Burning Man Read Online Free PDF

doughnuts?’”
    It got a laugh out of me, which seemed to please McCord. I decided it was my turn to tell a cop joke. “So,” I said, “how many cops does it take to throw a suspect down the stairs?”
    He asked, “How many?”
    “None,” I said, “he fell.”
    “I might use that,” he said, pulling out a pen and scribbling it down.
    McCord struck me as a good sort. He didn’t put on airs like other actors I’d met. It was unusual that Hollywood had actually selected someone right for a cop role. I had heard about one actor who put up a stink over having to wear a Kevlar vest during a shoot because he thought it made him look fat, but I didn’t have a chance to tell the story to McCord.
    “I’m afraid I have to break this up,” Maureen said. “We’re already running behind schedule.”
    The meeting room hadn’t shrunk any in the ten minutes since I’d last seen it. There were probably a thousand people in the room, some of whom I actually knew. Friends and colleagues came over to pat me on the back and say a few words. It took Maureen a long time to get me to our table, which not coincidentally was in the center of the banquet room. There was a place for Sirius at the table as well, which gave me a little breathing room. He sat to my right, and I offered him a water glass from which he drank.
    “I took the liberty of ordering Sirius a steak,” Maureen said.
    “I hope you ordered it extra rare.”
    Most of those at my table were LAPD brass, which required me to make small talk, but luckily all the well-wishers that kept converging on our table spared me from having to manufacture much in the way of conversation. I was shaking more hands than a politician on the stump.
    Finally, the show began. In the front of the room the assistant chief was offering up the LAPD Media Relations version of what had occurred on the night of the fire. His description of events wasn’t like what happened or like my dreams. The police officerhe described didn’t suffer from fear and panic, nor did he lose his mind for a time. It was a good war story, but not the one that I lived. I tried to ignore the stares directed my way, just as I tried not listening to what was being said. It was easier to think they were talking about some real hero rather than me.
    Kent McCord was the next speaker. After his jokes, he talked about bravery, heroism, and duty. The more I pretended to be having a good time, the hotter the room seemed. I felt on the verge of spontaneous human combustion. That wouldn’t be the kind of PR the department wanted, but I knew it would clear the room fast. I recalled Richard Pryor’s line about racing out of his house when he’d been on fire: “When you’re running down the street on fire, people get out of your way.”
    The loud sound of applause interrupted my musing. All around the conference room people were standing and cheering. Suddenly the space wasn’t cavernous anymore; it felt small and stifling.
    I motioned for Sirius to come with me, and as he struggled to his feet the applause redoubled. The old show business rule still applied: never follow a dog act.
    Gene Ehrlich was the new chief of police. He had inherited a department rocked by scandals. Ehrlich came into town with more than a white hat: he was a cop with an MBA from Harvard. The top cop knew a good photo opportunity when he saw one and stood waiting for us in the front of the room. I tried not to limp but wasn’t successful. Sitting sometimes does that to me; the fire had forever taken some of the elasticity out of my ligaments. Flashes kept going off, and I was afraid that Sirius and I would be the new poster boys for an updated Spirit of ’76 picture. I walked slowly so that Sirius could keep up with me. He was still dragging his left back leg. Television shows to the contrary, you don’t get shot and recover overnight. His vet was confident his leg would come around in time. Sirius’s fur had mostly grown back, but he was bald