Excerpt
     “Dios Bendiga, Senor Foil. God bless,” Paulo said as he herded the children down the last flight from the fire to the safety of the cold street.
     The Foil ran back up the stairs while the clamor of police and fire trucks filled the air. He knew there were other squatters, a couple of needle junkies and so on still on the third floor. Leading people down the stairs he met firefighters on their way up and told them the top two floors were cleared. Seeing them searching the remaining rooms he used the few seconds left to do a bit of investigation before fleeing the smoke and fire himself. He made a mental note to add a respirator to his bat belt.
     It was a grim scene. Black smoke was pouring out the back of the building while the firefighters probed deeper into danger. At the top of the basement stairs leading to the boiler room, he met Charlie Gibbons sitting on the floor, waiting for someone.
     “Gibbons? What are you doing here?” The Foil asked.
     Charlie got to his feet and glanced down the stairs. He was looking grim. Unshaved, dirty face and clothes. Very unlike him. “You won’t be able to save everyone, dude. Not tonight.”
     “What are you talking about?” The Foil demanded.
     “Take a look.” He led the way down the stairs, The Foil right behind him, through a maze of hallways where the air was still a little cooler and clearer. In a small windowless room lit by one swinging bulb was a propane cylinder, a red plastic gas tank and timing detonator.
     Charlie turned to face the man he’d come to hate. “Know where we are?” he asked.
     The Foil could smell disaster. Time to retreat – and fast.
     Charlie fired a gun straight from his pocket and blasted The Foil in the chest. The impact snapped him back against the wall where he collapsed behind the door.
     “This is where you started the fire and burned up before you could get out,” Charlie explained while he splashed gasoline around the floor and all over The Foil.