"No, wait," Thompson said, his voice filled with morbid fascination. "I want to see how much worse it gets."
The actor picked up his mask and put it directly on his face without any cleaning, having just had it sitting on a contaminated surface next to someone's lunch.
"JESUS CHRIST!" Martinez yelped, actually stepping back from the TV. "That thing's never been cleaned! Ever!"
"It's like they're trying to give themselves cancer," Rodriguez muttered.
"Ope, sorry there rook, but lemme tell ya how we do things in Milwaukee," the actor playing the seasoned veteran was telling his "probie" with theatrical wisdom, "When that bell rings, you grab your gear and you run into that fire like you're headed to a fish fry on Friday."
"Did he just say 'ope'?" Benny asked. "Do people actually say that?"
"Alright, enough torture," I said, though I'll admit I was transfixed by the horror show, too. "Turn it off before someone has a stroke."
"But L.T., they're about to eat food that was sitting next to the dirty gear," Thompson protested. "This is like watching a snuff film."
"Off. Now. That's an order."
Rodriguez grabbed the remote and switched to a cooking show. The visible tension in the room decreased immediately, though Martinez was still muttering about "criminal negligence" and "lawsuit waiting to happen."
"How do they expect people to take us seriously when that's what they put on TV?" Martinez asked, still looking genuinely shaken.
"Because most people don't know any better," Benny said. "They think it's just soot, not carcinogens. They see the hero shots, not the guys dying at fifty from throat cancer."
"Speaking of soot," Thompson said, breaking the silence with forced energy, "when's the last time you truckies actually cleaned your gear instead of just posing for calendar photos?"
"We follow protocol," Rodriguez shot back, grateful for the return to normal. "Unlike you water fairies who think soap is optional."
"Soap? We use industrial degreaser. You need it when you actually work for a living."
"Work? You mean standing around pointing a hose while we do all the thinking?"
"Thinking? Is that what you call it when you spend twenty minutes figuring out which end of the ladder goes up?"
"At least we don't treat nozzle time like foreplay. Maybe if you finished faster, we wouldn't have to ventilate so much."
"Hah! Makes perfect sense, 'cause teaching a truckie is like having sex with a rock. It's really fucking hard."
"Your wife tell you that?" Rodriguez grinned. "Makes sense, she's been looking for something hard — "
"Alright,children," I interrupted before Thompson could launch himself across the day room. "Save it for the training ground."
Battalion Chief Evans appeared in the bay doorway, coffee in hand like always. The man had a sixth sense for showing up right when the crew was getting rowdy. "Morning, Delgado. Equipment checks going well?"
"Yes, sir. All apparatus ready for service."
"Good." He glanced toward the day room where Thompson and Rodriguez were still trading glares. "Crew seems... spirited this morning."
"Just the usual engine-truck rivalry, sir. Keeps them sharp."
"Right." Evans shifted awkwardly, doing that thing where he wanted to say something but couldn't quite get there. "Listen, how's Captain O'Sullivan doing? Heard he's got another treatment scheduled."
"He's hanging in there. Stays positive. The whole department's been supportive."
"Good man. Thirty-two years of service, and half the department still calls him for advice." Evans nodded approvingly. "Hell, I called him last week about that hazmat incident on the south side. You tell him the battalion's thinking of him."
"I will, sir."
After Evans left, Thompson appeared at my elbow. "BC's not wrong about Cap. Man's got more friends in this department than anyone else. Did you know he showed up at Rodriguez's wedding? Kid didn't even work under him, but Cap heard his folks couldn't make it from Puerto Rico, so he stood in."
