Hot Damn(37)

“You could lose your job over this, King.” Even with his face turning purple and my fists clenched against his windpipe, Curry’s still trying to hold it together. He still thinks he’s got the upper hand. Somehow.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I’m clenching his shirt so hard my fingers ache. “Are you seriously fucking kidding me with this shit?” I let him go, shoving at him so he sags to the side, nearly slamming into the nearby urinal. “The minute the election is over, you are done. You will never work as a firefighter again. You may never work anywhere again. You hear me?”

“Is that a threat?”

Oh my God, with this guy. “Yes, it’s a threat. What the fuck did you think it was? A proposition?”

His face has gone white, and his hands are shaking. Everything he’s doing now is just posturing, I realize. It’s a good thing he’s in the john already, because I have a serious feeling he’s about to shit his pants. I take another step toward him, and he flinches.

“You stay away from me. You stay away from my house, my cat, my girlfriend, my family—you just stay away. If I see you anywhere near anything important to me again, the only fire you’ll ever put out is the one that starts when I rip your goddamn balls out and shove them down your throat. Are we clear?”

He just stares at me. There it is. The fear. That’s what I want to see.

“I said are we clear?”

“Yes,” he finally says.

“Then get the fuck out of my face.”

There’s another moment where I just glare at him. Then, finally, he ducks away from me and leaves the men’s room. A few minutes later, when I’ve calmed down a little, I head back to Pilsner’s office. Time for me to embrace my celebrity.



There’s no sign of Curry the next day, even though we’re supposed to be sharing the same shift. That’s fine by me. I never want to see his stupid fucking face again. And it’s not long before I’m too busy to worry about it. There’s a grass fire in one of the nearby parks, and though it’s not a disaster, it’s a bit tricky.

We handle it, though, and I head back to the truck, the other guys trailing behind me. Time to call in to headquarters, let them know we’re done, and then see if I can get away for an hour or so to have lunch with Maddy.

The dispatch radio is full of chatter when I climb into the cab. Apparently there’s another fire, this time a house fire. I’m only half listening—they won’t send us out on another fire right away—but then I hear more of the discussion.

It’s my neighborhood.

I grab the mic from the dashboard. “Dispatch. Repeat that address, please.”

There’s a pause. “Sir, we need responses from available units right now. Please clear this channel.”

I stab my thumb into the button again. “Dispatch, it’s King. Please repeat the address.”

Another pause. Then she repeats the address.

It’s not just my neighborhood. It’s my fucking house.

“Shit!” Around me, the other guys are just cluing in to the fact something unpleasant is going down. I wave frantically. “Get this truck sorted! We’re moving. Now! Now!”

They get in gear pretty damn fast, but it seems like three or four hours pass before we’re on the road again. All I can think about is Maddy and Christopher, at home alone. I know my smoke alarms are in order, but are they okay? How bad is the fire? Did they get out? My heart’s pounding hard all the way there as we run with the lights and sirens. I’ve never been so scared in my life.

Whitaker seems to read my mood. He’s sitting very still in the passenger seat next to me, up front, while the other guys are just as quiet in the back. “She’ll be okay,” he says.

“God, I hope so.”

I see the smoke long before we get there. It’s thick and black—blacker than it should be. I’m too focused on just getting there to worry about that question.

We pull up in front, and the guys immediately set to work getting the truck ready. Everyone’s professional and focused except for me. I’m frantically looking for Maddy. For Christopher. Where are they? God, are they still in the house?

Then I see them through the smoke, standing in the front yard of the house across the street. I almost hit the ground right there; I’m so relieved my knees want to give out. Maddy’s holding Christopher, cradling him against her chest, and as I get closer I can tell they’re both crying. Maddy’s face is bone white.

“Maddy.” I half run to her and hug them both. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” Her voice is shaking. “I don’t know what happened. The smoke alarms just started going off, and I grabbed Christopher and ran…”

“It’s okay. As long as you guys are safe.” I hesitate. “Where’s Thor?”

“I don’t know.” She starts to sob. “I didn’t stop to look. Jesse, I’m so sorry.”

I nod and kiss her forehead. “I’ll be back.”

“God, Jesse, don’t go back in.” She’s on the verge of hysterics, I can tell, and I pull her against me again. “Honey, honey, it’s all right. I just need to check on things, okay?”

That’s what I’m telling her, anyway. Because I’m totally going in after the goddamn cat.

The hoses are ready to go by the time I get back across the street, and the guys set to work. I head toward the house.

“Chief!” Whitaker calls. “You’re not going in there?”

“I am.”

“Dude, everybody’s out.”

I shake my head. “Gotta find the cat.”

Whitaker opens his mouth then closes it. Nobody’s going to argue with me, not after the brouhaha the media made about the cat in the first place. It would look pretty awful if we just let Thor die now. That’s not the only reason I’m going in, though. I don’t want to lose that damn cat just when he was starting to act like he might like me.

I don’t want to lose my sister again.

Inside, the smoke is thick and, again, blacker than it should be. This time the pieces fall together. I can smell gasoline. Did something in the garage go up? The lawn mower?

I scan the front rooms—no Thor. My heart’s beating hard again, and I can’t tell if it’s adrenaline from the fire or because I’m genuinely that upset about the cat. Both, maybe. I check inside the litter box, inside the open crate I use to take him to the vet. Check the bathrooms, the kitchen. Nothing.

Upstairs, maybe? I head that way. There’s a shadow up on the landing, and as I reach the top I realize it’s another firefighter. Who got here before we did? I didn’t see a truck outside.

He’s coming out of the main bedroom, and I realize it’s Curry in full fire gear.

“Did you see the cat?” I ask him, yelling over the flames.

He just shakes his head.

“Help me look!” I holler at him, and suddenly there’s a whoosh of heat and air as something explodes in the main bedroom. “Shit.” Was Thor in there? If he was… I push toward the door, shoving Curry out of the way. He plants his feet like he doesn’t want to be moved. “Move it, you fucking moron!”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Curry snaps back, and I freeze. “Thirty years on this job and you come in and think you can walk all over me? You think you’re actually going to be fire chief?”

What. The fuck. I stare at him. He’s not seriously having it out with me in the middle of a fucking fire, is he?

He is.

“Stupid prick!” he shouts right into my face. “That job is mine! It should be mine! You don’t fucking deserve it!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shove at him again. “We’re in the middle of a goddamn fire. Get your shit together, Curry!”

He shoves me back. “Fuck you, King. You don’t get to tell me what to do. You’re going to burn. Everything you love, I’m going to take it from you.”

Then it hits me. This is his fault. He got here before we did because he started the fire. The gasoline was his doing. There was nothing accidental about this. I grab at him again, but he dodges, surprisingly nimble in the heavy fire gear.

“Are you fucking insane?” It’s a rhetorical question at this point—of course he’s fucking insane. Why else would he do this?

He makes a wordless noise and launches himself at me, trying to push me off balance and down the stairs. I dodge and swing a fist at his face. Around us, the smoke is getting thicker, and I know I’ve got to get past Curry if I’m going to check the upstairs rooms for Thor. And I need to do it soon if there’s going to be any hope of finding him.

“Get the fuck out of the way!” I scream at him, but he hauls at my fire suit, swinging me back toward the stairs. I punch at him again and miss. He seems intent on pushing me down the staircase. God. He seriously wants to kill me.

“Thor!” I yell, hoping that might work. Does the stupid cat even know his own name? I hope so—it might be the only chance he has. “Thor! You dumbass piece-of-shit feline! Where are you?”

Curry swings another punch my way, and it catches me in the jaw, a glancing blow but enough to send stars dancing across my vision. Flailing out, I grab at him and pin him against the wall. “Get out of my way!”