HOLIDAY TIME

Gary Beck

Beth and Kiesha hurried back to the hotel, eager to finish their moving preparations and bid farewell to the King Charles.

Their New York City vacation had been blighted by their accidental stay in what turned out to be a welfare hotel, filled with threats of violence. The lobby was overheated after the cold streets and as they opened their coats, Mister Singh, the detested desk clerk, watched them from behind his Plexiglas barrier like a lizard, motionless, blank and impenetrable.

A man was waiting at the elevator, and Kiesha mumbled "Excuse me," and reached past him to press the button. The door opened and the man gestured to them to enter first. They started in and saw several black men already there. Before they could react, the man outside shoved them forward and two of the men punched each of them hard in the stomach.

The air whooshed out of Beth, who doubled over, gasping for breath, tears spilling from her eyes from the pain. Someone threw a down coat over her head and whispered in a high pitched voice: "Shut the fuck up, bitch, or you’re gonna get messed up."

One of the men punched Kiesha in the stomach again, and she vomited on the coat that he threw over her. An indignant nasal voice complained: "Shit. That bitch puked all over my coat."

A stern, exasperated voice said: "Shut the fuck up, man. Now you bitches keep quiet, or we’re gonna hurt you."

Beth was just getting her breath back and could barely move. The man holding the coat over her had pinned her arms to her sides. Her mind raced to make sense of what was happening. She remembered the shove and her instant surprise as she fell forward, but everything else was a blur. The pain in her stomach was diminishing and she breathed in and out slowly, trying to think of what she should do. Her legs were free and she shifted her weight, considering kicking her captor and trying to break free.

The stern voice struck terror in her heart: "You bitches stay still. Don’t make no fuss and it be easier on you." It took a moment for it to register to Beth that Kiesha was in the same situation, but it wasn’t consoling. A growing feeling of terror enveloped her and she bit her lip to keep from screaming.

Nasal Voice, who was holding her, said: "My dick wanna get me some Oreo. When we gonna fuck these bitches?"

Stern Voice rebuked him sharply: "I already tole you once to shut the fuck up. Now don’t make me tell you again. There be plenty of time to have some white meat an’ a taste of dark meat."

Beth fought to control her panic and tried to force herself to think of some way out of this nightmare. She knew it wouldn’t do any good to scream, since no one could hear her and they’d hurt her. She wasn’t strong enough to overcome the men, so all she could do was wait and hope for a chance to get away. She asked tentatively: "Kiesha. Are you all right?"

Nasal Voice hit her across the head and she slammed into the elevator wall. "You been told to shut the fuck up. You like to open your mouth so much I put my dick in it later."

Beth was dazed from the blow and hitting the wall, but she felt his hand reach between her legs, grab the soft flesh of her inner thigh and squeeze hard. Her agonized scream was cut off when he stuffed her coat in her mouth.

The elevator stopped, and when the door opened, she heard someone say: "Boss. There’s a certain guy waitin’ on you. He come downstairs a while ago an’ he be getting’ antsy."

"Take the bitches to Popeye’s room and keep em quiet," Stern Voice said.

"Can we fuck ‘em, boss?" Nasal Voice asked.

"Don’t do nothin til I gets there."

"Can she at least suck my dick?"

"You don’t hear too good. Just tie ‘em up an’ I be there soon."

The men dragged them into a room and Beth heard the door close. Rough hands pulled off her coat and used it to tie her to a chair. Then they pulled off her pants and tied her legs with it. The man’s coat still covered her head and she felt detached and disoriented as she struggled for breath, inhaling the stink of unwashed body, lust, and sweat. Hands crudely fondled her thighs and pulled her panties aside and poked at her vagina. Nasal Voice whispered: "You a sweet piece, White Meat. It makin’ me hard watchin’ you."

Beth was so terrified, she couldn’t control her bladder, and urine ran down her leg.

Nasal Voice cackled: "Lookie. Lookie. White Meat done piss herself. That make it easy to stuff my dick in her." The men roared with laughter.

Another voice called: "Look at Dark Meat. She got fine thighs. They be strong enough to squeeze the last drop outta my balls. I’m gonna spread her an’ see if her hole be big enough."

Kiesha clamped her legs together, but the man punched her in the stomach and forced them wide apart. He tore her panties off and jammed a finger into her vagina. She screamed in pain and tried to move away, but the man growled: "Sit still, bitch, or I hurt you bad. My dick a lot bigger than my finger. I gonna tear you open like the Holland Tunnel and drive all the way in."

The men laughed again, and Nasal Voice, not wanting to be outdone, boasted: "I’m gonna fuck Miss White Meat up the ass, then make her suck my dick clean."

The door flew open and Stern Voice yelled: "I tole you to shut the fuck up. I doin’ serious business out here and I don’t want no one knowin’ our personal business. Now don’t make me tell you again."

"Sure, boss. It’s cool. I hear you," Nasal Voice mumbled.

The door slammed and there was a tense silence. Beth knew that Kiesha was going through the same horror that she was and that somehow they had to escape. The idea of the assailants penetrating her body in different places sent icicles racing through her. She shivered in dread of what was to come, as tears of pain mixed with tears of shame. She took a deep breath and a spark of determination flickered. Even with her captor’s hand idly fondling her between her legs, she began to bring her frantic thoughts under control. The men had made their intentions clear. They were going to do awful things to them and they’d probably kill them afterwards. Her body trembled, but Beth resolved to survive, no matter what.

Her captor felt her reaction and murmured to the other men: "Miss White Meat shiverin’ ‘cause she know she got a big treat comin’. How Miss Black Meat doin’?"

"She getting ready," Kiesha’s abuser answered. "Let’s put ‘em next to each other and see which one’s pussy look better."

The men moved the chairs so the women were side by side. Nasal Voice tore Beth’s panties off and she shuddered at the sudden shock of being exposed. She tried to close her legs, but Nasal Voice yanked her pubic hair and she gasped in pain. She didn’t resist as he spread her legs and announced to the others: "Let’s have us a pussy contest. We see which bitch got the nicest pussy."

"What you mean, nicest?" Kiesha’s abuser asked.

"You know, who got more hair. Who got a bigger chick dick. Who got bigger lips. Who got the biggest hole. Which one get juicier."

A third voice asked, "How we gonna decide?"

"We judge each part, one at a time," Nasal Voice answered.

The third voice said, "Then maybe we have a ass contest and…"

Nasal Voice cut him off. "First we have the Miss Pussy America contest."

Nasal Voice appointed himself the organizer and he quickly set up the order and rules of the competition, stressing: "It take two votes for a winner, so if we can’t decide, we look again. Now this is the order we judge em: hair, chick dick, lips, hole, juice. Whoever win three out of five is Miss Pussy America. How that sound?"

Third Voice answered, "Good. What we do in case of a tie?"

"We see which one is the best fuck. Any other questions?"

"No, man. Let’s get it on."

When everything was ready, Nasal Voice announced, "We gotta untie the bitches’ legs, so we gets a good look at their pussies. Now you bitches behave and don’t kick no one, or we hurt you." He followed his instruction by hitting Beth in the head and Kiesha’s abuser hit her.

"Which bitch go first?" Third Voice asked.

"Little Miss White Meat," Nasal Voice answered, "’Cause she so small and she gotta compete with a sister. Turn ‘em around so they facin’ the light."

The men adjusted the chairs for better viewing and Beth pressed her shoulder against Kiesha and felt an answering pressure.

"We gotta smoke us a blunt before the big contest," Kiesha’s abuser said.

The men went through the lighting up ritual and soon the odor more familiar to Americans than the bouquet of Bordeaux permeated the room, seeping under the coats, adding to the surreal quality of captivity for the women.

The men passed the blunt back and forth and Third Voice suddenly asked, "Which bitch got the home field?" They all burst into laughter and argued about whether or not it made any difference.

The women sat transfixed with horror and disgust, as the men debated the value of home field advantage. The sports analogies made the women’s flesh crawl even more and the men drew out the conversation, no longer as urgent to begin.

Nasal Voice announced, "Miss White Meat got the home field."

Kiesha’s abuser asked aggrievedly: "Whatsa matta? You got sumpin’ against a home girl?"

This provoked peals of laughter, but before they could debate the race issue, the door opened and Stern Voice said: "I thought I tole you to shut the fuck up."

There was a lengthy silence, then Stern Voice ordered: "I need you boys outside. Lobo done come down from upstairs with a complaint. He say one of our boys fucked one of his chicks an’ took her coke without payin’. He say he don’t care none about the chick, but he wanna get paid for his dope. He got the chick outside an’ he want her to ID someone who gonna pay. Now if one of you done it, tell me and we’ll take care a the problem."

The three men vigorously protested their innocence, until Stern Voice cut them off. "I hears ya and ya betta be tellin’ the truth. It be a little thing that we settle real easy if ya did it. If ya lie to me an’ make me look bogus to Lobo, I fuck you up good."

Further denials apparently proved satisfactory and Stern Voice ordered them, "You come with me for the chick ta eyeball ya. Don’t say nothin’, no matter what. I take care of it. Let’s go."

The door slammed, and the battered Beth and Kiesha sat frozen in place, still in shock from the vicious assault, uncertain whether or not they were alone. Beth pressed her thigh against Kiesha and the warmth of her friend was comforting. Beth decided to risk punishment if one of their abductors was still in the room and whispered urgently: "Kiesha. Can you hear me?"

Kiesha was scared, but her spirit wasn’t crushed. "Don’t yell. My ear hurts."

Beth couldn’t suppress a giggle. "I’m glad one of us is sassy."

"I’m so scared, I’d wet my drawers if I had them on."

"We’ve got to get out of here before they come back," Beth said

"What can we do?"

"I’ll lean over as much as I can. See if you can reach over with your foot and pull this coat off me." Kiesha shifted her hips, crossed her foot up her leg and worked it up Beth’s body, until she touched the coat. She tugged at it until it shifted and she felt it slide.

"Ow," Beth yelped.

"What’s wrong?"

"The zipper scratched me. But don’t stop."

The coat slid off and Beth looked around, blinking to clear her eyes. She saw they were alone, leaned over, with her teeth grabbed the coat that was covering Kiesha and pulled it off. There were some dried vomit streaks on Kiesha’s face and some emerging bruises, but a gleam of hope went through Beth when she said: "Hi, missy. What’s next?"

Beth had been thinking quickly: "We’ve got to get loose. Let’s turn our chairs so we can reach the knots and untie each other."

They quietly shifted the chairs and groped behind each other until they reached the knots. They had limited mobility, so it took a few minutes to loosen the knots that had been yanked tight. They shook their aching arms and stretched their shoulders to relieve the strain. They quickly put on their pants, stood up and looked around the room.

It was like the other rooms in the hotel that they had seen, except dirtier and smellier.

Beth tip-toed to the door and listened fearfully. "I don’t know how long they’ll be," she whispered, "so we’ve got to come up with something fast."

"What if we open the door and run for it?"

Beth shook her head. "We don’t know what room this is and where they are. It won’t help if we run into them."

Kiesha’s voice started getting shrill. "What’ll we do then?"

"Sssh. Keep it down." Beth went to the window, opened it and peered out. She couldn’t see anyplace to go. "There’s nothing out here, not even a ledge."

"Can we tie something together and climb down to the next floor?"

Beth looked around the room. "I don’t think so. There aren’t any sheets on the bed and our clothing isn’t strong enough to hold our weight."

"We’ve got to do something!"

"I know. Let’s lock the door and barricade it with the bed and anything else we can find."

They dragged the bed to the door and Beth carefully turned the dead bolt.

They stood there for a moment, uncertain what to do next, with a growing feeling of desperation. "Do you have any matches?" Kiesha asked. "We could start a fire."

"No. Even if we could, we’d probably burn ourselves to death."

"Missy. I hope you don’t want to be Miss Pussy America."

Beth didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. She rushed to the bathroom but couldn’t see any way out, then tried the closet, without any luck. She wracked her brain trying to think of something. The best idea she could come up with was to throw things out the window to try and get the attention of someone on the street. It didn’t seem very promising.

She saw a small panel on the wall near the door and took a closer look. The catch was coated with old paint and it took a minute to pry it open.

Beth stuck her head into a pitch black shaft with ropes going up and down. She couldn’t see more than a few feet either way.

Kiesha tugged at her shoulder. "What is it? Where does it go?"

"I don’t know what it is. It’s too dark to see. There are some ropes but I can’t tell how far they go."

"Maybe we can get to the next floor. Should we try it?"

"Can you think of anything else?"

"No."

"Neither can I. Let’s do it. Do you want to go first?"

"No. You go. I’ve never been much of a climber."

"Me neither, but I’ve seen them do it in the movies. You wrap your legs around the rope and go down one hand at a time." Beth leaned into the gaping pit, grabbed a rope, gave it an experimental tug and slowly pulled herself into deep space.

She turned back to Kiesha: "Once you’re in, pull the door closed. Maybe they won’t figure out where we’ve gone."

"I’ll try. Good luck, missy."

"You too. I’ll try to find another door. If not, I’ll see you at the bottom somewhere."

Beth worked her way down the rope with infinite caution. She fought off the panic that was assailing her from the black abyss. She stopped every few feet, secured herself and stretched out a hand and touched the walls, hoping to find a door, without success.

Kiesha climbed into the shaft, cutting off the faint light above Beth that gave her a fragile illusion of safety. The rope swayed dangerously with Kiesha’s weight, but held. Beth moved even more carefully now that both of them were on the rope and offered a silent prayer that it wouldn’t break.

Kiesha closed the door behind her and the tiny gleam of light was gone.

Beth worked her way down, slowly and carefully, pausing regularly to feel for footholds and an exit. She couldn’t really see anything, but her eyes were adjusting to the pitch black shaft and her fear was subsiding. She felt a small ledge with her foot and softly called to Kiesha: "There’s a ledge just below you. When you get to it stop and rest for a minute. I’ll stop at the next one and we can talk. How are you doing?"

"What did the virgin say? So far, so good."

"You can’t be too bad if you can still joke."

"Missy, I’ve never been more scared in my life."

Beth went down a little further and felt a ledge. She turned around so both feet were solidly on it and braced herself on the rope. "Kiesha?"

"I’m still here."

"I’m on a ledge. Did you find yours?"

"I just got to it. There. I’m resting. My arms hurt. Do you know how far we have to go?"

"No. I don’t even know how far we’ve come. Maybe two or three floors."

"That’s all? It’s a long way down, unless we find a door."

"Every time I stop I feel around for a door, but nothing so far. We’ll have to keep going until we reach bottom."

"Then what?"

"Hopefully there’ll be a way out and we’ll get out of this nightmare."

"Now I know how coal miners must feel. It’s a good thing I’m studying computers."

"Save some of that energy for the climb. I’m starting now and I’ll find another resting place and call you. Be careful."

"You too, missy. I’ll see you at the bottom."

Beth resumed her descent. Her hands were burning, her shoulder muscles were aching and she felt twinges of pain run down her back. She ignored her discomfort and concentrated on going down carefully, hand over hand. She was completely calm. The only thing that mattered to her was to get to the bottom safely and she wasn’t going to let anything distract her. After she had climbed down for a while she found another ledge and told Kiesha to feel for it.

She went a little further and found a ledge for herself. When she was securely placed, she let out a sigh of relief. She figured they were more than halfway down and despite the growing soreness in her upper body, she knew she could make it the rest of the way.

From far away, she heard Kiesha call, "I stopped. Are you all right?"

Beth was a little spacey and had trouble answering right away.

"Did you hear me, missy? You all right?"

It seemed like a great effort to talk, but Beth finally managed: "Just catching my breath. I’ll go on in a minute."

She cautiously flexed her arms and back, gripped the rope tightly and continued down into the swallowing darkness. She had no sense of time and didn’t know how long they had been suspended in inky space. All she could focus on was moving one hand after the other, hoping to touch bottom. The rope suddenly shook and she heard Kiesha yelp. "Kiesha. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I slipped and scraped my hand, but I’m okay. Let’s keep going."

Beth kept working her way down and when she felt a ledge under her foot, paused and called: "Do you want to stop and rest?"

"No. Keep going."

A strange feeling of disorientation seized Beth, and she couldn’t imagine ever getting off the rope and reaching the end of the bottomless hole.

When her feet finally landed on something solid, she kept moving, even through she couldn’t go further. Then realization dawned. "Kiesha. I’m on the bottom."

She reached up and helped Kiesha the rest of the way down.

They sat on a shelf in the narrow space, breathing hard, too exhausted to do anything else.

A dim light shone way up the shaft and they heard Nasal Voice: "I don’t think them bitches went down here."

Stern Voice ordered, "Light a match and take a look."

"I got a lighter." The tiny flicker didn’t penetrate very far. "You bitches down there…? I can’t see nothing, boss."

"Neither can I. One of you get a flashlight."

Beth nudged Kiesha and whispered, "Let’s get out of here before they figure out where we are."

They groped for an exit and Kiesha said softly: "I found a door."

Before they could find a handle, they heard Kiesha’s abuser yell, "I’m gonna piss on them bitches if they be down there."

A few moments later a smelly liquid sprinkle splattered them. Beth reached frantically until she felt a knob and turned it.

The door opened into a darkened room, but it was a way out of the shaft. "Let’s get out of here before they throw something down that could hurt us."

A thin beam of light pointed down and they scurried out of the shaft before they were seen. The light apparently wasn’t bright enough, because they heard Stern Voice, sounding eerily as if he was right on top of them: "I can’t see nothing. How could them bitches climb all the way down there? Can you do that?"

"Not me, boss," Nasal Voice said fervently.

"Then where did them bitches get to?"

"I don’t know, boss."

"Could they have snuck past us in the hall?"

"No way, boss. Maybe they climbed out the window. It was open."

"And then what did they do, fly away on a magic carpet?"

"I guess not."

"Well, forget about them. We got business to take care of."

"Don’t you want us to look for them?" Nasal Voice asked.

"Where? You got any ideas?"

"No, boss."

Stern Voice seemed to be coming from further away. "Now that we settled that beef with Lobo, I’m wonderin’ if we want them spics up there. We take over their business, we make a lot more bread."

"We do that, we have to waste ‘em," Third Voice said.

"Yeah. Well, there’s only six or seven of them. Nobody gonna miss them." The rest of Stern Voice’s murder plan faded away and the little beam of light disappeared.

Beth and Kiesha tried to see around the dark room, without success. They slowly stood up, bodies aching, and carefully started to explore. Kiesha bumped into something. "Ow."

"What is it?"

Kiesha felt around her. "It’s a pile of chairs."

Beth’s hand brushed something and she investigated. "It feels like a stack of tables." She kept groping blindly until she found an open space. The room was full of dust and their movements stirred it into the air, and it seeped into their eyes, noses and mouths.

Beth kept slowly stumbling forward until she felt a door, then she found the knob. She turned it, eager to escape the smothering darkness, but the door didn’t open. She turned it harder, but it still wouldn’t open. She yanked and yanked, cursing in frustration, without result. The dust was thick in the air and it was hard to breathe. She pounded on the door, but it didn’t give and its thickness muffled the sound. She felt around the frame and couldn’t find another way to open the door, but she touched a light switch and she turned it on.

A dim light illuminated what was a dust-filled storage room. Kiesha was standing in a narrow aisle next to a floor-to-ceiling mound of plush cushioned dining chairs that had seen better days. They had probably once been antique white, but the finish had faded. The light green and ivory fabric was torn and stained. It seemed awfully wasteful to Beth, but she couldn’t tell if the chairs were worth salvaging. Dark wooden tables were piled high on the other side of the aisle. Stacks of wooden crates lined the wall, without labels or markings to reveal their contents.

Beth tried the knob again, but the door wouldn’t open.

"Let me try," Kiesha said, and struggled with it for a minute, then gave up. "It won’t budge."

"I know. It’s either locked from the outside, or jammed tight."

"What are we going to do?" Kiesha asked.

"I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait until someone finds us."

"How long do you think we’ll be here?"

"I don’t know."

"I don’t like it here."

"We can always climb back up for the contest."

Kiesha laughed: "I’ll wait, now that we’re safe."

An hour or so went by, and Beth restlessly wandered around, poking at the relics of an older, more prosperous era. Then she saw an intercom. "Keisha. Look at this."

 Keisha joined her. "I wonder if it still works?" she said.

"There's only one way to find out," Beth replied.

She pressed the button firmly, and a moment later the grumpy voice of Mr. Singh asked, "Who is there?"

Beth thought quickly. "It's Beth and Keisha from Room 307. We accidentally went to the basement and got locked in a storage room. I called the police and they said they'd come if you couldn't get us out."

"I will be right there. No need for police."

"Thanks, Mr. Singh. I'll call them as soon as we're out."

Landlord Attack

Gary Beck

          Jaime Perez crept up the fire escape as quietly as he could and stopped at the third floor.

          He leaned over the guard rail to the kitchen window that he had been told didn't have a gate. He waited patiently to be sure no one on the street had noticed him, while vapor from the cold steamed out of his mouth. He pressed his short, skinny, drug- ravaged body against the wall until he felt ready, then took a metal tool from his pocket and stealthily pried the window open.

          He couldn't hear any sounds from the dark apartment, so he carefully slipped over the rail and climbed inside. The landlord had assured him they didn't own a dog, so although still alert, he began to relax. The landlord had also carefully instructed him how to place paper next to the pilot light of the stove, run a paper strip to the nearest inflammable material and ignite it so it would appear to be an accident. There was a cardboard cake box on a table next to the stove and he ran the strip of paper to the box.   He paused and listened intently, his body a menacing hulk in the darkness, then greedily opened the box. It was some kind of pound cake, not his favorite, like chocolate or pineapple, but better than nothing. He broke off a chunk with a gloved hand and stuffed it in his mouth, crumbs sprinkling on the floor.

          The landlord had insisted he not take anything, but a piece of cake didn't count. Besides, the greedy pig would never know. Jaime needed a hit on the crack pipe and the sugar from the cake would settle his jangling nerves.

          He silently cursed the landlord for a moment. He knew why the landlord wanted this family out. Then he could renovate the apartment cheaply and triple the rent. When the tenants rejected what must have been a low offer and other pressures failed, the landlord had sent for him. Jaime was known as “the torch” to a few pitiless landlords on the lower east side, whose lust for profit at the expense of decency was aroused by gentrification.

          He could smell the paper by the pilot light smoldering, so he lit a match, put it to the middle of the paper strip and made sure it was burning both ways. Then he slid out the window to the fire escape and closed it behind him. As he hastily went down the metal steps, he thought: “To hell with those gringos. Let them burn. They forced my people out of the neighborhood. Now they'll get theirs.”

*     *     *

          Some kind of noise brought Peter to the surface from a deep sleep. He groggily stretched, not sure what had happened, then suddenly smelled smoke.

          He leaped up and dashed to the kitchen and saw the fire. The flames were high enough to keep him from reaching the sink with its flexible water hose, so he tore off his T-shirt and tried to smother the flames, but this only fanned them higher. 

          He rushed back to the bedroom, pulled the covers off his wife and shook her arm.           "What's wrong?" Beth sleepily asked.

          "It's a fire!" he yelled. "We've got to get the kids out."

          She instantly snapped awake and took charge: "I'll take Jen and you take Andy."           They hurried to the children's bedroom, where Jennifer and Andrew were sound asleep. As the children gradually awakened, Peter and Beth wrapped them in their blankets and carried them out of the bedroom.

          The smoke was rapidly spreading through the apartment. "Should I try to grab my wallet?" Peter asked.

          Beth looked around and quickly decided. "Let's get the kids into the hall, then you can see if it's safe to go back inside."

          Flames were pouring out of the kitchen and the acrid smoke was blurring their vision. The children were wide awake now, frightened and crying. They made their way through the living room into the hallway that led to the front door.

          The room was rapidly filling with smoke and when Peter opened the door, smoke billowed into the hall. They paused at the head of the stairs and Peter looked back, considering if he should risk returning for his wallet and other valuables.

          Beth realized what he was thinking and said firmly, "No way you're going in there."

          He protested. "All our money and credit cards are in there, and our coats. It's freezing outside."

          She shook her head. "At least we're not hurt. We'll manage the rest."

*     *     *

          Officer Herminio “Coro” Corrado was just carrying a container of coffee to his partner in the patrol car, when he saw the flames burst out of the window from a house down the block. He knocked on the hood to get his partner's attention, pointed, then set off at a run.      

          Coro moved faster than the usual officer's cautious approach to danger, since fire couldn't attack him from a distance and rapid response was essential. But he was already trembling and his insides were churning, because he was terrified of fire.

          He leaped up the steps of the building and knocked loudly on each door as he passed, shouting: "Police! Fire!"

          When he got to the third floor, he found a family of four at the landing and yelled, "Get those kids out now!"

          The man mumbled something about losing all their possessions, but there was no time for that nonsense.

          "Get going,” Coro said. “You can worry about your things later." He gave the man a shove and watched him start downstairs, as the woman tugged him along.

          The flames were shooting out of the apartment door and smoke was filling the hallway. Coro hesitated, afraid of being trapped by the fire, then started upstairs to warn the other tenants.

          He was halfway up the flight of stairs, when someone grabbed him from behind and Coro almost jumped out of his skin. He turned and saw it was a fireman in full protective gear, looking like a giant insect, ready to dip its proboscis.

          The fireman pulled up his mask and said, "I'll take it from here."

          Relief zoomed through Coro’s body. "Thanks, buddy."

          He watched the alien figure hurry upstairs and thought, Thank you, thank you. I don't know how you do it, but better you than me.

          He rushed downstairs and out of the building.

          His partner was waiting and congratulated him for his fast reaction. "You did good, Coro."

          He nodded thanks, then confided, "I could never be a fireman. It scares the shit out of me. I'd rather face a gunman any day."

          His partner grunted agreement. "Me, too."

*     *     *

          Firefighter Eugene Jones was dozing in his seat, heading back to the firehouse after shopping for dinner at an expensive grocery.

          When the call came in, they were only a few blocks from the scene, so it only took a minute or two to get there. He put on his gear as they went, holding on to the safety bar with one hand as they tore around the corner.

          They were the first truck on the scene and he adjusted his mask and rushed into the building, followed by the rest of the crew.

          Tenants were streaming out and Gene carefully forced his way upstairs through the panicky flow. He saw the cop ordering some tenants out, caught up to the cop on the stairs and told him, “I’ll take over.”

          As the cop started downstairs, Gene thought, I could never be a cop. I'd be terrified if someone was shooting at me.

          He shook his head at the distraction, then went and knocked on each door on the fourth floor. By this time, the commotion, sirens and smoke had awakened everybody and he calmly urged them to leave the building.

          One of his partners had evacuated the fifth floor and came down and beckoned him to help check the apartment directly over the fire.

          The door was ajar and they entered warily, concerned with a sudden blaze through the floor. They knelt and felt the kitchen floor which was hot, but not incendiary. They carefully checked the walls, then the rest of the apartment and followed the same procedure in the hall. They didn't find any indicators that the fire had spread upstairs.

The smoke was already dissipating, so they went downstairs to the apartment where the fire started to help the rest of the crew.

          By the time they got there, the fire had been extinguished and they joined the search for any further hot spots. The kitchen and part of the main bedroom were thoroughly burned, but the destruction to the rest of the apartment was moderate.

          Gene studied the scene and thought the damage looked peculiar, but left it for the fire marshal to examine. He saw he wasn't needed, so he began to lug fire hose downstairs.

*     *     *

          Peter was freezing in his pajamas and Beth wasn't much warmer in the bathrobe she had managed to put on before their rapid escape. They had been able to snatch down coats for the children, so at least they were warm, but they were still traumatized by the sudden evacuation.

          The organized chaos that had followed the fire had shattered the once-calm night for them. Neighbors had poured out of their houses, eager for the spectacle of disaster. Although disappointed that no one had jumped, a fiery meteor plunging to earth, or had been carried out blackened and smoldering, the crowd avidly gaped at the building, faces tense with expectation, still hoping for something titillating. The flashing red lights on the fire trucks and police cars cast incandescent glows on the savage spectators, who didn't seem overly evolved from their ancient ancestors.

          Peter watched in utter bewilderment, unsure of what to do next.

          Beth sensed his confusion. "Ask someone if we can go back to our apartment, now that the fire is out."

          Peter looked around and saw a fireman coiling hose nearby and called to him. "Excuse me. Can we go back to our apartment now?"

          The fireman turned his head and looked at him tiredly. "Sorry, sir,” he said. “The fire marshal has to inspect the premises to determine the cause of the fire. Then they have to check the building for safety and stability."

          Peter's voice was getting shrill. "When do you think we can get in there?"

          "Maybe tomorrow afternoon, depending on the damage."

          "Can't we just get some clothes?” Peter said. “We're freezing our butts off."           "That's just not possible," the fireman said. "But I can give you some blankets that'll at least keep you warm."

          From the truck the fireman pulled out some gray, heavy wool blankets and handed them to Peter, who just stood there and asked dumbly: "What do we do now?"

          "Do you have somewhere to go for the rest of the night?"

          "No," Peter said.

          "Friends? Family?"

          "No," Peter said again.

          "Why don't you bring these blankets to your family?" the fireman said. "I'll see if I can get someone to help you."

          Dazed, Peter shuffled back to Beth with the blankets.

*     *     *

          Gene saw the cop from the stairs leaning on his patrol car and walked over to him. "Hey, pal, how're ya doin?"

          The cop's face was streaked with soot, but he looked cheerful. "O.K. What about you?"

          "Good. We didn't lose anybody."

          They grinned at each other in the instant camaraderie that shared danger brings, especially to the uniformed services.

          The cop extended his hand. "I'm Coro."

          Gene took his hand. "I'm Gene."

          They stood there for a moment, reassured by the bond that helped them protect civilians. Coro said confidingly, "I almost pissed my pants."

          Gene whispered, "When you're a firefighter, they spray so much water on you that no one notices." They laughed comfortably together.

          "Thanks, buddy," Coro said.

          Gene smiled. "That's O.K. Listen, there's a family that doesn't have anyplace to go."

          "Where?"

          Gene pointed. "There."

          Coro recognized them from the stairs. "I'll see what I can do. Take care, buddy."           "You, too." Gene waved cheerfully, then went back to coiling hose.

Gary Beck's recent fiction has appeared in 3AM Magazine, EWG Presents, Vincent Brothers Review, The Journal, Short Stories Bimonthly, Bibliophilos and the Dogwood Journal. Excerpts from his recent novel of the '60's, Dark Strains, appeared in Nuvein Magazine, Fullosia Press, L'Intrigue Magazine, and Babel Magazine. His poetry has appeared in dozens of literary magazines. His chapbook, Remembrance, has just been published by Origami Press and another chapbook, The Conquest of Somalia, has been published by Cervena Barva Press. A collection of his poetry Days of Destruction, has been published by Skive Press. His plays and translations of Moliere, Aristophanes, and Sophocles have been produced Off-Broadway. He is a writer/director of award-winning social issue video documentaries.