Vector

Chapter 20

Wednesday, October 20

6:30 p.m.

Jack sat up and took his hands off his handlebars. With no hands he coasted along the pathway strewn with dead leaves. Just ahead was Central Park West and the exit across from 106th Street.

The ride home had been most enjoyable. The weather had been as glorious as he’d anticipated. The ride up First Avenue had had its normal share of aggravations, but it had been stimulating just the same. His nightly circuit around the Pulitzer fountain had been so inspiring that he’d been moved to stop to admire the resplendent nude statue of Abundance in the fading daylight. But by far the best part of the trip, as usual, had been the ride through the park. As soon as he’d broken free from the clutch of people near the park’s entrance he’d poured on the speed. It had been as if he’d been flying in a dream.

Jack waited for the traffic light to change before cycling across the busy avenue and entering his street. He was now in the cool-down stage of his ride and pedaled quickly in a low gear with almost no resistance. He stopped at the fence at the basketball court. As he’d hoped and expected, a game was in progress. Once again Warren and Flash were on opposing teams.

“Hey, Doc, you going to run or what?” Warren called out. “Get yourself out here, man.”

“You better be in good form,” Jack called back. “’Cause I’m going to be trouble tonight!”

“Uh oh!” Spit yelled. He was one of the younger players but had become Warren’s protégé. “Doc’s threatening to make some house calls.” The group teased Jack by calling any of his better moves “house calls.”

“There’s going to be plenty of house calls tonight,” Jack shouted back. He pushed off and rode across the street. He was eager to get out on the court.

Jack hesitated on his stoop while debating whether he’d cab to Laurie’s later or take his bike. He knew he’d prefer to bike, yet he wanted to humor Laurie. While he was arguing with himself over the issue he happened to notice another cyclist emerge from the darkening park. The only reason the man caught Jack’s eye was that he seemed to be stumbling, as if exhausted or hurt.

Jack watched the man for a moment to make sure he didn’t need assistance. But it was soon apparent he didn’t. He took out a cell phone and made a call while pressing the button to make the traffic light change.

Having decided to cab to Laurie’s, Jack hoisted his beloved bike to his shoulder and entered his building. In his haste he took the stairs two at a time. After keying open his apartment door, he rolled his bike inside and leaned it up against the wall. Without even taking the time to close the door to the hall, he rushed into his bedroom, removing his work clothes en route.

To his frustration, it took Jack a few minutes to locate his basketball gear. When he finally did, he dressed quickly. The finishing touches were a dark blue Nike headband and an old hooded sweatshirt. He then ran into the kitchen to grab a quick drink of water. Then the wall phone rang.

Jack debated whether to answer. His first thought was to let the answering machine get it, but then he remembered that he got few calls at home other than from Laurie. Thinking it might be her, he picked it up.

“Hello,” he said briskly, but there was no response. He said hello several times. What he heard was just what he’d heard through the receiver at the office, down to the sound of rushing water and even a distant automobile horn. Disgusted, Jack hung up.

He got only a few steps out of the kitchen when the phone rang again. On the off chance there had been a mechanical problem, he went back and picked it up again. He was glad he did. It was Laurie.

“Did you just try to call me two seconds ago?” Jack asked.

“No,” Laurie said. “Did your phone ring?”

“It’s not important,” Jack said. “What’s up? I’m just on my way out to play B-ball.”

“I know better than trying to keep you from that,” Laurie teased. “I just wanted to let you know that it’s going to be just you and me tonight. Lou can’t make it.”

“His loss, my gain,” Jack said.

“You flatterer you!” Laurie joked. “Anyway, he did offer to call the restaurant where I wanted us to go. So I know we’ll get good service. They love him there.”

“Sounds good,” Jack said. “Tell me, has Paul been pestering you?”

“Haven’t heard from him since he left the office,” Laurie said.

“Good.”

“See you at eight,” Laurie said.

“I might be a shade late,” Jack said. “As I said, I’m only now just heading out. But I’ll play only one game, and I’ll call you before I leave.”

“See you then,” Laurie said. “Remember! No bike!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Jack said. He hung up the phone.

Jack ran out to his closet and searched around the cluttered space for his “kicks,” as Warren called sneakers. Impatient to get them on, Jack didn’t even bother to lace them before rushing out his door. He was about to close and lock it when he heard his name called out loudly from down below. Not recognizing the voice, he leaned over the banister to take a look. Three men were looking up from the ground-floor hallway, and when they saw Jack, they immediately started up the stairs. They came at a run, their boots making a fierce clatter against the bare treads. The one in the lead was a blond fireman in a blue uniform.

Jack put his head back and sniffed for smoke. He sniffed again after turning his head in the direction of his apartment, but still couldn’t smell any smoke. When he looked back down the stairs the lead man was already on the last flight leading up to Jack’s level. But instead of carrying a fire axe or some other appropriate piece of firefighting equipment, he was clutching a gun.

Jack backed up into his doorway, totally confused. The other two men were in black leather jackets, not firemen’s uniforms, and had shaved heads. Then Jack saw that the one bringing up the rear was carrying an assault rifle!

Curt stopped six feet away from Jack and knitted his brows. “You are Jack Stapleton, aren’t you?” he asked, looking Jack up and down.

“No, he lives on the next level up,” Jack stammered. He backed into his apartment and started to close the door.

Curt quickly stepped forward to get his foot inside. He pushed open the door and stepped in. Jack backed up. The two skinheads crowded in behind. The one with the rifle had a swastika tattooed on his forehead.

Curt’s eyes quickly swept the spartan room. He glared back at Jack and studied him. Curt was clearly confused. “I think you’re Jack Stapleton,” he said.

“No, I’m Billy Rubin,” Jack said, pulling the name out of nowhere. “Jack’s directly above me.” Jack lamely pointed at the ceiling.

“Captain, there’s a bike leaning against the wall,” Mike said.

“Yeah, I saw it,” Curt said without taking his eyes off Jack. “But this doesn’t look like a doctor’s apartment, and I can’t be a hundred percent sure with his guy’s get-up. Take a quick look around for an envelope or something with this joker’s name on it.”

“I’ll be happy to give Jack a message,” Jack said. He eyed the gun in Curt’s hand as well as the rifle in Carl’s.

“Thanks, wise guy,” Curt snapped. “Just stand there and be patient for a sec.”

Jack thought briefly about taking his chances by running into the bedroom and diving out the window, but he dismissed the idea as impractical, since he was on the fourth floor. He’d only get hung up on the fire escape.

“Why are you looking for him?” Jack asked.

“He has business with the People’s Aryan Army,” Curt said. “Serious business.”

“I’m sure Jack isn’t involved with any army,” Jack said. “He’s very much against war and violence.”

“Shut up!” Curt said.

“I found something,” Mike said near the bedroom door. He had picked up Jack’s trousers and was struggling to get Jack’s billfold out of the back pocket. He pulled it free and flipped it open. He whistled when he saw the medical examiner badge and held it up for Curt to see.

“Just check the name, for crissake,” Curt snapped.

“Maybe we should discuss this business you were referring to,” Jack said.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Curt said.

“Ah, here’s a driver’s license,” Mike announced. “And the name is Jack Stapleton all right.”

“Jack frequently uses my apartment to change in,” Jack offered.

Suddenly there was more clatter of heavy boots on the stairs out in the hallway. Steve’s voice shouted up: “Hold up, Curt. There’s been a misunderstanding!”

Curt’s brow furrowed. He momentarily glanced in the direction of the open door but then immediately returned his gaze to Jack. Seconds later Steve, Kevin, and Clark stumbled into the room. Behind them were three other figures who leaped into the room, spread out, and shouted for everyone to freeze.

Curt spun around to find himself staring into the barrels of three Tec machine pistols.

“Don’t even think about it,” Warren warned as he zeroed in on Curt.

For a tense moment no one moved or breathe.

“Okay, Spit,” Warren said, breaking the silence. “Get the pistol and the rifle.”

Spit eased forward, holding his machine pistol in his right hand. He collected first the handgun, which he pocketed, and then the rifle. He stepped back.

“Now I want all you dudes to line up facing the wall,” Warren commanded. He motioned with his gun.

There was a delay as a sneer spread cross Curt’s face.

“Hey, man, you either do as I’m telling you or the story’s over,” Warren said. “You know what I’m saying?”

“Sorry, Captain,” Steve said. “They came out of nowhere.”

“Shut up,” Warren yelled. “This ain’t no rap session here.”

With defiant arrogance, Curt stepped over to the wall, leaving his hands on his hips.

“Spit, pat ’em down,” Warren commanded.

Spit put down the guns he was holding and went to each of the men facing the wall and searched for concealed weapons. He found nothing and stepped back.

“Okay, turn around,” Warren ordered.

The men did as they were told. Except for Steve, who was clearly terrified, all the others had assumed brazenly bored expressions.

“I don’t know where you white trash are from, and I don’t give a shit,” Warren said. “The point is, you don’t belong in this here neighborhood. Now I’m going to keep all this firepower you brought here, but that’s it. Nobody’s icing nobody.”

“Excuse me, Warren,” Jack said. “I think we should call the police.”

“Shut up!” Warren snapped with venom equal to that he’d directed a few moments earlier toward Steve.

Jack shrugged and took a step back. He knew Warren enough to know when he was pissed, and he was pissed now.

“Now I want you people to take your white asses down to your wheels and split,” Warren said. “And believe me, if any one of you show up in this neighborhood again, that’s the ball game. You’ll be gone, no questions asked. And we’ll be watching. You hear what I’m saying?”

“Warren,” Jack said. “I...”

Warren spun around. He jammed a finger toward Jack’s face. “I said for you to shut up,” he snarled.

Jack took another step back. He’d never seen Warren show such rage.

“Flash,” Warren said in a more normal voice. “You and Spit take these white honkies down and see that they leave the neighborhood. I’ve got to rap with the doc here for a few minutes.”

As the group silently fled out, Warren turned to Jack and glared at him. Jack squirmed. He didn’t know what Warren wanted him to say.

With the Tec pistol held in his left hand, Warren used his right to give Jack’s shoulder a series of repeated angry shoves. Jack was forced progressively backwards until a final shove made him collapse onto his couch. Warren hovered over him.

“What’s wrong with you, Doc?” Warren demanded. “You haven’t caused this kind of trouble around here for two years. I thought you’d reformed. But now tonight this happens. I’m telling you, you’re a drag on this neighborhood. You know what I’m saying?”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said.

“A lot of good that will do if some kid gets shot because of you,” Warren said. “What was this white trash after you for? I mean, these boys were serious bringing in Kalashnikov assault rifles. Shit! If they’d started spraying those around, a lot of people could have been hurt.”

“Those were Kalashnikovs?” Jack asked.

“What do you think, I’m making this up?”

“Where were the Kalashnikovs made?”

“What kind of question is that, man? What difference does it make?”

“It might make a difference if they’re Bulgarian,” Jack said.

Warren glared at Jack for a beat before walking over to where Spit had put the Kalashnikov he’d taken from Carl. Warren picked the weapon up and carried it back to Jack. “Well, you’re right,” he said grudgingly. “They are Bulgarian. What does that mean?”

“I can’t be positive,” Jack said. “But I think it might have something to do with Laurie’s new boyfriend.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Warren said. “Did you and Laurie split up?”

“Not exactly,” Jack said. “And I think the new boyfriend is on his way out, but let me explain.”

Jack told Warren about Paul Sutherland, and how Jack had probably humiliated the man that afternoon. He mentioned that Paul had threatened him indirectly. He also said that Laurie was concerned the man was dealing with the Bulgarian Kalashnikovs.

Warren’s anger mellowed to a degree as he listened to the story. “I suppose there’s no way you could have anticipated that these guys would have come over here.”

“Of course not,” Jack said. “I don’t even know how they knew where I lived.”

“That kind of white trash scares me,” Warren admitted.

“They scare me, too,” Jack agreed. “The blond guy in the fireman’s uniform talked briefly about a militia called the People’s Aryan Army. I’d heard that name on Monday from an FBI agent who’s trying to learn about them. Have you ever heard the name?”

“Never,” Warren said.

“Which leads me to ask why you let them go? I would have turned them over to the police in a heartbeat. The police and maybe even the FBI would have loved to get their hands on them.”

“You’re shocked because you really live in a different world, despite occupying this apartment,” Warren said. “You don’t understand about gangs. When I let them go, I was thinking of the neighborhood, not the police department’s or the FBI’s agenda. It’s the same way I didn’t want any of them to get hurt. It’s not because I care about them! Shit, no! It’s because it would start something. They’d be back. It’s been my experience that this way they won’t. Sorta live and let live.”

“I’ll have to kowtow to your experience on this one,” Jack said.

“I’m afraid you didn’t have any choice,” Warren said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Now how about some hoops? You still want to run?”

“I think I need it more now than I did before,” Jack said. He got up on wobbly legs. “I can’t promise how effective I’ll be. I feel shell-shocked even though no shells have gone off.”

Warren preceded Jack out into the hall carrying the guns. Jack locked his door and caught up to him.

“Thanks for being there when I needed you,” Jack said. “Since you’ve done it before, I think it’s my turn next.”

Warren laughed in spite of himself. “That’ll be the day!”

Jack rang Laurie’s bell and then turned to wave hello to Debra Engler. The nosy neighbor responded by slamming her door, which was a feat since it had only been open by slightly more than an inch. Jack turned back to Laurie’s and heard the little click that sounded when Laurie opened her peephole. Jack waved. Then he heard all the locks being opened.

Laurie was in a buoyant mood despite the scene she’d had with Paul. She gave Jack an enthusiastic hug before disappearing into her bedroom for her watch and jewelry. Tom-2 rubbed affectionately against Jack’s leg. Jack bent down to pet the cat.

“I trust you came in a cab like you promised,” Laurie called out from the other room.

“No, I didn’t,” Jack answered.

Laurie’s head appeared around the corner. She eyed Jack accusatively. “But you promised,” she said.

“Warren brought me,” Jack said. “And I hope you don’t mind, I invited him to eat with us.”

“Of course not,” Laurie said. “Is Natalie coming, too?”

“No, just Warren,” Jack said. “In fact, to be honest, he kinda invited himself. You see, I ran into a rather serious inconvenience this afternoon right after I spoke with you on the phone.”

“What happened?” Laurie questioned. She came out from her bedroom. Her voice reflected her sudden concern. Knowing Jack as well as she did, she sensed that whatever happened was a lot more than an inconvenience.

“In Warren’s vernacular, I was almost iced by the People’s Aryan Army,” Jack said.

Laurie’s lower jaw dropped. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Jack gave Laurie a quick rundown of the events that took place in his apartment. When he described the guns, and Warren’s timely arrival, she clamped a hand over her mouth.

“My God,” she said. “What in heaven’s name could have prompted such an ambush. I mean, I was the one who posted Brad Cassidy, if that was somehow involved. He’s the only connection I know of with this People’s Aryan Army.”

“I don’t think it had anything to do with Brad Cassidy,” Jack said. “It couldn’t have, because I had nothing to do with him. To tell you the truth, I think there’s a slight chance it had something to do with Paul Sutherland.”

Laurie’s face blanched. She sucked in a lungful of air, and her hand returned to cover her mouth in horror.

“Hold on!” Jack warned. “There’s no proof. It’s just the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment, and nothing else has occurred to me since. And believe me, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought since it happened. The only reason I’m willing to tell you is because you should know even if there’s only a shred of possibility it is true.”

“Tell me why it occurred to you!” Laurie said.

Jack described the three Bulgarian Kalashnikovs Warren confiscated from the men. Then he went on to remind her of Paul’s implied threat that afternoon. When he finished, he shrugged. “I know it’s extremely tenuous, but that’s it.”

Laurie sank into her art deco chair and lowered her head into her hands.

“Hey,” Jack said, putting his hand on Laurie’s shoulder. “You’ve got to keep in mind this is all conjecture.”

“Maybe so,” Laurie said. “But it makes a certain amount of sense.” She shook her head. “How can someone’s social life be so tumultuous?”

“Come on!” Jack urged. He gave her a series of reassuring pats on her back. “Let’s not let this episode get us down. Let’s go out and enjoy ourselves.”

“Are you sure you still want to go after the experience you’ve had?”

“Absolutely!” Jack said. “Come on! We shouldn’t keep Warren and Spit waiting.”

“Where are they?”

“Down in their cars,” Jack said. “Warren insisted on coming and bringing backup on the off chance members of the People’s Aryan Army show up for an encore.”

Laurie leaped to her feet. “You should have told me Warren was waiting.” She rushed back into her bedroom.

“I told you he brought me,” Jack called after her. He stooped down to return to petting the cat.

“Who is Spit?” Laurie yelled. “Or shouldn’t I ask?”

“He’s one of the basketball regulars,” Jack explained. “Warren is his mentor and trusts him implicitly.”

“How did he get such an awful nickname?”

“It comes from one of his less endearing character traits,” Jack yelled.

When Laurie was completely ready, they took the elevator down to the ground floor and exited the building. They found Warren and Spit directly out front. Laurie and Warren enjoyed a sustained embrace, since they’d not seen each other in months.

“You’re looking good, woman,” Warren said, giving Laurie the onceover.

“You’re not looking bad yourself, man,” Laurie said, emphasizing the word “man.”

Warren laughed and introduced Laurie to Spit. Spit acted embarrassed for the first time Jack had ever seen. He even turned his baseball hat around to face forward as a sign of respect, another first in Jack’s experience.

“So where’s this restaurant?” Warren said. “I’m ready to get stuffed.”

“Come on,” Laurie said. “I’ll direct you.”

The trip to the restaurant went quickly and without incident. On Warren’s insistence both Jack and Laurie came with him while Spit brought up the rear in his car. Initially they talked about the disturbing incident in Jack’s apartment, but by mutual consent that soon gave way to more enjoyable topics. Laurie was particularly eager to hear about Natalie Adams, Warren’s “shortie,” whom Laurie had not seen since the last time she’d seen Warren. Laurie was glad to hear that she and Warren were getting along fine.

Parking in Little Italy was always problematic, except for Warren With his bottomless ash can, they took the spot in front of the hydrant closest to the restaurant. Spit was content to double-park because he wasn’t coming inside. As Warren described it, he was just going to “hang out.”

Jack was charmed the moment they entered. Not only was he attracted to the rich, herbed aroma of the spicy food, but he loved the kitschy decor with its black velvet paintings of Venice, the fake trellis with plastic vines and grapes, and the stereotypical red-and-white checkered tablecloths. He even liked the banal Chianti bottle with a candle stuck in the top that crowned each table.

“I hope we have a reservation,” Warren said as he surveyed the crowded room. There were about thirty tables jammed into the space. All appeared occupied.

“Lou was supposed to call,” Laurie said. She tried to get the attention of one of the harried waiters. She wanted to ask for Maria, the hostess. But Maria found her instead.

After having been enveloped by Maria in a bear hug, Laurie introduced Jack and Warren. Maria enthusiastically hugged them both.

“It’s too bad Lou couldn’t come,” Maria said. “He works too much. The crooks don’t deserve him.”

To Jack and Warren’s surprise an empty table seemed to appear miraculously. A few minutes later they were seated.

“Do you like the place?” Laurie asked Jack and Warren.

Both men nodded.

Laurie rubbed her hands eagerly. “Let’s get some wine. I think I need it.”

The dinner was a great success. The food was wonderful and the conversation captivating. Among other topics the three friends reminisced about their African trip two years previously. They even shared some of the stories with Maria, who joined them for a quarter of an hour.

By the time they were ready for dessert and coffee, Laurie asked Warren if he would mind if she and Jack talked shop for a few moments and discussed a case.

“Not at all,” Warren said.

“It’s one of Jack’s who died of botulinum poisoning.”

“It wasn’t really my case,” Jack interjected. “That’s an important distinction. Besides, Warren is already intimately aware of it.”

Laurie hit herself on the forehead with the heel of her hand. “Of course!” she exclaimed. “How could I forget?”

“She’s talking about Connie Davydov,” Jack said.

Warren nodded. “I guessed as much. Flash told me he was disappointed you think it was accidental.”

“So you already knew about the botulism?” Laurie asked Warren.

Warren nodded.

Laurie let out an embarrassed laugh. “I guess I was the last to know.”

“I called Warren this morning right after I found out about it,” Jack explained. “I needed Flash’s work number so I could call him.”

“Whatever,” Laurie said. “So what’s the follow-up?”

“Not a whole heck of a lot,” Jack said. “I’m afraid the case has gotten mired in bureaucratic red tape. By the time I called Sanders with the news about the botulism, the body had been cremated. That means there will be no autopsy, a fact that’s going to be very embarrassing for the Brooklyn office to explain unless the information is not released. Anyway, it’s going to be up to Bingham what to do.”

“So that means the Department of Health has yet to be notified,” Lou said.

“I imagine that’s true,” Jack said.

“Well, that’s terrible,” Laurie said.

“Why is it so terrible?” Warren questioned. “Connie’s already dead.”

“But no one knows where the botulinum toxin came from,” Laurie explained. “The real reason we medical examiners do what we do is to save lives. This situation with the botulism is a good example. There could be a source out there that’s going to kill other people.”

“Okay,” Warren said. “I see what you mean.”

“There’s another part of this that neither one of you knows,” Jack said. “In the same neighborhood where Connie lived there’s been a major die-off of sewer rats.”

“No kidding,” Laurie said. “Are you implying they died of botulism, too?”

“Exactly,” Jack said. “The cause was just confirmed a few hours ago.”

“That means the source of the toxin that killed Connie went down the drain,” Laurie said.

“Or somehow the rats infected Connie,” Jack said. “Connie lived in an old, ramshackle cottage in a curious, anachronistic warren of others. You guys should see this little community. I have no idea of the adequacy of the plumbing, but judging from the exteriors and the haphazard way the cottages have been remodeled, I can’t believe that the plumbing could be state-of-the-art.”

Laurie shook her head. “I doubt that the plumbing had anything to do with this. It had to be the other way around. The toxin came from Connie’s house. And it must have been a substantial amount of it to kill all those rats. I wonder if Connie did any home canning.” Laurie looked to Warren.

Warren raised his hands. “Don’t look at me. I never met the woman.”

“Well,” Laurie commented, “all this emphasizes that someone knowledgeable about epidemiology had better look around Connie’s place for a source. At a minimum, her husband should be warned. If the source is still around, he’s certainly at risk.”

“I thought the same thing,” Jack said. “In fact, I went out there today around noon to do just that.”

“You talked to Yuri Davydov?” Warren questioned. “Does Flash know?”

“I didn’t see the man,” Jack said. “He wasn’t home. I met a neighbor who said Yuri was out driving his taxi and wouldn’t be home until nine or ten.”

Laurie glanced at her watch. “That means he’d be home now.”

“That’s true,” Jack said. “What are you suggesting?”

“Do you know the phone number?” Laurie asked.

“Yes, but it’s no use,” Jack said. “Mr. Davydov apparently has his phone off the hook.”

“When was the last time you tried?”

“This morning,” Jack admitted.

“I think it might be worth trying again,” Laurie said. She picked up her purse and got out her cellular phone. “What’s the number?”

“I don’t have it here,” Jack said. “It’s in the office.”

“I’ll try information,” Laurie said. “How do you spell Davydov?”

Laurie had no trouble getting the number. She checked with Jack concerning the address to be absolutely sure it was correct. When she dialed the number, she got a busy signal.

“So now you believe me?” Jack asked.

“I believed you before,” Laurie said. “I just thought it reasonable to give it a try. So we can’t call. That means we should run out there.”

“Now?” Jack questioned.

“If we wait and the man dies, how would you feel then?” Laurie questioned.

“Guilty, I suppose,” Jack said. “Okay, I’ll go, but it’s going to take some time. It’s way out on the other side of Brooklyn.”

“It shouldn’t take that long now,” Laurie said. “We can take the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel and the Shore Parkway. With no traffic, we’ll be there before we know it.”

“I’m not going,” Warren said. “Flash told me the guy’s a turd. I’ll leave this up to you professionals. Spit and I will call it a night.”

“That’s fine,” Laurie said. “We can take a cab.”

“No need,” Warren said. “You two take my wheels. I’ll go home with Spit. Doc, you know where to park it.”

“Are you sure?” Laurie asked.

“Of course I’m sure,” Warren said. “You guys enjoy yourselves. And when you come back to the neighborhood, don’t be concerned. There’s going to be someone out there all night keeping an eye on things.”