Cold Dish

13

“What do you mean, you released yourself on your own recognizance?”

“I rang the bell a bunch of times, but nobody came around.” I was trying to look reputable, but it was difficult with the clothes I was wearing.

“So you just left?” We stood there for a moment, looking at each other. “They’re on the phone, and they want to know where you are!”

Ruby had a point, and in hindsight it did seem a little irresponsible. I straightened some of my papers and tried to look busy. “Well, tell them I’m here.”

“You tell them. Explain to the doctor why it is he can’t find you anywhere in his hospital.”

I stared down at the blinking red light; I had to get a different color. It was still early, and the sky was getting a little bruised yellow to the east. The tail end of the storm was tapering off to the Powder River country, but the skies still stayed mostly gray. They said it was over, but I felt like it might be stalking me. I remained there for a while, not allowing the pain in my fingers and ear to get the best of me. I could hear Lucian chuckling to himself in the hallway. Changing of the guard. I had timed it poorly; if I had arrived earlier, I could have gotten things going and hit the road before Ruby had shown up for duty.

I woke up very early and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I lay there and thought about Henry. I rang the little bell for the night nurse and waited about five minutes. Then I rang it again and again. A half an hour went by, and I decided to go look for the Bear myself. The IVs were the biggest pain in the ass, but they came out pretty easily, and the tape covered the holes so that the bleeding stopped. I had dismissed the idea of dragging them along with me, as they would cut down on this particular mission’s stealthy quality. The nurse had hidden my personal belongings, but I found them in a locker near her station, which was, I had learned, the safest place to avoid her. There was a little cardboard sign on the desk that said, IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, CONTINUE TO THE CLINIC OR RING BELL. I’m cagey that way, so I didn’t ring the bell or go to the clinic.

There was a guy who might have been part Crow mopping the hallway when I came back to my room to change into my clothes. He had the sickly look that everybody adopts after working nights for a while; I had had that look before. “How you doin’?” He stared at my gown and the clothes I clutched to my chest but didn’t say anything. He leaned on his mop and stared at me some more. “You know where they stuck Henry Standing Bear?” He motioned the mop handle toward the room across from mine: 62. We stood there for a moment longer. “Thanks.”

He continued mopping, and I ducked into my room to get dressed. My hands were swollen and starting to blister, and it was only with a great deal of difficulty that I snapped my shirt. The rubber boots were the hardest part so I finally left them unlaced. My hat hadn’t been with the rest, and I paused for a moment to think about when I had seen it last. I thought it was on the mountain, but I couldn’t be sure. I fingered the glob of tape attached to the side of my head and felt the tenderness that must have been my ear. It hurt worse than anything else, but at least they hadn’t cut it off.

By the time I opened the door and looked around, the guy with the mop had moved on to another hallway or had gone to fetch the elusive nurse. I quickly moved across the hall and into the room opposite, hoping it was the right one. I stood there in the dark, letting my eyes adjust. It was a mirror image of mine, with the exception that it did not look out on the parking lot. The breathing was heavy, regular, and familiar. I moved carefully to the bed and looked down. He seemed to be all there and, short of pulling down the sheet and examining the wound myself, I would have to go on the assumption that he was doing all right. He had a couple of IVs stuck in him too, but there weren’t any monitors attached and that gave me hope. I looked around for a clipboard at the foot of his bed that would tell me how he was, but there wasn’t one. Durant Memorial Hospital was doing little to live up to the expectations I had developed as a teenager watching Ben Casey.

I wasn’t sure what else to do, and I wasn’t certain why I was here, other than to just make sure he was alive and well. They lie a lot in hospitals; it’s their job, to supercede the power of the Almighty with half-truths. Better to check things out for yourself. I was about halfway to the door when he spoke. “Thank you for the visit.”

I stopped and crept back. “I left the Whitman Sampler on the nightstand.”

“Very thoughtful.”

I took a breath. “How do you feel?”

“Doped.”

“Must be nice; all I got was some Tylenol.”

He rolled his head toward me a little, looking at my clothes. “Where are you going?”

“To look for George Esper.”

“You want to kill him before somebody else does?”

I continued to look at him. “You aren’t that doped up.”

“I was just thinking of calling and asking for some more.”

“Good luck.” I patted his arm and started to back toward the door. “Get some rest.”

“Walt?” I stopped. “Thanks.”

When I got into the hallway there was still nobody there, so I quickly made my way around the corner. To my utter surprise, a nurse sat at the nurse’s station. She was looking at me so I marched straight over to her, crossed my arms, leaned on the chest-high partition, and draped my hands by my side where she couldn’t see them. There was nothing I could do about the ear. “Hi. I was just checking on a patient here, Henry Standing Bear. You’ve got him in room 62.” She had sandy hair, china-blue eyes, and looked like she was about fourteen.

“Yes?”

“He was complaining about some pain, and I was wondering if somebody could get him more medication?”

She seemed a little distracted as she picked up a phone. “Certainly.” She looked at me a little more closely. “Aren’t you in room 61, Uncle Walter?”

I glanced around as if it were obvious. “No, I’m not.” I looked at her more carefully. “Do I know you?”

“I’m Janine Reynolds. I’m Ruby’s granddaughter.”

The eyes started to look more familiar, so I smiled. “How you doin’, Janine?”

She didn’t smile back. “What are you doing out of room 61?”

I thought for a moment. “Official business.”

The brat, she had called her grandmother and told her everything, especially the part where I didn’t know her from Adam. Maybe they had given me more than Tylenol; at least that’s what I told Ruby. I sat at my desk and watched as Lucian ambled in on his man-made leg and occupied the chair opposite mine. He was studying me with more scrutiny than I was comfortable with. “What?”

“I bet’cha they take that ear.”

I sighed. “Just because they’re always taking parts off of you.. ”

“ ’At’s what they do best, take parts off.”

“I’m pretty fond of this ear.”

He scratched his stump. “Yeah, well I was pretty damn fond of my leg.”

I waited. “Anybody got any idea where George might’ve gone?”

He leaned back in the chair, hands spread onto his thighs with the fingers stretched. “Got an APB out, but them HPs are about as useless as tits on a boar hog.”

“How did he get out before Vic and Ferg got in?”

He shrugged. “Must ’a left right after you left him, in that little Jap piece of crap.” His head leaned to one side, and he was the perfect picture of disgruntled as he gazed at the floor. “Little shit bird.” He looked back up. “Stop playing with your ear.” I had been. “Yer gonna do more damage playin’ with it than you did freezin’ it.”

I decided to change the subject. “Where is everybody?”

“Turk’s still out at the Esper place. Guess he’s tryin’ to work his way back into your good graces. Ferg was running some food out to ’im, but that was an hour ago.” He grunted. “Ferg’s got your hat.”

“I was wondering where it had gone off to.”

“You’re gonna need it to hide that half ear you’re gonna have.”

I sighed some more. “Vic?”

“Up at the DCI compound.” He said it with the same derisive conviction he had for the highway patrol. He looked out the window at the frozen sky. “What’d the little pissant get shot with?” I felt around in the jacket I still had on and tossed the gun onto the desk with a satisfying clatter. I was showing Lucian that I could be tough, too. Next thing you knew, we’d be breaking out the bourbon and calling Ruby a twist; then the real fun would start. He looked at the little revolver. “That ought’a do it.” His eyes came up to mine. “How bad?”

“Not bad enough to keep him from jumping in the driver’s seat and leaving us in the lurch.”

I leaned forward on the desk and told Lucian about the Vasques, size nines, and about the conversation I had had with George before I had gone back for Henry. He neither responded nor remarked until I was through; just sat there looking at me. I was remembering what a good lawman he was when he finally spoke. “Well, he’s gotta get doctored somewhere.” He cleared his throat. “Seems to me you just left the place where you should ’a started looking for him.”

“You don’t think he’s stupid enough to go to the hospital?”

“He was stupid enough to be up there fishing in a blizzard, stupid enough to try and shoot you and Ladies Wear, stupid enough to try and make a run for it.” He stopped, shook his head, and folded his arms over his chest to signify the particular gaps in my line of thinking. “I’d say the depths of his stupidity have yet to be plumbed, and yours is comin’ up fast on the inside turn.”

I had gotten a lot of tirades like this when I was a deputy under Lucian, but I didn’t take them personally, much. “So, we’ve got the hospitals and doctors’ offices, but they have to report any kind of gunshot wounds.”

“You couldn’t get ’em to answer a bell, how long you think it’ll take ’em to file a report?”

He had a point. “You want to take a ride?”

“I’m saddled and, if you’re waitin’ for me, yer backin’ up.”

It was like working with Louis L’Amour.

Ruby stopped me as we tried to make our way out of the office. “Do you think you should make an attempt at cleaning up?”

I looked down at the stains and rumples that made up today’s and yesterday’s ensemble. “Lets the citizens know they’re getting their money’s worth.”

“You have dried blood all down your back.”

I dodged out the door before she could say anything else, with Lucian cadging along after me. I gave the old sheriff a hand as he pulled himself up into the truck. He took out his pipe and a small, beaded leather pouch of tobacco and began filling the cherry-wood bowl. I noticed the pattern on the small bag and recognized it as the same as the Dead Man’s Body on the Cheyenne Rifle. I informed Lucian of this. He looked at the pouch anew as the smoke drifted around his head and his dark eyes and out the window he had just cracked. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Going back to the hospital was risky business, but it was a chance I was going to have to take. Lucian waited patiently as Isaac Bloomfield looked over my hands and examined my ear while I questioned him about any other gunshot wounds that might have popped up last evening. He said there had been nothing suspicious to report, but that if anything came up he’d be sure to get a hold of me as quickly as possible. I asked about Henry, but all he did was kind of chuckle and said the nurses were taking very good care of him. I feared for Janine Reynolds’s virginity. Much to Lucian’s dismay, he, my entire ear, and myself left shortly thereafter. We continued our search to the drugstore downtown where they reported that they had not sold a single Band-Aid since yesterday afternoon. It was a tough economy on the high plains. I turned and looked at him as I started the truck. “Veterinarians?”

“Taxidermists.”

I’m not sure why, but it made sense. “Which one?”

He pulled on his pipe and studied the problem; one thing we had no shortage of in Wyoming is taxidermists. “How ’bout that outfit of Pat Hampton’s down on Swayback Road?”

I wheeled the Bullet into a U-turn and headed south; a few vehicles slowed and the drivers gave me irritated looks. Lucian shot them the bird, and I slapped his hand down as he snickered and told me to turn on the lights and siren to show them we meant business. I figured he just wanted to run them again, so I did. I navigated the entrance ramp of the highway at the south side and, since there wasn’t any snow on the road, took the truck up to about eighty-five. He didn’t say anything, just looked ahead, and I figured I was going to hear about it. I was right, but it wasn’t what I thought it would be. “What you did up there?”

“Yep?”

“That was a hell of a thing.” I nodded and looked ahead too. I didn’t tell him about the Old Cheyenne.

Pat Hampton’s was an odd mixture of taxidermy and game processing. It was said that no matter what you wanted to do with an animal, Pat could assist you. When we pulled up to the ramshackle complex of dilapidated buildings, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Pulled around to the far side of one of the buildings, covered with mud and with the side caved in, was a black Mazda Navajo with the plates, Tuff-1.

“Bonzai.” The old sheriff smiled and pulled the pipe from his mouth as I eased the Bullet up to the other side of the building. “You got a gun I can borrow?”

I unlocked the 870 Wingmaster from the dash. “This kid is a victim.”

He looked at the shotgun. “Fugitive from justice.”

“Lucian, do me a favor and don’t shoot anybody.”

He jacked the pump action and fed a shell of double-ought buck into the breech. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with shootin’ folks, long as the right ones get shot.” The next five minutes promised an inordinate variety of excitements. I pulled out my. 45 and checked it, like I always did, then reholstered it, snapping the leather strap over the hammer. The old outlaw smiled. “Front or back?”

I looked at the accumulation of buildings, trying to figure out which was which. “I’ll take the front.” The Remington waved in my direction as he navigated the door, and I was acutely aware that he had not put on the safety. I walked across the muddy slush of the lot to what looked like it might be the front as Lucian swung-stepped his way around the corner of the ratty, brown-painted building. There were boot prints leading up to the aluminum screen door that had only some battered strips of screening still attached. There was a plastic sign in the window, flyspecked and bleached by the sun. In swirling letters it read, SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED.

There were ancient blinds in the windows, but there was a small, diamond-shaped pane in the door that was unshaded. I poked my head through the empty frame of the screen and looked through the dirty glass. I could see an odd combination of living room and reception area with sofas, a console television, and some sort of strange reception desk. I noted the hallway leading to the right, after you got past the desk, and figured that was where I should go once I’d gotten through the door.

“Sheriff ’s Department!” I pounded on the door with the flat of my hand. “George, if you’re in there? Let’s not make things worse!” I listened as a shuffling noise came from the center of the building. I took a deep breath and checked the knob. It was locked. I banged on the door again. “Sheriff’s Department, I’m coming in!” I took another couple of breaths and unsnapped the strap from the top of my holster. I only had a certain amount of time before Lucian came in the rear, but I figured having only one leg would slow him up in kicking his own door down. I carefully swung back the screen-door frame so as to not get caught in it and pulled the Colt from my holster, clicking the safety off and holding it in the air. I leaned back and put everything into a fourteen E width.

I guess I was expecting a little more resistance from the rotting, hollow-core door, because I followed it rather rapidly as it folded up into two main pieces and blew us into the room and onto the sofa at the opposite wall. I heard a loud thumping at my right and pushed off the couch, cleared the doorway at the hall, and ran toward the noise. When I got to the entryway at the opposite end, somebody was coming the other way but didn’t see me until it was too late. I just kept running and carried him back into the room as I led with the point of my unarmed shoulder. I heard the air leave his body as we went back through the doorway, and he felt familiar. Hello, George.

We bounced off a large table at the center and slid to the cool, tile surface of the floor. I steadied myself against the countertop with one hand and stood. It was George all right, and he was out again. He was only partially dressed and still held his pants in his hands. There was a large wrapping of bandages at the middle of his right thigh and another set around his head that was holding his jaw secure.

I stood the rest of the way up, pulled out my handcuffs, and secured George to the table. As I finished this, there was noise down the hallway, and an explosion that was unmistakable as the sound of a 12 gauge shotgun being discharged filled the air. I started to head down the corridor when another young man with a pale face came bursting through the doorway with what looked like a rifle in his hands. When he saw the barrel of the. 45 about a foot from his nose, he pulled up short and froze. “Sheriff’s Department, you don’t move.”

His hands went straight up, along with the rifle. “I won’t.”

“You just did.” He looked confused for a moment. “Drop the rifle.” He hesitated for a second. “You got a problem?”

He was still frozen. “It might go off.”

“All right, you keep it pointed away from me and set it down on the table.” He did as requested, and I told him to stretch forward and place his hands on the counter, palms down. He did this, and it seemed like he was going to cry. I had a moment to look at him; he was just about George’s age. It all figured.

“Lucian! You all right?” There was a little more clatter, and he answered from the distance, “Yes, goddamn it!”

I went around the corner of the table and looked at the kid’s rifle and propped the butt against my hip. “A pellet gun?”

His face turned toward mine. “It’s all I had, and I didn’t want to hurt anybody…”

Lucian appeared in the doorway, shotgun at the ready. “Damn door was locked.”

I sat on the edge of the table and stuck the pellet rifle under an arm as I put my sidearm back in the holster and looked at the kid, trying to place him. “Well, where’s Pat? He away?”

Lucian planted one of his formidable claws at he back of the kid’s neck. “Yeah.” I watched as Lucian’s grip tightened. “Hey!” His voice strained.

“You say ‘sir’…” Lucian leaned in over the boy’s head. “Yes, sir.”

The voice was even more strained. “Yes, sir.”

“Lucian?”

He let up a little bit and looked at me questioningly. “What? I ain’t hurtin’ the little pissant.” He rolled his eyes, stepped back to the doorway, and poked the kid with the barrel of the Remington before resting a shoulder against the facing. “Don’t you forget that I’m here, son.” Even from my perspective, I could see that the safety was still not on.

“He’s down in Casper, buying a truck.”

“Are you Petie Hampton, Bruce’s boy?”

He smiled at being recognized. “Yes, sir.”

“I thought you were in school down in Colorado?”

The smile hung there. “I’m home to hunt for the weekend.”

“How did George know you were coming up?”

“I called him last week; he was going to go with me.”

I pulled the pellet gun from my underarm and broke the barrel down, used a fingernail to pull the pellet in the tiny gun out, and let the small, mushroom-shaped projectile fall to the floor. I tossed the rifle onto a desk filled with taxidermy supplies, which made a tremendous noise. “Okay, Petie. We’ve got two options here. Number one is me reading you your rights and taking you up to town and booking you on at least resisting arrest and with a criminal conspiracy charge that’s gonna look really good on your transcript, or you and I just have a little chat and we don’t tell your school or your daddy and uncle what you’ve been up to.”

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?”

“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 been 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.”

Janine made a hasty retreat down the hallway. A few moments later, Dena Many Camps came through Henry’s door. She straightened the same fringed dress I had seen her in a few days earlier and fine-tuned the lipstick at the corner of her open mouth with the tip of a middle finger. She froze for an instant when she saw me. I pulled a beaten tiger lily from my hat and held it up to her. She smiled and took it, bestowing a ravishing wink back over her shoulder as she sashayed down the hall and turned the corner.

I figured that about a dime’s worth of Dena Many Camps and a Fresca would kill my ass.