“Hilarious. Maybe you should go tell the rock beast jokes?” Ramirez answered with half a smile. “I care too much.” He rubbed his face with one massive hand. “I’m stressed because they’re facing creatures no one in their right mind should have to face. I’m seeing NYTF personnel crack under the pressure, quit the force and need years of therapy.”
“They knew what they signed up for,” I said, remembering Monty’s earlier words about Bangers and Mash. “You didn’t force them to join the NYTF.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that this job…it breaks you. Small cracks at first. You see things you think are impossible, day after day, until it becomes normal—then one day, you see something that blows all that away and you begin to question your sanity, or think you need to take matters into your own hands, like Rott did.”
“Rott also lost Cassandra. That’s what pushed him over the edge.”
“He was on the edge long before the Lieutenant checked out. She was just the final straw.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned. “Do you need to take some time off? Do you feel yourself cracking?”
“Do I sound like I need to take some time off?” Ramirez growled, pounding the table. “I only feel like I’m cracking when I have to deal with you and your people.”
“You do sound a little tightly wound up,” I said. “How are those bowel movements? Maybe what you need is a laxa—”
“What I need, is for you and your MIA mage to stop that rock thing out there from putting my people and city in danger. That’s what I need.”
“Right, that, and a large dose of valium—extra chill.”
“Do not push me, Strong. Tonight is not the night.”
“You sound like the irritable pain in the ass you’ve always been,” I said, looking at the map again. “Maybe we all just need a vacation from the madness.”
“Vacation? I won’t hold my breath.”
Another explosion rocked through the night.
“I hear the destruction, but where is it?”
Ramirez turned to look out of the command vehicle.
“Stop loitering and get back to work!” Ramirez yelled. “We have a creature to contain. Make sure the area is clear of normals, and I want roadblocks for a mile in both directions. No one gets in.”
His people poured back into the command vehicle.
“I can see why they love you,” I said, watching them execute the orders. “Must be that smooth motivational management style you have.”
“Shove it, Strong. Tell me what you’re going to do.”
“Right now? Hope that thing didn’t hear your big mouth and come crush us,” I said, rubbing my ear. “Show me where Rocky is.”
He put a large sausage of a finger on the map.
“There,” Ramirez said. “That thing is right there, for now. Nothing we’ve thrown at it has worked or even slowed it down.”
“I’m expecting someone. When she gets here, tell your men to let her through and pull your people back. I don’t want them getting hurt—or worse.”
“Does she know what’s she’s doing? Is she a mage?”
“She’s qualified, trust me. Where’s Bangers and Mash?”
“Central EMTe bus,” Ramirez pointed to the blue ambulance near the command vehicle. It was the one closest to the main command. There were three more of the same in the area, in addition to other NYTF first responder vehicles. “Frank is with them.”
“He’s still working?” I asked. “I thought he’d be retired by now.”
“He said he couldn’t retire while your agency still operated in the city,” Ramirez said. “Something about being the only thing that stood against a menace to society and complete Armageddon.”
“Everyone is a comedian,” I said, leaving Ramirez and the command vehicle. “Get your people back now. My backup should be here any second. I’m going to go check on the rookies.”
“You heard the man,” Ramirez boomed. “Pull our people back.”
EMTe stood for EMT elite. The NYTF used these paramedics whenever they encountered some kind of supernatural disaster, or when Monty was allowed to run rampant, which in their opinion was pretty much the same thing these days, especially after our last run in with the Dark Council Enforcers.
The medics all wore dark-red uniforms and drove around in extra-large, blue, rune-covered ambulances. I had the utmost respect for them—they were the Navy Seals of the paramedics.
The veterans, which in the EMTe meant anyone lasting longer than a year, were tough as two-day-old steak and were willing to risk their lives, no matter the situation. Some of them had magical healing abilities, and all of them possessed a certain sensitivity to supernatural phenomena.
In the back of the central bus, I saw Frank, working on Bangers.
Frank defined grizzled: older, mid-sixties, built like a wall and probably as tough. He was the oldest EMTe still in the field and was affectionately known as the OG. I’d thought that meant “old gangsta”, but one of the other EMTe medics informed me it meant “original geezer.”
Next to Bangers, I saw Mash, freshly bandaged from his run-in with the golem. They were not having a good night.
“Hey, Frank,” I said, peeking into the bus. “What’s shaking?”
“Knew it was only a matter of time before I saw your ugly face,” Frank answered without looking up. “How was the land of the rising sun?”
“Painful,” I said, giving Bangers and Mash the once over. “What happened to these two?”
“These two rocket scientists decided to tangle with that thing—and lost,” Frank said around an unlit cigar. “This one is lucky to be alive. If he hadn’t been wearing that”—Frank pointed to a heavy-duty Kevlar vest that had been shredded—“we’d be reading last rites right about now.”
“Are you saying they’re unfit to face that thing?”
“Unfit?” Frank said. “No, no, I’m not saying they’re unfit.”
Bangers looked at me with a smug expression as if to say: See? Even the medic thinks we can do this. Take that! At least he had the mage arrogance down pat.
“Go on,” I said, raising a finger, knowing Frank
