Reprisal

TWENTY-THREE

Ev had been feeling strange all day. Slightly woozy, slightly off kilter. Jittery. On edge. Lethargic and yet hyped up. Oddly elated yet all the while suffused with an aura of impending doom.

Sitting at his office desk, staring at the late afternoon sun that poured through 'he window, he tried to sort out the odd conglomeration of symptoms that had plagued him since he'd left his apartment this morning. But it was difficult to sort out anything today. His powers of concentration, usually so sharp-focused, had all but deserted him.

So uncomfortable. Sweaty one moment, chilled the next. He felt as if his heart were racing yet he'd checked his pulse numerous times and found it chugging in the low nineties—high for him but certainly not extraordinary. He wondered if it could be the start of a virus—February was flu season, after all—but although he felt feverish, he'd stopped by the infirmary and his temperature had been normal.

Blood sugar. Could he be hypoglycemic? Unlikely. He'd had his usual breakfast of o-j, toast with Fleischmann's margarine, Grape-Nuts with skim milk, and coffee; his lunch had been the usual tuna-fish salad on whole wheat that he had every Thursday. So why would his blood sugar be down? Maybe it was the coffee. Maybe the accumulated caffeine from twenty cups a day for umpteen years was finally catching up to him. He couldn't think of anything else that would get to him like this.

Maybe his body was telling him it was time to cut down. Perhaps that would salve these jangled nerves.

"Ev? Are you all right?"

He swung about in his chair. It was Lisl, standing in the doorway, a worried look on her face.

All right? Why would she ask that? Was something wrong? Did he look sick?

"No. I'm fine," he said, hoping he sounded convincing. "Just fine. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know. I just wanted to know." She bit her upper lip. "I mean, you looked a little pale."

He looked pale? Lisl looked awful. Her face was drawn and haggard, with dark circles under her eyes. She looked like she hadn't slept a wink all night.

Ev rose and approached her.

"I'm fine, Lisl. But what about you? You look—"

She turned and hurried down the hall. Bewildered, Ev stood in his doorway and watched her go. First she was so solicitous about how he felt, then she turned and left him while he was talking to her. She seemed unnerved. The only time he could remember seeing her this upset was back in December when she had told him about that phone call—

The phone call! Had she received another one? Damm it, he'd forgotten to call that detective. What was wrong with him today? As a rule, he never forgot things like that. Well, he wouldn't waste another minute.

He pulled the telephone number from his wallet and dialed it immediately. This time the detective answered when his room was rung.

"Yeah?" said a New York-inflected voice.

"Is this Detective Augustino? This is Professor Sanders. We spoke last week about—"

"Right, right. On the steps. Did you place the guy in the photo?"

"Yes. I 'believe he's one of the groundskeepers here at the university."

"No shit! You're sure? You're really sure? What's his name?"

Ev could almost feel the excitement pouring through the wire from the other end.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" The voice became irate. "What do you mean, you don't know? What kind of a scam do you—?

"Listen, Detective. I've seen the man around here for years but

I simply do not know his name, just as I'm sure you don't know the name of the janitors who clean your barracks in Raleigh. He's changed his appearance quite a bit since that photo was taken but I'm convinced he's your man. Now if this is the sort of thanks I get—"

"You're right," the detective said through a sigh. "Sorry. Do you know where I can find him?"

"No. But I'm sure if you check with personnel tomorrow they'll be able to help you."

"Tomorrow? What's wrong with today?"

"The administrative offices are closing even as we speak. They reopen at eight in the morning." Ev found he had no further patience for this obnoxious state cop. "You're welcome," he said, and hung up.

He felt shaky as he rose and reached for his coat. At least that was over with. He'd be glad to get back home where he had everything under control.

He passed List's office on the way out but her door was closed. It looked like she'd left for home ahead of him.

Ev felt a mounting anxiety during the bus ride home, an almost-desperate desire to reach the far side of his apartment door and lock it. He couldn't fight the rising fear that something terrible was going to happen if he didn't.

When he stepped off the bus, he headed for home at double time, but forced himself to stop outside Raftery's for his daily test of will. He glanced at his watch, then began his one-minute stare through the nicotine-fogged window.

All the regulars were there, lined up on their usual stools at the bar, sipping their Scotches and their gins, talking and laughing. But instead of the disdain he usually felt for such wasted time, money, and liver cells, Ev was almost overcome by a wave of nostalgia.

Those were the good old days, when he could walk into his neighborhood tavern in Charlotte and be greeted by a chorus of hellos, where he could sit among friends and talk and swear and laugh and drink from late afternoon until the early hours of the morning. The fellowship, the camaraderie, the sense of belonging, for some reason he missed it today more than any other time in recent memory. The longing for companionship was an expanding void within him. If he could only have that back, just for a few hours—

Ev caught himself with his fingers on the brass door handle, pulling it open. He snatched his hand away as if he'd received an electric shock and all but ran for his apartment.

Once inside, with the door safely locked behind him, he slumped in the recliner and panted from the exertion of running up the three flights of stairs. He hadn't even stopped to pick up his mail.

What's wrong with me?

It had to be his blood sugar. There was no other possible reason why he should feel so shaky. He had to eat something to get it up.

He went to the fridge and saw the o-j on the top shelf. Wasn't that what diabetics used when their sugar was low? He grabbed the container, poured himself a glassful, and gulped it down. Then he returned to the recliner and waited. He'd give it twenty minutes to see if it had any effect.

It took only half that. By the end of ten minutes he was feeling much better. Calmer, more relaxed. The near panic of moments ago was almost completely gone.

Amazing what a little orange juice could do.

He went over and poured himself another glassful.