Ed McBain - Eighty Million Eyes

John “Cookie” Cacciatore lowered his head. The brim of the hat hid his eyes from Kling’s gaze.

“If you’d all have minded your own business, everything would have been all right.”

The squadroom was silent.

“I love that girl,” he said.

And then, in a mumble, “You lousy bastard, you almost killed me tonight.”

Morning always comes.

In the morning, Detective Bert Kling went to Elizabeth Rushmore Hospital and asked to see Cynthia Forrest. He knew this was not the normal visiting time, but he explained that he was a working detective, and asked that an allowance be made. Since everyone in the hospital knew that he was the cop who’d captured a hoodlum on the seventh floor the night before, there was really no need to explain. Permission was granted at once.

Cindy was setting up in bed.

She turned her head toward the door as Kling came in, and then her hand went unconsciously to her short blonde hair, fluffing it.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hello.”

“How do you feel?”

“All right.” She touched her eyes gingerly. “Has the swelling gone down?”

“Yes.”

“But they’re still discolored, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are. You look all right, though.”

“Thank you.” Cindy paused. “Did…did he hurt you last night?”

“No.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“He’s a vicious person.”

“I know he is.”

“Will he go to jail?”

“To prison, yes. Even without your testimony. He assaulted a police officer.” Kling smiled. “Tried to strangle me, in fact. That’s attempted murder.”

“I’m…I’m very frightened of that man,” Cindy said.

“Yes, I can imagine.”

“But…” She swallowed. “But if it’ll help the case, I’ll…I’d be willing to testify. If it’ll help, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Kling said. “The DA’s office’ll have to let us know about that.”

“All right,” Cindy said, and was silent. Sunlight streamed through the windows, catching her blonde hair. She lowered her eyes. Her hand picked nervously at the blanket. “The only thing I’m afraid of is…is when he gets out. Eventually, I mean. When he gets out.”

“Well, we’ll see that you have police protection,” Kling said.

“Mmm,” Cindy said. She did not seem convinced.

“I mean…I’ll personally volunteer for the job,” Kling said, and hesitated.

Cindy raised her eyes to meet his. “That’s…very kind of you,” she said slowly.

“Well…” he answered, and shrugged.

The room was silent.

“You could have got hurt last night,” Cindy said.

“No. No, there wasn’t a chance.”

“You could have,” she insisted.

“No, really.”

“Yes,” she said.

“We’re not going to start arguing again, are we?”

“No,” she said, and laughed, and then winced and touched her face. “Oh, God,” she said, “it still hurts.”

“But only when you laugh, right?”

“Yes,” she said, and laughed again.

“When do you think you’ll be out of here?” Kling asked.

“I don’t know. Tomorrow, I suppose. Or the day after.”

“Because I thought…”

“Yes?”

“Well…”

“What is it, Detective Kling?”

“I know you’re a working girl…”

“Yes?”

“And that you don’t normally eat out.”

“That’s right, I don’t,” Cindy said.

“Unless you’re escorted.”

Cindy waited.

“I thought…”

She waited.

“I thought you’d like to have dinner with me sometime. When you’re out of the hospital, I mean.” He shrugged. “I mean, I’d pay for it,” Kling said, and lapsed into silence.

Cindy did not answer for several moments. Then she smiled and said simply, “I’d love to,” and paused, and immediately said, “When?”