Craig Johnson - Kindness Goes Unpunished

I listened as the unsteady clop of horse’s hooves made their way up the broken trail behind me. At first I thought it must be Henry, who had grown tired of waiting, but the Bear’s patience could rival that of the marble chief, so I assumed it was finally William White Eyes. The sound was faint at first but slowly grew with each step until the horse stopped on the trail to my left, only a dozen feet away.

I listened as his mount situated a hoof forward for an even plant and expulsed a deep exhale into the moist, cool air. The vapor from its breath clouded for a moment in my peripheral vision and then misted in long trails with the prevailing eastward wind.

I had shallowed my breathing so that it didn’t show in the cold of the spring storm and, with the appearance of the horseman, I was lucky I remembered to breathe at all. I listened as his weight shifted on the horse’s back and looked at him as he searched the surrounding area. After a moment, he nudged the bay forward, and they continued around the appropriately shaped horseshoe corner of the trail and approached the Indian statue. William White Eyes wasn’t wearing a poncho or a jacket; he was naked, except for a loincloth that appeared to be perilously attached around his hips, and his body, as well as that of his horse, was painted with the multicolored geometric patterns and red streaks of a Dog Soldier.

William glowed in the limited light of the hillside, and if Toy Diaz was out there, there was no way he could miss him. I watched as the pale young man, who was decorated for battle, stopped, pivoted, and looked around; he didn’t see me.

It was possible that Diaz was not there, that the evening would end with me convincing William White Eyes to fill in all the gaps in the story and with the police rounding up Toy Diaz in a nonviolent interaction, so that I could take my daughter, my friend, my deputy, and my dog and go home to Wyoming. It was possible, but not likely.

Diaz had displayed a knack for cleaning up the loose ends of his operations by the most expedient and merciless means. You didn’t get where he got by sending thank-you cards; you got there by being the biggest, meanest son-of-a-bitch in the Valley of the Shadow of Death or on Forbidden Drive, as the case may be.

William rose, threw a leg off, and started to slide to the ground on the opposite side of the horse. I scanned the hillside but nothing moved. I could continue waiting, but I needed to get him out of here.

I stood on stiff legs and teetered there for a moment; William had stopped his dismount and stayed on the horse; he was still looking at the statue. I couldn’t lose him this time. I stood there, sure that the crunching of my knees and the rustling of the stiff, plastic poncho would turn his attention toward me, but the constant washing sound of the rain against the trees must have drowned me out. The horse had heard me and was looking directly where I stood, his far eye circled with red paint. I waited, scanning the hill to see if there might be any other response from anywhere else.

Nothing.

I took half a step to the edge of the rock ledge and looked at him. I was now a good fifty feet distant, and I didn’t want to spook him; he was on horseback, and I’d never catch him. “William?” He turned in the saddle, and I could see the line of his profile in the flash of lightning to my right. “It’s Walt.”

This time he heard me. “Sheriff?”

“Yep.” I stood there waiting as he turned the gelding toward me.

“I guess you got my note?”

“I did.”

He looked around. “You’re alone?”

I cocked my head. “Pretty much.”

He nodded and even in the distance, I could see him gnawing on his lip. “Devon hurt her.”

“I know.” I circled around in the direction he’d taken to get to the statue. “And I owe you an awfully big favor for getting help.”

He laid the reins to one side as the horse turned toward the trail. “I didn’t kill him.”

I waited. “I know that, too.”

The horse shifted his weight, so I stopped. He watched me for a moment and then asked, “How is she?”

“Improving.” I started to take another step and then thought better of it. “Her eyes are open, and she’s responding.”

He nodded and shifted the reins. “That’s good news.” I waited as he watched me. “I guess this all seems kind of weird to you, huh?”

I figured, why lie? “A little.” I gambled on another step and, in three more, I could block his retreat to the path, at least as well as a man afoot can block a man on horseback.

He cleared his throat. “I’m more at home here in the park than in the city.”

“I was hoping that would be the case.”

He shifted his weight on the gelding as it planted a hoof in anticipation, the circled eye still on me. If William White Eyes didn’t know what I was doing, the horse did. “I don’t know how much you know about me.”

“Quite a bit, actually.”

He nodded and looked down at his hands. “Cady told you?”

“No, I’ve made a case study of you lately.”

He nodded some more. “I wasn’t sure what I should do next, but I thought you might have some ideas.”

“Well, the cops want you, but they don’t want to kill you.” I took another step. “It seems to me you’ve got an awful lot of information they need.”

“Toy Diaz’s account numbers.”

“Yep.” I took the final step, William watching as I stood at the trail. He turned the bay toward the stone stairs and retainer wall where I could look him in the eye. “I’m not sure if Mr. Diaz is around, but I wouldn’t be surprised. We need to get you out of here.”

“I’m the safest I could be, here.”

“No, you’re not.” I looked around, acutely aware that we were not out of the proverbial woods. “I think they’ve been all over this park looking for you. I think the sooner we join my friends at the bottom of the hill the better.” I stepped back to block him from taking the trail behind us and gestured to the path below. I stepped around the bay and looked up at him. “I’ll go first; just in case.” I cleared the . 45 from the poncho and looked ahead, where I hoped, if there was trouble, was the direction from which it would come.

We zigged the first part and had just begun our zag when I thought I saw movement at the next curve. I stopped and studied the shadows of the trees in the black of the rain-soaked ravine, raised my arm, and stopped the horse on the rounded stones of the trail. “Whoa…” The bay halted and let out with a sigh that pressed hot breath on the exposed back of my neck.

I had just about convinced myself that it was nothing when I thought I heard a sound like something moving. It was not discernable, just a sound that sounded different from the rest. I waited and then motioned for William to stay put.

I eased down the path with the big Colt pointed in the direction of the movement and sound. Henry wouldn’t have left his position at the base of the hill, and the police were all stationed at the vehicle entrances of Wissahickon Park.

I slipped a little on one of the larger rocks and caught myself before I landed on my ass or shot myself in the foot. I waited and then carefully approached what still looked like a tree. It was a tree.

I shrugged and turned back, walking with the. 45 to my side. There was no reason for me to climb the hill again, so I motioned for William to come down. He nudged the horse in response, and we were lucky he did, because that’s when the first series of shots ripped through the woods like the tearing of the muscles in your chest.

The muzzle flash came from the trees above. Toy Diaz must have followed us. He made the mistake most civilians make with an automatic weapon-his shots were high and climbed-and, once again, if William White Eyes didn’t know what to do, the bay did; it ran like hell and straight toward me.