I was going to have a firm talk with the dry cleaners—or at least ask them nicely to never do this again.
Alexander took the tie from me then looked at the clock on the wall. “You better hurry. I told them you’d be there by one thirty.”
“Got it. Is there anything else?”
“Yeah.” Alexander twirled the tie around his finger, and as he disappeared into his office, he called out, “Have a good time!”
Chapter 7
Jameson
THE PIERCING SOUND of the firehouse alarm blared overhead, and the dispatcher began to rattle off the details of the emergency call coming through the speakers routed into the break room.
“Ambulance #39, engine #17, truck #91, traffic accident, DuSable Bridge, Michigan Avenue.”
“Aw, fuckin’ hell,” Brumm—one of my crew—grumbled as he shoved back from the table and got to his feet. “How do you have an accident on that bridge?”
“Too busy sightseeing from behind the wheel,” Davis shouted, as we all began to move.
I stuffed the final bite of my Snickers bar into my mouth and hauled ass with the rest of station 73’s crew to the app bay. My turnout gear waited by the cab door of truck #91, where I’d been placed since starting up here, and as I geared up, climbed in, and slammed the door behind me, Olsen—my lieutenant—glanced over his shoulder to check we were all accounted for.
I scanned the cab and gave him a clipped nod, and that was all he needed. He gave Brumm a thumbs-up, and a second later the tires squealed and the sirens were flipped on. As we barreled out of the station, I gripped the bar on the side of the door to make sure I didn’t end up in Lee’s lap.
It’d been a couple of weeks since I’d been offered a permanent position at station 73, and with the time I’d spent as a floater there, I’d been with these guys for a little over a month now. It was a tight-knit group, one that had just lost two of its permanents, and while they clearly missed their previous lieutenant, there was no love lost for the guy whose spot I took.
I didn’t know the details and didn’t really want to. Firehouses were like family, notorious for gossip and oversharing, which wasn’t all that surprising with the amount of time we spent together. But I’d been there and done that, and left the only family I’d ever known behind. I wasn’t going to be adopted by a new one.
This crew was good, though, the best I’d seen in all the months I’d floated. So when Chief Parker offered something permanent, it’d seemed like a no-brainer. I needed work, they needed an extra body, so here I was. I clocked in, did my job, then clocked out.
The truck sped through the bustling streets, maneuvering through the traffic like a well-choreographed dance. Horns honked and the sirens wailed as cars pulled to the side to let the lady in red through.
Brumm rounded the corner onto Michigan Avenue and floored it, and as we flew by the busy sidewalks, I stared out at the tourists and businesspeople making their way through downtown. There was a distinct chill in the air today, but it wasn’t snowing yet. Give it a few more weeks, though, and we would be up to our asses in the white stuff.
As we approached the bridge, I spotted the accident in an instant.
How in the hell…? It seemed the car had somehow jumped the medium, which had a barrier fence running down the middle of it, and then flipped several times. It was right side up now, with the windows smashed in and the roof split open like a tin can, but luckily it appeared to be the only vehicle involved, and the woman inside appeared alive. A fucking miracle.
A large crowd had gathered round and cops were already on scene redirecting traffic and keeping the onlookers at bay. It was still going to be tricky getting in there and getting the job done, though. DuSable Bridge was one of the biggest tourist attractions in the city, and we’d just become an “event.”
Brumm got us up and on the bridge with little effort, which spoke volumes about his experience. We all piled out, and one of the cops on scene met up with us.
“Lieutenant Olsen here. What’ve we got?”
“One passenger, female, has a head wound that I could see, but says nothing else hurts. Her seatbelt’s jammed; the door’s wedged shut.”
“Thanks. We’ve got her from here.” As the cop went back to redirecting nosy onlookers, Olsen turned to the rest of us. “Okay, everyone, listen up. Brumm, I want you on the door with Jameson; grab the iron and jaws. Davis and Lee, you come with me. We have one victim and the entire city’s eyes on us. Let’s do this right and get her out safely.”
With that little pep talk done with, we all nodded and moved into action. Brumm and I ran over to the driver’s side, where I crouched down and peered inside to see a woman pinned in her seat. She had several cuts on her face and blood trickling down the side of her temple.
“Hey there. I’m Clarke and this is Brumm. What’s your name?”
“Rhonda.”
“Okay, Rhonda, we’re going to help you get out of here today. Sound good?”
Her eyes watered as she blinked at me. “Yeah.”
“First things first, can you tell me if you’re hurt anywhere other than your head?”
She swallowed. “I…I don’t think so. But I can’t get the belt off.”
“Don’t you worry about that. We’ll take care of it and you.” At the sound of someone behind me, I turned to see Stevie—our EMT—with a C-collar in hand. “Stevie here is going to secure your neck, and then Brumm and I will work on getting you out.”
I stepped aside to let Stevie do her thing, and then Brumm and I moved back in. Brumm lodged one of the irons into the jammed door, and once he’d made an opening, he stepped aside to let me at it with the jaws.
It didn’t take long after that. The door was removed, the belt freed, then Rhonda was moved to a stretcher and transported to the closest hospital. All in all, it was a successful rescue, and if the rest of the day went like that, I wouldn’t complain one little bit.
“WELL, SHE’S NOT gonna forget her first trip to Chicago anytime soon.” Davis pulled his helmet off as the truck rumbled to a stop in the app bay.
We hadn’t been out long, maybe twenty minutes, during which we’d managed to extract her safely and get her in the ambulance and headed to a hospital. Thank God for the hydraulics, was all I could say. They got us into a crumpled tin car within minutes, and gave our victims the best opportunity of survival.
“I know, right?” Brumm said as we all climbed out of the truck. “Hope that photo she took of the river came out nice and clear.”
As the guys talked amongst themselves, I shrugged out of my bunker jacket and hooked it over one of the truck’s handles.
“If it didn’t,” Olsen said, clapping Brumm on the shoulder, “I hope she decides to do a walking tour of the bridge for her next attempt.”
“No shit.”
Everyone headed into the firehouse, and I followed behind, keeping to myself. But when I went to head off toward the dorms, Olsen called my name.
“Yes, lieutenant?”
“Come on, Clarke, you know it’s Olsen around here.”