Page 74 of On Fire

People shout, not from panic, but because it’s so damn loud. There are two more fire trucks pulling up on scene probably from Union and at least twenty-five police and plainclothes cars. I’ve never been involved in anything this big.

Police are blocking off the road at either end.

I do my job. I concentrate on putting out the fire. If there are any other chemicals or bombs in there, they could be heat sensitive. The last thing we want is another fatality.

And there’s the fact that this fatality doesn’t feel good. Nic was afraid the guy would off himself. He said he had a feeling. Nic is about justice and Jim Graham just bucked the system.

΅

It takes about half an hour to kill the fire. Nic and I both read the TWGBSI manual the past week, though we never had a chance to compare notes. The Technical Working Group for Bombing Scene Investigation put together a pretty damn good read.

The van lies on its side, almost completely obliterated, a burnt shell of its former self. Every single piece of material will have to be collected and agents in the field are already mapping out a trajectory for where debris may have landed.

My job is safety. I put in a call to utilities to ask about power lines near here or sewer that could have been hit.

Twice I catch glimpses of Nic talking with Carlson, Sessions, and several suits I don’t know. But my mind has to stay focused. I’m in trouble once this adrenaline wears off. May have to resort to black coffee.

Jackson comes up at one point when I’m checking pressure and shouts in my ear. “I have something,” and then tilts his head Nic’s direction.

Nic nods in return.

What could he have? And who the fuck cares. This asshole is gone. Obliterated by his own hate. I’m not bitter. Just pissed. He should have stood trial, been humiliated, gone to prison. Paid his dues.

But no. He hit a switch. Easy way out. Chicken shit.