to get the engine here with the snow. I step the rest of the way out and join the others on the walk. It’s an odd sight for sure, the silent group of them lit up not by the dawn but the blaze across the way. Calm as if they were watching a movie.
A whiskery geezer on the other side of tubby recognizes me. “You gonna do anything?”
I shrug. “Nothing I can do till the engine gets here.”
The geezer nods in agreement, his mouth set in a “damn straight” kind of way. For a second I think he might fight me if I had a mind to do otherwise.
The snap and pop of the flames carries across the square. We hear a crash now and then, parts of the building falling in on itself. The roar of it has a grip on both floors; it’ll be gutted for sure.
The men never look away, sipping on their coffee. Can’t tell if they just don’t care or if they want to see it through. One of them pipes up. “Wonder if it’s arson.”
That’s a weighty question. It comes down to the fire triangle: fuel, oxygen, and heat. Arson is deliberate. Whoever investigates has to prove one of these has been messed with. There’ll be a lot of questions for any witnesses. Might even bring in electricians or plumbers to verify a thing or two.
Once they snuff out the fire, the investigator will look for char patterns left behind by an accelerant. Anything like matches or cigarettes will look suspicious. He’ll even have a thing or two to ask Buck—how much debt he’s under, what kind of insurance policy he’s got.
I reach in my vest pocket to double-check I have my two-way. Should’ve had a call by now. Doesn’t seem like anyone’s in a hurry to lift a finger on this one. I don’t even hear sirens yet.
“Suppose the Ale House will do better business now,” says one of the others.
The rest murmur in agreement. A few coffee slurps.
I grip the two-way. The Ale House won’t be around if the engine doesn’t get here soon. “Fenton, you got your ears on?”
A few seconds pass and then a squawk. “Shaw? Are you plowing?”
“I was. Right now I’m watching the Lady burn.”
Fenton’s voice comes through tinny over the radio. “Sit tight; we got the call and we’re on our way.”
I stuff the radio back in my pocket.
High beams and emergency lights float in from down the road; it’s a patrolman. He parks diagonal from my truck. Steps out from his cruiser all hot and bothered, mouth gaping. “Where’s the damn fire engine?”
“On its way,” is all I give him. I don’t get paid to deal with the local hot shots.
“Well it better get here soon.” He stands in the middle of the street, hands on his hips. He spins around like he’s in control, like he can do something about the inferno.
The men from the diner don’t say a thing; they don’t even see him. They’re glued to the Lady.
I’m not sure what I’m more taken by—the fire or their indifference. Or whether I should be worried or amused. This was Buck’s pride and joy. Probably loved it more than his own daughter. Now it’s crumbling, melting, burning rubble.
There’s no way Buck did this. He’d lie, cheat, or steal some other way. If he even gets a hint that someone did this to spite him, you can bet he’ll be on the war path.
That’s what scares me. This is a tipping point for sure. If this is a work of revenge, there’s no turning back now. Someone’s crossed a line and changed the course of things for good.
The first siren sounds, still a ways off. I step back over to the truck and wrench open the passenger-side door. Hopping in, I strip off my work boots and pull on my black turnout trousers over my jeans. Suspenders and all.
The matching coat and gloves come next. I grab my helmet and step back out onto the sidewalk, ready to jump in when the crew gets here. Not the way I wanted to spend my morning. Happy birthday, Lilly.
Chasing After Grimley
February 27 th , 2002 12:59 PM
The Driver somewhere in the Upper Territory
Coastline. Someone’s view
A whiskery geezer on the other side of tubby recognizes me. “You gonna do anything?”
I shrug. “Nothing I can do till the engine gets here.”
The geezer nods in agreement, his mouth set in a “damn straight” kind of way. For a second I think he might fight me if I had a mind to do otherwise.
The snap and pop of the flames carries across the square. We hear a crash now and then, parts of the building falling in on itself. The roar of it has a grip on both floors; it’ll be gutted for sure.
The men never look away, sipping on their coffee. Can’t tell if they just don’t care or if they want to see it through. One of them pipes up. “Wonder if it’s arson.”
That’s a weighty question. It comes down to the fire triangle: fuel, oxygen, and heat. Arson is deliberate. Whoever investigates has to prove one of these has been messed with. There’ll be a lot of questions for any witnesses. Might even bring in electricians or plumbers to verify a thing or two.
Once they snuff out the fire, the investigator will look for char patterns left behind by an accelerant. Anything like matches or cigarettes will look suspicious. He’ll even have a thing or two to ask Buck—how much debt he’s under, what kind of insurance policy he’s got.
I reach in my vest pocket to double-check I have my two-way. Should’ve had a call by now. Doesn’t seem like anyone’s in a hurry to lift a finger on this one. I don’t even hear sirens yet.
“Suppose the Ale House will do better business now,” says one of the others.
The rest murmur in agreement. A few coffee slurps.
I grip the two-way. The Ale House won’t be around if the engine doesn’t get here soon. “Fenton, you got your ears on?”
A few seconds pass and then a squawk. “Shaw? Are you plowing?”
“I was. Right now I’m watching the Lady burn.”
Fenton’s voice comes through tinny over the radio. “Sit tight; we got the call and we’re on our way.”
I stuff the radio back in my pocket.
High beams and emergency lights float in from down the road; it’s a patrolman. He parks diagonal from my truck. Steps out from his cruiser all hot and bothered, mouth gaping. “Where’s the damn fire engine?”
“On its way,” is all I give him. I don’t get paid to deal with the local hot shots.
“Well it better get here soon.” He stands in the middle of the street, hands on his hips. He spins around like he’s in control, like he can do something about the inferno.
The men from the diner don’t say a thing; they don’t even see him. They’re glued to the Lady.
I’m not sure what I’m more taken by—the fire or their indifference. Or whether I should be worried or amused. This was Buck’s pride and joy. Probably loved it more than his own daughter. Now it’s crumbling, melting, burning rubble.
There’s no way Buck did this. He’d lie, cheat, or steal some other way. If he even gets a hint that someone did this to spite him, you can bet he’ll be on the war path.
That’s what scares me. This is a tipping point for sure. If this is a work of revenge, there’s no turning back now. Someone’s crossed a line and changed the course of things for good.
The first siren sounds, still a ways off. I step back over to the truck and wrench open the passenger-side door. Hopping in, I strip off my work boots and pull on my black turnout trousers over my jeans. Suspenders and all.
The matching coat and gloves come next. I grab my helmet and step back out onto the sidewalk, ready to jump in when the crew gets here. Not the way I wanted to spend my morning. Happy birthday, Lilly.
Chasing After Grimley
February 27 th , 2002 12:59 PM
The Driver somewhere in the Upper Territory
Coastline. Someone’s view
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