Edge of the Heat (Westwood Harbor Corruption) Page 2

  The Chief was currently on vacation. His office was empty, and probably locked. But Craig had a key. He had stolen it from the Chief himself the day before he went on vacation, pickpocketing the entire keyring right off his belt, and then throwing the keys he didn’t need down a sewer grate.

  The locksmith was scheduled to come tomorrow to change the locks, so this had to be done today.

  Craig unlocked the door and eased his way into the room. He padded to the computer and sat down, checking his view of the street out the window. Good, he had a good view down the street in both directions. Please let the call be a long one, he internally chanted.

  Craig turned on the computer. Of course a password was needed. He pulled a password cracking CD out of his jacket pocket and inserted it in the drive, rebooting the computer. As it started back up, his fingers worked the magic his oldest friend taught him last night. Voila! He was in within 30 seconds.

  I owe Hawk a beer.

  Now to access the network. He had several firefighters usernames and passwords and his instructions were to just pick one. But he wouldn’t. What if his intrusion was discovered somehow and that man or woman was fired? He could not stand to be responsible for someone losing their job who didn’t deserve it. So he set himself to the much harder task of accessing the network with the Chief’s own username and password. This could take a while. A drop of sweat trickled down the middle of his spine, chilling him. If Hawk knew he was doing this the hard way he would get an ass-chewing.

  Hoping to avoid an ass-chewing, or worse, mission-failure, he checked his watch. 18 minutes since the Engine had gone out. He got up and turned on the radio so he would hear if they gave an all-clear, returning-to-station signal.

  Back in the chair, he tested the network. Was there a lock-down on the number of password attempts he could make before the Chief’s account would be locked? There didn’t seem to be. Out came the second CD in his pocket. The screen filled with numbers and letters. Every possible password filled the square for a moment.

  His software was good, the best his employer could buy, and within 6 minutes he had the password. Still no word from Engine 18. Perfect.

  Craig poked around in the files. He did not know everything he was looking for, and he didn’t know what kind of cloaking techniques the Chief might use. He found a few files he wanted and transferred them right away to his zip drive. They would take 4 minutes to transfer. A folder marked Business caught his attention. He double clicked the folder, his eyes rapidly scanning the contents. Craig pumped his fist in the air and yelled “Jackpot!” He quickly copied the entire folder to his flash drive. 6 more minutes. Craig’s feet drummed the rug. He badly wanted to get up and do a little victory dance, but he needed to check the rest of the files before Engine 18 headed back.

  For the second time that day his thoughts seemed to summon reality. The radio crackled. “Engine 18, 10-98.”

  “Damn! Damn damn damn damn damn!” Craig swore a blue streak and frantically scanned the rest of the files and folders. Nothing else jumped out at him so he closed everything but what was being copied. His eyes watched the folders drifting across the screen. 4 minutes 54 seconds. Hurry! He could only pray the Engine was farther than 5 minutes away. If he got caught up here he would never get another chance and the entire mission would be jeopardized. Not just his part in it, but all of it. That could not happen. This was too important.

  Craig jumped up and paced the rug. His nervous energy ate holes in his normally calm exterior. He triangled from the rug to the window to the computer again and again.

  54 seconds. Thank you God.

  The rumble of a diesel engine crept through the window pane. Damn! Craig ran to the window and peeked out. Engine 18 was pulling past to reverse in.

  Back to the computer, he put one hand on the mouse and one hand on the flash drive. 9 seconds, 8 seconds … Craig willed himself to take a deep breath. 1 second. The little hourglass just spun and nothing - done! Two mouse clicks and a swift yank later Craig was sprinting to the hall. He locked the door from the inside and closed it. As quietly as possible he strode purposely down the hall and the steps, trying to decide if he should go out the kitchen door or pretend like he came by on his day off to get something.

  I guess it depends on if anyone catches me or not.

  He could hear the backup warning beeps in the engine bay. No one should be out of the vehicle yet. If he could just make it to the kitchen before anyone got off the truck he would be golden.

  As he entered the kitchen door, the backup warning sound cut off. Sit down and act like he was supposed to be here or hoof it out the door? He decided to take his chances and run like a scared dog.

  Out the door he went, softly pulling it shut behind him, then turning right and paralleling the building away from the bay. At the end of the building he stayed straight through the grass and to the sidewalk. He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled away from the firehouse, feeling light.

  A breeze picked up and something tickled his nose. His hand raised up to brush it away.

  His fake mustache!

  Craig raised his face to the sky and laughed, letting loose some nervous energy. An angel was looking out for him, keeping him on the move and not in the firehouse kitchen trying to explain away a fake mustache he forgot he had on.

  Chapter 3.

  At exactly 4:45 a.m., Emma walked into the ambulance bay for the first time since her accident, smelling gasoline and lysol, and grinning from ear to ear, a piece of watermelon gum tucked inside her cheek. She loved her job and her co-workers and her crazy city. She loved the druggies and the jumpers and even the gomers that should be calling a cab, not an ambulance.

  She had missed her job fiercely every second of her three week rehabilitation. The last week had been the worst. She felt well enough to get back to work, but no one would let her. She didn’t have a thing to do and frequently found herself wandering around the city on foot, looking for accidents or ill homeless people - anything! All of her friends had been working 12 or 24 hour shifts plus overtime, as usual, or sleeping off the effects of a crazy, coffee-fueled shift, so none of them had any time to do anything with her. Not even Jerry. She felt partly guilty that her absence created some of the need for so much overtime and partly pissed that her friends had been so busy without her.

  Smooth Em, you are a real fruitcake, you know that? If the tables had been turned you would have been doing nothing but working and sleeping too.

  But none of that mattered now - she was back to work! She punched in, checked the beat sheet, and headed straight over to ambulance 17.

  Jerry wasn’t there yet, so she grabbed a clipboard and started the pre-shift check.

  She had determined the ambulance was in tip-top shape-all supplies were on hand, all blinkers worked, gas was at full, and there were no blood stains or puke smells-when Jerry finally showed up.

  “EM!” he shouted as soon as he saw her. He ran across the bay and picked her up, spinning her around. She laughed down at his shaved-bald head and said “Put me down you dink, before you throw your back out. Nobody wants to see you cry again.”

  “Hey,” he growled. “I didn’t cry. I watered my beard.”

  Emma giggled. “You don’t have a beard silly.”

  “Seriously Em, I am so happy to see you. I didn’t know you were coming back today. I thought I had another shift with Sam and I’ve been dragging my feet all morning. I can’t stand listening to him all day!” Jerry gushed on and on without taking a breath.

  Emma had never had to work with Sam - he usually worked nights but was pulled to days because they had been so short-staffed last month - but she had heard the rumors. Sam was dirty. That’s one of the reasons he liked to work nights. He had no problem looking the other way when the lazy or dirty cops, of which Westwood Harbor seemed to have way too many of, pocketed guns or drugs or beat people up instead of helping them. Emma had never seen a cop beat anyone up

  (anyone but herself)
>
  or take something they shouldn’t, but she heard it happened. She also heard that some firefighters and paramedics looked the other way or helped for a piece of the action. Emma couldn’t imagine doing this in her wildest dreams, and she hoped she never saw it. She liked her world sweet and rosy.

  “Oh man, how many shifts did you have to do with him?”

  “All of them! He was my partner the whole time you were gone!

  “Did he, you know, do anything?”

  “Nah, he was clean as a whistle with me, of course.”

  Emma nodded, knowing that Jerry would never put up with it if anyone sworn to uphold the law actually broke it in front of him. She wondered if she would have the courage to blow any whistles if she saw something corrupt happen. Or would she just bury her nose in her work and pretend it didn’t happen? She didn’t know, but although she hoped with her full heart she was brave and strong, sometimes she suspected the opposite.

  “Come on Jer - let’s hit the road before I have to do the whole welcome back thing with anybody else.”

  “Right-O Captain!” Jerry climbed into the driver’s seat and Emma into the passenger. They had been partners for 5 years, and Jerry always drove for the first 5 hours with Emma as the lead paramedic, and Emma drove for the second 5 with Jerry as the lead paramedic. They were both qualified firefighters too, but they rarely worked the firehouse. Working paramedic was their mutual preference.

  They got along as well as she had ever gotten along with anyone in her life. They’d had a few fights, but they always made up swiftly and completely. Which is more than Emma could say for any other man she’d ever known. Whenever she thought about this, she always figured it was because it wasn’t a romantic relationship. There were less triggers. Less emotion. Plus Jerry was a seriously cool guy and he genuinely liked and respected women in general, and her in particular. Which was also more than she could say for any other man she’d ever known.

  Jerry backed the ambulance out of the stall and drove up the concrete ramp to the exit. When he hit Front Street he took a right. Emma grabbed the radio and said “Unit 17 10-8”

  “Unit 17 10-8, 10-4,” came the reply. And then “Unit 17 10-Whiskey Bravo.” 10-Whiskey Bravo was not an official code, but the dispatcher, Wanda it sounded like, was probably saying welcome back. That’s the kind of welcome back Emma could handle. One from a distance with no hugging and expressions of condolences.

  “10-4 central, thanks.”

  “That fucker Sam, he wanted to trade off who drove first every day. Can you imagine?” Jerry complained. Emma didn’t mind. She let Jerry’s words wash over her like a warm breeze. She settled in to her chair and smiled, thrilled to be listening to Jerry and sitting in this chair. She watched people look at them from the sidewalk and waved at any children she saw. The light traffic on the paramedic radio sounded like a serenade to her. This was her place.

  When Jerry took a few breaths, she said “Hey, let’s get some coffee and chill somewhere. I have something to tell you.”

  She hadn’t told anyone about her vision yet but she wanted to. She could still see it as clear as day in her mind and she still felt that urgent feeling every day, like a fish hook in her brain, that she should be doing something about it. Unbelievably, she hadn’t met one dark-skinned and dark-haired man since her accident who was tall enough to be the man in the vision. Sometimes she was scared that he had been standing on a stool in the vision, and so she actually had already met or seen him, but she had dismissed him because he didn’t seem tall enough. That’s why she needed to tell Jerry. His analytical brain would pick this thing apart for her.

  Jerry looked at her with his eyebrows raised. She looked back, stoically. His face broke into a wide grin and he shouted “yeeeehaw! I am so glad you are back!” He gunned the ambulance, did a u-turn at the next intersection, and headed towards their favorite coffee place.

  The Pink Lady was a small building added in to the parking lot of a warehouse in the industrial area next to the harbor. It was no place for a coffee shop, except for the steady flow of working men through the area, all day long. And no other coffee shop had a chance down here. Three had tried and never had so much as a single customer. If only their owners had had the smarts to actually visit their only competition they would have realized why.

  Jerry pulled up to the Pink Lady and smiled at the counter girl at the window. “Hi Heather, can I get my usual today?”

  “Sure, and how about Sam?” Heather asked.

  “Oh no sister, I don’t ride with HIM no more!” Jerry cackled and leaned back so Heather could see.

  “Emma’s back! One tall espresso to GO and one tall coffee with two creams and two sugars - got it,” Heather flipped two cups in the air and sashayed over to the work station. Jerry watched her appreciatively while she worked. Heather had bleach-blonde hair down her back where strands of it tucked into her sparkly, skimpy bikini. Fit and tight, she looked like she belonged at crossfit, instead of working the coffee shop. But she could do both. All the “girls” who worked at the Pink Lady got paid much better than most coffee shop workers. They were being paid for their body and their attitude towards the customers as much as they were for their coffee-making skills. Most men who worked in the area got coffee at least twice a day from the shop, just for the pleasure of talking to these ladies.

  Emma watched Jerry ogle Heather and laughed silently to herself. Men are so silly. She didn’t mind that Jerry liked to come here. The coffee was good, and all the girls were no nonsense - most of them working their way through college. No catty bitches here, which was surprising when you thought about it.

  A certain group of “socially-active” moms had fought to get this business shut down last year. A law had even been passed stating all baristas must wear clothes, or some equally ridiculous thing. But the business still ran and thrived. Emma didn’t understand how and when she had asked Jerry about it he had just laughed at her like he did when he thought she was being naive and said “Kickbacks, baby, kickbacks. The powers-that-be in Westwood Harbor care a lot more about how much money the Pink Ladies have than what they wear.” Emma didn’t understand it. She knew her city was supposed to be very corrupt, but she’d never seen it. Well, except for the crapola that Norman always seemed to get away with.

  Jerry handed her a coffee, pulling her attention away from her ex-husband and back to the here and now. They parked the ambulance with a view of the bay. The radio stayed mostly silent. The city sat calm and quiet with most of its citizens still snuggled in their beds.

  “So what’s up Em?” Jerry asked.

  Emma sat silent, hands between her knees and eye on her boots, feeling shy and a little anxious. She gave herself a good mental shaking. Come on Em, you aren’t ever living in hiding again, remember? Jerry is your friend and he’s not going to make fun of you.

  “While I was unconscious, I had a-a vision. I saw something that’s going to happen to me. I want to tell you about it because I need to talk to someone about it.”

  She sneaked a look at Jerry and saw him gazing at her openly. He hadn’t even raised an eyebrow. He just waited. Bless him.

  She recounted the entire vision and tried to explain the incredible feelings that were attached to it. The peace, the love, the contentment, the relief.

  When she was done she took a deep breath and smiled, still looking at her boots. Wow did she feel better. It was like telling a deep, dark secret.

  “OK.” Was all he said.

  Anger flared in her for a brief second. She stuffed it down and took a deep breath. No shizo feelings for you today Em - he isn’t being a jerk.

  “You probably don’t understand why this is such a big deal to me Jerry, but it is. I can’t make you feel what I felt or see what I saw or know why this is important, but I need you to trust me that it is a huge deal.”

  “But it was just like a dream right? Do you think it’s actually going to happen to you?” Jerry spoke evenly and Emma knew he was keeping incr
edulity out of his voice with effort, so as not to hurt her. He knew damn well how sensitive she was after 5 years of working with her.

  She took another deep breath, looked him square in the face, and said “It is going to happen - I know it. And he will be the man I marry and love forever. My soul-mate.”

  The conviction in her own voice bolstered her confidence. She was doing the right thing, sharing this. It was time to stop being ashamed of who she was, tied up in layers of her own thinking.

  “Oh boy Em, I didn’t even know you were interested in getting married again. I thought Norman had ruined you forever.” Jerry said, his body leaning towards her and his eyes conveying sympathy.

  Emma thought for a moment about what role her hateful ex-husband played in her vision and her future.

  “None!” she said loudly, emphatically.

  Jerry looked startled. “None?”

  “Sorry Jer - I was thinking out-loud. Norman won’t be able to scare this one off. It doesn’t matter what he tries. This one is for real and he is strong-minded enough to give Norman what-for. He won’t believe anything Norman says.”

  “How do you know that Em?”

  “Because, in the vision I had a full and complete sense of him. It’s hard to explain, but I knew him. I wasn’t just reacting to what he was doing.”

  Emma saw the confusion in Jerry’s eyes and tried a different tactic.

  “Jerry, when you think of me, what do you think of?”

  Jerry thought for a second. “Well, I think of my friend who always has my back, who is the best damn paramedic I know, who thinks too much and is too hard on herself, who has a hard time letting go but is still more fun than anybody else I know.”

  Emma nodded. “That’s how I feel about you too. And when I see you or think of you, a sense of fully knowing who you are and your relationship to me fills my senses - almost like how I can think of a strawberry and know what it would look like, smell like, taste like, and feel like.”

  Jerry looked at her thoughtfully and grinned ever so slightly.

  “That’s how I felt about this guy in the vision. I knew who he was. I knew how he felt about me. I knew how we got along. I had a picture in my mind of who we were together. I know he wouldn’t fall for any of Norman’s crap.”