Jaime Perez crept up the fire escape as quietly as he could and stopped at the third floor. He leaned over the guard rail to the kitchen window that he had been told didn’t have a gate. He waited patiently to be sure that no one on the street had noticed him, while vapor from the cold steamed out of his mouth. He pressed his short, skinny, drug ravaged body against the wall until he felt ready, then he took a metal tool from his pocket and stealthily pried the window open. He couldn’t hear any sounds from the dark apartment, so he carefully slipped over the rail and climbed inside. The landlord had assured him that they didn’t own a dog, so although still alert, he began to relax. The landlord had also carefully instructed him how to place paper next to the pilot light of the stove, run a paper strip to the nearest inflammable material and ignite it so it would appear to be an accident. There was a cardboard cake box on a table next to the stove and he ran the strip of paper to the box. He paused and listened intently, his body a menacing hulk in the darkness, then greedily opened the box. It was some kind of pound cake, not his favorite, like chocolate or pineapple, but better than nothing. He broke off a chunk with a gloved hand and stuffed it in his mouth, crumbs dribbling on the floor.
The landlord had insisted that he not take anything, but a piece of cake didn’t count. Besides, the greedy pig would never know. Jaime needed a hit on the crack pipe and the sugar from the cake would settle his jangling nerves. He silently cursed the landlord for a moment. He knew why the landlord wanted this family out. Then he could renovate the apartment cheaply and triple the rent. When the tenants rejected what must have been a low offer and other pressures failed, the landlord sent for him. Jaime was known as ‘the torch’ to a few pitiless landlords on the lower east side, whose lust for profit at the expense of decency was aroused by gentrification. He could smell the paper by the pilot light smoldering, so he lit a match, put it to the middle of the paper strip and made sure it was burning both ways. Then he slid out the window to the fire escape and closed it behind him. As he hastily went down the metal steps, he thought: ‘To hell with those gringos. Let them burn. They forced my people out of the neighborhood. Now they’ll get theirs.’
Some kind of noise brought Peter to the surface from a deep sleep. He groggily stretched, not sure what happened, then suddenly smelled smoke. He leaped up and dashed to the kitchen and saw the fire. The flames were high enough to keep him from reaching the sink with its flexible water hose, so he tore off his T-shirt and tried to smother the flames, but this only fanned them higher. He rushed back to the bedroom, pulled the covers off his wife and shook her arm. “What’s wrong?” Beth sleepily asked. “It’s a fire,” he yelled. “We’ve got to get the kids out.” She instantly snapped awake and took charge: “I’ll take Jen and you take Andy.” They hurried to the children’s bedroom, where Jennifer and Andrew were sound asleep. As the children gradually awakened, they wrapped them in their blankets and carried them out of the bedroom.
The smoke was rapidly spreading through the apartment. “Should I try to grab my wallet?” Peter asked. Beth looked around and quickly decided: “Let’s get the kids into the hall, then you can see if it’s safe to go back inside.” Flames were pouring out of the kitchen and the acrid smoke was blurring their vision. The children were wide awake now, frightened and crying. They made their way through the living room into the hallway that led to the front door. The room was rapidly filling with smoke and when Peter opened the door, smoke billowed into the hall. They paused at the head of the stairs and Peter looked back, considering if he should risk returning for his wallet and other valuables. Beth realized what he was thinking and said firmly: “No way you’re going in there.” He protested: “All our money and credit cards are in there, and our coats. It’s freezing outside.” She shook her head. “At least we’re not hurt. We’ll manage the rest.”
Officer Herminio Corrado was just carrying a container of coffee to his partner in the patrol car, when he saw the flames burst out of the window from a house down the block. He knocked on the hood to get his partner’s attention, pointed, then set off at a run. He moved faster than the usual officer’s cautious approach to danger, since fire couldn’t attack him from a distance and rapid response was essential. But he was already trembling and his insides were churning, because he was terrified of fire. He leaped up the steps of the building and knocked loudly on each door as he passed, shouting: “Police. Fire.” When he got to the third floor, he found a family of four at the landing and yelled: “Get those kids out now.” The man started mumbling something about losing all their possessions, but there was no time for that nonsense. “Get going. You can worry about your things later.” He gave the man a shove and watched him start downstairs, as the woman tugged him along.
The flames were shooting out of the apartment door and smoke was filling the hallway. He hesitated, afraid of being trapped by the fire, then started upstairs to warn the other tenants. He was halfway up the flight of stairs, when someone grabbed him from behind and he almost jumped out of his skin. He turned around and saw that it was a fireman in full protective gear, looking like a giant insect, ready to dip its proboscis. The fireman pulled up his mask and said: “I’ll take it from here.” Relief zoomed through his body. “Thanks, buddy.” He watched the alien figure hurry upstairs and thought: ‘Thank you, thank you. I don’t know how you do it, but better you than me.’ He quickly went downstairs and out of the building. His partner was waiting and congratulated him for his fast reaction. “You did good, Coro.” He nodded thanks, then confided; “I could never be a fireman. It scares the shit out of me. I’d rather face a gunman any day.” His partner grunted agreement. “Me too.”
Firefighter Eugene Jones was dozing in his seat, heading back to the firehouse after shopping for dinner at an expensive grocery. When the call came in they were only a few blocks from the scene, so it only took a minute or two to get there. He put on his gear as they went, holding on to the safety bar with one hand as they tore around the corner. They were the first truck on the scene and he adjusted his mask and rushed into the building, followed by the rest of the crew. Tenants were streaming out and he carefully forced his way upstairs through the panicky flow. He saw the cop ordering some tenants out, caught up to him on the stairs and told him that he’d take over. As the cop started downstairs, he thought: ‘I could never be a cop. I’d be terrified if someone was shooting at me.’ He shook his head at the distraction, then went and knocked on each door on the fourth floor. By this time, the commotion, sirens and smoke had awakened everybody and he calmly urged them to leave the building.
One of his partners had evacuated the fifth floor and came down and beckoned him to help check the apartment directly over the fire. The door was ajar and they entered warily, concerned with a sudden blaze through the floor. They knelt and felt the kitchen floor which was hot, but not incendiary. They carefully checked the walls, then the rest of the apartment and followed the same procedure in the hall. They didn’t find any indicators that the fire had spread upstairs. The smoke was already dissipating, so they went downstairs to the apartment where the fire started to help the rest of the crew. By the time they got there, the fire had been extinguished and they joined the search for any further hot spots. The kitchen and part of the main bedroom were thoroughly burned, but the destruction to the rest of the apartment was moderate. Gene studied the scene and thought the damage looked peculiar, but left it for the fire marshal to examine. He saw that he wasn’t needed, so he began to lug fire hose downstairs.
Peter was freezing in his pajamas and Beth wasn’t much warmer in the bathrobe she had managed to put on before their rapid escape. They had been able to snatch down coats for the children, so at least they were warm, but they were still traumatized by the sudden evacuation. The organized chaos that had followed the fire had shattered the once calm night for them. Neighbors had poured out of their houses, eager for the spectacle of disaster. Although disappointed that no one had jumped, a fiery meteor plunging to earth, or had been carried out blackened and smoldering, the crowd avidly gaped at the building, faces tense with expectation, still hoping for something titillating. The flashing red lights on the fire trucks and police cars cast incandescent glows on the savage spectators, who didn’t seem overly evolved from their ancient ancestors. Peter watched in utter bewilderment, unsure of what to do next. Beth sensed his confusion: “Ask someone if we can go back to our apartment, now that the fire is out.”
Peter looked around and saw a fireman coiling hose nearby and called to him: “Excuse me. Can we go back to our apartment now?” The fireman turned his head and looked at him tiredly. “Sorry, sir. The fire marshal has to inspect the premises to determine the cause of the fire. Then they have to check the building for safety and stability.” Peter’s voice was getting shrill. “When do you think we can get in there?” “Maybe tomorrow afternoon, depending on the damage.” “Can’t we just get some clothes? We’re freezing our butts off.” “That’s just not possible,” the fireman said. “But I can give you some blankets that’ll at least keep you warm.” The fireman walked to the truck and pulled out some gray, heavy wool blankets and handed them to Peter, who just stood there and asked dumbly: “What do we do now?” “Do you have somewhere to go for the rest of the night?” “No.” “Friends? Family?” “No.” “Why don’t you bring these blankets to your family,” the fireman said. “I’ll see if I can get someone to help you.” Peter shuffled back to Beth, lugging the blankets, dazed by the distressing events.
Gene saw the cop from the stairs leaning on his patrol car and walked over to him. “Hey, pal, how’re ya doin?” The cop’s face was streaked with soot, but he looked cheerful. “O.K. What about you?” “Good. We didn’t lose anybody.” They grinned at each other in the instant camaraderie that shared danger brings, especially to the uniformed services. The cop extended his hand. “I’m Coro.” Gene took his hand. “I’m Gene.” They stood there for a moment, reassured by the bond that helped them protect civilians. Coro said confidingly: “I almost pissed my pants.” Gene whispered: “When you’re a firefighter, they spray so much water on you that no one notices.” They laughed comfortably together. “Thanks, buddy,” Coro said. Gene smiled. “That’s O.K. Listen, there’s a family that doesn’t have anyplace to go.” “Where?” Gene pointed. “There.” Coro recognized them from the stairs. “I’ll see what I can do. Take care, buddy.” “You, too.” Gene waved cheerfully, then went back to coiling hose.
Coro walked to the family, who were huddling together, bewildered survivors of the sudden catastrophe. “Hi, folks. I’m Officer Corrado. I understand you don’t have anyplace to go.” He was a stocky welterweight type, with blond hair that for a Hispanic man must have been a source of teasing all his life. Peter looked at Beth, who shrugged. “If I could go upstairs and get my wallet with my credit cards, we could check into a hotel,” Peter said. “It’s on the night table in the bedroom.” “They won’t let you go up there, but I can ask one of the firefighters if he can get it for you.” “Thanks, Officer Corrado, we appreciate your help. If he goes to our apartment, could he bring some clothes for us?” Beth asked. “I don’t know, ma’am, I’ll see what I can do.” They waited tensely as Officer Corrado went to the fireman who had given them the blankets. They watched the conversation, trying to interpret the gestures. When the cop pointed to them and the fireman nodded, they felt a spark of hope. Officer Corrado walked back to them and said pleasantly: “The firefighter’ll go up in a few minutes and have a look around. If you need me, I’ll be by my patrol car. Good luck.” He touched his hat in salute and walked off, as Peter and Beth murmured thanks.
Jennifer and Andrew had listened to the conversation with the policeman, so they knew he was going to their apartment. They watched him go into the building feeling that after a little clean-up, they would go upstairs to the comfort of their beds. Andy, who normally teased or insulted his big sister, asked in a quavery voice: “How long do we have to wait? I’m tired.” Jen, who usually maintained a superior attitude and occasionally yanked Andy’s hair when he was too annoying, answered gently: “I don’t know, but it shouldn’t be too long.” “It better not be. I’m cold,” Andy said. Jen was tempted to smack him on the head for being a spoiled brat, after they just escaped with their lives. Instead, she pulled the blanket they were sharing closer around them and put an arm around him comfortingly. “That should help. Do you want to sit on the curb?” “No. It’s too cold.... I’m going to ask Daddy when we can go in.” She held him back before he could move away. “He doesn’t know yet. He’ll tell us when it’s time.” “I don’t like it out here,” Andy mumbled. “Neither do I, but we have to wait,” Jen said.
Firefighter Jones reached the third floor and assessed the damage in the hall. he concluded that the fire hadn’t spread to the rest of the building due to their quick response. He waved to the two firefighters still checking the kitchen and walked into the main bedroom. The side of the room with the night table and clothes closet had been gutted. He looked for the wallet and found some partial remains, but the credit cards were fused into melted plastic. The clothes had been charred beyond recognition and the shoes at the bottom of the closet were unwearable, except for some sneakers that he picked up. He looked around for a few minutes and could only find a few sweaters that might be useful. He went into the children’s rooms and collected some sneakers, pants and sweaters that he bundled into the adults sweaters. He couldn’t think of anything else to take, so he left the apartment and went downstairs. He had been through this same situation many times and wasn’t looking forward to giving the family more bad news.
Peter saw the fireman come out of the building and stirred expectantly. He couldn’t tell from the fireman’s expression whether the news was good or bad, but he nudged Beth and bubbled: “Here he comes. In just an hour or so we’ll be comfortably sprawled in a hotel suite.” Beth didn’t want to dampen his enthusiasm, so she waited silently. Jen and Andy moved closer to their parents, hoping that the nightmare would soon be over. Gene knew from experience what the family was going through and he also knew there was no way to soften the bad news. “I’m sorry, folks. Your bedroom was burned out. Your wallet was a total loss and the clothes were ruined.” “All of them?” Peter asked. Gene saw his disappointment and said consolingly: “Yeah. Maybe we can find something for you to wear at the firehouse.” “Thanks,” Peter muttered. Beth was more concerned about where they’d spend the night. “It’s too bad about our clothes, but we don’t have anyplace to go.” “Why don’t you talk to that police officer,” Gene said, and pointed to officer Corrado. “He’ll try to help you.”
When officer Corrado saw the family approach, he thought they resembled needy reservation Indians in the gray blankets. “I bet you folks are a little warmer now.” Peter said tensely: “We’re not freezing, but we sure aren’t comfortable.” Coro nodded sympathetically. “I know that. Did the firefighter find your credit cards?” “No,” Peter answered. “Well, what are your folks going to do?” Peter’s voice rose shrilly: “I told the fireman we didn’t have anywhere to go. I thought you were going to help us?” “Take it easy, buddy. I’ll see what I can do. Now you don’t have any money, right?” “Right.” “And you don’t have family or friends where you can spend the night?” “No.” “Are you sure?” Beth sensed Peter’s growing tension and interjected: “We just moved here from Detroit a month ago. We don’t know anyone yet.” “Is there anyone there you can call and ask for money? I’ll let you use my cell phone.” Beth shook her head. “Not really. We borrowed money to come here.” “What about your family?” Coro asked. “My parents are dead and so are Peter’s,” Beth replied. Coro didn’t know what to do about them. “I’ll ask my partner if he has any ideas.”
They watched the cop walk away and Peter said bitterly: “It’s just like Detroit. When you need help, they can’t do anything.” “That’s not true, Peter,” Beth said. “The fireman just couldn’t save your wallet. The cop is trying to help. I know you’re upset, but try to be patient.” Jen tugged at Beth’s arm. “Are we going upstairs soon, Mommy?” “Not yet, honey.” “I’m tired.” “I know, honey. We’ll just have to wait.” Andy started crying and Beth put her arms around him and whispered reassuringly: “That’s all right. That’s all right, sweetie. Jen. Stay with your brother and take care of him.” Jen was alarmed. “Are you going away?” “No, honey. I may have to talk to the policeman and I want you to watch Andy, like a big girl.” Beth turned to Peter, who was clutching at her other arm and he asked urgently: “What are we going to do? We can’t spend the night on the street.” “Let’s wait for the cop. Maybe he can find out where we can borrow some money for the night and you can repay it with an advance on your salary.” “You’ll see. He won’t do anything.” “Don’t be negative,” Beth said. “We’ll work things out.”
Coro told his partner, Kareem Warren, a much more experienced officer, that the family didn’t have any money, or a place to stay. “If they don’t have any other place to stay, they could always go to an emergency shelter,” Kareem answered. “I heard of it, but never dealt with it. How does it work?” “Once things are settled here, we’ll take them to an E.A.U,” Kareem explained. “What’s that?” “An Emergency Assistance Unit. There’s one in the Bronx that’ll arrange temporary shelter for them.” “Some kind of homeless shelter?” “Yeah. What do you expect, man, the Ritz?” “I’ve heard those places are pretty rough.” “Didn’t you ever respond to a call from one of those welfare hotels?” “No. I don’t know if those kind of folks can handle it.” Kareem asked in annoyance: “What kind of folks are we talking about?” “You know, sort of middle class, not used to the streets.” “Do you want to bring them home with you?” “No, man.” “Then take some advice, man. Do your job. Help them as best you can, then forget them.” “They had some bad luck tonight.” “Coro, there’s a lotta bad shit out there.”
Peter and Beth saw the cop get out of the patrol car and beckon to them. They were already getting used to bad news and they could tell from his expression that more was coming. They herded the children in front of them and as they approached, Peter asked the cop apprehensively: “Did you find out how to help us?” Coro was a little embarrassed: “Officer Warren and I’ll take you to an Emergency Assistance Unit.” Peter was confused. “What’s that?” “It’s a temporary shelter and they’ll take care of you until you make other arrangements.” “Where is it?” Beth asked. “The Bronx.” “The Bronx? I don’t want to go there,” Peter blurted. “I’ve heard that it’s full of drug dealers and gangs. That’s why we left Detroit, to get away from that element.” “There are a lot of nice places in the Bronx. You’ll be all right,” Coro said. Peter was getting desperate. “There’s got to be another way. Is there any kind of emergency fund that could help us?” “Not that I know of.” “Can the police department lend us a few hundred dollars?” “I don’t think so.” Jen interrupted plaintively: “We’re tired, Daddy.” “Why don’t you sit in the back of our patrol car,” Coro said. “It’s warm and you can relax until we settle things here,”
Peter stood there helplessly, a battered survivor of an unexpected disaster, uncertain of what to do. When he didn’t react to the cop’s suggestion, Beth gently nudged him towards the patrol car, towing the children with her. Coro opened the back door, then introduced them to his partner: “This is Officer Warren. What’s your name, folks?” Peter sat there numbly, so Beth answered: “Harmon. Peter and Beth Harmon. This is Jen and Andy.” Jen managed a weak hello, but Andy huddled against Beth and didn’t look up. Officer Warren greeted them courteously: “Sorry to meet you in these kind of circumstances. Why don’t you folks just relax and we’ll get going as soon as things wind down here.” “I don’t want to go to the Bronx,” Peter mumbled. Officer Warren asked patiently: “Where do you want to go?” Peter shrugged. “I don’t know.” “Unless you’ve got some other place to go, that’s all we can do,” Officer Warren said. “Now, do you want to go or not?” Before Peter could answer, Beth said: “We’ll go to the Bronx.” “Good. Now take it easy. We’ll leave soon.”
They sat there silently and waited. Peter stared straight ahead at nothing, with Jen curled in his lap. Beth watched the fire engines drive off, as their fellow tenants straggled back into the building. A neighbor on the floor above them, who Beth had never spoken to, stopped at the patrol car, knocked on the glass and shouted: “You bastard. You could have burned us in our beds. Too bad you didn’t fry.” Peter cowered and Officer Warren shooed the man away. Beth didn’t understand why he was blaming them, but she dismissed him without much concern. She had bigger problems to worry about than an upset neighbor. She noticed that the crowd had mostly dissipated and the curiosity seekers had drifted back to their beds. The ghouls, deprived of blood and lamentation, had evaporated to wherever they lurked, until dreadful events materialized them again to feast on the suffering of strangers. The flashing lights and screeching sirens were extinguished and the indifferent street now was silent. Beth watched the nice cop come back to the car with his gruff partner and open the door. “The fire marshal sealed your apartment, until the investigation into the cause of the fire is completed,” Officer Corrado told them. “He gave me a telephone number that you can call in a few days to find out when you can get back in there.” Peter repeated hollowly: “A few days.” “What do we do until then?” Beth asked. “I guess you’ll have to stay at the shelter,” Coro replied. “Isn’t there anything else we can do?” Peter asked desperately. “We don’t want to go there.” Before Corrado could answer, Officer Warren broke in harshly: “You ain’t got no money. You ain’t got no friends. So whadda ya want to do? It’s either the shelter, or the street. It’s your choice.” Coro tried to moderate his partner’s harshness: “Be cool, Kareem. You know what they’ve been through tonight.” “Yeah, man, but it’s decision time.” Beth ended the discussion: “Let’s go to the shelter.” As they drove off to the unknown perils of the Bronx, Peter kept thinking: ‘Well, at least the landlord dispute is over.’
