Vertical Burn Read Online Free PDF Page B

misfits, misanthropes, bathroom philosophers, backyard mechanics, geezers on their way to retirement, or people who habitually reduced their life philosophy to a few words on a bumper sticker. Finney had been transferred here to be the acting officer while Lieutenant Sadler was on disability, but Sadler had returned unexpectedly, and now Finney was stuck riding the tailboard. He wasn’t particularly happy about it, but then he wasn’t particularly happy about anything these days.
    In the officer’s room with him was Jerry Monahan, one of only a handful of firefighters whose attitude toward Finney wasn’t influenced in some manner by Leary Way. “Whatcha doin’?” Monahan asked.
    “Trying to track down the last band member from the fire. I’ve talked to the others. This guy’s supposedly moved to Montana.”
    “Don’t you think you’d be better off putting all this behind you, John?”
    “No.”
    “It was me, I’d move on and try to forget it.”
    “No, you wouldn’t.”
    In his late fifties, Jerry Monahan was a roly-poly man with an ingratiating smile and rumpled clothing. His skin was so gray it looked like ash. There was always something a little off about Monahan; Finney regarded him as a real-life “what is wrong with this picture?” puzzle. This morning it was a brown shoelace in one of his black boots. Monahan overflowed with elaborate government conspiracy theories and was a frequent caller to extreme-right-wing radio shows. Finney had reason to believe he often went several days without bathing. He suspected Monahan was allergic to soap and the federal government in equal proportions.
    While Finney stared at the computer screen, Jerry Monahan sat on Lieutenant Sadler’s bunk next to the desk and fiddled with a Teflon-coated cable on an aluminum spool, explaining how the spool fit into a contraption he’d designed to evacuate civilians from high-rise fires and how the whole thing was going to make him a billionaire. Finney had heard it all a hundred times before.
    “Calling it Elevator-in-a-Can,” Monahan said. “What do you think?”
    “Catchy.”
    “All I need is a little luck. Just a little luck and two hundred grand for promotion. The potential with this dealybobber is staggering.”
    “I’ll bet.”
    Finney knew that plenty of people in the department called Monahan a crackpot to his face, and he found it easy to assume this latest invention would never work, much less make Monahan wealthy. It was an undeniable fact though that Monahan had already collected fortunes from two similar schemes. But then, true to his karma, he had never been wealthy for long and had quickly reinvested each of those fortunes in doomed projects.
    “Quiet,” Monahan whispered, as an alarm came over the radio in the other room.
    Finney followed as Monahan dragged the snarl of cable out into the watch office at the front of the station and stood next to the radio scanner. The dispatchers were adding Engine 38, Engine 17, and Ladder 9 to an ongoing incident in the Northgate area. There had been heavy radio traffic all morning, but this was the first time Finney paid any attention to it.
    “All of the Fourth Battalion is tied up at that ship fire, and now they’re calling for more units,” Monahan said. “Two major alarms at once. There won’t be a rig in service north of the ship canal.”
    The term
in service
referred to an apparatus that was ready to respond. A rig that was out of service was one already on an alarm or one that couldn’t be dispatched because of mechanical problems or some other reason.
    “The whole town’s going to be jammed up,” said Monahan excitedly.
    “A couple of fires aren’t going to overwhelm us.”
    “You watch. This is going to be nuts.”
    Even as he spoke, the bell in the corridor clanged.
    Lieutenant Sadler came bustling down the hall from the beanery and immediately began tripping in the lengths of loose cable Monahan had left on the floor. He stood at the console