Craig Brice, Master Plumber
By Patricia Embury

"Roy, do you know the name of a good plumber?" John asked as he sat down at the kitchen table of Station 51. He dropped the Greater Los Angeles Area Yellow Pages on the table, then shoved the newspaper towards Roy.

"What’s wrong?" asked Roy. He glanced at the closest section as he sipped his coffee.

"My toilet’s been running. Damn thing kept me up half the night," John said disgustedly. "I found some water around the bottom of it, too."

Roy smirked. "Welcome to the not-so-bright-side of owning a home. This is your first major problem since you bought that old place, isn’t it?"

John glared at Roy. "Yeah."

"And you’ve been in there how long?"

"Three weeks."

"Well, you said it needed a little work when you bought it." Roy grinned evilly and raised his mug to his lips. "Makes me glad you sold us the place Joanne and I originally wanted. Sounds like yours is living up to its ‘Handyman’s Special’ designation."

"Can I help it if I liked this one better?" John asked testily. "I’m glad I saw it in time to back out of the other deal." After a moment, he sighed and shrugged. "I guess I should expect little stuff like this to pop up from time to time. I’ve been so focused on patching the roof and fixing the holes in the walls, I forgot about some of the other stuff that can happen." He flipped through the phone book. "Here we go." John ran his finger down the listings. "Plants, Plastics, Plating, Playing Cards, Plumbers. See Plumbing Contractors." John flipped the page as the members of the engine crew walked into the kitchen.

"How was it?" asked Roy.

Marco shrugged as he walked towards the stove. He picked up the coffee pot and stared inside. He swirled it slightly and poured the last cupful into a mug. "Nothing major. Somebody threw a firecracker inside a dumpster behind the supermarket on Alameda." Marco put the pot back on the stove. "Flames were shooting out of it when we got there."

"The smell was awful," added Chet as he wrinkled his nose at the memory. "Especially the burning lettuce."

"Yeah," added Mike. "It smelled like my last girlfriend’s attempt at making BLTs. She thought she had to cook the lettuce with the bacon."

Marco looked incredulously at Mike. "Cook the lettuce? I thought everybody knew you don’t cook lettuce."

Mike shrugged. "She didn’t. But, her cooking wasn’t the main reason I asked her out, anyway." He grinned smugly and walked to the stove. He grabbed a mug and started to pour a cup of coffee. The grin disappeared when nothing came out of the pot. He looked at Marco’s cup, then at the empty pot.

Johnny raised his eyebrow and stared at Mike. "I never thought I’d hear you say something like that."

"Why not, Gage?" asked Mike. "I may be quiet, but I’m not dead." He sighed and started to make a new pot of coffee.

Johnny grinned and shook his head. He returned his attention to the open book. He ran his finger down the listings. "Here’s one," John said as he nudged Roy’s elbow. "Luca Plumbing," Johnny read aloud. "A friendly, family business established in 1925; Twenty-four hour emergency service; Reasonable rates; Master plumbers Dan and Ed on the premises." Johnny scratched his head and looked at Roy. "They sound like a good choice. What do you think?"

"What do you need a plumber for, Gage?" asked Chet. He sat on the couch and picked up a magazine.

Henry crawled over and put his head on Chet’s lap.

"My toilet’s been running," replied John. "It kept me up all night."

Hank walked into the kitchen, holding a stack of papers.

"Oh. Were you trying to catch it?" Chet asked innocently.

Johnny glared at Chet, as the rest of the men snickered.

"It’s also leaking," added Roy, as he sipped his coffee. He picked up a section of the newspaper and started to read.

"Uh-oh," said Hank. "That could be trouble." He set the papers on the table and ambled over to the stove. He picked up a mug and reached for the pot.

"It’s brewing, Cap," Mike said as he shot an evil glance at Marco.

"What kind of trouble?" asked Johnny, with concern evident in his voice.

Hank put down the coffee mug and faced the table. "My in-laws’ toilet leaked. When the plumber went to fix it, he found that the water had seeped through the floorboards and warped the wood. So, they had to tear up the old linoleum, and replace the subfloor."

"Oh, no!" John muttered with a sick look on his face.

"My in-laws had to pay big bucks," added Hank. "The plumber had to make two trips to their house." He counted the events on his fingers. "First, they had to pay the labor and what he could fix on the first trip. Then they had to spring for a completely new toilet and labor for the second visit. Plus, they had to pay a carpenter to install a new subfloor. They had to pay for the new linoleum, and the flooring guy to put it in. Man," said Hank, "sometimes I think I picked the wrong career."

"Oh, no," Johnny repeated softly. "What am I gonna do?"

"Come on, Gage," said Chet. "You have to think positively." He shrugged. "It sounds like you may have caught it quickly, so there might not be any damage to your floor. You may not even have to call a plumber. You probably just need to replace the ballcock valve or the tank ball mechanism. Have you noticed any cracks in the toilet?"

Johnny shook his head solemnly. "No."

"You might have to replace the wax ring the base of the toilet is seated on, too. You can do it yourself and save a lot of money." He nodded sagely.

"Oh?" asked Johnny. "How do you know all that, Chet?"

"My uncle Lou was a plumber," replied Chet. "I spent a coupla summers working for him when I was in high school. I wanted to be a plumber when I joined the Army, but they transferred me to heavy equipment operating instead."

"So how did you end up being a firefighter?" asked Roy.

"I didn’t want to drive a bulldozer for the rest of my life," replied Chet. "The Firefighting exam was being given a couple of months after I got home. I worked in a convenience store for a while, and studied for the test in my off time. I took it, and here I am." He shrugged nonchalantly.

Henry rolled onto his back. He yawned and thumped his tail on the sofa while Chet scratched his belly.

"I’m surprised you didn’t go to work for your uncle," said Marco.

"I would have apprenticed with him, but he had a heart attack and sold the business right before I got home," replied Chet. "If you want, Gage, I can help you fix your toilet. It won’t be that hard."

"You would help me?" Johnny asked skeptically.

"You’re not gonna booby-trap it on him, are you?" asked Roy.

"No, Roy," replied Chet patiently. "The Phantom only strikes at the station." He grinned wickedly.

Johnny glared at Roy. "Are you sure about this?" he asked Chet.

"Sure I’m sure, Gage," sighed Chet. "I can’t do it tomorrow, but I can come over Friday. I’ll give you a list of what you should get at the hardware store."

"Thanks, Chet!" Johnny brightened visibly as he closed the phone book. "I appreciate the help."

"Now that we’ve settled that little problem," said Hank, "let’s start reviewing the new code updates." He passed leaflets around the table.

###

John sat on the couch of the Doctor’s Lounge at Rampart, and sipped a cup of coffee. He intently studied a small sheet of paper as Craig Brice and his partner, Bob Bellingham, entered the room.

"Hey, Gage!" greeted Bob. "What’s up?" He made a beeline for the coffee pot and poured himself a steaming cup.

Johnny continued to stare silently at the list.

Bob glanced at Brice, then walked over to John. He waved his hand in front of John’s face. "Earth to Gage. Come in, John Gage. Is anybody home?"

John looked up at Bob. "Huh?" He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn’t notice you guys were here."

"What’cha readin’?" asked Bob. He gestured to the paper John held.

"A list of supplies I need for a project," replied John. He cleared his throat and took another sip of coffee.

"Oh?" asked Brice as he washed a coffee mug in the sink. "What kind of project? I understand you recently purchased a ‘Handyman’s Special’. I believe it was an old farmhouse, correct?"

Johnny nodded, hesitantly. "Yeah, Craig," He wrinkled his forehead. "How did you find out?"

"DeSoto mentioned it at the last Paramedic meeting." Craig poured himself a cup of coffee. "I find the whole process of home construction fascinating. I’m particularly impressed with older homes. They just don’t build them like they used to." He sighed. "Real hardwood floors, high ceilings, gumwood trim, leaded glass doors, knotty pine cabinets." He smiled nostalgically. "That’s craftsmanship. Not what you find today. When was your house built?"

"Sometime around 1910-1920, I think," John answered. "It had been in the previous owner’s family for years. Either his father or grandfather built the place, and had a big farm. As the years went on, they sold most of the land. Now there’s just a house, a barn, and a couple of acres. They did some updating, but they pretty much abandoned it when the family had to put the old guy into a nursing home. The son’s company transferred him to another city about a year ago, so there’s been nobody around to keep the place up. They put it on the market to help pay the old guy’s medical bills." Johnny shrugged. "I’ve only got a leaky toilet. It won’t stop running, and I’ve seen water around the base. Chet," Johnny gestured to Craig with the list, "said he’d help me fix it."

"Kelly is going to help you fix your toilet?" Craig sputtered. Coffee spilled onto the floor. He got a sheet of toweling from the dispenser and wiped the spill.

"Yeah," said Johnny, trying to hide the grin that crept across his face, "his uncle was a plumber. Chet used to help him out from time to time."

"Gage," sighed Brice, "you can’t trust something as important as an antique toilet to someone who ‘helped out from time to time’. You need a qualified professional."

"Why should I hire somebody to fix something I can do myself?" challenged John. "Do you know how much a ‘qualified professional’ charges?"

"I believe the going rate is..." started Brice.

"Listen, Brice," interrupted Johnny. "I need to save money where I can. Chet said that all I had to do was replace the wax ring and probably the little flushy thing inside the bowl. It doesn’t sound that hard."

"You mean the ballcock valve and tank flush assembly," corrected Brice as he sipped his coffee. "And it’s in the tank, not the bowl."

"Whatever." Johnny sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Brice," said Bob. "A toilet’s a toilet."

"No, Bellingham," sighed Brice. "A toilet is not a toilet. You might not be able to find the correct parts for an older model. Plumbing fixtures have changed over the years, and are much easier to install now."

"And I take it you’ve installed plumbing fixtures?" asked Johnny, skeptically.

"Yes, Gage," said Brice as he pushed his glasses up his nose. "As a part of my volunteer work for Habitat for Humanity, I’ve put up drywall, roughed-in and installed toilets and sinks, and done some framing and roofing." He looked at Johnny’s puzzled expression. "Habitat for Humanity is a new organization that builds homes for those who are less fortunate. The pastor of my church got a group together to help out with a local project. It’s a very rewarding experience. Maybe you’d like to come with us some day?"

"Maybe," Johnny shrugged uncomfortably. "I...I have a lot of work to do around my house. There’re holes to patch in the plaster; the roof leaks in a couple of spots, and I’ve got the barn to clean out and fix up so I can bring my horse out here."

"I’d be happy to help you fix your toilet," said Brice, "and the rest of your house, for that matter. If you insist on doing it yourself, I have the knowledge and expertise that could save you from a costly mistake."

"You’re kidding me, right?" John asked, astonished. He glanced at Bellingham, who just shrugged.

"No, Gage, this is a sincere offer of assistance." Craig sipped his coffee again. "I love older homes, and consider refurbishing them a hobby that I could turn into a second career upon retirement. Your house would be my first attempt at restoration of a classic home. I would be...grateful for the experience."

John studied Brice for a moment, skimmed the list, then handed it to him. "Okay. Chet’s coming over around noon on Friday. Does this look like everything we’ll need?"

Brice quickly scanned the list and returned it to Johnny. "It appears to be complete." His handie-talkie beeped three times.

"Squad 16, what is your status?"

Brice put the coffee cup on the counter. He extended the antenna on his H.T. "Squad 16, available."

"Squad 16, Man down, 185 Eastman Avenue. One-eight-five Eastman. Cross street, Lake. Time out, 1545."

"Squad 16, 10-4," Brice shoved the antenna down. He looked at Johnny as Roy entered the lounge. "Noon on Friday, it is. I’ll call you when we get back from this run for directions to your house."

"Okay," said Johnny as he stood up. "Thanks! I’ll...ah, see ya later." John dumped the remains of the coffee down the sink and set the mug on the counter as Brice and Bellingham left the lounge.

"What was that all about?" asked Roy.

"Brice just volunteered to help fix my toilet," John said in amazement. "Turns out, he has an ‘appreciation’ for older homes. Did you know that he helps build houses on his off days?" He put one hand on his chest. "I never knew he built houses in his spare time."

"No, I didn’t." Roy shook his head. "Just make sure you don’t have any sharp objects within reach when he comes over."

"Why’s that?" asked Johnny, suspiciously.

Roy smiled mischievously. "I’d hate to have to bail you out of jail for killing him."

John put his hands on his hips and sighed. "I’m not gonna kill him." He shrugged and grinned. "Maybe he won’t be that bad if he’s doing somethin’ he likes."

"Yeah, right," Roy said flatly. "Come on, Johnny." He gestured towards the door. "Let’s go. We’ve gotta finish drying the hoses before dinner."

"Right." Johnny followed Roy out of the lounge.

###

"Good morning, Gage," Brice said cheerily as he walked past Johnny into the foyer. "I’m terribly sorry for arriving early. You did say that Kelly would be here at 1200 hours, correct?"

Johnny looked at his watch and closed the heavy oak door. "Brice, it’s ten minutes to twelve. You’re not that early. Don’t worry about it."

Brice carried a long, grey metal toolbox that he set on the floor. He looked around with an appraising eye. "Just look at that," he said as he lovingly fingered the wooden panels of the back of the door. "Notice the detail in the etching of the glass inserts. Beautiful...just beautiful." Craig stood on his toes to touch the white molding that framed the top of the walls. "Crown moldings," he murmured. He looked down at the heavily varnished floorboards. "That looks like oak, too. It was a common flooring material used in construction of homes prior to 1950." Craig looked at Johnny. "Is it?"

Johnny shrugged. "I don’t know. The realtor said it was hardwood."

Brice looked at the stairs leading to the second floor. "No railing." He peered at Johnny over his glasses. "Definitely a safety hazard, especially if you ever have children."

"The previous owner removed the banister after one of his grandkids broke it," replied Johnny. "He never had the chance to replace it."

Brice put a workboot-clad foot on one of the stairs and climbed up and down. The stairs squeaked as Brice put his weight on them. "We’ll have to install a new railing and more closely examine this staircase. The gluing and nailing of your staircase may have been poor quality, or it could have been built from scrap lumber. At any rate, you might have to re-nail some of them, possibly insert wedges, or even replace some of the stairs. I noticed the steps leading up to the porch have settled unevenly. We’ll have to tear them out and replace them."

"Yeah, I, ah, had that on my ‘to-do’ list," sighed John.

Brice walked into the living room, which opened off the foyer. A ladder leaned against one wall. A bedsheet was draped over an old, overstuffed sofa and a rickety coffee table. Lamps stood on small square tables located on either side of the sofa. A television sat on a small cart in the far corner of the room beside a red brick fireplace. Dark blue wallpaper with a pineapple print peeled at the seams, revealing a striped pattern beneath it. One wall had been completely stripped. Pockmarks, and some larger holes with exposed wooden planks, were visible in several places. New plaster patches filled some of the larger holes. Brice inspected the torn paper and started to peel it. "No wonder you pulled off some of the plaster. There has to be at least four layers here."

"Five, actually," replied Johnny ruefully as he crossed his arms. "It’s going a little slower than I thought."

Brice inspected the patched areas and looked at Johnny. He nodded approvingly. "Not bad, Gage, for your first try," he said as he ran his finger over a particularly long crack. "Nice, smooth fills that are flush with the wall. You did a nice job."

"Gee," replied Johnny flatly, "thanks." What was it Roy said about sharp objects?

"I mean it, Gage," said Brice, sincerely. "A good plasterer is hard to find. You have a real talent for it." He pointed to a long, jagged crack in the ceiling. "You should be able to fix that without any difficulty."

"Can I get you something to drink?" asked John quickly. He rubbed his nose. "A soda, maybe? Water? Beer?"

"It’s a little early for a beer, Gage," said Brice sternly, "although I may take you up on it when we’re finished. For now, I’m fine, thank you." He walked towards the dining room and examined the fireplace that stood close to a small window. The doorbell rang. "That must be Kelly," said Brice as he looked at his watch. "He’s on time."

"I’ll be right back," said Johnny as he walked out of the room. "Feel free to look around." And point out everything else that needs to be fixed.

###

Craig bent over and peered into the fireplace. Nice and big for those cozy fires. Could make for a romantic evening with the right woman, with the right champagne or wine. Gage could actually become the chick magnet he thinks he is. Uh-oh, the flue’s cracked and blocked. That cozy evening could turn into a not-so-cozy-trip to Rampart with carbon monoxide poisoning if he’s not careful. That doesn’t include the visit from the fire department to extinguish the chimney fire. I believe this is Station 8’s district. In a house this old, the whole place could go up. Hmm. Looks like the blockage may be a bird’s nest...or squirrels.

Craig stood up and meandered into the kitchen. He overheard Johnny greet Chet and invite him in. He looked at the green-striped wallpaper that covered the top half of the walls. The bottom half of three walls was covered with whitewashed paneling. Years of greasy cooking and neglect gave the woodwork a grey sheen. A modern refrigerator stood in one corner. An electric oven stood along the back wall, kitty-corner from the refrigerator. The sparse cupboards along the back wall had been painted white to match the paneling. A large white contraption, that had a roller sandwiched between two covered tubs, stood in the far corner.

Ahh, an old washing machine. Just like the one Granny M. had. I’ll have to examine it more closely to be certain. Craig strolled over to the washer, absent-mindedly trailing his fingers along the paneling. Oh, the times I spent at her house while Mother and Father worked. I’d help her with the laundry while a big pot of Irish stew simmered on the stove. She’d tell me stories of what it was like to live on the farm in Canada. This house reminds me a lot of her. I really miss her. Craig jumped when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to find Johnny and Chet standing beside him.

"Brice?" asked Chet. He carried a battered red toolbox.

Craig pushed his glasses up his nose. "Gage, Kelly, there you are."

"Yeah," Johnny said hesitantly, his brow furrowed. "Chet’s here. Didn’t you hear me yell?"

"No," admitted Craig. "Sorry. I was...studying your paneling and the remarkable lack of cabinets in your kitchen. We’ll have to rip these out and install new ones. I noticed this," he pointed to the washing machine. "Does it work?"

Johnny shrugged. "Beats me. I’m not sure what the heck it even is." He put his hands on his hips. "It was here when I moved in."

"I don’t believe it." Chet set his toolbox on the small kitchen table. He strolled over to the machine and closely inspected it. "It’s an old washing machine, Gage. My grandmother had one of these in her basement. You wash the clothes in here," he pointed to the first tub, "and you squeeze the water out here." Chet pointed to the wringer. "Then the clothes get dumped into here to get rinsed," he pointed to the second tub. He caressed the porcelain and smiled wistfully. "This sure brings back memories."

Craig nodded. "I remember trying to catch the socks before they jammed the wringer."

"You had one too?" asked Chet.

"My grandmother did," replied Craig. "She used it for at least twenty years."

"I wonder where the on/off switch is?" Chet looked around the front and top of the machine.

Craig joined Chet at the washer. "Here it is." He pointed to a small blue dial on the back of the machine.

"Turn it on," urged Chet. "Let’s see if it works."

Craig turned the dial. Nothing happened. He pursed his lips. "Hmm." He studied the machine. "Here’s the problem, Kelly." Craig reached down and picked up the pronged end of the electrical cord. "We forgot to plug it in." Craig inserted the plug into a nearby outlet. "We really should put some water in it, and have an item of clothing inside." He focused on Johnny. "Give me your shirt, Gage. It’s already stained." Craig pointed to a small grease stain on the front of John’s yellow-striped casual shirt.

Johnny looked at his shirt. "It’s not that bad," he protested. "I’ll wash it later."

"Come on, Gage," said Chet. "Be a sport!" He gestured with both hands to the washer. "Do it, for old times sake! Didn’t your grandmother have one of these?"

Johnny pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. "Maybe." He studied the machine for a few minutes. "Hers looked different, though. I think you had to crank the wringer thing by hand, and it only had one tub. And we had to wash the stuff in the tub by hand, since they didn’t have electricity." Johnny unrolled his shirtsleeves, undid the top two buttons and pulled the shirt over his head. He pulled his T-shirt down and handed his stained shirt to Craig.

"Get the bucket from the other room, Gage," ordered Craig, "and fill it with water. Oh, where do you keep your detergent?"

"It’s down in the basement," replied John.

"I’ll get it, and return momentarily," said Craig. "The stairs to the basement are...?"

"Right over there," replied Johnny. He glanced at Chet as he pointed through the small hallway off one part of the kitchen. "Why use detergent anyway?" asked Johnny. "I’m only gonna wash it for real, later." He gestured at the machine. "Besides, you don’t know if this thing’ll work."

Craig sighed. "Listen, Gage, if you don’t catch a stain like this early," he examined the quarter-dollar-sized greasy splotch on the front of Johnny’s shirt, "it’ll set. Then you’ll never get it out."

"So, I’ll...I’ll wash it tonight," stammered Johnny.

"As long as we’re trying out this piece of antiquity, we’ll wash it now," Craig said firmly. "It’s the only way to determine if all of the machine’s features work." He disappeared into the hallway.

###

Johnny quickly brought a large bucket from the living room and filled it with water. He poured the water into the first tub.

Craig poured a small amount of laundry soap onto the spot and rubbed it briskly. He put the shirt into the tub, then poured a capful of detergent into the machine. Craig closed the lid and patted it. "Let ‘er rip, Kelly."

Chet nodded and flipped the switch. The machine sprang to life.

Craig and Chet smiled at each other. "It still works!" grinned Craig. He put his hand on top of the tub to feel the vibration.

"You know, Gage," said Chet, "this old wash tub could be worth something. Maybe you could take it to an antique dealer and sell it."

"Kelly’s right." Craig glanced at Johnny. "This is a real find, Gage. Why the frown?"

Johnny sniffed. "I smell something...burning." He walked around the kitchen, nose to the air.

"It’s all in your mind, Gage," Chet said dismissively. He put his hands on his hips as he watched Johnny prowl the kitchen and the adjoining rooms.

"No, Kelly," said Craig. "I smell something too." He sniffed the air and traced Johnny’s footsteps.

"It’s definitely coming from in here," Johnny said as he returned to the kitchen. "OH, NO!" He pointed at the washer. "Turn...turn...turn it off!"

Chet turned around. Thin plumes of black smoke, followed by growing fingers of flame sprouted from the side of the washing machine.

"Unplug it!" yelled Chet.

Craig pulled the cord out of the outlet as Johnny grabbed a fire extinguisher from a nook beside the refrigerator.

"Get outta the way, Chet!" Johnny pulled the pin and extended the nozzle of the extinguisher. The flames quickly disappeared under the spray, which formed a small puddle beneath the washing machine.

"We’d better open a window to let some of the smoke out," said Chet as he waved his hand around.

Craig bent over to more closely examine the burnt-out control panel.

Johnny put the extinguisher down and opened the kitchen door. "We’re taking that thing outta here!" He walked over to the washer. "I knew I should’ve gotten rid of it when I moved in."

"Don’t say that, Gage," admonished Craig as he straightened up. "This is still a perfectly good piece of machinery. All it needs is a new motor."

"Lemme see," said Chet. He and Craig huddled by the side of the machine. Chet knelt beside the machine and put his hand beneath it. He felt around the back of the control panel and the bottom of the washer.

Johnny rolled his eyes and opened a window. "Do you mind?" he asked edgily. "Can we get this thing outside so it doesn’t stink up the place? I want to get to work on the toilet, okay?"

"Ouch!" Chet quickly pulled his hand up from beneath the machine. Blood oozed from a one-inch long cut on the heel of Chet’s grease-stained hand.

"Great, Chet," sighed Johnny. He stepped closer to the hunched-over firefighter. "Let me take a look at it."

Craig picked up Chet’s hand and closely examined the wound. "It doesn’t look bad. I doubt you’ll need stitches. Wash it off thoroughly, and we’ll bandage it."

Chet climbed to his feet and headed for the kitchen sink. "Where are your Band-Aids?" He started to wash the grime from his hands.

"In the bathroom." Johnny put his hands on his hips. "I’ll....I’ll go get you one." He paused. "You sure you’re okay?" he asked concernedly.

"Yeah," replied Chet. "It’s just a little cut. Brice was right," Chet gestured with his head toward Craig. "All this baby needs is a new motor, and she’ll be like new." He wrinkled his brow. "I think my uncle may have some spare parts hanging around his workshop. He used to fix a lot of these. I know he’ll give me one if I ask him. Don’t throw the machine out." Chet turned off the water and dried his hands on the nearby towel. "I can install the motor next week if he has it." He studied the cut, then looked at Johnny. "It’s not bleeding anymore, but I should probably still put something over it since I’ll be getting my hands dirty."

"Oh, sorry. I’ll be right back." Johnny walked into the living room.

"Don’t forget the antiseptic!" yelled Craig. He absently patted the top of the wash tub. "Are you sure you can fix it?"

"Yep." Chet put the towel down and ran his index finger over the cut. "We worked on a couple of them, and I can always ask Uncle Lou how to do it." He gestured to the tub. "I wonder how Johnny’s shirt came out?"

"I almost forgot!" Craig lifted the lid and pulled out the yellow and blue striped shirt. Soap suds clung to the sleeves and body as water trickled onto the faded linoleum floor. "It doesn’t look too bad, but we’ll have to finish it in his washing machine. I saw it downstairs when I got the detergent." Craig looked at the no-name laundry soap. "I don’t believe he uses this generic crap." He pointed to the stain, which was still visible on the front of the shirt. "Look at this, Kelly. You can still see the grease spot."

"Why don’t we take it downstairs and see what else we can use on it," suggested Chet. They looked up as they heard a loud thud, followed by the sound of Johnny swearing. "I think Gage may be a few minutes."

"Agreed. Follow me." Craig led Chet into the hallway.

###

"Be careful, and watch your head, Kelly." Craig flipped the light switch and descended the steep staircase. "The ceiling is pretty low here." He ducked as he reached the dimly lit basement. "Gage’s washer is over this way." They threaded their way past piles of boxes until they reached the corner with the washer and dryer.

Chet pulled the chain on the overhead light. The chain flopped limply in his hand as the light came on. "Great," said Chet, "the damn thing came right off. Johnny’s gonna be pissed."

"He won’t be," assured Craig. "The same thing happened to me when I got the detergent, so I assume it’s happened to him." He put the bottle of detergent onto a small shelf above the washer. "Here," Craig held the dripping shirt out to Chet. "You take care of this, and I’ll put the chain back together."

Chet whistled as he scanned the shelf of laundry products. He chose a small spray bottle and laid the shirt on top of the washing machine. He squirted a small stream of cleaner on the stain, and watched it penetrate the cloth. Chet twisted his mouth thoughtfully as he examined the grease spot, then sprayed again. He wrinkled his nose, sniffed, then shrugged. Must be some new kind of spot remover Gage picked up. Sure smells funny, though. He picked up the shirt and noticed a wet mark on the lid of the washer. A self-satisfied grin crossed his face. Chet put the spray bottle on the shelf.

"All fixed," said Craig. "How are you coming with the shirt?"

"Fine," replied Chet. He held up the shirt for Craig to inspect. "The stain should come out easily."

Craig wrinkled his nose when he looked at the collar. "Look at this, Kelly. Ring around the collar." He shook his head. "We’ll have to treat it."

"Sure. Here it is." Chet took the bottle down from the shelf.

Craig placed the shirt on top of the washer and held out his hand expectantly. "Spray bottle." He shook his head. "With the amount of perspiring we do, you’d think Gage’d be smart enough to pre-treat his collars."

Chet slapped the bottle into Craig’s outstretched hand. He watched Craig spritz the length of the shirt neck.

"Laundry soap," commanded Craig as he returned the spray bottle to Chet.

Chet grabbed it and smacked the laundry soap into Craig’s palm with surgical precision.

Craig poured a small line of the liquid detergent onto the length of the collar and held the bottle out for Chet. He rubbed the detergent into the dirty shirt, then opened the lid and tossed the shirt into the washer. "Since it isn’t economical or environmentally sound to do less than a full load of laundry, let’s see if we can locate the rest of Gage’s wash."

Chet shrugged. "Okay." He looked around, until he found a battered, mustard yellow plastic laundry basket filled with dirty clothes. "Got it." Chet pushed the overflowing basket closer to the machine with his foot. He peered into the machine. "I don’t think we’ll be able to fit all of this into one load."

Craig peered at Chet over his glasses. "Don’t you separate your whites from your darks?"

Chet shook his head. "No. I just throw it all in together. I’d rather do other things on my days off than laundry," he scoffed. "What’s the big deal, anyway?"

"Kelly, Kelly, Kelly," Craig shook his head sadly as he fished around inside the laundry basket, "if you mix your whites and your colors, the colors can leach onto your whites. This white T-shirt," Craig gestured with a dirty undershirt, "could turn pink if you wash it with something red." He dropped the shirt into the washer. "Just think of what Gage would do if you showed up in a pink T-shirt."

Chet stared at the pile of dirty clothes. "You’ve got a point there, Brice."

"Of course I do, Kelly," replied Craig as he finished loading the machine. "Where did you put the detergent?"

"Here it is." Chet passed the bottle of detergent back to Craig.

Craig measured and poured a capful of the detergent into the machine. He closed the lid and turned on the washer. "Finished." Craig put the bottle back on the shelf.

"Chet....Brice?" Johnny yelled as he walked down the stairs.

"We’re over here," said Craig as he motioned to Johnny to join them.

"You’d better clean that first." Johnny handed a small bottle of peroxide to Chet.

Chet poured some of the peroxide onto his cut, then took the plastic bandage that John offered. "Thanks, Gage."

Johnny noticed the depleted pile of clothes and furrowed his eyebrows. "What were you doing?"

"We put your shirt in the wash, with a few other things," replied Craig.

"Oh," said John, stunned. "Wow." He scratched the back of his neck and glanced at Chet. "Gee, thanks, guys."

Craig turned the light off and headed towards the stairs. "Let’s fix that toilet!"

###

Johnny led Chet and Craig into his bathroom.

"This looks like it’s been updated recently." Craig examined the avocado green tile that lined the combination shower/tub. The tile continued beneath the window on the back wall, and lined the bottom half of the two remaining walls. The top half of the remaining walls was covered in a floral print wallpaper that also covered the ceiling. A plain white shower curtain hung in the soft pink bathtub. A small light-yellow rug covered a portion of the ceramic tile floor. The floor design incorporated light, medium and dark avocado green tiles interspersed with occasional pink tiles. The soft pink toilet stood in the corner, next to the window. The matching pink sink, mounted in a large pine base cabinet, stood within arm’s reach of the toilet. Craig set his toolbox on the brown and white flecked countertop. The sound of running water could be heard coming from the toilet.

"Yeah," replied Johnny. "It was done in ‘68 as an anniversary present for the previous owner."

"You’ve got a doll in your bathroom?" Chet scoffed as he picked up a figure with a doll’s head and torso, wearing a crocheted white dress with a wide-bottomed skirt. He put his toolbox on the floor beside the tub.

Johnny blushed. "That’s...that’s...that’s not a doll, Chet." He put his hands on his hips. "It’s a toilet paper holder." Johnny gestured to the doll as Chet turned it over. "Look at it. You put it over your toilet paper so you don’t have to try to find some when you’re...otherwise occupied. My aunt gave it to me as a housewarming present. I have to keep it out in case she shows up unexpectedly." Johnny rubbed his nose. "She’s done that a couple of times already."

"I hope she doesn’t drop by when you’re...entertaining," said Chet. He set the toilet paper holder on the countertop.

Johnny took the top of the toilet tank from Chet, and placed it on the floor beside the tub. "The way this place looks, it’ll be a while before I do any type of entertaining." He sighed. "Unless the chick can handle a paintbrush, putty knife or a hammer. Besides," he shrugged, "I don’t really mind it when my aunt comes over." He shrugged. "She’s pretty handy with a screwdriver. In fact, she helped me replace the light fixture in the downstairs hallway."

"She’s one of the very few, Gage," said Chet. "I don’t know too many chicks who are good at home repair." He knelt beside the toilet. "One time, my sister tagged along with my uncle and me for a day." He shook his head in disgust. "Man, it was a disaster!"

"There are more talented women than you think, Kelly," interjected Brice. "Several of the most skilled workers on the homes I’ve helped build have been female." He opened his toolbox. "Have you located the shut-off?"

"It’s behind the toilet." John pointed to a spot near the corner and looked at Brice. "Chicks help build these houses?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. "I mean, I can see them doing simple home repairs, but building a house?"

"Don’t even think about it, John," said Chet. "I have a feeling these girls won’t be interested in you...if you know what I mean."

"Flush the toilet, Kelly," ordered Brice, "so we can see where the water’s coming from." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Au contraire, Kelly. Many of the female volunteers are housewives with school-age children. There are also several young, single women who have an interest in the various construction trades." He knelt beside Chet and watched the water trickle from beneath the base of John’s toilet, and from between the tank and the toilet bowl. He glanced at John, then at Chet. "I’m certain some of these young ladies would be interested in either one, or both of you. In fact, Gage, I met a girl I think you’d really like. Her name’s Marcy, and she’s a secretary at one of the local churches. She does superb masonry and tile work." Craig grabbed a wrench from his toolbox. "Just as I thought, you need a new wax ring, and a new spud valve."

John picked up a small paper sack that he’d placed beside the vanity. "I have them right here." He set the bag in the sink. "Why do you think she’d go for me?"

"She has a love of the outdoors," said Craig, "and she’s in a bowling league." He adjusted the size of the opening of his wrench. "If you’d like, we can go to the site on Wednesday, and I’ll introduce you to her."

"Are you sure about this, Brice?" John asked suspiciously.

"Of course I’m sure, Gage."

A lopsided grin slowly spread across Johnny’s face. "Far out! Whaddaya say, Chet, you game?"

Chet flushed the toilet, then turned the shut off valve. "Why not?" He glanced at Johnny, then looked at Craig. "How do you get there?"

"I’ll give you both directions to my place, and we can go together." Craig leaned beneath the tank and started to remove the bolts that connected the tank to the bowl. "Parking is somewhat limited at the site." Water trickled down the sides of the toilet. "Did you shut the water off, Kelly?"

"Yes, Brice, the water’s off," Chet said patiently. He watched the small streams of water flow onto the floor, creating a small puddle. "But, I’ll give it another turn." Chet gave the knob a quarter-turn, and watched as the trickle of water continued. "Where’s that coming from?"

Johnny peered into the tank. "It’s probably from the little bit that’s left in here. "I’ll get a couple of sponges and a bucket."

"Oh, Gage," interjected Craig, "bring some bleach, if you have it. We’ll need it to disinfect the flange."

"The flange?" asked Johnny, one eyebrow cocked.

"It’s the thing the toilet sits on," replied Chet.

"Oh." Johnny scratched his head. "I knew that." He grinned sheepishly, then walked out of the bathroom.

Chet and Craig raised their eyebrows at each other behind Johnny’s back. Chet shook his head and studied Craig for a moment. "I don’t get it, Brice."

"What don’t you get, Kelly?"

Chet pulled a wrench from his toolbox. "Why are you being so...nice all of a sudden? You’re usually so...so..."

"Rigid and unforgiving?" asked Craig.

"Yeah!" Chet pointed his wrench at Craig. "That’s it." A puzzled look crossed Chet’s face. "You used to be such a royal pain in the..."

Craig nodded and held his hand up. "I know, Kelly." He sighed and looked briefly at the floor. "I know. Then that whole thing with Josh happened, and I realized something."

"What was that?"

"That it’s okay to not be perfect all the time." Craig tapped the palm of his hand with his wrench. "You see, my brother went off and became an artist. My parents wanted him to be a ‘good’ boy, and be a lawyer or a doctor. He failed all of his pre-med classes except Anatomy, but he drew beautiful pictures of the human body. His professor gave him extra credit when he’d draw pictures of the various body systems for class. Josh felt that it was more important to experience life as it happened, instead of conforming to the prevailing social norms and mores. He went a little too far in that direction, and became addicted to drugs." Craig pointed the wrench at himself. "He robbed that liquor store to get drug money. He was so far gone, I almost didn’t recognize him when I delivered the pizza." Craig shook his head. "Then I saw Gage at the back of the store..."

###

Johnny reached the top of the stairs, bucket in hand. He sighed and stood outside of the bathroom, listening intently.

###

"Kelly," Craig shook his head as he continued, "I wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive. He was at the back of the store, so I couldn’t see him terribly well. All that blood," he said solemnly. "Then he moved a little." Craig shuddered. "I wanted Josh to let me in to evaluate Gage, treat him, but my brother wanted no part of it. He ignored me when I tried to talk to him in the police car. He only said a few words to me at the jail. Then, he killed himself. His note said that he couldn’t live with what he had done. He was sorry for having caused so much pain, both to my family and to Gage. He never meant to shoot John. Josh wrote that he panicked and fired when he saw the uniform. He wanted to apologize to Gage." Craig paused for a moment. "I’m glad I had the opportunity to apologize to him, after I got hit that day at the ballpark."

"I remember helping treat Johnny after your brother was arrested," Chet said thoughtfully. "Man, when Roy and the guys cut open his shirt, I thought he was a goner, too. He lost a lot of blood." Chet nodded. "I heard about your catch. How is your nose, anyway?"

Craig shrugged. "It’s fine, although my sense of smell isn’t quite what it used to be." He grinned. "Somebody must have told Steve Garvey what happened. He came to Rampart after the game and signed the baseball for me. All in all, Kelly, it’s been quite a year."

###

Johnny leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Next month will be a year since the shooting. He pulled down the collar of his T-shirt and peered at his chest. The scars were barely visible. I know I lost a lot of blood. Brackett said that if the standoff had gone on any longer, I probably wouldn’t have made it. Boy, was I surprised to see my father at the hospital. I hadn’t seen or talked to him since I left home. I hadn’t been back in what, six years before I went home with Dave and Linda? At least we’re talking to each other now. Sarah’s been a good friend, too. She’s one chick I can at least talk to without having her feel like I’m madly in love with her and want to marry her. You’re right, Brice, it has been quite a year.

"After Josh died," continued Craig. "I realized that I had gone too far in the opposite direction. I wanted my parents’ approval so badly growing up, I focused on following the rules and being perfect, no matter what the cost. Therefore, my social skills never developed as fully as they should have. My therapist said that it’s important for me to develop a more ‘social’ side, and to be more lenient towards the application of policies, procedures, and rules."

"Your therapist?" sputtered Chet.

"Why, yes, Kelly," said Brice, "everyone should go to therapy at least once in their life. The insights I’ve gained over the past six months have been very illuminating. I’ve learned things and tried things I never would have done prior to Josh’s death." He gestured towards Chet with his wrench. "You should try it. You’d be amazed at what you can learn about yourself." He looked over his shoulder out of the bathroom. "I wonder what’s taking Gage so long?"

###

Therapy. That explains a lot. Johnny shook his head, then looked quickly around. Uh-oh. He quietly descended the staircase, then climbed it again and walked into the bathroom. "Here’s the stuff." He took the spray bottle from the bucket and placed it on the counter. Johnny exchanged places with Brice. He put the bucket on the toilet seat and stuck the sponge into the toilet tank.

"Gage," Craig said patiently as he pointed to the spray bottle, "I thought I asked you to bring bleach. What’s that?"

Johnny looked back at the spray bottle as he squeezed excess water from the sponge into the bucket. "Bleach." He looked at Craig. "My aunt gave me some to take care of a little mildew in the cellar. I forgot to buy it when I went shopping last week. She brought some with her the last time she was here." He put the sponge back into the toilet tank and sopped up the last of the water.

"Are you sure about that?" asked Chet. He looked noticeably paler.

"Sure, I’m sure," replied Johnny. He looked inside the tank. "That takes care of the rest of the water." He glanced at Chet. "What’s the problem?"

"There’s no problem, Gage," Craig said quickly. "I think we were temporarily thrown by the unconventional container." Phew. It shouldn’t hurt the shirt too much. He picked up the bottle and removed the nozzle. "I believe the correct concentration for mildew is one part bleach to three parts water." He sniffed, then coughed. "This is full strength!" He stared at John in disbelief. Uh-oh. Kelly sprayed that all over Gage’s shirt.

Johnny picked up the bucket. "Yeah. There was a lot of mildew in one corner of the basement, and the diluted stuff wasn’t working. So I dumped the old stuff down the drain to clean it out, and poured new stuff in the bottle." He took the bottle and grinned at Craig. "It worked like a charm." Johnny set the bottle on the countertop. "This should do the trick." He picked up the bucket. "I’ll be right back. I’m gonna dump this, and put that load of wash in the dryer."

Chet looked frantically at Craig. "Wait!" he yelled. "Ah, you can throw the water out in the tub. We’ll need your help to take the tank off, and pick up the toilet base." Chet glanced at Craig’s impassive face.

Johnny looked inside the bucket. "This water’s pretty dirty. I don’t wanna get the tub full of this crap." He put his free hand on his chest. "When I’m home, I don’t like to spend a lot of time cleaning the bathroom, if ya know what I mean."

"Don’t worry about it, John," said Chet. "We’ll have to clean this up anyway, so why don’t you just toss the water in the tub. We’ll clean it."

Johnny looked at Chet in disbelief. "You would clean my bathtub?"

"Certainly, Gage," added Craig cheerfully. "As long as we have the bleach, we can disinfect the pipes at the same time."

Johnny shrugged. "Well, okay." He poured the dirty water down the bathtub drain. He peered at the black flecks around the drain. "Huh, that doesn’t look too bad."

He put the bucket on the floor. "I guess you were right, Chester B. Let’s get the tank off."

Chet sighed in relief and knelt beside the toilet. He removed the nut and bolt that held the tank to the base of the toilet. "Brice, have you got the other one?"

"Affirmative, Kelly." Craig stood up and held out his hand, palm up. "Give me the bolts, so we can keep them together."

"Good idea." Chet handed the parts to Craig, who placed them on the edge of the sink.

"Gage," Craig peered at Johnny, "I believe I saw some masking tape in the living room. Can you bring us the roll?"

"Sure," Johnny scratched the back of his head. "What are you gonna use it for?"

"To tape the parts together, so they don’t get lost," answered Chet.

"Oh," replied Johnny. "Good idea." He turned around. "I’ll, ah, be right back." Chet listened carefully until the sounds of Johnny’s footfalls on the steps faded. He put the wrench back into his toolbox. "Great, Brice, now what are we gonna do about that shirt? It’s gonna be ruined!" he hissed.

Craig shrugged. "We’ll have to take full responsibility for our actions, and buy him a new one. I believe the Valley Spring Mall is open until nine-thirty tonight. We’ll take him over there and purchase a suitable replacement." He sighed. "I’m certain we’ll find something he’ll like at a moderate price. I thought I saw an advertisement for a mall-wide sidewalk sale in the morning newspaper."

"Really?" Chet brightened. "I wonder if Sears or the sporting goods store will have anything? I could use some new fishing gear." He sighed. "How are we gonna break it to him? Johnny’s gonna be pissed."

"We’ll just go down to the basement when we’re finished, show him the shirt, and provide an explanation." Craig shrugged. "It’s not like we did this deliberately, Kelly. It was an accident. I’m sure Gage will take that into account."

"I hope you’re right." Chet furrowed his brow. "I wonder what’s taking him so long?" A look of alarm slowly spread across his face. "You don’t think...?"

Craig frowned. "He wouldn’t....not after we told him not to....would he?"

Chet nodded slowly. "He would. Once John Gage gets it in his mind to do something, he doesn’t let go of it."

"I hear him coming." Craig quickly knelt beside the toilet. The creaking of the staircase echoed in the room. "Play it cool, Kelly. Just play it cool."

Chet knelt beside the toilet. He picked up his screwdriver and started to loosen the bolts that held the base of the toilet to the floor.

"Here’s the tape," Johnny ripped a long piece of masking tape off the roll and held them out to Craig.

"Thank you, Gage." Craig took the tape and tore it in half. He stuck one-half on the side of the sink, and wrapped the bolts with the other half. "Is anything...amiss?"

Johnny furrowed his brow and shook his head. "No, why?"

"It just seemed like you were gone a little longer than we anticipated." Craig gestured for Johnny to move in closer to the toilet. "After we lift this off, we should put it over by the tub."

"Okay." Johnny shrugged and stood in front of the toilet. "I figured I’d throw that wash load into the dryer, that’s all. It only took a couple of minutes, anyway." An amused grin played on his lips. "I didn’t think you’d miss me."

"So, there weren’t any...problems?" Chet asked tentatively.

Johnny shook his head. "No, Chet. No problems." He looked curiously at the bushy-haired firefighter. "I just took the stuff out of the washer and tossed it into the dryer. Why would I have a problem?"

"Well," Chet fumbled over his words, "I just wondered if maybe we accidentally dropped a dark sock or something into the load. It happens to me all the time." He shook his head. "Ya know, once a sock gets mixed into a load it isn’t supposed to be with, you’ll never see it again. Poof, it’s gone forever." He handed the bolts from the bottom of the toilet to Craig.

"Is that what happens?" Johnny’s mouth curled into a crooked smile. "I always wondered how I could start off with two socks and end up with one. So, Chet," he glanced at Craig, who wore an amused expression, "does the sock simply vaporize, or does it hide in the deep recesses of the dryer, waiting for its mate to show up with the next load?"

"Ya know, Gage," Chet gestured with his screwdriver. "Sometimes they ride shotgun on other pieces of your laundry, like your sheets or your underwear. Otherwise, I don’t know where they go." He sighed and cocked his head. "Me dear, sweet grannie," Chet’s voice took on a brogue, "told me it was the little people playin’ tricks on us unsuspectin’ mortals."

"Little people, Kelly?" Craig pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Somehow, I don’t think the Leprechauns would be interested in stealing your socks." He put his hands on the side of the toilet tank. "Okay, on three, we’ll lift it off and set it over there." He gestured with his head to the tub.

"Well," Chet dropped the screwdriver into his toolbox, "Grannie’d start tellin’ us stories about the old country after her nightly cup of coffee." He gripped the toilet tank and braced himself. "Gage, you hold the base of the toilet, and let us know when we’re clear."

Johnny nodded and held onto the toilet bottom.

"One, two, three." Craig and Chet lifted the tank off the bottom of the toilet.

"You’re clear," Johnny reported as the tank lifted off of the base. He stepped to one side.

Chet and Craig started to carry the tank forward, but stopped suddenly. "What the...?" said Craig. "What are we stuck on?"

Johnny squatted, and looked behind Chet. "You forgot to disconnect the feeder line."

"We’d better put this down," said Chet, the strain obvious in his voice.

Chet and Craig lowered the tank until it rested on top of the toilet base.

"I’ll get it," Johnny grabbed a wrench from Chet’s toolbox and unscrewed the end closest to the toilet. "You’re free." He unscrewed the pipe from the shut-off while Chet and Craig laid the tank down beside the bathtub. The thin metal tube appeared narrowed and bent near the bottom. "Chet?"

"What is it, Johnny?"

Johnny held up the bent pipe. "What was in your coffee this mornin’, Chester B. Kelly?" he asked innocently, in a fake brogue. "Was it the same as your grannie's, or did a wandering Leprechaun reattach the feeder line while you were exposing their secrets?"

Craig snorted, then looked away.

Chet shot a dirty look in Craig’s direction, then put his hands on his hips. "No, Gage." He put one hand over his heart. "Me dear Grannie used a thimble-full of Bailey’s every night after dinner. I, on the other hand, take my coffee, ‘black’." He took the bent pipe from Johnny and examined it closely. "As for the Leprechaun, I canna say."

Craig smiled and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. "Here, Gage," he took a twenty-dollar bill out.

Johnny shook his head. "Don’t worry about it, Brice." He waved his hand dismissively. "I kind of expected something like this to happen. It usually does." He shook his head and scratched it. "If I don’t run out of something, then I don’t have the right tool, or I mess it up so bad the first time, I have to do it over again." He took the part from Chet and tossed it into the small plastic garbage can beside the toilet. "I’m just glad there’s a hardware store in the plaza. I swear, pretty soon the guy behind the counter’s gonna know me by name."

"I probably have an extra one of those in my trunk." Chet put his hands on his hips. "I’ll go take a look." He picked the pipe out of the garbage can and left the room.

Johnny picked up the paper bag and pulled out a large rubber ring. He knelt by the toilet tank, and removed the old spud valve.

"Gage?" Kelly may not be happy that I told the truth, but I have to tell Gage about his shirt.

"What?" Johnny looked up from the tank.

"I have to tell you something." Craig pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. I hope he isn’t too angry.

Johnny remained impassive. "Go ahead." He placed the new spud valve on the bottom of the tank, then looked at Craig.

"When Kelly and I were in your basement, putting in that load of laundry. We, er, I had him treat the stain on the shirt you were wearing. I also treated a stain on the collar." Craig sighed.

Johnny raised his eyebrows. "Thanks, Brice." He removed the new wax ring from the bag and placed it on the countertop. "I appreciate it." He put the old rubber spud valve into the bag.

"Wait, Gage," Craig sighed, "there’s more. We used the contents of this squirt bottle on the stains. My sense of smell hasn’t been the same since the incident at the ballpark, so I couldn’t tell that the bottle contained bleach." He pointed to the bottle. "I’m certain we ruined your shirt. Kelly and I plan to take you to the mall after we’re finished to find a suitable replacement."

Johnny looked up at Craig. "Is that what those white spots were? I thought I got paint on it again." One side of his mouth tilted upward and he shook his head. "I think I painted half of myself when I did the hall ceiling this morning." Johnny stood up. "I’m surprised you didn’t notice the other paint stains."

There weren’t any other stains on that shirt, paint or otherwise. Craig watched Johnny as he leaned over the toilet bowl. And the hallway didn’t smell freshly painted. He’s letting us off the hook. Why? "Let me help you with that." Craig bent over the toilet and gripped it firmly.

"Okay," Johnny looked over the bowl at Craig. "Ready?"

Craig nodded. "Ready. On three. One. Two. Three."

Johnny and Craig lifted the base of the toilet off the floor. "Let’s put it next to the tank," Johnny’s voice was strained from the effort.

"Right," answered Craig as he moved sideways, in concert with Johnny. He stepped on a wrench, and felt his foot start to slide on the ceramic tile floor. "Wait!" Craig lost his balance, pitched sideways, and fell against the cabinet. He let go of the toilet base.

"Whoa!" Johnny exclaimed as he felt the heavy porcelain lurch in his hands. He lost his grip and the toilet hit the floor with a loud bang. Several pieces of pink porcelain littered the floor beside the bowl.

"What happened?!" Chet stood in the doorway, holding onto a thin piece of pipe.

"We, uh, dropped it." Johnny glanced at Chet, then looked anxiously at Craig. "You okay? It looked like it hit your foot."

"I’m fine." Craig straightened up, then peered at the toilet base. "It was only a glancing blow. My workboots were more than adequate protection. That’s the main reason I got them. But, I’ve found they’ve come in handy in other ways."

"Oh?" asked Chet. "What ways are those?"

"Somehow, it seems that some women find a man dressed in jeans, a toolbelt, and a good pair of workboots, quite...attractive." Craig pursed his eyebrows thoughtfully. "I’ve noticed that if I stop somewhere, like the supermarket, after a day working on the Habitat house, I get...well," Craig blushed and tugged at his shirt collar, "approached by some quite beautiful women."

"You’re kidding, right?" Chet’s mouth dropped.

"No, Kelly, I’m not." Craig shook his head. "I’ve gotten several dates that way."

"Wow, Man," Chet glanced at Johnny, who raised his eyebrows, "maybe I should get a pair before we go with you. We’re still going, right?"

"Well, yeah!" Johnny nodded. He pulled the garbage can over and started to pick up the larger shards of porcelain, then looked up at Craig. "If you’re still willing to take us."

"Of course I am," Craig sighed. "It’s the least I can do to help repay you for my assorted foul-ups today. I’m afraid my good intentions backfired once again. I owe you a new toilet on top of a new shirt. I guess I’m not the home-improvement guru I thought I was." Screwed up again, Brice.

Chet’s mustache drooped.

"It’s okay, Chet," interjected Johnny. "I know you guys were only tryin’ to help me, and I appreciate it. If the Phantom had been up to his usual tricks, I wouldn’t be as understanding, trust me. Besides, that shirt was really old, and I only wore it when I worked around here." He grinned mischievously and looked up at Craig. "You know, I was secretly hoping that we wouldn’t be able to fix this stupid thing."

"Why?" asked Craig in amazement. "It’s...well, it was, a perfectly good plumbing fixture."

"But," Johnny held up one of the larger porcelain pieces, "it’s pink, Craig. Pink." He shook his head. "Pink is not a good color for a toilet." He shuddered. "It’s not a color for a guy’s toilet, know what I mean?" He pointed at Craig with the shard. "Maybe if I had a...a wife...like Roy, then it’d be okay." Johnny shook his head again. "But not for a single guy like me." He glanced at Chet. "Now, a guy like me wants something that’s a little more...manly in color...like white." He sniffed the air and made a face. . What’s that smell?"

"Sewer gas," replied Chet. "Since you removed the toilet, that hole is a direct line to your sewer or septic system. We’ll have to cover it up before we go out. Sorry. I don’t have a new toilet in the back of my car, or I’d let you have it."

Johnny stood up. "That’s okay, Chet." He clapped Chet on the shoulder. "Let’s get that hole covered, haul this old toilet outside, then get to the hardware store." He looked at his watch. "Then we’ll have plenty of time to get to the mall."

"Okay." Chet bent over and helped Johnny lift the broken toilet base.

"Oh, no!" Craig knelt beside the toilet tank and ran his hand across the floor. He peered up at Johnny. "The toilet put a rather large dent in your floor when we dropped it." He pointed to a small group of broken tiles that had absorbed the impact of the fallen porcelain. "These tiles will have to be replaced. Did the previous homeowner leave any extras?"

Johnny shook his head. "Nope." He grinned. "This is gettin’ better ‘n better!"

Craig crossed his arms and looked at Johnny, perplexed. "Why, Gage?" He gestured to the floor. "I don’t understand why you aren’t yelling and screaming at me. You seem...happy that I’ve nearly destroyed your bathroom." This isn’t the John Gage I knew and...barely tolerated.

Johnny made a face. "Come on, Brice, look around you. This bathroom looks almost as bad as that sewer gas smells! I get nauseous just looking at that avocado green tile, that pink monstrosity of a bathtub," he gestured to the various fixtures, "and this toilet. I wasn’t planning on re-doing it just yet, but I was gonna get to it. You’ve just...moved up my time-table a little bit. Besides, maybe your friend Marcy’d be willing to give me a hand with it." He winked at Chet, then looked innocently at Brice. "If you’d like to continue assisting me with this toilet project, I can bring back a hammer from Chet’s truck, and you can accidentally hit a few wall tiles with it."

"Gage!" Craig shot a pained look at Johnny.

"Just kidding, Brice," Johnny said as he and Chet picked up the remains of the shattered toilet bowl. "Just kidding!"

###

Roy knocked on the front door and waited. Chet’s still here, and that other car must be Brice’s. He looked at his watch. 7:30. They should be done by now. They’ve gotta be done by now. I wonder if ? Roy shook his head. Nah. Johnny wouldn’t hurt anybody, even Brice. But that guy can be such a pain in the... He looked up as he heard approaching footsteps. Johnny. He’s actually smiling. "Is it safe?"

Johnny furrowed his eyebrows. "Huh?" He opened the door and stood aside. "Come on in."

Roy looked warily at Johnny. "How’d it go?" He looked over Johnny’s shoulder down the hallway, then peered into the living room. "They’re still here," he whispered.

Johnny shrugged. "Everything’s fine. We’re just watching the ball game. Want anything to drink? I’ve got beer, soda, milk..." He turned to walk into the living room.

Roy put his hand on Johnny’s arm, stopping him. He pulled Johnny back into the foyer. "You’re watching a ball game...with Craig Brice?"

Johnny nodded. "Yeah." He furrowed his brow and gave Roy a curious look. "He’s a big Dodgers’ fan, and we didn’t finish in time to get to the game. Why?"

Roy put his palm against Johnny’s forehead. "You don’t have a fever."

"Wha, what’re ya doin?" Johnny pushed Roy’s hand away. "I feel fine."

"DeSoto!" Craig walked into the foyer. "How good of you to come by." He sidled by Johnny and started to climb the stairs. "I think it’s time to appreciate our handiwork," he winked at Johnny, then headed up the staircase.

Roy stood silently until they heard the sound of the bathroom door closing. He shook his head in disbelief. "He’s...he’s drunk!" Brice smiled, and he’s not quoting the department manual, or Robert’s Rules of Order.

Johnny shook his head. "No." He raised his hands. "He couldn’t be drunk. He’s only had one beer." He shrugged. "Brice is...well...having fun."

"Fun?" scoffed Roy. "I don’t think Craig Brice could have fun unless he filed a form in triplicate, first."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Brice isn’t that...insufferable, anymore." He glanced up the stairs, into the living room, then leaned over conspiratorially. "He’s in therapy," Johnny whispered. "He’s tryin’ to develop his social skills."

"Hey, Roy!" Craig beckoned from the top of the staircase. The sound of water running through pipes was heard in the background. "Come on up and have a look!"

Roy glanced at Johnny, who surreptitiously nodded. He peered into the living room. "Hi, Chet!"

"Hey, Roy!" Chet waved, then got up from the couch and joined the two men in the entry.

Roy pointed to the bandage on Chet’s hand. "What happened to you?"

Chet looked at his bandage, then shrugged. "Just a little cut." He gestured towards the top of the stairs. "Come on up and have a look." He climbed the staircase.

Roy shrugged and followed Chet.

Craig ushered Roy into the bathroom. "There it is," he pointed to a pristine white toilet that stood in the corner of the bathroom. Duct tape covered a spot on the floor.

Roy looked suspiciously at Johnny. "I thought your toilet was the same color as the bathtub?"

"Ah," Johnny nodded and cleared his throat. "It was. This is a new one."

"Oh." Roy nodded. He glanced at the duct-taped patch on the floor, then at Brice’s wide grin, Chet’s raised eyebrows, and Johnny’s crossed arms and tired half-grin. Yep, they broke the other one, and probably took out those floor tiles, too.

"Try it, Roy," urged Chet.

"Okay." Roy pushed down on the handle, and peered into the bowl as the toilet flushed. "It works." He smiled hesitantly at the assembled men. Okay, now what?

"No more leaks," Johnny said triumphantly.

"And, it’s a more reasonable color." Craig pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You were right, Gage. White is a more manly color." He rubbed his hands together. "I’m so looking forward to helping you transform this pink palace of abstract femininity into a bathroom in which you can exercise your bodily functions with pride."

Johnny grinned. "Thank you, Brice."

"A manly toilet?" Roy asked curiously. Brice has to be drunk. A pink palace of abstract femininity?

"Let’s face it, Roy," Chet interjected as Johnny opened his mouth to speak. "This is pretty pathetic." He waved his hand around and shook his head. "Gage isn’t some chick with really bad taste." He clapped Johnny on the back. "He’s a guy, and a guy wants something...simple, yet comfortable to, well, do his business. Pink and green aren’t bad for some things, but a bathroom?" Chet shuddered. "If you’re already nauseated, like from the flu or a good hangover, this’ll finish you off."

"Yeah." Roy looked carefully around the room. "You’ve got a point there."

"Of course we do, DeSoto." Craig started for the door. "Come on, men. Let’s go watch the game."

"Sounds good," Chet followed Craig out of the bathroom.

Roy pointed at Johnny’s workboot-clad feet. "Are those new?"

"Yep." Johnny rocked on his heels and studied the sturdy brown boots. "Chet bought a pair, too." He stopped rocking and reached for the wall-mounted light switch. "With all the work I have to do around here, they’ll come in handy." He looked at Roy. "Besides, Brice said they make a guy look...attractive to chicks." Johnny turned the light off and started down the stairs.

Roy stood in the dark for a moment. Workboots, attractive? I really don’t wanna know. He shook his head and followed Johnny out of the bathroom.