Submerged

He hadn’t shaved in weeks. He was also overdue for a haircut. Thankfully, they weren’t too strict about appearances at work, though his supervisor would probably harp on it again.

The alarm on his watch beeped.

He had twenty minutes to get to the center. Then he’d get back to hiding behind the anonymity of being a faceless voice on the phone.

Yellowhead County Emergency Services in Edson, Alberta, housed a small but competent 911 call center situated on the second floor of a spacious building on 1st Avenue. Four rooms on the floor were rented out to emergency groups, like First Aid, CPR and EMS, for training facilities. The 911 center had a full-time staff of four emergency operators and two supervisors—one for the day shift, one for the night. They also had a handful of highly trained but underpaid casual staff and three regular volunteers.

When Marcus entered the building, Leonardo Lombardo was waiting for him by the elevator. And Leo didn’t look too thrilled to see him.

“You look like your dog just died,” Marcus said.

“Don’t got a dog.”

“So what’s with the warm and cheerful welcome? Did the mob put a hit out on me?”

Leo, a man of average height in his late forties, carried about thirty extra pounds around his middle, and his swarthy Italian looks gave him an air of mystery and danger. Around town, rumormongers had spread stories that Leo was an American expatriate with mob ties. But Marcus knew exactly who had started those rumors. Leo had a depraved sense of humor.

But his friend wasn’t smiling now.

“You really gotta get some sleep.”

Stepping into the elevator, Marcus shrugged. “Sleep’s overrated.”

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Leo pushed the second floor button and took a hesitant breath. “Listen, man…”

Whenever Leo started a sentence with those two words, Marcus knew it wouldn’t be good.

“You’re not on your game,” Leo said. “You’re starting to slip up.”

“What do you mean? I do my job.”

“You filed that multiple-car accident report from last night in the wrong place. Shipley’s spent half the morning looking for it. I tried covering for you, but he’s pretty pissed.”

“Shipley’s always pissed.”

Pete Shipley made it a ritual to make Marcus’s life hell whenever possible, which was more often than not. As the day shift supervisor, Shipley ruled the emergency operators with an iron fist and enough arrogance to get on anyone’s nerves.

The elevator door opened and Marcus stepped out first.

“I’ll find the report, Leo.”

“How many hours you get, Marcus?”

Sleep?

“Four.” It was a lie and both of them knew it.

Marcus started toward the cubicle with the screen that divided his desk from Leo’s. Behind them was the station for the other full-timers. He waved to Parminder and Wyatt as they left for home. They worked the night shift, so he only saw them in passing. Their stations were now manned by casual day workers. Backup.

“Get some sleep,” Leo muttered.

“Sleep is a funny thing, Leo. Not funny ha-ha, but funny strange. Once a body’s gone awhile without it or with an occasional light nap, sleep doesn’t seem that important. I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

They were interrupted by a door slamming down the hall.

Pete Shipley appeared, overpowering the hallway with angry energy and his massive frame. The guy towered over everyone, including Marcus, who was an easy six feet tall. Shipley, a former army captain, was built like the Titanic, which had become his office nickname. Unbeknown to him.

“Taylor!” Shipley shouted. “In my office now!”

Leo grabbed Marcus’s arm. “Tell him you slept six hours.”

“You’re suggesting I lie to the boss?”

“Just cover your ass. And for God’s sake, don’t egg him on.”

Marcus smiled. “Now why would I do that?”

Leo gaped at him. “Because you thrive on chaos.”

“Even in chaos there is order.”

Letting out a snort, Leo said, “You been reading too many self-help books. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He turned on one heel and headed for his desk.

Marcus stared after him. Don’t worry, Leo. I can handle Pete Shipley.

Pausing in front of Shipley’s door, he took a breath, knocked once and entered. His supervisor was seated behind a metal desk, his thick-lensed glasses perched on the tip of a bulbous nose as he scrutinized a mound of paperwork. Even though the man had ordered the meeting, Shipley did nothing to indicate he acknowledged Marcus’s existence.

That was fine with Marcus. It gave him time to study the office, with its cramped windowless space and dank recycled air. It wasn’t an office to envy, that’s for sure. No one wanted it, or the position and responsibility that came with it. Not even Shipley. Word had it he was positioning himself for emergency coordinator, in hopes of moving up to one of the corner offices with the floor-to-ceiling windows. Marcus doubted it would ever happen. Shipley wasn’t solid management material.