Craig Johnson - Kindness Goes Unpunished

She shrugged and continued eating her lemon ice. “That hasn’t been the case so far.”

I went back to ignoring Dog and studied the tower. LOOK WEST, YOU CAN FIGHT CITY HALL. It didn’t make sense that William White Eyes would leave a note in a place where we couldn’t get it. He hadn’t done that before, and I think he was a creature of habit, albeit a creative one. As I finally succumbed and lowered the cup to Dog so that he could lap the remaining syrup at the bottom, I thought I heard somebody say something.

I looked at Vic, who was standing another twelve feet closer to the northwestern corner of the building. “What?”

She stared back at me. “Huh?”

“What’d you just say?”

She looked at me quizzically. “Is your hearing going again?”

I stood there. “Didn’t you just say something?”

“No.”

This time the voice came from directly behind me. I turned and looked at the grizzled man who owned the Italian ice cart-a stocky balding man with a soiled red apron and striped shirt. “Excuse me?”

He smiled and said it a little louder this time. “Medicine Man.”

He didn’t know William White Eyes or Billy Carlisle; he just knew that a guy had paid him twenty bucks to keep an eye out for a large man in a cowboy hat with a dog and when he saw him to say “Medicine Man.” He said the guy that had given him the message was tall, skinny, and had been wearing a cap and sunglasses, so he didn’t know what color his hair or eyes might’ve been, but that he was well dressed and had been wearing shiny shoes. He said he always noticed them and that you could tell a lot about a person from their shoes.

He liked my cowboy boots.

He said the guy told him I’d be around yesterday and that he’d tried the two words out on a man that was wearing a cowboy hat but wasn’t so big and didn’t have a dog. He said the man had looked at him funny, and he figured it was the wrong guy. He said the fella with the twenty had given him the message to pass along yesterday afternoon. He studied me for a while and then wanted to know if he was in trouble. I told him no.

He wanted to know if he got another twenty bucks. I told him no to that, too. He wanted to know whether if he came up with anything else, there might be another twenty in it. I told him I was a police officer and that if he hadn’t told me everything, we could continue this conversation at the Roundhouse.

He said he’d told me everything. I asked him if he was sure.

He said he was twenty dollars sure.

The cabbie took the Market Street Bridge, and I looked out at the Schuylkill River and wondered if there were any fish in it. Vic didn’t have anything to throw out the window, so I figured we’d make it all the way to the hospital.

“Why would he deliver the message twice, once with the vendor and once in the hat?”

“He didn’t think we got it from the vendor, and he was right.”

“So, after the hospital, we head up to eastern Fairmount Park with Katz and Gowder?”

I petted Dog and thought about it. “Let them do it.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“I’m more concerned about Cady.” She nodded, and we rode the rest of the way in silence, but she petted Dog, too.

The detectives were waiting for us outside when we arrived. I asked Gowder about his inquiry. “Postponed till this afternoon.”

“What about your badge and gun?”

He smiled the trademark smile. “I’ve decided to operate on my winning personality and bulletproof spirits.”

I glanced at Katz, and he gave me a thumbs up. Vic followed them. “I’m going with them. You don’t need me.”

I stood there on the sidewalk with the leash in my hand. “Would you do me a favor?” She took Dog.

When I got to Cady’s room, Henry was asleep in a chair by the bed with his Phillies cap pulled down over his eyes. Lena looked up from the Daily News and held the front page so that I could see a smiling photograph of Vince Osgood when he had a head.

The headline read ASSISTANT DA SLAIN. She raised her eyebrows and spoke quietly. “You’re making quite a name for yourself here in the big city.”

“I didn’t shoot him.” I sat in the chair next to her and also spoke sotto voce. “How was the opera?”

“Tame, in comparison.” She handed me a cup of coffee from the windowsill, and I took it even though I’d consumed enough of the stuff to tan a buffalo hide. “What happened?”

“It was a lot of running, screaming, and shooting.” I looked at Cady. “How is she?”

Lena folded the paper and slid it to the floor beside her chair. “Her eyes were open when Michael and I changed the guard, but she closed them about an hour ago.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since about eight.”

“When did the Cheyenne Nation show up?”

“Michael said a little after midnight. He’s been asleep since I got here.”

She was wearing a floral print sundress and the shapely arch of her foot showed in strapped sandals. She lay back in her chair and stretched her legs. “He’s very handsome.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine Lena as she had been in her midthirties any more than it was hard to imagine what Vic would look like in her late fifties; each was a reminder of what could be and what was, with the grip of the past too strong and the grip of the future too frightening.

“Where’s the Terror?”

Obviously, she was reading my mind. “I got another note stuffed in my hat after I dropped it last night.”

She placed a hand over her eyes and sighed. “Enough of this cloak and dagger stuff.” She leaned forward. “I have news for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Not that it matters that much now, but Alphonse says Devon Conliffe was turning state’s evidence on Vince Osgood.”

“I know that.”

She looked at me. “How do you know that?”

“Katz and Gowder had to tell me after I found out Billy Carlisle was William White Eyes.”

“Who is Billy Carlisle, and, for that matter, William White Eyes?”

I studied her for a long time. “Lena, how come you called Katz and told him to keep an eye on me?”

Her eyes didn’t come back to mine, and she sat there quietly with her hands holding onto the paper cup of coffee. “I was worried about you.” A little time passed as we looked at each other. She smiled. “Well, I’m not one to pry into police matters for too long.” She picked up her purse from the sill, stood, and turned to look at me. “I’m too well trained.” She took a pair of sunglasses out and slipped them on. “Do you have plans for dinner?”

“Pardon?”

“Dinner?” She picked up her empty coffee cup and dropped it in the nearby trash can. “Victor and I thought it might be nice to have you and Vic for dinner late-afternoon? We’d be honored if you brought Henry. It’ll have to be early, since Victor has another performance tonight. About five? Nothing special, Lena’s Risotto a la Marinara Moretti.”

I stayed seated and watched her continue to stiffen. “Lena, have I done something to upset you?”

She didn’t look at me. “Possibly.”

I listened to the flap of the sandals as she disappeared down the corridor of the ICU and wondered if I was developing an unwanted talent for driving women away.

“That was well done.”

I turned to look at the Indian as he raised his hat. He studied me as I took the top off the coffee Lena had given me and went ahead with a sip. “You think?”

He adjusted the cap and leaned on the arm of his chair to get a better look at me. “You were using your cop voice. I think that was what pissed her off more than anything.”

“Cop voice?”

He nodded. “It is a pedantic tone you use when you are questioning a suspect that…”