Robin Cook - Contagion

“Are you serious?” Laurie asked.

“Absolutely,” Jack said. “Let’s get it done.”

Sal was happy to leave a little early. Laurie and Jack worked well together and finished up the case in good time. They walked out of the autopsy room together.

“How about a bite up in the lunchroom?” Laurie asked. “My treat.”

“You’re on,” Jack said.

They disposed of their isolation gear and disappeared into their respective locker rooms. When Jack was dressed, he went out into the hall and waited for Laurie to appear.

“You didn’t have to wait for…” Laurie began to say, but stopped. “Your jaw is swollen,” she said.

“That’s not all,” Jack said. He bared his teeth and pointed to his left incisor. “See the chip?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” Laurie said. Her hands went onto her hips and her eyes narrowed. She looked like an irate mother confronting a naughty child. “Did you fall off of that bike?” she asked.

“I wish,” Jack said with a mirthless laugh. He then told her the whole story minus the part about Terese. Laurie’s expression changed from mock anger to disbelief.

“That’s extortion,” she said indignantly.

“I suppose it is in a way,” Jack said. “But come on, let’s not let it upset our gourmet lunch.”

They did the best they could with the vending machines on the second floor. Laurie got a soup while Jack settled on a tuna-fish salad sandwich. They took their food to a table and sat down.

“The more I think about what you’ve told me, the crazier I think it sounds,” Laurie said. “How’s your apartment?”

“A bit dilapidated,” Jack said. “But it wasn’t so great before this happened, so it doesn’t much matter. The worst thing is that they took my bike.”

“I think you should move,” Laurie said. “You shouldn’t be living there anyway.”

“It’s only the second break-in,” Jack said.

“I hope you’re not planning on staying in tonight,” Laurie said. “How depressing.”

“No, I’m busy tonight,” Jack said. “I’ve got a group of nuns coming into town who I’m supposed to show around.”

Laurie laughed. “Hey, my folks are having a little dinner party tonight. Would you care to come along? It would be a lot more cheerful than sitting in your plundered apartment.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Jack said. As with Terese’s actions the night before, this invitation was totally unexpected. Jack was moved.

“I would enjoy your company,” Laurie said. “What do you say?”

“You do realize that I’m not particularly social,” Jack said.

“I’m aware of that,” Laurie said. “I don’t mean to put you on the spot. You don’t even have to tell me now. The dinner is at eight and you can call me a half hour before if you decide to come. Here’s my number.” She wrote it on a napkin and handed it to him.

“I’m afraid I’m not such good company at dinner parties,” Jack said.

“Well, it’s up to you,” Laurie said. “The invitation stands. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got two more cases to do.”

Jack watched Laurie leave. He’d been impressed with her from the first day, but he’d always thought of her as one of his more talented colleagues, nothing more. But now suddenly he saw how strikingly attractive she was with her sculptured features, soft skin, and beautiful auburn hair.

Laurie waved before slipping out the door, and Jack waved back. Disconcertedly he stood up, discarded his trash, and headed up to his office. In the elevator he wondered what was happening to him. It had taken him years to stabilize his life, and now his well-constructed cocoon seemed to be unraveling.

Once inside his office Jack sat down at his desk. He rubbed his temples to try to calm himself. He was becoming agitated again, and he knew that when he became agitated he could be impulsive.

As soon as he felt capable of concentrating he pulled the closest folder toward him and flipped it open. Then he went to work.

By four o’clock Jack had accomplished as much paperwork as he could handle. Leaving the medical examiner’s office, he took the subway. As he sat in the bouncing rail cars with the other silent, zombielike people, he told himself he had to get another bike. Commuting underground like a mole was not going to work for him.

Arriving home, Jack lost no time. He took his stairs two at a time. Finding a drunk, homeless person asleep on the first landing didn’t faze him. He just stepped over the man and continued. With his anxiety Jack needed exercise, and the sooner he got out on the basketball court the happier he’d be.

Jack hesitated briefly at his door. It seemed to be in the same shape as he’d left it. He unlocked it and peered into the apartment. It, too, seemed undisturbed. Somewhat superstitiously Jack walked over to the kitchen and looked in. He was relieved to see that no one was there.

In the bedroom Jack pulled out his basketball gear: oversized sweatpants, a turtleneck, and a sweater. He quickly changed. After lacing up his hightops, he grabbed a headband, a basketball, and was back out the door.

Saturday afternoon was always a big day at the playground, provided the weather cooperated. Usually twenty to thirty people showed up ready to run, and this particular Saturday was no exception. The morning rain had long since stopped. As Jack approached the court he counted fourteen people waiting to play. That meant he’d probably have to wait through two more games beyond the present match before he could hope to join.

Jack nodded subdued greetings to some of the people he recognized. The etiquette required that no emotion be shown. After he’d stood on the sidelines for the appropriate amount of time he asked who had winners. He was told that David had winners. Jack was acquainted with David.

Careful to suppress the eagerness he felt, Jack sidled up to David.

“You got winners?” Jack asked, pretending to be uninterested.

“Yeah, I got winners,” David said. He went through some minor ducking and weaving that Jack had learned to recognize as posturing. Jack had also learned by sore experience not to imitate it.

“You got five?” Jack asked.

David already had his team lined up so Jack had to go through the same process with the next fellow who had winners. That was Spit, whose nickname was based on one of his less endearing mannerisms. Luckily for Jack, Spit only had four players and since he knew Jack’s outside shooting ability, he agreed to add Jack to his roster.

With his entrance into the game now assured, Jack took his ball to one of the unused side baskets and began warming up. He had a mild headache and his jaw ached, but otherwise he felt better than he’d expected. He’d been more concerned about his stomach once he started running around, but that didn’t bother him in the slightest.

While Jack was busy shooting foul shots Warren showed up. After he’d gone through the same process that Jack had done in order to get into the game, he wandered over to where Jack was practicing.

“Hey, Doc, what’s happening?” Warren asked. He snatched the ball from Jack’s hands and quickly tossed in a shot that hit nothing but net. Warren’s movements were uncannily fast.

“Not much,” Jack said, which was the correct reply. Warren’s question was really a greeting in disguise.

They shot for a while in a ritual fashion. First Warren would shoot until he missed, which wasn’t often. Then Jack would do the same. While one was shooting the other rebounded.

“Warren, let me ask you a question,” Jack said during one of his turns shooting. “You ever hear of a gang by the name of the Black Kings?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Warren said. He fed Jack the ball after Jack had put in one of his patented long-distance jump shots. “I think they’re a bunch of losers from down near the Bowery. How come you’re asking?”