plaster had plunged from the ceiling above, trapping Joe and Danny under the work bench, pressed shoulder to shoulder, their bodies cramped and strained from choking and coughing.
‘What the fuck?’ said Danny.
He got no response. ‘Joe?’ He pushed against him with his elbow.
‘My throat,’ Joe managed. He coughed again, dry and hoarse.
‘You hurt?’ said Danny.
‘I don’t think so. You?’
‘My neck.’ His chin was forced against his chest. ‘Can you see anything?’
‘No. But…’
Danny managed to turn his head slightly to one side. ‘Shit, Joe. The gas.’
‘What gas?’
‘The cylinder. There. For the oven. It’s just lying right there.’
A small chunk of plaster crashed down from the ceiling sending up more dust and debris.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Danny.
‘It’s OK,’ said Joe. ‘Anything that was going to fall down has fallen and the gas is only a problem if there’s a fire.’ He started coughing uncontrollably. ‘My throat. I…’ He tried desperately to suck in a breath, but nothing seemed to be working.
Blaring sirens shattered the quiet streets of Brooklyn Heights. The first fire truck arrived within five minutes of a call from one of the neighbors. The door to the basement was under the front stoop. The Forcible Entry team rushed to it – one with a Halligan tool to break through, the other, the can man, ready with a small fire extinguisher, a quick fix before the hose lines were ready.
The officer beside them shouted out. ‘Hello? Hello? This is the fire department. My name is Johnson. Is there anybody in there?’
‘Yes,’ shouted Danny. ‘Two of us. We’re police officers.’
‘Well, hang in there, we’re going to get you out of there.’
‘Hurry,’ shouted Danny. ‘My partner is not breathing…’ He paused. Joe stared at him. Danny continued. ‘… very well. My partner is not breathing very well.’
‘OK,’ said Johnson. He turned away and shouted. ‘Let the Chief know we got two police officers in here.’ He turned back. ‘What are your names?’
‘Danny Markey, Joe Lucchesi, Manhattan North Homicide,’ said Danny.
‘Anyone else in the building?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Joe, his voice weakened by his aching throat. ‘I don’t think so.’ He coughed.
‘The blast was deliberate,’ shouted Danny.
‘OK,’ said Johnson. ‘You think there’s a possibility of a secondary explosion?’
‘Nah, he’s done, he’s done,’ said Joe.
‘But the owner uses gas for his work,’ shouted Danny.
There was silence from outside. Joe and Danny waited. They heard the crackle of Handie Talkies and voices outside, hushed this time.
‘OK,’ shouted Johnson. ‘Guys, we got a small fire at the door we need to take care of, OK? Nothing to be alarmed by.’
Danny looked at Joe. ‘Oh shit. Oh shit. This is not the way I’m going. No way.’ He tried to lean forward and push at the chunk of ceiling that wedged them in.
‘Danny, Danny, calm down,’ said Joe. ‘We’re not going to be able to move that. The fire is not near us. Can you feel any heat? Can you smell anything?’
‘No. But anything could be in this fucking place – more gas, flammable shit. I don’t know. He could have planted more stuff. It’s an old building-’
‘Calm down,’ said Joe. ‘They know what they’re doing.’
‘This is my worst fucking nightmare,’ said Danny. ‘My worst nightmare.’
He clawed again at the plaster, then pushed with his palms. He struggled desperately to move his feet against it, to press his back to the wall and gain leverage. But his body stayed as trapped as it was when he crouched under the bench. Before long, he lost all feeling in his hands as he slammed them uselessly over and over against the plaster. Then he hammered with his fists, splitting the skin across his knuckles, oblivious to the pain and the sweat pouring down his face and soaking into his shirt and trousers.
Outside, houses were evacuated along the block, residents gathered at the far end of the street behind the barricades, camera and videophones ready to capture the next disaster. Three fire engines and two more fire trucks arrived. A F.A.S.T. truck struggled to find space on the narrow street. Rescue 2 and Squad 1 followed – elite teams of experts with specialist equipment. Over twenty-five firefighters gathered in front of the building.
Joe could see more than Danny. There was a jagged gap wide enough for him to look through. In the darkness, a small glow had struck up in the corner by the door. Through the haze of dust, it looked warm and unthreatening. When his eyes adjusted, he could see the fire, every flame like a flickering warning signal, powerful and unpredictable. He tried to see what lay around the fire to feed it, but it was just a series of jumbled shapes, each object indistinguishable from the next. Through the confusion of the FE team trying to break the door down, metal on metal, heavy boots on concrete, urgent voices, was a sound like gushing wind. Joe watched as the flames shot high, then low again, then spread out across the floor towards them. They had caught what looked like paper drums. The same ones Blake used to send off the bloodied clothes.
Danny had his eyes closed, but he couldn’t miss the light flaring behind them.
‘No,’ he said, simply. ‘No way. Tell me that’s not-’
‘They’re at the door,’ said Joe. ‘They’ll be inside any minute.’
Outside the Handie Talkie struck up and they both heard Johnson telling his men to back away from the door.
‘Aw Jesus,’ said Danny.
Tiny wisps of smoke drifted across the basement. The fire started to crackle. And very slowly, Joe started to feel heat at his shoulder. He felt Danny jerk beside him. He could see the whites of his eyes in the darkness. He was tearing up.
‘Listen to me,’ said Joe. ‘The fire department is here, OK? They are right outside that door and we’re their priority. They like to get people out alive. They’re going to put that fire out. They need to make sure they’re not putting themselves in danger first. Worst case scenario? The fire hits the gas tanks and then? We’ll be blown to shit. But we won’t feel a thing. What I’m saying is there is no chance of us burning alive in here. Trust me.’
‘Man…’ said Danny, ‘I don’t know.’ Then he took a huge breath and roared: ‘Johnson? Johnson? What the fuck is going on out there?’
But his voice was drowned out by the door crashing in. The FE team charged through, blasting the fire with extinguishers. The air was thick with smoke and dust, the floor littered with beams and exercise equipment and chunks of heavy ornamental plaster from the parlor floor above. They rushed to the work bench where Danny and Joe were trapped.
‘We’re going to clear this debris and get you out of there,’ said Johnson. ‘How you doing in there?’
‘Good,’ said Joe. ‘We’re doing good.’
Danny was slumped in the corner with relief, his hand over his face, the other hand still gripping Joe’s arm.
Johnson spoke into his Handie Talkie. ‘Chief, we got a partial collapse in the rear of the building. We just put out a small fire to the front of the first floor. Officers at the scene say there was an explosion while they were looking for a possible suspect. He could still be in the building.’
Joe shook his head. ‘Probably not.’
The three firefighters were joined by more, forming a line to pass out the broken plaster, timber and rubble that blocked in the work bench. As soon as the space was large enough, Danny and Joe crawled out and stood up slowly, their faces covered with pale grey dust, their eyes rimmed red.
