working prints.”
“Oh?” Fuchs waited.
“He’s your leak for inside information, if you were looking for one.
He’s been talking to Quantrell for weeks.
Apparently he was canned by Leroux and still carries a grudge.”
“That so?” Fuchs sipped at his own coffee without looking up.
“Your friend Barton talked to me about that. He even introduced me to Shevelson while you were upstairs. Interesting fellow. Would have made a good fire captain, though I’m not so sure I’d care. to work with him.”
There was surprisingly little hostility in his voice and Infantino asked: “Any complaints so far?”
“About how you’ve been handling things? If I had any You would have heard about them. Pretty standard fire …
larger than most, but standard.”
“Seen one fire, you’ve seen them all?”
A little of the sharpness returned to Fuchs’s ‘voice.
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’ve never seen a fire like this one,” Infantino said.
“And I don’t think you have, either. It spread faster than any fire I’ve ever worked. And it was damned hot.”
Fuchs nodded. “I’ll give it that,” he said mildly.
Again, the absence of hostility surprised Infantino. He took another sip of coffee, then suddenly said: “Why the hell are we fighting, Chief?”
For a long moment Fuchs said nothing; he stood leaning against the truck and gazing up at the building a few hundred feet away. “You’ve got your views, I’ve got mine.
I didn’t put you in charge of the high-rise problem because I hoped you would agree with me. The only gripe I ever had was because I thought you were airing department business in public.”
That was as much of an apology as he was going to get, Infantino thought, but it was enough. “I didn’t think I was-but I can see where other people might have.”
“Yeah,” Fuchs agreed. “You know how some people are-touchy.” He put his cup on the truck window ledge behind him and pulled his collar up closer around his neck. “Speaking of department business, I imagine you have some recommendations.”
“I do. You probably won’t like some of them.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“It will all be in a formal report.”
Fuchs nodded. “I expect it to be, Mario. But I’d still like to hear your suggestions now.”
“We need new equipment.” Fuchs’s face was impassive and Infantino added: “Mostly personnel equipment. High-capacity respirators would allow us to hang in there longer. And we could use lightweight bottles containing oxygen instead of compressed air. More comfortable masks, more reliable reducing valves. And new turnout suits; some of the ones we were using are so old they crumbled from the heat. And the advance hose teams could use aluminized cover suits-the kind they use in fighting oil fires-for close proximity work. Almost all burns were from radiant heat.”
“Anything else?”
“I think every man working on a fire floor where the smoke is heavy should have a walky-talky. It’s easy to get separated up there.”
Fuchs seemed lost in thought and finally Infantino asked, “Any comments?”
“Not many You’re right about the heat. It was greater than I had expected, though part of it may be because of the nature of the building-poor construction techniques, fire loading far above the norm, that sort of thing.”
He half smiled. “But you’re not through in listing what you would like to have, are you?”
“Shape charges? We actually didn’t have to use them tonight but they would be nice to have on hand.”
“Speak to the department engineers and send me a memo. If they recommend it I’ll look into it.”
Fuchs started for the building and Infantino shouted, “I’m not through yet!”
“I don’t know why I thought you would say that,” -Fuchs said dryly.
“What did you forget this time?”
“I’d like to recommend the hiring of fire protection engineers, perhaps on a part-time basis, when it comes to the Fire Department checking out major buildings.”
“Good idea if we can find them; there aren’t many floating around.
Put that in your memo, too.”
Fuchs had taken a step back to the building when a voice said, “You gentlemen have anything to say for the tube?”
. Quantrell approached from the other side of the Red Cross van, trailed by a cameraman, his sixteen- millimeter rig riding high on his equipment pod.
“Why don’t you go straight to hell, Quantrell,” Infantino said, suddenly acutely tired.
“I probably will, in due course,” Quantrell said grimly.
He glanced up at the ice-sheathed building. “Nice little fire; it probably could have been avoided if the developer had been more conscientious. Wouldn’t you gentlemen agree?”
“Get lost, will you, Quantrell?” Infantino snapped. “The Glass House is no better or worse than half a dozen other buildings in this town. They’re all alike; they all suffer from the same defects.”
“Care to point out a few of the others? You’d be doing our viewers a public service. Now’s the time to sound the alarm, now while the press is listening and watching.”
He cocked his head, half smiling. “Well, Division Chief Infantino?”
“It was a tough fire,” Infantino said slowly. “A dozen of my men are in the hospital-some of them may not leave for months. One is dead.
I’m not about to play games with you tonight; all I want is for you to get the hell out of here. It was probably a bastard like you that thought up the term ‘body count’ for the enemy dead in Vietnam.
You cover disasters like they were football games; for you there’s no difference between a man who gets tackled and one who gets killed.
They’re just numbers on a scoreboard.”
Quantrell stepped closer to Infantino, the bantering smile gone.
“Where the hell do you get off calling me names, Infantino? I’ve got my job just like you have yours.
My job is to get the news out to the voters who just happen to pay your salary. I kick a few asses and I bruise a few feelings and nobody’s ever going to vote me the most popular guy in the class. I don’t deal in press releases and handouts; I get out there to see for myself.
Buddy, you don’t know this business-how much information do you think I would get with a sweetness-and- light routine? There isn’t a department in this city that wouldn’t like to brush me off with a couple of drinks and three pages of public relations bullshit. Well, if you don’t like how I quote you, then stop being a gabby dago and keep your mouth shut.”
“That’s enough,” Fuchs interrupted quietly. “You’ve had your say, Quantrell. Now get the hell out of here or I’ll have you escorted out of the lines.”
“Go ahead; it’ll make a great story,” Quantrell said sarcastically.
“If you don’t think I’ll do it try me.”
Something in Fuchs’s voice made Quantrell back off.
“Okay, Chief, I’ve got my story anyway.” He jerked his head at the cameraman and they walked away.
“That goddamned cameraman was picking all of that up,” Infantino said, furious.
“Don’t worry; they won’t use it.”
Infantino said, “I don’t give a damn whether they do or not.” But he did; Quantrell had really gotten under his skin.
Fuchs said, “Stay cool,” chuckled, and started walking back across the plaza, the frigid wind whipping his coat around his waist.
Infantino remained by the van a moment longer, staring at the Glass House. He was thinking of the men still in the building working at knocking down the last of the fire. Idly he watched the scenic elevator start down the side
