"Zito, big-time tagger." Otis says looking up at the man who's got himself stuck on a ladder on a really high billboard.
"Yeah, yeah, I've seen his name around." Herrmann nods, looking up at the guy.
"He's hit every train station, bus stop, and mailbox in Chicago." replies Otis.
"You president of his fan club?" I ask sarcastically.
"No. There's a street art exhibition at the MCA."
"This clown's in the museum?" Herrmann asks, perplexed.
"What a country." Otis shrugs.
Severide manages to get the guy down safely using the aerial so I pack away the gurney and we head back to the firehouse.
Herrmann doesn't think graffiti in museums is 'correct' so Otis is trying to change his mind by showing him pictures of the 'art'.
It's got a range of dark and light tones of blue with white and a load of squiggles and then there's well dressed men and women pointing and looking interested in the art. If you couldn't tell it's a museum promotion picture on their website.
"Not to sound like my father-in-law, but this is what's wrong with America." Herrmann sticks to his guns.
"What's wrong with America, or what's great about America?" Otis replies.
"Are you kidding me?" He retorts, "three-thousand clams for that and I'm out there doing side jobs for twenty dollars an hour?"
"Hey, the mouch is looking for you." Cruz tells Gabby and then he takes her seat to listen to Herrmann. He's very... passionate... about things like this. It's hilarious.
"Do you know how much the taxpayers of this city pay for graffiti removal?" He doesn't even give us chance to reply, "fifty million, a year."
"Uh, that... that sounds high." Mills frowns not believing him.
"Look it up." Herrmann shrugs and Otis moves forwards to start typing, "alright, stop. So it's more like twenty-five million. Either way, it's a lot of money." he says. "And then this little wannabe hood rat--"
"Herrmann it's bold." Shay interrupts him. "It's provocative."
"Ha, ha, ha. You're just trying to get a rise." He retorts, "And look at these high society douche bags lapping it up." he points at the people in the picture looking at the graffiti, "You see, this is why, when my kids get out of high school, Cindy and me, we're moving to chain o' lakes 'cause..." he pauses and stands up walking away from the computer, "I can't deal with this insanity." He storms out the room for effect and we laugh at his reaction.
"Ambulance 61, truck 81. Gunshot victim." The buzzer sounds and we get on our way.
A whole load of cars are gathered un-neatly in the road behind a bus. All the cars are beeping and flashing their lights to try and make the bus move.
"Where's the victim?" Casey asks the bus driver.
"In the back."
"Shooter?" I ask, to check we're all safe.
"Gone. I swerved when I heard the shots."
"Cruz, Mills, in the bus. Cones and flares. Get these cars moving." Casey instructs.
Dawson and I head onto the bus and move to the back where a dark skinned boy is slumped in his seat. I go up to him and put my fingers to the non-injured side of his neck. "Shot to the neck. Not breathing. Weak pulse."
YOU ARE READING
I Am Morgan
FanfictionJessica Morgan. That's a name you'll never forget. Despite having no family at all, despite all the things she's seen and witnessed and fought, she keeps on going. She's an inspiration. She's strong. As paramedic on Ambulance 61 she rushes around...
