Fuel

Chewing

The hood of his car was warm and the drive hadn’t been that far, reminding Dylan Zellman that the sun hadn’t even been down for very long.

Dylan dangled his legs off the side of the car, playing with the gum in his mouth rather than chewing it.

His father had been an arson investigator as well, taught him to chew gum to get the smell and taste of smoke and chemicals out of his mouth.

But his jaw was still sore from his head bouncing off Cass Lake at 40 mph on Saturday.

Andrea Guzman walked up the parking lot of Conway Street Lutheran Church The fire in the church extinguished, church still standing, main chapel unscathed, gym and rectory were gonna need some work.

Dylan had watched Andrea on Channel 4 for years, thought she was attractive, did a good job reporting. 

Many of his colleagues, both friends and investigators he had never met from other towns, had spoken to her over the years. He didn’t feel like talking to her because none of his anger was going to be professional. But the town was too small to have a fire department spokesperson. Dylan was it.

“Hi, Inspector Zellman, I’m–”

“Hi, Andrea, nice to meet you. I’ve watched you for years.”

“Oh, well thank you. I’m sure the investigation is in its infancy but can I get you on camera to-”

“I can’t really give you much, right now, but, sure, I can-”

“Do you suspect arson?”

Dylan spit the barely chewed gum out and regretted it. 

I know the sound the aluminum bat makes when my daughter hits a baseball, different from the sound the other kid’s bats make. I know goddamn well it’s arson, and so do you.

“Too early to tell,” he said, giving her a look that let her know it wasn’t even close to too early to tell. “Always a possibility.”