Page 6 of Tasting Fire
Fire Management 101: Oily shit and water did not play nice together.
Luckily, they’d been able to use small foam canisters and had contained the blaze to Mr. Felder’s kitchen. Now, Sully Smith, the driver on shift, stood next to Cash and studied the aftermath. Sully was a good guy who looked like a jacked Bruno Mars, but the dude couldn’t sing for dick. He did have some pretty spectacular dance moves, however. “What would we do for a living if people didn’t act like damn idiots half the time?” he asked.
The one remaining strip of rooster-printed curtains above the sink gave up the fight and landed in the stainless steel bowl. The cabinets were charred messes and the ceiling was streaked with what looked like demon’s fingers. The linoleum flooring curled at the corners, and the whole place stunk of a sort of bacon-cornmeal-fish-guts flambé.
But even the disgusting smell couldn’t get Cash down right now. Because the head of the tactical medical team—TMT—would be announced in an hour. “Considering the amount of bad decisions made on a consistent basis, I’m pretty sure our careers are a lock.”
Mr. Felder shuffled up behind them wearing greasy coveralls and his slippers. He held a grocery sack in one hand and shook it. The cornmeal inside scratched against the brown paper and plopped back to the bottom. “You boys hungry? I cranked up the deep fryer in the backyard.”
Cash took a full breath and smiled at the old guy, putting all his patience and persuasive personality into it. The other firefighters called it his baiting-the-hook grin because it worked in all sorts of situations—encouraging cats down from trees, calming panicked loved ones, and scoring bridesmaids at wedding receptions. He slung his arm around Mr. Felder and led him outside. “Why don’t we power down the fryer for now? I bet if you take your sack of fish over to the Triple B, the kitchen would cook up the whole mess for you.”
Mr. Felder’s brows drew together like two centipedes humping out a quickie. “That purely legal?”
Cash had no idea, but he’d put in a call to Randi Shepherd and beg her if necessary. Hell, for all he cared, she could throw out Mr. Felder’s fish and substitute some from the restaurant’s freezer.
“I’ll let Randi and the others know you’re coming.” Mr. Felder nodded, and Cash turned off the flame under the deep fryer. They should load that rusty thing onto the truck and drop it by the landfill on their way to the station. “And I’ll call Grif and let him know you need a little help with cleanup over here.”
“Ain’t no reason to bother the city manager. I can handle it.”
Maybe he could. Maybe he couldn’t. But the beauty of living in a town the size of Steele Ridge was that people looked out for their neighbors. They cared and they took care of their own. As one of Steele Ridge’s most senior public servants, Cash’s cousin would want to know about Mr. Felder and the state of his house. “Need a ride over to the Triple B?”
Mr. Felder grinned like a gap-toothed six-year-old. “On the engine?”
“Why the hell not?”
By the time Cash made it back to the station, it was almost noon. He felt as if he’d been dunked in Triple B’s fry basket, and he smelled so bad, he was surprised Randi had even let him stand near her restaurant’s back door. If he didn’t like catfish so damn much himself, he might swear off it after this morning.
When he walked inside, C shift was sitting around in the recliners like a bunch of fat cats watching ESPN recaps. Fuckers.
Callahan, a good friend and a fairly new dad, said, “Somebody get the ketchup and tartar sauce! Kingston’s back.”
In retaliation, Cash walked behind Callahan’s chair and swiped a hand across the guy’s hair, leaving a palm-sized trail of gunk behind. Then he slapped the back of his head for good measure.
Callahan just laughed. “Donaldson’s got coleslaw and hush puppies ready in the kitchen. All we need is the fish.”
“If the stink is any indication,” Donaldson said, “then Kingston’s got ’em tucked in his turnout suit.”
“Screw every one of you,” Cash said. “I’m headed for the shower.”
“Not happening, brother,” Callahan said. “They brought the party to you.”
“What?” Cash rubbed his eyes and flinched at the gritty feel of his corneas.
“SWAT captain, the sheriff, and some other folks are in the lieutenant’s office.”
Fuck, how could he have forgotten about that, even momentarily? Too much cornmeal on the brain. He couldn’t let anything distract him from the destination he’d been traveling toward for years.
As he strode out of the room, Cash ducked his head to do a pit sniff. His buddies were right. He smelled like a dead animal that had rolled in fish guts before kicking the bucket. Maybe his eau de hard work would be a reminder that the new head of the TMT was willing to do any-damn-thing to get the job done.
When he eased his way into the lieutenant’s office, everyone else immediately edged away, leaving him with a clear view of Captain Styles and Maggie. When she got an eyeful of him, Maggie’s eyebrows shot under her hairline.
Cash just shook his head and lifted a shoulder. He’d dress up and smell good for the first commendation the TMT received.
The captain stepped forward, her short gray hair neat and her navy pantsuit serious. “Thanks to everyone who applied to become the newest members of the tactical medical team and the current tac medics who vied for the TMT lead position. As you know, we took these selections very seriously, especially since so many of you stepped up and challenged us by providing such a qualified applicant pool.” She called out three names of medics Cash respected the hell out of. “If you weren’t selected this time to join the existing team, please don’t be discouraged. It’s highly likely we’ll add more team members in the future. Now, for the TMT lead…”
The captain quickly glanced at Maggie, who cleared her throat nervously. Which was weird as hell because the last time she’d been nervous was when she’d let Brynne Whitfield talk her into an algae body wrap.
“This person has exactly the type of background and skills we need to guide this new group,” the captain continued. “Your new team lead knows Steele Ridge, knows emergent medicine, and has my—and Sheriff Kingston’s—full support and backing.”
