Dead Man's Song (Pine Deep 2)

“Humor?”

“No. Humanity, I guess. It’s just hard to believe that he does ordinary things like watch MTV, eat Fruit Loops, or fart. ”

“I’ve done all three at the same time. ”

“You, Crow, are all too human. Granted, you have a supernatural tendency to be a pain in the ass, but you’re human enough. Which reminds me, say ahhhh. ”

Crow opened his mouth and Weinstock set the newspaper down and leaned forward with a tongue depressor and a penlight, flicked the light back and inside Crow’s mouth, sniffed once, and sat back, tossing the depressor into the trash can. “Looks like the ladies’ sewing circle threw a kegger in your mouth. ”

“Gee, doc, everything you says just paints a picture. ”

“How do you feel? How’re the aches and pains? Any double vision? Blood in your urine? Pins and needles anywhere?”

“Nope. Just your garden-variety every-molecule-in-my-body-hurts kind of pain. Just what you’d expect after getting the shit kicked out of you—twice—and getting shot. Twice. ”

Weinstock rolled his eyes. “Don’t even start with that ‘getting shot’ bullshit. Both slugs barely grazed you. ”

“That’s as may be, but as far as the shit-kicking went—”

“That I’ll grant you. ” He reached over and picked up Crow’s bandaged wrist, gently probing it with his fingertips. “This hurt?”

“Only when some ham-fisted quack is poking it. ”

Weinstock set it down. “I saw the X-rays before I came in. Nothing broken, but you have a lot of pretty serious bruising. Be careful, ’cause the first time you even tap that thing against something you’re going to cry like a five-year-old girl. ”

“Excuse me? But I never cry like anything less than a ten-year-old. ”

They grinned at each other, comfortable with the banter, each knowing that it was a splendid way of not really talking about last night even though it was right there in each other’s eyes. Crow said, “How’s Val?”

“Still sleeping, thank God. On top of what she must be feeling about her dad, that eye socket is going to hurt like a son of a bitch. A migraine is not out of the question. Better to keep her under as long as we can. The MRI can wait until this afternoon, if she’s up to it, or tomorrow. ”

Crow nodded. “Thanks. ”

Weinstock slapped Crow’s thigh. “You’re going to have to be her support, buddy-boy, because she’s going to have to deal with a lot of pretty hard stuff over the next couple of days. Henry’s funeral arrangements, for one, and running the farm. The house is probably a wreck, what with the mess Ruger made and then a zillion cops tramping through it. Anything you can do to get some of this taken care of so she doesn’t have to will lighten her load. ”

Crow nodded. “I called Diego, the farm foreman. Asked him to see to the house and the farm. He’s a stand-up guy, been with Henry forever. You’ve met him. ”

“Yep. ” Weinstock frowned. “We all know Val’s tough as nails, but nobody’s invulnerable and you have to remember that if she has a strong support system then it’ll be easier for her to remember her strength, you dig?”

Crow cocked his head and studied the doctor. “It’s strange,” he said, “but everyone keeps saying you’re a heartless bastard. I think they may be wrong. ”

Weinstock ignored that and picked up the newspaper he’d been carrying, the Crestville Observer. “You see this yet? You’re famous. ” He spread it out and Crow glanced at the headlines: MONSTERS IN SPOOKTOWN: MANHUNT ENDS IN SHOOTINGS, DEATH. The article ran through the events at the farm and highlighted Crow’s fight with an “unnamed assailant,” then chucked in a lot of backstory about Crow’s better days as a Pine Deep cop. It was lurid stuff, poorly written and overly dramatic.

Crow made a rude noise and pushed it away. “Typical. Long on hysteria, short on details. ”

“Well,” Weinstock said, “there’s still a manhunt going on. Can’t expect them to give away too much info. Crooks read papers, too. ”

“No self-respecting crook would read the Observer. ”

“Good point. ”

“I notice, though, that there’s nothing about the Cape May Killer. ”

Weinstock shook his head. “I think there’s about fifteen people in the whole town who know about that, most of them cops, and none of them better talk to the press. Gus would have their balls. ”

“The hell with Gus—that guy Ferro’d have their balls. He’s a lot scarier than Gus. ”

“Yeah, he can be intense. Do him some good to smile once in a while. ” He looked at his watch. “Better get my ass in gear. I got to do the autopsy on your sparring partner. ”