Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
“Indeed,” I said. “Well, I look forward to continuing his legacy.”
“Good,” Chief said. “Now, can you do something about the average weight of an Ashford fireman? I’m getting tired of being able to outrun these boys, and I’m in my sixties.”
“Yes, sir.”
I got up, feeling pretty good about myself. Being able to represent the department and not be the subject of jokes or scorn would be nice. No one had been outright rude to me personally, but even I had heard people make a joke or two at the department’s expense. It had been a running gag in Ashford for a long time that if you had a fire to pray for rain, because the fire department wasn’t going to do much to help.
That was something I was hell-bent on changing. And if that meant losing a few of the guys in the house now and being short-staffed for a bit, I didn’t see that as a problem. Some of those guys were simply warm bodies, taking up space and payroll without doing much good. A couple of them that I had identified already were even worse.
I walked out of the office and saw one of those bad influences sitting on a couch, the remote to the television in his hand and his T-shirt untucked over sweatpants. I walked up directly to him, and when he didn’t acknowledge me, I stepped in front of him and the television. At first, he just leaned to one side to see around me, but I stepped again to block that way too until he looked up. His mustache twitched as he flickered a mean-spirited smile, one that always lay behind the words “it’s just a joke” after something extremely offensive was said.
I hated that phrase, that smile, and people who said those words.
“What’s your name again?” I asked.
“Beam. Jim Beam.”
A growling laugh came from another end of the room, where an older, portly man sat doing a sudoku puzzle. He was absolutely on my cut list, but at least he wasn’t actively a problem. He could stay for a day or two more.
“Your real name,” I said.
“Aren’t you a boss? Shouldn’t you know my name? Or have some nerdy clipboard with all our names on it? Like the one on the gym door?”
“Keith,” I said, suddenly remembering his name. “Keith Walker. Right?”
“You got me,” he said, pushing his hands out like I’d chased him down in a police procedural.
“Why are you out of uniform, Walker? I know you’re on call until four.”
“It’s just my pants, sir,” he said with as much derision as possible. “I can pop my suit on over them just the same as jeans.”
“It’s not the uniform, Walker. We have a code for a reason.”
“Yeah, so nerds like you can pick on guys like me. I’m on call. Not on duty. I don’t need to be in uniform.”
“Yes, you do. It’s policy. If it ever becomes policy that you don’t need to be in uniform inside this building other than the barracks, I’ll give you a pass. Until then, go get in uniform.”
“No,” he said, huffing out a short laugh.
“Fine,” I said. “You’re fired. Get out.”
“Excuse me?” He popped up out of his seat on the couch. “You can’t just fire me like that!”
“Can and did. Get out.”
“Fuck you,” he said, pushing past me and stomping to the chief’s office.
It was now or never for the chief. Either he was going to try to subvert my power or stand behind me and show these boys that things were going to work differently. I stood patiently, waiting for the door to open. When it did, Walker stomped out, shoving the door to the barracks open and disappearing behind the door. Chief followed him out but then turned to me. As he approached, he had his hands in his pockets, and when he spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
“You canned him for not being in uniform?”
“I canned him for that and being insubordinate,” I said.
“Good,” Chief said. “I hated that prick.”
With that, he sauntered back to his office and quietly shut the door. Walker slammed the door of the barracks, looked at me for a long second like he wanted to say something, then slung his bag over his shoulder and stomped out.
Slowly, I turned around to the shocked and expectant faces of the rest of the crew. The old man in the corner had even put down his sudoku.
“I will be entering the chili cook-off this year at the fair to represent the department,” I said. “I will need taste testers. The only thing I need them to do is chop vegetables for me and occasionally stir if I have something else I need to do. Do I have any volunteers?”
There was a pause of just a moment before the first hand went up. It was a guy standing in the archway leading to the kitchen, probably no more than twenty. It was followed by several more. Eventually, every hand in the room was raised.