by Steve Liszka
It was only then that he noticed another young man sitting on the kerb with his head hung low like he’d spent the night drinking too much. He’d given up trying to stem the steady flow of blood that was escaping from his nose and instead watched it pool on the road. Wesley took it that he had been in the back of the car, but, unlike his friend, had been wearing his seatbelt. The ambulance crew could deal with him later on, Wesley decided. Triage was brutal sometimes. Turning back to the girl, Wesley leant into her window, speaking loud enough to be heard over her sobs.
‘Your boyfriend’s going to be okay. He’s had a nasty bang and he’s unconscious, but he’s breathing, and once the ambulance gets here, we’re going to have you both out.’
‘I told him to slow down,’ the girl cried. ‘He only got the car last week and was showing off.’
‘Let’s not worry about that just now,’ Wesley said. ‘Getting you out of here is my priority.’
‘Tell that to Andy,’ the girl said. ‘He’s fucking dead now because of Chris.’
She tried to look across to her boyfriend, but the dead boy’s body was acting like a curtain, cutting him off from her. Given his condition, Wesley thought that was probably a good thing.
‘You prick,’ she screamed. ‘You fucking killed him.’ She winced at the pain the effort had induced.
‘Where does it hurt?’ Wesley asked.
With much discomfort, the girl shifted herself in her seat. ‘My back, my chest, my neck. The only thing that’s not hurting are my legs… Oh my God, I’m not paralysed, am I?’
Wesley reached down and gently pinched the girl’s thigh. ‘Did you feel that?’
The girl nodded.
‘Good, then you’re not paralysed. Now, tell me your name; it’s rude not to introduce yourself.’
‘Nicola,’ the girl said. ‘My name’s Nicola.’
The sound of sirens coming down the hill improved Wesley’s mood. It was tapered slightly when he saw that it was both Central’s appliances arriving in unison. Not that he wasn’t grateful to see them, but if the driver was going to survive, he needed an ambulance fast.
Smudge, the Watch manager, and Billy, the OIC of the second pump, approached Wesley as he stepped away from the girl. He let Dylan go back to looking after her after completing his task of covering up the corpse.
‘What’s the plan?’ Smudge asked. ‘Have you got one yet?’
Smudge was an old-school, no-nonsense JO, and it was fair to say he had a less than glowing opinion in regard to Wesley’s abilities as an incident manager.
Wesley nodded. ‘As you can see, we’ve got a three-vehicle collision. I’m not worried about the Focus. The Volvo will probably need extrications, but for now, this vehicle is my number one concern. The driver is trapped, with likely crush injuries. The girl, her name is Nicola, she seems to have come out of it relatively intact, but we’ll probably have to cut her out just in case she’s got spinal injuries. I’m going to sectorise the incident, my crew are going to be sector one, and we’re going to work on the driver. Smudge, you’re sector two, and you can deal with the girl. Bill, you can make a start on the Volvo, and Hove will assist you when they get here. You’ll be sector three.’
He paused and listened for a second. ‘That sounds like them now. Any questions?’
Smudge raised an eyebrow then shook his head. ‘Nah, sounds good.’
It was actually the ambulance and not Hove that Wesley had heard. They arrived a few minutes later. As he’d predicted, it was a bastard of a job. It was always difficult working at an RTC. When you had crews working with heavy cutting gear, and paramedics trying to look after multiple casualties, doing everything they can to keep them alive, it was more than a little tricky. People were often stepping or falling over each other, if not careful, in order to achieve their goals. Hands ended up going in between someone else’s legs in order to reach what they needed, and people had to constantly move around as the vehicle was being cut, all whilst ensuring the casualties remained perfectly still. This job happened to be no different.
After stabilising the vehicle and managing the glass, the roof was quick to come off. It made life much easier for both the paramedics and firefighters, instantly creating room for them all. For the casualty, the situation was also much improved, helping to alleviate that claustrophobic feeling of being trapped. After the roof removal, Nicola had come out of the vehicle under her own steam, without the need of a stretcher.
Getting the driver out was far trickier. The only way to release his legs was to create extra space by executing a dashboard roll. This involved making a relief cut, then using the telescopic rams, they were able to lift and push the entire dashboard area backwards. Due to the damage that had been caused to the vehicle and the mess it had made of the driver’s feet, this was a laborious task. Every time they used the rams to push one piece of the vehicle back, it created a movement that pushed something else in towards the casualty’s legs. Cause and effect; it could be a bitch sometimes.
To free his feet up, they’d used a hydraulic, hand-powered cutter to remove the foot pedals. His knees were smashed, he had serious compound fractures in both shins, and all that stopped his right foot from being separated from his leg were a few stubborn tendons. The other one hadn’t fared much better; it was well and truly mashed. The paramedics later said it would be a miracle if he didn’t lose them both.
Luckily, the steering wheel hadn’t been an issue. As soon as they started using the rams, it had instantly moved a few inches, giving the paramedics the space they needed to work their magic. Somehow, they had managed to get him out of the vehicle in forty-five minutes, ensuring that the Golden Hour (the time from accident to hospital, when it was most likely to recover from serious injuries) hadn’t been breached. Other than the damage to his legs, the driver had suffered a cracked sternum, broken ribs, internal bleeding and who knew exactly what else, but he was still alive.
At the end of the incident, when the Volvo owner and his wife were eventually out of their urban tank and all casualties had been whisked to hospital, Phil Collins, who had turned up halfway through the incident as the on-call officer, called all four crews together for a hot debrief. The brigade liked to try and get an initial breakdown of events done as soon as possible, and as they were going to be there for a good while yet, this was seen by Phil as the perfect time.
As was customary in a debrief, Phil gave the floor to the OIC who had arrived first, allowing him to explain the scene he was presented with and what his thought processes were at the time. After Wesley had given his account, the mic was then handed to Smudge followed by Jacko, the Hove OIC. The overwhelming feeling was that it had been a successful job and much praise was aimed at Wesley. Phil had nodded along as they spoke, occasionally looking down and scribbling something on his clipboard. When they had finished, he stepped forward and took centre stage.
‘Firstly, I’d like to say that I think you all did really well today. It was a difficult incident given the number of vehicles and casualties involved, but I think you dealt with it very well.’ He paused, then turned his attention to Wesley. ‘There are, however, a few notes I made that I’d like to discuss, if you don’t mind.’
Wesley shook his head.
‘I got here at fifteen twenty-two, which was nearly twenty minutes after the arrival of Wesley and his crew. The first thing that struck me was that incident command was not yet set up. By then, there should have been a flag up and the command wallet out with the tally-boards of all the vehicles present.
‘I did it five minutes after you got here, Phil,’ Jimmy said. ‘You watched me do it. You also saw I was pretty busy before that helping the paramedics with their gear.’
Phil looked up at Jimmy, then returned his eyes to his clipboard. ‘The other thing I noted is that even though the incident had been sectorised, no one was wearing a sector commander tabard. In fact, no tabards of any kind were worn at all.’
He turned his attention back to Wesley. ‘And while we’re on
the issue of sectors, I felt that as the OIC of the incident, you would have been better stepping back and letting Jimmy be in charge of Sector One. That would have allowed you to have a greater span of control over the incident as a whole. Other than those few points that I did feel let things down slightly, it was a successful job, and all objectives were achieved.’
He gave Wesley the most half-hearted of smiles. ‘Well done.’
Wesley returned the smile with the same enthusiasm, then shook his head and laughed. ‘Thanks for your comments, Phil, but if you felt things were going that badly, why didn’t you take over the incident? You were the senior officer, after all.’
Phil gave him a look. ‘Sorry?’
‘I mean, if that’s how you felt, why didn’t you put your clipboard down and get involved? We could have done with a spare pair of hands.’
‘Don’t take offence,’ Phil said. ‘I’m just giving you my opinion.’
‘To be honest, Phil, I don’t really care about your opinion. It’s hard to take the words of a man whose first concern, at an incident like this, is why we’re not wearing tabards, too seriously, if you know what I mean.’
Phil looked like he was about to erupt. Instead, he put his clipboard under his arm and made for his car.
‘I’ll speak to you later,’ he said as his shoulder brushed past Wesley’s.
When he slammed his door and drove off, all four crews broke in to applause.
When they got back to the station, Phil’s car was already parked in the bays. Jo and Dylan got off the lorry to open the doors up for them, and Wesley turned to follow them out.
‘I might as well get it over with,’ he said. ‘Should I pull my pants down now, or wait ’til I get in the office?’
‘Listen, Wes,’ Jimmy said. ‘I was really impressed with you today. You did everything the way it should have been done. I can’t fault you.’
‘Thanks, Jim,’ Wesley said, ‘but I might as well tell you now that my penance is up soon. I can finally go back to fire safety.’
‘Right, and you’re not going, are you?’
Wesley nodded. ‘I think it’s best. That is, if Phil doesn’t fuck it up for me.’
‘Why?’ Jimmy asked. ‘I thought you were happy here.’
‘You said it yourself, Jim, I’m not up to the job.’
Jimmy shooed the comment away. ‘Aw, fuck that. I said those things a long time ago. A lot has changed since then. You’ve changed since then.’
Wesley smiled. ‘Thanks for your kind words, but I’m better behind a desk. I don’t get judged for my actions there.’
‘What are you talking about? Your actions today proved you’re more than up to it. If you didn’t already have it, you would have gained the respect of the crew, and I don’t just mean ours. Everyone there saw what you did.’
‘And everyone else in the Brigade? To them, I’m just the guy who ran out of a BA job and left my partner in there. I’ll never get their respect.’
‘Who gives a fuck? You don’t work with them. You’re one of us. None of the rest of them matter.’
‘They do to me. Now, I better get to Phil’s office before he drags me in there.’
He got out of the lorry just as Dylan pulled the roller shutter doors open for Jimmy to drive through.
When Wesley entered the canteen, he was greeted by a cheer from the Watch.
‘Make the man a cup of tea, new boy,’ Jo said to Dylan. ‘Looks like his arse has taken a pounding.’
Wesley smiled and rubbed his behind. ‘I’ve got to say, for a small man, he really has got a massive knob.’
‘It was worth it,’ Jo said. ‘You done yourself proud today, boss.’
‘Yeah, good job, Wes.’ Dylan held his teacup up to him.
Jimmy and Jo followed suit and toasted their leader.
Wesley smiled at his crew, then looked to his pocket as his phone vibrated.
Throughout the whole incident and his time in Phil’s office, it had been ringing pretty much non-stop. He inspected the phone and saw the twelve calls he had missed were all from Mac. Wesley sensed desperation, which must have meant that Bogarde was rattled too. Their plan had worked.
Unable to get through, Mac had finally resorted to leaving a text. It was with a mixture of excitement and downright fear that Wesley read the message:
Call me now. We need to talk!
The Big Boss Man
Jonathan Bogarde continued to stare at his guests. It felt to Jimmy that the man’s eyes were boring into his very being, discovering his deepest, darkest secrets. It was stupid. He knew if he wanted to, he could beat the shit out of the skinny rat-faced bastard, but there was something about their inquisitor that unnerved him. The calm on Bogarde’s face couldn’t hide the anger that bubbled just below the surface of his skin. They had been facing the man for over a minute, and he was yet to speak. At any second, Jimmy expected him to stand up from behind his desk and explode in fury, and he had every right to.
After taking his precious key, Bodhi had driven him and his driver to Ditchling Beacon, one of the highest points on the South Downs and miles from anywhere. Lenny had unceremoniously lobbed them out of the vehicle, before giving them the finger and returning to town. Jimmy could only guess how they got back to the office as Lenny also made them hand over their mobiles.
When they finally did return, Bogarde would have found his safe had been violated and all his dirty little secrets gone. The meeting at his office had been arranged to take place straight after work. It was only three hours since they’d saved Nicola and her boyfriend from the crash.
Eventually, Bogarde gave them a very slow, very deliberate clap.
‘You might just possibly be the stupidest people I’ve ever met,’ he said, when the clapping had finished, ‘but you’ve got some stones on you, I’ll give you that.’
Jimmy accepted the half-compliment with a nod.
‘To assault my driver, steal my book, and dump me in the middle of nowhere,’ he shook his head, ‘and then, for only the two of you turn up at my office, even though I specifically requested you all to be here. People say firefighters are crazy; running into a burning building when everyone else is running out, but you gentlemen really take the biscuit.’
Bogarde’s clipped accent revealed that, despite being involved in some of the dirtiest businesses out there, he came from good stock and had the best education money could buy. He turned to look at Mac, who stood just behind his shoulder like the guard dog he was.
‘What do you think, Neil?’
‘If you don’t mind me saying, Jon, I think the lot of them have been a right pain in the arse. I should have killed them all as soon as I found out they stole your money.’
Jimmy noted the emphasis on the word your.
‘Perhaps,’ Bogarde said, giving away nothing. He forced himself to smile. It looked all wrong on his thin face. ‘So, you’ve had your fun and you got one over on me… Well done, you. You and your friends have done a great job in well and truly pissing me off, and so I say again, well done, but now, I think it’s time we talk about how we make this situation right.’
‘You’re the drug dealer, you’re the murderer. Don’t put what’s happened on us.’ Jimmy felt a pang of fear after speaking, like the first time he decided to stand up to the bully at school.
‘Careful,’ Bogarde said, sounding less eloquent. ‘It is my business, and like all good CEOs, I take responsibility for my staff’s actions, but let’s be clear. I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t smuggle those drugs into the country. Other people steer the ship for me. I just happen to own it.’
When his words had sunk in, he spoke again.
‘So, this is what I’m expecting. You made a mistake, but it’s not too late to rectify it. That book, you could call it a diary, if you like, is of great sentimental value to me, and I really, really would be happier if it were back in my possession. So, like I say, you return to the fire station or wherever it is you’ve got it, get my book and bring
it here. Do it by the end of the day, and I swear on my baby son that nothing will happen to you. I’ll also make sure that you and your colleagues are financially better off as a result. Like I said, you’ve got balls, and that deserves recognition, but there’s only so far that that goes. So, you gentlemen do what I’m asking, and we can end this stalemate right now.’
‘Excuse me for saying, Mr Bogarde, but I don’t see how you consider this to be a stalemate.’
It was the first thing Wesley had said since he’d entered the room.
‘As you well know, that diary you kept, and god knows why you would want to document that stuff, I can only assume it’s your vanity, but that information could put you in prison for a long, long time. So, if we’re going to keep using the chess analogy, then its most definitely checkmate to us, or game, set and match, if you want to mix it up and try a bit of tennis.’
Bogarde made a strange clucking sound in the back of his throat before speaking. ‘You know, if you were dealing with most men, then your assessment of the situation would be pretty spot-on. If that were the case, and I was most men, you could take that diary to the police and I’d spend the next twenty years in prison trying to avoid the attention of psychopaths and would-be rapists whilst I cried into my pillow every night. But the problem you gentlemen have got is you’re not dealing with most men. Unfortunately for you, you’re dealing with Jonathan Bogarde, and I am not a man to let a little detail like being in prison stop me from going about my business. So, you do what you’re proposing, and I will make sure that your wives, children, parents and grandparents, if they’re still alive, end up suffering for your mistake in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine. Now, I’ll assume you don’t want those terrible things to happen to your nearest and dearest, so that is why, my friend, we’re at a stalemate. And just in case you think this is a bluff, let me assure you, Jonathan Bogarde does not lie when it comes to business.’
He stopped talking and let his visitors absorb the threat.
