scared, but would you like to be a battalion chief tomorrow? No problem. Just shine up those bugles for your collar and show up on time.
Disgusting ain’t even the word for it.
’Course, the chicks can’t get through a drill school on their own, so they get a coupl’a weeks coaching prior. Then they come out here to the stations and swish their little butts around, making the officers feel sorry for them, and they end up passing them through. We all know after the first year you can’t fire
anybody.
Take Zeke. Lazy bastard should have been shitcanned long ago.
The only swinging dick downtown worth two cents is Billy Hertlein.
He came out last night to watch a couple of our fires, then at the garage fire, he’s the first to realize the house next door is on fire. Sharp.
I don’t know exactly what’s going on between him and Wollf, but Wollf would do himself a favor by making peace. One thing I can tell you about Billy, he’s got no forgiveness in his bones. I’ve never known him to forget anybody ever did him wrong.
I made a big production of telling Wollf we were going to be a team, but the truth is, he keeps a little too much to himself for my taste. Also, he takes chances at fires.
In addition, I heard he’s a whorehound, and a whorehound is always susceptible to the charms of a chick, especially one like Rideout.
She made so many mistakes tonight I should have been taking notes. To start off with, why wasn’t she the one on the roof with the chain saw? You don’t have to think about that too hard. She was scared, scared to climb a ladder and scared to be on a roof over a fire.
This morning I heard from one of the medics that when they came out of the house with the victim, she wasn’t even helping. Now I’m hearin’ talk she didn’t know how to run the fan.
I mighta jumped her shit ’cept I had my hands full keeping Zeke and Gliniewicz in line. Gliniewicz has been smoking so long he gets winded doing a simple hydrant hookup. At that garage fire we stood around waiting for water seemed like five minutes. At the beginning of the shift I was waiting for Zeke. At the end I was waiting for Gliniewicz.
God, if I could just get those two whipped into shape.
The thing I noticed after the Pennington fire was Wollf practically ignored that Pennington granddaughter, even when she was trying to be nice to him. Lordy, but she was fine. I mean, she could have been an actress herself. And Wollf? When the slut who lives out back showed up, he was on her like white on rice.
Ignored the fox, chased the pig.
Now, why would he do that?
You could tell the old lady’s housekeeper had been drinking, flouncing around making comments about how HOT firemen were. You know the kind, never passes up a wet T-shirt contest. Walking back and forth in front of the spotlight on our rig so’s we could see through that blouse. Enjoyin’ the way the guys on Engine 30 just about swallowed their tongues. Out in the cold dressed like summertime. When she walked, her ass end worked like two cannonballs in a pillowcase.
Wollf was wasting
way
too much time with her. And check this out.
He
kicked in the front door. Not Rideout.
If Rideout did a single blasted thing last night, I don’t know what it was.
12. THE RESIDENT DICK
The last thing I remembered about the shabby apartment near the Aurora tunnel in Belltown was my brother and me being picked up by two burly SPD officers and carried bodily from the house, probably to avoid the blood, our shoes confiscated, bagged, and classified as evidence. We never got them back.
It had been a sunny morning, cold and crisp, blue skies. I still remember watching the exhaust fumes build up around the tailpipe on the police cars in the street. I remember trying to form mental pictures from the clouds of exhaust. Elephants. Zebras. The things kids do when they’ve just killed a man and their mother has just been murdered. We
were
still kids.
After a bit of poking
Disgusting ain’t even the word for it.
’Course, the chicks can’t get through a drill school on their own, so they get a coupl’a weeks coaching prior. Then they come out here to the stations and swish their little butts around, making the officers feel sorry for them, and they end up passing them through. We all know after the first year you can’t fire
anybody.
Take Zeke. Lazy bastard should have been shitcanned long ago.
The only swinging dick downtown worth two cents is Billy Hertlein.
He came out last night to watch a couple of our fires, then at the garage fire, he’s the first to realize the house next door is on fire. Sharp.
I don’t know exactly what’s going on between him and Wollf, but Wollf would do himself a favor by making peace. One thing I can tell you about Billy, he’s got no forgiveness in his bones. I’ve never known him to forget anybody ever did him wrong.
I made a big production of telling Wollf we were going to be a team, but the truth is, he keeps a little too much to himself for my taste. Also, he takes chances at fires.
In addition, I heard he’s a whorehound, and a whorehound is always susceptible to the charms of a chick, especially one like Rideout.
She made so many mistakes tonight I should have been taking notes. To start off with, why wasn’t she the one on the roof with the chain saw? You don’t have to think about that too hard. She was scared, scared to climb a ladder and scared to be on a roof over a fire.
This morning I heard from one of the medics that when they came out of the house with the victim, she wasn’t even helping. Now I’m hearin’ talk she didn’t know how to run the fan.
I mighta jumped her shit ’cept I had my hands full keeping Zeke and Gliniewicz in line. Gliniewicz has been smoking so long he gets winded doing a simple hydrant hookup. At that garage fire we stood around waiting for water seemed like five minutes. At the beginning of the shift I was waiting for Zeke. At the end I was waiting for Gliniewicz.
God, if I could just get those two whipped into shape.
The thing I noticed after the Pennington fire was Wollf practically ignored that Pennington granddaughter, even when she was trying to be nice to him. Lordy, but she was fine. I mean, she could have been an actress herself. And Wollf? When the slut who lives out back showed up, he was on her like white on rice.
Ignored the fox, chased the pig.
Now, why would he do that?
You could tell the old lady’s housekeeper had been drinking, flouncing around making comments about how HOT firemen were. You know the kind, never passes up a wet T-shirt contest. Walking back and forth in front of the spotlight on our rig so’s we could see through that blouse. Enjoyin’ the way the guys on Engine 30 just about swallowed their tongues. Out in the cold dressed like summertime. When she walked, her ass end worked like two cannonballs in a pillowcase.
Wollf was wasting
way
too much time with her. And check this out.
He
kicked in the front door. Not Rideout.
If Rideout did a single blasted thing last night, I don’t know what it was.
12. THE RESIDENT DICK
The last thing I remembered about the shabby apartment near the Aurora tunnel in Belltown was my brother and me being picked up by two burly SPD officers and carried bodily from the house, probably to avoid the blood, our shoes confiscated, bagged, and classified as evidence. We never got them back.
It had been a sunny morning, cold and crisp, blue skies. I still remember watching the exhaust fumes build up around the tailpipe on the police cars in the street. I remember trying to form mental pictures from the clouds of exhaust. Elephants. Zebras. The things kids do when they’ve just killed a man and their mother has just been murdered. We
were
still kids.
After a bit of poking
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