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Authors: Earl Emerson
Tags: Fiction
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from the government for a song, and then he’ll get a Dumpster and hire a crew of beaners and they’ll gut it. This stuff was headed for the scrap heap. I’m not going to hand it to Sears so he can write me up. No way, José.”
“Gum, tell him he’s gotta give it back,” said Johnson. “You know I’m right.”
“I’m beat. I have to go to bed.”
“You’re not squirming out of this, Gum,” Johnson said. “And don’t think if you go over there and go to sleep, you won’t be making a decision. It’ll be the wrong decision, but it’ll be a decision.”
I turned to Tronstad. “It says a thousand dollars. What if it’s real?”
“The Bank of Alfalh? Gimme a break. It’s play money. Trust me, man. You want me to burn one? Will that prove it to you?”
“Burn it all. That’ll prove something.”
“Tell you what. I’ll hold it, and if his family shows up, I’ll turn it over to them. They’ll throw it away, but I’ll give it to them. Does that satisfy you?”
“No way,” Johnson said. “You turn it in tonight.”
“You want me to lose my job over a bunch of junk?” Tronstad turned to me. “You’re not going along with him after what I did for you at Arch Place?”
Mention of Arch Place was like a blow to my solar plexus.
Tronstad glowered at me. His hair was black and thick, pulled into a ponytail barely legal by department standards, and his bulky eyebrows and mustache were menacing under the best light. When his deep-set eyes fixed on you, the weight of his look was almost palpable.
“We can take it back to the house in the morning,” I said. “I want to go to bed now.”
“Hey, buddy. You ain’t voting against old Tronstad, are you? You and me have an arrangement. I don’t tell on you; you don’t tell on me.” He smiled and bobbled his eyebrows comically.
“That’s dirty pool,” Johnson said. “You ain’t going to tell on Gum, and you know it. Anybody could miss a call.”
“Not the way Gum missed it.”
As far as Johnson knew, I’d been in the bathroom the night of Arch Place, but now, spurred by Tronstad’s remark, he looked at me curiously.
“Okay,” I said. “We can’t take it back tonight because we don’t want to tell Sears. You’re right. He’ll try to fire you. But we have to take it back in the morning. The three of us.”
It was disquieting that I seemed to have the power here. Of the three of us, I was the youngest by ten years and had only two years in the SFD, while Johnson had eleven and Tronstad eight. Robert Johnson had served in the Navy, where he’d once seen a man decapitated by an exploding truck tire. Ted Tronstad had done a tour in the Air Force, where he worked as a firefighter at various air fields around the world and had once witnessed a man incinerated in a jet fuel accident. I’d gone to community college. Next to theirs, my worldly experience was limited.
We went to bed, and in the morning when I walked over to the bunk room, I found Tronstad making up his bunk. Johnson was in the TV room, in front of one of the station computers, a single bearer bond on the desk next to him. Across the apparatus bay Sears was making his bunk and Chief Abbott was brushing his teeth loudly in the officers’ washroom.
“Hey, Gum,” Johnson said, smiling brightly. “There’s been a small modification to our plan.”
“What do you mean?”
“I looked up bearer bonds on the Internet. Tronstad has bonds from the Bank of Sierre Leone. From Deutsche Bank. From companies in Europe I never heard of. Mostly from the United States government. There’s a lot of stuff in those sacks.”
“A lot of stuff we’re going to give back.”
“We should think this over before we do something we’ll regret.”
“Robert . . .”
“Here. Read this. Just read this part right here.” On the computer screen, he pointed the curser to an open page of text.
“Bearer bonds and bearer certificates belong to the bearer. Possession is a hundred percent
“Gum, tell him he’s gotta give it back,” said Johnson. “You know I’m right.”
“I’m beat. I have to go to bed.”
“You’re not squirming out of this, Gum,” Johnson said. “And don’t think if you go over there and go to sleep, you won’t be making a decision. It’ll be the wrong decision, but it’ll be a decision.”
I turned to Tronstad. “It says a thousand dollars. What if it’s real?”
“The Bank of Alfalh? Gimme a break. It’s play money. Trust me, man. You want me to burn one? Will that prove it to you?”
“Burn it all. That’ll prove something.”
“Tell you what. I’ll hold it, and if his family shows up, I’ll turn it over to them. They’ll throw it away, but I’ll give it to them. Does that satisfy you?”
“No way,” Johnson said. “You turn it in tonight.”
“You want me to lose my job over a bunch of junk?” Tronstad turned to me. “You’re not going along with him after what I did for you at Arch Place?”
Mention of Arch Place was like a blow to my solar plexus.
Tronstad glowered at me. His hair was black and thick, pulled into a ponytail barely legal by department standards, and his bulky eyebrows and mustache were menacing under the best light. When his deep-set eyes fixed on you, the weight of his look was almost palpable.
“We can take it back to the house in the morning,” I said. “I want to go to bed now.”
“Hey, buddy. You ain’t voting against old Tronstad, are you? You and me have an arrangement. I don’t tell on you; you don’t tell on me.” He smiled and bobbled his eyebrows comically.
“That’s dirty pool,” Johnson said. “You ain’t going to tell on Gum, and you know it. Anybody could miss a call.”
“Not the way Gum missed it.”
As far as Johnson knew, I’d been in the bathroom the night of Arch Place, but now, spurred by Tronstad’s remark, he looked at me curiously.
“Okay,” I said. “We can’t take it back tonight because we don’t want to tell Sears. You’re right. He’ll try to fire you. But we have to take it back in the morning. The three of us.”
It was disquieting that I seemed to have the power here. Of the three of us, I was the youngest by ten years and had only two years in the SFD, while Johnson had eleven and Tronstad eight. Robert Johnson had served in the Navy, where he’d once seen a man decapitated by an exploding truck tire. Ted Tronstad had done a tour in the Air Force, where he worked as a firefighter at various air fields around the world and had once witnessed a man incinerated in a jet fuel accident. I’d gone to community college. Next to theirs, my worldly experience was limited.
We went to bed, and in the morning when I walked over to the bunk room, I found Tronstad making up his bunk. Johnson was in the TV room, in front of one of the station computers, a single bearer bond on the desk next to him. Across the apparatus bay Sears was making his bunk and Chief Abbott was brushing his teeth loudly in the officers’ washroom.
“Hey, Gum,” Johnson said, smiling brightly. “There’s been a small modification to our plan.”
“What do you mean?”
“I looked up bearer bonds on the Internet. Tronstad has bonds from the Bank of Sierre Leone. From Deutsche Bank. From companies in Europe I never heard of. Mostly from the United States government. There’s a lot of stuff in those sacks.”
“A lot of stuff we’re going to give back.”
“We should think this over before we do something we’ll regret.”
“Robert . . .”
“Here. Read this. Just read this part right here.” On the computer screen, he pointed the curser to an open page of text.
“Bearer bonds and bearer certificates belong to the bearer. Possession is a hundred percent
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