A stiff September breeze was blowing from the north, carrying a hint of rain. Quiet night weather, Stephanie thought, neither fair enough to invite rowdy behavior, nor foul enough to increase the risk of accidents.
She was starting the shift behind the wheel. She had made sure of that, climbing into the drivers seat while Joel was still grabassing around the station with his buddies. She actually preferred to be the attending, and letting her partners drive, but she took a bit of wicked delight in pulling rank on him. She only had a few months seniority on him, but it still counted. He was new to the crew as well, having transferred over from the Riverside station. All the more reason to resent his cocky attitude.
While she waited, she pulled down the visor and checked herself in the mirror. She was debating whether or not to get a haircut. Generally, she kept it short, but with autumn arriving, she thought she might continue to let it grow.
Looking at herself, she pondered if, at thirty two, she looked any different than she had at twenty two. It didn't seem so. One thing about the job, it kept you in good shape. She'd always been slender, but over the years, she had actually gotten pretty buff.
Finally, Joel came out of the clubhouse. As he crossed the parking bays Stephanie thought, too bad he's such a jerk, he's pretty good looking himself. She'd seen him washing down the vehicles wearing only a pair of bike shorts. If appearance was all that mattered, he was definitely someone she would consider hooking up with.
He shot her a sour look when he saw her waiting for him in the drivers seat, but he couldn't argue with her about that now, their first call had come in. They needed to roll.
"Granny down?" he asked, as Stephanie pulled out of the station.
"Yeah, over at the Garden Square Apartments. I'm not sure, but if it's the one I think it is, she's a frequent flyer."
"Hypochondriac?"
Stephanie shrugged. "She's eighty something years old. I don't doubt that any of her complaints are real."
"But not serious enough to call in?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
The sun was low in the west. It would be gone in an hour. For now, it cast an amber autumn glow over the city.
It was a short run; they were there in a few minutes. A slight woman in a hairnet and pink housedress stood just inside the front door, wringing her hands.
"It's Mrs. Dunlap, in 4A," she said as the paramedics entered the foyer. Stephanie knew that, but thanked her anyway. Joel led the way to the apartment. The door was slightly ajar. He rapped once, than stepped inside.
The room smelled of bacon grease and dirty laundry. Mrs. Dunlap lay on the sofa, turned on her right side. She was wearing a threadbare nightgown and one fuzzy pink slipper. The other slipper was half hidden beneath the sofa.
Joel dropped to one knee beside her. "Can you tell me your name, dearie?" he asked.
"Her name is Mrs. Dunlap," the woman from the foyer said, peering in around the doorframe, "I told you that."
"We need her to tell us if she can," Stephanie said gently.
The woman on the sofa confirmed that she was, in fact, Margaret Dunlap.
"How old are you, Martha?" Joel asked.
"Eighty five."
Joel opened his bag and got out his equipment. He checked her vital signs. "Are you in any pain?"
"My hip hurts like the dickens," she groaned.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"I was putting my dinner plate in the kitchen sink," she said between heavy breaths, "When I stepped back I slipped and fell right on my rear end. Maybe the floor was wet. I don't know."
"Alright," he said, "If you don't mind, I'm going to take a look."
He reached for the hem of her nightgown, but she pushed his hand away. "No, don't... please," she begged.
Stephanie moved closer. "Why don't you go out to the ambulance and call this in" she said, "I'll take over here."
"I got it," Joel said.
Stephanie pressed her toes into the side of his leg. "Joel, I'll take it from here."
Joel shot her an annoyed look, but rose and left the room. She took his place beside the sofa.
"Mrs. Dunlap, I need to look at the hip and see how badly it's hurt before we can move you."
"You don't have to. My daughter is coming. She's going to take me to the urgent care place. I can't afford no ambulance to the hospital."
"Okay, that's your right. But I'd still like to take a look at your hip and let her know how badly you're hurt."
Mrs. Dunlap sniffled and nodded. Stephanie gently slipped her night dress up to her waist. A deep purple bruise showed above and below the edges of her underpants. Stephanie slipped her fingers under the waistband and took a quick look beneath them.
"I'm going to touch the sore places," she said, almost whispering, "I'll be as careful as I can. You'll let me know if it hurts too much, okay?"
"Okay."
Stephanie laid her hand tenderly on the purple flesh. Moving slowly and carefully, she felt the entire bruised area. Mrs. Dunlap grunted a time or two, but did not object.
"Mom?" a loud voice called from the hallway. A moment later, a young woman rushed into the room. "Mom, are you okay?"
"She's badly bruised, but nothing seems to be broken," Stephanie said.
"Come on, Mom," the woman said, holding out her hand, "I'll take you to the clinic." She helped her mother to a sitting position, causing her to cry out in pain.
"I'm not sure how well she can walk," Stephanie said, "She might be better off if we put her on a gurney..."
"Uh uh," the woman barked, "You'll probably charge her a thousand dollars for the ride. You people are vultures."
Stephanie, still on her knees, picked up the stray slipper from the floor and slid it on to Mrs. Dunlap's foot. She stood and watched helplessly as the old woman draped an arm over her daughter's shoulder and they limped together from the room.
"You're welcome," she muttered under her breath.
She followed them into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind her. Once outside, she stood by while Mrs. Dunlap struggled into the front seat of her daughter's car.
Joel was leaning against the side of the ambulance waiting for her. "So, she's going to Doc In A Box?"
Stephanie shrugged. "Yeah."
"So why'd you kick me out of there? That wasn't cool."
"She wasn't going to let a man lift her gown and look at her hip," Stephanie said, "And don't call elderly women 'dearie.' It's condescending."
"It's being nice."
"You can be nice and behave in a professional manner at the same time," she said, walking around to the driver's door.
"Hey, why don't you let me drive? We can take turns on each run."
Stephanie ignored him and climbed into the drivers seat. She called into Dispatch and told them they were cleared for another run. When told they were on stand-by, Joel suggested they take the opportunity to make a pit stop.
"We just got started," Stephanie said.
"Yeah, but I was in a rush and didn't get a chance to eat."
So get to work on time, Stephanie thought. "What's near by?" she asked.
"Quick Stop Market, over on Monroe."
"Good coffee?"
"Yeah."
"Clean bathroom?"
"Clean as you can expect, I suppose."
Stephanie nodded, then followed Joel's directions to the market. She pulled into the empty parking lot, called in their location, then cut the engine.
A short, swarthy man looked at them from behind the counter as they entered.
"Bathroom?" Stephanie asked.
"Customer only," the man barked.
Stephanie saw the rest room sign over a door on the back wall. She ignored him and went to it.
When she came out, Joel was at the counter, paying for his purchases. She crossed to the coffee dispenser and prepared herself a cup.
"Christ," Joel asked when she had finished, "How many sugars did you put in there?"
Stephanie shrugged. "It's not like they let us take speed."
Joel held a brown paper bag in one hand and a slice of pepperoni pizza on a paper plate in the other. "The coffee is on me," he said. He pushed the door open with his hip and stepped outside.
Stephanie followed him. He dropped the paper plate in a trash can and folded the pizza over. By the time they reached the ambulance, he had devoured it.
"Thanks for the coffee," she said as she climbed into the cab.
"You're welcome," he said, setting the bag down between his feet. He pulled out a can of Red Bull and popped the tab. After taking a long drink, he said, "See, I'm a damn prince. I don't know why you don't like to ride with me."
Stephanie hesitated before she replied. "I just don't think we work together well," she said.
"You nitpick at me. Like kicking me out on that call. I mean, okay, you're right about I should have been more sensitive, but you didn't have to embarrass me like that."
"Alright, fair enough."
"But I'm still calling old ladies 'dearie'. Shit, you're older than me, I might start calling you that."
"I might start calling you douchebag."
"Join the club," he said. He laughed and Stephanie couldn't help laughing with him.
The radio blared.
Unit Seventeen. Possible drug overdose. Wentworth Apartments, 5044 MLK Boulevard. Apartment 2-C. Please respond.
Joel replied. "We're on it, Dispatch."
The Wentworth may have been a grand place when it was built a century earlier, but it had seen decades of neglect and abuse.
"Welcome to the Hotel California," Joel said as Stephanie parked at the curb. He jumped out of the door before she had come to a complete stop.
A group of teenagers were hanging around the front door.
"Yo, it's the meat wagon," one of them shouted.
"The horizontal taxi," another chimed in.
They scattered as Joel rushed past them. Stephanie was a few steps behind. He was nearly to the top of the stairs, taking them two at a time, by the time she came through the door.
Stephanie followed more cautiously. Some of the steps were rotted and felt like they might give way.
She entered the apartment. A man lay on his side between a tattered sofa and a coffee table cluttered with empty bottles and fast food containers. He was unconscious, but his right arm was twitching rapidly. Joel was already pulling the table away, sending most of its contents tumbling to the floor.
An emaciated woman wearing nothing but a raggedy nightshirt and a big burly man in sweatpants and a tank top stood in an archway between the living room and kitchen. She was sobbing; he was sputtering a string of curse words. When he saw the table's content scatter around the room, he shouted as if in pain, stepped into the living room and dropped to his knees.
