12. Chapter 12 #2
“Huh? Tell me what?” Scott asked, pulling a lime-green skeleton from the box. “And this one's green.”
“Scott.” Jo pinched the bridge of her nose. “All of this is for Summerween. You know, Halloween in June.” She rolled her wrist, trying to urge the idea to sink in. “The event is brightly colored.”
A pause lasted approximately four years.
“Ahhh, I knew it was some kind of summer thing,” he said. “I just didn't...” He looked at the green skeleton. “I guess I didn't put the Halloween part together until just now.”
“Dumbass.” Thompson threw the flower ghost at him.
Scott caught it and tossed it back.
“So we're going to have two Halloweens in one year? That's fantastic.” Scott closed the skeleton box and picked up a different one. “You know what? We should be zombies. Zombies are cool.”
“I call zombie clown,” Thompson said immediately, his whole face lighting up.
He extended one arm, let his head drop to the side, and started dragging one foot in a slow circle around the box.
“Braaaaains.”
I watched one of my most reliable firefighters shuffle in a zombie circle while wearing a flower-lei ghost on his head and moaning.
Are you fucking kidding me?
“Oh no, we can do better than zombie clowns.” Jo crossed her arms. “We need a theme so everything's cohesive. First, we have to figure out how to decorate the truck. We'll need a meeting with everyone.”
“Yes, good plan,” Scott announced, dropping the Thompson zombie shuffle he'd been copying to pick up another box.
“The truck needs to be something awesome.
Like, we should make it Santa's sleigh with reindeer.
We could be elves and put Santa in the sleigh.
Didn't you all say someone played him at the Christmas thing? Maybe he would do it for this.”
I surveyed the group.
Jo and Thompson stared at Scott.
Brandy covered her mouth, but I could see she was trying not to laugh.
Over my dead body.
“Let me make this clear. We're not decorating a truck.” I said it to what I figured were deaf ears. “They are expensive, complicated pieces of life-saving machinery. Not...” I paused to swallow. “Santa's sleigh.”
Brandy snorted and then started laughing.
Jo and Thompson joined her.
“What?” Scott asked me. “Why are they laughing?”
“Santa was played by Police Chief Hank McAllister,” Brandy told Scott.
“Oh.”
Scott shot me a quick look.
“Scratch the sleigh idea.”
Brandy, who was still giggling, pulled over one of the largest boxes and wrestled out a large packaged item.
“These are twelve-foot palm trees,” she exclaimed. “I got four. I thought we could put them at the entrance to the bay doors.”
“Those are cool,” Thompson said. “You should make a few different themed photo areas for families and friends to take pictures.”
“That's a great idea,” Brandy beamed.
“No.” I said it to the room. “No to decorating the truck. No to palm trees at the bay entrance. No to...” I gestured at the ghost that was now sitting on Scott's head. “...any of this. We're a fire station, not a party supply store. And under no circumstances are we dressing as zombies.”
I pivoted and stormed out of the bay.
“We already nixed the zombies.”I heard Scott say.
Well, I'm done. This isn't happening. I need to make that clear now.
I flung myself into my chair and jabbed the intercom button.
“Brandy, could I see you in my office?”
Three seconds of silence.
Then from the bay, I heard a muffled but unmistakable:
“Ohhhhhhh.”
Cap arrived in my doorway approximately four seconds before Brandy did. He walked in and sat next to the guest chair with the settled authority of a court-appointed representative.
Brandy came in and sat in the chair Cap had picked out. Her head was cocked slightly to the left, her eyebrows raised. She steepled her fingers together.
“You summoned me.”
She looked like she was ready for a challenge.
Fine. If that's how she wants it, so be it.
“There seems to be some sort of confusion.” I eyed her. “I thought I had made it clear that we wouldn't be participating.”
“What is it exactly that you don't like? The decorations?”
“Neon skeletons,” I said. “Bats. Four twelve-foot inflatable palm trees.”
I looked at her.
“This is Safety Week. Not a party on the plaza.”
“It's not a party on the plaza,” she said. “It's Summerween.”
“And what a name. Summerweeeeen.” I exaggerated the word, shaking my head. “It sounds like Summer Weiner.”
She blinked and then tilted her head in the opposite direction.
“Really? How very mature of you. Nobody calls Halloween Hollow Weiner.”
I had no immediate response to that because I'd be damned if I was letting her be right, so I dropped that one for now.
“And now you've got those three worked up,” I said. “Pretty soon they'll tell the other firefighters and everyone will want to be involved, and the whole thing will—”
“Will what?” she asked. “Be a good time? Heavens no, we can't have that.”
“We're not participating.”
“Oh yes, you are. We've been through this.”
“And you're not getting it.”
She sat on the edge of her seat.
“Whether you like it or not, Summerween is going to take place in your bay and parking lot.”
She pointed in the wrong direction for the parking lot, but I knew better than to correct her.
“You keep forgetting it's Safety Week, and that's about safety. Not glowing pumpkins.”
“Watermelons,” she said. “We're carving watermelons.”
I looked at the ceiling.
“Nick, why are you so against this?” She leaned forward. “Nobody is taking anything away from the importance of Safety Week. I just want to enhance it. Get more of the public involved. How is that a bad thing?” She shook her head. “I don't understand. Chief McAllister is on board.”
Something moved in my chest.
“If anyone knows about enhancements,” I scowled, “it's McAllister.”
I spat out what came next before I thought about it.
“Since you two are dating, why don't you hold the Summer Weiner thing at the police station? He'd probably build you a whole parade.”
She stood up and deliberately placed her hands on my desk, leaning toward me.
“We are NOT dating. Not that it's any of your concern. And stop calling it Summer Weiner.”
I stood.
“No.”
“Yes.”
She glared at me.
“Woof.”
Behind her, I saw Cap look from me to her and back.
We both turned our heads to look at him.
He sat back with the settled expression of a dog who had just cast his vote in this argument and was now thinking better of it.
Brandy straightened up.
“I can see we're not getting anywhere today. But believe me, this isn't over.”
She walked out.
Cap watched her go and then came over and put his head on my lap.
At least someone's on my side.