CHAPTER 38
I used two of the gas containers to give the wood a good soaking and carried the third over to a rectangular border of light some thirty-odd feet to my right. I figured that light border was the same door I had tried to open from the street—the one Uretsky had promised was unlocked. Trying the knob, I found the door opened easily from the inside. A little bit of light spilled into the room, and that was when I noticed a stairwell to the other floors directly in front of me. Even though the pallets would burn for just a minute, I figured I should check the second and third floors for any people, as I had on the first.
I noticed the time before heading up.
Five minutes.
I climbed the rickety steps quickly, nervous that the flimsy boards would splinter from my weight. I got out on the second floor and shone my flashlight into the darkness. The upper level was a twin to the one below it. I jumped at the sight of a fat, hairy brown rat as it scurried in and out of my flashlight beam. I had a feeling it would escape the flames just fine. The wood floor creaked and groaned under my weight, and I wondered just how quickly it would burn if it caught fire. Very quickly, I decided.
But it won’t catch fire, because the fire department will get here in less than two minutes.
“Hello!” I shouted. “Anybody here? I’m not the police. Please answer me!”
I trained my flashlight on a few scattered piles of debris, just like below, but no movement. Again, only my echo answered back. I called out once more, and I waited—waited—but no answer. I looked at my watch.
Four minutes.
I raced up to the next level, the top level, and to save time, only popped my head out of the stairwell and repeated my call.
“Hello? Anybody here?”
My voice spilled into the darkness. I listened a few seconds for rustling noises, any movement at all, but heard nothing. As I descended the stairs, the powerful odor of gasoline reminded me I wasn’t a concerned citizen on the lookout for people in danger, but rather the person about to set a fire that would put them in harm’s way. Taking Uretsky’s suggestion, I made a trail of gasoline from the wood pallets to the door as quick as I could. When I exited the warehouse, I had to blink until my eyes adjusted to the light. My breathing was labored from all the gas vapors still swimming in my lungs.
I saw Ruby across the street, standing in position.
I held up my right hand—Get ready.
I checked my watch.
Two minutes until the deadline.
I lowered my hand as though starting a drag race. Ruby pulled the fire alarm, and I expected to hear a piercing shrill, but there was no sound at all. I reset my stopwatch and started it again. Five seconds later—ten at the most—I heard the sound of sirens in the distance. Ruby looked at me with a fresh concern. I couldn’t believe how fast the fire department had responded.
I struck a match and let it drop. I stood in the doorway with my mouth agape and watched as the burning trail of gasoline wound its way across the floor on a collision course with the gas-soaked pile of wood pallets. In an instant the darkness of the warehouse erupted into a bright and blinding fireball. There was a powerful whoosh sound as all the air in the room seemed to get sucked toward the flame.
A ball of fire shot upward, licking at the varnish on the wood ceiling above. Flames crackled and spit angrily in all directions. Soon I couldn’t see the wood pallets anymore. Smoke began to billow up from the fire and unfurled across the ceiling like a noxious black tide.
Meanwhile, the sirens from a fleet of fire engines sounded louder— help was on its way. Ruby and I needed to make our getaway, and fast. We couldn’t be seen anywhere near the fire I had just set. I raced across the street and grabbed hold of Ruby’s arm.
“Start walking,” I said, pulling down my handkerchief, taking it from a disguise to part of my wardrobe. “Just act normal. Just be natural.”
Of course, I was breathing heavy and hard on our leisurely stroll—nothing at all natural about that.
I could see the fire engines coming, racing toward us.
Take that, Uretsky!
Ruby and I walked nonchalantly down West Third, thinking the fire trucks would zoom right past, but before they reached our location, the trucks took a sharp right turn onto C Street as if headed for City Point, a Southie neighborhood near Castle Island. I looked behind me and saw black smoke seeping out of the warehouse’s broken first-floor window.
“John, what’s going on?” Ruby asked. The sirens began to fade off into the distance. “Why aren’t they going to the fire?”
My phone rang.
I answered the call.
“We’ve done what you’ve wanted,” I said. I didn’t have to ask who was on the other end of the line. I just knew. “Where’s Winnie? Let her go.”
“Aren’t you wondering why the fire trucks aren’t coming to save the day?” Uretsky asked.
My legs went weak.
Uretsky spoke again. “Did you know that when an alarm is struck, the fire department automatically dispatches three engine companies and two ladder trucks to the scene?”
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Where is Winnie?”
Uretsky ignored my questions. “Did you know that South Boston has two engine companies and two ladder trucks total? Total! A third engine would come from Columbia Road, maybe even Edward Everett Square.”
“Stop playing games!” I shouted, shaking. “Where is Winnie?”
Uretsky went on speaking. “But if two fires break out at the same time, the fire department won’t divert the trucks from one fire scene to another. The second call could be anything—a false alarm, even. Can’t risk sending engines from a real fire to a fake one. So if all the engines in South Boston are tied up answering a call when another fire in Southie breaks out, the dispatchers will send engine companies and ladder trucks from another firehouse farther away. Just so you know, the closest ones to you are on Harrison Avenue in the South End and maybe Atlantic Avenue in the financial district.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked.
“Because it’s going to take at least another ten minutes for the engines from those locations to reach the fire you just started. Now, I bet you didn’t think I’d set another fire in City Point right before your deadline hit.”
My stomach clenched. I had to hold on to a parked car for balance.
“Too bad for Winnie,” Uretsky said.
“What . . . what have you done?”
Uretsky made a little “tsk” sound with his mouth, as though he needed to recall some details that had gotten away from him. “Let’s see. . . . Oh, that’s right. . . . I gave Winnie a big narcotic cocktail and left her unconscious on the first floor of the warehouse that you just set on fire. I tucked her behind the big pile of trash nearest to the pallets, but I’m pretty sure the fire department won’t reach her in time. Well, at least she’ll die in her sleep—unless, of course, you go back to save her. Once again, I’m wishing you good luck, John. This time, you’re really going to need it.”
I looked behind me. Black smoke poured from the warehouse window. I watched as the smoke rose like the fingers of the devil’s outstretched hand, reaching up to scratch and scar a beautiful and cloudless sky.