Chapters Twenty-One to Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-One

Love and life are topsy-turvy my mother always says, and a volatile relationship such as mine and Carrie's, certainly was. I rarely knew whether I was coming or going. After the Uncle Al's incident, I thought I was done for, but it was not to be the case yet.

One afternoon, Tom and I got called into the office. That was rarely a good thing. Usually it was Tom getting us into trouble. While he was an awesome medic in the skill and medicine sense, his bedside manner left much to be desired, that and his quick temper, which often spurred complaints from nurses, police, firefighters, anyone who got in his way or challenged him.

Ned Martinson sat us both down, and with a very stern look on his face, said, "Gentlemen explain yourselves."

"I didn't do it," Tom said. "I categorically deny everything."

"I was there the whole time," I said. "I never saw any of it."

Ned smiled. "You two kill me, you really do. If we didn't need cars on the road, you both would have been ridden out of here long ago. Higgins for your general attitude, and you Tim for being Hear no Evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil. Someday you are going to get us in a lot of trouble, but today, you've both gotten a temporary Get out of Jail Free Card."

Tom and I looked at each other quizzically.

"That's right, a surprise. I don't have you in here to paddle your backsides. We just got notice from the Governor's office, you're getting both Lifesaver Awards for the Collins Street Fire. I know you were out of your assigned area when you happened to spot the fire, but people's lives were saved, and the city is going to recognize you for it."

Tom had a big grin on his face. He turned and we slapped high-fives. He put his feet up on Ned's desk. Ned walked around and knocked them out. "Don't get carried away. All this means is you’re staying employed until the banquet, unless you really fuck up."

"What banquet?" Tom asked.

The state is holding an awards banquet, and you each, as well as a date are invited, along with me, my wife, and the boss and his misses.

"A date?" Tom said. "How am I going to decide who to take? They are all going to want to go."

"That's your problem."

Tom looked at me. Since you've been back with hand, maybe you can give up your date to me. I know two women who don't mind sharing me."

"Please, I don't even want to hear it," Ned said.

"No," I said.

"Who are you going to take? Your mother?"

"He can if he wants," Ned said. "And the other thing you should know is the guest speaker will be the Vice President of the United States."

"Woo," Tom said. "That might move my date into Doctor territory."

"You obviously will all have to be on your best behavior. I'll need to know in advance, who you’re bringing so we can get security clearances. Let me know by next Friday. That will be all."


Tom kept hitting on me to give up my seat, and while I committed nothing, I was considering it. As much as I knew my mother would like to go, I didn't want people to think I couldn't get a date. I hadn't talked to Carrie in three weeks. She would never pick up the phone when I called, and I didn't think Vicki from Uncle Al's would go, though I ran through the scenario briefly in my mind. I'd go down to Uncle Al's, she'd come over give me a lap dance, ask me where I'd been, and I’d say, I'd been too busy saving lives to stop by. And she’d say why don't you come in the back and tell me about it. And then instead of giving her $80, I'd show her the invitation, and instead of me walking out alone five minutes later with my head down, I'd come out carrying her in my arms. We'd walk right past Jimmy, and she'd say, "Jimmy I quit. I got a new man now." I'd carry her down to my car, as all the patrons would stand and applaud, and together we'd drive off, but that's where the fantasy ended because I had nowhere to drive to. My landlord at the boarding house didn't allow visitors, and I didn't even have cash for a hotel because with Carrie out of my life, I'd slowed down my side acquisitions almost entirely.

Not three days later, I got a phone call. It was Carrie.

"I'm surprised to hear from you," I said.

"Well, I've been thinking," she said.

I waited.

"I may have been a little too harsh. I know you were angry."

There was another period of silence. I let her off the hook.

"I've been thinking too," I said. "I tend to overreact and do things I shouldn't."

More silence. She was waiting for me now.

"I shouldn't have done what I did."

"You're right, you shouldn't have."

Now I waited for her. I needed another concession from her before I poured my heart out.

"I'm willing to give you...give us another chance."

"I'd like that," I said. "I've missed you."

"And I've missed you."

That night, I was hearing her love cries and she was hearing mine. The passion of making up is one of the great joys in life. I made love like a man famished, like a man who was worried he would never have the opportunity to eat again, and was now at lavish all-you-can-eat-buffet, but not quite so secure that he wasn't worried the waiter might not grab him by the scruff of the neck and drag him out through him through a side exit. Carrie's lovemaking seemed a little more restrained except when she got into the actual physical heat of it. She was a very sexual creature.

When we lay exhausted after our second effort, the first being followed only by the briefest interlude because at that young age I needed very little rest before my enthusiasm was renewed, she looked at me, and said, "So what's new with you?"

"Same old stuff," I said, intending to hold off on my real news for a little bit so as not to make it seem I was too excited about it. Nonchalance was good I had decided.

"I heard you won some kind of award," she said. "What's that all about?"

It was starting to come clear now. Maybe I was paranoid, but I knew her well. This was the prize that brought me back to her arms. That was okay. Better to be on the ins than back in my single bed alone. I spilled.

"You want to go with me?" I asked, after I'd told her everything.

"I'd love to," she said. "Are you going to be wearing that dashing tuxedo of yours?"

"Oh, no, I'll be in dress uniform. It means I'll have to shine my boots, and the company's going to give us ties to wear."

"What do you think I should wear then?"

"You look nice in everything."

"I should probably get a new dress. I'd like to look good for you. I suppose they'll be taking lots of pictures. We might even get on TV with the Vice-President coming."

When she said that, my suspicions were confirmed. I had never mentioned the Vice-President.

The next day, another drug dealer was gunned down on Lawrence Street. I bought Carrie her new dress.

Chapter 22

Tom had taken the day off so I was just working BLS with a new employee. We got called for a person screaming in Stowe Village, which was one of the housing projects, and was probably the worst of them.

We happened to be close by, heading south on Main Street just having crossed the Hartford line from Windsor, where we'd returned a gorked out old man to a nursing home. We banged a quick right up Kensington Street and we were out. We could hear the howling from the parking lot. We ran up the stairs, and there was a crowd of neighbors around an open door, and what was spooky was they were quiet, not yelling and causing a commotion like you normally saw in the projects. We pushed through the door, and in the dim light of the apartment, a room that smelled like rotten hamburger and marijuana, a crying woman lay on her knees holding something tight to her. I saw two men on the sofa, who looked to be sleeping. A TV was on soundless. I stepped closer and saw it was a child, not bigger than an infant. "What's going on?" I asked.

The woman didn't even look at me; she just continued wailing.

I stepped nearer. The child did not appear to be moving. I put a hand on her shoulder, which was rocking. "May I see the child?"

She looked up at me then. She was thin, emaciated – with the wild eyes of a crack addict. She handed me the baby. It was cold and stiff – lifeless as a doll.

"Oh fuck, oh, fuck," I must have said. I looked at my partner and he looked scared shitless. The people in the door were looking at me. They seemed to see now what I held.

"Is he alive?” “That baby dead” “Do something! Do something!"

I raised the baby to my mouth and kissed its cold lips, blowing in air, but the baby was as stiff as a plastic doll. I started toward the door, relieved to see two police officers cutting through the crowd. They saw my terror.

"I'm going to Saint Francis," I said. I was kissing the baby and moving my fingers on its dead chest.

"That baby dead. He dead! Run boy! Run. Help that baby! Help that baby! Fucking crack head mother! She should be in jail!"

I went through the crowd and out to the ambulance. My partner, shaking visibly, got in the back to help me, but I just said, "Dude, just drive, drive fast!"

I didn't even know what I was doing. The baby was dead, beyond dead, but there I was breathing air, doing mouth to mouth. I never even grabbed the ambu-bag we had, never put the baby on a board, I was just breathing into a doll, the dead baby's eyes open and lifeless.

We were lucky we even made it to the hospital. My partner was so nervous, he never even turned on the lights, so we were barreling through intersections with just a siren. I came into the ER, holding the baby cradled in my arm, doing CPR and still breathing in its mouth.

The nurse took the baby from me, and laid it on the bed. I kept doing CPR, until she gently eased me away. The doctor looked at the baby, felt its ice cold skin, and looked at me, the tears rolling now down my face. I laid the baby down on the table, and as others gathered around it, I stepped away. A nurse hugged me and I sobbed uncontrollably.

Ten minutes later one of our crews brought in a twenty-one year old man in cardiac arrest from a heroin overdose-- one of the men on the couch. The other was roused with narcan. A third ambulance brought in the mother. Half the police department must have been at Saint Francis. They interviewed me a couple times to ask what I had seen when I got there, but all I could say was the mother was holding the baby and wailing.

The story that came out was most disturbing. The mother had come back from a night out -- a night spent looking for crack, and doing what it took to get it. She'd left her baby with a friend, who'd shot up when his buddy came over. At some point the baby had been sodomized. They apparently hadn't realized why the baby was now quiet.

The day I kept thinking what kind of world did we live in where you could look out at an apartment window and see beautiful office buildings, where people made hundreds of thousands of dollars and drove fancy cars back to their homes in the suburbs, and yet at the same time look around and see poverty, neglect and the results of illiteracy and a broken down social system. I mean what kind of chance did that little girl have? How come we couldn't protect her? I found out Tom and I had revived each of those addicts before. Maybe we should have just let them die. Maybe if we hadn’t done our jobs, that baby would still be alive. Maybe instead of letting crack whores ply their trade in the back of my cab, I should have driven them out to the country, and put a bullet in their heads, and thrown them in a shallow grave. The city would be terrorized by the prostitute killer, but that baby would have had to have gone through what it did. Maybe the fear of the prostitutes I didn’t kill would send them running for a convent. Hardly likely. The rock was too strong. And people without hope had no chance against it. But how could we give them hope? If a baby in a mother’s arms couldn’t do it, what could a country do? These questions tormented me.

**

Carrie’s dress was gorgeous -- long and sleeveless, a chiffon blue that matched her eyes. The dress hid her rounding figure and yet showed off her ample cleavage.

The event was held at the Sky view Ballroom out near the airport due to security for the Vice-President. He was running late so they held us out in the hallway for two hours. It was baking hot, the air conditioning wasn't working, but at least they had an open bar. Carrie made the most of that. I think she felt nervous on account of how good looking Tom's girlfriend was. Tall, slender blonde. A skinny bitch, as Carrie used to call that type. She started in with her talking and her voice got really loud, and I had to shush her a few times. After that, I gave up. I figured what the hell after awhile. I didn't want to put her down in public, and besides, the company owner seemed to be enjoying looking at her boobs too much. He'd look down at her cleavage, then look at me and give me a wink like I was okay, like boy I must have fun sticking my nose in there.

I was doing my best to keep smiling and show her a good time, but I was distracted and feeling out of sorts due to the baby call I had done. In the back of my mind I was formenting a plan to talk to the vice-president about my day. I was going to ask him about the world that let something like that happen, I was going to be the voice of that little girl. All the free drinks, and the fancy dinner they were going to serve, and at the same time there were more little girls out there right now in that city and in cities all over the country, someone needed to help them. I mean what was the point of patting ourselves on the backs as supposed heroes when we couldn't even help a baby like that.

They finally let us in, after making us go through metal detectors. All the badges and buttons people wore, they were having to do those hand held detectors. We sat at a table near the back. The Vice-President showed and gave a short speech, reading from a teleprompter, while cameras from all the networks filmed. They had the twenty of us who were getting awards, get in a line, and we came up as our name was called, and then hung medals around our necks. It didn't look like I would have a chance to say anything. The Governor shook my hand, and then the Vice-President shook my hand, and then another guy – I think he was a Congressman – put a medal around my neck as I smiled and nodded.

Carrie gave me a kiss when we got back to the table. Ned and the boss shook my hand. The Vice-President left as soon as he’d hung the last medal, walking out with fingers flashing the peace sign, and then the Congressman made a long windy speech that I don’t remember anything from I was so caught up in my thoughts. I just sat there quiet while Carrie yapped away and sucked down the wine like it was water. I just kept thinking I had let that little baby girl down. I should have grabbed the mike, and said, Listen people, listen people, there’s something bad going on out in our streets, something real bad. I imagined them all listening, and then behind me a video playing of sights from the streets, while Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On? Came over the sound system. And maybe I sang karoke along with it, or maybe I sang just like Marvin, deep and soulful, and still being a white guy. And the whole world would change, at least until investigative reporters dug into the life of the man who dared stand up for children in front of the government muckety-mucks, and they would discover that I was a common thief, and instead of being praised, I would be shamed, hounded by the press, and even common people. Barked at by dogs, kids would point their fingers at me and taunt. And I would leave, forever a phariah.

Driving home, Carrie wore my medal around her neck. I said nothing as I drove.

She attacked me as we came in the door, and I went along with it, by my mind was still off somewhere else. As soon as she had her orgasm, she lay forward on the ottoman and passed out. I got up and went to the bathroom, and she was there on her knees, head asleep on the ottoman, snoring. I put a blanket on her, turned on the TV to mute and sat on the couch. She got up, said she was dizzy, as she made her way to the bathroom, and then I heard her puking. When I checked on her in the bathroom, it was coming out both ends. I got her in the shower and cleaned her off, then made her drink water and take some Tylenol, then carried her, dragged her to her bedroom, when I tucked her in, and stuck a teddy bear in her arms, and pulled the sheet up to her shoulder. I made certain she was on her side, so if she puked in her sleep, she wouldn't choke.

I went out and sat on the porch and stayed there till the sun came up.

Chapter Twenty-Three

My mom called me. "I saw you on TV," she said.

It was early in the morning and I had worked till two the previous night. "Was that the accident out on 84? It was pretty spectacular, but no one was hurt."

"No, no, you're in a commercial. They have you getting the medal. You look so handsome."

"What are you talking about? Slow down. I'm not even awake yet."

"You know Senator Bellow. They have him putting the medal around your neck. You're in his commercial. You know he's running for election. They have this symphony type music and pictures of people and the flag and it’s very inspiring, and you’re in it. I saw it twice already. Do you think you can get me a copy or I suppose I could just keep the tape in the VCR and hit it when it comes on next, but the VCR isn't recording so well. I really need a new one."

"Mom, mom, mom. I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Didn't you know you were going to be in his commercial? I'm so proud of you. It’s like my son is a movie star. I can't wait to go to work and hear what everyone says."

"Look, I'm going back to bed."

"Okay, honey. I'm sorry to disturb your sleep. You need your rest. You know you're my little, I mean my big hero."

”Okay, okay."

"I love you, Timmy."

"I love you too mom, now I'm going back to bed."

When I got into work, I heard more of the same. They hit me as soon as I walked in the crew room.

"Hey, it’s Mr. Big Shot."

"What are you doing here? I heard you were going to be on Third Watch? and then making a movie with Bruce Willis called Die Hard and Do-fuss. Just kidding? What did they pay for that?"

"I don't know what anyone is talking about," I said. "And nobody paid me anything."

"Honoring heroes, fighting for freedom."

"Hey, my sister is having trouble with her Social Security, maybe you can put in a call to your friend."

"Yeah, I'm having trouble with the IRS, maybe you can make them go away."

I just collected my ambulance keys, and portable radio. "I know nothing," I said.

It continued all day. At the hospital on scenes.

"There's America's hero," a police officer said when we pulled up on scene where a drunk lay on his side, an empty bottle of Listerine in his hand. "Where's the TV camera's? Oh, wait they're waiting for you to actually fucking save someone."

"I don't know anything," I said.

Tom was miffed he wasn't in the shot. "You're telling me, they didn't pay you. Did you pay them? That's the only way I can see they would put your ugly mug up there and not mine."

We were on scene in an elderly apartment complex, Betty Know Village near Saint Francis. A visiting nurse was there and her patient, an eighty-three year old woman wasn't responding. Tom was checking her sugar. It was 44. I was spiking the bag of fluid to hang while he put in an IV so he could give her some glucose to wake her up when I saw the ad come on the TV during a commercial break from the soap opera.

"Senator Joe Bellow, fighting for Connecticut..."

They showed an energetic Senator in front of a podium with a flag in the background.

"Helping the elderly..."

He smiled as he assisted an elderly woman into a door

"Fighting for the young,"

A shot of him in a classroom,

"Honoring America's hometown heroes...”

And there he was putting a medal on my bowing head. I wasn’t on there but a second. Blink and you would miss me.

”Joe Bellow, always there for you and for America.”

A picture of the man gazing off into the distance, the flag furling behind him. Three fighter jets shot though the sky.

"I need that line," Tom said.

"Just a minute, sorry."

I fumbled to finish spiking the bag, while Tom waited impatiently. I finally got the line flushed and handed it to him, then got the D50 out of his yellow med kit. He pushed the thick syrupy medicine through the line, and within a minute the woman was waking up, as Tom was saying "Good Morning."

My Dad called me that night. Now he and I generally don't speak. I took my mother's side in their dispute, though I recognized that he had had a hard go. She was no easy person to live with, and he had needs of his own, much less take care of hers, but that's what a husband and father are supposed to do. They divorced when I was six. He lived in Enfield now and worked part-time as a gas station attendant. He was eighty percent disabled due to an accident at the mechanic's garage where he worked. "How can you support that fuck? His office has been giving me the run-around for years on my disability. He's a fuck who doesn't give a shit about anything but himself."

"They didn't ask me," I said. "They just used my picture."

"Well, you can sue him then. Sue him for a lot. I'll give you the number of my lawyer. It'll show him right. They didn't give you any cash prize for getting that medal?Did they? By the way, congratulations. You're mother told me; I just didn't get around to calling."

"Thanks," I said. "I just got the medal."

Carrie thought I should sue, too. "He's gaining from your heroism, and he didn't do anything. He should have to pay you. Maybe you can get a settlement because they don't like bad press? Just have a lawyer call him up and say, we're going to sue you for a million dollars, but then he can settle for maybe fifty thousand. They'll just cut you a check you go away. And then we can get married, go on like a two week Hawaii vacation or something like that. We can use the rest for a down payment on a condo of our own."

"You'd want to do that?"

"Well, I'm not getting any younger."

I fell into a stunned silence.

“But maybe you’re not the marrying type,” Carrie said, her tone suddenly becoming biting.

“I don’t think you can say that.”

“My friend Sherry at work got engaged this week,” she said. “She’s got the biggest ring. It positively glistens. I could see it all the way from the Xerox machine. Her boyfriend spent seven thousand dollars.”

“Seven thousand dollars! You’re shitting me.”

“No, seven thousand isn’t so much for a wedding ring. It shows he loves her. It’s a symbol of their love she can look at for the rest of their lives. He worked six months overtime to pay for it – that’s true love. I’d like to have a man like that someday, someone who thinks about the future.”

“I think about the future all the time.”

She laughed. “All you think about is your job. Besides, I think you make up half those stories anyway.”

“I’m no bull shitter.”

“You say you love me when you’re grunting and sweating all over me, but I don’t see nothing on my finger.”

“Remind me to buy some Cracker Jack next time I go to the store.”

She knocked my hand away from her breast again. ”I think you need to grow up.”

“I was just joking. I thought we were teasing, having a good time.”

“I’m twenty-six years old and I need to start getting serious about my future and who I will be spending it with.”

"You're not wasting your time with me, I'll guarantee that. I will surprise you."

She just grunted.

I admit I was confused. One day I thought she loved me, the next she was somewhat miserable toward me, which I guess was just her moods. This was the first she had mentioned marriage. As much as it was an end that I desired, I was by no means ready, not with her.

She caught my reaction. "I really don't care what the fuck you do. It's your life. Its just you shouldn't let someone take advantage of you, without getting something in return. That's the way the world works. It’s something I am always aware of. So take that how you may."

***

Ned Martinson called me into his office the next day. "I'm hearing rumblings that you are upset with being in the commercial. I hope you don't do anything stupid to embarrass yourself or the company."

"I'm not doing anything," I said.

"You're not."

"I'm not political myself, but my mother is proud of me."

"She doesn't know you like we do."

I just looked at him, coldly. I know he was trying to make a joke."

"Well, anyone tries to get you to anything stupid like complain about being it, don't. It's advertising for the company, and for you. You never know when an important person can help you out. They can certainly make life miserable for you if you cross them. Besides, everyone who went to the banquet signed a release agreeing to be photographed."

"Like I said, I'm not doing anything."

"You know, deserved or not, you are something of a role model. You need to uphold that. You shouldn’t be doing anything that might embarrass that. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“All right. Well, get back on the road then."

The whole episode sort of soured me in general. The way I felt about politicians was no one cared about anyone but themselves, and that was sort of the way I felt about people. Everyone looked out for number one. Me, I just wanted to go through my day and be left alone.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I have the name of a lawyer, if you want to call one,” Carrie said. “I really think it’s worth a shot, at least talking with someone.”

“Not going to happen,” I said. “I’m a role model, and …”

“You shouldn’t let them take advantage of you.”

“Not going to happen.”

“But…”

“End of discussion.”

She put on that pouting face, but I had had enough. I just wanted it to go away.

“Where are we going to dinner tonight?”

“Let’s just get Chinese and eat in,” I said.

“Chinese. That’s all we ever do.”

“I’m running a little tight on dough lately.”

“All the more reason to call the lawyer. You don’t get many opportunities to get a quick payday.”

“No.”

“Well, I don’t want Chinese.”

I was tired of listening to here, but I didn’t want to argue. “Tell me where you want to go.”

“Red Lobster is having a shrimp special. You say it in TV. All you can eat. Only $14.99.”

“Fine, whatever,” I said.

“Don’t get huffy with me.”

“No, I’m just tired.”

“All the more reason to have a good meal,” she said.

So we went out and I ate bologna at work the rest of the week.

Being a role model, sort of curtailed my activities.

We did a presumption of an old man, who died at his desk while playing with his coin collection. He had some old silver dollars on his desk that probably would have fetched some money at coin dealers, but I could just see how it looked in the papers. Decorated hero caught stealing silver dollars from old dead guy. And a picture of me being led away in handcuffs, my head bowed. I doubted Carrie would visit me in jail, or bake me a cake with a file in it. She’d dump me like the stale bread they’d be serving me, stale bread and alphabet soup with the only five letters in it. L-O-S-E-R.

“When are you going to bring your girlfriend over for dinner?” my mom asked. “How about for Thanksgiving. Are you doing anything then?”

“I’m working that day, mom.”

“You can’t get Thanksgiving off to spend with your family?”

“Someone has to work on Thanksgiving. People don’t stop having heart attacks and strokes or stabbing people because all the EMTs are home eating turkey with their families.”

“But it’s your family.”

“I can come by and have Thanksgiving breakfast.”

“What if we start dinner at noon?”

“No, I go in at ten. You get double time and half on Thanksgiving too, and I need the money.”

“You don’t have to contribute to the slot fund that week. Besides, you work so much as it is. You need a rest.”

“Can’t do it, Mom.”

“Well, at least bring her over some night. Check with her on what a good night is and we’ll set it up. I’ll do lasagna.”

“Okay, but she’s busy too.”

“Are you embarrassed about your mother?”

“No, no, not at all. Its just I’m so busy.”

I don’t know why I didn’t bring Carrie over. When we first started going out I would have loved to show her off, but now with the cutting comments she often made, I didn’t want to risk having her on bad behavior in front of my mom. Carrie was going through some family issues of her own. Like mine, her dad had left her and her mom when she was young and her mother was very cold and had never shown her much affection. Now she was on psych meds, and causing Carrie lots of problems, always needing her to help out with things, but never thanking her. Carrie was feeling very used.

I was only going over there now two nights a week, because she had things she needed to do with her mother or extra projects from work, she had just gotten a promotion, which she labeled as more work for the same pay. I didn’t mind. I just worked longer hours myself, trying to earn money the old fashioned way – good old long hard work.

Chapter Twenty-Five

857 was sent to the corner of Main and Hudson for an unresponsive/possible ETOH. Tom and I were bored so we headed in that direction to back them up in case they needed a medic. They were on the other side of the ambulance when we pulled up. Tom’s cell phone rang then and since it was one of the girls he was after, he took the call, and told me to come get him only if the other crew needed him. see if they needed him and to let him know. I got out and went around the ambulance just in time to see Fred pop the man in the nose with his fist. His partner pulled him off before he could hit him again, and I rushed to block the man’s friend from jumping on Fred.

“That ain’t right! That ain’t right!” the man protested.

“You saw him. He came at me,” Fred said.

I could tell by his partner’s eyes that Fred was not blameless.

“Calling you a dickhead, ain’t no reason for you to punch a defenseless man.”

I looked at the man on the ground. His nose was spattered wide open. He reeked of alcohol.

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll take care of you, too,” Fred said.

“Get in the front,” I said. “Right now. Get up there.”

I couldn’t believe Fred. I’d seen his temper, but not like this.

I think maybe he realized what he’d done because he let me bully him away from the other man who was calling for the police now.

“Jack will stick by me,” Fred said. “Jack will tell him.”

I worked with Jack to get the man up and on the stretcher. A police car was already coming down the street at a slow crawl, and the other drunk was flagging him down.

We had the man in the back and had staunched the bleeding from his nose. The cop wanted to know what the story was.

“He popped him right in the face, hit a defenseless man,” the other drunk said to the officer, who held up his hand, and said, “Just back off.”

“ETOH,” I said. “He was a little combative, and fell on his face. He’s okay, just a bloody nose. They’re taking him to Hartford, you want to catch them there.” I stepped out and tried not to be too obvious about standing between the cop and his view of the patient. “I was just helping them out.”

The cop looked like he knew something was up, but he didn’t look like he wanted to follow it up.

“I’m making a complain,” the drunk said. “I am making a complaint.”

“You can call this number,” I said, and gave him the supervisor’s phone. “That’s our supervisor. He’ll investigate.”

“Investigate my ass. I want the police and the state investigating. This is cold blooded wrong.”

The cop ended up getting a statement from me, then went up to the hospital to interview Fred and his partner.

“What the fuck was that all about?”” Tom asked when I got back in the rig, finally hanging up his phone call.

“You don’t want to know,” I said. “Fred popped a drunk and his buddy told the cop.”

“Did he pop him good?”

“Broke his nose.”

“Did he deserve it?”

“Probably not, but...”

“Well, he’s a drunk, his story will be no good, but someone has to talk to Fred. He’s giving us a bad name. He’s wound to tight these days.”

The supervisor came down to the hospital and suspended Fred on the spot. He talked to me and to Jack, Fred’s partner, and I told him I hadn’t seen anything, but said the man was drunk and combative and probably did slip.

When the supervisor told Fred he could go home, Fred cursed him up a load and gave him the finger as he walked away. I thought for certain he’d be fired, but he wasn’t

The next day, while Tom and I sat in our ambulance on a street corner, Fred showed up in his private car and tried to get Tom to get the union to appeal his suspension. “Appeal? You’re lucky you haven’t lost your cert, you crazy psycho. You need to just chill the fuck out,” he said.

“Com’on, he was just a fucking drunk!”

“Com’on, you’re a fucking EMT! You’re not supposed to hit people, drunk or not.”

“You’re the union President, you’re supposed to represent me.”

“Listen for all the crap I have pulled, I don’t come close to representing you. You want your union dues back? I’ll take a collection. People will be happy to donate to get you gone from our brotherhood. Here’s five dollars. That’s my donation. Now get fucking lost!” And he rolled up the automatic window.

Fred just stood there like he had been slapped, then head down, he walked back to his car. He sat in there with his head on the wheel. It looked like his body was shaking.

**

A couple nights later, we were at the Brickyard sitting at the bar. Fred had exiled himself from the merriment. Though he hadn’t worked that day due to his continuing suspension, he still wore his work pants and boots, along with his EMS in the Jungle tee-shirt.

“At least you’re standing by me,” he said. “Still it ain’t right.”

He nodded up at the TV. They were showing over and over again the video tape of US troops pulling down Saddam’s statue. “I should be fucking there, beating some Iraqi Al Queda Slurpy head instead of stuck fucking here.”

“Count your blessings. You’re alive. You still have your job.”

“I don’t fit the profile. That’s what they fucking told me. They were so happy when I walked in to sign the papers. I just had to get a physical, take a couple tests -- all routine. Then they fucking tell me I don’t fit the profile. Hell, they let that guy who killed those two fucking clerks go and they don’t let me.”

“But after they found out he killed those people, they put him in jail.”

“He had a gun charge. I don’t have any gun charges.”

“I feel bad for you.”

“I’m willing to kill. Why won’t they take me? They said I was unstable. How could you send someone stable? You need someone whose not going to hesitate. You get fucking ambushed. Pow! I’d shoot first, answer questions later. That’s the kind of guy you need. I’m perfect. Now all this bullshit with the state – that’s not going to help. I’m done for good now.”

“At least no one is shooting at you. You’re safe here.”

“Tonight, instead of being here, I’d be at Saddam’s Palace. There’s going to be a party there, you better believe that. It’ll be like a James Bond type orgy. The big round bed surrounded by a moat, fountains coming out of the wall, mirrors on the ceiling. You can better believe we’d be raiding the liquor cabinet and the woman – all those horny pent up Iraqi women -- haven’t had it in so long. Well, off come the veils! Talk about a strip tease. I’d be fucking there in the middle of it.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? Huh! This was going to be my moment. I mean talk about topping that story. You’d all be sitting here around the bar and looking up at the TV. And there’d be old Fred pulling down the statute, and then flashing you all the peace sign. You’d have to wait for the video of “Girls! Girls! Girls! Iraq!” to see the party of course, but I’d be there front and center. Instead here I am here drinking with you. Life isn’t fair sometimes.”

“I guess not,” I said.

Chapters Twenty-Six to Thirty