Contagion (24 page)

     Jack put muscle into his pedaling, and his bike gained speed. For an irrational moment he was afraid to look back over his shoulder. He had the creepy feeling that something was bearing down on him.

     Jack streaked into a puddle of light beneath a lonely streetlight, braked, and skidded to a stop. He forced himself to turn around and face his pursuer. But there was nothing there. Jack strained to see into the distant shadows, and as he did, he understood that what was threatening him was coming from inside his own head. It was the depression that had paralyzed him after his family’s tragedy.

     Angry with himself, Jack began pedaling again. He was embarrassed by his childlike fear. He thought he had more control. Obviously he was letting this episode with the outbreaks affect him far too much. Laurie had been right: he was too emotionally involved.

     Having faced his fears, Jack felt better, but he noticed that the park still looked sinister. People had warned him about riding in the park at night, but Jack had always ignored their admonitions. Now, for the first time, he wondered if he was being foolish.

     Emerging from the park onto Central Park West was like escaping from a nightmare. From the dark, scary loneliness of the park’s interior he was instantly thrust into a rallylike bustle of yellow cabs racing north ward. The city had come alive. There were even people calmly walking on the sidewalks.

     The farther north Jack rode the more the environment deteriorated.

     Beyond 100th Street the buildings became noticeably shabbier. Some were even boarded up and appeared abandoned. There was more litter in the street. Stray dogs plundered overturned trash cans.

     Jack turned left onto 106th Street. As he rode along his street the neighborhood seemed more depressed than usual to him. The minor epiphany in the park had opened Jack’s eyes to just how dilapidated the area was.

     Jack stopped at the playground where he played basketball by grabbing onto the chain-link fence that separated it from the street. His feet remained snug in his toe clips.

     As Jack had expected, the court was in full use. The mercury vapor lights that he’d paid to be installed were ablaze. Jack recognized many of the players as they surged up and down the court. Warren, by far the best player, was there, and Jack could hear him urging his teammates to greater effort. The team that lost would have to sit out, since a bevy of other players waited impatiently on the sidelines. The competition was always fierce.

     While Jack was watching, Warren sank the final basket of the game and the losing team slunk off the court, momentarily disgraced. As the new game was being organized Warren caught sight of Jack. He waved and strutted over. It was the winning team walk.

     “Hey, Doc, whatcha know?” Warren asked. “You coming out to run or what?”

     Warren was a handsome African-American with a shaved head, a groomed mustache, and a body like one of the Greek statues in the Metropolitan Museum. It had taken Jack several months to cultivate Warren’s acquaintance. They had developed a friendship of sorts, but it was based more on a shared love of street basketball than anything else. Jack didn’t know much about Warren except that he was the best basketball player and also the de facto leader of the local gang. Jack suspected that the two positions went hand in hand.

     “I was thinking about coming out for a run,” Jack said. “Who’s got winners?”

     Getting into the game could be a tricky business. When Jack had first moved to the neighborhood, it had taken him a month of coming to the court and patiently waiting until he’d been invited to play. Then he’d had to prove himself. Once he’d demonstrated he was capable of putting the ball in the basket on a consistent basis, he’d been tolerated.

     Things got a bit better when Jack had paid to have the lights installed and the backboards refurbished, but not a lot. There were only two other honkies besides Jack who were allowed to play. Being Caucasian was a definite disadvantage on the neighborhood playground: you had to know the rules.

     “Ron’s got winners and then lake,” Warren said. “But I can get you on my team. Flash’s old lady wants him home.”

     “I’ll be out,” Jack said. He pushed off from the fence and rode the rest of the way to his building.

     Jack got off’ his bike and hefted it up onto his shoulder. Before he entered his building he looked up at its facade. In his current critical state of mind he had to admit it wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was a downright sorry structure, although at one time it must have been rather fancy, be cause a small segment of highly decorative cornice still clung precariously to the roofline. Two of the windows on the third floor were boarded up.

     The building was six stories, constructed of brick, and had two apartments per floor. Jack shared the fourth floor with Denise, a husbandless teenager with two children.

     Jack pushed the front door open with his foot. It had no lock. He started up the stairs, careful to avoid any debris. As Jack passed the second floor he heard the sorry sounds of a vehement argument, followed by the noise of breaking glass. Unfortunately, this was a nightly occurrence.

     With the bike balanced on his shoulder, it took Jack some maneuvering to get himself situated in front of his apartment door. He was fumbling in his pocket for his key when he noticed he didn’t need it. The doorjamb opposite his lock was splintered.

     Jack pushed his door open. It was dark inside. He listened but only heard renewed yelling from 2A and the traffic out in the street. His apartment was eerily quiet. He put his bike down and reached in and turned on the overhead light.

     The living room was in shambles. Jack didn’t have much furniture, but what he had was either tipped over, emptied, or broken. He noticed that a small radio that usually stood on the desk was gone.

     Jack wheeled the bike into the room and leaned it against the wall. He took off his jacket and draped it over the bike. Then he walked over to the desk. The drawers had been pulled out and dumped. Amid the rubble on the floor was a photo album. Jack bent down and picked it up. He opened the cover and breathed a sigh of relief. It was unscathed. It was the only possession he cared about.

     Jack placed the photo album on the windowsill and walked into the bedroom. He switched on the light and saw a similar scene. Most of his clothes had been pulled from his closet and from his bureau and tossed onto the floor.

     The condition of the bathroom mirrored that of the living room and the bedroom. The contents of the medicine cabinet had been dumped into the bathtub.

     Jack walked from the bedroom to the kitchen. Expecting more of the same, he flipped on the light. A slight gasp escaped from his lips.

     “We were beginning to wonder about you,” a large African-American male said. He was sitting at Jack’s table, dressed totally in black leather, including gloves and a visorless hat. “We’d run out of your beer and we were getting antsy.”

     There were three other men dressed in identical fashion to the first. One was half sitting on the windowsill. The two others were to Jack’s immediate right, leaning against the kitchen cabinet. On the table was an impressive array of weaponry, including machine pistols.

     Jack didn’t recognize any of these men. He was shocked that they were still there. He’d been robbed before but nobody had stayed to drink his beer.

     “How about coming over and sitting yourself down?” the large black man said.

     Jack hesitated. He knew the door to the hall was open. Could he make it before they picked up their guns? Jack doubted it, and he wasn’t about to try.

     “Come on, man,” the black man said. “Get your white ass over here!”

     Reluctantly Jack did as he was told. Warily he sat down and faced his uninvited visitor.

     “We might as well be civilized about this,” the black man said. “My name is Twin. This here’s Reginald.” Twin pointed to the man at the window.

     Jack glanced in Reginald’s direction. He was toying with a toothpick and sucking his teeth. He regarded Jack with obvious disdain. Although he wasn’t quite as muscular as Warren, he was in the same category. Jack could see he had the words “Black Kings” tattooed on the volar surface of his right forearm.

     “Now Reginald is pissed,” Twin continued, “because you ain’t got shit here in this apartment. I mean, there isn’t even a TV. You see, part of the deal was that we’d have pickings over your stuff.”

     “What kind of deal are you talking about?” Jack asked.

     “Let’s put it this way,” Twin said. “Me and my brothers are being paid some small change to come way the hell over here to rough you up a bit. Nothing major, despite the artillery you see on the table. It’s supposed to be some kind of warning. Now, I don’t know the details, but apparently you’ve been making a pain of yourself at some hospital and got a bunch of people all riled up. I’m supposed to remind you to do your job and let them do theirs. Does that make any more sense to you than it does to me? I mean, I’ve never done anything like this before.”

     “I think I catch your drift,” Jack said.

     “I’m glad,” Twin said. “Otherwise we’d have to break a few fingers or something. We weren’t supposed to hurt you bad, but when Reginald starts, it’s hard to stop him, especially when he’s pissed. He needs something. Are you sure you don’t have a TV or something hidden around here?”

     “He just came in with a bike,” one of the other men said.

     “What about that, Reginald?” Twin asked. “You want a new bike?”

     Reginald leaned forward so he could see into the living room. He shrugged his shoulders.

     “I think you got yourself a deal,” Twin said. He stood up.

     “Who’s paying you to do this?” Jack asked.

     Twin raised his eyebrows and laughed. “Now, it wouldn’t be kosher of me to tell you that, now would it? But at least you’ve got the balls to ask.”

     Jack was about to ask another question when he was viciously cold-cocked by Twin. The force of the sucker punch knocked Jack over backward, and he sprawled limply on the floor. The room swam before his eyes. Hovering close to unconsciousness, he felt his wallet being pulled from his trousers. There was muffled laughter followed by a final agonizing kick in the stomach. Then there was absolute blackness.

     20

     FRIDAY, 11:40 A.M., MARCH 23, 1996

     The first thing Jack was aware of was a ringing in his head. Slowly he opened his eyes and found himself staring directly up at the ceiling fixture in the kitchen. Wondering what he was doing on the kitchen floor, he tried to get up. When he moved he felt a sharp pain in his jaw that made him lie back down. That was when he realized the ringing was intermittent and it wasn’t in his head: it was the wall phone directly above him.

     Jack rolled over onto his stomach. From that position he pushed himself up onto his knees. He’d never been knocked out before, and he couldn’t believe how weak he felt. Gingerly he felt along his jawline. Thankfully he didn’t feel any jagged edges of broken bones. Equally carefully he palpated his tender abdomen. That was less painful than the jaw, so he assumed there’d been no internal damage.

     The phone continued to ring insistently. Finally Jack reached up and took it off the hook. As he said hello he eased himself into a sitting position on the floor with his back against the kitchen cabinets. His voice sounded strange even to himself.

     “Oh, no! I’m sorry,” Terese said when she heard his voice. “You’ve been asleep. I shouldn’t have called so late.”

     “What time is it?” Jack asked.

     “It’s almost twelve,” Terese said. “We’re still here in the studio, and sometimes we forget that the rest of the world sleeps normal hours. I wanted to ask a question about sterilization, but I’ll call you tomorrow. I’m sorry to have awakened you.”

     “Actually I’ve been unconscious on my kitchen floor,” Jack said.

     “Is that some kind of joke?” Terese asked.

     “I wish,” Jack said. “I came home to a ransacked apartment, and unfortunately the ransackers were still here. To add insult to injury they also kind of heat me up.”

     “Are you all right?” Terese asked urgently.

     “I think so,” Jack said. “But I think I chipped a tooth.”

     “Were you really unconscious?” Terese asked.

     “I’m afraid so,” Jack said. “I still feel weak.”

     “Listen,” Terese said decisively. “I want you to call the police immediately, and I’m coming over.”

     “Wait a see,” Jack said. “First of all, the police won’t do anything. I mean, what can they do? It was four gang members, and there’s a million of them in the city.”

     “I don’t care, I want you to call the police,” Terese said. “I’ll be over there in fifteen minutes.”

     “Terese, this isn’t the best neighborhood,” Jack said. He could tell she’d made up her mind, but he persisted. “You don’t have to come. I’m okay. Honest!”

     “I don’t want to hear any excuses about not calling the police,” Terese said. “I should be there in fifteen minutes.”

     Jack found himself holding a dead telephone. Terese had hung up.

     Dutifully Jack dialed 911 and gave the information. When he was asked if he was in any current danger, he said no. The operator said the officers would be there as soon as possible.

     Jack pushed himself up onto wobbly legs and walked out into his living room. Briefly he looked for his bike, but then vaguely remembered something about his attackers wanting it. In the bathroom he bared his teeth and examined them. As he’d suspected from touching it with his tongue, his left front tooth had a small chip. Twin must have had something like brass knuckles under his gloves.

     To Jack’s surprise the police arrived within ten minutes. There were two officers, an African-American by the name of David Jefferson and a Latino, Juan Sanchez. They listened politely to Jack’s tale of woe, wrote down the particulars, including the make of the missing bike, and asked Jack if he’d care to come to the precinct to look at mug shots of various local gang members.