Author's note: Forget that nonsense about the brick wall; this is the real reason Johnny doesn't drive the squad.

Tangee's Rescue

By Rose Po

"Squad 51, 10-8 to Rampart," said John Gage into the radio. He slipped the squad into gear and hitting the lights and siren followed the ambulance onto the highway.

"10-4, Squad 51," replied LA dispatch.

Johnny swerved slightly on the shoulder of left lane, feeling the 'wake up' strips rattle every loose object in the squad. Despite Roy's cracks about his driving skills being better suited to country dirt roads, he really was a pretty decent driver -- even by LA's twisted standards. He had learned on the road between the bars in Valentine and the dry Bennett and Martin counties, making him an expert at evasive maneuvering. With practiced ease he avoided a station wagon in the right lane, which had began a series of erratic maneuvers the instant the driver realized an emergency vehicle was about to pass him. "Someday, I'm going to have Roy show me where the off switch is for the cloaking device on this thing," he muttered, disgustedly. You'd think a large, bright red rig running code R would be noticeable. Gage rehearsed his latest tirade, practicing what he was going to say to Dixie and Roy when he arrived at Rampart.

The ambulance exited; John followed. As he turned off, the engine temperature warning light began blinking. "Damn," he exclaimed, braking hard and pulling into the gore point between the ramp and the feeder road. As he stopped, wisps of steam curled up from the crack around the hood and the smell of burning ethylene glycol filled the air. The temperature gauge was trembling at the top of the scale, in the side view mirror he could see a trail of coolant on the road. He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. "Damn it," he repeated, picking up the microphone. "LA, this is Squad 51. Out of service due to mechanical break-down at the bottom of the south-bound exit ramp of the Harbor Freeway at Carson St." His voice was hard and angry. Twisting in the seat, he reached under the dash and pulled the hood release.

"10-4, Squad 51. Dispatching a mechanic." Sam Lanier managed to use the clipped vocabulary of dispatchers to convey his irritation at Gage's tone of voice.

Coughing on the fumes, Johnny peered under the hood. At the base of the radiator a several inch long split in the hose leading from the water pump seeped the last drops of the engine's vital fluids onto the concrete. "The patient bled out," he mumbled. He stood squinting past the traffic, thinking longing of the repair kit and hose clamps in his Land Rover. If I could just patch the leak and pour in some water, I could make it the last three blocks to Rampart and drink coffee while Charlie rages at Roy about the abuses paramedics inflict on 'these babies'.

"Medic's secret weapon," he said grinning at his sudden inspiration. "A good tape job will fix anything." He flipped open the side bay and rummaged throughthe trauma box. Johnny held up a roll of two-inch adhesive tape in an oddly triumphant gesture.

Bent over the still hot radiator, using Roy's turnout to protect his arms, Gage reached deep into the squad's entrails. Grunting, he wrapped the tape over the split, easing the edges together. "There." He shifted the roll to his left hand and reached back for his bandage scissors. He cut the tape and pulled out his arms to admire his handiwork.

Except, his left arm moved only an inch. His thick leather watchband was hung up on something. He moved his arm back down toward the hose, trying to dislodge the band from the obstruction. The leather cut into his wrist. Jerking and twisting, he fought to pull his arm free. Calm down, Gage, he thought, reaching in with his right hand trying to unbuckle the band. The buckle is what's caught. Try as he might he could not work his hand free. He pursed his lips in frustration. Goin' have to cut it, he decided, sliding the scissor blade beneath the leather. As he started to cut, his right hand slipped touching the hot metal radiator. Startled he yanked his hand away, striking the engine block and dropping the bandage scissors. In one of those strange elongations of time, he saw every detail of every spin and wobble as they dropped through the engine compartment landing on the asphalt beneath the squad.

"I don't believe I did that," hissed Gage.

Johnny slumped forward resting his elbow on the turnout coat, cradling his head in his hand and listening to the ticking of the cooling engine. His back was starting to hurt from being unable to straighten. Chet was right about his being a disaster magnet. On the freeway above him, he could hear the traffic picking up. Rush hour. My luck some traffic chopper will see my lights and I'll end up on the evening news. 'Rescue Squad Paramedic Needs Rescued.'

The scattering of gravel and broken glass littering the gore point crunched as another vehicle braked to a stop behind the disabled squad. For a split second John had visions of the squad being struck from behind, dismembering him in any one of a half dozen gruesome ways. Involuntarily, he closed his eyes. As the door opened he heard the crackling of LA dispatch over a radio tuned to fire department frequency. Charlie, he guessed, struggling like a panicked animal with his leg in a trap.

"Gage!"

At the voice of the department's new mechanic Johnny jumped, smacking his head against the latch on the hood. His teeth slammed together cutting into this tongue, flooding his mouth with the metallic taste of his own blood. The demon mechanic from Hell. And you crossed her, Gage. He spit the salty blood from his mouth, recalling an Indian curse inflicted by spitting on an enemy's shadow. Summoning his best 'aren't I the cutest thing you've ever seen' smile, he said, "Hi, Tangee." He could feel blood trickling through his hair and down his forehead.

"Touch them the wrong way and they'll bite you." the woman growled, pushing back her dark hair from her forehead and patting the grill of the squad. "Oh, you can save that smile for someone who doesn't know how you treat your rig." She grabbed the turnout, briefly frowning at the sharp metal fasteners, before unceremoniously dropping it on his feet. She peered into the engine compartment. Johnny swore he saw her caress the air filter lovingly. "What did you do to him?"

"He -- it, "corrected Johnny, "blew a radiator hose."

"How far did you drive him without coolant?"

"Hey, I stopped," objected Gage. He could feel his blood pressure rising. "As soon as the light came on..." his voice trailed off before the murderous fury in her eyes.

"There is a reason they're called idiot lights, Gage." She held her toolkit out toward him. For half a second he reached awkwardly for the box. He dropped his arm. "What are you doing? Trying to stop the hemorrhaging with direct pressure?" she asked.

"I'm... My hand..." stammered Johnny, blushing.

"Yes?" demanded Tangee.

"My hand is caught on something. I can't get it out."

Tangee stared at him for a moment, speechless. "For Pete's sake," she finally exploded. "LA county's great rescue man!" She reached in and roughly grabbed his wrist trying to free his hand.

"Ouch," snapped Gage, as she bent the joint a direction nature had never intended it to move. "Let go. You're going to break my wrist."

"Maybe then you'll learn not to put your hands where they don't belong." She released his arm and headed back to the truck. She returned with a protective pad, which she spread over the side panel of the squad. Smoothing her coverall Tangee set the toolbox atop the pad.

Johnny closed his eyes, biting his tongue as the young woman pulled a pair of pliers for the kit. How did your firefighting career end? An enraged mechanic severed my arm to save a squad.

Tangee dropped agilely to the pavement, sliding beneath the front end. Her hand encountered the dropped roll of tape. "Adhesive tape!" she shouted, her voice only slightly muffled by the engine. "Does this look like a injured arm or leg?"

"No," he said from behind clenched teeth. He imagined mounting the cutting blades to the jaws and slicing away the roof of her service truck, to free her from the twisted wreckage. Wrap the chain around the steering column... He grinned viciously at the thought of her screams. 'Save my truck,' she'd yell. He'd ignore her, 'Relax it will be ok. We'll have you out in a minute...'

Gage sighed, gritting his teeth as the watch band bit into his wrist. He had a headache and blood from his cut head was dripping into his eye. He could felt every movement as Tangee bent the buckle. From underneath the squad came a continuous stream of invectives. With a final sharp tug, which threatened to dislocate his shoulder, she pulled John's hand free.

Johnny stalked to the side of the squad and again dug through the trauma box retrieving a couple of 4"x 4" and some tape. Ripping open one of the packets with his teeth, he sat in the passenger seat and pressed the clean gauze to his bleeding head. Gage could hear the mechanic cooing at the squad as she worked.

"Tangee, will fix you up after what that nasty fireman did to you. You were a good squad to bite him like that," she purred.

John reached into the glove box, retrieving the bottle of aspirin. He grabbed Roy's half-finished bottle of Gatorade from the seat and washed down two tablets. He sat with his eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of late afternoon sun on his skin. The hood slammed and a cool shadow fell across his face. He looking up, squinting.

Tangee stood before Johnny, holding a spray can of radiator leak sealant. She reached for his head.

"Get away from me with that!" he yelped, grabbing her wrist and forcing her arm away from him. "What are you try to do? Kill me?"

She smiled.

You had to ask, Gage. He pried the can from her strong fingers and waved it at her. "Do you know what this stuff will do in your blood stream?" he asked.

"If you can play mechanic, I can play paramedic." She tossed a ball of soiled adhesive tape at him. "Do you know what the glue from this -- stuff -- will do to a poor defenseless vehicle's radiator?! It melts and..."

John lifted his arms in surrender. "OK! I'll never touch the engine again."

"Promise?"

"Promise," he sighed, bowing his aching head.

******

Roy watched his partner approach the base station. Johnny looked tired and harried. "How's the squad," asked DeSoto setting down his empty coffee cup and eyeing in the 4"x 4" taped to Gage's forehead. I don't want to know, he decided.

"The squad is fine," said Johnny, reaching over and dropping the keys into Roy's breast pocket. "But, I may never be the same.... From now on you drive."

Author's note: Thanks to Kate Salter for nursemaiding me through this my first attempt at humor (Think I stick with serious stuff from now on this humor is way too hard). Special thank to Tangee for just making my day on night in the SA. Enjoy!

"Tangee's Rescue" ©1999 Rose Po. "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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