Endorphin Conspiracy, The (7 page)

Those who had attempted to ignore the situation now glared at the teenager, hoping he’d walk through to the next car and make himself someone else’s problem, though most knew better. He was seeking disruption and recognition. He had achieved his goals here in this car.

He continued his routine, meandering toward Geoff and his seat-mate. Geoff’s pulse began to race. A confrontation was brewing, and he had the unenviable ringside seat. Squat and soft in the middle, the Hasidic man was obviously no match for the brawny teenager with the box.

The youth was barely two feet away now, music blasting. He sauntered forward, paused in front of Geoff and the Hasid, removed the boom box from his shoulder and thrust it in the older man’s face. “Hey, mutha’ fuckin’ Jew, don’t you dig rap?”

Geoff looked at the man next to him. His face had turned a deep crimson, and the veins in his neck bulged so far they appeared ready to burst. His entire body quivered with something more than fear, and his hands clutched something inside his now partially open briefcase.

Geoff caught the man’s eye. His gaze was maddened beyond mere anger, a frightening stare. Was Geoff sitting next to a lunatic, or was this just an irate citizen whose tolerance had reached flash point? Geoff knew the wisest thing for him to do now was to get up and walk through to the next car, but the man might need his help.

“This is what I think of you and your rap, filth!” The man jumped up from his seat and fired an Uzi sub-machine gun at the black youth, propelling him to the opposite side of the car, splattering blood onto walls and nearby passengers. The teenager landed with a loud thud at the feet of the Italian woman with the shopping bag, who was now wailing and praying aloud.

Shrieking men and women rushed to still-closed doors, knocking each other down, trampling those who had fallen. A five-year-old child, who had escaped her mother’s grasp, ran and hid under a bench, screamed wildly. Utter chaos.

Pop-pop-pop. Another round of machine gun fire and loud howling. Geoff, behind the man, held onto a pole in the corner of the car. He looked about to see if anyone else had been hit. The sound of the automatic weapon pierced the air again, followed by more screams and crying. A goddamned war zone.

“Everyone sit down!” yelled the man as he fired the machine gun over their heads, blowing out the windows and sending shards of glass flying. The wind rushed through the car, blowing papers all around. The sounds of screeching wheels on the old tracks and the train rushing through the tunnel at high speed reverberated loudly off the narrow tunnel walls and into the car.

Geoff had to do something. He needed a plan. His knife was no match for an Uzi, and he had no intention of dying in a New York subway. He looked at the Hasid. Throughout it all, his wide-brimmed black hat had remained in place. He stood in the center of the car, his foot on the shoulder of his conquered adversary, the machine gun resting on his knee. His face was still reddened, his shirt saturated with sweat. His breathing was labored, and saliva sprayed from the corners of his mouth as he exhaled. He appeared for all the world like a rabid dog, only instead of just teeth, this madman had a machine gun.

“All of you are gentiles, heathens, believers in a false God. The day of judgment is upon us! The Lord spoke and proclaimed to the Children of Israel that on the Day of Judgment the Messiah would deliver you to the Promised Land. Your time is now! Who will be the first to join the fallen Goliath and meet your maker on Judgment Day?”

He slowly panned the room with his machine gun, his right index finger twitching as it curled around the trigger.

The subway jolted to the left as it turned. The deranged man stumbled, but quickly regained his balance. Geoff lost his footing and fell to the floor. He stood and grabbed a commuter strap. Something red caught his eye, and he knew what he had to do.

“Well?” said the man, his maddened eyes now staring in Geoff’s direction.

Geoff stabilized himself against the corner wall, reached upward, grabbed the emergency brake, and pulled with all his strength, ripping the handle off its cord.

The train screeched to a halt. The occupants of the hijacked car flew violently forward. There were more screams, passengers hid under seats and behind whatever they could find. The Hasid fell to the ground, his back against the wall, but he still clutched the Uzi.

Geoff released the commuter strap and lunged at the deranged man. The gun was aimed in Geoff’s direction. Geoff deflected the barrel upward, and it fired as they collided, bullets piercing the ceiling. More shots went off, fired wildly around the car as they struggled for control of the weapon. Geoff was amazed at the madman’s strength.

A loud crash exploded through the door to Geoff’s right, and the Hasidic man pulled free from Geoff.

“Everyone hit the deck!” A man burst into the car, his service revolver drawn and aimed at the Hasid. “Drop it, pal!” The officer approached the man slowly, arms extended, his revolver aimed directly at him all the while.

Geoff stared in disbelief. Fucking Dumbrowski. The Texas Ranger.

The Hasid let go of the Uzi, and Geoff grabbed it. The man lunged at Dumbrowski. “Send me to my maker!”

“Hold it right there, Goddamnit! I said freeze!”   Dumbrowski had no choice but to fire his service revolver.

The man’s body jerked backward spasmodically with each shot. Blood frothed from the corner of his mouth as he slumped to the floor of the subway car.

Chapter 8

“A Hasidic Jew, can you believe it?” Geoff stepped out of the shower at Stefan’s apartment in SoHo, exhausted and still astounded by the evening’s events.

“Not just any Hasidic Jew, Geoff.” Stefan raised his voice enough for Geoff to hear him on the other side of the bathroom door. “The crazy man who blew away that poor black kid and almost killed you was a
rabbi
. Samuel Levinow was a prominent leader in the Hasidic community.”

Geoff put on a pair of surgical scrubs, entered the living room. Stefan handed him a tall glass of ice water. “How did you find that out so quickly?” he asked. He drank half a glass of water, set the glass down on the coffee table.

“I heard about it on the news just before you came. I was worried sick about you.” Stefan removed a Kleenex from his pocket, wiped his forehead, adjusted his wire-framed specs. He sat down on the couch next to Geoff. “I called the hospital, and Karen Choy told me you had left hours ago. Then the news bulletin came on TV. I knew you were involved in some way. I called the police. They told me you were there giving a statement.”

“A statement? Is that what they told you?” Geoff shook his head with annoyance. “It was more like an interrogation. I was beginning to wonder who the criminal was.”

Stefan looked Geoff squarely in the eyes. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters now.”

The two brothers were remarkably different. They had grown closer after their father’s death several years before, first by necessity, then by mutual desire. Geoff—handsome, successful, Rhodes scholar, ex-Navy Seal. Mister perfect, his brother called him. Stefan—brilliant, albeit eccentric, computer whiz, M.I.T. drop-out. Bill Gates with a pony tail.

Stefan had been his mother’s favorite—she had died while they were in college—in spite of his sexual orientation. Ostracized by his surgeon father, whose paternal focus had been on Geoff’s medical career, Geoff had tried to fill the void, acting as much as a father to Stefan as a big brother. With both their parents and Sarah gone, Stefan was the only immediate family Geoff had left.

Geoff stared off into space, shook his head. “I just don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?”

“The guy seemed normal when he sat down next to me. He even tried to strike up a conversation. Now you tell me he was a rabbi? The last kind of person in the world I’d expect to do something violent or crazy.”

“You said he was taunted by that black kid playing the loud music,” Stefan said. “Maybe he was mugged in the subway once before and felt as though his life was in danger. The old fed-up-citizen-transforms-into-subway-avenger story.”

“It’s not normal for a rabbi to carry a machine gun in his briefcase for protection. Besides, in another minute and he would have blown us all away. The man was crazy. He simply snapped. I saw it in his eyes.” Geoff leaned forward, reached for the glass of water, downed the remainder.

“Does it really matter why the man went nuts, Geoff? It’s over, and you’re alive to talk about it.”

Geoff took a deep breath, rubbed his temples. “I guess you’re right,” he said.

Stefan patted Geoff on the leg. “Look at you. You’re exhausted. Let me put you to bed. You have rounds in five hours.” He stood, walked to the linen closet, removed a blanket and a pillow, set them down on the coffee table. Stefan pulled Geoff up off the couch, and they opened the bed. Stefan unfolded the blanket, fluffed the pillow.

Geoff collapsed onto the couch. “This has been a very strange day,” he said. “I haven’t even told you about how things went at the Trauma Center, especially the odd e-mail message I received. I need you to look at it. I don’t know where to begin.” His lids were now at half mast.

“You can tell me all about it in the morning. Now get some rest.” Stefan stood, turned out the light, left the room.

Sleep ignited dreams so vivid and powerful, Geoff’s heart began to race fiercely, his breathing becoming labored. Sunday afternoon at Central Park Zoo. The sun’s rays bathed Geoff and little Jessica with warmth and brightness. They were sitting on a grassy field playing games, having a picnic lunch. Jessica’s favorite, peanut butter and honey on white bread, crust removed.

The sky turned black and an ominous, dark funnel appeared on the horizon. The wind blew fiercely as the twister wound its way toward them. Adrenalin surged, and Geoff reacted instinctively. He threw their lunch into the basket and swept Jessica up into his arms all in one motion, then ran for the safety of the Penguin House at the north end of the zoo’s esplanade.

As he neared the fountain at the center of the walkway, a wave of panic spread over him: Jessica was gone. He dropped the basket. No Jessica. How could it be? A moment ago she had been securely tucked under his right arm.

He looked around frantically. The zoo was deserted.

Geoff broke out in a cold sweat. She was missing. He cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled her name at the top of his lungs, but gusty wind drowned out the sound of his voice. Geoff spied a phone by the lamppost.

The police, damn it, call the police!

A sweet, little voice echoed downwind. “Dr. Davis, Dr. Davis. Where are you”?

Geoff’s attention focused in the direction from which the voice seemed to come. He looked toward the Penguin House. No one. He looked all around. Deserted. “Jessica, I can’t see where you are. Call me again.”

“I’m in here. With the penguins,” she cried. “There’s a man in here, too.”

Geoff’s nerves were raw. He began to sweat profusely. A man. His dread worsened. Was she being molested? He ran towards the Penguin House. “I’m coming, Jessica. Hold on.”

A figure suddenly appeared in the doorway. A large man wearing a Parks Department uniform, a bomb strapped to his body, stood clutching Jessica in his arms.

Geoff stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at Jessica. She was smiling peacefully.

“It’s okay, Dr. Davis. This nice man found me.”

Geoff’s gaze shifted to the kidnapper’s face. It was a peculiar face, not like any he had ever seen. At first Geoff did not realize what was so strange about the man, then it suddenly became evident. His skull was as transparent as glass. Contained within, Geoff could see the psychedelic convolutions of the man’s brain, its vivid colors radiating through his transparent skull. His brain was like a living PET scan, the outer shell emitting a royal blue, the deeper zones emerald green and chartreuse, all mapping out the man’s endorphin receptors. At least his pattern appeared normal, Geoff thought with some relief. In his fascination, Geoff momentarily forgot about Jessica.

Then Geoff saw something, and a state of total fear overwhelmed him. Deep at the base of the man’s temporal lobes, an area of searing vermilion the shape of a horseshoe pulsated brilliantly, like the core of an uncontrolled nuclear reactor about to go into meltdown. The man’s limbic area was saturated with endorphins. He was schizophrenic. There’d be no reasoning with him. Geoff looked at Jessica, who continued to smile, as if to reassure him everything would turn out all right.

Trying not to make any sudden moves, Geoff approached.

“Don’t come any closer, Doc, or we both go sky high.” The man’s left hand grabbed the detonator strapped to his waist.

Doc. The accent. The way he said Doc.

“Just relax and be cool about it. That’s my patient you’ve got there. Why don’t you just put her down, let her go.”   In a flash, the man’s face transformed and assumed definition. “Doc, you fucked up my brain once. You’re not gonna have a chance to do it again!”

Geoff was confused. His gaze was again drawn to the man’s brain. The red hot horseshoe area was pulsating at a crescendo, its crimson glow spreading to adjacent areas of the brain like creeping molten lava.

Movement over to the right of the doorway. Another person. A cop was sidling toward the man and Jessica, gun drawn. Dumbrowski.

“Hold it right there, pal!” he commanded, his gun aimed at the man’s pulsating brain.

The man turned abruptly, yanking Jessica as he did so. “You were too late last time, cop. You’re too late this time, too!”

A feeling of helplessness engulfed Geoff. His gaze darted frantically from Dumbrowski to the man holding Jessica, back to the cop. “Take me instead of the little girl,” Geoff said. He continued advancing toward them.

“It’s over, Doc. You put that horseshoe in my brain, and now you pay the price!”

“What are you talking about?”

“My brain, man. You poisoned my brain!” the man yelled hysterically, his entire brain now a bright orange-red like a pulsating sun about to explode. His right thumb reached the detonator button.

“No!” Geoff screamed.

A white-hot firestorm erupted around him.

Geoff sat up in bed, his body sopping with sweat, his heart pounding.

“Geoff, are you okay?” Stefan sat down on the edge of the sofa bed. “You must have been having a nightmare.”

Geoff wiped the sweat off his brow and searched the blackness of the room. “How could I have forgotten that face? That voice?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The man who went nuts at the zoo.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if you’re losing it now,” said Stefan. He rubbed his eyes.

“He was the first head injury patient in our PET scan/endorphin study a couple of months ago.”

“Must have had a lot of brain damage.”

“Obviously more than I thought at the time.” Geoff reached over, turned on the light on the end table, grabbed a pad and a pencil.

Stefan squinted his eyes at the offending light.

Geoff scribbled down a single word:
Romero
.