Craig Johnson - Kindness Goes Unpunished

“I cannot believe you just dented Lola.”

I ignored him and slowed, asking over my shoulder. “Where does this go?”

She slid the mechanism back on the semiautomatic. “It connects with Conshohocken Avenue, turning back where we came from, or down Falls Road and the expressway.”

I yelled over the engine and wind noise. “Which way would you go?”

“Expressway!”

We rounded the corner, drove behind a large mansion, and suddenly the point became moot. There were large sawhorses across the road that effectively blocked entry and declared in large black and orange letters, ROAD CLOSED DUE TO CONSTRUCTION.

I hit the brakes, and we all looked at each other. Vic gestured with her chin. “Go on ahead around the circle and back down.”

I followed her directions and continued around and back onto the drive, where we could see straight down Chamounix. There was no Escalade. She gestured to the right, where an unlabeled road disappeared into the trees. “There.”

I made the turn and hit the throttle again. “Where does it go?”

“Nowhere. It dead-ends in about a quarter mile.”

I made a sweeping turn and looked down at a pastoral idyll. I could see the Cadillac backing up with the beginning of a three-point turn at the end of the road. I hit the gas and barreled down the two-lane drive with no name, rapidly coming up on the black Caddy. He finished the turn and whipped the big vehicle straight at us. My nerve stayed steady as we approached each other at a climbing sixty.

Henry grabbed the dash. “What if it is not William White Eyes?”

Almost in answer, I felt and saw two things: the tinted side window on the Caddy was down and something was being thrust between the side-view mirror and the windshield. At the same time, I felt Vic rise and shoot just as the tick-tock compressed fire of a fully automatic weapon blistered the surface of the road in front of us and ripped its way up the front of the Thunderbird.

I veered to the right as the windshield exploded, and I tried to yank Vic down by her leather jacket. The return fire of the big Colt had struck home, and I watched as the heavy slugs bit into the hood, windshield, and door of the Escalade as it rushed by us and glanced off the side of the T-bird.

I hit the brakes and turned the wheel, stretching our momentum into a sliding turn, but at least two of the tires were flat, and we warbled to a stop; the Escalade was about fifty yards back down the road. I threw the door open and pushed off from the side of the car. I’m not sure what I thought I was going to do without a sidearm, but I figured I’d think of something when I got there. I heard Dog barking and coming up fast behind me.

In the reflection of the Cadillac’s side mirror I could see someone frantically attempting to do something and desperately hoped that he wasn’t about to reload. I got about halfway there when Dog overtook me, and I yelled at him to come.

The man in the Cadillac turned, roared the motor, sprayed grass and turf as he reached the curve, and was gone. I slowed to a stop and stood there in the middle of the road with the spent shells of the 9 mm scattered across the pavement. I made a few silent vows to myself as my jaw muscles clenched and stretched at the sutures.

Toy Diaz. Had to be.

I placed my hands on my knees and attempted to catch my breath as Dog came over and stuck his nose in my face. My sides were killing me as I made the slow walk back to the T-Bird. I was dizzy, and I was sweating, and it seemed very hot as I looked up at the big convertible, which was stretched across the road. Henry was in the back, and I picked up my pace. There was blood on the white leather of the cavernous seat, a lot of blood.

Henry had pulled her down and had cradled her head while applying pressure to the wound with his shirt. One of the slugs from the assault rifle had caught her in the side, just under the arm at the oblique muscles. It was hard to say where else the slug had gone. I leaned in and looked at her tarnished gold eyes, which were already glazing with shock. She raised a blood-coated hand and smiled. “Stop being weird.”

It was as bad as it looked and maybe a little worse. The 9-mm slug had taken a hard left where her love handle would have been if she’d had one, and a second had clipped her just above the collarbone and had taken a bit of the shoulder blade with it. My attempts at filling the available beds at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania had not gone unnoticed, and Rissman had asked if I wanted all my people in one wing. I noted that it’d be convenient.

I called the Moretti family, although Vic had told me not to, and sat down in the hallway to await the onslaught. Chavez had taken our statements; he said that Asa Katz would be here momentarily but that Gowder was still being queried about the Shankar DuVall shooting.

“How’s that going?”

He shrugged and slipped the papers into his aluminum clipboard. “I’d put it down as a service to society, but you never know.”

Henry said he had a few loose ends to tie up and that he’d be back in a couple of hours. I apologized for getting dents and bullet holes in Lola, but he didn’t say anything. He took Dog, and I figured I was in deep trouble.

I went up to Cady’s to wait for Vic to get out of surgery and found Jo Fitzpatrick sitting in a chair by my daughter’s bed. Jo was incognito in jeans, a worn pair of rough-out boots, and a weathered Carhartt coat that looked familiar. They were deep in the throes of a one-sided conversation concerning the case of the Atlantic City company that had attempted to do a little under-the-table trading. Evidently the case had been transferred to Jo, and she was getting Cady up to speed, even if all my daughter could do was look at her while she talked and occasionally squeeze her hand. It was hard to breathe when I went into that room.

“What happened to you?”

I had a tendency to forget what I looked like as of late. “I thought I might blend in better if I had a few more bandages.” She looked at me doubtfully as I stepped to the other side of the bed and reached out to hold Cady’s other hand. “How is she?” Cady squeezed back, and I watched as her eyes slowly tracked from Jo to me. I sighed and listened to my breath rattle as she squeezed my hand again.

“She’s looking much better, don’t you think?”

“Yep.”

She waited a few moments before speaking again. “I had a little time this morning and thought I’d come over and help out.”

“Thank you.” I kept my eyes on Cady’s, but hers had closed. I gently slipped my hand away. “Jo, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

It was a slow response. “I guess not.”

“What would you say your firm’s position is toward Cady?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

I swallowed. “I’m thinking of taking her back to Wyoming and, without the ability to consult with her in all this…”

She stepped a little forward and into my line of sight, and I could see from the general attitude of her body that she was more relaxed. “Cady is one of the best lawyers in the firm.” Her voice broke a little, and I could hear the wind outside the windows and in between her words. “David Calder, the senior partner, called me up to his office yesterday morning to make sure that we were doing everything we could for her.” When I glanced over, tears were on her face. “He said that no matter what it took, and no matter how long it took, we were to be committed to Cady’s recovery and her continued position in the firm.”

I nodded and looked back at my daughter. “Then I think we’re going to go back home.”

“To Wyoming?” She sounded a little relieved.

“As soon as she can.” I squeezed Cady’s hand again, but she was asleep. “I’ve got a few things to attend to and so does she.” I smiled and looked at the young lawyer on the other side of the bed. “Can I ask you another question?”