“Are you thinking or what?” Terese asked impatiently. “Jack, please! I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day. We can compare war stories and have a vote whose day was the worst.”

Jack was weakening. Suddenly having dinner with Terese sounded wonderfully appealing. He was concerned about putting her at risk simply through proximity, but he doubted anyone was trailing him now. If they were, he could certainly shake them on the way to the restaurant.

“What’s the name of the restaurant?” Jack asked finally.

“Thank you,” Terese said. “I knew you’d come through. It’s called Positano. It’s just up the street from me on Madison. You’ll love it. It’s small and very relaxing. Very un-New-Yorkish.”

“I’ll meet you there in a half hour,” Jack said.

“Perfect,” Terese said. “I’m really looking forward to this. It’s been a stressful few days.”

“I can attest to that,” Jack said.

Jack locked up his office and went down to the first floor. He did not know how to ensure that no one followed him, but he thought that he should at least glance out the front to see if anyone suspicious was lurking there. As he passed through communications he noticed that Sergeant Murphy was still in his cubbyhole talking with someone Jack didn’t recognize.

Jack and the sergeant exchanged waves. Jack wondered if there had been an unusual number of unidentified dead over the last several days. Murphy usually left at five like clockwork.

Reaching the front door, Jack scanned the area outside. He immediately recognized the futility of what he was doing. Particularly with the homeless facility next door in the old Bellevue Hospital building, there were any number of people loitering who could have qualified as suspicious.

For a few moments Jack watched the activity on First Avenue. Rush hour was still in full swing with bumper-to-bumper traffic heading north. The buses were all filled to overflowing. All the cabs were occupied.

Jack debated what to do. The idea of standing in the street, trying to catch a taxi, had no appeal whatsoever. He’d be too exposed. Someone might even attack him right there, especially if they had been willing to try to shoot him in a drugstore.

A passing delivery van gave Jack an idea. Turning back into the building, he descended to the morgue floor and walked into the mortuary office. Marvin Fletcher, one of the evening mortuary techs, was having coffee and doughnuts.

“Marvin, I have a favor to ask,” Jack said.

“What’s that?” Marvin asked, washing down a mouthful with a gulp of his coffee.

“I don’t want you to tell anyone about this,” Jack said. “It’s personal.”

“Yeah?” Marvin questioned. His eyes opened wider than usual. He was interested.

“I need a ride up to New York Hospital,” Jack said. “Could you take me in one of the mortuary vans?”

“I’m not supposed to drive-” Marvin began.

“There’s a good reason,” Jack said, interrupting Marvin. “I’m trying to duck a girlfriend, and I’m afraid she’s outside. I’m sure a good-looking guy like you has had similar problems.”

Marvin laughed. “I suppose,” he said.

“It will only take a second,” Jack said. “We shoot up First and cut over to York. You’ll be back here in a flash, and here’s a ten-spot for your trouble.” Jack laid a ten-dollar bill on the desk.

Marvin eyed the bill and looked up at Jack. “When do you want to go?”

“Right now,” Jack said.

Jack climbed into the passenger-side door of the van and then stepped back into the van’s cargo area. He held on to whatever handhold he could find while Marvin backed out onto Thirtieth Street. As they waited for the light at the corner of First Avenue, Jack made sure he stayed well out of sight.

Despite the traffic they made good time to New York Hospital. Marvin dropped Jack off at the busy front entrance, and Jack immediately went inside. Within the lobby he stood off to the side for five minutes. When no one even vaguely suspicious entered, Jack headed for the emergency room.

Having been in the hospital on multiple occasions, Jack had no trouble finding his way. Once in the emergency room he stepped out on the receiving dock and waited for a cab to bring in a patient. He didn’t have to wait long.

As soon as the patient got out of the cab, Jack got in. He told the cabdriver to take him to the Third Avenue entrance of Bloomingdale’s.

Bloomingdale’s was as crowded as Jack assumed it would be. Jack rapidly traversed the store’s main floor, emerging on Lexington where he caught a second cab. He had this taxi drop him off a block away from Positano.

To be a hundred percent certain he was safe, Jack stood within the entrance of a shoe store for another five minutes. The vehicular traffic on Madison Avenue was moderate, as was the number of pedestrians. In contrast to the area around the morgue, everyone was dressed nattily. Jack saw no one he would have thought was a gang member.

Feeling confident and patting himself on the back for his ingenuity, Jack set out for the restaurant. What he didn’t know was that two men sat waiting inside a shiny black Cadillac that had recently parked between the shoe store and Positano. As Jack walked past he couldn’t see inside because the windows were tinted dark enough to make them appear like mirrors.

Jack opened the door to the restaurant and entered a canvas tent of sorts designed to keep the winter chill away from the people seated near the entrance.

Pulling a canvas flap aside, Jack found himself in a warm, comfortable environment. To his left was a small mahogany bar. The dining tables were grouped to the right and they extended back into the depths of the restaurant. The walls and ceiling were covered with white lattice into which was woven silk ivy that looked astonishingly real. It was as if Jack had suddenly walked into a garden restaurant in Italy.

From the savory aroma that informed the place, Jack could tell that the chef had the same respect for garlic that he had. Earlier Jack had felt he wasn’t hungry. Now he was famished.

The restaurant was crowded but without the frenzied atmosphere of many New York restaurants. With the lattice on the ceiling the sounds of the patrons’ conversations and the clink of the china were muted. Jack assumed that the peacefulness of the place was what Terese had meant when she said it was un-New-Yorkish.

The maître d’ greeted Jack and asked if he could be of assistance. Jack said he was to meet a Ms. Hagen. The waiter bowed and gestured for Jack to follow him. He showed Jack to a table against the wall just beyond the bar.

Terese rose to give Jack a hug. When she saw his face, she paused.

“Oh, my!” she said. “Your face looks painful.”

“People have been saying that my whole life,” Jack quipped.

“Jack, please,” Terese said. “Don’t joke. I’m being serious. Are you really okay?”

“To tell you the honest truth,” Jack said. “I’d totally forgotten about my face.”

“It looks like it would be so tender,” Terese said. “I’d like to give you a kiss, but I’m afraid.”

“Nothing wrong with my lips,” Jack said.

Terese shook her head, smiled, and waved her hand at him. “You are too much,” she said. “I considered myself adept at repartee until I met you.”

They sat down.

“What do you think of the restaurant?” Terese asked as she repositioned her napkin and moved her work aside.

“I liked it immediately,” Jack said. “It’s cozy, and you can’t say that about too many restaurants in this city. I never would have known it was here. The sign outside is so subtle.”

“It’s one of my favorite places,” Terese said.

“Thanks for insisting I come out,” Jack said. “I hate to admit you were right, but you were. I’m starved.”

Over the next fifteen minutes they studied their respective menus, listened to a remarkably long list of special entrées from their waiter, and placed their orders.