Dearly Departed by David Housewright

they were on her side now. How to Win Friends and Influence People with Humor. I wished I could do that.
    Still, Johnny raised his fist as the deputy approached. She casually slapped it down. “Cut it out, you guys,” she said for everyone to hear and then asked in a low whisper, “Are you really going to hit me in front of all these folks, Mr. Johannson? I mean, you could, but it ain’t gonna look good, you know? ‘Hear ’bout Johnny?’ people will say. ‘Punched hisself a little girl over to The Last Chance.’ People around here be jokin’ on you for a hundred years. They’d be sayin’ you ain’t no gentleman.”
    That last remark caused Johnny’s head to flinch ever so slightly. And then he lowered his eyes. Cops are taught to read body language, and Johnny’s told me that while he’d be happy to stomp my heart into the floor, he would never hit a woman. I wondered if the deputy had seen it. Apparently she had.
    “Best you step outside with me. In private,” she said to Johnny. “Later, you can tell these jokers that it goes against your upbringing to punch me out. You can tell ’em I remind you of your daughter. How is Angel, anyway?”
    “She’s doin’ good,” Johnny answered in a soft voice, wiping the blood from his face with his sleeve. “She’s thinkin’ of movin’ up to Superior end of summer. Maybe finish school.”
    “Is that right? Good. Well, let’s you and me step outside. You, too,” she said, gesturing toward me with her chin. “Superior, huh?” she added as we moved toward the door. “Gotta remember to pay my respects before she leaves.”
    G retchen Rovick had short, straight, sun-splashed hair tucked neatly under her wide-brimmed hat, eyes that nearly matched the mahogany trim of her deputy suit, a small, round face, and an athletic figure. She was one of the few women I’ve met who actually looked good in a uniform.
    “It was my fault,” I admitted when she asked the inevitable question: What happened? “I interfered in a private dispute.”
    “Dispute?”
    “My boy got a little outta hand,” Johnny Johannson said. “I guess this young fella thought he was doin’ me a service. Weren’t necessary.”
    “Your boy ?! That was your son ?!” I asked. He did not answer.
    “Are you pressing charges, Mr. Johannson?”
    “No, ma’am,” he answered without looking at me.
    “How about you?” she asked me.
    “No ma’am,” I replied.
    “Now all we have to worry about is Eldon,” Gretchen said, gesturing at the bar.
    “Don’t worry none about him, Deputy,” Johannson said. “Him and me go way back. ’Sides, I don’t think nothin’ got broke.”
    “Well, maybe I should arrest you both, anyway. Can’t have people fightin’ in public places, know what I mean?”
    Johnny nodded his head.
    “If there’s a next time …”
    “Won’t be a next time,” Johnny vowed contritely.
    “All right, then,” Gretchen said, tossing her hands in the air, closing the incident. However, when Johannson headed back toward The Last Chance, Gretchen called after him, “You gotta do something about that boy, Mr. Johannson. He’s headed for big trouble again, just like in Minneapolis. And no slick lawyer is gonna get him out of it this time.”
    Johannson nodded sadly, like he’d heard it all before.
    Deputy Rovick watched Johannson’s retreating back for a moment, and then she turned and studied me carefully. There was no hostility in her eyes. Just interest.
    “I should have listened to my mother,” I admitted. “She was forever telling me to mind my own business.”
    “She was right.”
    “That old guy, he likes to roughhouse.”
    “Johnny’s all right,” she assured me, leading me up the street. “Measures a man by how hard he throws a punch is the problem.”
    “Problem is the kid had a switchblade.”
    “Classic sociopath,” she said in reply. “He was busted last year in Minneapolis for cutting a prostitute. Some shyster got him off.” The deputy