CHAPTER 6

The career fair was otherwise uneventful. Dickie and I headed back to the tower. When we got there, a fire truck was hosing down a distant corner of the field. Ray was up there watching.

“Was Jennifer smoking weed again?”

“Funny, Norm. Nope, just a little brush fire.”

“Kind of a weird location.”

“Yeah, but it’s next to the road, so someone probably threw a cigarette out of their car window.”

Plausible. There are a few facts about the field. It is like a mini-wildlife refuge in the middle of the city. We’ve got coyotes, rabbits, squirrels, rattlesnakes; you name it. And with the arid climate, unless it is the rainy season, we are under fire warning. When we had El Nino a few years back, the hills were lush and green. Five years later, they were tinderboxes, brown and black from the lack of moisture. But for us to have a fire on the airport was extremely rare. It made me wonder about the state of the area.

Several years ago, the city secured a fire copter to combat any brush fires in the city. It was a wet year, and the number of fires never quite justified the expenditure. So the next year, the contract wasn’t renewed. Then, a really big fire started. Made the record books. And with no helicopter to assist the initial assault, the fire burned out of control in the places that were not accessible from the ground. The contract was reestablished, and kept up as part of the fire department’s necessary budget. I noticed they were still sitting at their base across the airport from us.

“Nobody called in the cavalry?” I surveyed the scene through the binoculars. The scorched weeds and scrub brush were quite a distance away from the street and the perimeter fence on the airport grounds. If anyone tossed out a cigarette, they’d have to have an arm like Nolan Ryan to get it that far infield.

“It wasn’t big enough to worry about.” Ray was peering through the binos, not even bothering to look at me while answering. The phone rang again, and Ray answered. A brief exchange, and he dropped the phone back into its cradle.

“Undetermined cause.” He was matter-of-fact.

“Could be anything then.” Dickie walked up the stairs into the tower cab.

“Sure, Dickie.” My sarcasm awoke. “When did you finish Arson Investigator’s school? Because I don’t remember you in the class.”

Dickie steps in it a lot. And I am usually the one to smear it all over him. In my police career, I wore a lot of hats, and one of them was arson investigator. I spent a couple of years looking into fires, and it was a great education. I knew the guys who were on the Arson Task Force, so I could call them and get the real story if I wanted. Something bothered me about this fire, but I could not figure out why.

Not a lot of people know that the Arson guys get called to nearly every fire. Grease fire get out of control in the kitchen? The arson guys are coming by. Between them and your insurance company, they want to make sure you’re not trying to burn down part of the house for a little windfall. The kitchen is the most expendable room. Nobody keeps any valuables there, except maybe grandma’s china. Plus, it is so easy to be distracted and leave a pan on the stove, and presto!  A new kitchen!

I knew that I’d be talking to an old friend of mine about it.