'Lincoln?'
'They're serious enough.'
Patrise rose, went around the room shaking hands and saying a few words here and there. 'Coming, Hallow?'
'I'll be along.'
'No hurry. If the Lieutenants should come back, make them welcome, will you?'
'I'll do my best.'
'But of course.' Patrise waved and went out. Doc looked around for Lucius, who was still sitting at his corner table near the bar.
'This was the place they first called them coppers, do you know, Doctor,' Lucius said. 'For their uniform buttons. This is the true folklore, accept no substitutes.'
Doc nodded. He could sense the pressure going critical inside Lucius, and as much as he wanted to know what was wrong, and to help fix it, Lucius showed no sign of explaining himself, and Doc didn't want to be present at the explosion. 'Good night,' he said. 'I'm sorry I couldn't help with your column.'
'You did, though,' Lucius said. 'I'll have to owe it to you. Have Shaker send over the ol' alphanumeric piano, will you?'
He did, and then he went home. He left word to have the newspaper sent up as soon as it arrived, and slept very badly until it did.
THE CONTRARIAN FLOW
by Lucius Birdsong
Do you hear the horns of Elfland,
Sounding in the night? Hear them calling souls from slumber
At the traffic light. Can you hear the horns of Elfland,
Echo 'cross the dell? Mind, oh mind, your left rear fender
Parking parallel. Now you hear the horns of Elfland,
At the close of day, Seeking out the vile offender
Walking like a jay. Should you hear the horns of Elfland
Soar and swell and wax, Copper voices soon shall follow,
Getting just the facts. When you hear the horns of Elfland
Cleave the night in twain, Just remember, on the Levee
Law and Order reign.
Just a reminder, gentle readers, that from time to time the moon smiles down upon Our Fair Levee with something really putrid caught between its teeth; and if you have been wondering lately if we are really living in a rational universe, why, others are wondering too. Good night, good night, sleep tight.
'I have a message for you,' Patrise said the next day. 'Norma Jean's feeling much better, and she'd like to meet the man who saved her life.'
'Is she coming here: ''
'No,' Patrise said slowly, and then, 'I think this is best done in the World, if you don't mind a drive. There's a nice place on the North Side, not too far for either of you.'
'All right.'
'Six tomorrow evening, then.'
It was almost sunset Wednesday when Doc drove out through the Shadow fire, and full dark when he reached the restaurant, a small place, dark and quiet. He gave his name, and was taken to an enclosed booth that might have been the only one in the place.
A few minutes later, there was a mechanical whirr. A motorized wheelchair appeared. Norma Jean was in it, working a control with her right hand. A tall man in a dark suit walked a step behind.
Doc stood up. Norma Jean smiled. The man in the suit looked hard at Doc.
Norma Jean said, 'I'll see you later, Eddie,' and the man vanished. 'Oh, come on, sit down.' She laughed. '/ sure am.'
She was wearing a navy-blue jacket over a low-necked white blouse, a skirt just to her knees, ankle-strapped high heels with little silver buckles.
'Can I-' He reached for the push handles on the chair.
'Nope. Sit.' She drove the chair up to the table, and he sat down. He saw that her left arm was in a sling inside the jacket, the hand pale and limp against her chest.
A waiter slid out of the dark. 'Just some tea, please,' Norma Jean said. 'How about you, Doc?'
'Tea's fine.'
'I miss coffee,' she said, once the waiter had gone. She settled back in the chair. 'I wondered what you'd look like. Anna-you know, on the switchboard-said you were red Irish. Are you really?' Her voice was flat, neither musical nor unpleasant; Doc supposed her wind must be short.
He touched his hair. 'Really.'
She laughed. 'I meant Irish, not red.'
'Somewhere way back, I think. Is your family Irish?'
'Polish and German. But that's away back too. Seven generations in the city, I think it's seven. We made it to the Gold Coast in the Twenties. My great-grandfather was in the Dion O'Banion gang.'
'Yeah?' he said, and then wondered if it was the wrong topic.
But she grinned and said 'The real thing. My granddad, his son, used to tell me stories about it. See, when he was little-Granddad, I mean-his dad wouldn't talk to him about the gang days. He'd only say 'I just drove a car, I never shot nobody,' and that it was all made up for the movies.
'But when the war started-you know, with the Japanese and the Germans?'
'Yeah.'
'Well, Granddad was going to sign up, because, you know, everybody was. Then his dad said, 'We're gonna go on a trip first.' Granddad said, 'How long?' 'Two weeks oughta do it. Can't win the war in two weeks, can't lose it either.' So they got in the car-it was a big Cadillac, that's what Great-granddad always drove, they called him Cadillac Billy-and they went up to Wisconsin. Granddad thought it was a hunting trip, or maybe ice fishing.
'They got to this lodge in the woods. It belonged to a couple of guys from the mob days. There were pictures and newspaper clippings all over the walls, of everybody-Al Capone, Moran, O'Banion, Torrio. They said John Dillinger was trying to get back there, to hide, when the G-Men shot him.
'And they had this arsenal — Tommy guns and shotguns and pistols and grenades. And Granddad spent two weeks learning how to use them all. And to fight with a knife; he could scrap okay, any kid could in those days, but this was serious. His dad said, 'Two weeks ain't much, but it's better than you're gonna learn from the Army, 'cause most of them guys never had to do it for real. Unless they were like me.' He even made out a list of guys who'd been in the gangs, who Granddad could trust if he needed help. Granddad said he burned the list after the war, because too many of the men on it were heroes then. You want some more tea?'
'Sure,' Doc said. When it came, Norma Jean said, 'Could you dump two spoons of sugar into mine, and stir it up? This one-wing stuff is no good.'
'Your arm's going to be okay, isn't it?'
'Oh, yeah! I didn't mean that-you know I wouldn't have it at all if it weren't for you. The) said it may always be a little weak. but I've got therapy three days a week, and Granddad-well, let me finish that story.'
'Please.'
'Well,' she said, a little more softly, 'Granddad says that, when they were up there in the woods, fighting and shooting, it was the first time he really felt like his dad loved him, you know? 'Cause he was teaching him what he knew to stay alive in the war. But then he joined the Marines, and he went off and fought, and after he'd fought for a while… he understood that his dad'd loved him all the time before-hadn't wanted his son to grow up with guns and knives and wars all the time.'
Doc waited. She didn't say any more. He said, 'Your Granddad must be quite a guy… I mean, is he still alive?'
