Smoke & Mirrors by Skye Jordan

16

Logan

Ipull into the parking lot of Station 21 with a smile on my face. A big smile. I wasn’t thrilled when I woke up and found Isabel gone, but I’m surprised I got her to stay as long as she did.

It might very well have been the best fucking night of my life.

As soon as I park, Lucky climbs into the passenger’s seat from the footwell and props his paws on the door, looking out the window, tail wagging. He jumps out with me and runs into the firehouse, where he’s greeted with enthusiasm.

“Luckiest dog on the planet,” I mutter to myself, smiling.

I skip my run—Isabel gave me a real workout last night—and check in with Bobby, whose shift is ending. After we exchange information about the prior shift and the functionality of all the equipment, I tell him he can head home early, and I start my own morning routine, rechecking equipment and supplies.

Lucky trots out of the house and sniffs around the engine bay. He’s become so animated since I’ve had him. Bold and opinionated. I know that’s because he feels safe to be himself, and I love that I’ve given him the security he needs to express himself.

I stop what I’m doing as that thought hits me square in the forehead. Maybe if I was more accepting of Isabel, she would feel safe to tell me all she’s not telling me.

A series of bangs echoes through the bay. I shoot to my feet and spin toward the noise. Lucky’s got ahold of a pair of suspenders on turnout pants hanging on the wall, tugging with all his might. His jerking and tugging knocked over a SCBA tank, which started a domino reaction. The noise of the metal hitting the cement is still reverberating around the engine bay when all the guys appear in the doorway, serious until they figure out what happened, then they’re all laughing their asses off. Lucky manages to pull the turnout pants off the hook and proudly trots to me with a bright red suspender in his mouth.

“Kid,” I tell him, prying the suspender from his teeth. “You’re killing me.”

Once I clean up Lucky’s mess and the rescue is fully stocked, I bring the box holding Sorenson’s new boots into the house and drop them on the table in front of him, sick over how much they cost me. My savings feel like they’re draining out my feet. He smirks up at me. “Bet you won’t make that mistake again.”

I join the guys at the kitchen table with a big cup of coffee. Like Gigantor big. I listen to the guys’ tales of the prior shift with one ear, but my head’s still in the clouds, remembering Isabel sitting on my lap, hand fisted in my hair, riding me. And damn, can that girl move. She gave one of the grape condoms a thorough taste test, one I didn’t ever want to end.

I expected it to be good. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was great. But she fucking blew me apart. I sure as shit hope that’s not the one and only time we hook up while she’s here. The fact that she left my bed before I was awake leads me to believe she may be difficult to lure in again.

“Roberts.”

I instantly drill into my memory for what the guys have been discussing, but still have no idea. “Yep?”

“Where’s your head at?” Tucker asks.

In bed, with your sister. “Just thinking about renovations on the motel.”

“I thought Isabel was helping,” he says.

“She is. She gets a lot done on the days I’m working. She’s almost filled up an entire dumpster with shit from the rooms.”

“She’s not too much trouble? Because I can get her to come stay at the loft.”

Over my dead body. “No trouble.”

The house phone rings, and Sorenson gets up to answer it. “Station 21.”

He crosses his free arm. “Uh-huh.”

I know that look, so I chug as much caffeine as I can before we have to leave. Calls like this are either too ridiculous for the airwaves or a favor the asker would rather keep quiet.

“Right.” Sorenson lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his forehead. “Yeah, sure. Later.”

“Are we headed out to a bullshit call?” Tucker asks.

“Parrot in a tree.”

“A bird in a tree?” Royal says. “What’s next? A fish in water?”

The guys laugh.

“It’s an African Gray, that costs over two grand,” Sorenson says.

“Jesus,” Carter says.

“It’s been loose forty-eight hours, and the owner is afraid it will die because it was raised from a baby in a cage. We’ll take the ladder truck.”

Sorenson turns toward the engine bay with the rest of us following, and we all step into our gear. Lucky’s figured out that getting into our gear precedes something fun, and he’s spinning in circles, barking at us to hurry up.

“How tall is the tree?” I ask.

“Guesstimate is seventy or eighty feet.” Sorenson is the first one dressed and climbing into the truck. The man is in his forties, but he moves like a twenty-year-old.

“Too bad Bobby’s not here.” Tucker grabs the rail and climbs into the truck. “He kicks ass at those heights.”

“I’ll do it,” Royal says, climbing in behind Tucker.

Sorenson calls out the window. “Sixteen-fifty-nine Whippoorwill, gentlemen.”

And the truck heads out.

I put Lucky on the driver’s seat of the rescue, and he moves to the console between the seats. He loves looking out the window while we drive, and he’s really good about staying in the rig without complaint while we’re at an incident—as long as he has a toy to play with and everything else is locked down. Now that I’ve had him several days, I don’t know how I ever lived without him.

Carter and I follow in the rescue and head toward the location in a mountainous area of town.

“Isn’t that Harry Stucco’s address?” Carter asks.

“Sure is.”

“Didn’t he just get out of prison?”

“Sure did.” He’s a lawyer who got in too deep with the lowlife drug dealers he defended.

“He must have had a lot of money stashed away if he’s got a two-thousand-dollar bird.”

“I’m betting it’s a trade.”

Carter looks at me sideways. I meet and hold his stare.

“Ooh,” Carter finally draws out. “A drug trade.”

We’re quiet for a few minutes, and when we stop at a light—since this is no way an emergency—Carter says, “So, Isabel. What’s she like?”

Just the sound of her name kicks off sparks in my gut. “Strong, independent…a little mysterious.”

“Mysterious? I didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I.” And when the mysterious part of her deals with exes with a grudge, I’d skip mysterious.

“Damn she’s hot. She say how long’s she staying?”

I cut a smirk at him. “Why are you asking? Aren’t you still seeing Carly?”

“Yeah, but it’s casual. I could totally date someone else, but I’m not asking for me. I heard you two had a thing way back.”

“It wasn’t a thing, and it was way back.”

“Are you working on her?”

Or she’s working on me. I’m not sure which. “Doesn’t matter. She’s not staying.”

“Oh no?”

“No. She’s a fashion designer in New York. That’s her version of The Show,” I tell him, using the term baseball players use when they’re rising from the minors to the majors.

“Right. Makes sense.”

I knew this all along, only it’s hitting me in a different way today. Never thought I’d wish I didn’t have nuclear chemistry with such an amazing woman. Just the thought of last night’s steam makes me shift in the driver’s seat. But in the end, I have to open my eyes to the truth. “There’s nothing for her here.”

I feel heavier now that I’ve acknowledged that despite what happens between us, I only have Isabel for a short time. I tell myself it’s okay, that I’m not up for anything but sex. When she leaves, it will be no big deal.

“She’s going back to New York, then?”

“I don’t think she knows yet.”

“Does she know your sister? Isn’t Maya a fashion designer in New York too?”

“They knew each other in high school, but haven’t kept in touch.”

“So you think you and Isabel will have some short-term fun?”

“Why are you so interested in what I’m doing?”

He shrugs. “Someone ought to be getting in on that action.”

I’d been planning on getting as much of that action as she’ll give me, but talk of her leaving has made me a little edgy.

I turn my attention to the forest as we climb into the mountains. Carter looks through the windshield and up at the trees. “These look taller than eighty feet.”

“Yeah, they do.”

“If Cap sends Royal up there, he’s gonna shit himself.”

That makes me laugh.

The engine stops in the street in front of a home on at least a couple of acres and we pull in behind. Sorenson is the first one out of the truck and starts toward the door. A man in his sixties comes out of the house before Sorenson gets there. He’s dressed in a suit and tie, his graying hair cut well, his stubble-beard more gray than brown.

“He looks pretty legit for a disbarred lawyer,” Tucker mutters. “But he’s got the mouth of a convict.”

I look up at the treetops. Only the outer edge of the forest is illuminated; everything inside is dark and muted. “Pretty hard to spot a gray bird in there.”

Tucker, Carter, and I are looking up at the trees, hands on hips, when Harry and Sorenson come over, and we move a few dozen feet off the road, into the trees.

“There she is.” He points to a tree. “The little cunt.”

“Whoa,” Sorenson says. “No need for that kind of language, Mr. Stucco.”

“I got her from a motherfucking cocksucker, so I shouldn’t be surprised she’s just as deranged.”

Motherfucking cocksucker makes my mind turn back to Isabel. I take another look at Harry. Sure, he’s a lot older than Isabel’s ex—at least I assume so—but he’s giving off that royal-asshole vibe I imagine her ex did.

“If you hate her so much,” I say, “why did you call us to come get her? Why not just let her go?”

“Because she’s worth a lot of money.” He doesn’t have to end that comment with “dumbshit.” It’s clear in his tone.

We back the truck into the space and raise the ladder, but don’t put it against the tree yet. We move in slow motion because we don’t want to scare her to another spot, or we could seriously be here all day.

She squawks some but doesn’t fly away. In fact, she looks interested in what we’re doing.

“Who wants to go up for her?” Sorenson asks.

“I’ll go,” Royal says.

“Dumbshit.” This comes in perfect but strangely pitched English from the top of the tree and makes us all laugh. Everyone except Harry.

“This is going to be fun,” I say.

“Not,” Tucker adds.

“Hold on.” I turn toward Harry. “Can you bring out a treat?”

“I don’t have time for this shit.” He starts toward the house.

“What’s her name?” I call after him.

He turns to spit out, “Dolly.”

Tucker grabs a lightweight rescue blanket from the truck. “Prison clearly taught him some manners.”

He lays the blanket over Royal’s shoulder. When everyone looks at him like he’s got two heads, he says, “What? I googled how to catch birds on the way over.”

“Too bad Google couldn’t get its lazy ass over here and catch the thing,” Sorenson says.

Harry returns with a treat. It’s the size of a cigar and covered in seeds, which Royal takes.

“I can’t stand around while you all have your thumbs up your asses,” Harry bitches. “Just bring her in when you catch her.”

We watch Harry stalk back into his house.

“Prick.” This comes from Dolly, speaking what we are all thinking.

I look up at the bird. “I like you, Dolly.”

She makes a laughing sound, walking one way on the branch, then the other.

“That’s eerily human,” Royal says. “She might be freaking me out a little.”

“Make sure she knows the difference between your finger and the treat,” Tucker says. “Her beak is strong enough to amputate a couple of digits.”

Royal’s face drops, eyes go wide. “What?”

I elbow Tucker. “Stop messing with him. He’s going to have enough trouble with the height. Have you ever been that high, kid? You know the term nosebleed section? There’s a reason for that.”

Tucker laughs at the way I mess with Royal right after telling Tucker to stop.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be the one to do it,” Royal says.

“Maybe you ought to stop being so gullible,” Sorenson tells him. “They don’t know what in the hell they’re talking about. Think of this as getting a scared cat to come to you. Move slow, talk softly to her, offer the treat.”

“That’s also good advice for getting a woman into bed,” Tucker says, slapping Sorenson on the back. “Great tips, boss.”

Sorenson smirks at Tucker. “Don’t go for the blanket until you’re close enough to be sure you’ll toss it over her.”

“Yeah, okay.” Royal’s a good sport. He dutifully takes the treat and the blanket and starts the long climb.

“Get the fuck out,” Dolly says, making Royal stop and look back at us.

“Are you sure this is the best way?”

“No other way I know of,” Sorenson says.

Royal starts up again. He’s moving painfully slow, but Dolly doesn’t like this at all. She’s all but dancing on the branch, wings extended, feet restlessly scooting back and forth.

“Motherfucker,” Dolly says, followed by laughter that sounds like it comes straight out of a horror flick. “Get the fuck out, get the fuck out, get the fuck out.”

“Jesus,” I mutter. “He’s never going to get her.”

“I’d bet twenty on that,” Tucker says.

“Do you know how to do anything without betting on it?”

“Just a healthy dose of competitive spirit. You taking the bet or not?”

“I’ll go in for twenty.” Sorenson rarely jumps in on the bets, but he’s looking up at the tree, grinning. “He’s gonna get her. He’s got the patience of Job.”

“I’m saving my money for the renovation. Isabel is kicking ass, and I anticipate her asking for more cash to keep going.”

I wonder if I could keep her here with the renovation.

The thought pops into my mind from nowhere, confusing me. I have no idea why I would think she’d stay to do someone else’s work for free. Besides, she’s not a contractor. She’s not exactly skilled enough to do more than what she’s doing: cleanup.

“Has she mentioned how long she plans to stay?” I ask Tucker.

“Not a word.”

Just as Royal reaches the top of the ladder, a gentle gust of wind comes through, making the ladder sway.

Royal grips the ladder, muttering, “Holy fuck.”

“Holy fuck,” Dolly answers. “Squawk. Holy fuck.”

Tucker and I are laughing, and even Sorenson is grinning.

“One of you might need to go up there for moral support,” Sorenson says.

“Get the fuck out,” Dolly says, followed by crazy laughter and dancing on the branch. “Piece of shit, squawk, get the fuck out.”

“Guys,” Royal says. “I think she’s possessed. I’m not kidding. She just turned her head all the way around.”

“Prick is coming, prick is coming,” Dolly says. “Get the fuck out, squawk.”

We all glance at the house and find Harry standing in the driveway, arms crossed, scowling.

“I think I’m starting to understand why she flew away,” I say under my breath.

“Hi, Dolly,” Royal says, “I’m Royal, your friendly neighborhood hero.”

“Royal hero, squawk, Royal hero.”

“Hey, did you hear that?” Royal smiles down at us.

“Yeah,” Sorenson says, “you’re a goddamned hero.”

“Look what I’ve got for you, Dolly.”

She sidesteps toward Royal. He’s holding out the treat, his fingers on the very end, presumably so Dolly doesn’t bite his fingers off.

Dolly quiets and checks out the treat. But instead of just taking it from him and staying in the tree, she walks right off the branch and onto Royal’s shoulder.

Royal makes all kinds of terrified noises, punctuated by “Holy fuck. Don’t eat me. What do I do now?”

While Tucker, Sorenson, and I are laughing, Dolly solves the problem, by taking the treat from his hand and happily chomps away.

“Try coming down the ladder,” Sorenson says when he catches his breath. “See if she’ll stay with you.”

On the slow descent, Dolly demolishes the treat, and when Royal touches down, Dolly is snuggled up into the crook between Royal’s head and neck. Royal, on the other hand, is stiff and awkward.

“I’m afraid she’s going to take a chunk out of my ear.”

Dolly makes a strange chortling, purring noise that sounds like contentment and deliberately rubs her head against Royal’s cheek.

“I think the only thing you’re going to have to worry about,” I say, “is leaving without her.”

She turns her head and softly chatters, “Royal hero, Royal hero” in his ear, cuddled against Royal’s neck.

“Someone’s got a crush,” Sorensen says.

Harry comes forward.

“Squawk, prick is coming, prick is coming,” and she turns on Royal’s shoulder to give Harry her back. “Get the fuck out.”

Harry approaches, reaching toward Dolly with both hands, like he’s going to grab her and throw her back in a cage. Royal puts a hand out and turns so Harry can’t reach the bird. I can’t say I’ve ever seen this intense look on Royal’s young face.

“Where did you get Dolly?” Royal asks with an authority that’s ten years older.

“None of your goddamned business,” Harry says. “Give me the fucking bird.”

“Prick, prick, prick,” Dolly says, her tone softer, like she’s trying to whisper. “Get the fuck out.”

“As an employee of the state,” Royal says, “I’m bound to report any signs of abuse. Would you like the ASPCA coming out to your house and asking you questions about where and how you got her? Would you want them looking around your house to make sure there aren’t other abused pets on the premises? Who knows what else they’d find, am I right?”

Harry pulls his hands back and raises his hackles, but it’s obvious that idea spooks him. “I don’t abuse her.”

“Prick,” Dolly says.

“Law enforcement may take one listen to her and think differently.”

“Royal.” Sorenson’s voice says the same thing I’m thinking: what are you doing, kid?

“Just take her,” Harry says, gesturing to Royal and Dolly. “She’s nothing but a noisy shit pot of trouble anyway.”

Sorenson cuts in. “That won’t be necessary—”

“Crapping all over my furniture,” Harry says. “Waking me up at all hours. You were right,” he says to me. “I should just have let her stay out here and die. Take her.”

As soon as Harry turns and stalks back toward the house, Dolly turns forward again, hunches into a comfy spot on Royal’s shoulder, and makes sounds of contentment.

When Harry’s front door shuts, Sorenson throws up his hands. “What in the fuck?”

“What in the fuck?” Dolly mimics.

“He doesn’t deserve to own animals,” Royal says.

“Twenty minutes ago, you thought she was going to eat you,” Tucker says. “Now you two look tight enough to plan a fucking wedding.”

“It wasn’t right,” Royal insists, “the way he treats her.”

“We don’t actually know how he treats her,” Sorenson says, hands on hips and clearly not happy about this. “All we know is she got loose and he called us to get her.”

Royal is brooding now, petting the feathers of Dolly’s chest with one finger. “You let Logan have two cats and a dog.”

“We’re not building a fucking menagerie.” Sorenson shakes his head while looking at the sky before turning and heading toward the truck. “You’re not keeping it. We’re dropping it off at the Humane Society on our way back to the house. Now get that ladder down and let’s go.”

As soon as Sorenson’s in the truck, I knock Royal’s shoulder. “Kid, don’t fuck with my animals. You’re the one who pointed out he was a Dalmatian and we should keep him.”

“As if you weren’t thinking it already.” Royal looks at Dolly. “Guess I’ll just have to make a parrot petition.”

Tucker laughs. “The kid’s getting sassy. I kinda like it.”

“Rescue one.” The dispatcher comes over the radio. “Report of a woman down, Eight forty-five Singleton Street. Young children reported in residence.”

Sorenson picks up the call. “Rescue one responding. Engine one to follow. Eight forty-five Singleton.”

Carter climbs into the rescue with me, chuckling. “We’re building a fucking menagerie whether Sorenson likes it or not. He’s one of those people, you know? The kind that says ‘no pets,’ then amends to ‘I’m not taking care of them,’ only to find him asleep in a recliner with a puppy on his chest, a cat tucked beside him, and a bird perched on the back of his chair. Just watch, it’ll happen.”

I laugh. “Can’t wait to see that. Make sure we get pictures.”

I’m feeling good as we turn the corner onto Singleton, until I spot a cop car in front of the house. It’s a nice neighborhood of large homes and manicured lawns. Corbett Sosa, a local cop about my age, is crouched on the front porch, easing a toddler into an older boy’s arms before returning to the house. Another police car rounds the corner behind us.

“Shit.” My mood tanks. “This doesn’t look good.”

“Is that baby covered in blood?”

The younger kid has a rescue blanket around his shoulders, but I can see his white T-shirt is drenched in something dark.

I pull up to the curb, trying to catch the color of whatever is all over the kid, but it could be anything—chocolate, juice, shit.

Carter and I get out and grab the ALS, or advanced life support, bags and head up the walk. As I near, I get a better sense of the situation, but it’s not a good sense. The older kid, maybe nine or ten, is crying, his shoulders shaking with sobs as he tries to hold on to his wailing sibling.

“Check out these two,” I tell Carter before entering the house.

It doesn’t take me long to find Corbett and the victim, a woman in her midthirties on the floor, a knife still in her chest, blood everywhere. I’ve seen my share of tragedies, but the raw violence of this situation still shocks me.

Corbett pulls his hand away from the woman’s neck and shakes his head. “She’s gone.”

My shoulders sink. There’s no doing CPR with a knife in her chest. But my dread is for those kids, not her. She’s already found peace, but those kids are in for a lifetime of hell.

“The father?” I ask.

“Probably. She was just granted a restraining order. Units are trying to track him down.”

We both know restraining orders are a double-edged sword. Sometimes they get the guy to give up and go away. Sometimes they trigger the abuser into a rage.

When I go back outside, the engine is here. Royal is holding the youngest kid, and Sorenson is crouched in front of the older boy, who’s sitting on the engine’s bumper. With the boy’s hands in his, Sorenson talks to the kid, who’s wiping his tears on the shoulders of his shirt.

Carter comes up beside me and shakes his head. “We’re so keeping that fucking bird. He’s a marshmallow underneath all that gruff.”

“That he is.”

My heart is beating in my stomach, and my chest aches. Culture teaches boys they need to be strong. Told they’re the “man of the house” when the father figure leaves. Told to protect the mother and siblings while Dad’s gone. Age and ability don’t matter, and emotions aren’t always logical.

I was far older than that kid when my father killed my mother, but my earliest memories are of the abuse my father leveled on my mother and me. I never let him near Maya, which ultimately ended in more beatings for me. And I remember the crushing weight of failure every time he abused my mom.

As an adult, I know she had a thousand chances to leave him but chose to stay. Chose to lie and lie and lie about what was going on. Isabel comes to mind, and the thrill that came to work with me has turned to concern. And frustration.

A CSI van pulls into the driveway and I make my way back to the rescue and put the bags away. Shortly after CSI gets here, social services shows up, and detectives are driving toward the house as I’m driving away.

Carter lets out a heavy sigh. “This day started out pretty good, but went downhill fast.”

“Dropped like a fucking rock.”