Cold Dish

by Craig Johnson

  It didn’t take him long to answer; maybe the college thing was working out. “What do you want to know?”

  It was about that time that there was a clamoring at the other end of the table; George Esper must have awakened, heard a little bit of what was being said, and decided once again to make a break for it. The table moved about six inches, even with my weight on it, when George reached the end of his stainless-steel tether. A low moan emanated from below the other end of the table as Lucian walked around and looked down at him. “Son, I have met some sorry little bastards in my life . . .”

  “Lucian, don’t abuse the prisoner.”

  He looked up with his mouth pulled to one side. “Hell, I ain’t the one that shot ’im and broke his jaw.”

  “He shot himself.”

  “Yeah, that’s your story . . .”

  I turned back to Petie, who had not moved, but whose eyes seemed a little wider. “What’s the story on Houdini down here?” He looked confused, so I nodded toward the moaning. “George.”

  He cleared his throat. “He called me this morning, real early. He said he had a hunting accident and that he didn’t want to go to the hospital because it was going to cost a lot.” I nodded. “He showed up, with his jaw and all? I started thinking that there might be something else going on.”

  “You doctored him up?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He got here when?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “What all did he have to say?” Petie looked at the ceiling, and I sighed. “Petie, I think you are considering lying to me, and I would advise you against it.”

  “He said he ran his car off the road.”

  “Anything about his parents?”

  “He said they were in Deadwood.” Well, that answered a few questions.

  Outside, I placed George in the passenger seat of the Bullet and found his keys in the bunched pants he still had on his lap. I tossed the keys to Lucian. “What am I supposed to do with these?”

  “He drove the thing with one leg, I figure you can too. Go get Turk out at the Espers. I’m headed to the hospital to get George here looked at.”

  “You ought to kick his skinny little ass, but you do as you see fit.”

  When I got in, George was looking at the steering column for the keys to my truck. When he caught my eye, he leaned against the door and began moaning, with his eyes partially closed. “George, so far your situation is not irretrievable. Henry Standing Bear is unlikely to press charges, and I’ll do what I can about the mandatories if you tell me everything I want to know.” One eye opened a little more. “Where are your parents?”

  He started to speak, then put a hand to his mouth in an attempt to still the pain. “Dehdwoo.”

  I keyed the mic on my radio. “Come in Base, this is Unit One.” I waited as Lucian backed the Mazda out and pulled up beside me with a questioning look. I held up the mic to show him what was up; he nodded and headed off for the Espers. The entire side of the little truck was dented from one end to the other. “Come in, Base.”

  Static. “What do you want now?”

  “Ruby, the Espers are in Deadwood, South Dakota. Can you make the appropriate inquiries?”

  Static. “How did you find that out?”

  “I am sitting here with the elusive George Esper.”

  Static. “Does he know where they’re staying?”

  I looked over at George, who was now watching me with both eyes. “Lowsla.”

  “Loadstar?” He nodded. I keyed the mic. “The Loadstar. Any word from up on the mountain?”

  Static. “They’re on their way down.”

  “Roger that. I’ll be over at the hospital.”

  Static. “Ten-four.”

  I stared at the radio. “What’d you just say?”

  Static for a moment, then a sharp response. “I wouldn’t press my luck, if I were you.”

  I started the truck, wheeled around, and headed back for the highway. The gravel road wasn’t too bad, but George moaned with a little more persistence every time the truck bounced. He was back in full victim mode. “Your parents gambling in Deadwood?” I glanced over at him. “Just nod your head yes or no.” He nodded yes and looked out the windshield. “Your brother with ’em?” He shook his head. “Was he supposed to meet you fishing up on the mountain?” He nodded, then, after a second, turned to look at me. I looked back at the road and nodded a little myself. “We’ll talk some more about that at the hospital.”

  His eyes stayed on me, and I was convinced he wasn’t the Vasques, size nines we were looking for. “Eesurt?”

  “No, he’s not hurt.” It wasn’t a complete lie. “We just need to get you repaired.” I changed the subject. “Sorry about the jaw.”

  He nodded and slouched farther against the door. He really was a mess. I don’t think the second altercation had done him much good, and the symptoms of the first were plainly evident. The discoloration from his jaw had spread to his eyes, and the swelling had puffed his face so that he was almost unrecognizable. There was that, and the fact that being confused with his brother wouldn’t be an issue anymore. The radio interrupted my thoughts. “Come in Unit One?” Static. “I’ve got the Espers on line one. You want me to patch them through?”

  I glanced over at George, who was studying me very closely. “No, just get the number, and I’ll call them back in about five minutes.”

  Static. “Roger that.” I looked at the radio and smiled.

  By the time we got to the hospital, it was looking like a cop convention; both Vic’s and Ferg’s vehicles were parked in the official spots at the emergency room entrance. I pulled up to the door and walked around to get George. There was a small crowd at the desk when I made my way in. “You know, just because you’re as big as a bus, doesn’t mean you have to provide service like one.” I casually bumped past her and sat George in the wheelchair that Janine had pulled from the wall.

  “He’s got a gunshot wound in his left thigh, and I think his jaw’s busted. You better check his ribs. Thanks, Janine.” She rolled George away, and I nodded for Ferg to follow them. As he passed, he patted my shoulder and smiled. I called after him, “Hey, you got my hat?”

  He smiled some more. “It’s on the desk.”

  I watched them go down the hallway, then walked over and picked up the now disreputable piece of 10X beaver felt. It needed a little work. I was dusting it off as a sharp index finger punched my stomach. It didn’t go in as far as it used to. I turned to look at her. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “What are you doing out of here?”

  “I released myself.”

  She shook her head, but the poking stopped. “You looked like you were going to die last night.”

  “They gave me Tylenol. I’m feeling much better.” I gave her a thumb’s up. “What’s the story on DCI?”

  She looked at me for a moment longer. “Headed for Cheyenne with Jacob.” She looked down the hallway after George and his entourage. “What’s the word on him?”

  I walked past the glass partition at the reception area, over to the waiting room, and sat back in one of the chairs; she followed along and did likewise. I looked at the soothing gray that must have been chosen, along with the muted mauve of the walls, to calm upset relatives and loved ones. It made me want to take a nap. “I honestly don’t think he knows anything.”

  “What about the size nine Vasques?”

  I studied my coveralls and thought about a shower and a change of clothes. “I don’t think it was him. It could be the guy from Casper, or Jacob, or it could be somebody else . . .”

  Vic studied the side of my face in the humming fluorescence. “You make it sound like somebody else.”

  I turned to look at her. “I want to talk to Jim Keller.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “About?”

  “Things in general, nothing specific.” She looked tired too, but I decided to keep that to myself. “You get a ballistics check on the Cheyenne Rifle of the Dead?”<
br />
  “Yes, I did.”

  I had started to turn and study my dirty pants, but the tone of her voice pulled me right back around. “Oh, now, why do I not like the sound of that?”

  “No match, but it’s been fired.”

  I was glad I was sitting down. “How long ago?”

  She inclined her head. “Difficult to say, anywhere from three days to three weeks.”

  “Did DCI take the rifle?”

  “No.” She smiled. “Everybody’s real nervous about handling that thing.”

  “Because it’s haunted?”

  “Because it’s probably worth millions”—I hadn’t told her about the Old Cheyenne and their assistance on the mountain—“And it’s fucking haunted.” She was looking at my hands. “I put it in your truck and locked the doors.”

  “Thanks a lot.” I smiled at her because I liked her. Vic was like some exotic eastern bird that had accidentally landed in our high desert and had taken it upon herself to stay, and I don’t know what I would have done if she hadn’t. It was a profane little song she sang, but I had grown fond of it, like the first cries of the meadowlarks in the early spring. She had a quirky perspective on things and a foul mouth, but she would make a fine sheriff, no matter what anybody said or what words they used to say it. “How’s your love life?” That caught her off guard.

  “Shitty, how’s yours?”

  I shrugged and looked at the carpet. “How should I know?”

  “She was here.” I turned and looked at her with a questioning expression. “Vonnie.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah.” She crossed her arms and looked at her legs stretched out before her. “She brought flowers, but I told her you weren’t dead. I don’t think she thought I was funny.”

  “Most people don’t.”

  “Most people around here got no fucking sense of humor.” She didn’t move for a while. “Can I ask you a question, without you getting all pissed off ?”

  “I’ll try.”

  She pursed her lips. “What is it you see in her? I mean, other than she’s beautiful, intelligent, and rich? I just don’t get it.” I pounded the crown back into my hat and made an attempt at straightening the brim. Relatively satisfied with the results, I placed it on my head and pulled it down. She finally spoke again. “I always wanted to be a woman like her. I think it’s because she’s tall.” She turned and looked at me. “It doesn’t seem fair that somebody should be beautiful, intelligent, rich, and tall. That’s bullshit.”

  I waited. “How’s my hat look?”

  She considered. “Like Gabby Hayes.”

  I tried for another subject, the third being a charm. “You been in to see Henry?”

  “I was, but then Dena Many Camps showed up, and I started feeling like a third wheel.”

  I moved my head back and forth like a disco dancer. “He gettin’ some sweet medicine?” I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her in. It was a risky move, but she didn’t resist, and I rested my chin on the top of her head. “Thanks for coming up after me.”

  Her voice was muffled and sounded strained. “You’re the only friend I’ve got.”

  “I bet you say that to all the sheriffs.” I held her there for a while. Her husband was an idiot. We stayed that way until I became aware of somebody looking at us through the glass partition. It was Vonnie. She didn’t say anything, just nodded and disappeared around the desk and down the hall where everybody else had disappeared. She was carrying a shopping bag and the aforementioned bouquet of flowers. I pulled Vic back up and looked at her. “You okay?”

  She smiled, but it seemed as if there was a little more ocean at the corners of her eyes. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  I leaned her back and kissed her forehead. “Yep, you are.” I staggered up and steadied myself on my increasingly sore legs. “Vonnie just walked by.”

  She nodded. “I get you into trouble?”

  “I don’t think we’re to a place where I can get into trouble.”

  She stood. “That’s what most guys think when they’re in trouble.” She turned the corner and walked toward the automatic doors. As they opened, she paused, making them wait. “I’ll be at the office. It’s getting crowded in here.”

  I followed Vonnie’s trail and found her leaning against the wall outside room 62; she was holding the flowers with the shopping bag at her feet. Her long hair was pulled back in the single ponytail that she had worn to watch football with Henry and me, only a few days ago. The lines in her face were more evident today, in the harsh lighting, but they gave her a delicate appearance like some fragile and beautiful tapestry. Seeing her again was like unearthing an emotional library card with a lot of overdues. I slowed as I got nearer, a little worried about what might be coming. She looked up as I approached. “Thank God you’re all right.”

  It was good that I stopped, because those eyes were just a little bit hard. “How did you find out?”

  Her jaw set, and an awful lot of the wrinkles disappeared. “I bought a police scanner at Radio Shack, thinking it would be nice to hear your voice once in a while.”

  We stood there for a moment and listened as a female giggled through the walls of the Bear’s room. “I didn’t call.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  I nodded and looked at my boots. “I’ve been kind of busy.”

  She stood away from the wall, the flowers clutched in her hand like a Louisville Slugger. “Did you know that they could hear you? That I could hear you? We heard every word you said, and you couldn’t hear anything when they answered?”

  “No.”

  “I could hear it all.” Her head nodded in a tense fashion. “I could hear everything. Do you know what that’s like, hearing those words and not being able to do anything?” She threw the flowers, and they hit me in the chest. “I have spent my whole life getting to a place where I don’t have to put up with things like this.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I will not let you do this to me; I will not.” She stormed past, and I raised a feeble hand to stop her. She yanked her arm away and pointed to the shopping bag on the floor. “I thought you could use a change of clothes.” She stood there for a moment, and I thought there might be some kind of opening, but there wasn’t, and she continued down the hallway as I turned and watched her go.

  I sighed and stooped down to pick up the flowers. As tired as I had been before, I was twice that now. I figured there were better places to take a nap, but fatigue set in and I sat down with my legs stretched out in front of me. It felt good to stretch them, and my back was starting to hurt, so I just laid back and sprawled out on the tile floor of the hallway. I placed the flowers on my chest in a fit of symbolism and closed my eyes.

  More giggling slipped from under the door of the Bear’s room.

  I lay there for a while, thinking that what I ought to do was get up, find a shower, and change into the clothes Vonnie had so thoughtfully provided. I wondered how she knew my size and thought about what she had said. I was feeling sorry for myself, and it felt pretty good; so, I just lay there musing in self-pity, thinking about life, death, and a shower, in that order.

  More giggling.

  I had to eat something. I had to talk to the Espers and tell them about Jacob and try to confirm all of the suppositions as to what Jacob and George’s plans had been, where they had been, and what had happened. My five minutes had run out a half an hour ago. I had to speak with Jim Keller, and it wouldn’t hurt to have a word with Lonnie Little Bird about the last time the Cheyenne Rifle of the Dead had been fired.

  Even more giggling.

  I could also talk to the Little Wolf woman to see if there were any more clues as to where the feathers might have gone to and come from. I needed to follow up on the Vasques, size nines, and get a better idea on who might have been leaving tracks all over God’s little acre in them. I didn’t think it was George, but there was the disturbing habit he had of running off every time he got the chance. He had b
een so sure that Henry had tried to kill him on the trail that I began wondering if that might have been one of the motivations behind his constant state of flight. I also wanted to check on Henry and get a more thorough diagnosis on how he was doing. The first part was in getting my eyes to open and, when I did, an upside down Janine Reynolds’s blues were there to meet me. “Hi, Janine.”

  She looked a little worried. “I thought you might want something to eat?”

  “Bless you.”

  She looked around and then back down to me. “Are you okay?”

  “Just thinking.” I reached over and picked up my hat where it had fallen during my dramatic interpretation. I looked at the flowers, still clutched in my other hand. “You want some flowers?”

  “No, thanks.”

  I pushed up and slid over to the wall as she handed a tray down to me. It was some sort of supposed egg matter that I’m sure had never seen the rear end of a chicken and two grayish meat patties that had never oinked. I placed my hat beside me with the brim up and placed the flowers in it. I rested the tray on my lap and picked up a piece of dry toast and began chewing. No wonder so many people died here, they starved to death. Whatever this was, it was not the usual. “Janine, is there a shower around here?”

  She blinked. I guess it was a strange request. “There’s the one in the staff locker room.”

  “Would anybody mind if I used it?”

  “I don’t think so; you’re kind of a local hero.”

  I continued chewing my toast and began wondering if it was real bread. “Why’s that?”

  “Because of what you did up there.”

  Everybody talked about the mountains as if they were on the second floor. I was uncomfortable with flattery, so I asked her how the Cheyenne Nation was doing. She said that he had turned out to be remarkably resilient and was lucky in that the bullet hadn’t done any serious damage to any of his solid organs. While the doctors were in there, they had taken his appendix. I asked about his index but didn’t get a laugh, at least not from Janine, as a sultry giggling erupted again from room 62. We looked at each other as I continued chewing my toast, and her face reddened. “Well, it’s good to know all his solid organs are functioning properly.”