31 is 13 Backwards
A Halloween story
by: MJ and inkling



John Gage, paramedic extraordinaire, whistled jauntily as he strode through the locker room doorway into the vehicle bay. As he detoured around the big red engine on his trek toward the day room, he tossed the plastic bag he held in one hand up into the air. The loosely filled bag landed with a satisfying chunk in his hand a second later, and John broke off whistling to grin. Outside the open doors of the bay, the day's traffic was getting a good start, whooshing and humming along the boulevard. Car exhaust and emissions from the refinery across the street mingled with the marine clouds to produce LA's typical morning haze.

But not even the haze dimming the skies could dim John's mood this morning. By noon most of the smog would have burned off, and Halloween this year would be sunny and pleasantly warm, perfect for the kids out trick or treating. The bag flew up and John easily caught it again, then switched it over to his other hand and patted the back of the red squad affectionately as he rounded it. If all went well, Station 51's A shift could enjoy the day, look forward to an evening handing out treats to the kids--and hope that this year, with Halloween on a Monday night, the adult revels would be more subdued and the firefighters' night would be pleasant as well.

"Kelly, you and Dwyer both better keep your paws out of the Jolly Ranchers!"

John grinned as Stoker's stern warning drifted out of the day room. Readying his own taunt for Chet, the paramedic opened his mouth as he ducked into the room, only to find his face suddenly full of something soft and clingy. The ghostly strands clung to his face and hair, obscuring his vision--but not so much that he couldn't see the small, dark shape with a fringe of legs just beyond the outer corner of his right eye.

"Augh!" Johnny spun around, the bag of candy flying from his hands as he frantically swiped at both spider and cobwebs. There was a splat as the candy bag landed and burst, its contents rattling across the day room floor. The spider moved, and he redoubled his gyrations in a frenzied effort to remove the arachnid from his face. Finally flinging the small dark shape away from him, Johnny came to a gasping halt, only to find the rest of his crewmates and several of C shift's firefighters doubled over in laughter.

Pulling the fake cobwebbing from his face, Johnny narrowed his eyes and glared at them all, but no one, not even Roy, leaning against the counter in the background with his morning cup of coffee, looked the least bit repentant. Even Mike, normally the calmest one of the bunch, was laughing so hard he was in danger of falling off his seat on the back of a wooden chair. Leaning forward at the last instant, Mike buried his face in his arms and just sat there, head down and shoulders shaking with mirth. Chet, who had to be the orchestrator of the prank, simply stood at the table, his cup of coffee half-raised to his lips and a mile-wide grin only half-hidden behind his bushy mustache.

"Man, Gage, I had no idea you could dance like that!" Chet's comment elicited another round of laughter from the other men, and Johnny turned his glare directly on the stocky fireman as he brushed the last strands of the artificial cobwebbing off his shoulders. Setting his cup down, Chet stepped around the table and bent to pick up a small, dark shape from the floor behind Dwyer's chair. "You know, Johnny, I think you killed poor Charlotte here. Don't you know that spiders are very beneficial animals? They eat lots of bugs and stuff that would bother the rest of us poor humans. You should know better than to throw them across the room."

Dwyer pushed his chair back and stood, slapping Chet on the shoulder as he walked past him. Waving at Johnny, the tall blond paramedic grinned.

"That's the best laugh I've had all week, Gage. Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Johnny groused, gathering up the cobwebbing into a ball. "Glad to be of service."

Echoing Dwyer's sentiments, the rest of C shift stood and exited the room. Marco stood as well, and tapping a still-shaking Stoker on the shoulder, walked over and knelt to start gathering Johnny's scattered candy from the floor. Stoker, grinning at Johnny, unfolded himself from his chair and stepped down to help Marco. Chet tossed the fake spider onto the table and moved around to the other side, keeping the table between him and Johnny as the paramedic headed for the garbage can with the ball of wispy cotton. Watching him, John held the wad of cotton out towards him.

"You-you-you-you just wait, Chester B. Kelly. I will have my revenge on you, and it will be sweet."

Chet just smirked again, and the expression Roy tried to hide behind his coffee cup looked suspiciously like a smile.

"Just remember, Gage, thirty-one is thirteen written backwards. Means today's bad luck too. If I were a disaster magnet like you, I'd be extra careful." Ignoring Johnny's open-mouthed confusion, Chet set his cup down, and glancing toward the floor where Mike was still busy, reached for the pile of candy in the middle of the day room table.

"I told you before and I'm telling you again, Kelly. Keep your paws off the Jolly Ranchers," Stoker shot over his shoulder, before standing up with his hands full. He kept his glare on Chet as he came over to dump the small green items on the table. "The candy's for the kids. You know that, and I know that. So stay out of it."

Chet tried to look innocent, but Stoker's gaze never wavered until the firefighter stepped back from the table. Johnny tossed a smirk in Chet's direction before opening the cabinet to toss the remnants of Chet's prank in the garbage. Standing up, he caught Roy's smile.

"What?" he demanded suspiciously, and Roy's grin grew.

"You missed some," his partner said, uncrossing his arms to reach for Johnny's ear. Johnny jerked his head away and reached up to brush at his ear. He flicked the small cloud of cotton from his fingers, and glared at Roy. Bracing his hands on his hips, Johnny opened his mouth, but before he could muster his thoughts, Marco's unbelieving voice interrupted them.

"Sour apple bubble gum? What'd you do, Johnny, wait to buy candy until this morning?"

Turning to face his crewmates, Johnny flushed.

"Well, yeah--but hey, I liked that stuff when I was a kid! And kids today like it!" Shaking their heads, his crewmates brushed his defense aside, and Johnny turned to Roy for help. Roy shook his head, ruefully.

"My kids won't touch it," he said, and took another sip of his coffee.

Shooting his friend a disgusted look, Johnny grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee, before returning to the table. Marco had pushed the last of his offering into the pile of candy dominating the table, and Stoker stirred them into the mound. An arm reached around Johnny, and he jerked. Roy smiled infinitesimally as he dropped two bags of caramels on the table.

"Kinda jumpy this morning, aren't we, Johnny?" Chet asked, but before Johnny could come up with an answer, Cap appeared in the doorway. Clipboard in hand, Cap lifted an eyebrow as he surveyed the room, pegging each member of his tardy crew for an instant with his steady gaze.

"Have we got time for roll call this morning, gents?"

A chorus of "Yeah, Cap!" and "Sure, Cap!" and the thunking of coffee cups on Formica accompanied their scramble for the doorway, and this time even Mike's eagle eyes missed Chet's hand as he snagged not one, not two, but four of the coveted Jolly Ranchers and pocketed them before following everyone else out into the vehicle bay for the start of their day.



"Aw, c'mon, Cap. I had to hang hose the last shift." Chet's plaintive voice echoed through the apparatus bay, and he flinched. He hadn't meant to complain that loudly.

Hank favored him with a beneficent smile. "Kelly, that's exactly why you get to do it again. And, this time, let's see if we can't get the hoses on the rack without all the tangles we had in them the last time, huh?"

"I don't see why Johnny and Roy can't take a turn hanging hose," muttered the Irishman under his breath. Not even the joy of having pulled one over on Gage so early in the day could make this chore assignment bearable.

"How's that, Chet?" Hank asked pleasantly, his attention on the clipboard in his hands.

"Uh...nothing, Cap," Chet returned. "Just clearing my throat."

Hank lifted his head, eyebrows raised. "You wouldn't be coming down with a cold or anything, would ya, Chet?"

Chet glanced at his coworkers, who were containing their amusement admirably. "I might be, Cap," he replied. "My throat has been kinda sore, lately."

Hank nodded sagely. "Mike," he suggested, turning to the engineer, "since you're on chef detail this shift, maybe you'll want to keep that in mind when you're planning lunch and dinner."

"I think some nice pumpkin soup ought to do the trick, Cap," Mike agreed.

"Sounds great," murmured Hank, his gaze once more on his notes.

"Pumpkin soup?" Chet mouthed, catching Johnny's eye. The paramedic shrugged, as if the topic bored him. Chet sighed. He knew when he was beaten, he supposed. That didn't mean he'd have to like it, though. Darn, and the day had gotten off to such a good start. He fingered a Jolly rancher in his pocket. Well, at least he could make do with candy, even if Stoker did insist on cooking something inedible for lunch.



"I still don't see why I'm the one who always has to hang the hose. Especially this time. I mean, it's not like I used it or anything."

Mike ducked his head to hide his annoyance, and looked at the coils of hose still to be strung. They'd done two sets, and still had more to go. And Chet had complained every painful inch of the way, the good mood he's been in after his prank on Gage this morning gone entirely. Instead, Chet had whined and pouted like an eight-year-old. His reputation for being calm and cool notwithstanding, Mike was about ready to deck the stocky firefighter.

"It's either this or the latrine. Every time. I don't remember the last time I got a cushy job, like cooking."

Mike stifled a retort. Even with the freeway noise rumbling behind the station, Chet's gripes still echoed across the parking lot. Mike had already tried to convince Chet that the muscles he was developing by doing this would impress his new girlfriend, that it was much nicer being outside in the pleasant weather than staring at the insides of the toilets and shower stall, that this was REAL man's work in contrast to cleaning and cooking. All to no avail.

Maybe he'll fall...

Mike mentally slapped himself for the thought.

"Hey, what time do the trick or treaters arrive?" Chet blurted suddenly.

"Not soon enough," muttered Mike, a little louder than he had intended.

"I heard that, Stoker," Chet shouted down.

Mike sighed and looked up. "You ready for the next one?" he asked simply. Before Chet could answer, the tones sounded, and Mike ran for the engine without waiting for Chet to scramble down from the tower.



"You know, it never ceases to amaze me, Roy," grumbled Johnny as they pulled alongside the curb. He gestured at a crowd of people gathered in a circle on the lawn. "Someone gets hurt or sick, and all anyone ever does is stand around, gaping." He shook his head in disgust and climbed out.

Roy climbed out and ducked around the back of the squad to help his partner with the gear. "Well," he offered, "at least we'll have an extra pair of hands if we need one." He shut the compartment door and followed Johnny onto the grass as the engine pulled up behind the squad and Hank jumped down from the cab and trotted over.

Johnny, leading the way, pushed gently at a young woman standing on the fringe of the crowd. "Excuse me," he said politely.

The girl didn't seem to hear him. Instead of stepping aside, she merely stood on tiptoe to see over the heads of the crowd in front of her.

"Excuse me," repeated Johnny, more forcefully, swtiching the drug box to his other hand and shifting sideways to angle his thin frame between two women. The crowd finally began to part and Johnny, Roy, and Hank made their way into the center of the circle.

Where all three of them stopped dead.

"For the love of--" Hank stopped before he finished the thought.

A quick glance confirmed Johnny's instant suspicion that there were only females in this crowd. His eyes were drawn back again almost helplessly to the "man down." He could see out of the corner of his eye, Roy tilting his head curiously, and noticed Chet and Marco making their way to the front of the circle, too. He stepped involuntarily aside.

"Now there's a specimen of a man," someone intoned solemnly. Murmurs of agreement rippled through the small crowd.

"Cap--" began Johnny.

"I know, I know!" interrupted Hank, his head snapping up, dark eyes darting through the crowd. No one returned his gaze, as all eyes were directed toward the figure on the ground.

Before the puzzled, and slightly embarrassed, firefighters lay a life-size sculpture of a man's torso. It was crudely fashioned out of what appeared to be some sort of clay, and was fairly detailed in its anatomical depiction--with, perhaps, the exception of an overly generous endowment in the area of the male genitalia.

"Man down?" muttered Chet to no one in particular. "Looks more like a man up to me."

"All right, folks," a deep voice boomed from the outer edge of the circle, "let's step back and let these men do their job."

"I think," Johnny snorted, gesturing at the statue, "he's beyond our help."

Hank was anything but amused. "Who's the prankster?" he demanded, shoving his handie talkie into his pocket with an aggrieved sigh.

His mood wasn't helped by Vince's chortling in his ear. "Whoa," snickered the police officer under his breath, "I'm glad my wife isn't here to see this. I'd be hearing about for the rest of my life."

Hank shot him a glare.

Chet was shaking his head. "This guy must have had some plastic surgeon--"

"Kelly!"

"But, Cap, look at him! I mean, the guy's got a--"

"I know what he's got, Kelly!" snapped Hank.

"Touchy, touchy," murmured Roy, smothering his smile when Hank turned to stare at him.

"Let's get out of here," muttered Hank, spinning around and stomping back toward the engine as Vince began to shoo the onlookers from the scene.

"Are you responsible for this?" Vince asked the one remaining woman, who stood admiring the form on the ground. The young lady lifted her gaze to him, her features expressing an air of disdain.

"I wouldn't settle for anything that...insignificant," she sniffed. Then, she, too, turned and walked away.

Roy, Johnny, Chet, and Marco all exchanged looks, their eyes dropping as one once more to the statue.

"I'd hate to think of the size of the fellow she's willing to accept," muttered Marco before he turned away.

Johnny's eyes widened. Roy grabbed him by the elbow and steered him away.

Chet followed last, craning his neck for one final peek before sighing, shaking his head, and slogging behind the rest of his crewmates back to the trucks.

"What was that all about, Cap?" asked Stoker as Hank climbed into his seat beside him.

Hank didn't even look at him. "Trust me, Michael," he assured the engineer, "you're better off not knowing."



"Gage, why is it you always drink the last cup of coffee?" groused Chet later, banging the empty coffee pot back down onto the stove and glaring at the paramedic.

"I do not always drink the last cup," Johnny argued.

"Oh, no? Then, how come every time I go to get a cup of coffee, you've just finished the pot?"

"Chet, lay off," Roy warned.

"What'd I do?" Chet shot back. "I'm not the one who finished all the coffee so the rest of the crew can't have any."

"Oh, for cryin' out loud," groaned Roy, setting down his own half-empty cup and rising from his seat at the table. "I'll make a new pot for you."

Johnny studied Chet for a moment from his chair across from Roy's. A sudden grin flashed across his face. "What's the matter, Chet? You have girl trouble again last night?"

"For your information, Gage, I never have girl trouble." Chet moved aside as Roy spooned coffee grounds into the pot and set it to perk. "It just so happens that my last date was terrific."

Johnny nodded knowingly. "Yeah, but I don't count the ones from high school," he said, leaning back casually in his chair.

"Oh, funny. Hardy har har. You oughta take up a new profession, Gage." Chet stomped from the room, soft laughter echoing behind him.

"What's the matter with him?" asked Roy, returning to his seat and resuming his perusal of the morning paper.

"I don't know," answered Mike as he ambled in. "But whatever it is, I sure wish he'd get over it. He about drove me crazy hanging that hose."

Johnny's interest seemed to pique. "You thought about throwing him off the tower, too?"

Retrieving a glass from the cabinet, Mike shook his head. "No, just about him falling off."

"Well, I'm glad he didn't fall," Johnny asserted, lifting his cup. "'Cause then we'd have to treat him."

"Well," Roy said, "at least we won't find any water bombs in the closets or cupcakes in our helmets. Not with him this grumpy."

"Small favors," Mike replied, dabbling his fingers in the water now running from the faucet. "And, I'm not sure the Phantom is worse than a crabby Chet."

"I am," Johnny said firmly.

The tones sounded, and the paramedics departed on a call, leaving Mike to muse alone. He drank his water in one long gulp, then filled his glass again, drinking it slowly this time. His contentment lasted exactly thirty seconds before Chet strolled back into the kitchen, this time whining that the coffee wasn't ready yet. Mike heaved what must have been his fortieth exasperated sigh of the morning and, setting his empty glass on the counter, hastily departed for the vehicle bay. What did it matter if lunch was late--or if he left Chet alone with the candy, as long as he got some peace and quiet while polishing the engine?



An hour later both the engine and the squad were maneuvering their way down a narrow street, the many cars parked along the street making it difficult for the rescue vehicles to make their way through with any speed. Small, square homes on small square lots lined the street on either side, most of the houses constructed in some sort of "Nuevo Spanish" style, with square rooflines and tiled roofs. About halfway down the block a concrete wall jutted out and paralleled the sidewalk for about fifty feet. It's smooth expanse, brownish-pink in the afternoon sunlight, was broken here and there by niches, bricked carefully into the wall. Midway down the wall was a large, wrought iron gate. A bar jutted out over the sidewalk on the right side of the gate, above head level. Johnny pointed at it.

"I think that might be it, Roy," Johnny said, pointing at numbers hanging perpendicular to the wall, then twisting his head around to verify the house number they'd just passed.

Roy slammed on the brakes and Johnny caught himself against the dash. Behind them air brakes shrieked as Stoker brought the engine to an abrupt halt. Johnny scowled at Roy, who was reaching for his door handle. Roy paused long enough to point to the motley crowd of boys waving their arms and yelling as they swarmed into the street toward his door.

"I think this is it," he said. Johnny shook his head and reached for his own door handle. The kids' excited voices filled the squad as both men got out.

"HE FELL OFF THE ROOF!"

"I SAW IT!"

"Shut up, Kyle! I'm the one! I SAW IT!" The boy in question, tall and muscular, dressed in a tattered baseball jersey, shoved his way past his shorter companion and pointed at his chest. "I saw the whole thing!"

"You did NOT!" Kyle, short, wearing an oversized t-shirt and large, round glasses, was taking no guff from his friend, and promptly shoved his way in front of the taller boy. "You didn't see NOTHIN', Frank! I'm the one who saw it, I saw it all!" Frank grabbed him from behind and in the brief scuffle Roy was almost crowded right back into the cab of the squad. The mob of kids followed him, fighting and jostling for position around the two boys.

"All right, all right, everyone calm down." Cap had arrived, and the group shifted and flowed over to surround him. Kyle and Frank released each other, and once again shoved their way to the front.

"I'm the man you want to see," smirked the taller boy, attempting to stop Kyle's advance to the front with an elbow. Kyle grabbed the elbow and pulled, yanking Frank off balance and scampering into his place in front of Captain Stanley. Shaking his head, Roy started pulling equipment from the bays on the squad as Stanley put both hands out in a vain attempt to calm the fracas. The two boys were once again nose to nose, yelling at each other.

"I saw it, I tell you, I DID!"

"You didn't see nothing, Frank! I saw it, and now you're just trying to hog it all! I'm the only one who saw, and I'm the one who called the fire department and--"

"WILL EVERYONE SHUT UP!" Cap's bellow left him standing in the middle of a stunned and wide-eyed group of kids. If there hadn't been a potentially life threatening situation on their hands, it would have been funny. Frank and Kyle were still giving each other dirty looks, but both boys turned their attention to Captain Stanley. Simultaneously they opened their mouths and took a breath, but Cap's finger went out and he scowled. Both boys gulped and shut their mouths.

"And they say kids today don't respect authority." Leaning on the oxygen tank next to the squad, Johnny smirked when Roy shot him a disgusted look. Roy picked up the trauma box and the drug box, and moved over to stand by Captain Stanley, who was finally getting some details from Kyle.

"We were playing football, and I was open, nobody covering me! Frank wouldn't throw me the ball." Kyle scowled, and Cap cut off Frank's rejoinder with an upraised hand and his own scowl. Frank pouted, but he kept quiet. Kyle went on, breathlessly. "And then I looked over there, at Las Ollas!" Kyle waved at the cement wall. Everyone's gaze followed his gesture obediently. The flat roof of the house was clearly visible above the wall, would have been even more visible from the yards across the street where the kids had been playing. "He was up there, on the roof! Barry! And then he fell! I yelled at everyone, and then we ran across the street and we could see him through the gate! He didn't get up, and then I went to call the fire department!"

"We didn't go in because Lana, that's his mom, she's always yelling about us messing up her fish pond and her lily pads," another boy volunteered. "Barry, he's fourteen." There was a small moment of silence, as the boys, most appearing to between the ages of nine and eleven, contemplated the advanced age of their friend with looks of awe on their faces.

Cap took advantage of the momentary lull to wave Johnny and Roy toward the house. The two paramedics were already jogging that way, lugging their equipment. Cap, after a final admonition to the kids to stay put, followed, Chet and Marco at his heels. Mike took one step, then hesitated, casting a wary eye at the knot of boys in the street, their attention now turning toward the shiny red fire trucks.

"I'll wait out here, Cap," he called. "Let me know if you need anything else inside."

Stanley stopped, turned around, and threw his own suspicious look at the kids milling about in the street.

"I think that's a good idea, Mike," he replied, and waved the engineer back to the engine before joining the rest of his men at the gate. He batted aside the small, paper skeleton dangling from the protruding bar that held the house's street number.

From the street they could see nothing untoward in the spacious tiled courtyard. To the left a small fountain gurgled happily as it filled and refilled a fish pond about the size of a pool table. Directly across from them a large, deep porch ran across the front of the house, the front door barely discernible in its shadowed interior. Jack o' Lanterns perched on the single porch step, and various other Halloween decorations hung from the walls and posts of the porch. Kyle wormed his way into the group of men and pointed excitedly.

"There! Right over there, by the porch! He was lying right there."

But there was nothing there now.

"Fire Department!" Stanley called loudly. "Is there anyone here?"

A small derisive snort came from somewhere near the Captain's waist.

"You don't have to yell. You can go in. They don't keep the gate locked." As if to prove his point, Kyle reached for the gate latch, but Roy beat him to it.

"Thanks, Kyle," Cap said, and then firmly shoved him to the rear of the group. The firemen slipped inside the gate, Chet closing the gate in front of Kyle. He wagged a finger in front of the boy's face.

"Stay out here. You'll only get in the way, and then Captain Stanley will get mad and yell at you." The stocky firefighter leaned closer to the boy. "Trust me, you don't want to see him get mad." Kyle scowled, but he obeyed. Several of his friends joined him, and after glaring at the rest of them in turn, Chet joined the rest of the crew.

Johnny turned around, searching the ground about them as they walked toward the house, but there was nothing to be seen. Crossing the porch int two long strides, Roy pounded on the door.

"Fire Department!" he called, and everyone paused to listen. Five pairs of eyes met each other in stunned confusion. Just barely audible to the men clustered on the porch, someone inside the house moaned, long and full. The muffled sound died away, only to be replaced by another, higher pitched moan. This one shrilled up into what might have been a full-fledged shriek, muffled by the heavy, carved front door between the men and the sound.

"What the hell is THAT?" Johnny finally broke the stupefied silence, as a collective shudder shook the group. He got two shrugs in response, and another long shriek interrupted whatever Roy had opened his mouth to say. Cap shook his head and took charge. The continued deep groans made an eerie background for his commands.

"Chet, you and Johnny see if you can find some entrance that direction." He waved down the porch, past the front windows with their elaborate wrought iron bars. "Marco, you come with me, and we'll go the other way. Roy, you stay here and see if you can get some response." He collected Lopez with a hand on his shoulder as Johnny and Chet ran off down the long, shadowed walkway. Stanley and Marco turned around and headed off the porch.

"Look OUT!" several small boys shrilled in unison.

"AUGH!"

"AAIEE!"

The boys gathered at the gate shrieked again, and then there was a loud thud and a large splash. The only sound after that was the continued muffled moaning and groaning from the house. Chet and Johnny came back around the corner at a run, and Roy swung around to see what had happened to his crewmates.

On the tiled patio in front of the porch, Captain Stanley's legs stuck out from beneath a pair of dark blue coveralls--stuffed coveralls, arms and legs tied at off at each end, and with what looked like an oversized sock poking out of the neck, penned with a ludicrous smiley face. Someone's black t-shirt had been sacrificed to provide the hair for the dummy; the long strands were held in place by a black baseball hat with an AC/DC logo emblazoned on the brim. Cap's dark eyes glared out from beneath the ruined shirt, draped mop-like across his face. A few feet to the left Marco pushed himself up on his arms, spitting water out of his mouth. His top half in the pond, his legs splayed out on the tiled patio surrounding the shallow pool. There was a large, wet, splash pattern on either side of the pool, now missing at least half the water it had held a minute ago.

"Don't even start, gringos," Marco threatened, leveling a soggy scowl in the direction of Johnny and Chet, whose open-mouthed shock was rapidly giving way to out and out amusement. "Nobody better say nothing."

"That goes double for me," Cap growled, shoving the dummy off of him and refusing the hand Roy solicitously offered to help him get up. Roy managed to stifle his smile, and while Chet and Johnny's grins were huge, they had the good grace not to say anything as they helped Marco out of the pool, but the boys at the gate had no such compunctions. Their howls of delighted laughter filled the air as the firefighters gathered around the dummy on the ground. Roy reached out to finger a long cord that led upward from the dummy's left foot toward the roof.

"You okay, pal?" Stanley asked, as Marco tilted his head to one side and banged softly in an attempt to get the last of the water from his other ear. Marco nodded and Stanley shook his head. He patted Marco's shoulder. "Sorry, I heard them yell and I didn't even think before I pushed you aside."

"That's okay, Cap, I--"

"Barry!" Several delighted shrieks cut Marco off. Half a dozen small bodies swarmed through the now open gate and surrounded the firefighters and the dummy. Following the numerous arms pointing upward, the crew of 51s looked up and saw a head peering down at them over the tiled edge of the roof. A sheepish grin graced pleasant features beneath a shock of dark brown hair, topped with another AC/DC cap.

Cap took a deep breath, but before he could yell, Roy called out.

"Are you okay? Your friends here thought they saw you fall earlier."

Barry shrugged, and his grin went from sheepish to delighted.

"It was the dummy. I was just practicing for tonight. Seeing how much rope I needed."

He leaned a little further forward, and held his arms out as he tugged on the thin rope. Roy let go and all the men took a step back as the dummy began to rise slowly from the ground, feet first. There was a chorus of "Cool!" and "Far out!" and "Wow!" from the junior members of the audience. Cap's scowl deepened as they watched the dummy ascend to the roof.

As Barry hauled the dummy up over the red tiles, Johnny stepped out further and leaned his head back.

"I take it that noise coming from the house isn't anybody in pain either."

Dropping the "body" down out of sight, Barry braced his hands on the tiles as he looked down at the crew. His grin was huge this time, and he shook his head.

"It's whale songs. My brother sent it to me. Cool, isn't it?"

Captain Stanley closed his eyes, missing the conspiratorial grins exchanged by Chet and Johnny.

"Told ya thirty-one was thirteen backwards," Chet whispered, and Johnny choked and coughed to hide his laughter.

Roy shook his head and rolled his eyes at the two. Cap shuddered, then opened his eyes and glared at no one in particular and his men in general.

"Whale songs," he growled. The small boys gathered around them stared at him in alarm, and as one began to move back, putting the other firefighters between them and the obviously steamed Captain. Up on the roof, Barry's smile faded, and he frowned just a bit. Cap continued his rant, his voice getting louder. "A dummy off the roof and a tape of whale songs and I'm flat on my back and Marco goes for a swim! What if Marco'd hit his head? And what've you got in that thing, rocks?" This he directed up toward Barry, who blanched visibly, and nodded.

"I...ah...thought maybe it needed a little weight so it would fall properly..." Barry admitted, miserably.

Eyes narrowing as he stared up at the teenager, Cap took a deep breath, but Roy's hand on his arm forestalled him.

"It was just a harmless joke, Captain." The paramedic gave an apologetic shrug. "For Halloween." The other three firefighters nodded, even as they refused to meet their Captain's eyes.

"I didn't know you were here, or I never would have thrown it," Barry called down from his perch. "I'm sorry, Sir. It never dawned on me they'd call anyone; and I was at the back of the house climbing up when you came in. I didn't even know you were here..." His apology trailed off as, arms akimbo, Stanley stared up implacably at him.

"C'mon, Cap, it's not like it was a malicious false alarm," Johnny said, putting his hands out in appeasement when Cap's glare came his way next. "The kids were just trying to be helpful, and it's better they called in an honest false alarm than take the chance it was a real one and not report it. Nobody got hurt." The kids, now on the fringes of the gathering nodded earnestly, while Marco, still picking pond gunk out of his hair, looked as if he might want to argue with that statement. But when Cap's gaze came his way, he shrugged.

"I'm fine, Cap. It's Halloween. No hard feelings, eh?"

Cap glared around at all his men, then covered the kids as well. In the silence while they waited for his verdict, someone snickered. Cap glared at Johnny and Chet in turn, but, eyes wide, both men shook their heads, silently protesting their innocence. Everyone turned with him when Cap's gaze finally turned toward the gate. Mike Stoker stood there, his face perfectly straight.

"I...uh...I saw him on the roof," Mike waved briefly at Barry, "and I thought...I thought..."

Cap's glare intensified.

"You SAW him?"

Mike nodded, warily.

"Uh...Uh...yeah. From the engine, I...ah..."

"You saw him," Cap stated, and Mike nodded again, not meeting Cap's gaze. "Before or after?" Cap demanded, and Mike swallowed hard.

"Ah...before, uh...I'll be at the engine if you need me," Mike said, and made an alacritous retreat into the street, leaving what sounded suspiciously like laughter in his wake.

Captain Stanley threw up his arms, then glared hard at his remaining men, all struggling to hold in their own laughter.

"I give up," he said, "it's not even dark yet, and I give up." Looking up at Barry, Cap waved his gloves at the young man. "You'd better be careful with that thing tonight, and take out those rocks! That thing's got enough weight to fall on it's own. If we get another call out here tonight..." He left the threat unfinished, and Barry nodded rapidly.

"Yes, Sir, I'll take them out now, Sir."

Stanley glared up at him for a few seconds longer, then held out his arms and ushered everyone towards the gate with a wave. The boys led the way out, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. They disappeared in a mad rush across the street as the firemen exited behind them, no doubt to spread the news about Barry's intentions for the evening.

Watching them go, Johnny grinned, then turned to the rest of the crew as they made their way back to their vehicles.

"What do you want to bet he's got the busiest house on the block tonight?"

"No bet, Gage," Marco called out, slapping the front of the engine, Mike's grinning face just visible behind the windshield. "I just hope his parents bought a lot of candy. They're gonna need it."



"So, what time will the little buggers start arriving?" Chet Kelly dropped into his chair and slid the pot of soup in front of him and, with a suspicious sniff, put one, half-filled ladle in his bowl. Good thing he'd kept his pockets full of candy; this stuff didn't look even nearly edible.

Roy grinned as he settled more slowly into his seat and scooted his chair closer to the table. "Not for at least another hour, Chet," he informed the Irishman, his eyes darting across the room to the candy awaiting distribution. "School just got out. Don't worry, they'll be here all too soon."

Johnny managed to snag the soup before Roy could serve himself, and he grinned as he spooned a very late lunch into his own dish. "What's the matter, Chet?" he demanded, shoving a cracker into his mouth and slid the pot toward Mike, missing Roy's annoyed glare. "Hoping they'll miss the station so you can horde all the Jolly Ranchers?"

"A lot you know, Gage," retorted Chet. "I just wanna see all the kids in their costumes."

"What, so you can get some ideas for your own pathetic costume ideas for next year?"

"Gage--"

"Will you two knock it off?" Hank fixed the two with a frown. "I'd like to enjoy my lunch in peace for a change."

"Lunch? Great! I'm starved!"

Johnny's head jerked up and he started to choke on cracker. Roy slapped him lightly on the back and grinned good-naturedly at the speaker.

"We've been trying all day to find a way to shut him up," he joked. "All it took you was a few words."

"What can I say? It's a talent." Dutch Masters waved lightly and dropped into an empty chair. "So, Gage," he grinned, grey eyes twinkling, "you're giving your poor co-workers' ears a workout again, are ya?"

"Happy Halloween to you, too, Masters." Johnny's attempted scowl was offset by the amused crinkle to his own eyes, which dropped to the large sack in Dutch's hand. "What'd you do, move out?"

Dutch lifted the bag and set it on the table. "Just the candy I told you I'd drop off," he replied, tipping the sack and emptying its contents in a scattering of bright wrappings and miniature boxes.

"Holy mackerel!" muttered Hank, lowering his spoon carefully into his bowl and peering at Dutch's offering. "You rob a candy store?" he asked, pawing through the conglomeration.

"Hey, this is more like it!" Marco held up a handful of small green boxes labeled "Jawbreakers." "I love these things!"

"M & M's, Dots, Jujubees?" Roy raised incredulous eyebrows. "You must have surveyed the kids to pick all this stuff," he murmured in admiration. "My kids love this stuff, too."

"All right!" Chet's mustache twitched appreciatively. "SweeTarts! And Lemonheads!" He directed his gaze toward Johnny. "Gage, take a lesson from your buddy over there. THIS is how you shop for Halloween candy."

Mike said nothing, but several boxes of Junior Mints disappeared from the pile near him, even as he spooned up his soup.

Dutch leaned back in the chair and crossed his ankles casually, folding his hands across his stomach in a careless pose. "When you get your head out of your ass, Kelly, it might interest you to know that I just picked up what Gage asked me to," he said easily, throwing an amused look at his friend, and then returning his gaze to Chet. "I don't know much about candy myself," he added with a shrug.

Roy grinned and looked at his partner. "Yeah, Johnny, here, is an expert on kids and what they like, right Johnny?" He winked at Dutch, ignoring the slap Johnny aimed at his arm.

Dutch shook his head slowly. "You guys don't know a good man when you see him," he said sadly.

"Have some soup, Dutch," offered Hank, returning his attention to his own meal.

"Ah, thanks, anyway, but I've got a date tonight," Dutch replied, glancing at the clock. "You guys must have been having a busy day."

Mike nodded. "Morning was slow, but things picked up about eleven. This is the first chance we've had to sit down since then," he explained.

"We've had some doozies today, too," added Marco.

The blare of the klaxons interrupted Dutch's question. The other six men sighed collectively, the soft sound almost drowned in the chorus of chair legs scraping against the floor.

"Station 51, structure fire, 1445 Allendale, 1-1-4-5 Allendale, cross street Wilcox. Time out 1515."

"You got some time to spare?" asked Hank before he turned toward the door.

Dutch shrugged. "I can hang around for a while," he replied, "sure. Want me to hand out the candy?"

Hank nodded. "Thanks, Dutch," he smiled. "We owe you one. I'll make sure Gage repays the favor."

Dutch smiled at Hank's departing back. There wasn't any need to thank him. He'd enjoy this.



They were out two hours for the fire at Polly's Pumpkin Patch. Fortunately the crowds of schoolkids had gone home for the day, so the main casualties of the fire were the unwanted pumpkins and the barn itself--and Chet. Backing out of the side of the barn with a hose, Chet had tripped and sat down hard--in what had to be the only pile of horse biscuits left in the barnyard. Once again Chet's mood had gone from marginal to distinctly surly. Even the appearance of the first trick or treaters back at the station hadn't improved his attitude. His own mood only slightly improved after his mishap with the dummy off the roof, Cap had finally had enough when Kelly started in on Dutch for handing out too much candy at a time.

"Kelly, if I hear one more whine out of you, you're gonna be sleeping in that van of yours out there!"

"But, Cap--"

"Kelly! Not one word!" Hank spun around and stalked out of the day room. There was silence in the room behind him, and then Chet harumphed indignantly and left as well. There was a loud sigh of relief from at least one of the men left behind, then Johnny and Dutch started an amiable argument about the World Series. Mike interjected his own opinion while taking time to answer the doorbell, ringing yet again. Marco headed off to finish his morning chores, while Roy meandered out to find a book. Cap got fifteen minutes of peace and quiet in his office, before Roy strode in, hands in his pockets and shaking his head.

"Cap, ya gotta do something about Chet," Roy pleaded. "He's driving everybody crazy. You heard him get after Dutch. And he spent all morning complaining to Stoker about hanging hose, then started in on us about the coffee, and just now he let Marco have it for polishing the locker room floor when he was trying to change his shirt. You gotta find out what his problem is."

"What do you want me to do, Roy?" Hank asked, leaning back in his chair and lifting his hands helplessly. "I've threatened and cajoled him myself all day long." He shook his head and dropped his hands again. "I don't know what's bugging him."

Settling into a chair, Roy thought a moment, then smiled just a bit.

"He's been sneaking candy all day. Thinks no one's noticed. Maybe that's it, too much sugar. I know my kids are always bears to get along with until the Halloween candy is gone." The two men shared an amused glance before Roy shrugged, and asked plaintively, "Couldn't you just send him home? Maybe Dutch would be willing to cover the rest of his shift."

Hank snorted. "Don't think I haven't thought about it, Pal, don't think I haven't thought about it. But Masters already said he had a date." He sighed. "Just stay out of his way as much as you can. That's all I can do for ya."

Roy nodded resignedly and stood. "It's not me I'm worried about, Cap," he told the other as he slipped out of the office.

Hank stared at the doorway a moment, then grinned. That was an idea....let Gage and Kelly at each other. That would solve the problem very nicely. Then, his expression soured. "That's no good," he said aloud to himself. "Think of all the paperwork that would involve."

Klaxons interrupted his reverie. At least the calls were a distraction. For the rest of them.



"Man, don't these kids have school tomorrow?" Johnny waved a party of ghouls and goblins and scantily clad hillbilly girls out of the way as Roy steered the Squad carefully down the narrow street, crowded with cars and Halloween revelers. Behind them the air horn on the engine sounded over the sirens, and Johnny shook his head. "Red lights, sirens, what do they think it means?" he griped as Roy braked for yet another band of...football players and cheerleaders. How original. Johnny's rant continued. "Isn't it about time for some of these kids to be home in bed?"

"I think most of these kids are older than that, Johnny," Roy said. "And I think that's it, up there." Richard Nixon materialized in their headlights, attired in a loud polyester shirt and a purple Jaycee's vest. Cutting the sirens, Roy braked. Johnny rolled down his window as the man pulled off his mask and trotted over.

"You can pull up on the lawn here." He gestured behind him with one arm. "I'll get everyone out of the way."

Several short minutes later the Squad was parked on the lawn in front of an old Victorian mansion, the engine forced to park in the street. Orange and red lights here and there about the yard and on the wrap-around porch cast an eerie glow over the scene in front of them. Shadowy figures perched around the house, wolves and Frankenstein monsters and other frightening Halloween specters. The porch itself was covered in the same fake spider-webbing that Chet had used earlier that day on Johnny, the webs spotted with large spiders and other creepy-creatures. Every few minutes a spotlight on the roof flashed over a mustached and caped villain dangling a woman's head in one hand, her twitching body in the other. Candles glowed and strobe lights flickered behind leaded glass windows, and shrieks and wails could be heard from within. The line for entrance to the haunted house was literally around the block. Roy nudged Johnny as they pulled out their equipment.

"Watch out for spiders," he stage-whispered, and Johnny rolled his eyes.

"Very funny."

Roy smirked and turned to the man with the Nixon mask, now hovering at his elbow. Cap appeared at the same moment, the other three members of the crew behind him. Marco stepped over and relieved Johnny of the oxygen while Mike took the biophone from Roy. Chet just stood there staring at the house, his eyes wide.

"Captain Stanley, LA County Fire Department. What seems to be the problem?" Cap asked, and briefly shook the hand the man held out.

"Larry Sanderson," said the former president, then he waved around the corner of the house with his mask. "It's the exit slide. We didn't realize what had happened until they were already stuck. Pulled as many of them out as we could, but the last half dozen or so, they're pretty jammed in there. We thought it would be best to call you."

Cap nodded. "Probably a good idea. If you'll just show us to the scene of the crime?"

Roy and Johnny shook their heads, and Marco rolled his eyes. Mike just snickered. Looked like Chet wasn't the only one who'd had too much candy tonight.

The crew followed at a jog as Larry led them along a path lighted with plastic ghost lights, around to the side of the house. There a large, corrugated steel culvert came out of a second-story window, sloping gently down to the ground. Several more Jaycees clustered around the bottom opening, and from the dark maw of the culvert came the distinct sound of...singing.

"...forty-three bottles of blood on the wall, forty-three bottles of blood. Take one down, pass it around, forty-two bottles of blood on the wall..."

"Well, at least we know they're getting enough oxygen," Roy dead-panned, and the rest of the crew chuckled. Larry grinned.

"Kids. You either love 'em or hate 'em, but they sure make this," and he waved at the house before them, "worth-while. It's the most fun we have, and one of our biggest fund-raisers every year."

Larry motioned the rest of the Jaycees back. Stepping up to the slide, Johnny handed his helmet to Roy before sticking his head up into the culvert.

"Fire department," he called. "Anyone in any pain up there?"

What replies he got mostly involved complaints about the interruption to their singing, and were quickly muffled as Johnny braced himself and moved on up into the slide.

"OH! Firemen! I love firemen!" At the back of the group, Chet turned and found himself face to face with a very pretty young brunette in very short cutoffs. Her long hair hung down in twin pony-tails and fake freckles spotted her pink cheeks. A plaid shirt was tied tightly about her midriff, emphasizing her bust line. She threw her arms around his neck. "I'm Daisy. What's your name?"

"Eh, uh...Chet Kelly, miss, and you need to get back. This a rescue operation." Conscious of Mike and Marco's snickers and Cap's glare, he reluctantly but quickly pulled the girl's arms from around his neck and pushed her away.

"OH!" she said again, her eyes and mouth round with surprise. "REAL firemen!"

"Yes, miss," Chet said, pushing her further from him. A Jaycee appeared at her elbow and pulled her away as she blew a kiss back at Chet. Chet turned around and jumped as he bumped into Mike, right behind him, Marco grinning at his side. Ignoring Chet's glare, Mike gestured at the girl being led away.

"Duke, or Clampett?" Stoker asked.

Chet stared at them, and Marco's grin grew. Chet looked over his shoulder, and all three men smiled back at the girl with the shapely posterior, only just decently covered with denim. She waved once before disappearing around the corner with her escort.

"Definitely Duke," Marco said, before slapping Mike on the arm. "Besides, it was Ellie May Clampett. And Jed would have used his shotgun on her before he let her out of the house in an outfit like that."

Mike just shrugged and grinned. He reached up and tugged on Chet's turnout coat. When Chet faced him, Mike said, "You know what they say, Chet."

"No, I don't know what they say, Mike," Chet retorted, and Mike's grin grew.

"Sixteen'll get you twenty," he said enigmatically, and Chet frowned. Marco laughed out loud, but in the few seconds it took Chet to figure out what Mike was referring to Johnny reappeared out of the culvert, where there were now only thirty-four bottles of blood on the wall.

"They're stuck in there pretty good, Cap, but I don't think anyone's hurt. If I can get someone to help shift them from the top, I think we can get them out."

Cap nodded, then turned and leveled a glare at the remaining members of his crew. Mike and Marco hastily tried to still their chuckles, but Cap's ire was already aroused.

"Stoker, Lopez, since you two are so full of energy, grab ropes and a flashlight and then get inside and see what you can do from there."

"Yessir!" Stoker said, followed immediately by Marco's "Sure, Cap." They jogged off towards the engine, guarded from the curious crowds of kids by three men in purple vests. Opening one compartment, Mike slung a coil of rope over his shoulders and then grabbed the handie talkie from the cab while Marco circled the engine to get a flashlight. Once they had their gear, Larry waved to them from the corner of the house.

"Come on, I'll take you in the back way." Larry led off at a trot around the other side of the house, the two firemen at his heels. The "back way" took them through the kitchen, filled with scraps of lumber and cans of paint and buckets and tubs full of various grotesque and slimy creations, and more people in the ubiquitous purple vests.

"We need more entrails for the doctor!" someone called, as the firemen shouldered their way through the crowd after Larry. "And where are the avocados? I'm nearly out!"

"Avocados?" Marco asked, and Larry shook his head.

"Trust me, you don't want to know. It's a special...treat for the older kids, the high school- and college-aged ones." He stopped and pulled a curtain back, revealing a narrow staircase, brightly lit. He waved the firemen through. At their questioning looks, he said, "Servant's staircase. Qualifies as a fire exit and makes it easier to keep the gore flowing."

A minute later, reaching the second floor landing, they came out through another curtained doorway and stepped over the chains blocking it off. This hall was fuller, lines of people snaking in and out of various rooms. The wails and moans were louder here as well, along with the occaisional startled cry and short scream. As they reached a junction with another hallway someone shrieked in terror right behind them. Automatically Mike and Marco turned toward the noise.

"OH! God! Randy, I can't BELIEVE you did that to me! Oh my god, This is SSSSSOOOO GROSS!"

Raucous laughter followed, and Larry grinned, stopping for a second. The crowd parted just enough for the three men to see a short, blonde teen princess standing beside a grinning, dark-haired man in a long black overcoat. Arms held out from her body, she stared down at her shiny pink dress and glossy slippers, covered in what looked suspiciously like vomit.

"Aw, come on, Jenny. It'll wash," her male companion said as she backed away from him. The crowd swelled, with admiring masculine voices and sympathetic ooohs and aaahhhs from the female members of the group. Their view cut off by the shifting mass of people, Mike and Marco looked in askance at a laughing Larry.

"She's his niece. He's been waiting all night for her to show up." He turned and began to thread his way down through the crowd of interested onlookers, standing on tiptoe and trying to see the reason for the ruckus in front of them. Following Larry, Mike slowed and waited for Marco to catch up to him.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked, sotto voce, and Marco nodded.

"Oh, yeah. Let's get this taken care of and see if Larry will set us up."

Mike nodded and grinned, gesturing for Marco to precede him through the crowd. Ducking after Larry through another roped-off doorway, the firemen found themselves at the top of the slide, a window at the narrow end of a hall.

"This is it," Larry waved at the opening, where the trapped students could still be heard singing. Marco and Mike knelt at the top of the slide, automatically checking the construction and stability of the opening.

"We'd better hurry; they're down to seven bottles," Marco said, shining the flashlight down into the darkness. Mike grunted in acknowledgment. Approving of the slide's construction, he pulled the handie-talkie from his pocket and handed it to Marco. Slipping the rope from his shoulders, it only took a moment for him to rope up as Marco reported their presence at the top of the exit. That done, Marco wrapped the rope's slack about his waist and gripped it tightly in each hand. Then Mike tucked the flashlight under his chin, wedged himself sideways into the opening, and inched his way down into the slide.

Outside, Cap acknowledged Marco's call, and then turned to his paramedics.

"Okay, they're up there. Go ahead and get in and get ready on this end."

"Right, Cap," Johnny, said, and clambered back up the slide. Roy climbed up in the culvert after him.

"Okay, this is what we want to do," Cap said into his radio after Roy called down that they were set. "When we give the word--" Cap paused as there was a sudden interruption to the singing and a distinctly Gage voice crying out "Aw, shit!"

Seconds later, Cap found himself staring at a pile of what appeared to be a number of large, hairy young men in fishnet stockings, rampantly curly wigs, and bustiers, all in a pile in front of the slide--and on top of his paramedics.

There was a breath of stunned silence from all concerned, and then...

"One bottle of blood on the wall, one bottle of blood..."



Ten minutes later the last bottle of blood was off the wall. Everyone had been sorted out and Johnny and Roy sufficiently dusted off to verify that nothing worse than smeared makeup had resulted from the students' long confinement in the slide--or their precipitous exit. Stanley was planning to have serious words with whichever one of his men inside had set that off. But the slide exit was back in action, and at Mike's advice, they'd stationed a Jaycee at the top to be sure the same thing didn't happen again. Having been exuberantly thanked by their attendant Jaycees, the paramedics were packing their equipment back into the squad. Roy was still picking sequins out of his collar; Johnny had had to have falsh eyelashes removed from his ear. Both paramedics had copious amounts of makeup and unidentifiable slime all over their turnouts. Cap had just ordered Chet to pull the reel hose and wash them off when he realized he still had two missing crew members.

"Stoker? Lopez?" His queries into the radio brought no response, and in disgust he turned it off, turning to Chet. "They must have turned their radio off. Get in there and find them and see what's taking so long." He took the hose from Chet, who nodded and then ran for the front of the house. "And NO rubber-necking!" he yelled after him.

Once inside the haunted house, Chet wended his way through the narrow hallways, his admiration for the designers increasing with every step. He began to compile a list of ideas for The Phantom to take back with him. Life would never be the same for Gage--Chet would guarantee it.

He made his way upstairs and as he rounded the last corner, he found himself pushed aside for a large crowd of youngsters who looked like refugees from a Monty Python movie. Momentarily distracted by the view through the door he took refuge in, Chet paused and stepped in for a closer look. A mad doctor, dressed in a bloodied white lab coat, stood next to an operating table on which lay a groaning body. The gaping wound on the body's abdomen dripped more blood and gore onto the floor. The doctor, insane eyes gleaming, shoved a plate under Chet's chin. Chet's mouth gaped as he beheld an unappetizing array of entrails, steaming wetly on the dish.

"Have an...hors d'oeuvre?" offered the madman.

"Uh, thanks," muttered Chet, taking a step backwards, "but I just had supper."

"But they're...fresh," leered the doctor.

Chet grinned weakly and pushed his way out the room's other door. He found himself just a few feet away from the slide entrance. Mike and Marco were laughing and shaking hands with the guy in the Nixon mask who'd helped them at the beginning.

"Hey, guys, check this out!" Once he had their attention, he waved his friends over. "Cap's waiting for you, you know." The two men nodded, and Chet pulled first Marco and then Mike into the room he'd just left.

"Did you guys see this one?" He led Mike and Marco back to railing surrounding the mad surgeon, pointing gleefully to the bleeding body and plate of steaming innards. "Isn't that great?"

"That's disgusting, Chet," muttered Mike, pulling his arm free from Chet's grip.

Marco made an unintelligible sound and Mike leaned toward him.

"You okay, Marco?"

"I don't feel so good," moaned Marco softly, one arm held protectively over his stomach.

"Man, that's so cool, though!" enthused Chet, eyes still on the gruesome scene.

Marco suddenly clamped his hand over his mouth.

"Marco?" began Mike, taking Marco's elbow in one hand, positioning him so he faced Chet.

The other firefighter suddenly leaned toward Chet and began to gag. Before Chet could step back, a pale green, lumpy liquid was splattering across the front of his turnout and onto his shoes. Marco gagged again, and Chet found himself literally dripping in the slime.

"Aw, Marco!" he cried, looking with dismay at his soiled front.

Dropping Marco's arm, Mike reached forward and calmly swiped a finger through the green goop on Chet's coat. He eyed the mess for a second, then licked his finger clean. "Not bad," he commented.

Chet stared, his mouth dropping open. Then, without another word, he leaned over the railing and heaved violently into the display.

The mad surgeon jumped back, the plate he held slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor. "Oh, man," he shouted, "that is so gross!"

Marco straightened. He watched Chet a second, then pulled the nearly empty hot water bottle from under his turnout coat and turned to Mike, who was grinning widely. "You know, Mike" he said, "I meant to tell you how much I enjoyed that pumpkin soup you made. Great stuff."

"Thanks, Marco." Mike glanced at Chet, who continued to retch. "Well, I guess we're done here," he continued. "You ready to go?" This to Marco.

Marco nodded. "Yep."

Mike gestured gallantly to the door. Once outside, they cut in line for the slide. Seconds later, Marco handed the hot water bottle to the grinning president at the window. Then he sat down and launched himself downward. Mike followed suit, calling back to Chet, who had staggered out the door behind them, "See you at the bottom, Chet."



"Aw man, and I missed it! The greatest gag on Chet yet and I missed it!" Johnny's lament echoed through the day room, over the laughter of the assembled fire fighters. Roy snickered quietly into his coffee at the table, while Marco grinned hugely beside him. Coffee in hand, Mike leaned against the counter by the stove, his smile just as huge as it was half an hour ago when he landed at the bottom of the slide exit.

"Man, I'm workin' at the wrong station." Elbows braced on his knees, Dutch grinned from his seat on the table. "You guys have all the fun here."

Johnny pushed his chair back from the table, collected his empty cup and headed for the stove. "Oh, yeah? Well, next time you wanna have some fun, Masters, you can come over and help us hang hose." His voice rose on the last word as Mike poked him sharply in the ribs. Johnny spared him a startled glance as Mike picked up the pot and refilled his mug for him. After a beat, he went on. "Anyway, all I wanna know is what was in that stuff, Mike, that you would be willing to eat it. I mean, I saw it, and it looked real to me! Me, I wouldn't have touched it."

The group all looked askance at Mike. The engineer's grin grew impossibly larger, and he sipped at his coffee for a moment before replying.

"Avacodos, applesauce, and water." He shrugged as there was a collective noise of disgust from his audience. "It didn't taste bad, really."

His audience didn't agree, obviously, but Mike just shrugged. Picking up the pot he refilled his own cup, then stepped over the table and held the pot out. Roy held his cup up for a refill, and then glared at Mike as he poured.

"What I want to know is who the wise guy was who set all those people loose down the slide, on top of us."

Marco tried to hide his smirk behind his cup, but Mike just shrugged again as he made his way around the table, refilling cups. Dutch covered his and waved off the offered refill. Mike placed the pot back on the stove and turned to find Roy still staring at him.

"It was just like any other knot; all you have to do is find the right thread to pull and it all comes out."

"Oh, and you just happened to find the right leg to pull," Roy said. Mike's grin was anything but repentant as he pulled a chair out beside Marco and sat at the table.

"Wish I'd seen it," Dutch said mournfully.

Johnny, lounging in a chair next to Dutch, shook a finger at Mike.

"You're just lucky Roy and I are the forgiving sort, or you'd have more than Chet's revenge to be worried about."

Mike and Marco both laughed, then looked at each other.

"Who's worried about Chet's revenge?" Marco said, and Mike nodded. They all turned as to look as Cap returned from the front door, holding the nearly empty bowl of candy up high, away from Johnny's questing hand.

"What I want to know is where's Chet?" asked Hank sternly, setting the bowl on the table. Roy pulled it over and started to refill it, with Dutch's help, yanking the occasional snack from 26's paramedic with sharp glares that earned him only a sniggering grin in reply.

"Oh," said Marco, glancing at the rapidly diminishing pile of candy and then pulling out some Jujubees. "I think he's sulking in the dorm. And changing his clothes."

"Yeah," added Mike as he leaned forward and snagged a box of Junior Mints. "He seemed a bit...put out on the way home. I think he has 'issues' with being the 'gloatee' rather than the 'gloater'."

"I see," Cap said, nodding wisely as the group laughed. "And I imagine you think your little stunt improved his mood?" He directed a mock glare at his two miscreant crewmembers, the effect more than slightly ruined by the twinkle in his eye and the grin he couldn't quit stifle.

"Well, all I can say is I'm just glad that someone else will be in the Phantom's sights for a while," Johnny grabbed a handful of candy from the bowl as the doorbell rang again.

Hank batted at his hand, and Johnny dropped all but one piece of the candy in the bowl. "Just for that, Gage, you can take care of the trick or treaters this time."

"I'd say we have a couple right here with us," murmured Roy to no one in particular, blowing on his coffee. Marco chuckled agian, and Mike just smiled as he downed the Junior Mints.

Johnny grinned at the group in general. "Guess you're never too old, huh?" He grabbed the bowl of candy, and headed for the front entrance as the doorbell rang again. "Hey, Dutch," he called, looking through the glass door. "There's an eight-year-old in a pussycat costume out here. She says she's your date."

"Pussycat costume?" Dutch lifted his eyebrows. "I told her a bunny outfit...."



By midnight the candy was gone; as was Dutch--but not with the eight-year-old imitating Josie of Josie and the Pussycats fame. Johnny and Roy had handed out the last of the candy to some teen-aged trick or treaters while the engine was out on a dumpster fire. Then they were called out to an unknown rescue, which turned out to be a lady pumpkin trapped in her doggie door.

"What is it with people and their doggie doors?" Johnny groused half an hour later, tossing both pen and mapbook back into the jockey box of the squad. Hitting the turn signal, Roy shook his head and sighed. Here came another Johnny rant, worse than normal, because it was sugar-induced. They'd all had a bit too much candy by now. Johnny slapped the seat between them as Roy steered the squad onto Culver street. "Man, I'd rather deal with a dumpster fire than another overweight woman and her doggie door. I just don't know what it is with doggie doors. And you know what? If I ever wanted to be a crook, I know a thousand ways to get in and out of people's houses. Doggie doors, windows, chimneys--"

"Hey, that's the station!" Roy said, flipping on their lights as Johnny stopped in mid-rant and stared down the street. A large crowd of people milled about the sidewalk in front of the station, and a sheriff's car was parked along the street, lights flashing.

"I wonder what happened? I didn't hear anything on the radio; did you hear anything on the radio?" Johnny demanded.

Tight-lipped, Roy shook his head. He concentrated on not hitting any of the many bystanders as he pulled over and prepared to back into the station. Chet and Marco came forward to wave the crowd back out of their way.

"Do we need any equipment?" Johnny called through his open window, and Marco shook his head.

"Nah. The police are just taking pictures, and a flatbed's coming to haul it away. You'd better hurry if you want to see it before they do."

Parking the squad in the bay, Johnny and Roy jumped out of the vehicle and ran to join their crewmates. They shoved their way through the crowd to the front, to find Cap there, arms akimbo, glaring at the same statue that had been the "man down" earlier in the day. Mike stood beside him, hands in his pockets and looking very sober--despite the glint in his eyes.

But instead of lying supine as it had this morning, tonight the statue stood upright on the lawn, with a large white placard around its neck.

"'Hose Inspection'," Johnny read out loud, "'Grand Prize'. Wha--?" he started, but was cut off by Marco's elbow in his ribs. Johnny scowled at him, then followed Marco's pointing finger. Tied around the statue's overly-generous male anatomy was a big blue ribbon. Johnny snorted, and then laughed out loud, waving off Chet and Marco's furious hissing to shut up. Cap rounded on him, scowling.

"Oh, you think it's funny, do you, Gage? Well, it's NOT! And I can tell you why!" Cap shot a glare over his shoulder as Mike tugged on his arm, but he nodded when the engineer waved a hand at the highly amused crowd surrounding them. Lowering his voice to a whisper, Cap continued. "You know why it's not funny, Gage?"

Johnny shook his head, trying desperately not to laugh in his superior's face.

Cap glared at him, then leaned forward, and whispered, "'Cause McConnike's gonna think I set this little prank up, and if he was after me before this, he's gonna be after me even more now!"

Roy laid a hand on Stanley's arm in a vain attempt to calm the man.

"Cap, why would Chief McConnike think you did this? And why in the world would he be after you for it?"

Cap turned toward Roy, grabbing his paramedic by the shoulders and leaning down to hiss into Roy's face.

"Because McConnike's Scottish, you twit!" Cap growled. "And we all know the joke about what the Scotsman found under his kilt, don't we?" Wide-eyed, Roy nodded, and Cap gave a sharp nod in return. "I'm dead meat; I am dead meat," he muttered mournfully.

Poking Mike in the ribs, Johnny ignored the engineer's frown.

"I don't get it. What did the Scotsman find under his kilt?" he whispered.

Mike grinned, and in a lame attempt at a Scottish accent, whispered, "I don't know where you've been, laddie, but I see ye've won first prize." It took a second, but Johnny's eyes widened and he hastily converted another fit of laughter into more coughing. Marco just shook his head and stared at the statue, as Cap turned his glare on his red-faced paramedic.

"Ah, Cap?" Chet called softly. "Channel 4's news crew just pulled up."

"What!?" Cap bellowed, releasing Roy. The crowd on the station lawn parted willingly, leaving a clear path for the reporter and the cameraman, lugging their gear up to the statue.

"Why me, why me?" Cap moaned as the cameraman began snapping pictures of the statue. Vince appeared before them, grinning hugely.

"I'll need your signature on my report."

"And of course that would be my signature," Cap said, resignedly. "I don't suppose there's any getting out of this, is there?" he asked his crewmen.

"I don't think so, Cap," replied Mike. Stanley shook his head, then took Vince's notepad and signed it before the deputy pulled him on over to discuss something about the evidence truck coming to pick up the statue.

The remaining members of A-shift's crew huddled together. They shared a guilty glance before they all burst out laughing.

"Has he been like this--" Roy started, and Mike, Marco and Chet all nodded.

"It was on the lawn when we got back from that dumpster fire," Marco said. "Mike thinks he saw the girls who did it drive off in a little Toyota pickup, but he's not sure. He already gave his statement to the police."

Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, Mike nodded again. Johnny looked over to where a Cap was still talking to Vince, and shook his head.

"I don't know, but I think we should have cut Cap off on the sugar a lot sooner than we did."

"Not only that," Chet cut in, "But I'm wondering if right now's a good time to tell Cap that McConnike's Irish, not Scottish."

There was a second of silence, and then all five men collapsed in helpless laughter.



Whistling cheerfully, Johnny made his way from the day room to the locker room the next morning. Following him, Roy shook his head.

"I don't know how you can be so cheerful this early in the morning," he said.

"What's not to be cheerful about?" Johnny asked, stopping just outside the locker room door. "It was a relatively entertaining day yesterday; we got at least six hours of uninterupted sleep last night; the Phantom got got, but good, and now we have two glorious days off. Why shouldn't I be cheerful?"

Roy grinned slyly.

"Well, you could come help me out with--"

"Oh no you don't!" Johnny said, pushing the locker room door open, then swinging around to lean against it while he pointed at Roy. "I'm going to go home and enjoy being single and being a slob if I want to and living in an apartment where I don't have to mow the lawn or clean the gutters or any of that other 'homeowner' crap." His hand waved in the air for emphasis as he spoke, and then he turned and led the way into the locker room.

Marco sat on the bench in front of his locker, tying his street shoes, while Mike stood at the mirrors, running an electric razor over his bare chin. Chet was changing out of his uniform, whistling off-key as he did so.

"Well, Kelly, glad to see you're in a better mood than yesterday," Johnny said, stopping at his own locker and pulling his uniform shirt out of his pants. Roy opened his own locker and sat down to pull his shoes off. Johnny grinned at Chet. "Though I think you were right about that '31 being 13 backwards' stuff yesterday. It sure wasn't your day."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't your day either. Unless you call winding up underneath a pile of mutant cross-dressers--"

"They weren't mutant cross-dressers, they were characters from the Rocky Horror Picture Show." Mike said, giving his chin one last inspection in the mirror before unplugging his razor from the wall.

There was a moment of silence. Turning around and catching all four of them staring at him, Mike flushed.

"What, you don't think I've ever seen the Rocky Horror Picture show?"

"Well, no, it's not that, Mike--" Kelly started, only to be interrupted by a grinning Johnny.

"It's just that something like that seems a bit...out of character for you, Mike." Eyes narrowed, Johnny stared at Mike, who was suddenly very busy walking over to his locker and putting his shaving gear away. "You know, Mike, you're pretty duded up there." He pointed at Mike's blue cordouroy slacks and his matching dress shirt. "You, ah, you got something going on today?"

Mike unzipped his shaving bag and dropped the razor into it. Looking up at Johnny, he smiled and shrugged.

"There's a Renaissance Fair all week at MacArthur Park, and a folk concert tonight."

"And you're going to these events with..." Johnny encouraged Mike with a rolling motion of one hand.

Still grinning as he stowed the shaving kit in the black gym bag he pulled from his locker, Mike shook his head.

"No one you know, Johnny."

"Is this the same girl you took out last week?" Roy asked, and Mike nodded, folding his dirty uniforms into the bag. He ignored the glances exchanged by the other guys. This was news, Mike going out with someone more than once.

"So, this is what, two weeks in a row you've gone out with the same girl?" Chet asked, and got another nod in response. "Wow, Mikey, things must be serious, then." That comment earned Chet a glare from the engineer, and he shook his head and picked up his bag.

"See you guys Thursday," he said, and walked out the door into the vehicle bay. Chet waited until the door was closed, then scrambled for his locker. He pulled a couple of items out, only one of them recognizable, and scrambled for the door.

"Chet, what are you doing with that tennis racket?" Marco asked. Roy and Johnny both stared as Chet ignored Marco, disappearing out the door after Mike.

"What was that all about?" Johnny said, and Roy shrugged. Pulling a shirt on, Johnny exchanged a glance with Marco, and both men hurried after Chet.

"He went thataway," Dwyer said as they came out into the half-empty bay, waving in the direction of the day room. Leaving Dwyer to his daily inspection of the squad's supplies, Marco and Johnny hurried around the vehicle and through the doorway into the other room. They found Harris, B-shift's second paramedic, at the back door, backing up in a hurry as Chet pushed him back inside.

"C'mon, get back! I don't want him to see anything!" Chet stopped at the door, and wrapped something around the doorknob twice. Then he stepped back, holding the door open just slightly. Noticing his audience, he tossed a pleaased grin at them.

"This'll teach him to mess with the Phantom."

"Chet, what did you do with the tennis racket?" Johnny asked suspiciously, aware of Roy's quiet presence beside him.

Chet grinned and rested his free hand on the doorknob. "It's masterful in its simplicity, really. A true work of art." He cheerfully ignored their snorts of disbelief, waving the roll of fishing line he held in his other hand at them. "All it takes is a little fishing line, a tennis racket, and a light pole. You tie the fishing line to the racket, toss it over the light pole so it's laying in the road. Then you tie the line off somewhere, and when someone drives into the fishing line--"

"The racket hits the bottom of the car and it sounds like the muffler or something just fell off," Roy finished for Chet. "You know, you're making two mistakes here, Chet." Everyone paused as they heard Mike's truck coming round the corner from the parking lot. Sure enough, seconds later there was a clatter, and the short shriek of brakes. Chet's grin got even bigger as a car door opened and slammed shut, and he quickly turned to unwrap the fishing line from the doorknob. Roy stepped up behind him.

"Number one, never mess with a man who's on his way to pick up his date."

"CHET!" The roar from the driveway reverberated through the room and Chet dropped the fishing line. Turning, he scurried around the table and out the door towards the locker room. The outer door to the day room flew open, revealing a seething Mike Stoker, tennis racket in hand, the knees of his pants and one shoulder covered with dirt and grease. Marco lifted his hands in a placating gesture, and then pointed to the door to the vehicle bay. With a short nod, Mike disappeared in pursuit of his quarry.

"And you never, ever mess with an engineer and his engine--of any sort." Roy finished solemnly, as a loud shriek echoed in the bay.

"You think we should..." Johnny started, and Roy shook his head.

"Nah, we're off duty. Let Dwyer and Harris clean up what's left of Chet." Harris looked dubious. Roy grinned, and clapped Johnny on the shoulder. "I've got gutters to clean. You've got a couch to slob out on."

"Gutters," Marco groaned, following them to the door. "I have to go clean out my mother's gutters today, I completely forgot."

"Mike, I'm sure there's no real damage, really..." Chet's pleading faded out as Mike evidently led him out the back bay door towards his pickup.

Johnny grinned at his companions.

"You know, one may only be half of 13, and not thirteen backwards, but I don't think November 1 is a good day for Chet either."

finit



inkling's gratuitous authorial commentary: Gratitude of Sumo wrestler proportions to MJ for the privilige of writing this story with her. To repeat myself once more, it was a blast! Thanks ever so much for the many deep belly laughs as we wrestled this thing into submission. Thanks as well to JoAnn and Susan for their rapid-fire, last-minute betas. And last, but not least, thanks to my hubby, Dennis, for small details like tennis rackets and hot water bottles. <g>

MJ's Author's note: Oh, for pity's sake, how the heck am I supposed to top that? Maybe show you all the receipt for the two keyboards I shorted out spitting various liquids onto it as we composed? Perhaps share the used wads of tissue I went through
wiping tears of laughter from my eyes? Nah. How 'bout I just say "Ditto"? It's easier. Even to Dennis, who doesn't even know me. Nobody here knows anything about hot water bottles or tennis rackets. Honest.