A SIMPLE CASE OF ARSON

by Susan Quick

"So...why did you burn McConnikee's hat?" --Roy DeSoto

"Wouldn't you?" --Capt. Hank Stanley

"Put your back into it, Hank, I wanna be able to see the shine."

"Yes, sir," Hank answered sullenly, drawing his cloth in tighter and tighter circles against the red paint. He felt his tormenter's impassive gaze on his back, watching...observing...waiting for that single tiny mistake.

Hank hated being corrected, but as a concession to his mother, he would never talk back to his father. Dad's career in the service only brought him home for a few days at a time, days which Hank found his stomach doing flip-flops. For Mom, though, it was different--these were her happiest days. Luckily, Dad still had to make the almost daily commute from their home in Falls Church to Fort Belvoir Army Base near DC when he was state-side, which gave Hank a reprieve during the hot summer months in Northern Virginia; unfortunately, it left him without a car on weekdays. Since today was Sunday, however, Dad had stayed home to go to church with Mom and work on some of the household maintenance that had accrued since his last tour of duty. So, if Hank worked extra hard, he knew his dad might let him use the car for his date tonight.

Hank leaned into the work as he thought about his girlfriend Emily, breathing a bit easier as he saw his father walk away out of the corner of his eye. Earlier that morning, he had made tentative plans to take her to a new movie playing at Tysons Corner.

Emily lived in an upscale development off of Old Dominion Road in McLean, which was just a hop and a skip from the Stanleys' home in Falls Church. They met at a basketball game almost four years ago. Hank's team at George Mason High, the Mustangs, was playing the McLean Highlanders, and Em had been one of the cheerleaders for the opposing team. Hank always seemed to have two left feet back then, especially during the worst of the growth spurts. He'd tripped right into her with three seconds left on the clock; Hank's team lost the game, and Em had ended up sitting out the rest of the season with a broken ankle. Mortified by the accident, Hank had sent her flowers and called her on the phone a few days later to apologize, and as soon as Em got the hang of the crutches, they went out on their first date. Now, the summer before their senior years, Hank Stanley and Emily Burke were still an item.

Hank heard the squeak of the storm door and his mother's voice: "Hank, Ed! Lunch is ready!"

" ÔKay, Mom." Hank gave the car another few strokes with the cloth before he headed inside. He would have to ask his dad about borrowing the car before it got too late. Hopefully, he'd be in a good mood after lunch.

* * * * *

"All right, Hank, let's see some elbow grease," said Captain McConnikee as he walked past. "Put your back into it."

Engineer Hank Stanley felt his back and jaw muscles tighten as he hefted another length of newly tested hose onto the engine bed. Despite his father's wish that he join the armed forces right out of High School, Hank had instead chosen to follow in the footsteps of Emily's father. He applied to the fire academy in Virginia, quickly distinguishing himself from his peers with his natural leadership abilities and good moral character. Edward Stanley never seemed to forgive him for the Ôsnub' of choosing a career in the fire service over a career in the military, however, and the relationship between father and son began to deterorate. After his mother's death, he married Emily and they moved out to California--the Ôleft coast', as Em was fond of saying--drawn by the promise of better pay in the LACoFD, and more opportunity for advancement. It was just his luck to make the promotion to engineer a few years later, and get transferred to McConnikee's station. Over one hundred stations in LA county alone, and he had to get his father's "twin" brother.

Lee Martinez laughed as he reached down toward Stanley for more hose. "Man, Hank, if you could only see your face. It's like you've just been the victim of a drive by shooting in the barrio."

Stanley's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he watched his captain's back disappear around the side of a nearby ladder truck. "The man must be psychic," he babbled to himself. "I swear he's had it in for me ever since I started driving this rig."

Martinez shook his head. There were some days when Hank Stanley seemed to just fall apart after the slightest remark from McConnikee. Hank was by no means a violent person, but Martinez knew that his moods could still be quite unpredictable at times. He'll make a perfect Captain someday. "Man, you are way too paranoid," Martinez told him. "Whatever it is between you and Cap, give it a rest for all our sakes. Now, can we finish laying this hose before we get a run?"

Hank's gaze traveled slowly back to his friend. "Huh?"

"C'mon, man," Martinez laughed, gesturing toward the pile of hose that still lay curled at Hank's feet, "start liftin'."

Hank tried to shake off his feelings of inadequacy, casting one last glance toward McConnikee's office before bending to wrap his long arms around the hose. He laughed nervously as he passed the heavy bundle to Martinez. "I always feel like such a twit when Cap's around," he admitted.

"Yeah, I can tell."

"It's that obvious?"

"Uh-huh."

* * * * *

"Now, you listen to me, Henry Alan Stanley," Emily said, shaking a wooden spoon in unconscious imitation of one of her mother's favorite threatening postures, "this nonsense between you and your father has gone on long enough."

"But, Em...it's just not that simple."

"It is!" Emily shot back. She returned to the stove to stir a large pot of spaghetti while she gathered her thoughts, finally telling her husband in a more even tone of voice, "It can be as simple or as difficult as you choose to make it." She sighed as she looked at Hank again--he was almost pouting.

"The worst thing that can happen," she continued, "is that he'll say no...but you have to take that chance. He has a right to know. After all, this will be his first grandchild."

Hank's expression softened as he looked at his wife. He kissed her cheek in apology and rested his hand on her stomach, smiling as he felt the baby kick. "You're right, as always, Em. I'll call Dad first thing tomorrow."

How did I ever manage to get you so well trained? Emily swatted his hand away. "Now, shoo! I need to finish making dinner."

* * * * *

"It's not in the book, and if it's not in the book, there must be somethin' wrong with it!" --Captain Hank Stanley

Lee Martinez walked up to the locker room door and stopped short, senses attuned instantly to some ethereal background vibe that told him a measure of sneakyness was required. Vibe? Yeah, right, he chided himself. An alarming thought suddenly crossed his mind and he sobered. Man, the old lady'd kill me if she heard this retro 60's crap talk.

Martinez waved off his momentary concern and sidled closer to the door, peering carefully through the small rectangular window. He had never been an obvious prankster, but he'd also never been able to resist the subtle psychological tortures that McConnikee v. Stanley made possible. Martinez smiled as he spied Hank rooting around in a lower equipment locker on hands and knees, the top half of his body completely buried in the cramped space.

Martinez crept through the door and drew in a breath. "Yo, Hank! You in here?" he barked out.

Hank jumped and scrabbled backwards out of the locker, cracking the back of his head on the hard wood. He sat back on his heels and scowled at his co-worker. "Dammit, Martinez, d'ya hafta be so loud?" he snapped, rubbing the sore spot on his head.

"Who, me?" Martinez replied playfully. "Look, man, jus' Ôcause I know you're in here tryin' to hide from Cap'n Mick--"

"I'm not hiding!" Hank insisted sullenly, snatching his spare pair of boots from the storage cube behind him. He eased himself up and slid onto the wooden bench in front of his locker, busying himself with the ordered motions of applying an new coat of polish to the already flawless shine on the boots.

Martinez eyed Hank's quick, jerky movements and snorted. "Yeah, and McConnikee's mother wears army boots--let's hear another one, Virginia."

Hank shot up from the bench and rounded on Martinez. The last thing he needed reminded of was his home state and... "Look, pal," he warned, "just about everything around here is fair game, even McConnikee, but my father is off limits--got it?"

Martinez canted his head in genuine puzzlement. "Who's talkin' about your old man?"

Stanley's anger evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. He sulked back to the bench, casting a final scowl over his shoulder before he snatched the second boot and continued his ritual polishing with single-minded intent.

Martinez sat down on the opposite bench. "What's up, Hank? You can usually take a joke just as well as the rest of us grunts, even when Cap's got your Jockey's in a twist. Hell, you get so uptight you could probably squeeze a quarter between your butt-cheeks to make change and then bounced them on the army reg. sheet-job you did on your bed this morning." Stanley scrubbed at the boot even harder, and Martinez continued, "Hell, man, Larry was gonna short-sheet ya, but he told me he just didn't have the heart. Give us all a break and drop this holier-than-the-book attitude."

Hank sighed and squared his shoulders. "I called Dad on the phone the other day...to let him know that Em was pregnant. It was the first time I'd talked to him in almost two years. The conversation did not go well."

"Gee man, you never told me about your dad," said Martinez. He glanced over at the door nervously, remembering the original reason he'd come to the locker room in search of Hank. "Uh...on that note," he said, turning stiffly and heading for the exit, "there's someone here to see you."

Hank followed Martinez out the door, lost in thought. He froze as the sound of laughter reached his ears. I know that voice! his mind screamed. Fear and paranoia clutched at his heart and he had to force himself to round the corner, almost fainting as he caught sight of his father, Edward Stanley, and Captain McConnikee laughing it up. As Hank cruised to a stop next to the two men, prepared to pry his father from McConnikee's evil clutches as quickly as proper etiquette allowed, Cap slapped the senior Stanley on the shoulder good-naturedly and chuckled, "Never a dull moment with your son around, Ed, let me tell you."

Hank felt the nausea build as his own personal nightmare came true right before his eyes...Invasion of the Pod People in full Technicolor splendor.

"Ah, there you are, Hank," Cap said. "Ed, here, was just about to regale me with some tales of your youthful escapades back East."

Hank swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"You invited me," Ed replied simply. "I thought I'd drop by at the station to surprise you--see if you're still on your toes or if this cushy California job has made you soft."

Hank looked at McConnikee in alarm, afraid that his father's ill-timed slight on the LACoFD would draw a backlash from his commanding officer. Cap laughed and slapped Ed Stanley on the shoulder again. "Hank, why didn't you ever mention that your father was an old Army dog?"

Hank's mouth opened to reply, but McConnikee wasn't finished. "Ed, let me tell you about the most spectacular drill we've ever had, thanks to your son, here--"

"Wait...Dad, shouldn't you be going?" Hank suggested hopefully. "Listen, why don't I give Em a call, the two of you can go out to lunch, catch up on old times?"

"Great idea, Hank," McConnikee enthused. "Why don't you go make your phone call, and I'll take your dad on a tour of the station. Let him see what we're all about."

"Uh..."

McConnikee gestured for Ed to preceed him as they began the tour, then turned back to Hank as an idea struck him. "Better yet, Hank, why don't you set it up with Emily for tomorrow, that way, the four of us can go out together."

"But..." Hank stood frozen as the two men walked away.

"So," Ed Stanley began, "what were you saying about a drill?"

"Oh, well, I only witnessed the tail end of it," McConnikee answered, "but from what I could gather from the men afterwards, your son's helmet somehow managed to catch on fire during a routine drill..." McConnikee's voice dissolved into laughter. "I heard the shouting and rushed over, ordering the men to cut off the streams from the hoses so I could assess the situation." More laughter. "Hank was standing there, disheveled, wet as a drowned rat, helmet still smouldering....Not a single man, not even Hank, could seem to explain this strange phenomenon."

As Hank listened, the voices receeded beneath a growing buzzing noise in his ears and a red haze descended over his vision. He stalked into the rec room and headed straight for Martinez with malicious intent, but something caught his eye. Cap's hat lay on the table--discarded haphazardly after the A.M. lineup--a naked and glaring symbol of all of Hank's failures before the eyes of his Captain and his father. In a sudden flash of insanity, Hank's entire life became hinged to that single moment in time. Every negative emotion, every bad decision he'd ever made, all of his fears, spiraled down on him. Without thinking, he grabbed the hat and rushed out of the room toward the rear door, pausing in his headlong flight to pull a small can of lighter fluid from a shelf in the storage room.

The next thing Hank knew, he was crouched in the parking lot, staring at the charred remains of McConnikee's dress hat, mesmerized by the pale glowing embers as they winked out one-by-one. A noise drew his attention, and he looked up. Just outside the door stood McConnikee, the rest of the shift crowding the doorway behind him, trying not to laugh. Cap glared at them menacingly, daring any member of his crew to comment on the spectacle before them, but the four men disappeared quickly back into the station house.

Cap cleared his throat and addressed his wayward engineer, "Your father felt that his visit was making you uncomfortable, so he left." He gestured to the humble pile of ash on the ground. Stanley's mouth flew open and McConnikee silenced him with a raised hand. Inwardly, he really wasn't all that horrified by Hank's actions--he'd pulled off much nastier pranks himself in his days as a firefighter. Outwardly, he preffered to keep the pressure on, especially because Stanley had become a pet project of his since he'd transferred over as the new engineer. "Look, Hank," he began, "if you ever want to make Captain someday..." McConnikee shook his head and turned away, letting his statement hang in the air, unfinished. No, he would just have to leave Hank alone with his own worst enemy: a fertile imagination coupled with hefty doses of guilt and humiliation. He paused inside the station and chuckled to himself as he heard Hank's voice calling out plaintively, "Aw, heck!"

"Martinez said it was a simple case of arson. He took the hat out back, poured lighter fluid on it, and made a little bonfire." --Chet Kelly

* * * * *

Authors Note: when I read that Michael Norell had graduated from high school in Falls Church, Virginia, I couldn't resist making it a part of the story, as I grew up just a few miles away in Langley. It was fun to rediscover my own memories of the area.

"A Simple Case of Arson" ©1999 Susan Quick. "Emergency!" and its characters © Mark VII Productions, Inc. All rights reserved. No infringement of any copyrights or trademarks is intended or should be inferred. This is a work of fiction, and any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

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