Chapter Two

All right. Where was I? Kinda hard to keep up with this with everything that goes on around here.

Oh, yeah. The stamping plant off Buckeye Road.

Well, Cullen-the-cadet is shouting that there's someone inside. We are trying like hell to get a line going in. Two of us go over to help whoever may be trapped inside. Derrico, who is my height but a lot heavier, grabs a halligan and takes out the window. You can hear screaming coming from within. It's not loud screaming, more like sobbing. Cullen and Derrico go in. I am right behind Derrico.

I couldn't believe what we were seeing. There in the smoke and dirt, trapped under a metal storage rack, are a man, a woman and a baby.

The guy is huddled over the woman to protect her. The woman has wrapped her body around the baby. The baby is whimpering more than crying. They are wrapped in blankets, and their clothing is dirty and torn. It's hard to tell if it's sooty from smoke or if they're just filthy. Anyway, things are happening too fast to take in all the details, and it's dark, and the only light is coming from the fire, which is closing in fast. The two of us manage to push the metal rack off the people, and it totters to the concrete floor with a crash. Derrico helps the man to his feet. I grab the woman, help her to her feet, and Cullen takes the baby. It's a young baby, maybe a year. My sister Katie has a one-year old, which is how I know.

We herd the people out of the building. Meanwhile the guys on the truck have hit paydirt -- the standpipe is clear and it is a Siamese standpipe, which means if the engine has enough pressure we can get two lines going in at once. This may go faster than we thought. We get the lines in, turn on the water and we are putting out the fire pretty well. A small section of the roof caves in a shower of sparks, and steam comes up through the opening. It actually looks worse than it is because the cold air intensifies the steam as the water hits the fire.

We get blankets off the truck for the little family shivering here on the concrete, and we put in a call to the EMS.

If we hadn't been able to get them out on the first try, we would have had to call Rescue. Not all houses have a rescue unit. The rescue guys are the prestige crew. These are the guys who get called to the bad ones, and it's a high-profile job. Generally their work involves cutting people out of impossible places and piecing them back together until they can be transported to a hospital. Nobody wants to need Rescue, but I have yet to hear of anyone who wasn't glad to see them. Firefighters are always the good guys (well, almost always -- we ghave been to a few scenes where an ongoing domestic dispute made us the bad guys until the police arrived and sorted things out), and Rescue is the good guy elite.

I am trying to get information from the people. This is really a job which will be started once an ambulance arrives to transport the victims to the ER over at Metro, but in the meantime I figure it might help them get over their fear a little. They are not obviously injured, maybe a little scared, but it''s also important to determine whether anyone might be in shock.

"You're gonna be okay," I say to the man. "We have a unit on the way to take you to the hospital. We want to make sure you're both okay and that the baby's fine." The man is bundling the blanket more securely around the woman's shoulders. The baby is whimpering and coughing a little. "Anyway," I say, "what were you doing in there? Do you live around here?"

"In there," says the man, pointing to the building. The man is of medium build, a little stooped, kind of dirty brown hair. It is impossible to tell under the streetlights what color his eyes are.

"In there," I repeat. "You lived in there."

"Uh-huh," says the man. "It was all we could find."

The woman, a little, tiny thing with thin shoulders and huge eyes, is clutching the baby tightly to herself. She looks as if she could cry at any minute. She is trying to articulate a thought but her words are coming in short bursts and she is nearly impossible to understand.

"I got...they...you won't....them if...TELL them...oh my God oh my God oh my oh...oh...Mi Dios, Mi Dios...."
I'm worried she might be verging on hysterical shock.

"Ma'am. If you'd like to sit down, we can go over to the truck."

"NO!" She's pretty definite about this, and I don't want to upset her more. I try a different tack.

"Ma'am, it's no good for the baby being out in this cold. Let's just take a walk over toward the truck and you can get him out of the wind. Is it a he?"

"Yes. This is Javier," she says, presenting him a little awwardly. She pronounces it "Havi-yay". I thought they looked Hispanic but in this light everyone looks pale green or lavender anyway.

The baby is still sniffling a little bit but settling down. I stoop a little, smile at him, and say, "Hi, guy."

Javier manages a crooked, bewildered little smile and begins to whimper again.

"C'mon," I say, "let's get him to the truck."

So we walk back over toward the rig, and Derrico wanders over and we get the woman up into the cab with the baby on her lap and another blanket around them. The guy remains on the ground and we are talking.

"Anyway. How the hell did you guys happen to be in there on a night like this? It's gotta be no warmer than the mid-twenties out here. What were you doing in there?"

"We live there," the man repeats.

"Why? What happened? Nowhere to go? You in some kind of trouble?"

"I'm out of work. I lost my job last year when the mill closed. Estella don't work. We had Javier last year and there was nobody to care for him. Me, I could stay home with him but Estella can't work. She got...problems."

I'm not sure I want to know what kind of problems, because this sounds like a Neverending Story, and there are a lot of them in this part of town, and I must confess, my own selfish interest is to get these people to a hospital and get the hell out of this weather. I am begining to wonder just what in the Christ is holding up EMS when they arrive on the scene. Here comes the cavalry. It's all good.

But I still feel oddly responsible for this strange little family group. Living in a goddamned abandoned factory in the middle of December, of all things. These people have seen rougher times than the worst ones I have lived through, and they probably see them daily. The worst rough night of my life is their daily existence. Maybe worse. My rough nights are mostly my fault, and I can quit having them whenever I want. (My ex-girl says I can't quit, but we won't get started about her.) Anyway. These people just live this way. Period. And then some asshole sets their only shelter on fire for fun.

So I ask the guy, as the woman and baby are bundled into the rescue unit: "You looking for work?" I have no idea why the hell I am asking him this, or what to tell him if he says yes.

"Yes," he says. Of course.

"Listen," I say. "My sister works for Child Services. Maybe she can put you in touch with some people who can get you a place to live. You can't...."

"Sully, for Christ's sake would you quit playing Mother Teresa over there and get on the truck?" It's Derrico. He's hungry, he's cranky and it's his night to cook. Probably not a good idea to piss off the cook.

I keep my sister's card in my coat. We run across people in bad situations -- it's kind of what we do. So I grab a card and press it into the guy's hand. "Here. Call here," I say. Roz' number stands out in clear black type, along with a bunch of Child Services numbers.

"Thanks, man," says the guy. He extends his hand. "Manny."

"Sully," I say. "Nice to..."

"Sully for the sweet love of Jesus willya COME ON," I hear from the truck.

I wave, leave the family in the care of Rescue and hop onto the truck for the ride back to the house.

That night after supper, I am lying on my rack and it occurs to me that the people I have met are like characters in a play. I start thinking about them. Estella and Manny and Javier. I suppose Manny is short for Manuel. Manuel is Spanish for Emmanuel, isn't it? And Estella, that means star. And Javier is also spelled Xavier, which means "Savior". Emmanuel, Star and Savior, in an old building on a cold December night. Nah, why do I always think sappy stuff like this? There absolutely aren't three wise men or a virgin in our entire goddamn company, that's for sure.

But anyway. The story struck me as funny, like funny-peculiar. Thought you might be interested. Also, I have a feeling I will see these people again some day. Why, I have no idea. I just hope it's under better circumstances. It also makes me wonder what the hell is going on that a man and his wife are living in an abandoned factory with a little baby and there are people on reality television making millions for acting like complete jerks.

Me, I usually act like a jerk for free. But more about that later. I gotta turn out the light; it's Saturday early morning and the weekend revelers are toning it down, incubating today's hangovers, their arson and carelessly tossed cigarettes and tipped kerosene heaters all projects for later on tonight. Shitheads. We always have customers, ya know?

More later, be good, and if you can't be good, for Christ's sake come back and tell me about it. I'll be here.