Mohawk

the other. “Step away, miss.”
    “He’ll fall. He’s hurt.”
    “Drunk, you mean.”
    “No. Come look at his head.”
    “I’m staying right here, and you’re staying right there.”
    His partner hadn’t budged. “Look at his goddamn face,” he said.
    The radio in the police car barked off and on. Randallstill heard sirens, but they were fading. “Call!” said the man with the gun. His partner finally got into the car and rolled up the window as if he were embarrassed about what he had to say and didn’t want anyone to hear, not even his partner.
    Randall felt himself slip in and out of awareness. The policeman with the gun was now looking at the trailer door. The streaks of blood had dried brown, but there was no doubting what they were. The policeman looked first at the door, then at the dead officer twenty yards away at the treeline. “Jesus,” he said.
    His partner was a long time in the car, and looked disgusted and scared when he finally returned. “We won’t be getting no help.”
    The policeman lowered the gun and turned. “Why the hell not?”
    “Everybody’s up to the hospital. The son-of-a-bitch is burnin’ down. I can’t raise nobody.”
    “So what the hell are
we
supposed to do?”
    “We could toss ’em in the car and head over there ourself. Captain’s there. Everybody’s there.”
    “What about Gaff?”
    “Gaff’s dead.”
    “But I mean, Jesus Christ—”
    “We should go to the hospital,” the girl said. “My boyfriend needs a doctor.”
    The two young policemen looked at each other. Clearly they were thankful for advice. Anybody’s. “Go look at his head,” said the policeman with the gun, again waving it at Randall. “And stay off to the side.”
    The young man approached Randall as he would a snake. Randall managed to stay on his feet until the young cop had a good look. Then his legs went. Next thing he knew, they were all in the back seat of themoving vehicle. Himself. The girl. The baby. The two policemen were up front, the steel grill in between providing their security. The driver braked suddenly to avoid something in the road. “What the hell?” he said.
    “Drunks,” said his partner.
    “Didn’t look it.”
    “Keep going,” the younger cop said. “We already got trouble enough.”

57
    All in all, the fire at the new hospital is disappointing. From the outset it’s obvious that despite the rather impressive columns of flame, the firemen will soon contain the blaze in a single wing. The drive has been barricaded too far up for spectators to enjoy the full effect. Inevitably they draw comparisons between this blaze and the razing of the Nathan Littler, which everyone agrees was high drama. There is little danger here, since the fire broke out in the maintainance wing.
    The crowd can only encourage the flames to leap into the night sky. Their Saturday night has been prolonged, and they’re thankful for the diversion. Some have brought bottles. “Don’t let it go out ’til I get back,” people say, hurrying home to call friends and neighbors or to stock up. Within half an hour, their number has quadrupled and grown festive. The Velvet Pussycat has emptied out, and the other bars are closed. Some of those gathered had come with injuries, hoping to be sewn up and gauzed, but what they find is even better. Bottles of cheap whiskey circulate and their complaints are forgotten.
    When the two policemen on the barricades are called away, a phalanx of drunks picks up the sawhorses and moves forward with them, ropes and all, stopping onlywhen the breeze shifts and brings them a blast of heat from the fire. Women hike their skirts and climb onto the shoulders of their men for a better view, which also gives some boys a better view.
    A police car pokes slowly through the crowd, and the restraining ropes are lifted by two self-proclaimed valets who direct the driver with exaggerated, sweeping gestures. In the back seat sit a young woman with a child and a young man slumped over her lap. People peer in, hoping to identify them, but it’s dark and the riders too huddled.
    “What’s with them,” somebody asks.
    “None of your business,” says the driver. Then, to his partner, “Better lock up.” Once inside the ropes, the younger cop gets out and heads up the hill to find an officer who can tell him what to do.
    At this point a drum of something flammable ignites in the maintainance wing, and broken glass showers out into the night, all the way to