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I watched the door slam shut behind Alaina, and I felt stunned. How could she walk out on me like that after what we’d just experienced together? Was I going crazy? I thought we were on the mend and that we’d put her jealousy over Stacia behind me.
In retrospect, I suppose I shouldn’t have brought up my ex immediately after sex, but I didn’t think of Stacia that way anymore. I was talking about the case, not about the woman. At the end of the day, Alaina and I were still partners on this arson investigation.
I took her chiding to heart and decided to go downtown to file a report. There wasn’t much I could do about the fact that Alaina was angry with me, but at least I could dot my i's and cross my t’s.
It was a gesture, one that I hoped she would appreciate in the morning when she had a chance to calm down. Hopefully I could find some midnight clerk who would be willing to pass information on to Alaina when she got into work the next day. Then she would see that I was taking the case seriously. Of all the fucked-up accusations, that one really stung.
She wasn’t the only one who was personally involved in the manhunt for Silvio. I cared just as much about the people he was putting in harm’s way. If it wasn’t for him, who knows how my life might have turned out? I might have been happily married or at least less wounded than I was at the current moment.
Grabbing my shirt and stepping into my sweatpants, I laced up my shoes and left the apartment. On the way downtown, I tried not to revisit my argument with Alaina, but it was a losing battle.
She was so hot and so frustrating at the same time. It seemed like whenever things were going smoothly between us, there was always something new to interrupt the flow. I found the police station and parked out front. There were only a few cruisers in the parking lot, and only one light on over the door.
I pounded on the entrance to get someone’s attention. Finally, an intercom to the left of the door beeped. “The building is closed.”
“I have information about a case,” I said.
“You can call the tipline,” the box replied.
“I’d rather file a report,” I insisted.
“I’m sorry—” the voice began again.
“Listen,” I cut in. “I’m the head arson investigator on the Silvio Rossi case. I have information that can’t wait.”
“Just one moment.” The intercom seemed to be relenting.
About five minutes later, a young man opened the door. He was dressed in a uniform that didn’t look like it had seen any battles. He showed me into the front office where there were a few desk jockeys busily hunched over computers.
“This way,” the young man said.
We bypassed the hallway to the K-9 unit, going straight for an interrogation room. Once inside, the officer picked up a tablet from the table before offering me a seat. I went over everything that I had learned from Stacia, making sure to be very clear about what she had and hadn’t said.
It felt ridiculous. What was I doing here so late at night, talking to a stranger instead of waiting until morning when I could speak to the actual investigators on the case? Alaina and her chief were the only people who really knew what was going on. I realized I was there out of spite. I wanted Alaina to come in the next morning and see that I’d done what she asked, no matter how stupid. The report was just going to sit there until she read it anyway. There was absolutely no point in telling this rookie what I had discovered.
“Is that everything?” the young man asked, looking tired.
“That’s everything,” I confirmed.
“Okay, we’ll pass this along,” he said succinctly.
I thanked him and left but didn’t immediately go back to my apartment. I was feeling amped up and in no mood to sleep. I thought about going out for a beer, but it was approaching closing time for all the local bars, and I didn’t want to deal with the clientele at that hour.
So I went to the fire house. The guys on shift barely noticed me. I went up to my office to pour over the case notes. I added Mike’s name to the wall of information, feeling like I was at least doing something to move the project further along.
When I got tired, I just crashed on one of the cots in the dorm. It had my name on it, and though I wasn’t on the clock, I felt free to use it. I managed to get a few hours of sleep before people started stirring.
I woke up, stretched, and sat up to find Elliot standing over me.
“I didn’t know you were on call,” he said.
“I wasn’t,” I responded.
“Did you have a fight with Alaina?” he surmised.
“No,” I lied.
“Then why’d you spend the night here?” Elliot asked, not letting me off the hook.
“Okay,” I agreed, standing up to make my bed. “Yes, we had a fight.”
“Over what?” Elliot asked. He had his toiletries bag in his hands and was clearly on his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
Mine was in the cubby above my bed, and I reached for it, joining him in the upstairs bathroom. Someone was in the shower with the curtain drawn, but I didn’t care. All those guys were like my brothers. Whatever I felt comfortable confiding in Elliot, I was comfortable with the rest of them knowing.
“She thinks I’m hung up on Stacia,” I said.
“Are you?” Elliot asked pointedly.
“No,” I snapped, sticking the toothbrush in my mouth and scrubbing like crazy.
“She must have gotten it from somewhere,” Elliot mused.
“I did bring it up right after sex,” I admitted.
The person in the shower laughed, and I could tell right away that it was Patrick.
“Shut up, man,” I told him.
“Rookie mistake,” Patrick called back. “Never mention another woman’s name within two hours of doing the deed.”
“Is that what kids are calling it nowadays?” I grumbled.
“He’s not wrong,” Elliot said, plugging in his razor.
“It’s just so fucking complicated,” I complained, spitting and rinsing my mouth. I checked my own chin and saw that there was a shadow from the day before, but I didn’t feel like shaving. “I wasn’t thinking about Stacia, I was thinking about the case.”
“How does Stacia relate to the case?” Elliot wondered.
“I can’t tell you that,” I said with a sigh.
“Can you tell Alaina?” Patrick asked, his voice resonating from the shower.
“Yeah, she knows,” I replied.
“Then just say you’re sorry,” Patrick advised.
“I did,” I responded. “I asked her to marry me.”
“What? Right after you brought up Stacia?” Elliot complained, testing the skin where he had just drawn the razor.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Bad move, bro,” Patrick said, turning the shower off. A towel that was draped over the curtain disappeared, and Patrick stepped out with terrycloth wrapped around his waist. “You need to romance her, man.”
“Yeah, take her somewhere nice.”
“Like a restaurant?” I guessed.
“For starters,” Pat said. “Or like a ballpark or a mountain vista, something more memorable than your bedroom.”
I let air out in a frustrated huff. Women were so difficult. Why couldn’t Alaina see that I cared about her? Why did it matter when I asked her to spend the rest of her life with me? The point was that I wanted her to be my wife; everything else was just window dressing.
“You have much to learn, Padawan,” Pat said, clapping me on the shoulder as he walked past.
I stuck my toothbrush back into its holder and left the bathroom. There was too much going on to worry about the perfect place to propose. Alaina didn’t say no; she just didn’t seem to believe I was serious. Far from making her knees quiver, my proposal had done nothing but make her angry.
I fought to keep my head on straight for most of the morning. Alaina didn’t text like I expected her to. She was probably at work, and she must have seen the report I filed. I was hoping she would call me up and apologize for running out. But that didn’t happen.
Around noon, we got a strange call that took my mind off my own problems for a minute. Dominic came up to my desk with a pink telephone note in his hand. He passed it over, allowing me to read a few short, yet confusing words.
Toe stuck in faucet. Then an address.
“What does this mean?” I asked, handing it back.
“Um, it’s not an emergency,” Dom said, “but some lady needs help.”
“She got her toe stuck in a faucet?” I asked incredulously.
“So it would seem,” Dominic replied.
“Why doesn’t she just use butter or something?” I asked.
“Because her toe is caught in the faucet,” Dominic repeated. It felt like we were speaking two different languages and failing to communicate. “Patrick is going, and I need one other person.”
“Why don’t you go?” I replied, dismissing the outlandish request.
“Because I’m in the middle of inventory,” he said.
“What about Elliot?” I continued searching for a way out.
“Elliot went out for subs,” Dom answered. “It’s you and Pat.”
“Great,” I replied, standing up. I snatched the paper from his hand and walked downstairs. “I’m not taking an engine out for this.”
“We can take my truck,” Pat suggested, hoisting a massive first aid kit out of its locker.
“Shouldn’t the paramedics handle this?” I asked.
“Everyone’s busy, and she asked for the fire department,” Pat responded. “Come on, it’ll give us time to talk.”
“I don’t need time to talk,” I grumbled.
“You’re breaking my heart,” Patrick teased.
I shut up and followed him around back to his pickup truck. He put the first-aid kit in the back and climbed in behind the wheel. I got in the passenger seat, thinking about Alaina and Silvio Rossi. I should be out there chasing down leads, not headed over to rescue some random woman from a ridiculous situation.
“Have you thought about where you’re going to propose?” Patrick started up the wrong conversation.
“No,” I said. “How 'bout those Broncos?”
“Very funny.” Pat gave me a sideways glance. “I’m worried about you. You don’t want to let this one get away.”
“She just needs some time to cool down,” I theorized.
“Okay,” Pat said, and then thankfully fell silent for the rest of the ride.
We pulled up to a house that looked suspiciously familiar. It was a neighborhood street with narrow row houses packed together. There was a tree on one corner that I recognized the moment I saw it.
“Isn’t this the woman who called us to get a cat out of a tree?” I asked.
Patrick parked the car, not responding.
“Pat,” I prompted.
“It can’t be,” he said finally. “It’s someone else on the same block.”
“No, I think it’s the same woman,” I said, the prospect suddenly growing on me.
The woman in question had been beside herself with grief over the cat, desperate for a strong hunk of a firefighter to help rescue it. When Elliot used company equipment to climb up there and retrieve the thing, it had scratched him. Then when Patrick handed the cat over, the woman was all doe-eyed and batting her lashes like some sex-crazed housewife.
I couldn’t help laughing. It felt so good, I doubled over in my seat, letting the delight wash over me at Patrick’s expense. He sat quietly, letting me get my kicks. When I finally came up for air, he looked over, his face stony.
“You finished?”
“Do you think her toe is really stuck in a faucet?” I chuckled.
“If it isn’t, I’m going to charge her with misappropriating taxpayer dollars,” Patrick said, getting out of the truck.
He went around back to get his first aid kit, looking much less confident than he had just moments before. I couldn’t move, I was so entertained. Just when one peal of laughter was finished, another gripped me. It was the best thing to happen to me all day and took my mind completely off my own relationship problems.
“She just needs a strong, handsome man to help her,” I said from inside the car.
“Shut up and get out,” Patrick commanded.
“Oh man, it’s like a porno,” I replied, wiping my eyes.
“If you shoot video, I’ll kill you,” Patrick swore.
“I think I should just wait here and let you get it on,” I suggested.
“Get out of the truck,” Patrick snapped, losing patience.
I sobered up, letting myself out. But I fell victim to several more deep-throated laughs on the walk up to the porch. Patrick rolled his eyes before raising his hand to knock.
“This is the fire department,” he announced. “We’re responding to a call for help.”
“In here!” came a weak voice.
“Oh, man,” I said.
“Shut up,” Patrick growled. I could see he was losing patience, and I tried hard not to let him see how satisfying his discomfort was.
We found the door open, which was yet another thing that made me suspicious that this was all a ruse to get a man delivery. Inside, the home was clean, but there were a little too many knickknacks on the shelves for my taste. We could hear water sloshing around in the downstairs bathroom and headed that way.
“Ma’am?” Patrick called from outside the door.
“It’s open,” she responded.
“Are you decent?” Patrick asked. “There are two of us here.”
I bit my tongue, dying to say something more but knowing I was treading close to the line where Patrick was concerned.
“I can’t get to my towel,” the woman complained.
Patrick looked at me with angry eyes. I shrugged. From what I remembered, the woman wasn’t bad looking, just a little bit older than we were. She wasn’t going to blind us like Medusa if we walked in on her naked.
“Okay, I’m coming in,” Pat said, pushing the door open with a grimace.
I watched his face go from tense to relaxed as he stepped inside. Following closely, I saw the new development. She was in the tub with one foot pressed up to the faucet. But there were bubbles surrounding her, hiding her female parts, making the situation just a little bit more palatable.
“What’s the problem?” Patrick asked, taking a knee beside the tub.
“I got my foot stuck,” the woman said, her eyes never leaving Patrick’s face.
It was almost like I wasn’t there, and my discomfort grew with that realization.
“Hand her the towel,” Patrick instructed.
I did as I was told, fighting to keep a straight face. She glanced up at me momentarily to accept the offering but did nothing to conceal herself. I took up position beside the door like a sentry guarding a bathing queen.
Pat rolled up his sleeve and dipped his hand into the water, releasing the stopper to drain the tub. He took her foot in his hands to examine it, causing her to wince. Patrick looked over without any emotion.
“It’s stuck,” the woman repeated, batting her eyelashes just as she had done before.
Patrick grabbed a bottle of body wash from the side of the tub and squirted some on his hands. Easing the soap up around her toe, he slid her loose from the imagined prison, allowing her foot to drop back into the remaining water.
She turned red and reached for the towel. Patrick picked up his first aid kit and headed for the door. I jumped in front of him, determined to give him the same kind of sage advice he had given me earlier that day.
“You should make sure her ankle isn’t twisted,” I said. “I’ll wait outside.”
Patrick glared at me but turned back to face the aquatic temptress. I let myself out, closing the door and holding my hand to the knob just in case he tried to escape. I heard soft voices through the wooden barrier and hoped that Patrick was taking advantage of the situation. The woman was out of line, but she was pretty.
After a while, I stopped waiting at the door, letting my hand drop and returning to the living room. I sat down on the couch like a guy in a doctor’s waiting room. There were collections of figurines, tiny clocks, and glass bells covering every available surface. Whoever this woman was, she was interesting, that was for sure.
Finally, Patrick emerged, looking satisfied. I got up and followed him out to his truck, eager to learn what he had been up to. He didn’t share, and I didn’t ask. What had started as a joke had the potential to become something romantic, and I didn’t want to interfere.
