melt off,” Jack says. “It would melt
on
. There’s no sign of that. Someone recalibrated the circuit breaker. To do that they had to break the sheath off the calibration screw. I’d look at the owners.”
“We looked at the owners,” Krantz said. “They looked all right to us.”
“Did you call the mortgage company?” Jack asks.
“No,” Krantz says.
“Why not?”
“We were looking at a fuse box fire …”
“Are the owners employed?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you check with the employers?”
“No …”
“Shit,” Jack says. Like he’s going to bust Krantz one.
“I’m
sorry,”
Krantz says.
“Don’t be
sorry,”
Jack says. “Do your fucking job.”
“Chill out,” Ferri says.
“You chill out,” Jack says. “These assholes had a job to do and—”
“Look, hotshot,” Ferri says. “Just because you want to show off—”
“Explain the missing sheathing, Ferri,” Jack says. “Anybody?”
No takers.
“Let’s vote,” Ferri says.
Knowing it’s 14 to 1.
“Vote my ass,” Jack says.
“What are you, the dictator here?”
“I’m right.”
Your basic awkward silence. Finally, one of the guys—the guy Jack had pulled from the concrete tower—says, “Shit, Jack, you’d
better
be right.”
They write up the report. Electrical fire, deliberately caused by tampering with the circuit breaker.
Jack walks into the classroom with the weight of the whole class on his shoulders. Six weeks of eighteen-hour days times fourteen men—that’s a lot of heat.
Captain Sparky walks in and picks up the report from the desk. Stands reading it as fifteen guys grip. Sparky looks up from the report and asks, “Are you
sure
this is what you want to go with?”
Jack says, “We’re sure, sir.”
“I’ll give you another chance,” Sparky offers. “Go out for an hour, reconsider and redo.”
Jack’s like,
Shit
. I walked the whole freaking class off a cliff. And now Sparky, of all people, is throwing us a rope. All we have to do is reach up and grab it.
Ferri raises his hand.
“Yes?” Sparky says.
Ferri’s got balls, Ferri’s a man. He points to the report and says, “That’s our conclusion, sir. We’ll stand with it.”
Sparky shrugs.
Like, suit yourselves, losers.
Says, “Well, I gave you a chance.”
Takes a red pen and starts slashing the report.
Jack feels like shit. Feels thirteen pairs of eyes burning into his back. Ferri looks over and shrugs. Like, win some, lose some.
Ferri’s a man.
Sparky finishes the massacre, looks up and says, “I never thought you’d get the sheath.”
Just like Captain Sparky, Jack thinks—you have the right answer and he tries to sell you the wrong one. Just so he can flunk your collective ass.
“Class dismissed,” Sparky says. “Good job, gentlemen.”
Graduation ceremony tomorrow. Try to dress like grown-ups.
Fire school.
What a ride.
All of which is to say that when it comes to fire, Jack knows what he’s doing. Which is why Goddamn Billy’s not concerned when Jack comes into his office with a dog under his arm.
16
Actually,
out
into his office, because Billy’s sitting out beside the giant saguaro he had imported from south Arizona.
It’s a Billy kind of a day, Jack thinks—hot, dry and windy. Kind of day that reminds you that Southern California is basically a desert with a few tenacious grasses, overirrigation and a freaking army of gifted and dedicated Mexican and Japanese gardeners.
“So?” Billy asks.
“Smoking in bed,” Jack says. “I was just starting to set up the file.”
“Save you the trouble,” Billy says. He hands Jack a folder.
Jack instantly turns to the Declarations Page. The “Dec Page” is a one-sheet detailing the types and amounts of the insurance coverage.
A million-five on the house.
No surprise there. It’s a large, elegantly crafted house overlooking the ocean. The mil and a half is just for the structure. The lot is probably another mil, at least.
$750,000 on the
on
. There’s no sign of that. Someone recalibrated the circuit breaker. To do that they had to break the sheath off the calibration screw. I’d look at the owners.”
“We looked at the owners,” Krantz said. “They looked all right to us.”
“Did you call the mortgage company?” Jack asks.
“No,” Krantz says.
“Why not?”
“We were looking at a fuse box fire …”
“Are the owners employed?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you check with the employers?”
“No …”
“Shit,” Jack says. Like he’s going to bust Krantz one.
“I’m
sorry,”
Krantz says.
“Don’t be
sorry,”
Jack says. “Do your fucking job.”
“Chill out,” Ferri says.
“You chill out,” Jack says. “These assholes had a job to do and—”
“Look, hotshot,” Ferri says. “Just because you want to show off—”
“Explain the missing sheathing, Ferri,” Jack says. “Anybody?”
No takers.
“Let’s vote,” Ferri says.
Knowing it’s 14 to 1.
“Vote my ass,” Jack says.
“What are you, the dictator here?”
“I’m right.”
Your basic awkward silence. Finally, one of the guys—the guy Jack had pulled from the concrete tower—says, “Shit, Jack, you’d
better
be right.”
They write up the report. Electrical fire, deliberately caused by tampering with the circuit breaker.
Jack walks into the classroom with the weight of the whole class on his shoulders. Six weeks of eighteen-hour days times fourteen men—that’s a lot of heat.
Captain Sparky walks in and picks up the report from the desk. Stands reading it as fifteen guys grip. Sparky looks up from the report and asks, “Are you
sure
this is what you want to go with?”
Jack says, “We’re sure, sir.”
“I’ll give you another chance,” Sparky offers. “Go out for an hour, reconsider and redo.”
Jack’s like,
Shit
. I walked the whole freaking class off a cliff. And now Sparky, of all people, is throwing us a rope. All we have to do is reach up and grab it.
Ferri raises his hand.
“Yes?” Sparky says.
Ferri’s got balls, Ferri’s a man. He points to the report and says, “That’s our conclusion, sir. We’ll stand with it.”
Sparky shrugs.
Like, suit yourselves, losers.
Says, “Well, I gave you a chance.”
Takes a red pen and starts slashing the report.
Jack feels like shit. Feels thirteen pairs of eyes burning into his back. Ferri looks over and shrugs. Like, win some, lose some.
Ferri’s a man.
Sparky finishes the massacre, looks up and says, “I never thought you’d get the sheath.”
Just like Captain Sparky, Jack thinks—you have the right answer and he tries to sell you the wrong one. Just so he can flunk your collective ass.
“Class dismissed,” Sparky says. “Good job, gentlemen.”
Graduation ceremony tomorrow. Try to dress like grown-ups.
Fire school.
What a ride.
All of which is to say that when it comes to fire, Jack knows what he’s doing. Which is why Goddamn Billy’s not concerned when Jack comes into his office with a dog under his arm.
16
Actually,
out
into his office, because Billy’s sitting out beside the giant saguaro he had imported from south Arizona.
It’s a Billy kind of a day, Jack thinks—hot, dry and windy. Kind of day that reminds you that Southern California is basically a desert with a few tenacious grasses, overirrigation and a freaking army of gifted and dedicated Mexican and Japanese gardeners.
“So?” Billy asks.
“Smoking in bed,” Jack says. “I was just starting to set up the file.”
“Save you the trouble,” Billy says. He hands Jack a folder.
Jack instantly turns to the Declarations Page. The “Dec Page” is a one-sheet detailing the types and amounts of the insurance coverage.
A million-five on the house.
No surprise there. It’s a large, elegantly crafted house overlooking the ocean. The mil and a half is just for the structure. The lot is probably another mil, at least.
$750,000 on the
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