Fahrenheit 1600 (Victor Kozol)

by Jerry Weber

  Vic says to himself, “Boy machine, you got a job on your hands tonight.”

  Vic has timed it right; Karen has just gone to bed. With her being away on night shift for the last week, both were in a mood to begin where they last left off with the serious business of love making. After a protracted period of phenomenal sex, both he and Karen drift off to sleep.

  Just as Vic is going into a sounder sleep he is awakened by the shrill sound of fire engine sirens in the distance. Not to worry, he thinks the only thing over there is “my garage.” Victor suddenly remembers in one of the Chicago classes on operating retorts where he was half-dozing off, there was a special emphasis on treating severely obese bodies that weigh over three hundred pounds.

  What can happen said the instructor is that there is too much fatty tissue. Instead of burning at a controlled rate, the fat erupts in a tremendous inferno overflowing the tray lip the body is resting in. The excess burning liquid fat is carried by the fans up the flue and into the exhaust pipe on the roof. From here the burning fat overflows and starts the roof on fire. If not caught in time, the entire building could be destroyed. (At least the deceased gets his wish and is cremated Vic thought.) The instructor remarks, there have been more than a couple of crematories burned to the ground by an out of control, hard to extinguish fat fire. The proper procedure was for the operator to stay by the retort and manually start and stop the burner so that the fire burns slowly and doesn’t do the above. The key warning, don’t leave the retort alone. “Yikes, I did this.”

  Victor’s entire life flashes in front of him as he races to the garage.

  “Oh God, how do I explain this?”

  Vic thinks the simple way out is to call it an accident. The scenario of an empty retort starting itself by reason of a faulty connection or error in the computer circuit boards is the way he has to spin it. So far so good. Vic could pass a lie detector test on the fact it was an accident. But, if they ever ascertained that someone was in the retort, who was it in there when it went out of control? As the operator, he was not only supposed to know, but have a cremation permit from the state.

  Vic had no Department of Vital Statistics papers for that body. He didn’t know who was in there or have a permit; this is not good. Let’s see an anonymous fat person from out of state started a fire in a crematory he wasn’t authorized to be in. This is pretty damning for the owner-operator thought Vic.

  The only good news so far is that Vic knows the fireman who tell him that with all of this heat there can be no investigation until later in the day or even after that. Vic knows, he would be a lot safer if he could somehow get the remains of that body out of the retort chamber, before any investigator looks in there. Then Vic would have a chance to make his theory of a malfunction causing the machine to overheat believable. Anything is better than finding a body in the main chamber of the retort.

  Vic now has a splitting headache from the heat of the fire and mental exhaustion thinking about the jam he has gotten himself into. Even though the firemen turned off the natural gas and electricity to the garage, the flames still are licking fifty feet into the night sky. The fire has a mind of its own and keeps on burning. Fortunately, no one lived in that block and there wouldn’t be any casualties from Vic’s mistake. If that happened, it would be called criminal negligence, Vic recalled from his old funeral law classes. This is what it is called when you are careless or negligent and others are injured and killed. Vic after first sweating is now shivering in the cold night air.

  He tells his old friend Chief Willis, he has no idea how it started and was home sleeping when he heard the sirens. At least that part was true. The chief told him it will take all night to put the fire out, and after that it will be so hot that no one will be able to get near it for several hours, if not a day’ to investigate. Victor hoped so.

  Daybreak came, after watching the fire most of the night except for one break when he went home to tell Karen, Vic was more anxious than ever to know what was in the retort. How much was left of the body, could there be enough to be identified? These were questions Vic had to know the answers to, and soon. The building, while still smoldering and emitting some smoke into the air, was now a five foot high pile of rubble. You could make out the burned out hulks of the two old funeral cars in the corner, and the large steel framework of the retort still stood in the middle of the floor. Since the firebrick that lined the chambers of the retort were still intact you could not see inside the chamber holding the body. Vic mused, how to find out what lies inside the mystery chamber? Chief Willis’s main concern was that no person was working, staying in, or walking by the building at the time. Vic assured the chief that no one was inside at the time of the fire. (At least no one who was alive, but the chief didn’t ask that question.)

  The chief would have known that all funeral and embalming operations were handled across town at the funeral home, but what about that new crematory? The chief didn’t think to ask and Vic stayed mum on the subject. There were going to be some serious questions to answer for in the not too distant future. There would be a fire marshal, who will ask about the crematory, and then there was New York. What to tell Sam about this? How will the organization react to mistakes by their associates? Vic will just have to roll with these punches as they come.

  CHAPTER 29

  Digging Out

  By 6:00 a.m. Vic is back at the funeral home apartment. He is watching Karen get dressed and glad to see her leave so that he can do some serious thinking. “

  Well Karen, the garage and crematory are gone, but luckily no one got hurt. I will be busy handling all of the details created by this in the next couple of days; so I probably won’t be able to call you until later in the week.”

  “Since you’re so distracted with the fire, maybe I can help you with the Smerkosky funeral that came in last night.

  “Oh no thanks, but I got that covered, next time you will be my number one assistant.”

  With that Karen leaves for her shift at the hospital and Vic is left to prioritize his next actions.

  “There are certainly bone fragments in the retort from last night’s cremation of his mystery case from New York,” Vic theorizes.

  If they could only disappear, then the fire can be something else or even undetermined origin.

  Vic calls his friend Chief Wills to find out the status of the garage site. Wills says it is up to the State Fire Marshall to come down from Dunmore to determine the cause. But since the site is still hot, he is scheduled to arrive tomorrow. For now the chief has had the site cordoned off with yellow danger zone tape. Vic would love to go right over, but not now, it is still too hot and there is too much light. His plan is to wait until dark and then go over to retrieve the remains.

  On the second question of calling Sam in New York, Vic will hold off on that until he has the situation here under control. No sense prematurely bringing who knows what down on himself.

  At 10:00 p.m. Vic takes a cardboard box, a broom, and a small shovel with him to the garage site. He parks outside the bright yellow tape line, and crosses in with a flashlight in hand. Going straight to the front of the retort, he finds the steel doors are warped but intact. Because the hydraulic fluid that operates the door has evaporated with the fire, the doors pry open easily with the help of the shovel. Just as he expected, the skeletal remains of ‘John Doe’ are in the chamber, the rest of the body was consumed in the enormous fire. Vic sets the box on the ground in front of the open doors and begins to sweep and shovel the remains into the box. The large bones from the legs and arms are brittle and they crush easily and fit into the box. Vic now sweeps out what is left and then scatters a few light ashes to cover the sweep marks. He then closes the door and smudges up the scratch marks on the doors made by the shovel, and closes the box. Just as he is returning to his SUV, two bright lights pierce the darkness of the deserted street. It is one of the two Duryea police cars, Vic panics, puts the box down just as a cop with a blinding flash light barks,“Wh
o goes there?”

  “It’s me, Victor Kozol the owner.”

  The cop now recognizes Vic as a former high school classmate that he once hung out with. Ned O’Brien says, “Vic what are you doing here this late?”

  “Oh, Hi Ned, I called my parents in Florida to let them know about the fire and my mother said there were some heirlooms of hers that may still be in the garage, and would I try and retrieve them for her.”

  “Did you find them Vic?”

  “I found very little, just a couple of metal picture frames that didn’t burn, but at least it’s something.”

  Vic’s heart is still pounding. If Ned says open the box, it’s all over.

  “Okay, no one is supposed to contaminate the site until the fire marshal gets here tomorrow, but you’re the owner so go ahead.”

  Vic is sweating under his coat, as his old friend leads him back out to his SUV. That was close and one advantage of living in a small town; if that had happened in Scranton, I would be toast, Vic thought.

  Vic returned to the funeral home and with a hammer pulverized the rest of the bones that remain. The electric pulverizer called a processor was of course lost in the fire. Finally, it is off to the Main Street bridge over the Lackawanna River Vic where he dumps the lumpy contents of his box into the swirling waters below. His immediate tasks complete, he goes home and relaxes, but not completely, because he still has to deal with Sam in New York. Vic figures, he might as well tell him straight on.

  With that, he picks up the phone and dials Sam’s private number. Sam answers groggily, “This better be important waking me up after midnight.”

  “It is Sam; we lost the crematory last night.”

  “How can you lose a piece of machinery that weighs ten tons Vic?”

  “It was destroyed in a fire.”

  “Didn’t you just get a ‘shipment’ from us last night?”

  “Yes, and that part went alright, I took care of business for you and then went to bed, after that the fire occurred.”

  “Your version of this better be right Vic, because this is certainly bad news.”

  “Vic asks, “Where do we go from here?”

  “Look I will have to talk to my investors and see what we can do about this. In the meantime, I hope you have insurance for the loss.”

  “Of course I do, but for now we are out of business with the crematory.”

  “Keep me posted Vic and try to keep the publicity down, I’ll get back to you as to our next move.”

  “So long Sam.” Victor hangs up.

  Now Sam, who has been quite the star with his ‘firestop’ project has to tell Carlo and the others that they are no longer able to make bodies disappear from New York. Unlike the last few dinner meetings at Rosselli’s, this one was not going to be good for Sam.

  At Sam’s portion of the business meeting the news was received as he already knew it would be, with great shock and anger. In the last few months, the project had taken five bodies out of the investigations, and made sure that several members of the family were not going to be prosecuted for their crimes. No one other than this select group of ‘made men’ knew where the bodies were going, but everyone else was sure they weren’t in the New York City Medical Examiner’s Office for autopsies and evidence collection. This had given them a freer hand to eliminate problems in the past year.

  The agreement around the table was to try to resurrect the program in the quickest possible time. Sam was directed to investigate what went wrong in Pennsylvania and see if the old program could be restored with rebuilding or must a new approach be taken. Sam further was given the authority to punish Vic if it comes out that his carelessness caused this to happen. Meanwhile, it was decided that termination orders for several deadbeats and canaries that were pending, but not pressing, would be put on hold until this wrinkle could be ironed out. Meeting adjourned 11:10 p.m.

  The next day Vic was pacing around his apartment. “The more problems I solve, the more keep coming at me. I guess I don’t live right,” Victor blurts out to no one in particular.

  There are now three fires to put out coming out of the one two nights ago. First, the fire marshal is going to be combing through that pile of rubble across town and trying and find out what really happened to start the fire. Second, he has to wait to hear from Sam about what they are going to do about the lost crematory. He does’t expect this to be a friendly confrontation. Third and worst of all, he has to pick up his father, who is now on a plane from Fort Lauderdale to Avoca, the local airport. He of course wants to know what happened to some of his now charcoaled real estate. What if he stumbles onto the fact that over half of the clientele that he left in Victor’s hands are now at the competitors? None of which are going to be good!

  Vic was thinking, “Life isn’t fair; I never wanted this damned business in the first place. My two cousins are living the good life downstate as doctors and here I am stuck in this place. Maybe I should have studied when I had a chance in college; too late for that now; the old man’s plane lands in an hour.”

  Albert Kozol has Victor cornered in the tiny first floor office in the rear of the funeral home.

  “What the hell happened to a garage that stood for seventy years until you got hold of it.” I don’t know Dad, but that’s why they have fire insurance, because no one knows when or where a fire will break out.”

  “Was it the gas in those two old Cadillacs we stored there?

  “Dad, like I’ve been saying, we won’t have any answers until the fire marshal does his investigating.”

  “Other than that, have you been busy with funerals?”

  “Well you know it’s always been feast or famine. Sometimes I could use four guys to help me, other times, like now, it is slow.”

  “Hmm, well at least after I raised hell with you the last time, you are sending my checks on time, so I guess business can’t be too bad. However, some of our old friends say it’s not the same since I left.”

  “Dad, they always say that when a younger generation takes over, they naturally yearn for the good old days.”

  “Take me to the garage, I want to see it.

  What the hell is that huge steel box on the floor son?”

  “That’s our new crematory retort.”

  “Where did you get the money to buy that?”

  “Easy, it’s leased. See Dad it’s the modern way, you have to keep up with the times. The younger generation doesn’t want burials anymore, and it is helping pay the rent to you.” (If only Albert knew how much of the rent the retort was paying.)

  “Okay, but what if that furnace took the building down?”

  “Dad, I keep telling you, we don’t know that yet, and besides there’s insurance.”

  “I’ve seen enough, we can go to dinner tonight and I’ll be flying out on the 7:10 a.m. flight back to Fort Lauderdale.”

  “I just wanted you to be satisfied with everything, Dad.”

  The next morning Vic drove his father to the airport and breathed a sigh of relief; Dad was too disturbed by the fire to look at the books of the business or call up any friends to ‘chew the fat’ with. Thank god for that, now onto the next problem.

  Mike Shoemaker had been with the Pennsylvania State Police for twenty years, rising through the ranks from a highway patrol trooper for ten years and the last ten investigating fires. Mike has seen them all in his career which took him all over the Commonwealth.

  “So here we have an old, free standing, garage with one of those new pre-packaged crematory retorts standing in the middle of it. And that’s the area where it looks like it started. Mike knew these units could have fat fires, particularly if they were overloaded. They could also erupt if the chimney flue was blocked. A funeral home in Philadelphia and two in Pittsburg lost parts of their buildings in just such fires. The cause of two was that the retort was overloaded with an extra heavy body, which overheated the flue and the fire spread to the surrounding structure. The third was a tree fell on top of the flue and bl
ocked the exhaust.

  But, upon opening the retort doors at Vic’s garage, there were no remains in the chamber. Normally this evidence points to a fat fire, but where is the body? Mike will have to interview the owner after he is sure of the facts.

  He makes a call to the Perfectall Manufacturing Company in Chicago Illinois, builder of the retort. After identifying himself, he asks to speak to one of their engineers. Tom Haskell quality control engineer gets on the phone with Mike, after hearing Mike’s initial findings, he says. “We have never had any combustion in one of our units that wasn’t set into operation by the operator. The units can only go into a combustion mode by pressing the three buttons on the control panel. Never had a unit self-ignite by some kind of short circuit or electrical malfunction. We just have too many backups designed into the product.”

  As to fires once the unit was operating, Tom tells Mike exactly what he already knew about oversized bodies and blocked flues. Mike also knew that there was a manual override procedure taught at the operator classes for dealing with that. Mike thanks Tom for telling him about the electrical circuitry and the other part about fat fires. This almost certainly ruled out any new reason for a retort to start combustion on its own. Mike needed to be sure so he would still get an independent electrical engineer to check the circuits to make sure that the safeguards Tom said were in place and operational.

  The only other lead he had to pursue was to get Victor Kozol’s take on what happened, as he was apparently the last one to use the retort and was legally responsible for it.

  Victor smiled and sat Mike down in his small office.

  “As you can see we run a pretty tight operation here, I’m pretty much it around here.”

  Mike begins, “When was the last time you used the retort?”

  “Let’s see” looking through his cremation permits, “here it is three weeks ago we had John Halobosky cremated.”