Thinking about the possibility, Jack reasoned that since he didn’t have any symptoms, he could not be manufacturing virus. Therefore, he could not be infective. At least he hoped that to be the case. Thinking of influenza reminded him of his rimantadine. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the plastic vial, extracted one of the orange tablets, and took it with a swallow of water.

After putting the drug away, Jack let his eyes roam around the restaurant. He was impressed that every table was occupied, yet the waiters seemed to maintain a leisurely pace. Jack attributed it to good planning and training.

Looking to the right, Jack saw that there were a few couples and single men having drinks at the bar, possibly waiting for tables. Just then, he noticed that the canvas curtain at the entrance was thrown aside as a smartly dressed, young, African-American man stepped into the restaurant.

Jack wasn’t sure why the individual caught his attention. At first he thought it might have been because the man was tall and thin; he reminded Jack of several of the men he played ball with. But whatever the reason was, Jack continued to watch the man as he hesitated at the door, then began to walk down the central aisle, apparently searching for friends.

The gait wasn’t the high-stepping, springy, jaunty playground walk. It was more of a shuffle, as if the man were carrying a load on his back. His right hand was thrust into his trouser pocket while his left hung down stiffly at his side. Jack couldn’t help but notice the left arm didn’t swing. It was as if it were a prosthesis instead of a real arm.

Captivated by the individual, Jack watched as the man’s head swung from side to side. The man had advanced twenty feet when the maître d’ intercepted him, and they had a conversation.

The conversation was short. The maître d’ bowed and gestured into the restaurant. The man started forward once again, continuing his search.

Jack lifted his wineglass to his lips and took a sip. As he did so the man’s eyes locked onto his. To Jack’s surprise the man headed directly for him. Jack slowly put his wineglass down. The man came up to the table.

As if in a dream Jack saw the man start to raise his right hand. In it was a gun. Before Jack could even take a breath the barrel was aimed straight at him.

Within the confines of the narrow restaurant the sound of a pistol seemed deafening. By reflex Jack’s hands had grasped the tablecloth and pulled it toward him as if he could hide behind it. In the process he knocked the wineglasses and the wine bottle to the floor, where they shattered.

The concussion of the gunshot and the shattering of glass was followed by stunned silence. A moment later, the body fell forward onto the table. The gun clattered to the floor.

“Police,” a voice called out. A man rushed to the center of the room, holding a police badge aloft. In his other hand he held a.38 detective special. “No one move. Do not panic!”

With a sense of disgust Jack pushed the table away. It was pinning him against the wall. When he did so the man rolled off the side and fell heavily to the floor.

The policeman holstered his gun and pocketed his badge before quickly kneeling at the side of the body. He felt for a pulse, then barked an order for someone to call 911 for an ambulance.

Only then did the restaurant erupt with screams and sobs. Terrified diners began to stand up. A few in the front of the restaurant fled out the door.

“Stay in your seats,” the policeman commanded to those remaining. “Everything is under control.”

Some people followed his orders and sat. Others stood immobilized, their eyes wide.

Having regained a semblance of composure, Jack squatted beside the policeman.

“I’m a doctor,” Jack said.

“Yeah, I know,” the policeman said. “Give a check. I’m afraid he’s a goner.”

Jack felt for a pulse while wondering how the policeman knew he was a doctor. There was no pulse.

“I didn’t have a lot of choice,” the policeman said defensively. “It happened so fast and with so many people around, I shot him in the left side of his chest. I must have hit the heart.”

Jack and the policeman stood up.

The policeman looked Jack up and down. “Are you all right?” he asked.

In shocked disbelief, Jack examined himself. He could have been shot without having felt it. “I guess so,” he said.

The policeman shook his head. “That was a close one,” he said. “I never expected anything to happen to you in here.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked.

“If there was to be trouble, I expected it to be after you left the restaurant,” the policeman said.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Jack said. “But I’m awfully glad you happened to be here.”

“Don’t thank me,” the policeman said. “Thank Lou Soldano.”

Terese came out of the rest room, confused as to what was going on. She hurried back to the table. When she saw the body her hands flew to her face to cover her mouth. Aghast, she looked at Jack.

“What happened?” she asked. “You’re as white as a ghost.”

“At least I’m alive,” Jack said. “Thanks to this policeman.”

In confusion Terese turned to the policeman for an explanation, but the sound of multiple sirens could be heard converging on the restaurant, and the policeman began moving people out of the way and urging them to sit down.

Jack looked out the window of the speeding car and watched the night-time scenery flash by with unseeing eyes. Jack was in the front passenger seat of Shawn Magoginal’s unmarked car as it cruised south on the FDR Drive. Shawn was the plainclothes policeman who had mysteriously materialized at the crucial moment to save Jack from sure death.

Over an hour had passed since the event, but Jack was no more relaxed. In fact, now that he’d had time to think about this third attempt on his life he was more agitated than right after the event. He was literally shaking. In an attempt to hide this belated reaction from Shawn he clutched both hands to his knees.

Earlier, when the police cars and the ambulance had arrived at the restaurant, chaos had reigned. The police wanted everyone’s names and addresses. Some people balked, others complied willingly. At first Jack had assumed he’d be treated similarly, but then Shawn had informed him that Detective Lieutenant Lou Soldano wanted to talk with him at police headquarters.

Jack had not wanted to go, but he’d been given no choice. Terese had insisted on coming along, but Jack had talked her out of it. She’d only relented once he’d promised to call her later. She’d told him that she’d be at the agency. After such an experience she didn’t want to be alone.

Jack ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. A combination of the wine and tension had made it as dry as the inside of a sock. He didn’t want to go to police headquarters for fear they might detain him. He’d failed to report Reginald’s murder and he’d been at the scene of the drugstore homicide. To top it off, he’d said enough to Laurie to indicate a potential link between Reginald and Beth’s murder.

Jack sighed and ran a worried hand through his hair. He wondered how he’d respond to the inevitable questions he’d be asked.

“You okay?” Shawn questioned. He glanced at Jack, sensing his anxiety.

“Yeah, fine,” Jack said. “It’s been a wonderful evening in New York. It’s a city where you can never get bored.”

“That’s a positive way to look at it,” Shawn agreed.

Jack shot a look at the policeman, who seemed to have taken his comment literally.

“I have a couple of questions,” Jack said. “How the hell did you happen to be there at the restaurant? And how did you know I was a doctor? And how is it that I have Lou Soldano to thank?”