Craig Johnson - Cold Dish

I walked past the glass partition at the reception area, over to the waiting room, and sat back in one of the chairs; she followed along and did likewise. I looked at the soothing gray that must have been chosen, along with the muted mauve of the walls, to calm upset relatives and loved ones. It made me want to take a nap. “I honestly don’t think he knows anything.”

“What about the size nine Vasques?”

I studied my coveralls and thought about a shower and a change of clothes. “I don’t think it was him. It could be the guy from Casper, or Jacob, or it could be somebody else…”

Vic studied the side of my face in the humming fluorescence. “You make it sound like somebody else.”

I turned to look at her. “I want to talk to Jim Keller.”

She raised an eyebrow. “About?”

“Things in general, nothing specific.” She looked tired too, but I decided to keep that to myself. “You get a ballistics check on the Cheyenne Rifle of the Dead?”

“Yes, I did.”

I had started to turn and study my dirty pants, but the tone of her voice pulled me right back around. “Oh, now, why do I not like the sound of that?”

“No match, but it’s been fired.”

I was glad I was sitting down. “How long ago?”

She inclined her head. “Difficult to say, anywhere from three days to three weeks.”

“Did DCI take the rifle?”

“No.” She smiled. “Everybody’s real nervous about handling that thing.”

“Because it’s haunted?”

“Because it’s probably worth millions”-I hadn’t told her about the Old Cheyenne and their assistance on the mountain-“And it’s fucking haunted.” She was looking at my hands. “I put it in your truck and locked the doors.”

“Thanks a lot.” I smiled at her because I liked her. Vic was like some exotic eastern bird that had accidentally landed in our high desert and had taken it upon herself to stay, and I don’t know what I would have done if she hadn’t. It was a profane little song she sang, but I had grown fond of it, like the first cries of the meadowlarks in the early spring. She had a quirky perspective on things and a foul mouth, but she would make a fine sheriff, no matter what anybody said or what words they used to say it. “How’s your love life?” That caught her off guard.

“Shitty, how’s yours?”

I shrugged and looked at the carpet. “How should I know?”

“She was here.” I turned and looked at her with a questioning expression. “Vonnie.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.” She crossed her arms and looked at her legs stretched out before her. “She brought flowers, but I told her you weren’t dead. I don’t think she thought I was funny.”

“Most people don’t.”

“Most people around here got no fucking sense of humor.” She didn’t move for a while. “Can I ask you a question, without you getting all pissed off?”

“I’ll try.”

She pursed her lips. “What is it you see in her? I mean, other than she’s beautiful, intelligent, and rich? I just don’t get it.” I pounded the crown back into my hat and made an attempt at straightening the brim. Relatively satisfied with the results, I placed it on my head and pulled it down. She finally spoke again. “I always wanted to be a woman like her. I think it’s because she’s tall.” She turned and looked at me. “It doesn’t seem fair that somebody should be beautiful, intelligent, rich, and tall. That’s bullshit.”

I waited. “How’s my hat look?”

She considered. “Like Gabby Hayes.”

I tried for another subject, the third being a charm. “You been in to see Henry?”

“I was, but then Dena Many Camps showed up, and I started feeling like a third wheel.”

I moved my head back and forth like a disco dancer. “He gettin’ some sweet medicine?” I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her in. It was a risky move, but she didn’t resist, and I rested my chin on the top of her head. “Thanks for coming up after me.”

Her voice was muffled and sounded strained. “You’re the only friend I’ve got.”

“I bet you say that to all the sheriffs.” I held her there for a while. Her husband was an idiot. We stayed that way until I became aware of somebody looking at us through the glass partition. It was Vonnie. She didn’t say anything, just nodded and disappeared around the desk and down the hall where everybody else had disappeared. She was carrying a shopping bag and the aforementioned bouquet of flowers. I pulled Vic back up and looked at her. “You okay?”

She smiled, but it seemed as if there was a little more ocean at the corners of her eyes. “Yeah, I’m good.”

I leaned her back and kissed her forehead. “Yep, you are.” I staggered up and steadied myself on my increasingly sore legs. “Vonnie just walked by.”

She nodded. “I get you into trouble?”

“I don’t think we’re to a place where I can get into trouble.”

She stood. “That’s what most guys think when they’re in trouble.” She turned the corner and walked toward the automatic doors. As they opened, she paused, making them wait. “I’ll be at the office. It’s getting crowded in here.”

I followed Vonnie’s trail and found her leaning against the wall outside room 62; she was holding the flowers with the shopping bag at her feet. Her long hair was pulled back in the single ponytail that she had worn to watch football with Henry and me, only a few days ago. The lines in her face were more evident today, in the harsh lighting, but they gave her a delicate appearance like some fragile and beautiful tapestry. Seeing her again was like unearthing an emotional library card with a lot of overdues. I slowed as I got nearer, a little worried about what might be coming. She looked up as I approached. “Thank God you’re all right.”

It was good that I stopped, because those eyes were just a little bit hard. “How did you find out?”

Her jaw set, and an awful lot of the wrinkles disappeared. “I bought a police scanner at Radio Shack, thinking it would be nice to hear your voice once in a while.”

We stood there for a moment and listened as a female giggled through the walls of the Bear’s room. “I didn’t call.”

“No, you didn’t.”

I nodded and looked at my boots. “I’ve been kind of busy.”

She stood away from the wall, the flowers clutched in her hand like a Louisville Slugger. “Did you know that they could hear you? That I could hear you? We heard every word you said, and you couldn’t hear anything when they answered?”

“No.”

“I could hear it all.” Her head nodded in a tense fashion. “I could hear everything. Do you know what that’s like, hearing those words and not being able to do anything?” She threw the flowers, and they hit me in the chest. “I have spent my whole life getting to a place where I don’t have to put up with things like this.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I will not let you do this to me; I will not.” She stormed past, and I raised a feeble hand to stop her. She yanked her arm away and pointed to the shopping bag on the floor. “I thought you could use a change of clothes.” She stood there for a moment, and I thought there might be some kind of opening, but there wasn’t, and she continued down the hallway as I turned and watched her go.

I sighed and stooped down to pick up the flowers. As tired as I had been before, I was twice that now. I figured there were better places to take a nap, but fatigue set in and I sat down with my legs stretched out in front of me. It felt good to stretch them, and my back was starting to hurt, so I just laid back and sprawled out on the tile floor of the hallway. I placed the flowers on my chest in a fit of symbolism and closed my eyes.