Roast Mortem

hero firefighter appeared wearing a grin and two handbags.

Five

“Yo, ma’am, check it out!” James made a show of pointing to the women’s purses dangling off his broad shoulder. “Can you ID these so I can turn them over to you?”

“Of course. That one’s mine and the other is my employers. They’re the bags I asked you to look for.”

Bigsby Brewer strolled up behind James. His shoulders were so wide, I couldn’t imagine the guy going through an average doorway without tilting to one side. Massive muscles notwithstanding, Bigsby was far from intimidating. His manner was so happy-go-lucky, his spirit so energetic, he came off about as threatening as an excited puppy.

“So, how do I look, Bigs?” James said, showing off the women’s handbags to his friend. “Too last season?”

Shaking his head, Bigsby tugged the bags off James’s arm and thrust them into my hands. They reeked of smoke.

“You better take these back, ma’am.” Bigs jerked his thumb in James’s direction. “Noonan is too dumb to see they clash with his bunker gear!”

The two men laughed.

“Sorry it took so long,” James said. “The fire marshals had to inspect them before we could take them out. They wanted to make sure we weren’t removing evidence.”

“It’s okay. I’m just grateful you located them.” I regarded James again. “Did I hear your friend right? Is your last name Noonan?”

James nodded.

“You aren’t by any chance related to Valerie Noonan, the banquet manager at Union Square West Hotel?”

James opened his mouth to answer but Bigsby interrupted: “Oh, no, ma’am, you’ve got that wrong.”

“I do?”

“James isn’t related to Val. It’s much worse than that — ” As if someone had died, Bigsby took off his helmet and placed it over his heart. “He’s married to her.”

With one sharp, hard thrust, James shot his elbow into his partner’s gut. It was a real blow, and Bigs doubled over, gasping and cussing.

“So, you know Val?” James said, ignoring Bigsby’s groans while calmly extending his hand. “I’m her husband. Very nice to meet you — ”

I stared in horror for a second until Bigs came up again, red-faced but laughing. Apparently, this was business as usual between the two men because James’s affecting smile never wavered — as if he hadn’t just sucker punched his best buddy right in front of me.

“I, uh... I’m Clare Cosi, manager of the Village Blend, and I love Val. I mean, I just met her last night, at the Quinn’s St. Patrick’s Day party — ”

I paused to glance at the captain, wondering why he hadn’t shown at the biggest family gathering of the year. He looked away.

“Anyway,” I continued, “Val and I are both in the same general trade, so we shared a nice conversation. My boyfriend’s mother asked me to help with the Five-Borough Bake Sale, so we had even more to talk over. I understand Val’s on the coordinating committee?”

At the mention of the bake sale, the corners of James’s mouth turned down. “If you ask me, she is the coordinating committee. Or at least it seems that way from all the hours she’s been working on it.”

Woops. Obviously a touchy subject. “Well, the sale is for a good cause, right? Scholarships for children of fallen firefighters — and it will all be over in a week or so.”

“Just take my wife in stride,” James said. “She can turn into a little dictator when it comes to organizing public events.”

Bigsby, still nursing his bruised torso, risked a snicker. “Not just public events, brother. From what I’ve seen, Val is no slouch at ordering you around, either.”

Still sitting next to me, the captain finally made a comment: “Women.”

It was the second time tonight he’d grunted the single word. I turned on the man. “What is that supposed to mean exactly?”

“You don’t know?” he said.

“If I knew, why would I ask?”

The captain glanced at Bigsby. “You want to tell her?”

“Hell no!”

James winked at me. “Don’t let them jerk your chain, Ms. Cosi. Two confirmed bachelors — what do they know about women, anyway?”

Bigsby snorted. “We know enough not to hitch our horse to one post, right, Captain?”

“Listen, bro,” James replied, “I saw your last one-night stand. She was about as dumb as a post.”

“And that would be a problem because... ?”

“You guys are terrible,” I said.

“They are, aren’t they?” James gave an exaggerated nod. “They’re really a sad pair. They wish they had a beautiful woman in their lives, telling them what she wants.”

“On the contrary,” the captain replied. “Beautiful women tell me what they want all the time.” He threw a suggestive gaze my way. “Even if it’s not in so many words...”

“Ho!” Bigs nudged James. “Looks like the cap’n’s workin’ here.”

James’s brow furrowed. “Working on what?”

“You’ve been married too long, brother. Four’s a crowd.” Pulling on James’s collar, Bigs headed back to the sidewalk.

“See you at the bake sale, Ms. Cosi,” James called as Bigsby dragged him away.

I cleared my throat. Bigsby’s joking implication might not have bothered me if the captain’s proximity hadn’t changed. He was still sitting next to me on the running board, but he’d gradually eased his body closer to mine, so close I could feel the heat from his thigh against my leg.

“You know, darlin’, my tour’s nearly over.” His voice had gone sweeter than maple tree sap. “How ’bout I take you home, make sure you get there safe...”

And there’s the pitch. “Thanks, Captain, but you know very well I have someone to do that for me. Someone I care for very much.”

The captain’s little smile twisted into a smirk. “So it’s official, then? You’re still wasting your time with Mikey — ”

“Mike is a good guy.”

Captain Quinn looked at me as if I’d just declared Adolf Hitler a great humanitarian.

“What’s the beef between you two, anyway?”

He folded his arms. “Better you find out from my cousin.”

“I asked Mike twice. Both times his answers were so vague I didn’t bother asking a third.”

“Then do yourself a favor and take the hint.”

Touchy, touchy. I studied the man, wondering if I could needle it out of him. “You know what?... I’m betting the reason neither of you will answer that question is because neither of you can even remember how the whole thing started. No doubt it was some childish, testosterone-fueled competition back on your parochial school playground.”

The captain glared.

“Why two supposedly intelligent men can’t work out their differences is beyond me.”

“Yeah, honey, it is beyond you. So take my advice and keep it that way.”

“Men,” I muttered, getting a clue what the captain’s single-word epithet was all about. “Well, Michael, it’s