I was getting worried. It’s not a good thing when you see smoke coming from the fire chief’s ears.
“Honest, Chief,” I protested. “That fire extinguisher was full last week; somebody must have used it recently!”
“Poppycock!” Chief Whistleman shook his notebook in my face. “According to my records, this unit was empty the last time I made my rounds. Did you complete any of the recommendations I made?”
“Well, er…”
“Check the smoke detector, Chief,” suggested Quigley. “I’m sure you’ll find the battery in good working order.” 
Whistleman’s eyes narrowed. “Of course it is,” he growled. “That’s because the battery’s never been used; somebody keeps disconnecting it!”
I glared at Quigley. Everybody knows what happens when Tooner nukes his lunch in the microwave. Removing the battery is a whole lot easier than waving away the smoke every noon hour.
“Look, Chief,” I pleaded. “Give me a list of what needs to be done and we’ll make it happen. I promise; I’ll do whatever you say.”
Chief Whistleman handed me a copy of his scribbled notes. “Listen, Shambles,” he threatened, “if this list isn’t followed to the letter, I’ll be recommending a sprinkler system for the entire shop!” He turned to leave. “Oh, and one more thing: Do something about your coffee. It tastes like fire retardant!”
I looked at Quigley as the fire chief drove away. “Sorry, boss,” he shrugged. “The coffeemaker caught fire this morning. I had to put it out with something.”
“Fine,” I said. “Take this list and do what Whistleman says. We can’t afford the cost of a sprinkler system.”
I stomped my way out into the shop, looking for something to distract me. I found it in the far bay, where Tooner was heating up over a well-worn 2001 Chevy Blazer with wiring troubles. “Any luck, Toon?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I’m gettin’ hosed by this one.” He began to count on his fingers. “I’ve got rear wiper motors coming on with the vehicle turned off, and if you aren’t watching, the washers will nail ya dead center. The fuel gauge and shift indicator come and go as they please, and on top of that, the power windows and mirrors don’t work.”
I groaned. “Can’t you find a common source in the wiring diagrams for all these systems?”
“There isn’t one, my friend.” Basil had just come out of the back room with a printout in his hand. “They are all separate systems. And did Tooner tell you about the blown three-amp fuse for the power mirror and door locks, and what happens when we test the amperage draw on that circuit?”
I shook my head.
“It’s real cool,” said Tooner. “It makes the backup lights come on. Now, unplugging the relay junction box seems to help, but…”
With the dash in pieces and a ton of hours already spent tracing wiring circuits, it was clearly time to cut through the smoke.
“Why don’t you start with the backup light circuit,” I suggested. “At least you’re getting some response from there.”
Tooner shrugged. “Won’t hurt my feelings. I’ll put ‘er up in the air and start with the switch on the tranny.”
Once the truck was raised, he pulled the wiring plug to test it. We crowded around for a closer look. “That’s funny,” said Tooner. “There’s power here on the grounding side of the circuit. How can that be?”
Something above our heads caught my eye. “Hey, fellas, what’s this?”
Tooner pulled the trouble light closer and squinted up at the floorboards. “Funny. It looks like a burn mark to me.” Sure enough, the paint on the driver’s side floorboards showed discoloration. “Guess I’d better take a closer look topside.”
Half an hour later, Tooner had the driver’s seat removed and the carpet pulled out of the way. There before us lay the source of all our troubles: A large wiring harness running under the carpet had rubbed through onto the floor pan, causing 12 different wires to melt together. “Looks like things have been getting hot here,” I said.
“So how come it didn’t catch fire and burn the carpet?”
Basil chuckled. “Believe it or not, I think General Motors inadvertently manufactured this Blazer with a built-in fire protection system.”
Tooner could see I wasn’t getting it. “Look here. The rear window washer hose runs in the same harness, and when the wires melted, they took out the rubber hose, as well.” He poked the soggy carpet. “The whole area is flooded with washer fluid!”
Later, Quigley found me on a stepladder in the lunchroom. “Hey, what’s up?”
I adjusted the bucket of water on its mount and looped the control rope through an eyelet screwed into the ceiling. “My new fire protection system, that’s what’s up.”
“You mean the fire chief is making you install sprinklers after all?”
“No,” I replied. “If you’ll recall, we fixed everything like he asked.” I climbed down and ran the rope through another eyelet on the wall near my chair. “There. It’s all done.”
Quigley carefully eyed the bucket perched above the microwave oven. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s simple. I got the idea from Tooner’s last repair job.” I sat down in my chair and took up the slack in the rope. “We can’t afford to get caught without a battery in the smoke detector again. So I’ll just sit over here while Tooner heats up his lunch. If he overdoes it, I pull the rope.”
Quigley stared at me. “It’ll make a blooming mess!”
I shrugged. “Yeah, but it’ll keep the fire chief off my back.”
Rick Cogbill, a freelance writer and former shop owner in Summerland, B.C., has written The Car Side for a variety of trade magazines for the past 15 years. “A Fine Day for a Drive,” his first book based on the characters from this column, is now available for order at thecarside.com.
