The Sting Of Gossip

                                                 

By:  Kenda

 

 

     With grateful appreciation to one of my readers, Nell, who suggested I write a story where Chet's penchant for eavesdropping and gossip leads to trouble for Johnny.  Thank you, Nell!

 

     Africanized Honey Bees, or Killer Bees as they are often referred to, were first found in Southern California in 1994.  For story purposes I have fictionalized that event as occurring between late 1979 and early 1980.  As well, this story follows the time-line established in my story No Easy Choice, in which Johnny and Roy are still working as paramedics out of Station 51 in the early 1980s, as opposed to either of them being station captains.  If you haven't read No Easy Choice and would like to, you'll find it in the fan fiction section of Tigger's E! Site, or in the Emergency Library of Kenda’s Fan Fiction Library.

 

     As is true of every story I write, The Sting Of Gossip is dedicated to my readers.  You’re the best group of fans any writer could hope to have.  Thank you so much for your continuous support, feedback, and friendship.

 

 

Chapter 1

    

     Chris DeSoto hurried down the hall to his locker.  The thirteen-year-old wove a crooked path in and out of his fellow students.  He responded with a, "Hi, Jim," to a boy who had called hello to him, while ignoring the giggles from a group of girls behind him.  As well, Chris pretended he didn't hear one of the girls say to the rest, "That's Chris DeSoto.  He's my lab partner this semester.  He's really cute, huh?"

 

     Chris rush down the corridor just short of breaking into a run.  If you were caught running in the hallways you could be issued a detention slip. Of course, a lot of that depended on who was on hall duty that day.  If it was old Mrs. Banner, the English teacher, then an after-school detention was a given.  If it was Mr. Rubach, the cool new history teacher, then the most you'd get was a verbal warning, along with a wink, that let you know Mr. Rubach didn't think running in a hall was anything to punish a kid over. Mr. Rubach reminded Chris a lot John Gage when it came to his sense of fun.

 

     Chris circumvented a group of boys gathered around the locker next to his.  The boys were huddled facing one another with their backs to their fellow students.  The huddle didn't break apart when Chris started spinning the dial on his cobalt blue locker.  Chris knew most of the boys by sight, but they weren't kids he hung out with.  First of all, his mother would never allow him to hang out with this rough crowd.  And second of all, Chris had no desire to hang out with them.  The number of boys in this pack varied from eight to twelve, the faces occasionally changing, though not often.  They had a reputation for causing trouble in their classes, and for spending more time in detention than any other kids in the school.  Their homework was rarely done and they liked to bully anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path.  Other than that, Chris didn't know much about them because he was in honors classes, while these boys struggled to get by in the easiest classes. Classes that weren't much more than a repeat of sixth grade material at best.

 

     Because of those reasons, Chris was surprised when a familiar face popped out of the circle.  The boy with the pug nose, pale walnut hair, and a smattering of freckles across his nose said, "Hey, Chris."

 

     Before Chris could respond, the biggest of the boys, a kid by the name of Matt Moran, sneered at him.  "Get what you need and get outta here, blondie."

 

     "Leave him alone, Matt.  He's cool."

 

     Matt eyed Chris a moment, then shrugged at Chris's friend, Todd Fletcher. 

 

     "Okay.  If you say so."

 

     "I do."

 

     Chris watched the boys return to their huddle in front of Todd's locker, this time drawing it even tighter.  They whispered and laughed, and one of the boys, whose name Chris didn't know, appeared to be acting as a lookout because every few seconds he'd stand on his tip toes and extend his bushy redhead like a periscope.  The redheaded boy would look left, then right, then left again, before focusing on his friends once more.  Chris pretended to be oblivious to what was going on as he put his books away.  He slammed the locker door, spun the dial, then looked at the group.

 

     "You comin,' Todd?"

 

     Todd's hazel eyes briefly met Chris's blue ones.  Like many boys of thirteen, neither Chris nor Todd had gone through a large growth spurt yet so were still short and thin.  They were almost the exact height - Chris standing an even five feet, and Todd an inch shorter.  Chris barely tipped the scale at one hundred pounds, while Todd came in at ninety-six.  Chris hated his short, slim build now that some of the other boys, and most especially the girls, were beginning to grow at rapid rates.  But Chris's father kept assuring him that his time would come.

 

     "I was a sophomore before I really started to grow, Chris," his dad had told him.  "I started the year at five feet two inches, and ended it at five-ten.  Just ask your mother."

 

     "Yes, your father was a shrimp," Chris's mom had agreed that night a couple of months ago when the young teen was bemoaning his lack of height.

 

     "What about Uncle Johnny, Dad?  Do you think he was shrimpy, too, when he was my age?"

 

     "I don't know.  You'll have to ask him."

 

     The next time John Gage was at the DeSoto house for dinner Chris did just that.  Though Chris was well aware they weren't genetically linked, he still felt better upon discovering Uncle Johnny hadn't gone through his growth spurt until high school either.  And rested even easier upon discovering Uncle Johnny didn't reach his full height of six foot one until he was twenty.

 

     "Really?"  Chris had asked with anticipation.  "A guy can keep growing after he's eighteen?"

 

     "You bet," Uncle Johnny replied.  "Most young men don't completely quit growing until they're between twenty-one and twenty-two years old.  At least not as far as bone development goes."

 

     "So I could get really tall, huh?"

 

     Johnny had laughed then.  "Well, let's put it this way.  Chances are you'll be as tall as your dad if nothing else."

 

     "I guess that would be okay 'cause you and Dad are about the same height, and that's always seemed pretty tall.  You just look taller than Dad because you're so skinny."

 

     "Hey, I'm not skinny."  Uncle Johnny had flexed his arms in an exaggerated way then, making Chris, and his sister Jennifer, laugh.  "This is all muscle, my boy."

 

     "Yeah right, Uncle Johnny.  You're skinny."

 

     "Not as skinny as I used to be."

 

     "No," Chris's dad had said from the other end of the kitchen table.  “Not since we became partners and you've managed to mooch a meal off my wife at least one night a week."

 

     What had been said after that Chris couldn't recall.  He knew his father and Uncle Johnny traded teasing barbs for a couple minutes, and then baby John started fussing in his high chair.  Chris's mother took the eleven-month-old out, wiped his sticky hands and face, then gave the baby to Johnny when the little boy smiled a toothless grin and reached for the man he was named after.

 

     Now Chris's lack of height, and Todd's as well, made them lost in the group of boys who, for the most part, were taller and huskier.  Matt was six feet tall, but then he'd flunked a couple times, so Chris knew he was closer to sixteen than he was to thirteen.  Chris repeated his question to Todd.

 

     "Are you comin'?  You know Coach doesn't like it if we're late.  We'll have to run laps."

 

     "I'll be right there.  You go on ahead."

 

     Though Chris and Todd always went to basketball practice together, today Chris headed for the gym alone.  As he walked, Chris wondered what Todd was up to, and why he'd be hanging around with Matt Moran's gang.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

     The same afternoon Chris was puzzling over Todd's odd behavior, Hank Stanley asked his men to gather in the dayroom for a meeting.  The captain preferred to hold staff meetings immediately following roll call whenever possible.  That tended to insure Chet didn't nod off in the middle of what Hank had to say.  Not that Hank could blame the man.  Being forced to sit through a meeting after lunch often made even the most attentive person drowsy.  But today it couldn't be helped.  The station had been toned-out before roll call was finished, and then they'd no more than arrived back two hours later when the squad was toned-out.  An hour after that, while en-route to Station 51 from Rampart, John and Roy were toned-out yet again.  Thus the reason the morning meeting Hank had on his agenda didn't start until after his paramedics had had a chance to eat a late lunch.

 

     Before Chet's butt could hit the leather sofa, Hank pointed to a straight back kitchen chair.

 

     "Park it over there, Kelly.  You sit on that couch and in two minutes you'll be snoring."

 

     "But, Cap--"

 

     "Move it, Chet.  Take a chair."

 

     "Aw, geez, Cap, why are you always picking on me?"

 

     "Maybe because you always give me reason to."

 

     It didn't surprise Hank to hear Johnny laugh at Chet's latest woes, nor did it surprise him to see John take Chet's spot on the couch.  Hank could have also predicted that Roy would sit next to his partner.  Marco sat in the upholstered armchair with Henry in his lap, and Mike turned a wooden chair around from the table, placing it next to Chet's.

 

     "I'll keep him awake, Cap."

 

     "You do that for me, Mike.  Smack him upside the head if he starts to nod off on me."

 

     "If I had known you were gonna give someone permission to smack Chet around, I'd have sat next to him."

 

     "Very funny, Gage."

 

     Hank held up his hand.  "Boys, boys.  That's enough."

 

     The men laughed at their captain, and laughed at the way he constantly had to police Chet and Johnny, as though they were the two wayward sons Hank never had.  The captain wouldn't admit it out loud, but Johnny and Chet's bickering rarely got under his skin anymore.  It hadn't for years now, which just went to show what an excellent crew Hank knew was under his command. 

 

They'd been together for eight years.  Hank was well aware their time as shift-mates was coming to an end.  It wouldn't be long before Roy and Mike would decide to take the captain's exam, and Chet would want another shot at the engineer's exam.  Hank wasn't certain what direction Marco would go in, but the man was certainly capable of doing anything he set his mind on.  As far as Hank himself went, he had his eye on battalion chief.  And Johnny . . .well, what Johnny's future held Hank wasn't sure.  For some reason he couldn't explain, Hank had a feeling Johnny would go farther than any of them.  But at the present time, Hank suspected Johnny would try for captain if Roy chose to do so, or maybe take that position of chief paramedic instructor Doctor Brackett was in the early stages of creating.  The increasingly busy physician needed the burden of paramedic training lifted from his shoulders, and it was no secret he had John Gage pegged as the man to take the training over from him.

 

     Whatever directions life took them; Hank was going to be sad to see the day come when one of these men in front of him made the first move to break up their team.  He had a feeling when one went, the rest would soon follow.

 

     For now though, all thoughts of the future left Hank's mind as Chet firmly brought him back to the present. 

 

     "Hey, did you guys hear about Bill Keefer over at 65's?"

 

     "No," Johnny said.  "What about him?"

 

     "He got some girl pregnant. A young girl.  Like nineteen years old."

 

     "No," Marco stated with wide-eyed disbelief.

 

     "Yeah.  I swear on a stack of Bibles.  I overheard Chuck Mandelson from 128's talking to Tom Bennett from 16's when we were at that factory fire last week.  He's been going to lamay classes with her."

 

     "Lamaze," Johnny corrected.  "And Keefer's married, isn't he?"

 

     "You bet.  Married with four kids.  And he's Roy's age."

 

     "What's that supposed to mean?"  The thirty-six year-old Roy asked.

 

     "It means that he's too old to be messing around with a teenage girl."  Chet grinned.  "Man, I bet Bill's wife is gonna skin him alive when she finds out."

 

     Hank crossed his arms over his chest.  "Chet, what have I told you before about eavesdropping, and then gossiping about what you claim to have heard?"

 

     "Cap, I wasn't eavesdropping."

 

      "For a man who wasn't eavesdropping you sure overheard a lot, Kelly."

 

     "I was standing right next to 'em, Cap!  How could I not overhear it?  I mean, it wasn't like they were whispering or anything."

 

     Hank shook his head.  "Chet, you're like an old woman with too much time on your hands, always nosing around trying to get the details on things that are none of your business in the first place."

 

     "I'm not like an old woman!"

 

     "Aw, Chet, you are, too," Johnny chided.  "Cap's right.  You're always listening in on everyone else's conversations.  Remember the time you were eavesdropping on me when I was telling Roy about my screwed up credit card bill?  Or the time you were hiding behind the locker room door when I was telling Roy I'd found the ranch I wanted to buy?  Or the time you were listening in when Marco and Mike were talking about Marco's secret chili recipe, and then you blabbed it at the next firemen's picnic?"

 

     "Well, if it was such a secret Marco shouldn't have been telling Mike what he puts in his chili before he told me, his best friend."

 

     "I didn't tell you, my best friend, for a reason," Marco said.  "Because you can't keep your big mouth shut."

 

     "That's right," Johnny agreed, as all the men remembered how Marco had lost the annual Firemen's Chili Cook-Off for the first time in five years, because so many entrants had shown up with chili made from his recipe that by the time the judges reached Marco's pot they'd grown weary of the taste.  "Marco was screwed outta first place because you spread his recipe around.  Then there was the time you overheard Cap talking to his wife and told us you were sure they on the brink of divorce because--"

 

     "Okay, okay," Chet rushed to silence Johnny while risking a glance at Hank.  The man's stern gaze caused Chet to say, "You're right, Cap.  I'm sorry.  I gossip too much.  It won't happen again."

 

     "Kelly, I'd like to believe that this time."

 

     "You can, Cap.  Honest you can."

 

     "That's good."  Hank arched an eyebrow at the man.  "Oh, and, Chet?"

 

     "Yes, sir?"

 

     "For your information Bill Keefer did not get some girl pregnant.  The young lady in question is his sister.  She's not nineteen, she's twenty-three, and her husband died of bone cancer two months ago.  She's a twenty-three year old widow, Chet, and she's about to give birth to her first child.  It's my understanding that Bill, at his sister's request, will be in the delivery room with her when the baby is born.  That's why he's been attending Lamaze classes."

 

     Chet's eyes dropped to the floor.  "Oh.  Oh. . .I

didn't. . .I didn't know."

 

     "No, Chet, you didn't.  Which means you shouldn't believe everything you overhear, and most importantly, you shouldn't repeat it.  People can get hurt that way, you know.  Hurt pretty badly as a matter of fact."

 

     "Yes, sir.  I realize that now."

 

     "Good.  Then stay out of other people's business from this point forward, and if you do happen to overhear something that's none of your concern, keep your mouth shut."

 

     "Yes, Cap."

 

     Hank allowed the uncomfortable silence in the room to linger a minute.  He saw Johnny and Roy exchange glances that said, "Chet will never learn," while Mike wore the same expression on his face, while Marco just looked angry now that he'd been reminded of how Chet spread his chili recipe throughout the entire department in the span of fifteen short minutes one day.

 

     Once Hank felt Chet had been properly chastised, he moved on.

 

     "Okay, men.  There are two things we need to cover that the department, and the doctors at Rampart, want us to be aware of.  John and Roy already heard this at their paramedic meeting last week so, fellas, bear with me here."

 

     The paramedics nodded.

 

     Hank glanced at the yellow legal pad he’d laid on top of the television.  He scanned his notes, then looked out at his men.

 

     “Many area junior high schools are experiencing increased drug usage among their students.”

 

     “Did you say junior high schools?”  Chet asked.

 

     “I did.”

 

     “But those kids are what. . .twelve and thirteen years old?”

 

     “Between twelve and fourteen generally.”

 

     “Twelve year olds doing drugs?” Chet questioned with disbelief.  “You gotta be kidding me.”

 

     “He’s not kidding you,” Roy said.  “When school resumed after Christmas break, we received a letter from the principal that was addressed to all parents.  It dealt with just this issue – drug usage in the junior highs, and what signs we’re to watch for that might indicate our kids are experimenting.”

 

     “What did Chris say about it?”  Mike asked. In addition to a six-year-old son and a ten-year-old daughter, Mike had a son the same age as Chris, and a son a year younger, meaning the two oldest boys were in junior high school.  “Is there a drug problem in his school?”

 

     “Chris says there isn’t.  Or at least not that he’s aware of.”

 

     “Bet hearing that was a big relief for you and Joanne,” Chet said.

 

     “It sure was.  The beginning of this school year wasn’t easy for Chris.  We’re just happy that he fell in with the right crowd, and then got involved with the activities he participated in at his old school.”

 

Roy’s co-workers nodded their understanding. School overcrowding had caused a new junior high to be erected in Carson.  The building had been completed over summer vacation, and the first pupils to use it arrived at the end of August.  Much to Chris’s upset, he’d been amongst those new pupils.  His two closest friends, as well as most of the kids he’d gone to school with since kindergarten, had remained at Chris’s old school, Carson Junior High.  But the DeSotos lived right on the edge of a neighborhood the new school encompassed, so district boundaries forced Chris to make a change whether he wanted to or not.  He’d be reunited with his old friends next year since Carson Junior High, and the new Garden Grove Junior High, would both feed into John F. Kennedy High School. That comforting thought didn’t keep Chris from entering Garden Grove with a heavy heart and a nervous stomach. But he’d done as his parents advised him to and immediately gotten involved in the school band and with the sports teams.  Both were activities that had been important to him at Carson Junior High. 

 

“His grades have been excellent all year long,” Roy went on to say, “and his best friend is a boy named Todd Fletcher. A nice kid from a nice family. Joanne and I were as nervous as Chris when all this came about, but fortunately, everything has gone well.  We’re really proud of Chris and how he’s handled all the changes.”

 

“I’m sure you are,” Hank said, as he thought of his daughters.

 

 The two Stanley girls were grown now and on their own.  The captain was thankful his years of hands-on parenting were over.  When Barbara and Gwen had been in junior high school, Hank’s biggest concern was making sure their skirts weren’t too short.  The last problem he and his wife had to worry about when the girls were Chris DeSoto’s age was drug usage.  But times had changed. In light of that, Hank continued with his agenda.

 

“In regards to this drug problem amongst junior high school students, the department wants us to keep in mind exactly what Chet mentioned; that these kids are young.  I hope we’re never called to a scene where a large group of kids is gathered, such as at a party.  But, if we are, we need to be cautious as to how much force we use to restrain them. Obviously, John and Roy know how to handle the medical aspects of a kid on a bad trip.  As for the rest of us, headquarters asks us to use caution and our common sense.  These won’t be eighteen-year-olds we’re dealing with, but maybe kids as young as eleven or twelve.  The last thing the department wants is a lawsuit because we turned a hose on a bunch of kids.”

 

“But what if those kids are high and come at us with baseball bats or knives?” Chet asked.  “Are we allowed to defend ourselves then?”

 

“I hope we never run into that situation, pal, but if we do, we need to remain calm and use our common sense.  If force is necessary, you wait for me to give the order to employ it.”

 

In all his years at Station 51 Chet recalled being toned-out to only one scene that escalated to a riot situation as a result of drug and alcohol use, and that was at a college campus.  Everything from beer bottles to chairs had been thrown, and if they hadn’t been allowed to use the fire hoses to keep the crowd at bay, Chet knew some of the responding firefighters and paramedics would have been injured.  He couldn’t imagine the same scene of violence and chaos being instigated by twelve-year-old kids, whose biggest concern should be how to sneak a peek at Playboy, rather than how to find a way to get high.

 

The captain’s voice broke into Chet’s thoughts.

 

“Any further questions on this subject, men?”  Hank glanced around the room.  When no one spoke, and he saw a few heads give negative shakes, he referred to his notes again.  “All right.  Moving along here.  Next subject; Africanized Honey Bees.”

 

“What kinda honey bees?”  Chet asked.

 

“Africanized. You may have heard them referred to as Killer Bees.”

 

“Killer Bees?  You mean like the kind that’ll sting a guy to death?”

 

“You’re being a bit over-dramatic, Kelly, but yes, Africanized Honey Bees are known for their aggressive nature.” 

 

“Aggressive nature? Oh man, Cap, those Killer Bee movies are almost as scary as Terror In The Library.  I’ve seen every one of ‘em at least a dozen times.”  Chet counted off on his fingers.  “Let’s see, there’s To Bee Or Not To Bee A Killer Bee. Beeware Of What’s In The Hive.  The Flight Of The Killer Bumble Bees. Bee Careful Where You Stick Your—“

 

“Okay, Chet, that’s enough.  We get the idea.” 

 

“I’m tellin’ you, Cap, those Killer Bees are bad news all the way around.”

 

“And that’s just why we’re having this discussion.”  Hank’s eyes scanned his notes one last time before he looked up.  “The Department Of Agriculture has recently reported the first sightings of Africanized Honey Bees here in Southern California. These bees are the more temperamental cousin to the insects we’re used to seeing, the European Honey Bee.  It’s a myth that these bees will simply swoop out of the sky and start to attack.”

 

“Not according to the movies. In Bees From Above those little suckers were like Kamikaze pilots, dive bombin’ everyone in sight.”

 

“Maybe not according to your movies, Chet, but according to the Department Of Agriculture whom, by the way, I have far more faith in than I have faith in what’s depicted on some late night horror flick.” 

 

“Just tryin’ to be helpful, Cap.”

 

Thanks, pal.  From now on I’ll let you know when I need your help.”  Hank bowed his head a moment to hide his smile.  When he looked out at his men again he said, “What separates these bees from their European relatives is the way they aggressively defend their hive, often stinging their victims hundreds, or even thousands, of times.  Starting tomorrow, the Ag department will begin a media blitz to inform citizens how they can protect themselves from Africanized Bees, which in turn means Headquarters is hopeful we’ll get very few calls to assist people who have been stung by the bees.”

 

“Exactly how can a person protect himself, Cap?”

 

“Glad you asked that, Marco, because that’s just where I was headed next.  First of all, by checking your property on a regular basis for the start of a hive. These bees will nest almost anywhere, from trees, to shrubbery, to burrows in the ground.  It’s important to clear away any potential home that might look attractive to them.  That means cleaning up junk such as discarded flowerpots, car tires, swing sets, or other children’s toys that are no longer in use, and filling in cracks in foundations, walls, and on porches.

 

“Next tip.  Before disturbing any vegetation or overgrowth, be alert.  A lot of bees going to, and coming from, a single spot might indicate a hive is present.

 

“And number three.  Be cautious when hiking through long grass, or working in a garden that’s been neglected for several months or longer.”

 

The men absorbed the information being given. Other than Chet, who lived in an apartment, they all owned homes.  Marco resided with his mother in what had been the family home. He mowed the lawn on a weekly basis, and Mrs. Lopez tended to a vast flower and vegetable garden. The last thing Marco wanted was his mother encountering a nest of the aggressive bees.

 

Mike and Roy wanted their properties to remain free of beehives because of their children.  John DeSoto was just learning to walk.  Like the man he was named for, the curious toddler knew little fear. Roy could picture his youngest son sticking his hand in a beehive without giving any thought to the insects buzzing around it. 

 

Johnny’s concern was for the animals on his ranch, and for the Desoto children as well, who often visited.  And though Hank had no children at home, he and his wife spent a lot of time enjoying their well-kept yard. He had no more desire to accidentally stumble across an Africanized bee colony than anyone else did.   

 

“Cap, are people being told to call the fire department if they find one of these hives?”  Chet asked.  “ ‘Cause if they are, I wanna make it known right now I didn’t sign on as a bee keeper.”

 

“Then you’re in luck, Kelly, because the news reports will be telling people to notify the Department of Agriculture if they see a hive, or have concerns that Africanized Bees are taking up residence near their homes.  An expert on bee removal will be sent out, along with representatives from the Ag department.  But,” Hank held up an index finger,  “we will be called to any scene that requires us to assist a person being stung, or that requires us to assist a person who has been stung.”

 

“And just how do we assist?”

 

“First of all, any call like this we’re summoned to will require full turn-out gear including air masks and gloves. It will be very important that your clothing is tucked in as much as possible, and that all exposed skin is covered.”

 

“And then what?”

 

“Water generally won’t kill the bees, but it will likely get them off the victim long enough for the person to be taken to safety.  Foam will kill the bees, so foam trucks will be dispatched when necessary.”

 

Hank looked at his paramedics. “John. Roy.  Is there anything the two of you would like to add?”

 

Johnny cocked his head toward Roy, indicating to his partner to relay what they’d learned at their paramedic meeting the previous week.

 

“The best thing a person can do if he or she is swarmed by the bees is to run away as quickly as possible,” Roy said.  “This is why they are such a danger to the elderly, and to young children.  Also, the danger increases to someone of any age who can’t get away from them.  Say a construction worker on a scaffold, for example. 

 

“You don’t want to flail your arms or hands.  This will only further annoy them.  They’re also drawn to our breath, believe it or not, so it’s important to keep your face covered if at all possible during an attack.  Multiple stings in the mouth and throat could cause serious airway restriction in a matter of minutes, or even less time than that.

 

“Seeking shelter in a car or building is the best thing you can do.  A few bees will likely come in with you, but that’s the least of your worries over all.”

 

“Tell that to my wife,” Mike said.

 

The men chuckled while Roy acknowledged, “No kidding.  Joanne and Jennifer would be screaming loud enough to scare any bees right back outside if just one got in our house. But, the bees hate to be confined, so this is why they won’t generally follow a person into a shelter in a mass swarm.       

 

“The real danger of these bees, and what makes them so different from any bee or wasp we’re used to, is their aggressive nature.  European Honey Bees might fly the length of half a football field while chasing someone who has disturbed their hive, while the African bees will chase you the length of two football fields.  If you jump in water, they’ll be waiting for you when you surface.”

 

“Smart little buggers,” Chet commented.

 

“Apparently so,” Roy agreed.  “While the European Honey Bees will deploy around one hundred bees to defend their hive, the Africanized Bees can deploy as many as ten to twenty-five thousand.”

 

“Holy cow!  Can you imagine getting stung by that many bees?”

 

“No, Chet, I can’t.  I doubt anyone can.”

 

“Can a person live through being stung by that many bees?”

 

“It’s highly doubtful. But remember, people who are in the most danger are generally those who are allergic to bee stings.  That means just one sting from any type of bee or wasp causes an anaphylactic reaction.  A person who isn’t allergic to bee stings can still suffer an anaphylactic reaction if enough venom enters his or her system.  This would, however, take hundreds of stings, more than likely.  But even a few stings, say fifty or sixty, can make the healthiest, non-allergic person very ill.  At this point we’ve been instructed by Doctor Brackett to bring to Rampart anyone who we suspect has been stung by an Africanized Bee.”

 

“I wouldn’t even wanna be stung once, let alone fifty or sixty times.”

 

“I’ll agree with you there, Chet,” Johnny said.

 

Captain Stanley took over the meeting again. 

 

“If people pay attention to the information the Department Of Agriculture releases, then the likelihood that we’ll be summoned to a scene involving these bees is slim.  But, as most of you know, we’ve been warned for a number of years that they were headed for the Southwestern portion of the United States, and now they’re here. While I’m sure neither the Ag department nor the fire department wants to scare anyone, we’re better off to be prepared to deal with the bees, than the other way around. My understanding is that encountering them on well-kept residential properties, in well-kept neighborhoods, parks, and around well-maintained schools, is unlikely.”

 

“Good,” Chet said, “ ‘cause I don’t wanna encounter them anywhere. I’ve already seen all the movies so I know how bad those Killer Bees are.”

 

Hank folded his arms across his chest.  “So, Kelly, I guess based on that you consider yourself Station 51’s resident expert on Killer Bees, huh?”

 

Never one to deny himself a place in the spotlight, Chet readily agreed. 

 

“Sure, Cap. Like I said, I’ve seen all the movies about Killer Bees at least a dozen times.  I know a lot about them.  Probably even more than Johnny and Roy know.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Good?”

 

“You bet.  I think, given the circumstances, it’s important that every station have a bee expert.  I’ll let Chief Marcuson know Chester B. Kelly is ours.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes, you.  Anything wrong with that?”

 

“Well. . .uh. . .you see, Cap, it’s like this.  I might not know quite as much about those bees as I thought I did.  I’m pretty sure I fell asleep during Beeware Of What’s In The Hive, and Flight Of The Killer Bumble Bees was just plain boring, so I think I ended up doing the dishes while it was on.  And as far as Bee Careful Where You Stick Your—“

 

Before Chet could finish, the klaxons sounded.  His station mates were laughing as they ran for the apparatus bay.  For once Chet didn’t care that he’d somehow become the butt of their joke.  He was just happy they were toned out for a traffic accident, rather than for bee removal.

 

As Chet climbed onto the engine Johnny pointed a finger at him from the passenger side of the squad.

 

“Hey, Chet!  Be careful where you stick your—“

 

“Oh, shut up, Gage.”

 

Before the bickering between Hank Stanley’s two ‘boys’ could escalate, the squad pulled out of the station with the engine right behind it. 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

     A week passed since Chris first noticed Matt Moran and his friends hanging around Todd.  Or maybe it was the reverse of that situation, and it was Todd who was hanging around with Matt.  The trouble was, Chris still couldn’t figure out what suddenly drew Todd to this group of boys.

 

     Like he did every afternoon he had basketball practice, Chris hurried to stow his schoolbooks in his locker.  He ignored the group gathered around Todd’s locker, but he couldn’t ignore the unnatural odor wafting from their clothes, or the way they were giggling and whispering.  Goofy-like, as far as Chris was concerned.  Like some exaggerated silliness you’d see on a Saturday morning cartoon.  Like they found something uproariously funny that was invisible to the rest of the student body.

 

Chris shut his locker door and risked looking at the group that increasingly made him uncomfortable.

 

“You comin,’ Todd?”

 

“Yeah, Todd, you comin’?”  Matt mocked.  “Don’t want Coach Donald Duck mad at ya’ and waggin’ his nigger tail feathers.”

 

Chris looked around, but there were no teachers within earshot.  Even the lenient Mr. Rubach would have issued Matt a detention for speaking that way about the boys’ gym teacher and basketball coach, Burnell Donaldson.

 

“Todd, come on,” Chris urged, doing his best to ignore the intimidating Matt.  “Coach said you’d have to sit out this Friday’s game if you were late again.”

 

“DeSoto, do you gotta work hard at bein’ such a goodie-two- shoes-fairy, or does it just come naturally?”

 

Chris’s face burned red as the other boys laughed.  All but Todd, that is.  He seemed to sense what Chris was feeling and alleviated the situation.

 

“Chris is right.  I gotta go.  See you guys later.”

 

“Later like at my house?”  Matt asked.  “Remember, my folks ain’t gonna be around tonight until after nine.”

 

“Yeah,” Todd promised.  “I’ll stop by after practice.”

 

Chris wondered when Todd had starting paying visits to Matt’s home, but didn’t ask as they headed toward the gym. Chris had to slow his pace three times in order to allow Todd to catch up.  The boy didn’t appear to have the same sense of urgency Chris possessed, and he staggered a bit as he walked.

 

“Todd, you okay?”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Come on, then.  We gotta hurry!”

 

“Chris, you worry too much about stuff that really doesn’t matter at all, you know that?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Getting straight A’s.   Stayin’ on the teachers’ good side. Makin’ it to practice on time.  Stuff like that.”

 

Chris couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Until recently he thought all those things were important to Todd as well. Despite wanting to get to basketball practice on time, Chris stopped in the middle of the desolate hall.  

 

“What’s wrong with you?”

 

“Wrong with me?”  Todd laughed.  “Nothing’s wrong with me.  At least not yet.  Maybe twenty years from now you should ask me that same question and I’ll have a different answer.  But for today – well, for today, Chris old buddy, I feel fine.  Just fine.”

 

“Todd—“

 

Before Chris could say anything else a deep voice echoed from the other end of the corridor.

 

“DeSoto!  Fletcher!  What’s the matter with you two?  You got cement in your jock straps this week or what?”

 

Chris turned around to see the imposing figure of Coach Donaldson.  The dark skinned man was standing with his massive arms crossed over his thick chest. At six feet four inches tall, the gym teacher towered over all his students. 

 

The man didn’t give his wayward players a chance to answer him.  He flicked a thumb toward the gym.

 

“Mr. DeSoto, get your clothes changed and then it’s ten laps around the floor.  Maybe that’ll teach you not to wait for Mr. Fletcher if he’s so intent on slowing you up.”

 

Chris glanced at Todd, then nodded at his coach.  He opened the gymnasium door. The sound of basketballs pounding against the hard wood floor drifted into the hallway until the door swung shut behind Chris. 

 

Coach Donaldson turned his attention to Todd.  He pointed to the small room across the hall.

 

“In my office, Fletcher.  Now.”

 

Twenty minutes later Chris had finished his laps and was playing a scrimmage game with his teammates.  Every so often Todd would come into Chris’s line of vision, as the boy ran his own set of laps around the gym floor. After practice, as the team was showering and changing back into their street clothes, Chris took advantage of the chaos in the locker room.  He kept his voice low when he asked, “So what did Coach say?”

 

Todd pulled his shirt over his damp hair. “Just gave me a lecture about being late to practice every day the last couple weeks.  Told me I had to sit on the bench during Friday’s game.  Then wanted to know if anything was bothering me.”

 

“What’d you tell him?”

 

“The truth.”

 

“The truth?”

 

“Yeah. Told him everything’s fine.”

 

Todd grabbed his gym bag from the bench.

 

“See ya’ tomorrow, Chris.”

 

Before Chris could respond Todd was exiting the locker room door.  Chris stood there a moment, wearing nothing but his jeans and socks, while staring after his friend. The Todd he knew took pride in being a first-string player on the school’s basketball team.  To be benched. . .well, just a few weeks ago, Todd would have been upset if the coach had benched him.  But then, just a few weeks ago, Todd wouldn’t have been late for practice either.  Not even once, let alone multiple times.

 

What’s wrong with you, Todd?  You can tell Coach everything’s fine, but I know that’s not true.  You’ve changed too much since Christmas vacation for everything to be all right.

 

Chris was one of the last boys to leave the locker room that evening.  His thoughts were as heavy as his backpack as he climbed on his bike for the short ride home.

 

_____________________

 

 

Unless he was out on a run, Roy DeSoto called home at seven o’clock every night he was on duty.  This insured he’d be able to speak to all his children before they went to bed, even John, whose vocabulary didn’t extend much beyond a handful of recognizable words, with a good deal of gibberish thrown in to boot.

 

It was Jennifer who answered the phone when Roy called that evening. She filled her father in on her day at school, faithfully answering all questions he asked of her. By the time Jenny had said, “I love you, Daddy.  Goodnight,” Joanne had arrived in the kitchen with John in her arms. 

 

John was more interested in putting the phone cord in his mouth than he was interested in talking to his father, but Joanne finally got him to say, “Hi, Daee,” before passing the toddler off to his big sister.

 

Joanne held the mouthpiece of the receiver by her chin.

 

“Jen, would you put John in the bathtub, please?  The water is run and at the right temperature.  Stay with him for a few minutes while I talk to Daddy, okay?”

 

Jennifer willingly took her baby brother.  She would be eleven in April, and rejoiced in her role as John’s second mother.  There was rarely anything that Joanne requested of the girl in the way of help with John that Jennifer ever balked at.  Joanne smiled her thanks at her daughter.  She watched as Jenny carried John down the hall toward the bathroom, then spoke into the phone again.

 

“Hi, honey.”

 

“Hi, babe. How are things on the home front?”

 

Joanne hesitated a long moment, then said, “Fine.”

 

“You don’t sound like you mean that.”

 

“Well. . .I’m a little worried about Chris, but it’s probably nothing.  We can talk about it when you get home in the morning.”

 

“Or we can talk about it now.”

 

Joanne smiled. For as long as they’d known one another, and that had been over twenty years now, Roy had easily been able to sense her moods.

 

“Like I said, it’s probably nothing.”

 

“Probably.  But tell me anyway.”

 

“I just. . .Roy, he’s been so moody lately.”

 

Roy chuckled. “He’s thirteen years old, sweetheart. Thirteen- year-olds are supposed to be moody.”

 

“I know. But this. . .this change in personality has seemed to come over him so suddenly.  I noticed it somewhat last week, but it’s gotten worse over the past couple of days.

 

“Worse how?”

 

“Just little things, I guess.  He’s short-tempered with Jennifer, has a surly attitude with me sometimes, doesn’t hardly pay any attention to John. And he never does his homework at the kitchen table any longer.  As soon as supper is over he hides out in his room.”

 

“I don’t think he’s hiding out, Jo. He’s just doing what kids his age do.  Creating a little space between himself and his family.  Besides, he’s in the honors program.  They told us at the beginning of the school year that would mean a lot of homework.  I’m sure he’s just studying.”

 

“Probably.  But. . .”

 

“But what?”

 

“Remember what that letter said the principal sent home?

 

“The one about drug usage in the junior highs?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh, come on, Joanne.  Chris isn’t using drugs.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Because I know our son.”

 

“Roy—“

 

“Honey, you’re jumping to conclusions based on no facts. No facts at all.”

 

“He’s moody.”

 

“I just got done telling you all thirteen-year-old kids are moody.”

 

“Yes, but—“

 

“Have Chris come to the phone. Let me talk to him for a few minutes.”

 

“All right,” Joanne agreed, more than happy to let Roy worry about their oldest son for a little while.

 

Joanne tried hard not to eavesdrop during Chris’s conversation with his father.  She assisted Jennifer in giving John his bath, and didn’t go back to the kitchen until Chris summoned her on his way to his bedroom.  He stuck his head in the open doorway. 

 

“Mom, Dad wants to talk to you again.”

 

Joanne looked up at her eldest.  She was sitting on the bathroom floor securing the tabs of John’s disposable diaper. 

 

“Thanks, Chris.”  The woman lifted the toddler to his feet. “Jen, please put John’s pajamas on him while I say goodnight to your father.”

 

Jennifer did as her mother asked while Chris headed to his room.  When Joanne heard the teenager’s door shut, she picked up the phone receiver he’d left laying on the kitchen counter.

 

“Roy?”

 

“You’re worrying for nothing, Jo.”

 

“What did Chris tell you?”

 

“That he’s had a lot of homework since school resumed in January, and he can concentrate better in his room than at the kitchen table.”

 

Joanne supposed that was true.  After all, Jennifer rarely quit chattering, no matter how much homework she had in front of her.  And then there was John, the little whirlwind of the household, who was just at the right age to snatch school papers up and tear them in half before anyone was able to save them from the rambunctious boy.

 

“What about the other things?”

 

“I reminded Chris that being nasty to Jennifer, or talking to you in a disrespectful tone, won’t be tolerated.  I also reminded him that his little brother would like a few minutes of his time each day, even if all that means is a quick round of wrestling on the living room floor.”

 

“And?”

 

“And Chris said he understood and that he was sorry.  Joanne, he’s got a lot on his plate.  Between the basketball team, the school band, Boy Scouts, and his homework. . .well, he’s just a busy teenager.  Get used to it, Mom, because it won’t get any easier from here on out. High school’s just around the corner.”

 

“I know,” Joanne sighed.  “It seems like just yesterday that Chris was John’s age.”

 

“It seems that way to me, too, hon. Kids grow up fast, as we’ve often been told. Now we’re experiencing that first-hand for ourselves.”

 

“I guess.”

 

“Don’t be so down.  Or so worried. I’ll tell you what.  If it will make you feel better I’ll do something with Chris on Saturday.  We’ll go on some sort of father and son outing, or find a project to do around the house, just the two of us.  Maybe Chris will open up and talk to me a little more about whatever is keeping him so preoccupied.”

 

Joanne smiled for the first time since her husband called. 

 

“Thanks, sweetheart.  That makes me feel better.”

 

“It’s supposed to.  And like I said, don’t worry.  There’s nothing wrong with Chris.  He’s a good kid, Jo.  We just have to realize he’s growing—“

 

The sound of the klaxons going off reached even Joanne’s ears.  She heard her husband’s, “Gotta go!  I love you,” right before he hung up the phone.

 

Though she knew Roy couldn’t hear her, Joanne said, “I love you, too.  Be careful.”  She put the receiver back in the cradle and turned for the hall.  She found Jennifer playing with John on the floor of the toddler’s room.  Joanne thanked Jenny for all her help, then took over the baby’s bedtime routine.  She plucked a Golden Book off the shelf and settled John in her lap as she sat in the wooden rocking chair. The same cane-backed wooden rocker that she used to rock Chris to sleep in, and then just a few short years later, Jennifer.

 

For now Joanne followed her husband’s advice.  She pushed all worries of Chris aside as she slowly rocked back and forth with her youngest in her lap. 

 

Roy’s right, Joanne thought as she placed a light kiss on top of John’s soft hair.  Children grow up too fast.

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

 

The next afternoon Todd was late to basketball practice once again.  Chris hadn’t been foolish enough to wait around for his friend this time. He didn’t appreciate being forced to run laps because Todd held them up.  Chris hadn’t seen Todd by their lockers after school either, so where Todd had been between the end of the school day and the start of basketball practice, Chris didn’t know.

 

Like he had been the previous day, Todd was in a hurry to get to Matt’s house after practice ended. The boy left the locker room in a rush. The days of Todd and Chris riding their bikes home together seemed to be over.  Or so Chris thought, as he existed the locker room with a group of boys whose lively conversation he was paying no attention to.  He looked up when Coach Donaldson called to him.

 

“DeSoto, can I see you a minute before you go home?”

 

“Uh. . .yeah, sure, Coach.” 

 

Chris said goodbye to his teammates, then trotted over to where the coach was returning basketballs to a metal rack.  Chris helped the man pick up the remaining balls that were scattered on the court.

 

“Thanks, DeSoto.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Because the rest of the boys were gone now, Burnell Donaldson didn’t bother taking Chris in his office.  He held the conversation he wanted to have with the teenager right in the gym.

 

“So, Chris, what’s up with Todd these days?”

 

“Up with him?”

 

“Yes. He’s been late to practice every day for the past two weeks, and numerous times before that. He doesn’t seem to care about basketball anymore.  He doesn’t seem to care about anything anymore. Do you know what’s going on with him?”

 

Chris pondered telling the coach about Todd’s new friendship with Matt Moran, but what good would it do?  Todd had the right to be friends with whomever he chose. Granted, Chris thought Matt was trouble, but it wasn’t like he could tell Coach Donaldson anything about Matt that the man didn’t already know.  For a few brief seconds Chris wondered if he should tell his coach how strangely Todd was acting at times, and that Chris had noticed Todd slurred his words on occasion, while sometimes losing his balance.  None of those things were normal for Todd who, until Christmas break, and despite his small stature, was one of the school’s star athletes.

 

“Chris?” the black man prompted.

 

Chris looked up at his coach.  As much as Chris himself wanted to know what was going on with Todd, he didn’t want to be a nark.  Besides, he had no proof that Todd was doing anything he shouldn’t be. 

 

Because he rarely employed the art of lying, Chris wasn’t a skilled fibber.  But now his mind fished for a believable falsehood to tell the coach in an effort to get the man off his back, and to keep Todd out of trouble.

 

“I. . .I think his grandfather is sick.”

 

“His grandfather?”

 

“Yeah.  Todd. . .he’s really close to his grandpa, and he’s sick.”

 

“What’s wrong with him?”

 

“I. . .I don’t know.”

 

“Oh, I see.  Well, do you know—“ 

 

The coach didn’t get the opportunity to finish his question.  He was paged over the loudspeaker system and told he had a phone call in the main office.  Chris took advantage of the man’s momentary distraction.

 

“Can I go, Coach?  My mom will be wondering where I am.”

 

Burnell nodded.  He wasn’t sure he believed Chris, but on the other hand, he had no reason not to believe the teenager.  He thought a lot of Chris DeSoto, and thought a lot of Todd Fletcher as well.  He had confidence these were two kids who would grow up to have successful lives provided they stayed on the right path.  Whether Todd was veering off onto the wrong path or not had yet to be seen.  Coach Donaldson had been teaching junior high school kids long enough to know that even something like a grandfather’s illness could cause a major change in a child’s behavior.

 

“Coach?” Chris asked again. “Can I go?”

 

“Sure, Chris.  Run along,” the man said as together, he and Chris walked toward the door.  “Thanks for taking the time to talk to me.  If something comes up with Todd that concerns you, and we need to talk further, you know my door is always open, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah, Coach.  I know.  Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

The pair parted ways when they came to the school’s large foyer.  Chris headed out the double doors, while Burnell Donaldson headed for the office to take his phone call.

 

 

_____________________

 

 

Unbeknownst to Chris, there was someone in Todd’s family who was ill, though it wasn’t his grandfather.  It was his mother.

 

Todd sat on his bed after supper, ignoring the homework that was piled around him.  He had his books out for one reason and one reason only. So it would look good if his father came in the room. In reality, Todd had no interest in completing math assignments, or English assignments, or history assignments. He’d had no interest in school at all since Christmas.  Where he once had been a straight A student like his friend Chris DeSoto, Todd was now failing every subject.  He knew it would only be a matter of time before his parents were notified, and before he was pulled out of honors classes. But, Todd didn’t care about any of that either. 

 

It had been on Thanksgiving Day that Todd had first learned what was wrong with his mother. His older brother, Scott, was home from college. After the holiday meal had been eaten and the dishes were done, Todd’s father had asked him and Scott to come into the living room.  Todd thought it was odd that his grandmother and Aunt Pauline came into the living room, too, as though this was some sort of family conference.

 

Ever since summer, Todd’s mother had been having trouble keeping her balance. She was also having trouble remembering   things, like what items she wanted to pick up at the grocery store, or where she’d laid her car keys. By the time school started Todd had noticed that sometimes his mom walked with her feet spread widely apart, which resulted in an uneven gait that made her look like a Lucille Ball when she was pretending to be drunk. 

 

As Todd sat in the living room amongst the somber faces, his father told him that his mother had been to the doctor earlier in the week, and that with the help of medication, she’d be fine.  Todd couldn’t understand why everyone looked so serious if that was the case, or why Aunt Pauline wiped at her eyes as though she had tears in them.  Before Todd could ask any questions, his father clapped him on the back and told him to go outside and play with the boys who had already kicked off the neighborhood’s annual Thanksgiving Day football game.

 

Todd left the room then, but not the house.  He lingered in the kitchen where no one could see him. He even opened and closed the door that led to the backyard so the adults would think he was gone.  It was after Todd had closed the door with a solid bang that he heard his Aunt Pauline start to cry.  He peered around the corner and watched as Scott took their mother’s hand.  Todd’s grandmother was crying, too, and then he heard the phrase he’d grow to hate, and to fear.  Huntington’s Disease.

 

Todd had never known his maternal grandfather.  The man had died fifteen years before he was born. Nor did Todd remember his mother’s only brother, Robert.  Uncle Bob had died when Todd was three.  Todd did remember his mother’s oldest sister, Helen.  He was nine when she died.  But he had never known her well.  The last two years of her life Aunt Helen was in a nursing home.  It was during Christmas vacation that Todd would come to understand why his grandfather, uncle, and aunt, had died so young, and come to understand why his Aunt Pauline, as his mother’s only surviving sibling, had been crying on Thanksgiving Day.

 

It was because no one would answer Todd’s questions, and because even Scott brushed him off during Christmas break by telling him, “Don’t worry.  Mom will be fine,” that Todd spent one afternoon at the public library.  The teenager’s mouth went dry, and his stomach tied in knots, as he read a lengthy section of a medical encyclopedia. 

 

Todd’s research uncovered that Huntington’s Disease is a progressive disorder that involves degeneration of nerve cells in the cerebrum, or largest portion of the brain.  If one parent is affected, there’s a fifty percent chance that each child in the family will be affected. Symptoms of the disease don’t usually appear before the age of thirty-five, but can sometimes appear far earlier than that.  Once the symptoms make themselves known, it’s rare for the victim to live more than ten to fifteen years beyond that point. 

 

As Todd read he discovered the things he’d been observing in his mother since July were typical signs of Huntington’s.  The unsteady gait to her walk. The need to sometimes turn her head in order to shift her gaze.  Jerking movements of her arms and legs.  Memory loss.  Depression and irritability.  According to the encyclopedia, these things would only grow progressively worse.  As time went on, Todd’s mother would likely suffer from dementia, paranoia, experience speech impairment, have difficulty swallowing, and in every way lose her ability to function as an independent adult.  By the time Huntington’s Disease claimed her life, Sandra Fletcher would be, in many ways, as helpless as an infant.

 

At the current time, medical science had no way to predict if Todd, or his brother Scott, would also fall victim to the disease.  That breakthrough wouldn’t come until 1986 through the use of a genetic marker test.  Todd read about the possibility of Huntington’s someday being predicted in children as young as himself, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.  Were you better off to know, or not to know?  Either way seemed like hell to the thirteen-year-old.  Especially when you had a fifty-fifty chance of being told that yes, you had inherited the disease.

 

Todd sat in the library that day until a volunteer had to ask him to leave so she could lock the building.  Because his family had chosen not to tell him what was really wrong with his mother, and because Todd didn’t want to make things harder on his parents than they already were, he never told his mom, or dad, or Scott, what he’d learned on his visit to the library.  He went home and continued to play their game.  Mom would get better if she took her medication.  He wasn’t to worry about Mom.  Mom would get better given time and rest.

 

When school resumed on January 2^nd Todd was envious of his big brother.  At least Scott was able to escape the realities of Huntington’s Disease by heading back to Indiana where he was a sophomore at Purdue University.  Todd was left at home to face reality alone.  And just when he thought it would be easier to die now, than face another day with the shadow of Huntington’s hanging over his head, Todd had hooked up with Matt Moran. 

 

Unlike Chris, Todd had gone to grade school with Matt.  For a while, back when Matt was repeating fourth grade for the second time, they had even been friends.  Todd wasn’t sure how they struck up a friendship again, other than to say Todd needed to escape from his world, and Matt had just the answer for that.  Drugs.  Mostly pot, but sometimes pills, too.  Todd had been hesitant to try anything at first, but then he discovered Matt was right.  The stuff didn’t hurt you, and it made you feel better about life.  If there was one thing Todd needed right now, it was a way to feel better.  But drugs cost money, and Todd was quickly running low on what cash he had received as Christmas gifts.  He needed a job, and had skipped basketball practice today in order to apply for a newspaper route.  If Todd got hired he’d have to quit the basketball team, but he didn’t care any longer.  Like he’d told Chris the other day, there was no use in worrying about things that didn’t matter.

 

Todd rolled off his bed and crossed to his dresser.  He bent down and opened the bottom drawer. He stuck a hand beneath piles of socks and pulled out two purple capsules.  The doctor had given his mother these pills.  They were supposed to help alleviate her depression.  Matt had suggested Todd swipe a few.  He told Todd they’d make him feel good, and help him forget.

 

The boy swallowed the two pills. He picked a lukewarm can of Coke up from his nightstand and washed them down. He drained the can dry, then tossed it in the garbage.

 

Todd fell back to his bed, pushing his books aside with his legs.  A few minutes later his eyes began to droop as the pills took affect. The teenager knew his problems would still be there in the morning, but for the time being, Matt was right.  The pills made him feel good, and they helped him forget.  

 

 

Chapter 5

 

 

     Hank Stanley was in his office finishing up paperwork early on Friday morning, while his men lounged around the kitchen waiting for eight o’clock to arrive.  One by one the firefighters of C-shift drifted in through the back door.  Greetings were exchanged as the new arrivals headed for the coffee pot.

 

     “Hey, Chet.  Johnny,” Charlie Dwyer hailed as he filled his mug with steaming Folgers. “Too bad you guys were on duty last night.”

 

Johnny glanced up from his seat at the table where he was reading the sports section of the newspaper.

 

“Why’s that?” 

 

“Maninsky pretty much lost his shirt, that’s why.”

 

“Was he placing bets again?”  Chet asked. 

 

“When doesn’t he?” Charlie stopped the motion of his coffee mug toward his mouth. “Why do you look so surprised, Kelly?  Manny’s always up for taking a bet.”

 

“Yeah, but I heard he’s got a lotta money trouble because of it.”

 

The men of C-shift circled closer as Charlie asked,  “Really?”

 

“Yep.  Heard Manny and his wife have to borrow money from her parents just to make ends meet some months.”

 

Charlie’s voice was filled with doubts.  “Over two dollar bets?  Chet, no one has money trouble over two dollar bets made once a week at the bowling alley.”

 

Chet shrugged. “That’s just what I heard.  Believe it or don’t.”

 

“Believe what or don’t?”  Hank Stanley asked as he stepped into the kitchen.

 

Before Chet could stop him, Charlie flicked a thumb in his direction.

 

“Chet here says Jerry Maninsky has a gambling problem.”

 

Hank glared at his employee.  “Kelly, what did I tell you about gossiping?”

 

“I’m not gossiping, Cap.  I’m just repeating what I heard.”

 

“That’s right. So you’re gossiping.”

 

“No, Cap.  Really, I’m not.”

 

Hank crossed his arms over his chest. “Would you care to explain the difference to me?”

 

“Well, uh. . .see, it’s like this, Cap.  I. . .uh. . .I—“

 

The arrival of C-shift’s captain made Hank anxious to put an end to the word day, much to Chet’s relief.

 

“Chet, just do us all a favor and keep what you hear to yourself.  Got it?”

 

“Yes, sir.  Got it, sir.”

 

As he walked out the back door Hank muttered, “I’ll believe that when I see it.  Better yet, I’ll believe it when I hear it.”

 

The remainder of the men laughed, while chiding the Irishman for being in Hank Stanley’s doghouse.  The firefighters just coming on duty put their coffee mugs down and left the kitchen to line up for roll call.  The men of the A-shift headed for the back door.

 

Johnny shook his head with mock disappointment.  “Gee, Kelly, can’t you stay out of trouble with Cap for at least one shift every week?”

 

“Yeah, way to go, Chet,” Marco said. “Now Cap will probably be in a bad mood all weekend and then take it out on us come Monday.”

 

“Nope,” Roy negated. “Just on Chet.”

 

Everyone but Chet laughed at Roy’s quip.  The group stepped into the early morning sunshine, each man headed for his respective vehicle.  Mike paused when he reached his blue Dodge pickup.

 

“Oh, and Chet?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“The reason Manny gets money from his in-laws is to pay his kids’ school tuition.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Manny’s got three kids.  It’s important to his in-laws that their grandchildren attend Catholic schools.  Private school tuition for three kids is something Manny can’t afford on a firefighter’s salary, so his in-laws pay it.”

 

“Oh. Oh. . .well. . .oh.  Yeah, I suppose it would be hard to pay private school tuition for three kids.”  Chet opened the door on his VW van and hastily climbed behind the wheel.  “I need to get home. You guys have a good weekend.”

 

“You, too, Chet.”

 

“See ya’ Monday, Chet.”

 

“Bye, Chet.”

 

After the old VW pulled out of the parking lot the four men left behind chuckled at their colleague while shaking their heads. They climbed into their vehicles, each wondering if Chet would ever learn.  

 

 

_____________________

 

 

     At three-thirty that Friday afternoon, Roy, Joanne, Jennifer, and baby John sat in the bleachers of the Garden Grove Junior High School gymnasium waiting for Chris’s basketball game to start.  The boys from both teams were suited up and throwing practice shots on the court.

 

Roy and Joanne watched as Coach Donaldson beckoned Chris to the sidelines.  The teenager tossed the basketball he was holding to one of his teammates and jogged to his coach.  The black man placed a hand on Chris’s back, guiding him to a distant corner of the gym.  Burnell Donaldson appeared to be questioning Chris about something.  The thirteen-year-old kept shaking his head, and even from across the gymnasium, and with John squirming in his lap, Roy could see Chris mouth the word “no,” several times.

 

Chris’s team was victorious that afternoon, with Chris sinking the winning shot.  His demeanor didn’t broadcast that fact, however.  The teen’s hair was still damp from his shower when he joined his family in the school’s lobby.

 

“Good game, Chris,” Jennifer congratulated.

 

Chris ignored his sister as he pushed open the double doors.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

Roy shifted John to his left hip as he followed Chris outside.

 

“Christopher, your sister just offered you her congratulations.”

 

“I heard her.”

 

“Then a response such as ‘Thank you,’ would be appropriate.”

 

Chris knew better than to roll his eyes in front of his father, or heave a disgusted sigh, but he internally did both those things before saying, “Thanks, Jen.”

 

Jennifer ducked her head so her smile wouldn’t show.  She hadn’t meant to get Chris in trouble, but she thought he deserved to be spoken to sternly by their dad considering how he’d been treating her lately.

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Roy secured John in his car seat, then moved out of the way so Chris could climb in.  Jennifer rounded the vehicle with her mother. Jen sat down on the other side of her baby brother, while Joanne settled into the front passenger seat.

 

Roy’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror as he drove the Impala from the school’s parking lot.  His gaze landed on his oldest son who was seated directly behind him.

 

“What was Coach Donaldson discussing with you?”

 

Chris looked out the window. “Huh?”

 

“Coach Donaldson.  What was he discussing with you before the game?”

 

“I don’t remember.”

 

Joanne turned in her seat. “You don’t remember?”

 

“No.  Just. . .just stuff.”

 

Joanne and Roy exchanged glances at the vague response.  Roy’s eyes returned to the mirror.

 

“I didn’t see Todd. Was he out sick?”

 

Chris shrugged.  “Don’t know.”

 

“How could you not know?  If he wasn’t at the game then he must not have been in school.”

 

“What difference does it make?”  Chris pushed John’s pudgy hand off his arm as his voice rose.  “I’m not Todd’s babysitter, you know.”

 

“Watch your tone with me, young man.  And don’t be rough with your little brother.”

 

“I wasn’t being rough with him.  I just don’t want his sticky hands all over me.”

 

“His hands aren’t sticky,” Joanne said.

 

“Yes, they are.”

 

“Chris—“

 

“They are!”

 

“Christopher!  That’s enough,” Roy commanded.  “All we did was ask you a few simple questions. I don’t know why you’re getting so upset.”

 

“I’m not upset!”

 

“You sound upset to me,” Roy stated calmly.

 

“You sound really upset to me,” Jennifer added, unable to refrain from getting her two cents worth in. 

 

“Jen, that’s enough,” Joanne warned. 

 

Roy decided it was enough all the way around.  He let the subject of Coach Donaldson, and Todd Fletcher, drop.  Five minutes later the DeSoto family arrived home.  Chris grabbed his gym bag from the floor of the car, scrambled from the vehicle, slammed the door, and hurried for the house.  Roy took his time removing John from his car seat.  He smiled as he passed the toddler to Joanne.

 

“Don’t know where Chris thinks he’s going.  I’ve got the key for the door.”

 

Joanne chuckled. Her oldest son was standing on the front step waiting impatiently for his father to let him in the house.  She could see how badly Chris wanted to escape his family, and had no doubt he’d flee for his room as soon as Roy opened the door.

 

Before Chris had the chance to do just that, Roy’s voice stopped him.

 

“Where are you going in such a hurry?”

 

“To my room.”

 

“We’re going to eat in a few minutes.  Your mom has supper waiting for us in the crock pot.”

 

“That’s okay.  Call me when it’s ready.”

 

“Chris—“

 

The boy turned around from where the living room joined the hallway that led to the bedrooms. 

 

“Dad, I have a lot of homework to do.  I’d like to get started on it.”

 

“You want to get started on your homework at six o’clock on a Friday night?”

 

“Yeah.  Like I said, I have a lot of it.”

 

“Christopher—“

 

“Dad, it’s you and mom who said I’d have to work hard in order to be in the honors program.  Well, I do wanna be in it, so I have to study.  A lot.  I have to study a lot.”  Chris glanced toward his room. “So can I go now?”

 

Roy contemplated telling his son no, but what reason could he give?  Certainly he was proud of the fact that as a direct result of hours of studying, Chris earned A’s in all his classes.  And yes, it was Roy and Joanne who had told Chris at the beginning of the school year that being in the brand new honors program Garden Grove was offering meant he’d have to work hard.

 

As Jennifer turned the television set on, and as John crawled over to the toy box, Roy waved a hand at his oldest son in dismissal.

 

“Go on.  Start your homework. We’ll call you when supper’s ready.”

 

Without another word to his father, Chris headed for his room.  Seconds later Roy heard the teenager’s door shut. Roy wouldn’t meet Joanne’s eyes as she walked by him on the way to the kitchen, but he heard her soft, “See, I told you.”

 

The paramedic shrugged, as though indicating to his wife that he still didn’t think there was anything to be concerned about.  He sat down on the carpeting to play with John.  If nothing else, the moods of a one-year-old were far easier to understand than those of a thirteen-year-old.

 

_____________________

 

 

     Chris didn’t contribute to the suppertime conversation that night.  As soon as he’d helped Jennifer clear the table he returned to his room.  Roy assisted his wife with putting leftovers in containers and cleaning up the kitchen, then spent the next hour roughhousing in the living room with John and Jennifer.  It was Roy who gave John his bath that night, and Roy who rocked the youngster to sleep. When John’s eyes had been shut for ten minutes Roy stood from the rocker and carried the toddler to his crib.  He tucked a small quilt around the baby, then switched off the Teddy bear lamp resting atop the dresser. Roy padded across the carpeting in his sock feet, quietly shutting the door behind him as he exited the room.

 

     Joanne and Jennifer were cuddled together on the living room couch watching television. Rather than joining them, Roy turned left and headed to the last room on this side of the hallway.  Chris’s room.  He knocked on the closed door and said, “Chris, it’s Dad,” then entered without waiting for permission to do so. 

 

As Roy stepped into the room Chris hastily crumpled a piece of paper he’d been writing on and tossed it in the garbage can.  He was sitting on his bed, leaning back against the headboard. He had an open Algebra book propped against his bent knees, and an open spiral notebook resting inside it.

 

Roy took a seat on the twin bed across from his son’s.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Homework.”

 

Roy’s eyes flicked to the garbage can with the NFL logo on it, but refrained from commenting on the paper he’d just witnessed being hurriedly disposed of.

 

     The paramedic was careful to keep his tone inviting and non-threatening when he asked, “Son, is everything all right?”

 

     “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

 

     “I don’t know. It’s just that your mother is concerned about your attitude lately, and quite frankly, I’m beginning to get a little concerned myself.”

 

     “Look, Dad, I’m. . .I’m sorry about that.  It’s just. . .”

 

Chris hesitated as he attempted to come up with some reasonable excuse his father would accept. He didn’t want to voice his suspicions about Todd to his parents. For one thing, Chris didn’t know if those suspicions were even correct, and for another, the principal’s letter said that if a parent even heard of a kid who might be using drugs, that parent was obligated to report it.  Chris didn’t want to be a nark where his best friend was concerned.

 

     “I’ve just had a lot of homework lately.  Since Christmas vacation the teachers have gotten really tough on us.  I guess they’re getting us ready for high school.  I. . .I’m kinda worried that I won’t be able to keep my grades up.”

 

     Roy smiled.  “I don’t think you need to worry about that.  I read your mid-semester report last week.  You’re doing great, Chris.”

 

     “I suppose.  It’s just. . .you know, sometimes between band, and basketball, and homework, and Boy Scouts. . .it just gets to be a lot.”

 

     “Do you want to quit one of your activities?  You can, you know.  Your mother and I won’t care.”

 

“No.”  Chris shook his head.  “No, I don’t wanna quit any of them.”

 

     “But if you feel like you’re under a lot of pressure—“

 

     “No, no. That’s okay.  I can handle it.”

 

     Roy studied his son a long moment. Chris wouldn’t meet his gaze, but other than that Roy couldn’t detect any signs that his son was lying to him.  When Chris didn’t say anything else Roy reached over and patted his left knee.

 

     “How about if you take a break from studying for a while tomorrow?”

 

     “A break?”

 

     “Sure. Mom has to drop Jennifer off at a birthday party in the morning, then she’s taking John with her while she runs some errands.  How about if you and I take a drive out to Uncle Johnny’s ranch?  He’s always got some project in the works he’d appreciate help with.”

 

     As Roy suspected would be the case, Chris couldn’t turn down the prospect of a visit to Johnny’s.

 

     “Okay. What time are we going?”

 

     “Around nine-thirty or so.  About the same time your mom leaves with Jenny and John.”

 

     “All right.”

 

     Roy gave his son’s knee a final pat before standing.

 

“Your mother and sister are in the living room watching TV.  I’m going to make some popcorn.  Why don’t you join us?”

 

“Maybe later.”

 

Roy thought Chris’s “Maybe later,” sounded more like a “No,” but he let it slide.  Roy’s eyes flicked to the wastebasket again, where he spotted the crumpled paper Chris had seemed so anxious to get rid of when his father entered the room.  Did it mean anything, or was it simply a homework paper he’d made a mistake on?  Roy chastised himself for being so foolish.  At any other time he wouldn’t have given that crumpled paper a second thought, but now he readily recalled one of the signs the principal’s letter said to watch for.  Your teenager suddenly acting secretive and vague, then becoming angry when questioned about those issues. So far everything about Chris’s behavior this evening was angry, vague, and secretive.  Roy wondered what that meant.  Simply normal behavior for a thirteen-year-old, or something more serious?

 

Roy left the room that night without questioning his son further.  Within thirty minutes, the smell of popcorn and warm butter drifted into Chris, despite the fact that his father had closed the door when he’d exited. Chris’s stomach growled at the enticing odors, but he ignored the discomfort.  He set his books aside, swiveled so he was seated on the edge of his bed, and reached into his garbage can.  Chris uncrumpled the paper he’d thrown away earlier that he didn’t want his dad to see.  With his right hand he smoothed the paper against his legs, attempting to get as many wrinkles out as possible.  Silently he read what he’d written.

 

Todd,

 

   Is everything okay? Coach Donaldson asked me why you weren’t at the game.  I know he benched you for being late to so many practices, but you were still supposed to be there.  I told him I thought you went home sick after school.  He seemed a little mad, but not as mad as he would have been if I hadn’t covered for you.  Where were you?  I saw you by our lockers with Matt after our last class, but when I turned to ask you if you were walking to the gym with me you were already gone.  I know it’s none of my business, but I think you’re making a big mistake by hanging out with Matt.  Is there a place we can meet to talk without Matt around?  I just want to know if you’re all right.

 

Chris

 

 

Chris planned to give the note to Todd at school on Monday.  He hoped, if nothing else, he and Todd could at least get together in private and talk about what was going on.  Todd was a good friend, and Chris missed his companionship.  More importantly, Chris didn’t want to see Todd getting in the kind of trouble he’d regret later.  And with Matt Moran at your side, that was about the only kind of trouble there was.

 

The teenager picked up his Algebra text and spiral notebook.  He stood, crossing to his desk.  The remainder of his schoolbooks was piled neatly on top of the desk. He added his Algebra book and the spiral notebook to the pile.  Chris crouched down in front of his bookcase and pulled out a hard-copy edition of Tom Sawyer. He opened it to the middle and shoved his note to Todd inside. He returned the book to the shelf.  On Monday morning Chris would take the note to school with him and give it to Todd when the opportunity arose. What would happen after that remained to be seen. At the very least, Chris would have the satisfaction of knowing he’d tried to reconnect with his best friend.

 

Chris never did join his family in the living room that night.  By the time his parents went to bed at eleven o’clock, the light was out in Chris’s room, though the teenager wasn’t asleep. Chris tossed and turned until one a.m. Disquieting thoughts concerning Todd kept his mind too active to succumb to slumber.  Exhaustion won out when the early the morning hours arrived, and Chris finally drifted into a troubled sleep.

 

_____________________

 

 

Shortly after nine-thirty on Saturday morning Roy and Chris walked out of the DeSoto house.  Joanne had left a few minutes earlier with her younger children.  As Chris climbed in his father’s Porsche, Roy said, “I forgot my jacket.  I’ll be right back.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Roy entered the house through the garage. He grabbed his denim jacket from the closet in the laundry room, though this wasn’t the actual reason he’d come back inside. He quickened his pace as he headed down the hall toward Chris’s room.  He didn’t want to be gone too long, thus arousing suspicions with his son.

 

The paramedic rounded Chris’s bed and picked up the garbage can.  He never thought he’d be snooping through his son’s belongings.  He felt slightly guilty over that fact, nonetheless he was concerned enough about Chris’s behavior to cause the guilt to be fleeting.

 

Roy rummaged through the metal bin.  All he got for his trouble was a Snicker’s bar wrapper; an old program from a school band concert, and an outdated issue of Baseball Digest Johnny had passed onto Chris when he was done with it.  The object of Roy’s search, that crumpled piece of paper, was missing.  Roy surveyed the room.  He walked over to Chris’s desk and quickly paged through the schoolbooks and folders piled there.  Still no crumpled paper.

 

The paramedic glanced at the LA Rams alarm clock on Chris’s nightstand.  He couldn’t remain in the house any longer without Chris coming to look for him.

 

Joanne has made you paranoid, DeSoto.  You’ll feel pretty stupid when the day comes you find out that piece of paper was nothing but a love note Chris wrote to some girl, or homework he took back out of the garbage can so he could copy some material from it.

 

Roy looked around the room one last time, then hurried from the house.  Chris didn’t ask his father what had delayed him.  As a matter of fact, the preoccupied teenager seemed unaware that Roy’s quest for a jacket had taken longer than normal. 

 

As Roy drove to Johnny’s ranch his mind drifted to the principal’s letter once again. Was Chris being secretive about something that his parents needed to be aware of, or was he simply taking his first steps toward adulthood and independence?  Roy was glad he hadn’t mentioned the crumpled piece of paper to Joanne.  For the time being she didn’t need one more thing to worry about it when it came to Chris.  Besides, as Roy had thought when he was snooping in his son’s room, quite likely it was just a homework assignment Chris decided to retrieve, or maybe a note to a girlfriend Joanne and Roy didn’t realize existed.

 

He’s growing up, Roy reminded himself of the words he’d said to Joanne earlier in the week.  Chris is growing up and we have to allow that to happen. He’s a good boy.  A smart boy. He’ll make the right choices for himself.

 

Like all parents of teenagers, this was one of those times when Roy realized he was trying hard to convince himself of something he had no guarantee of, and little control over.  He was glad when they reached John Gage’s ranch.  If nothing else a few hours of outdoor work would take Roy’s mind off his concerns.

 

 

Chapter 6

 

 

     Roll call on Monday morning brought the Station 51 crew together again for the start of a new week.  Hank Stanley held a short briefing with his crew and then announced job assignments.  When the men were dismissed Johnny and Roy walked around the squad.  They spent the next few minutes inventorying supplies and doing the daily bio-phone check with Rampart.

 

     “Thanks again for the help you and Chris gave me on Saturday,” Johnny said as he stowed the drug box.  “Sorry that all I had to offer you for lunch was baloney or peanut butter and jelly. If I’d known you guys were coming over, I’d have made a trip to the grocery store.”

 

     “Don’t worry about it.” Roy put the bio-phone back in its compartment and slammed the door shut.  “Baloney was fine for me, and I didn’t hear Chris complaining about the peanut butter and jelly.  Besides, the visit was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing.  Joanne thought it would be a good idea for Chris and I to have a father and son outing over the weekend.”

 

     “Father and son outing?” Johnny chuckled. “And the best you could do was bring Chris out to help me put up new fencing?”

 

     “He didn’t mind.  As a matter of fact, he had a good time.  He always does when he’s at your place.  You know that.”

 

     “I suppose.  But still, you could have taken him to a Lakers game, or fishing, or on a camping trip, or something like that.”

 

     “Guess I could have.  But a drive out to your place was sufficient. If nothing else, it put Joanne’s mind at ease.”

 

     “Her mind at ease?  Why?  What’s going on?”

 

     “Oh, nothing really.  Or at least I don’t think so.  Chris is just being a normal teenager.”

 

     “Normal how?”

 

     “He’s been kind of moody lately.  Smart mouthed to Joanne and Jennifer.  Wants to hide away in his room all the time.  Doesn’t pay much attention to John any longer.  You know, just typical teenage stuff.”

 

     “Sounds that way to me, but you don’t seem convinced.”

 

     Roy shrugged.  “I think Joanne’s worrying for no reason, but I have to admit it’s hard to see this sudden change come over Chris.”

 

     “He seemed fine on Saturday.  Like his normal self.”

 

     “Yeah, he did.  Which is why bringing him to your ranch was a good idea.  He was fine the rest of the weekend, too.  Chris and I had a talk on Friday night.  I think he’s just feeling the pressure of his homework and school activities right now.”

 

     “He is involved in a lot,” Johnny agreed, knowing how busy Roy’s son was with extracurricular activities.

 

     “Yes, he is.  I asked Chris if he wanted to drop some of his activities, but he said no.  We talked about it again on our way home from your place.  He seems to think he can handle all his commitments, so I’m going to respect his decision for now.  But I also made it clear to him that his attitude and smart mouth won’t be tolerated any longer.  He said he understood, so I hope I got through to him.”

 

“I’m sure you did,” Johnny said, despite the flicker of doubt and worry he heard in Roy’s voice.  Chris was Roy and Joanne’s first foray into a child’s teen years, so Johnny figured it was normal that Roy might be a little unsure of himself when situations like these arose.

 

Before John could offer his partner further reassurances, the klaxons sounded and the paramedics were summoned. As the squad pulled out of the station, neither Johnny nor Roy saw Chet step around from the other side of Engine 51.

 

      

_____________________

 

     “Marco!  Hey, Marco!”

 

     Marco turned from where he was scouring the ovens using a bucket of warm water and a scrub brush.  “What?”

 

     “Where’s Mike?”

 

     “Cleaning the dorm.”

 

     “Good,” Chet nodded.  He knew Hank Stanley had returned to his office after recording the address of the squad’s run and handing it to Roy.  That meant no one was around who would frown on Chet passing along some juicy news to Marco.  “You’ll never guess what I just heard Roy saying to Johnny.”

 

     “Chet, what did Cap tell you about gossiping?”

 

     “This isn’t gossip, man.  This is the truth.  I heard Roy say it not five minutes ago, so how can that be gossip?”

 

     “What did you hear Roy say?”

    

     “He’s having a lot of trouble with Chris.”

 

     “What kind of trouble?”

 

     “The kid’s had a real attitude lately.  And he’s been swearing at Joanne and Jennifer.”

 

     “Chris? Swearing?” Marco cocked an eyebrow. “No.  I don’t believe it.”

 

     “Well, believe it, ‘cause I just heard Roy say it.  Chris even said he wishes John had never been born, and he spends all his time in his room listening to that heavy metal crap the kids are so hooked on these days.”

 

     “Chet, are you sure that’s what Roy said?  Word for word that’s what Roy said?”

 

     When the Irishman gossiped, he was also prone to exaggeration.  Especially when he knew what he was passing along was having an impact on his listener.  Chet gave a solemn nod.

 

     “Word for word, amigo.  Honest.”

 

     “That just doesn’t sound like Chris.  And it doesn’t sound like something Roy would put up with from one of his kids.  He’s always soft-spoken with them, but he always makes them behave, too.”

 

     “Yeah, well, you know how it is with teenagers.”

 

     “No, I don’t. Not anymore than you do.”

 

     “Come on, Marco, I don’t have to be a father, and neither do you, to know that teenagers can cause their parents a lot of grief.”  Chet grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter.  “If you ask me, it sounds like Chris is doing a mighty fine job of turning Roy’s hair gray.” 

 

     Thinking of the bald spot Roy had been sporting the past couple years that Johnny liked to tease him so much about, caused Marco to say, “Roy’s hair will probably fall out from the stress before it’ll turn gray.”

 

     “Probably.  Either way, things don’t sound too good at the DeSoto house, if you want my opinion on the matter.”  Chet polished the apple against his shirt then took a big bite.  “Nope, they don’t sound good at all, Marco.” 

 

     Right before he stepped into the apparatus bay Chet turned around. He pointed a stern finger at his friend.

 

     “But don’t go spreading this around, you hear?  Wouldn’t want anyone to accuse us of gossiping, you know.” 

 

     Marco rolled his eyes as Chet left the room.

 

     “Heaven forbid anyone would accuse us of gossiping, Chet.”

 

     Marco returned to his chore. As he worked he thought of Roy’s son.  He had always liked Chris.  Marco hoped, given time, everything would be all right at the DeSoto home.  From what Chet said, the current situation contained the potential for future problems.   Many future problems, and none of them easy to resolve.

 

_____________________

 

     Johnny walked out of Treatment Room 1 and met up with his partner in Rampart’s busy hallway.  The patient they’d brought in wasn’t seriously injured.  The young man had fallen off a ladder at the hardware store where he worked while retrieving a can of paint for a customer.  A badly sprained ankle and a bump on the back of his head earned him a ride to Rampart in the ambulance with Johnny, but within a couple of hours he’d likely be sent home.

 

     John and Roy greeted the paramedics from Station 65’s A-shift as the pair walked past them.

 

     “Hey, Dale,” Roy said.  “Will.”

 

Johnny smiled.  “Hi, guys.”

 

     Roy and John received subdued greetings in return as the men from 65’s headed for the exit.

 

     Johnny turned around to study the men’s retreating backs.

 

     “They were awfully quiet. Wonder what’s up?”

 

     “Don’t know,” Roy said, as the pair weaved their way toward the nurses’ station.  Before they arrived at their destination the paramedics were hailed from behind.

 

     “Johnny! Roy!”

 

     The men turned around.  Kelly Brackett came toward them at a brisk pace. 

 

     “Do you two have a minute?”

 

     “Sure, Doc,” Johnny said.

 

     Brackett stepped around the corner with Johnny and Roy following him.  They were now off the main hallway, and thus out of the way of busy passersby.

 

     “I wanted to let you guys know we just lost our first victim to massive stings from Africanized Bees.”

 

Johnny shook his head.   “Oh, no.”

 

     “That’s a shame,” Roy said.  “Is that why Dale and Will were upset?”

 

     “Yes.  He was their patient.”

 

     “What happened?” Johnny asked.

 

     “A seventy-four year old man was cleaning up some vacant property he owned.  He hit a nest with a sickle. He’d suffered a heart attack three years ago, so between his health and his age those two factors quite likely contributed to his death.”

 

     “He wasn’t allergic to bee venom?” Roy asked.

 

     “Not that his wife was aware of.  We’ll know more after the autopsy report is back.”

 

     “How many times was he stung?”  Johnny questioned.

 

     “I counted eighty-six stings, but again, the autopsy report will give me a more accurate number.  In any event, it’s not a number we normally think of as being lethal enough to kill a healthy person who isn’t allergic to the venom, but we may just have gotten our first taste of how aggressive these bees are.”

 

     “How so?” Roy asked.

 

     “Just like we were told, they’re drawn to human breath.  They got up Mr. Cayburn’s nose and down his throat.  More than anything else, it was asphyxiation that attributed to his death.  By the time 65’s arrived, there just wasn’t much they could do to reverse that.”

 

     “That’s rough,” Johnny said.

 

     “Yes, it is,” Brackett agreed. “On all those involved.”

 

     The doctor nodded at the men while giving Johnny a light clap on the arm.

 

     “Thanks for your time, fellas.  I want to make all the paramedics aware of this over the next few days.  It’s important you guys and your co-workers know these bees are out there, and not just a figment of the media’s imagination thanks to a few bad movies.”

 

     “We’ll tell the guys back at the station,” Roy promised. “And I’ll ask Cap to leave a memo for the others shifts to read.”

 

     “Thanks, Roy.  I appreciate it.”

 

     “No problem.”

 

     After Doctor Brackett retreated to his office the paramedics continued to the nurses’ station.  They talked to Dixie for a few minutes, then got the supplies they needed.  Twenty minutes after entering Rampart, Johnny and Roy were back in Squad 51.

 

     Roy barely acknowledged Johnny’s attempts at conversation as he drove the squad toward the station.  Johnny finally stopped talking about his latest girlfriend and looked at his partner.

 

     “This thing with Chris really has you upset, doesn’t it?”

     “Oh, I don’t know.  I. . .no.  Well. . .yeah, maybe.  I guess it does.”

    

     “I think you’re making a mountain out of mole hill.”

 

     “Probably.  That’s what I keep telling Joanne she’s doing.  But after seeing how he acted Friday night, I have to admit I’m a little concerned.”

 

     “How so?”

 

     Roy didn’t want to discuss the letter from the principal with Johnny, or his fears that Chris’s behavior could indicate drug use.  He felt that possibility was fairly remote, yet it was still a worry for every parent of a teenager.

 

     “I’m just not used to him being so moody. . .so snotty.  Chris has never been like that before with either Joanne or myself.”

 

     Johnny chuckled. “Well, Dad, welcome to the teenage years.  They’re a bundle of fun.”

 

     “How do you know?  You don’t have a teenager.”

 

     “No, but I was a teenager not that long ago and I—“

 

     Roy raised a skeptical eyebrow.  “Not that long ago?”

 

     “Okay, okay.  It’s been a few years since I was Chris’s

age. . .a lotta years actually, but anyway, I remember me and my dad going at it pretty good more than once.”

 

     “Over what?” Roy asked. 

 

     “Everything.  The length of my hair, which was not that long back then, by the way.  I was wearing it a lot longer a few years ago when Cap was always on my ass about it.  The clothes I wore, the way I did the barn chores, the music I listened to, the way I drove.  You name it, at one time or another Dad and I fought about it.”

 

     “And that’s normal?”

 

     “Seems to be.  I’ve heard a lot of guys say they had the same problems with their dads when they were teenagers that I had with mine.” Johnny said.  “We get along fine now, though.”

 

     Roy had to acknowledge that was true. Johnny and his father were very close, considering the miles that separated them between Los Angeles and White Rock, Montana.  Roy had gone with Johnny a couple of times to pick Chad Gage up from the airport, and watched as the two men warmly embraced and Chad kissed his grown son’s cheek.

 

Roy’s father had died when Roy was just two weeks past his thirteenth birthday, so he had no personal frame of reference for how teenage boys and their fathers got along, or didn’t get along, or what their relationship was like after those teenage boys grew to be men.

 

     “I just wish Chris and I could get past this stage of ‘not getting along’ and move back to the ‘getting along’ stage we were accustomed to.”

 

     “Roy, he’s just spreading his wings. Looking for his independence. Chris is a good kid.  You and Joanne have done a great job in raising him. Nothing bad is gonna come of this.  Trust me.”

 

     Roy nodded, while at the same time wishing he had the same degree of confidence about this situation that John Gage did. 

 

 

Part 2