Slow Burn, Chapter 4/21

CHAPTER FOUR

Dina threw herself onto the faded blue divan which faced the desk of the elusive Captain Hawkins.  She massaged her brow with the heels of her hands.  “None of this is helping my head,” she said.  She’d popped her last aspirin some time ago.

“I have no doubt,” Nick replied.  He was setting up the camera on a tripod.  “But don’t let what that girl said get to you.  Trust me…”  He swiveled the apparatus into position, its field of view encompassing Dina and the center of the room.  “…the camera loves you, babe.  Take it from the one who knows.”

Dina sat forward.  “I came here to do one interview with a progressive professional woman.  Not to be snubbed, insulted, or raked over the coals.”

“Don’t sweat it too much, Deenie.  We’re not leaving until Captain Hawkins gets what’s coming to her!”  Nick said with exaggerated resolve.  Dina giggled a little in spite of herself.  “Then at the end of the day you can put it all behind you.”

Dina noticed a small fob he was handling.  “What’s that?”

“New gizmo.  Remote control for the camera.  That way if I’m over here” – he crossed the room and sat down beside her – “I can still switch it on.”  He demonstrated.

“Nifty,” Dina commented.  “Planning on joining me this side of the camera more often?”

“Oh, it’s not really for me, it’s for you.  In case you need to be recording, but I’m chasing someone down to get them to sign a release form, or I’m in the john, or something.”  He handed her the device.

“Got it.”  Dina rolled the device around in her palm, then laid back.  Her head rested on the back of the divan, and she stared up at the ceiling.  “God, I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck, and it’s not even noon yet.”  Nick sat back as well, and her blue-gray eyes flicked over to gleam up at him.

“You look like you could use a drink.  What do you say we go get one when we’re done here?”  Nick’s voice carried less nonchalance than he’d been hoping.

Dina’s eyes clouded, suddenly on guard.  “I…”  She chose her words carefully.  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.  You…you remember what happened last time we went out for a drink…”

Nick spoke with sudden, quiet urgency.  “It’s because I can’t forget it that I’m mentioning it now!”

Dina sat up and put a hand to her throbbing temple.  “Nick, please, please don’t do this now.  Not while we’re working.”

His voice was slightly bitter as he spoke.  “We’re always working!  Leastaways, you’re always working!  Or is that why you’ve been requesting Al Johnston as your cameraman for the last five weeks, instead of me?”

“I…”  Dina, who was seldom at a loss for words, simply trailed off.

“All I’m asking is an hour off to talk it over.  One drink.”  His eyes were fervent.

Dina gave him a pained look before averting her own.  “I’m not ready to talk about this right now.”

“Fine.”  Nick bolted off the divan, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To get some air.  I’ll be back when the captain gets here.”  He shut the door roughly behind him.

Dina placed the back of her hand against her lips and clenched her eyes shut tightly.  Her voice was just a whisper.  “Damn it.”


* * *


“Nonono, don’t transfer me again!”

Paradiso Street Station’s admin-dispatcher was Candace Carmichael, but she never introduced herself as such.  Almost without fail, she was Candy – to friend, frenemy, and random stranger alike.  She’d always found that the sweet name, when coupled with some charm and the perfect cute ensemble, almost always greased the wheels of social interaction.  But not even they could penetrate the cold indifference of the Internet service provider’s customer service line.

“I told you, ma’am,” said the dour voice on the other end, “This is Existing Accounts.  You want New Accounts.”

“I already talked to them!  Twice!”  Candy was practically shrieking into the landline phone cradled between her neck and her shoulder.  “They said because it was a new location on the city Fire Department account, I needed to talk to you!”  The rep sounded like an older man; Candy was positive that her perky red sundress and stilettos would be having a beneficial effect if they’d been speaking face to face.

In the midst of her consternation, Candy did not notice the creak of the front door opening behind her.

“Hold, please…” droned the voice.

“Don’t you dare–” Candy suddenly found herself holding a conversation with bland Muzak.  “Argh!”

The phone cord was stretched to its limit; she was perched atop a stepladder behind the admin desk.  Behind it stood several shelves set aside for the station’s small reference library; her arms were full of books, and many more boxes of them were scattered about the vestibule.  

The reality of running a pilot project for the city was that accolades and gestures of support were given gladly, but funding lagged significantly behind goodwill.  Thus by pleading, cajoling, and in some cases threatening, Captain Hawkins had managed to secure donations of used equipment and materials from fire stations up and down the West Coast.  But much of it – including books – had been arriving in haphazard and piecemeal fashion.

Today it had fallen to Candy to make a little order from the chaos, among her other duties.  She’d hoped to maximize her efficiency by organizing books during the inevitable hold times.  But with the repetitive customer service juggling, her multitasking had only left her distracted for both tasks.  As she shifted her balance to lean far over and set Passing Your Wildfire Crewman’s Certification in its appointed place, Candy muttered to herself.  “Never should have gotten out of bed today.”

A deep voice drawled below her.  “You’re right about that.”

Before Candy could even think to be frightened, she felt two prongs affix themselves to the exposed skin of her right thigh.  Within nanoseconds, she felt an incredible surge of electricity coursing through her body.  It was as though all her cells had fallen asleep and then woken up screaming at the same moment.  Pain, confusion and fear swirled into a sensory overload, and she blacked out.  She uttered a meek, involuntary “Guh” as her legs gave way; then she was falling backwards.

Books cascaded about her, and the phone caromed about as its cord retracted – but the girl herself dropped neatly into Pullman’s outstretched arms.  She was still twitching.  He cradled her under her shoulders and knees; one forlorn stiletto dangled from the toes of her right foot.  Her curvaceous body shuddered one final time, then went limp.

“Lay her down!” hissed Grady.  “We got lucky she didn’t scream.  Now move it!”

Pulman dropped her lower half, then swept Candy’s laboriously-organized stacks of books off her desk to the floor.  He laid the senseless dispatcher gently on the desk; her smooth legs hung off the end, and one arm drooped off to the side.  Her fingertips barely brushed the forgotten phone, which signaled its indifference: “Your call is very important to us…”

Pullman reeled in the taser electrodes and replaced the cartridge.  He had plenty more where that came from.

“Alright – let’s go.”