Hosts

9

"Are you okay, Jack?" Kate asked.

He'd returned to Jeanette's apartment straight from the park and hadn't been able to sit still.

"A little edgy, that's all," he told her.

Not a little edgy—a lot edgy. Even maximum edgy didn't quite cover it. He felt like a pin cushion. All the while in the park he'd had this feeling of being watched but had never been able to spot anyone who seemed interested in him. The feeling had followed him back to Jeanette's.

He stood at the window now, watching the street, sca

He chalked up the feel to Palmer's crazy plan.

The kid had no idea what was involved here. An amnesty for him would mean coaxing the IRS, the BATF, and the FBI to sing harmony with the New York State Attorney General and the DAs of most of the five boroughs. Right. And the Jets are going to win the next six Super Bowls.

And Nietzsche? And "in from the cold"? Where did he come up with this stuff? That kid had to get out more.

Jack turned away from the window. "What did you hear from NIH?" he asked, anxious to move the talk away from his mood.

Kate shook her head. "Nothing good. Everyone I talked to was very closed mouthed."

"Meaning?"

"I couldn't find anyone who would admit that they'd heard from Dr. Fielding, and couldn't find anyone who'd admit that they hadn't."

"Typical bureausaurus run-around."

"That's what I figured but…"

"But it just doesn't feel right."

She nodded. "Exactly."

"You think Fielding might not be telling us everything?"

"Not sure. But that's the vibe I'm getting."

Jack had to smile. " 'Vibe.' How seventies."

She shrugged. "That's where I spent my teens." She reached for the phone. "I've had enough of this tiptoeing around. I'm going to call Fielding and ask him point blank—"

Jack gently gripped her arm. "Point blank tends to work better face to face. Where's his office?"

"NYU Medical Center."

"Along First Avenue?" That was due east from here—Twenty-seventh would take them right to it. "Road trip?"

"Why not. We'll pay Dr. Fielding a little surprise visit." She started toward the door, then stopped. "But what if he doesn't want to talk? What if he stonewalls us?"

Yeah, he might try that. But Jeanette was important to his sister, which made her important to Jack. No stonewalls today. Jack would be along to see to that.

"He'll talk," Jack told her. When she gave him a strange look he added, "People just seem to open up to me. It's a gift. You'll see."

10

"Yeah," Joe said, "but how do we know if that's where he lives? Maybe he's just visiting."

Stan Kozlowski chewed the i

They'd followed their guy here after Riverside Park. Not so hard.

He hadn't seemed to be on the lookout for a tail, but they'd taken every precaution, giving him so long a lead one time they almost lost him.

They'd seen him go into this building. Since they couldn't follow him inside, they'd found a shady spot on the same side of the street and kept watch on the entrance.

"Only one way to find out," Stan told him. "Tail him everywhere he goes, and wherever he keeps coming back to, wherever he spends the night, that's where he lives."

"You hope."

"Since we don't know his name or anything about him—"

"We got that whisper that his name might be Jack."

"A 'might-be' doesn't help us. And Jack isn't exactly a rare name.

Don't see how we've got much choice except to watch and wait."

"I can't wait, Stan. Been waitin' too long already."

"Just hang in there, Joe. A week ago we had no hope of ever seeing this guy again. Now we've got him in our sights."

"Ka-powT Joe said, gri

"Ka-pow is right. We—hey, isn't that him?"

Yes. Definitely him. And he wasn't alone. He had his arm around a blonde.

"Shit," Joe said softly as they pressed back against a wall. "He's got a babe. Ain't that sweet."

"If she's a live-in, bro, we may have found his crib. But let's keep on him, just to be sure."

"Oh, yeah," Joe said, gri

Stan watched the couple turn and head for Sixth Avenue. This was kind of fun. And the best part was that he hadn't seen Joe enjoying himself this much in years.

11

"All I can say," Dr. Fielding said, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture, "is be patient."

Kate watched the light glisten off his gelled black hair as he sat behind his desk in his cluttered office on the third floor of the Solomon and Miriam Brody Center for Clinical Research. Kate knew the marble halls of this two-story, brick-faced building well. She'd been here enough times with Jeanette.

Fielding had looked rattled when they'd barged in—Jack had not accepted any excuses from the receptionist—but had settled back into his self-assured role of physician-priest. Kate was familiar with the type; she'd met enough of them in her work.

He'd sworn he'd been in touch with NIH daily, and that he was as anxious as Kate for their help.

"But she's getting worse by the day," Kate said, keeping her voice calm though she wanted to scream.

"I know, I know." He shook his head mournfully. "But we're dealing with a bureaucracy the size of the Pentagon."

An overstatement, Kate knew. So did Fielding, apparently. He glanced at Jack—something he'd been doing repeatedly. Maybe because Jack had a

Abruptly, Jack came to life. He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood.

"Well, I guess that's it then." He extended his hand to Fielding. "Thanks for your time, Doc."

Fielding rose and they shook hands. "I'm sure we'll have this all straightened out soon."

"One more question," Jack said, still holding Fielding's hand. "Why are you lying?"

"What? How dare—"

Jack's grip shifted and suddenly he was holding Fielding's thumb, bending it, twisting it. Fielding groaned as his knees buckled.

"Jack!" Kate said, stepping toward him. "Dear Lord, what are you doing? Stop it!"

"I apologize for the strong-arm stuff, Kate," he told her. "If we had time I'd find another way. But since time is tight—"

"I'll call security!" Fielding gasped. He brought his free hand up to try to break Jack's grip but that only allowed Jack to trap his left thumb as well. "The police!"

"Fine." Jack spoke softly, calmly, as if giving a passerby directions to the nearest subway. "But that won't stop me from dislocating both your thumbs and putting a three-sixty twist on each of them. You're a doctor. You figure out how long it'll be before you can use them again, if ever. The cops may come, but you'll have to live without opposable thumbs. A lower life form."

"Jack, please!" She'd never imagined her brother like this—an irresistible force, implacable, glowering with the threat, the promise of violence. He was frightening, terrifying. "He doesn't—"

"Truth!" Jack said, voice rising as he gave both thumbs a quarter twist. "You haven't called NIH, have you. Not even once. Am I right?"

Fielding whimpered as sweat beaded his livid face. Finally he nodded.