Robin Cook - Vector

Jack pedaled his bike up to the massive chain-link fence that separated the B-ball court from the sidewalk. Without taking his feet from his toe clips, he grabbed onto the fence to support himself. As he’d expected, there was a game in progress, with the players sweeping up and down the court.

“Hey, Doc!” a voice called out. “Doc” was Jack’s neighborhood sobriquet. “Where you been? Get your ass out here. You going to run or what?”

Jack glanced to the sidelines to see the heavily muscled Warren Wilson dribbling a ball in and out between his legs. His shaved head gleamed in the glare of the overhead lights. He was standing with a pack of other fellows waiting to get into the game.

“I don’t have time,” Jack called back.

Warren detached himself from the others and started toward Jack. He was joined by Flash, one of the taller players whose level of ability was about on a par with Jack’s. Warren was a quantum leap above both of them.

Jack nodded a greeting to Flash, who returned the gesture. Since their B-ball talent was roughly equivalent, they frequently covered each other when they were on opposing teams. Flash had the irritating knack of scoring on Jack when games were close, often winning the game. The situation had spawned a friendly rivalry.

“What do you mean you ain’t got time?” Warren questioned as he leaned up against the fence. “You weren’t out here much last week. Seems to me you’re getting your priorities screwed up. What are you doing, letting work interfere?” He loved to tease Jack about their differing philosophies as to what was important in life.

“I have to meet Laurie across town at eight-thirty,” Jack said.

“We’ve got winners,” Flash said. He had a particularly deep, rich baritone voice. “It’s going to be me, Warren, Spit, and Ron. We got room for one more if you could get your ass down here in record time. It’d be a killer matchup.”

“You’re tempting me,” Jack admitted.

“We’re going to sweep this team that’s winning at the moment,” Warren said. “It’s going to be a new dynasty. But, hey, we shouldn’t keep you from your shortie.”

Jack glanced at his watch and then over at the game in progress. He was tempted, but there was no way he could do it without arriving late at Elio’s, even if he played only one game. Ultimately he had to shake his head. “Sorry, not tonight.”

“Natalie’s been ragging me about getting together with you and Laurie,” Warren said. “You guys have been making yourselves scarce.”

“I’ll say something to Laurie,” Jack promised, although he couldn’t be Optimistic, not without knowing her current secret, especially if she was moving to someplace like the West Coast. The thought of Laurie leaving made him wince.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Warren asked. He leaned forward and regarded Jack through the fence.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack said, yanking himself out of his momentary worry.

“Are you and Laurie cool?” Warren questioned. “I mean, you people aren’t having words, are you?”

“No, we’re cool,” Jack fibbed. The truth of the matter was that he and Laurie had not spent much time together over the last month or so.

“I think you’d better get yourself out here for a run as soon as you can,” Warren said. “You look all wound up to me.”

“You’re right! I need a run,” Jack agreed. “Tomorrow night for sure.”

Jack said his goodbyes and then rode diagonally across the street to his building. Knowing he would be going right back out, he locked his bike to the railing on the building’s front steps. Then he went up to his apartment and climbed into the shower.

After the shower Jack scanned his limited wardrobe for something to wear, only to get mad at himself for such stupid indecision. He couldn’t remember the last time he had trouble deciding about clothes. Ultimately he donned his usual jeans, blue chambray shirt, darker blue knitted tie, and tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. After a quick brush of his short hair to encourage it all to go in the direction it preferred, Jack went back down to the street and retrieved his bicycle.

The ride across the park was uneventful. He went south on Fifth Avenue until Eighty-fourth Street, which he took over to Second. The restaurant was just a few doors up from the corner. With slightly tremulous fingers Jack secured his bike with the requisite number of locks. As he entered the restaurant, he wondered why he was as anxious as he was.

Elio’s was crowded. To Jack’s left the small bar was five people deep. To his right were a group of tables with the usual complement of TV personalities having their dinners. Pushing his way deeper into the restaurant, Jack scanned the other diners for Laurie’s familiar face and burnished auburn hair. He didn’t see her.

“Can I help you?” a voice asked over the din. There was the slightest guttural hint of a German accent.

Jack turned to face the smiling maître d’.

“We’ve a reservation, I assume,” Jack said.

“And the name?”

“Montgomery, I suppose,” Jack said.

The host consulted his list. “Ah, yes, of course. Miss Montgomery is not here yet, but one of the other members of your party is. He’s at the bar. I’ll have your table in a moment.”

Jack worked his way among the standing clientele, heading in the general direction of the bar. He saw Lou sitting on one of the tall stools, clutching a beer and intermittently pulling on a cigarette. Jack touched him on the arm. Lou glanced up at him with a hangdog expression.

“You don’t look happy,” Jack said.

Lou guiltily stubbed out his cigarette. “I’m not. I’m concerned. You got me worried about Laurie when you talked to me this morning. Since I was with her a good part of the day, I couldn’t help but notice that she was acting weird, like she was all gassed up about something. When I finally got up the courage to ask her what was up, she just laughed and said I’d find out tonight. I’m afraid she might be leaving town. I’m thinking she got a job someplace else. You medical examiners are in demand. I know that for a fact.”

Jack couldn’t suppress a smile. Looking at Lou was like looking in a mirror, and the image was pathetic. Obviously, Lou had been torturing himself with the same possibility.

“Go ahead and laugh at me,” Lou said. “I deserve it.”

“Hey, I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at us. I had the exact same thought. In fact I even picked a place: the West Coast.”

“Seriously?” Jack nodded.

“I don’t know whether that makes me feel better or worse,” Lou said. “It’s nice to have company, but it probably means we’re right.”

Jack leaned back so he could get a better look at Lou. He was impressed. The detective had shaved to remove his usual five o’clock shadow and had even pomaded his hair so that it still looked wet from the shower along the edges of his knife-sharp part. Gone was the rumpled sport jacket and baggy pants. In their place was a crisply pressed suit, a freshly laundered shirt, and a newly knotted tie. Most astounding of all, he’d polished his shoes.

“I’ve never seen you in a suit before,” Jack commented. “You look like you belong in a magazine, and I’m not talking about True Detective. ”

“I usually only wear it to funerals,” Lou said.

“That’s a happy thought,” Jack responded.

“Excuse me,” the maître d’ said at Jack’s elbow. “Your table is ready. Would you men like to sit down or do you want to stay here at the bar?”

“We’ll sit down,” Jack said without hesitation. He was eager to get away from the second-hand cigarette smoke.

The table was in the far back corner and to get there required some deft maneuvers, since as many tables as possible were crowded into the room. No sooner had Jack and Lou wedged themselves into their seats than a waiter appeared with an iced bottle of champagne plus two pricey bottles of Brunello. He immediately proceeded to open the champagne.