Robin Cook - Contagion

“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.

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 beat 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 sec,” 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.

Jack declined. Through Warren he understood that the gangs did not fear the police. Consequently, Jack knew the police could not protect him from the gangs, so he decided not to tell the police everything. But at least he’d satisfied Terese’s demand and would be able to collect insurance on his bike.