This Old House

 

Part 2

 

(And The Blood Flowed Like Wine)

 

                            

By: Kenda

 

 

*Parts 1 and 3 of This Old House can be found in Kenda’s Emergency Library.

 

 

                                                                                 

     Chet Kelly took three giant steps backwards.  A smile caused his mustache to twitch as he took in the sight of his home sweet home.  The bungalow that appeared weathered and sad just three months ago was now becoming the talk of the neighborhood thanks to John Gage.

 

     Though Chet wouldn’t admit it out loud, he’d bitten off more than he could chew when he’d purchased this fifty-four year old house.  The day the Realtor showed it to Chet the fireman pictured what the decrepit place would look like once it was fixed up.  He envisioned fresh paint on both the inside and outside, followed by new carpeting in every room.  Modern bathroom fixtures would replace the Pepto-Bismol pink tub, sink, and toilet.  Then would come a new sink, cabinets, and countertops for the kitchen.  After that some shutters and window boxes filled with flowers to make his California bungalow look like an inviting cottage to a weary fireman after a twenty-four shift.  But, long before Chet’s home could be considered his castle there was a lot of work to be done.

 

     Chet had only thought about surface appearances when he’d purchased the house.  Cleaning and painting sounded easy.  He hadn’t realized the ancient electrical wiring would need to be replaced if he didn’t want to blow a fuse each time his washing machine and his Mr. Coffee were turned on together.  He didn’t know tearing out bathroom fixtures meant discovering the floor underneath them was rotten and would have to be replaced.  He never imagined deciding to hang new oak cabinets meant discovering the kitchen walls were crooked because of the way the foundation had settled over the years.  But as a first time homeowner Chet was learning all this and more thanks to Johnny.  And learning there was an order in which things had to be done.  As anxious as Chet was to make his house look like a home, Johnny kept reminding him there was no use painting walls or buying carpeting until the dirty work was done.

 

     “Chet, you don’t put down new carpeting in the living room one week only to be ripping out the windows the next.  When you’re fixing up an old house you’ve got to remember two things.”

    

     “What two things?”  Chet had asked in the Station 51 locker room the day he and Johnny were engaged in this conversation.

 

     “You start at the top and work your way down.  And you start on the outside and work your way in.”

 

     “So that means stuff like a new roof, and new windows, and rebuilding the sagging porch, and putting on siding and shutters, has to be done before I can make the inside look nice?”

     “Yep.  Well...the siding and shutters can probably wait, but there’s no point in making the kitchen brand new only to have water leak in the next time it rains.  And unless you have your new windows custom made, which will cost you more than you earn in six months time, there’s no way you’ll find anything that’s an exact fit to the old windows you have now.  Especially considering you want to replace the two long ones in the living room with a bay window.  That’s gonna take some prep work first, Chet.  We’re gonna have to tear out the old windows, then build a frame for the new one before we’re even ready to put it in.”

 

     For once Chet didn’t argue with Johnny.  His co-worker’s knowledge in this area far exceeded any Chet had.  Though Chet was loathe to admit it, he’d come to admire Johnny’s remodeling skills.  The guy could do anything from running electrical wiring to tearing out crooked walls and then rebuilding them so they were straight.  Not to mention the piping.  Johnny had saved Chet the expense of a plumber a month earlier by running new water pipes under the house. That act had almost cost Johnny his life when he unknowingly came into contact with an insecticide called Dieldrin.  The insecticide poisoning made the paramedic dangerously ill, but fortunately his collapse happened at the station.  Thanks to the emergency medical care Roy was able to give Johnny on the scene, and the tests and research Doctor Brackett did that led him to conclude Johnny had been exposed to a poisonous chemical, the paramedic made a full recovery. 

 

     It had taken Chet a few weeks to get over the guilt he felt about Johnny’s illness.  Aside from the assistance of Roy and Doctor Brackett, Chet knew it was only by the grace of God that Johnny survived.  On a scale of one to six, one being the least toxic and six being the most, Dieldrin rated a six.  Which was exactly why the EPA banned its use in the United States the previous year.  But Chet’s house was built on what once had been an orange grove like a lot of older dwellings in Southern California were.  At Johnny’s urging Chet called the EPA and had a man come who tested his soil and water.  Chet was told the home was safe to live in, though the man advised Chet it would be wise not to allow anyone   in the crawl space.  The fireman didn’t need an overpaid government employee to tell him that.  Recalling how ill Johnny had been after coming into contact with the Dieldrin made Chet declare the crawl space off limits from that day forward. 

 

     Chet’s mind returned to the present as he watched his friends work.  Mike, Marco, Roy and Johnny were here today to help install new windows.  Even Captain Stanley had given up his Wednesday off to pitch in his talents.

 

     They’re a good buncha guys, Chet thought as he listened to hammers pound in unison.  A man couldn’t find better friends than I’ve got at Station 51.  I’m gonna hate it when the day comes we all move on to bigger and better things.  No matter where I go from here, I’ll never forget this crew and how close we are.

 

     Of course, one would be hard pressed to see that closeness openly displayed.

 

     “Hey, Kelly!”  John Gage yelled through the eight by ten foot square opening that had once been two living room windows and a portion of the living room wall. “You gonna stand there and watch the rest of us work on your house, or are you gonna pick up a hammer before I have to hot glue it to your hand?”

 

     “Stow it, Gage. I was just takin’ a minute to admire my handy work.”

 

     Johnny cocked an eyebrow.  “Your handy work?”

 

     Chet knew better than to make a remark countering that one when every man present looked up and nodded their agreement to Johnny’s words.

 

     Chet trudged toward the house.  He watched Johnny unclip a tape measure from his belt and use it to double check the dimensions of the window frame.  At the same time Johnny turned and answered a question for Mike, while holding a board steady that Marco and Roy were hammering in place.

 

     Man, Gage is really good at this.  He could be making big money as a foreman for some multi-million dollar construction firm.  Hell, he could make big money working for himself doing this kinda stuff.  Or showing other people how to do it on TV.

 

     “Hey, Johnny, have you given any more thought to that TV show I was talkin’ about a few weeks back?”

 

     “Nope.”

 

     “Oh, come on, Gage.  I’m tellin’ ya’ it’ll be a smash.  This Old House.  All we gotta do is find a producer, get a camera crew together and...

 

     “Chet, all we’ve gotta do is get this frame finished before your windows arrive.  Quit worrying about a TV show that doesn’t exist, and if it did exist would have no viewers.”

 

     “I bet a lot of people thought Julia Child had a dumb idea, too.”

 

     “She did.”

 

     “That might be true in your opinion, but I bet she’s rich.”

 

     “Good for her.  But my point is, you’re not.  So if this frame isn’t done when that truck arrives with your windows then you’ll be paying the guy extra for having to wait around while we finish.”

 

     “You know, Gage, I never knew you could be such a hard ass when it came to work.”

 

     Hank Stanley looked up from the circular saw he was operating three feet from the house.

 

     “I never knew that either.  I’ll make a station captain out of you yet, Johnny.”

 

     John simply smiled as he continued working.  If being a station captain meant giving up his work as a paramedic he wasn’t sure he cared if such a promotion ever came to pass.  Yes, it would be nice to be recognized for his skills and years of service with the fire department, but he didn’t want to imagine the day when Roy was no longer his partner, even though Johnny knew that day probably wasn’t too far into the future.

 

     Roy can’t put two kids through college on a paramedic’s salary.  Someday he’ll be forced to take whatever opportunity pays him more. 

 

     Roy glanced at Johnny as he reached out the large opening to take a board from Cap.  Despite the two nails Johnny was holding between his lips Roy could see the slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

     “Something bothering you, Johnny?”  Roy asked over the din of the screaming circular saw and pounding hammers.

 

     Johnny reached up and removed the nails so he could speak. 

 

     “Just thinking about the future.”

 

     “Which part of the future?  The part Cap wants for you?  Or the part Chet wants for you?”

     “Huh?”

     “Being a station captain?  Or being the host of your own TV show?”

 

     That remark changed the frown to a smile. 

 

     “Neither I guess.”

 

     “Neither?”

 

     “I was just thinking I’m not all that big on giving up being a paramedic.  Which is what I’ll have to do if I ever wanna advance much beyond where I am now in pay and all.”

 

     Roy simply nodded.  They’d had this discussion in the past.  Until the day came when the fire department recognized the value of not having to train new paramedics when the veteran medics moved up in the ranks, Johnny was correct. It was odd to find yourself working a job you loved and found deeply satisfying on a personal level, yet at the same time being fully aware you were traveling a dead end street.

 

     “I have a feeling something will change eventually,”  Roy said.  “Someday we’ll be able to earn promotions without leaving the paramedic program.”

     “Yeah, but will that day come soon enough for us?”

 

     “Beats me, Junior.  Guess we’ll just have to bide our time and see.  But hey, if you’re getting anxious to move on with your life you could always take Chet up on that TV show idea.  What did he call it?  This Old House?”

     “That’s exactly what I’m gonna call it,” Chet said as he climbed through the opening that would soon hold his bay window.  “This Old House, with John Gage as your host.”

 

     Johnny rolled his eyes at his partner.  “You just had to get him started again, didn’t you?”

 

     “Hey, give me some credit here.  I heard what you and Roy were just talking about.  If you wanna make more money you’ll have to give up being a paramedic.  So, if you have to give up doing something you love, what better career could await you but one in television?”

     “I could think of several,” Johnny deadpanned.

 

     “Like what?”

 

     “Any that would involve the ability to legally shoot you and dispose of your body.  Come on, Kelly, quit your jawing and pick up a hammer.  We’ve got work to do.”

 

     “Slave driver.”

 

     “It’s your...

 

     “I know, I know.  I’ve heard you say it a hundred times in the past three months.  It’s my old house, not yours.”

 

     “Not that anyone watching would be able to guess that.  Your neighbor across the street invited me to a ‘welcome to the neighborhood cookout’ next Saturday.”

 

     “My neighbor across the street?  You mean sexy Shanna?  Shanna with the legs that don’t quit, golden hair like an angel’s, big come-hither bedroom blue eyes who doesn’t wear a bra Shanna?”

 

     “That’s the one.”

 

     “She thinks you live here.”

 

     “That seems to be her impression, yes.”

 

     “And you didn’t tell her differently?”

     “Hell, no.  I’m over here so much lately  I do feel like I live here.  You’re not payin’ me a dime, so I might as well get some benefit for my labor.”

 

     “Gage, I can’t believe you’d let Sexy Shanna think...”

 

     Before Chet’s tirade could go any farther a supply truck rumbled down his residential street.  The words Barker Windows were clearly visible on the truck’s doors.

 

     Chet’s bickering match with Johnny was forgotten as he scrambled out the open living room wall.

 

     “Hey, my windows are here!   My windows are here!”

    

     The men left behind simply looked at one another and laughed.

 

     “I wish latrine duty got him this excited,” Cap joked.

 

     The men put down their tools and headed for the truck.  The back of the vehicle was a flatbed surrounded by metal bars.  A yellow hook and chain mechanism sprouted from the center.  The square windows that would go in the kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms were individually packed in thick cardboard boxes and strapped to the truck’s bed.  Once the truck’s driver got the metal bands undone that were holding the windows in place, the men would be able to lift the boxes and carry them to the appropriate opening in Chet’s home.  The big bay window would be handled differently.  Its box was sitting up and strapped to the truck’s metal bars. The window weighed three hundred pounds.  Because of its size the window would be removed from its box, then hoisted from the bed by the big metal hook and carefully guided to the ground under Johnny’s direction.

 

     With six men present it didn’t take long for the smaller windows to be unloaded.  Once they’d been carried to their destinations the firemen returned to the truck.  Chet indicated for the young driver to take instructions from Johnny.

 

     “Can you back this up within about six feet of the house?” Johnny asked.

     This was just the second day on the job for the nineteen year old man whose round shirt patch said his name was Dan.  Dan wasn’t about to admit he had doubts regarding his ability to do anything requested of him.

    

     “Sure.  No problem.”

 

     “Great.  Then we’ll have you lower the window to us.  While it’s still on the chain we’ll guide it into the opening.”

     “Sounds like a good plan to me,” Dan agreed, just happy there was someone on this job site who was more knowledgeable than himself.   He hopped in the cab of the truck, took a few seconds to secure his long brown hair into a ponytail using a rubber band he had on the dashboard, then started the vehicle and backed it into the street.

 

     Johnny told Mike, Marco, and Cap to go into the living room.  Roy and Chet would remain outside with him.  Between the six of them they’d slide the window into place and then secure it.

 

     Roy and Chet stood back as Johnny guided Dan with motions of his left hand. The rear of the flatbed slowly inched itself toward Johnny.

 

     “That’s good!  Keep her coming!  Keep her coming!”

 

     When the truck was six feet from the opening Johnny held his palm up.

 

     “Stop!”

 

     Dan shut the truck off, put the parking brake in place, then jumped from the tall cab.  He and Johnny climbed onto the bed.  Dan used tin shears to cut the metal straps that were holding the window to the truck’s side while Johnny used his utility knife to cut away the cardboard.  Chet’s eyes widened when his beautiful window was revealed.  Again, in his mind’s eye he could see just how this house was going to look when the remodeling was finished...say in about two years.

 

     Johnny took a step back.  “There she is Chester B.”

 

     “And quite a lovely sight, too.”  Chet said.  “When it comes to this remodeling stuff I’ve got excellent taste if I do say so myself.”

 

     Three heavy metal bands wound around the window.  The wood between the frame and the straps was protected by thick blocks of foam rubber.

 

     Though Dan had yet to use the truck’s hook to hoist anything, he spoke like this was a job he’d been doing for years.

 

     “The hook will go right here around this middle band.  Once it’s secured I’ll get in the truck and start lifting it.  Can you help guide me again so I clear the bars?”

 

     “You bet.”

 

     Johnny hopped off the back of the truck.  Neither he nor his co-workers paid attention as Dan fitted the hook through the thick band surrounding the middle of the window.  Dan dropped a metal gate over the hook.   The gate had been installed as a safety precaution the previous year.  When latched, it prevented anything from falling off the hook.  But if the gate wasn’t latched a person ran the risk of dropping a customer’s one thousand dollar window and shattering it into far too many shards of glass to count.

 

     Johnny stood three feet from the driver’s side of the truck with Chet and Roy another three feet behind him.  Mike, Marco, and Hank watched from their vantage point in Chet’s living room.

 

     “Okay!”  Johnny called.  “Take her up!”

 

     Dan started the truck again.  There was a long pause before the men heard the power-take-off unit kick in.  Another long pause followed before the window started rising with jerky movements.

 

     Chet pursed his lips as his eyes followed the window’s spasmodic travels.

 

     I hope to hell this kid knows what he’s doing.  If my window ends up breaking ‘cause of something stupid he does I swear I’ll have his long-haired hippie hide.

 

     Johnny was beginning to wonder, as well, just how familiar this young man was with the workings of the truck.  He was about to suggest Dan trade places with Mike Stoker when the window cleared the metal bars. 

 

     “Okay, clear!”  Johnny called, as he took a couple steps toward the open driver’s window.  “Now take it up about five more feet, then swing it back toward the house.  I’ll let you know if you’re getting too close.  When I say lower it, go ahead and bring it to the ground.”

 

     Johnny’s instructions left Dan confused as he reached for the gearshift on the PTO drive.

 

     Did he say swing it back, or take it up, or drop it down?  Damn, I don’t remember. 

 

     Without meaning to, Dan tried to do all those things at one time.  He shoved the gearshift in one direction, only to decide he should have shoved it in another, and then another.  He heard an indignant, “Hey!”  shouted by the curly headed guy with the mustache, and could only imagine that he’d just caused the window to bounce and sway with reckless abandon.

 

     Please don’t let me lose this job.  Please don’t let me lose this job.  If I lose another job my dad’s gonna make me join the Marines.

 

     Chet’s cry caused Johnny to turn around for a brief second.  That second was all the jerking window needed to pop the metal gate open and work itself free of the unsecured hook.  Johnny wasn’t sure which of the men in the living room yelled, “Look out!”  but by the time the paramedic realized what it was he was supposed to be looking out for it was too late.

 

     Johnny glanced up to see the window rocketing down like a torpedo.  He turned to run, catching a glimpse of Roy and Chet doing the same thing.  He felt something heavy smash against the lower portion of his left leg.  The pain caused Johnny’s leg to collapse beneath him.  The force of the blow flipped the paramedic’s body as he fell.  Johnny closed his eyes, unable to watch as the window came down on top of him.

     Roy and Chet were still running when they heard Marco scream, “Johnny!”

 

     Up until this point Roy thought his friend was right behind him.  He turned around, momentarily stunned by the sight that awaited him in Chet’s front yard.

 

     Johnny was lying face up underneath the heavy window frame.  Broken glass littered his body like snowflakes glistening in the California sun.  At some point Johnny, either through quick thinking or simple reflex, had thrown his arms over his face.  That act had prevented glass from getting in his eyes, and had deflected the window’s frame from his skull.  The upper portion of the frame rested a foot above Johnny’s head.  The lower portion rested across his shins.  Roy briefly wondered if his partner’s legs had been broken by the impact of the heavy frame pinning them to the ground, but right now that wasn’t his biggest concern.  As he raced to Johnny’s side Roy’s biggest concern was the piece of jagged glass sticking up from the left side of Johnny’s chest like a well-aimed arrow.

 

     The first thing Roy did was scream, “Don’t touch him!” to the men gathering around the fallen paramedic.  Regardless of how bad things looked, Roy knew he had to assess Johnny’s condition before they attempted to lift the heavy frame. 

 

     “Chet, get me towels, sheets, blankets...anything and everything you’ve got!  Marco, if no one’s called this in do it now!  We’re gonna need all the help we can get!”

 

     Neither man answered Roy, but they both ran for the house on his commands.  Roy grabbed the work gloves from his back pocket that he’d been wearing earlier.  He put them on as he knelt beside his semi-conscious partner. 

 

     “Johnny, don’t move!  Don’t move.  Let me have a look at you.”

 

     “Off.”  Johnny’s head rolled back and forth beneath his arms as pain began to assault his nerve endings.  “Get...it...off.”

 

     “We will.  But I need to have a look at you first.”

 

     Roy glanced up and spoke quietly.

 

     “Mike, hold his legs.  Whatever you do, don’t let him move.  Cap, do the same with his arms.”

 

     The two men nodded.  Glass crunched beneath their boots as they hurried to do Roy’s bidding.  Mike placed his hands on Johnny’s ankles, keeping his grip firm but loose for the time being.  Since Johnny’s arms were still resting on the upper portion of his blood speckled face Cap didn’t attempt to reposition them.  He simply laid his hands on top of Johnny’s forearms and said,  “It’s gonna be okay, pal.  Let Roy check you out, then we’ll get this thing off of you.”

 

     “Hurts...Cap.”

 

     “I know, I know,”  Cap soothed as Roy carefully brushed and picked glass from Johnny’s body.  “But try to relax.”

 

     Johnny found relaxing to be difficult at best.  Even the slightest movement caused glass still dangling from the window’s frame to slice into his chest and abdomen.  If someone didn’t know the T-shirt Johnny had put on that morning was pale blue, the person would think it had been red.  Blood red.  Johnny’s denim Wranglers afforded his lower body more protection than the cotton T-shirt afforded his upper body.  Johnny couldn’t feel any blood seeping through his jeans the way he could feel it seeping through his shirt.

 

     Marco and Chet arrived back at the same time.  Blankets, towels, and sheets were laid a few feet from Roy’s patient as Marco reported,  “I called it in.”

 

     Roy merely nodded at that news before issues furthering instructions.

 

     “Chet, put your gloves on and help me get this glass off him.  But whatever you do, don’t touch that piece in his chest.”

 

     When no helping hands joined Roy’s he barked,  “Chet!”

 

     Marco saw the way Chet’s hands were shaking and the hint of shock surrounding his eyes.  He reached for his own gloves as he raced around to the opposite side of Johnny’s body from where Roy was working.

 

     “I’ll help you, Roy.”

 

     Hank glanced up to take in Chet standing a few feet behind Roy, and then the wide-eyed Dan standing outside the truck.  He figured it was a toss up as to which of them looked the most upset.

 

     Roy could only attribute luck to being the reason the glass piercing Johnny’s chest wasn’t still attached to the window frame. 

 

     Thank God it broke free.  At least we can get this thing off of him.  If it was still attached to the frame I don’t know what we’d do.

 

     For the next few minutes Roy and Marco gingerly broke glass free from the window frame and tossed it aside until the frame was empty of anything that could further cut Johnny.

 

     “Roy?”  Cap asked, when he sensed the paramedic was ready to make a decision. 

 

     “Until we get this frame off him I can’t tell if his legs are broken or not, but all the injuries from the glass seem to be fairly superficial except for that one.”

 

     Hank could feel Johnny trying to left his head. 

    

     “What...what one?”

     Roy’s eyes met his Captain’s for a brief second, then he spoke to his partner.

 

     “Johnny, you’ve got a piece of glass piercing the left side of your chest.”

 

     “I...I figured as...as...much,” Johnny rasped.  “Hurts...hurts like hell.”

 

     “I know. But that also means I can’t remove it.  We’re gonna have to let them do that at Rampart.  I don’t see any other serious injuries, though.  Do you   hurt anywhere else?”

 

     “Not...no.  My legs...are kinda...numb, but no...Roy, just...just pull it...pull it out.  Please.”

 

     “Johnny, I can’t do that.”

 

     “Yes...yes, you can.  Tell Brackett I said...I said it’s...okay.”

 

     “I have a feeling your authority won’t hold much weight with Doc Brackett in this case, partner,” Roy teased with a light tone to his voice, “so you let me decide what can and can’t be done.”

 

     Roy knew it was going to take all of them to lift the frame from Johnny.  He glanced down the street, praying to see a fire engine and squad.  He glanced over his shoulder at Chet while fishing his car keys out of his pocket.

 

     “I’ve got a First Aid kit in the trunk of my car that includes a stethoscope and B/P cuff.  Bring it to me.”

 

     Chet snared the keys Roy held out to him and ran for the paramedic’s sports car. He found a black bag in the trunk like  the medical bags doctors carry.  Chet brought it back to Roy’s side.  Roy removed his work gloves, then opened the bag and took out the equipment he wanted.  There wasn’t much in here that would help Johnny.  If Roy was able he’d contact Rampart via the bio-phone, and from there receive instructions to start an IV with Ringers Lactate and give Johnny a few milligrams of MS for the pain.  But Roy wasn’t able to do any of those things so he settled for monitoring his friend’s vital signs.

 

     “Cap, you can let go of his arms now.  But be ready to grab them if he reaches for that glass.”

 

     Hank nodded.  He wanted to reach for that ugly shard of glass piercing Johnny’s chest as well, but knew for the sake of their patient he couldn’t.

 

     Both Hank and Roy were on guard as the captain released his grip on Johnny’s arms.  The upper portion of Johnny’s face was injury free, but he had a long slice on his left forearm that was bleeding freely.  Roy held out a hand.

 

     “Chet, give me a towel.”

 

     Roy felt the terry cloth towel being placed in his palm.  He folded it once, then wrapped it around Johnny’s forearm in a makeshift bandage.  He secured the blood pressure cuff above it and pumped the ball.  His first instinct was to frown at the reading, but when he saw Johnny watching him he smiled instead.

 

     “Doing good, partner,” Roy lied.  Without lifting Johnny’s shredded shirt, and being careful not to come in contact with the glass in his chest, Roy placed the stethoscope against Johnny’s upper torso.

 

     “Roy...this thing is really...killin’ my legs.  Get it...get it off.”

 

     “As soon as 36’s arrive we will,” Roy promised, speaking of the station he knew was closest to Chet’s house.

 

     “No.  Don’t wanna...wait.  Juz...juz...get it off.”

 

     “We will, Johnny,” Roy promised as he watched his friend slip deeper into shock.  “We will.”

 

     When more time passed and Roy heard no sirens he looked at Marco. 

 

     “You said you called it in?”

 

     “Yeah.”

 

     “Damn.  How long has it been?

 

     “Ten minutes I’d say.”

 

     Roy chewed on his lip as he took Johnny’s blood pressure again.  He motioned for Chet to take his spot.

 

     “I need to talk to Cap.  Keep him calm and quiet.  Whatever you do...”

 

     “I know.  Don’t let him touch that glass.”

 

     “Exactly.”

 

     Roy started to stand.

 

     “Roy...”

 

     Roy knelt back down and placed an arm on Johnny’s shoulder. 

 

     “I’m right here, Junior.  I just need to talk to Cap for a minute.”

 

     The sun prevented Johnny from getting a good look at Roy’s face, but what little he could read of his friend’s expression told him Roy was awfully worried about something.  Johnny licked at his dry lips.  He fought back the urge to shiver and wondered how he could be so cold on such a warm day.

     “I...I..thought maybe you were...steppin’ out for ice cream.  Was gonna...gonna tell you...bring me back...choc...chocolate malt.”

 

     Roy chuckled.

 

     “No, I’m not stepping out for ice cream, but as soon as Brackett gives the okay I’ll get you that chocolate malt.”