Michael Palmer - The Last Surgeon

To be certain they did not confuse Manny any more than he already appeared to be, Jillian wanted to get the time of their shoot as close as possible to the actual hour the photograph had been taken, in case time of day factored into his intense reaction.

It took some careful study of the photograph’s light and shadow for Jillian to determine the hour. Nick was astounded by her ability to deduce information from a single picture, right down to her figuring out that it was also taken in the springtime, based solely on the clothes worn by pedestrians in the background. He was certain if she had chosen a career in radiology, she would have been a star.

Jillian spotted Nick and called out to him as she hurried over. The last time Nick had experienced anything remotely close to a crush, he and Sarah had just met and were going out on their first date. Now, it was Jillian who had invaded his thoughts. They were supposed to meet by the stone bench, but Nick was too anxious to sit and wait. He tried to attribute his nervous energy to a desire to solve the Manny Ferris mystery, but he knew better.

“Hey you,” she said, “are you ready to be my assistant?”

“You look professional.”

And stunningly beautiful , Nick wanted to add, but fought the urge.

“I thought we were meeting at the bench,” she said. “I was waiting for you there.”

“I guess I got antsy,” Nick said. “Figured I’d start scouting potential shots.”

“Well, I would have brought my Nikon D300 and wide-angle lens, but then I remembered I’m a nurse and about two grand short of being able to afford one, so you’ll have to settle for my Canon Rebel XT. It’s a little like a beagle next to an Irish setter, but they’re both pedigrees.”

“Hey, for all I know about photography, you could have pulled out a shoe box and told me we’re doing this with a pinhole camera. Consider me your loyal assistant, ready and willing to serve.”

“Is that a promise?”

There it was again. That flirtatious blink of her eyes and infectious smile that seemed to add ten degrees to an already warm spring afternoon.

“We better get started,” he said. “We’ve got a lot of pictures to take and not a lot of sun left.”

They finished the shoot in just under two hours. Jillian had stashed a portable printer in her camera bag, so they were able to print out twenty or so quality shots, representing every conceivable vantage point. The pictures from the east exterior captured the monolithic temple columns, palatial staircase, and expansive causeway. A few shots were from the temple interior, as well as one of Lincoln himself.

“So, if it’s the Lincoln shot that sets Manny off, does that just tell us he’s states’ rights and not an abolitionist?” Nick asked with a wry grin.

“Either that or he’s scared of statues.”

“That would make him staurophobic,” Nick replied.

“Now, how did I know that you’d provide that information?” Jillian asked, punching him teasingly on the shoulder. “I feel like I’ve been set up.”

It was childish, he knew, but Nick beamed inwardly at having impressed Jillian with his knowledge of phobias, the subject of a psychology term paper in college. What else could he impress her with, he wondered. But as quickly as that thought arrived, it left. This woman just wasn’t the type.

They continued sorting through the photographs, picking the very best shots to print from the hundreds stored in the camera. There was a picture of the Washington Monument across the Reflecting Pool, taken from the very spot where Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., delivered his “I Have a Dream” speech. Another captured the north wall of the Washington Monument through the Lincoln Memorial’s towering side portico. There were a couple shots of the back of the memorial as well, including one from the walkway along Parkway Drive Northwest and another rear shot taken from the bike path across the Potomac, which ran parallel to the George Washington Memorial Parkway.

“Looks like we’re ready to go,” Jillian said, zipping up her tripod bag after they printed the final shot. “Are you sure Manny will be at the club?”

“Manny Ferris seemed as much a fixture in that bathroom as… the fixtures in that bathroom,” Nick said. “He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.”

By the time they arrived at Lucky Bill Pearl’s, the April sun had long ago set. A cool night wind chilled their skin. The two descended the dimly lit carpeted staircase with Jillian leading the way. Nick kept a few paces back, wanting to see if the bouncer who had pinned him up against the wall was again working the door. As luck would have it, it was another bald gorilla, although he was equally adorned in ink.

Maybe because the weekend was approaching, the club was more crowded this time than last. Nick watched with amusement as Jillian took in the scene. Her mouth hung just a little agape as she stared in bewilderment at the arcing bar, the high-backed chairs lining the edge of the stage, the brass poles, and the women-spectacular-looking by almost anyone’s measure.

“You guys do this for fun?” Jillian asked, leaning in close and speaking directly into Nick’s ear so she could be heard over the techno music blaring in the background. Nick enjoyed the sensation of her lips against his skin and wished the music were even louder and her question a little longer.

“I’m going to go find Manny. Do you think you can handle it here until I get back?”

“Sometime soon you’ve gotta come and see where I work,” Jillian said.

Nick waited until Jillian was settled at the bar before making his way over to the men’s room. When he glanced back, a heavyset man in a light blue suit was sitting down next to Jillian and starting his rap. Jillian waved to Nick, assuring him with her eyes that she had the situation well in hand.

It wasn’t until Nick had pushed against the swashbuckling cavalier on the restroom door and called out Manny’s name that he realized Jillian had the prints they had made.

“Manny?” he called out again. The orange marble countertop was dry and the toiletries were still in neat rows on top. Leaning over, Nick scanned underneath the stall doors, but they were all empty.

On his way over to the box office to check and see if Manny was even scheduled to work that night, Nick spied Jillian seated at the black lacquered bar, flanked by three leering men, each ignoring the girls on the poles as he vied for her attention. As if sensing Nick was watching her, Jillian turned and waved across the club.

Not to worry , her playful look said.

Stepping into the dim, carpeted foyer of the stairwell landing, Nick peered into the box office window, but the room was empty.

“Hello,” Nick called out. “Is anybody there?”

Then he felt a strong grip on his shoulder. Nick turned.

“Hey, buddy,” a surly voice growled, “remember me?”

It was the same bald heavyweight who just yesterday had pressed him against the club wall like an ink stamp while Manny Ferris made his escape.

“How could I forget,” Nick replied, more calmly than he was feeling. “Isn’t your name Dick?”

The bouncer’s massive hands grabbed Nick’s shoulders, then spun him around and began shoving him up the stairway.

“When I toss someone out of here, it’s permanent. Didn’t I make that clear?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak gorilla. Must not have understood you,” Nick said, struggling futilely to hold his position.

“Well, maybe you’ll understand this.”

With a hard push, he launched Nick into the club’s blackened glass front door. Nick crashed into the frame shoulder first, knocking the heavy hinged door open as if it were part of a doll’s house, and cracking the glass. With his arms and legs flailing, he spilled out onto the sidewalk, rolling into a somersault as he fell, and continuing to roll until he was off the curb and onto one knee. Then, hoping he didn’t show the pain he was feeling in half a dozen places, he forced himself to his feet.