Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

another of compressed paraffin-soaked sawdust, and scattered the chunks through some cardboard and packing material that was heaped between the two houses.
    When only a handful was left, he pulled a quart bottle of gasoline out of a deep coat pocket. Using all but about half a cup from the bottle, he saturated the loose pile of trash. Next he pulled over a cracked, battered plastic trash can that stood drunkenly in back of Cosmic Energy. Then he gathered enough other cardboard debris to make the kind of bonfire that homeless people started on nights like these to keep warm. In case the local cops couldn’t figure that angle out on their own, he shoved all the trash into the can, emptied the rest of the gas on it, threw in the bottle, added more paper, and lit it off. As soon as the flames bit down into the gasoline, the fire settled in to burn hot and bright.
    He counted to sixty and pushed over the can with his foot. Flaming trash flowed out toward Cosmic Energy like a dragon’s forked tongue. The back of the old clapboard house started to burn like the tinder it was. Another part of the tongue flicked out hungrily, licking toward the gasoline-soaked pile between the two houses.
    He was three blocks away before the two fires joined.

Newport Beach
    Very early Friday morning
28
    L acey and Ian woke up in a nightmarish clarity of adrenaline and smoke pouring through the open window.
    Fire.
    Neither knew who yelled it first. Their feet slapped on the wooden floor at the same time.
    “Call 911!” Lacey said, grabbing for the fire extinguisher she kept by the bed.
    Ian snatched up the bedside phone, punched in the numbers, and went through the maddening and necessary protocol of name, address, phone number, reason for call, etc., etc. While he answered questions, he yanked on jeans, shoes, and weapon harness. As he clipped his cell phone to his jeans, the emergency operator asked him to repeat the information.
    “Play back the tape, I’m busy,” he said and threw the receiver on the bedside table. He stuck his head out the bedroom window to measurethe fire. “Oh shit, oh dear. Lacey!” he hollered. “We’ve got to move your car. Where are the keys?”
    “On the hook by the back door. I’ll get them.”
    “Do it before the car is toast.” And so are we if that gas tank blows up in our faces.
    Lacey didn’t answer. She just grabbed the keys and shot back out in the alley. Ian snatched her sandals and his shirt for her to wear and ran down the stairs. He paused long enough in the kitchen to snag some dish towels and another fire extinguisher. When he got outside, Lacey had just finished moving the car and was running back up the alley toward him. He dumped everything but the towels near the extinguisher she’d abandoned to get the car away from the flames.
    “Put these on so you don’t get cut up or burned,” he said.
    White-faced, she jammed on her sandals, pulled his T-shirt on, and bent down to pick up the fire extinguisher. Soon the whoosh of carbon dioxide and chemicals spewed out of the canister again. A tongue of flame snaked around the back corner of the shop, met a blast of foam, sputtered, and died. She followed the flame back to its source, a scattering of trash blown by the wind. Then she went to work on the next out-rider of fire climbing up the side of her shop.
    “There’s a hose by the back steps,” she yelled to Ian.
    “Got it.”
    While she chased bold flames, he turned on the water and braced the nozzle so that liquid sprayed over the side of her shop and the aisle of burning trash between the two buildings. It was better than pissing on it, but not much.
    Where are the lights and sirens, damn it!
    Too much fire. Not enough time.
    Grimly he soaked the kitchen towels in water. As smoke masks went, it was like the hose—better than nothing, but not much.
    “Don’t go back in the shop,” Ian said as he headed for the old clapboard house next door. “I’ll go around to the front and make sure your neighbor’s out.”
    Lacey’s mouth was too dry to answer. She’d seen another licking swirl of orange glide up the side of her shop beneath the veil of water. Heart hammering, hands sweating, she pointed the extinguisher nozzle and fired. Chemicals mixed with the biting smell of smoke. With every spurtfrom the nozzle she thanked her grandfather’s paranoia about fire. When this extinguisher died, she had four more big ones inside.
    Surely by the time these are used up, the fire