Holiday Grind

for a moment; then I struck the churning waves. Frozen concrete would have been softer.

The ferry’s roiling wake began spinning me literally heels over head. My nose, ears, and mouth filled with freezing water. The cold was mind numbing, but I was so angry I used my rage to fight against the shock of it.

Don’t panic, Clare! You’re a good swimmer! Don’t panic!

But I couldn’t even tell which way was up. The water was dark and murky, and I was still spinning! I was running out of air, too. I had to do something—

My coat!

The long, thick material was heavy with salt water and already half off. I ripped it free, letting it go. Feeling more than seeing, I noted which way the garment began to sink.

If that way is down, then this way must be up!

I kicked out immediately, shedding my blazer and slacks as I swam, giving my limbs the least possible drag as I propelled myself upward.

Light! I can see light!

I needed air. My lungs were burning so badly that I was ready to give in to the impulse and breathe in water. But I knew it would be the end of me, as good as giving up. So I fixed my gaze on that flickering sunlight above me, pictured the Mother of Exiles holding her golden torch, and stepped up my struggles.

Breaking the surface, I gasped and sputtered, then stared in horror at the vast field of choppy blue waves. The ferry was gone! With hardly any commuters on board, no one had noticed I’d been tossed over the side!

Desperately treading water, I cast about, wondering which way to swim. The cold was excruciating—like a thousand icicles stabbing every pore in my body. Already the bone-deep chill was stiffening my muscles, making it hard to breathe, harder to stay afloat.

No, dammit! I’m not going to die like this!

I thought of my daughter and fought harder to stay conscious, tread water, stay alive. That’s when I saw the orange tug and the fireboat! The two vessels had been sailing just behind the ferry!

“Help!” I shouted, the weak sound seemed lost in the splash of waves, the cries of circling gulls.

I yelled again and choked on a wash of briny liquid. I knew I was mere minutes—if not seconds—from freezing to death or drowning. That’s when I heard the tug’s loud horn, male voices shouting—

“To the starboard, Sean!”

“Donnie, toss me that hook!”

“Get a safety line around her!”

“No time, Connor. She’s about done. I’m going in!”

I felt the rumble of an engine in the water, smelled diesel fumes. Something big, heavy, and canary yellow hit the water beside me. The splash itself almost sent me under again. Then strong arms closed around my numbed, nearly naked body.

“I got you, honey,” a deep voice promised in my ear.

I lifted my face to find a strapping man holding me, his big, reassuring grin wide under a prominent nose and bushy dark eyebrows. “Don’t pass out on me now! Hang on!”

I tried to speak, but shivers overwhelmed me and my teeth were chattering like a dentist’s wind-up toy.

“Haul her up! Come on, quick! Her lips are turnin’ blue!”

I think I blacked out at that point because the next thing I felt was a cold steel deck behind my back and bare legs. My camisole was soaked and half torn off, my lace bra leaving very little to the men’s imaginations. I tried to speak, but strong, warm hands were pushing down on my diaphragm—hard enough to force salty water up my throat and out.

Gagging and sputtering, I finally realized that half a dozen burly firemen were standing around me, all in bright yellow FDNY life jackets.

“You’re okay, ma’am. Let’s get you warm.”

As I sat up, a number of large hands wrapped thick blankets around me.

“Is there anyone we can contact for you?” asked one of the firemen.

“M-m-m-mike,” I stammered. “Mike Quinn. He works at the—”

“I know Big Mike!” The dark-haired man who’d jumped into the water to save me patted my shoulder. “I’ll put in a call. What’s your name?”

I told him, my voice weak as I pulled the blankets closer around me. The deck was so cold! I tried to rise but stumbled. Several firemen instantly came to my aid. One simply hoisted me up and carried me inside the fireboat. The cabin was warm, and the man placed me on an aluminum-framed canvas stretcher and piled on another blanket, which I appreciated, even if I couldn’t thank him.

I was shivering so hard now I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t see straight, either, but I think that was because my eyes were still stinging from the salt water. A new blanket was tossed over me, this one electric. The warmth felt delicious, like a fortifying drink I could gulp and swallow.

A few minutes later, I was starting to feel better and began to sit up. The dark-haired fireman who’d pulled me out of the water had been watching over me close by. He quickly returned to my side in sweats and a T-shirt, a towel around his neck, and handed me a cup of strong tea.

“No need to worry, pretty lady. You’ll be okay. You said your name’s Clare Cosi?”

“Clare,” I repeated.

“I’m Sean. I just talked to Big Mike, personally. He’ll be at the FDNY dock when we pull in.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“You were lucky we saw you. You wouldn’t have lasted five minutes out there.”

I sipped the tea but then felt woozy again. “I think I have to—”

Sean took my cup as I fell back on the stretcher. While I closed my eyes again, I could feel him tucking the blankets closer around me.

“You’re in shock, pretty lady, just rest...”

The next thing I remember was the fireboat bumping up against a dock, men shouting to each other as the fire crew secured the vessel. A few minutes later, I heard whispers, felt a hovering presence.

I opened my eyes and stared up at an absolutely immense man, probably in his late forties, with bright scarlet hair, a cleft chin, and an absurdly large handlebar mustache (circa 1890). He stared at me, too, the skin around his blue gray eyes crinkling with amusement. Behind him, the rest of the fireboat’s crew gathered, obviously curious.

“I’ve had many a damsel call out my name in her darkest hour—or in the dark of night,” the big man loudly announced to his audience. “But I think I would have remembered this one.”

“Excuse me?” I propped myself on my elbows. “Who are you?”

“Captain Michael Quinn of the FDNY, darlin’. Big Mike to my friends and a holy Irish terror to all others.”

He smiled, a single gold tooth flashing, as he stroked his crimson mustache. “They told me your name’s Clare Cosi and said you asked for me. How did you end up in the drink?”

“I was pushed off the ferry. My handbag was stolen.”

Big Mike gestured to a member of the crew. “Radio the terminal. It’s probably too late to stop the assailant from getting away, but maybe we can recover this poor woman’s purse.”

The imposing fireman faced me again. “I thought these boys probably got it wrong, Clare, so I put in a call of my own before I came down here. You were looking for Little Mikey, right? Sixth Precinct. My cousin, Mike Quinn, the cop?”

“Detective,” I clarified.

“Black sheep,” he replied.

“Black sheep?” I repeated. “Mike’s not a black sheep. He’s not little, either. He’s one of New York’s finest.”

The firemen watching us exchanged amused glances. Big Mike raised a bushy red eyebrow. “He’s little compared to me, darlin’. And the Quinns are firefighters. New York’s bravest. Little Mikey’s the only cop in our clan.” He cast a glance at his brothers in boots. “Black sheep.”

The men laughed, and then a voice called from the deck. “Here come the boys in blue!”