7. Wishful Thinking
WISHFUL THINKING
“How quiet do you think it’ll be tonight?” Ash asked on Saturday.
They’d already run trunk-or-treat earlier in the day. The kids flooded the lot in costumes, stuffing their bags with candy, cheap toys, and brochures for local programs. Anything to keep them off the streets after dark.
It was a joint effort between Glens Falls PD and the fire department, staged right in the parking lot.
He liked it. Liked seeing kids dressed as superheroes, athletes, even a few pint-sized cops and firefighters reminding him why nights like this mattered.
“Saturday night. Halloween.” Mike snorted. “Good luck. I just hope we get enough downtime to take a piss.”
“I think you just jinxed us.”
Mike pointed his fork at him. “You did it first by asking the stupid question. Saturdays are never quiet.”
“Fair.”
An hour later, when the alarms screamed and the call came in—vehicle fire—Ash swallowed his groan.
Still better than a structure fire. But with kids walking the streets, distracted drivers, costumes blocking peripheral vision? It could turn ugly fast.
They were moving before the tones finished. Gear was thrown on in a hurry, trucks roaring to life, lights slicing through the dark.
Three minutes out and cruising through the streets.
When they arrived, the fire was already chewing through the front of the truck. Another blaze burned in the bed. Contained and almost deliberate. Like a backyard fire pit someone had abandoned.
Jesus.
Hoses were pulled and charged, positions taken without a word. Muscle memory kicked in and they hit it hard and fast, knocking it down before it could spread.
It was routine to him. Or so he thought, but a fire was anything but routine.
Things could turn on a dime. The wind could pick up, blow ashes around and catch anything else on fire.
Like cheap plastic costumes on kids. Because just like he expected, the crowd was bigger this time.
Not a dead-end street. This was worse. A long stretch with few houses and zero streetlights. The perfect place to watch something burn without being seen.
Thirty minutes later, Ash headed back toward the engine, steam curling into the cold air. Two cruisers worked the crowd back as he scanned faces, his instincts humming.
Someone caught his eye.
The guy lifted a hand and slipped past the police line.
“What are you doing out?” Ash asked.
Alan. A firefighter on a different shift. “I took my daughter trick-or-treating. We were a block over when I heard the sirens. I dropped her off, checked the scanner and came by.”
“You walked?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t far.” Alan glanced toward the blackened truck. “What do you think? Same thing again?”
He studied the smoking vehicle. “Hard to say. The fire in the bed makes me lean no. Looks more like kids drinking back there. There are empty cans everywhere.”
“So something that got out of control?” Alan asked, shaking his head.
“That’s my guess. We’ll know more soon.” He nodded toward the engine. “I’ve got to get back. See you in the morning.”
“I’ll relieve you. Hopefully, the rest of your night’s quiet.”
He huffed. “From your mouth to God’s ears.”
He crossed back to his captain. “Same as the others?”
Christian scrubbed a hand over his face. “Who the fuck knows? I hope not. But I’m not holding my breath. If we’re lucky, the cans will give us something. The fire in the bed never spread.”
He had noticed that too. If the metal hadn’t been cold, it might have burned itself out before the front fire met it.
Temperatures dropped hard at night this time of year.
But the last couple of fires?
Paper shoved into grills. Accelerant sprayed inside. Fires that caught fast and burned hot, mixed with the oil and other shit on an engine.
This one didn’t fit. Unless it was being staged differently.
He wasn’t sure why his mind went that way. And that bothered him more than he wanted to let on.
His eyes were still scanning while he climbed back into the truck, looking for one person.
He found her right away. She was looking around, moving toward the officers on duty and talking, but they were shaking their heads.
Then Skye turned to look toward the truck, as if she might be searching him out.
Or it was his wishful thinking.
The firetruck pulled out and turned the corner, Skye standing there looking toward his captain who was waiting on the fire inspector to show up. She’d get her story, most likely, because she was determined enough.
It was the one thing he remembered about her. How she muscled her way through so much in life.
That was probably the only way she could get through.
And when the truck was pulling back into the fire station, the alarms went off again.
Another car fire. This one an electric car.
“Fuck me,” he yelled.
“Don’t you know it,” Bruce said next to him. “This one is going to be much harder than the last.”
Lithium batteries were fueled by chemicals, not oxygen and they were racing toward the next fire, praying that it wasn’t in a crowded area.
He whistled as he strolled down the street, his hands in his pockets.
What a night it had been.
Good. Very good. One for the books.
They’d be chasing the wrong trail now, second-guessing themselves, and filing it away as a mistake. Guess he was sharper than he’d ever been given credit for. Smarter than they thought.
It was a shame it hadn’t flared the way he’d imagined. That part disappointed him. He’d misjudged the burn, rushed the setup, trying to get it done. Tonight just called for it.
It was almost like the truck’s owners had been inviting trouble. He’d seen the kids there the night before with stolen beer, laughter, and a makeshift fire burning in a canister to keep the cold off.
No one said he had to use it the same way.
He’d lit it right there in the bed of the truck. It just hadn’t burned hot enough, or fast enough, even with the wood they’d left behind. Disappointing, sure, but that wasn’t the point.
The point was confusion.
Let them think he was sloppy. Let them believe he didn’t know what he was doing. The truth was far more dangerous... he knew exactly who he was, and exactly what came next.
He was only getting started.
His pace quickened as he slipped into the crowd of kids ringing doorbells, laughter and candy mixing in the air. Someone from school—someone he’d hated—caught his eye and waved. He smiled back, easy and practiced.
Oh boy. This might have been the best Halloween he’d had in ages!