my cat!"
"All right, ma'am, we'll find your cat. But it looks like you have some pretty bad burns and deep scratches, here. What's your name?"
"Linda. Can you find Charlie before you look at my hands, please?"
"Well, there are six of us here, so I think we can take care of you both at once. As soon as my partner comes back, we'll get to looking for Charlie. How did this happen?"
"He was burning!" the woman cried. "Charlie's fur was on fire—he must have knocked a candle down—and he was trying to run away from the flames, so I grabbed him and just … rubbed the fire out with my hands. I didn't know what else to do. I was going to put him under the faucet, but he got away, and now I don't know where he is, or if he's hurt!"
"All right—we'll find Charlie as soon as we can. But your hands are burned—let's turn the water off, and have a look," Roy said calmly, as he turned the water off.
Roy's easy, gentle manner and his assurances that Charlie would be taken care of seemed to be helping the woman to calm down. Johnny clattered in with the biophone, burn kit, and drug box.
"Johnny, this is Linda. Her cat had a run-in with a candle, and she burned her hands putting the flames in his fur out. The cat is burned and likely hiding," Roy said, as he carefully checked Linda's hands. "She's very concerned about him. Could you see if the other guys could find him, while you and I are helping Linda out?"
"Sure thing. Ma'am, does your cat have any favorite hiding places?"
"In my closet, and under or behind my bed. I'm sure you'll find him in one of those places. Oh—and Charlie's frightened of mustaches, I'm afraid." Her tight voice and her tense body were the only things that betrayed what must have been significant pain from second-degree burns over the palms of both hands.
"All right." Johnny grinned surreptitiously as he thought about Mike trying to coax an angry cat out from its hiding place. Poor guy probably wouldn't have a clue what to do. He trotted outside.
"Cap, the occupant has badly burned hands, and is definitely looking at a trip to Rampart, so we'll need an ambulance. And, uh, her cat, uh … caught on fire, and he's hiding, probably in the bedroom, and we gotta find him. He's probably burned."
"Her cat what?"
"Caught on fire. That's all I know, Cap. Oh—except that he's afraid of mustaches. And I'm afraid Roy and I are going to be tied up with our patient, so … um." Johnny cleared his throat. "I guess I'll be going back in, now."
The corners of Cap's mouth twitched. It wasn't funny—it really wasn't funny. He knew it wasn't funny—a human was injured trying to save the pet she loved, and the animal, in all likelihood, was injured as well.
But the image of his dignified, refined engineer on his hands and knees, with a hissing, spitting, scorched cat in front of him—that was funny.
"Hey, Stoker! Come on over here," Cap shouted.
Mike, of course, had been paying attention to what was going on, and knew there was no fire to contend with. He often felt fairly useless at scenes like this, so he was glad to be given a job.
Cap repeated what Johnny had told him. "So I'm afraid you're it."
"Okay," Mike said, not batting an eye at Cap's apologetic orders. "What about a vet?"
Cap frowned. "Good point—sounds like the owner is going to have to go in to the hospital. I'll have dispatch send us Animal Control, along with an ambulance. Those guys'll know what to do."
"Good," said Mike.
Cap opened the door of the squad and reached in for the mobile radio as Mike got ready for his task.
Mike opened a compartment on the squad, and found a heavy canvas bag. He pulled his thick fire gloves on as he walked towards the house.
Mike's nose wrinkled of its own accord as he entered the apartment. Soot, wood smoke—those had a certain appeal to them. But burnt hair—no, fur, he corrected himself—that just plain stank. He went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him to prevent the cat from escaping. It didn't hurt things any that nobody would be able to see him that way, either.
He knelt on the floor next to the bed, and lifted the bedspread enough to get a look under the bed frame. A small black cat crouched under the head of the bed, as far into the corner as it could get.
"Here, kitty kitty kitty," Mike said quietly.
No joy. The animal didn't budge, but rather made a sound that was half growl, half grumble.
He shined his flashlight at the cat to get a better look at what he was dealing with. He immediately realized he'd made one mistake already—the cat wasn't black. Not exactly. He was only half black. The back half. The front of the cat was light orange, with tabby markings. The fur on the back half—at least the side Mike could see—was charred and melted together with heat.
"You poor thing. C'mon, now, I'm not gonna hurt you. We just gotta get you out of here, so the vet can take care of you. Yeah, I know, I said 'vet.' It's for your own good, though. Now we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. What's it gonna be, buddy?"
The cat looked at Mike again, and stood up. The fur on the front half of his body stood up, and he showed his teeth, arched his back, and growled.
"Yeah, I thought you'd pick the hard way. All right, tough guy. Here we go."
Mike moved the nightstand aside, and pulled the bed out from the wall. The cat was half cowering, and half puffing himself up to look larger than he actually was, to try to scare Mike away.
It didn't work. Mike cornered the cat between the bed and the wall, and reached out as quick as a flash and grabbed the cat by the scruff of his neck. He held Charlie briefly at arm's length, taking a quick look at his charred fur, and then popped him into the canvas bag. He closed the bag, put the furniture back where it had been before Charlie's capture, and carefully took the bag, which looked like it had come to life, outside.
"Got him," Mike said, unnecessarily. "Need some ventilation, too."
Cap nodded. "Chet, Marco—I doubt the smoke is afraid of mustaches, so you're up."
Chet and Marco nodded, and took the large ventilation fan off the engine to hang in a window of the apartment. They could hear Johnny on the biophone as they entered.
"Copy, Rampart. IV, normal saline, 5 mg MS, and transport." Johnny put the receiver down and started preparing an IV pack for Roy.
"Did somebody find Charlie?" Linda asked.
"Let's get this IV started, and get some pain meds going for you, and then I'll go check on Charlie, all right?" Johnny said, as Roy prepped the IV site. "One of our guys was gonna look for him. Real quiet guy; no mustache. He'll be real nice to Charlie. I promise."
"Okay," Linda said shakily. "Oh. That feels better already."
"Yes ma'am," Roy said. "The doctors thought the morphine might help you. Now, we definitely need you to go to the hospital; burns on the palms of your hands can be quite serious."
"All right," said Linda.
"I'll go see what Mike's up to," Johnny said. He trotted back out to the staging area. Mike was sitting on the curb next to the engine, with a canvas bag squirming around next to him. A green oxygen tank was lying on the ground as well, its tube snaking into the bag.
"Figured a little O2 wouldn't hurt this guy," Mike said.
"How's he look? Can you tell?"
"Well, his fur is really charred, but it's still on him, which I'm guessing is a good sign. I don't really know. I didn't give him much of a chance to put up a fight, but he's definitely got some energy."
"That was a good idea, slipping some O2 tubing in there," Johnny said. He was a little disappointed that Mike didn't seem at all rattled by his experience with the feline. After several years of working with the guy, Johnny had come to the conclusion that Mike was just plain impossible to upset. Or annoy. Or make laugh. Or get any decent reaction of any kind from.
"Figured it couldn't hurt," Mike repeated.
A County Animal Control van pulled up, and a tall African-American fellow stepped out.
"Evening, fellas. Les Taylor, Animal Control. What've you got?" He eyed the bag that was wiggling around and emitting hissing sounds.
"Cat caught on fire, somehow," Mike said. "He's pretty singed, and the owner's on the way to the hospital there, so we thought we'd give you a call. He probably needs to see a vet."
Les nodded. "All right—let me get a more appropriate enclosure." He opened the back of the van, and returned with a large wire cage.
"How about if I just put the whole bag in there," Mike said, "and let him come out on his own terms? I'm pretty sure we're not going to be wanting this bag back, anyhow, from what I'm smelling."
"Hm. Yeah, that happens when animals are scared out of their wits," Les said. He opened the door of the cage, and Mike pulled his thick gloves back on. Mike slid the bag into the cage, and loosened the closure on the top of the bag so Charlie could come out if he wanted to.
Johnny put the O2 cylinder away, and watched as Charlie emerged into the cage.
Les let out a low whistle. "Wow. Yeah, he definitely needs to see a vet. How did this happen? I mean, are we dealing with abuse, here?"
Johnny shook his head. "No way. The owner said Charlie knocked a candle over, and his fur caught. She put the flames out with her bare hands. My partner's taking her in to Rampart now." He gestured with his head towards the ambulance gurney that was being rolled out of the house.
"Will she be able to give me some contact information?" Les asked.
Linda's neighbor spoke up. "I can give you that. I'll give you my information, too, in case Linda's still in the hospital or something."
"Thanks, that's helpful," Les said.
The ambulance gurney halted as they neared the rig.
"Hang on," said Johnny. "I'll be right back."
He ran over to the gurney and spoke to Linda.
"Ma'am, the Animal Control officer is gonna take Charlie to the vet, all right? He's being well taken care of."
"But can I see him, please, before we go?" the woman asked.
Johnny and Roy looked at each other and shrugged.
"Real quick," Roy said. "Johnny, can you bring him over here?"
"Sure." Johnny returned to the area where all the other men of A-shift were now clustered around the cage.
"Move aside, gents—lady wants to see her cat." He picked the cage up carefully, and took it over to the ambulance.
"Charlie!" Linda said. "There's my baby," she crooned to the cat, slurring slightly under the influence of the morphine. She reached out with a heavily bandaged hand, thought twice, and pulled her hand back.
Charlie stopped growling, and his ears perked up. "Brrrp?" he said.
"That's my boy. We're both going to the doctor, but I'll see you soon, I promise," Linda said.
"Trrrrrt." Charlie seemed satisfied with the promise, and sat down in his cage for the first time. Roy and the Mayfair attendants loaded Linda's gurney into the rig, and took off, as Johnny returned the cat to Officer Taylor.
"Aaw, poor little thing," Chet said, peering into the cage.
Charlie backed away, and growled menacingly.
"It's all right," Mike said, sticking his fingers through the wire of the cage. "He's harmless."
"Are you talking to me, or the cat? Chet asked.
"The cat." Mike wiggled his fingers at the cat.
Charlie leaned his head in to the side of the cage and rubbed his head into Mike's fingers. "Brrrt?"
"Really," Mike replied. "Completely harmless. Now you settle down, and the nice man over there will take you to the V-E-T."
"Trrrrrp," Charlie agreed.
"All right, boys," Cap said. "Excitement's over. Time to pack up and get back to the barn."
Everyone was still watching Charlie, though. He plunked himself back down in his cage, as far from Chet as possible, and started licking his charred, matted hindquarters. After just a second, he shook his head, and rapidly opened and closed his mouth, scraping his scratchy tongue over the roof of his mouth repeatedly.
"At the very least," Les said, watching Charlie try to clear the taste of burnt fur from his mouth, "the vet will have to shave off that mess." He picked up the cage, and set it gently in the back of the van.
"I'll be on my way," Les said. "Thanks for calling us on this one."
"Sure thing," said Cap.
"Uh, one thing," Mike said. "Can you let us know how he's doing?"
"Absolutely," Les said. "Station 51, right? I'm guessing y'all are in the book?"
Mike nodded.
"All right. I'll call you in an hour or so, if circumstances permit, after the on-call vet's had a look."
"Thanks," Mike said, as he stuck his fingers into the cage and gave Charlie one last pet.
Chet snickered quietly, and Mike whirled to face him.
"What?" Mike said to Chet, frowning.
"You talked more to Charlie than you did to the rest of us all day," Chet said.
"He's more interesting," Mike replied. "And more polite. Smells better, too."
Chet bristled, and Marco chuckled.
"Pack it up, boys," Cap repeated.
~!~!~!~
An hour later, just before lights-out, the station phone rang.
Marco was closest to the phone.
"L.A. County Fire Department, Station 51, Fireman Lopez speaking. How can I help you?"
"Good evening, Mr. Lopez. Les Taylor from Animal Control."
"Oh, hi, Officer Taylor. How's Charlie doing?" Marco asked.
"He's doing fine. The vet had to shave about half his fur off to see what the damage was, and to keep him from ingesting the burned fur. As it turns out, he has some first degree burns, and a small patch of blistering second degree burns, but he's going to be fine."
"Great! The guys will be happy to hear that. We'll make sure someone calls Rampart, too, to tell the cat's owner."
"Already taken care of," Les said. "She said to tell you all that she was very grateful for your help tonight."
"Well, it was our pleasure," Marco said. "Thanks for calling. Have a good night."
"You too."
Marco turned to the rest of the crew, and repeated Taylor's news.
"Well, all right!" Mike said. "That's great!"
Everyone stared at him.
"What?"
TBC
A/N: Based on real life, once again. Embarrassingly, this time it was MY life. No flames; just smoldering, melted, charred fur and stink like you wouldn't believe. We made it to the tub faucet, and somehow neither of us got burned at all. One of us got very scared and angry, both of us got very wet, and one of us was really glad nobody called the fire department.