Kindness Goes Unpunished

by Craig Johnson

  “Indians.”

  Her eyes widened. “Fuck me.”

  “The first note wasn’t Henry. GO BACK TO THE INDIAN was the statue at Logan Circle. I think LOOK WEST, YOU CAN FIGHT CITY HALL means the Indian statues facing west at City Hall.” I turned one of the books and shoved it toward her and pointed at the photograph of a Plains medicine man on horseback, his arm raised above his buffalo headdress. “Dauphin at West Thirty-third Street, east Fairmount Park.”

  “Medicine man.”

  I nodded. “I’m headed over to the hospital, but I thought I might stop off at City Hall since it’s on the way. The City Hall note came before the medicine man one, and the sequence might be important.”

  The wedding cake that is the City Hall of Philadelphia was designed to be the tallest building in the world, but by the time it was finished, the Eiffel Tower and the Washington Monument had surpassed it. On four and a half acres of Penn Square, its domed tower tops out just shy of 550 feet to the top of Willy Penn’s hat. There are 250 other statues that adorn the interior and exterior of the building to keep him company.

  We got out of the cab at the west side of the building and walked across the sidewalk with Dog as though we were approaching some fantastic ship that had been docked at the center of the metropolis.

  “I hate this building.”

  I ignored her and studied the façade. “It’s Second Empire, the same as the Louvre.”

  “It’s fruity.”

  “This is quite possibly the greatest architectural achievement of the late nineteenth century.”

  I allowed my eye to cast over the dormer pediment figures on the west side of the building and walked a little ahead of Vic as she stopped to buy an Italian ice from one of the vendors that populated the area. Dog strained a little at the leash and attempted to be a part of Vic’s transaction, but I gently yanked him back.

  It was a beautiful day, and the skies and streets were washed clear with the previous night’s storms. I could feel the humidity, and the air felt like the breath of someone close. I dragged Dog along behind me as I angled a little to the left and stood there, studying the dormer caryatids. Above them were two colossal bronzes at the north corners of the tower, twenty-four to twenty-six feet in height: one was an Indian maiden, the other a brave.

  I looked at the more than two hundred vertical feet between the statues and me as Vic came over with two cups of Italian ice. “We don’t have to climb this ugly fucker, do we?”

  “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.” I took my ice and spooned out a mouthful; it was piña colada, and it was very good. “Is there a tour of the building?”

  “Yeah, or at least there used to be.”

  I clarified my question. “When?”

  “When it used to be my division, it was Monday through Friday at 12:30.”

  “It’s Saturday.”

  “It’s Philadelphia; nothing’s easy.”

  I sidled a little more to the left, continuing to study the massive sculptures. “A woman with a child, and a man with a dog.” I looked down at Dog, who seemed to be taking an inordinate interest in my ice. “You don’t have any notes on you, do you?” He sat in expectation of a treat. I turned back to Vic. “Do you think we’re supposed to figure it out from here?”

  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.”

  14

  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 the
m 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…”

  “All right…”

  “She has probably heard enough cop voices in her life.”

  He flexed his neck and moved to the chair Lena had just vacated. I offered him the coffee, and he took a sip. He handed it back to me and noticed my new bandage. “You are hurt again?”

  “Yep.”

  He picked up the paper that Lena had left on the floor. “Would you like to tell me or should I just read about it in the newspaper?”

  “Osgood’s dead, along with Shankar DuVall.” I raised my hands in innocence. “I didn’t kill either one of them.”

  “That is good.”

  I smiled with him and passed the coffee again. “I got another note…”

  “I heard. What is your new theory?”

  “I think the notes concern themselves with Indian statuary.” I pulled one of the books from my backpack and opened it to the photo of the Plains medicine man.

  He took the book and cradled it in his hands, and somehow it became more important. His fingers traced down the page. “You think that the preoccupation of William White Eyes with all things Native extends to the art world?”

  “Yep.”

  He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I am relinquished of my duties at the Academy and can now assist you full time.”

  I felt guilty about not having kept him company. “How was the reception? It seemed like a success.”

  He continued to study the book. “It was.”

  “How was your speech?”

  “Brilliant.”

  I took another sip of the communal coffee. “You’re sounding pedantic.”

  He nodded and handed the book back to me. “I am now in cop mode.”

  “You know…” He watched me as I watched Cady. “You may be going back to Wyoming alone.” He continued studying me as I slipped the book back in the pack.

  “That is what you want?”

  I shifted in the chair. “I just can’t keep you here while I wait for…” I could feel the heat rising in my face, so I took a few moments to swallow and let the warmth dissipate. “I don’t know when I’m going to be able to go home.”

  He straightened in his own chair. “Maybe the wait will be shorter than you think.” He brought his large hands up and clapped the leather palms together like the report of a rifle with a voice that thundered from the high plains. “Cady!”

  I spilled the coffee. The head nurse was standing, but she remained behind the desk; she was probably afraid that the Indian was on the warpath. I turned back toward him with my face set, but when my eyes rested on Cady, hers were open, and they were not staring at the ceiling but at us.

  I felt myself rising from my chair and walking toward the bed, and her eyes followed me. I couldn’t breathe, and my vision was clouding with the pent emotion of what seemed like a lifetime. I had never seen eyes as beautiful as the ones I was looking into now.

  I reached out and took her hand with my battered, finger-guarded paw. “How long have you known?”

  He smiled and shook his head at my ignorance. “Just now.”

  I was standing there looking at him when I thought I felt a mild pressure in my hand that a man without hope would have perceived as a reflex action. I turned and looked at Cady, and her eyes stayed steady with mine. I gently squeezed her hand in return and, once again, ever so gently, she squeezed back. I kneeled down by the bed, the tears stinging. “I see you. I see you, and I felt that just now…” I stayed with those eyes, staying with them just as sure as I held onto her hand. “Don’t you go away. Don’t you ever go away again.”

  She didn’t nod or even move, but I knew she could hear me and understand. I squeezed her hand again, but she didn’t squeeze back this time, and that was okay. She was probably tired, and we had a long way to go.

  It was Dr. Rissman’s day off. Another surgeon from the floor below said that it was a cognitive effect that denoted a reactive concept but not necessarily one of perceptivity. He started to give me the reactivity/perceptivity routine, but I refused delivery and told him “The Greatest Legal Mind of Our Time” was on its way back, so get ready.

  The narrow rays of hope I’d been nurturing cracked across the ICU like the sound of Henry’s hands, and I sat at the side of Cady’s bed for the next hour and forty-three minutes until her eyes closed again.

  They wanted to run more tests, and I was the thing that was holding them up. I didn’t want to let go and wanted to be there when her eyes opened again, but one of Henry’s thunderclap hands rested on my shoulder, and I felt the tug of home from two mountain ranges away.

  I brushed the sleeve of my shirt across my face, smearing the residue of sentiment and careful to avoid the parts that were freshly stitched. I laughed.

  “What is it?”

  I tried stretching my shoulders without pulling at my beat-up,
Raggedy Andy head. “I was just thinking that if my face was the first thing I saw when I came to, I might go back to sleep myself.”

  I looked to see if she would respond when he dragged my hand away, but she didn’t. Like Sleeping Beauty, she was enchanted again, and all I could do was wait.

  It was a beautiful day, and the warmth of the sun felt good on my back. Henry had picked the Vietnamese stir-fry place near the university for an early lunch, and the food was actually pretty good. The guy had almost dropped his spatula when the Indian ordered in Vietnamese. Since it was a Saturday and the students were otherwise engaged, we occupied one of the picnic tables; my two regular pigeons hopped over and stood beside my boots. I motioned with my plastic spork. “Mutt, Jeff, meet Henry Standing Bear.”

  Henry nodded at the two freeloaders. “Ha-ho, Mutt and Jeff.” Mutt cocked his head at the baritone Cheyenne, but Jeff kept his beady eyes on my fried rice.

  I looked toward the façade of Franklin Field and thought about what had happened today. I thought about the chain of violence and death that had been at least momentarily reversed. I thought about acts of kindness and acts of risk that were due a reward.

  Henry ate his shrimp with rice and looked at me but didn’t say anything. He took a sip of his green tea and studied me with the steady, dark eyes. “What do you think they will find at the medicine man statue?”

  I took a deep breath, and it seemed like my ribs didn’t hurt as badly. “Now that I’ve had time to think about it, nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I think William White Eyes was going to be there.” I put my paper plate on the ground so that Mutt and Jeff could get a shot at some rice. “He’s not going to show for Philadelphia’s finest, but he will for us.”

  He sat the cup down. “This is not over then, is it?”

  “He saved Cady.” He didn’t reply. “You and I both know that if she hadn’t gotten medical attention as quickly as she did, she’d be dead.” It felt good having some idea of what I was going to do. “He exposed himself, not once, but a bunch of times to make sure that we were okay.” I used the finger guard to scratch at the stitches at my jaw. “That’s just not something I can walk away from.”