Some cops he drank with, Roy and Bruce, liked to laugh about it because they had the idea that firefighters didn’t do much besides look like heroes and take all the spotlight. But Arthur didn’t think it was any kind of funny that an arsonist was getting up in the middle of the night to start and fan blazes. First, at the middle school where Arthur dropped his son, Oliver off every morning. Then two days ago it was out at the Walmart parking lot in the middle of the day. Yesterday it had been a cluster of leaves in the drained swimming pool at Veteran’s Park. When they threw sand on the small tongues of flame, Riles laughed. He fished an Iron Man action figure, melted and deformed, out of the blaze. Put that shit down, Arthur said. That’s not that funny.
Tonight he and Riles drowned the fire out on a burning reelection campaign poster. Again, Riles and the boys were all laughing about how funny it was, while Arthur just shook his head. And he spit. Every Halloween it was something, Arthur thought in the gray early morning when he was driving home. Wasn’t the world scary enough the way it was? Lights in the sky, poverty, and nuclear aggressions weren’t enough? Arthur thought about his own self. He was scared when he thought about the world. Damn scared when he thought about the lights in the sky.
When Arthur pulled up to the house he paused before using the garage door clicker. Out of batteries, the box of plastic was unresponsive. When he got out, walked the distance up the driveway and to the door, he noticed the lights were on inside. He filled himself up with wind and he squared up his shoulders. Then when he opened the garage he found Oliver, looking scared. He had his warm jacket on and Arthur’s aluminum can of gas in one hand and Arthur’s framed medals in the other. Sonuvabitch, he said with the shallow breath left in him. -FM
El Golpe Avisa 