“So you’re telling me the doc hasn’t been dealing with you people?” Warren asked.

“Shit no,” Twin said with a derisive laugh. “We don’t need no honky doctor for our operation, no way.”

“You should have come to us first,” Warren said. “We would have set you right about the doc. He’s been running with us on the b-ball court for four or five months. He’s not half bad neither. So I’m sorry about Reginald. I mean, it wouldn’t have happened if we’d talked.”

“I’m sorry about the kid,” Twin said. “That shouldn’t have happened neither. Trouble was, we were so pissed about Reginald. We couldn’t believe a brother would get shot over a honky doctor.”

“That makes us even,” Warren said. “That’s not counting what happened last night, but that didn’t involve us.”

“I know,” Twin said. “Can you imagine that doc? He’s like a cat with nine lives. How the hell did that cop react so fast? And why was he in there? He must think he’s Wyatt Earp or something.”

“The point is that we have a truce,” Warren said.

“Damn straight,” Twin said. “No more brother shooting brother. We’ve got enough trouble without that.”

“But a truce means you lay off the doc too,” Warren said.

“You care what happens to that dude?” Twin asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Warren said.

“Hey, then it’s your call, man,” Twin said. “It wasn’t like the money was that good anyway.”

Warren stuck out his hand palm up. Twin slapped it. Then Warren slapped Twin’s.

“Be good,” Warren said.

“You too, man,” Twin said.

Warren motioned to David that they were leaving. They walked back toward the Washington Arch at the base of Fifth Avenue.

“That wasn’t half bad,” David said.

Warren shrugged.

“You believe him?” David asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Warren said. “He might deal in drugs, but he’s not stupid. If this thing goes on, we all lose.”

Jack felt uncomfortable. Among other problems he was stiff and now all his muscles ached. He’d been sitting in the van for more hours than he cared to count, watching customers going in and out of the pawnshop. There’d never been a crowd, but it was steady. Most of the people looked seedy. It occurred to Jack that the shop was trafficking in illicit activities like gambling or drugs.

It was not a good neighborhood. Jack had sensed that the moment he’d arrived that morning. The point had been driven home as darkness fell and someone tried to break into the van with Jack sitting there. The man had approached the passenger-side door with a flat bar, which he proceeded to insert between the glass and the door frame. Jack had to knock on the glass and wave to get the man’s attention. The moment he saw Jack he ran off.

Jack was now popping throat lozenges at a regular rate with little relief. His throat was worse, and to add to his increasing misery he’d developed a cough. It wasn’t a bad cough, merely a dry hack. But it further irritated his throat and increased his anxiety that he had indeed caught the flu from Gloria Hernandez. Although two rimantadine tablets were recommended as the daily dose, Jack took a third when the coughing started.

Just about the time Jack was contemplating admitting to himself that his clever ploy with the package had been a failure, his patience paid off. The man involved did not attract Jack’s attention initially. He’d arrived on foot, which was not what Jack expected. He was dressed in an old nylon ski parka with a hood just like a few of the individuals who’d preceded him. But when he came out he was carrying the parcel. Despite the failing light and the distance, Jack could see the “rush” and “biohazard” labels plastered haphazardly over the exterior.

Jack had to make a rapid decision as the man walked briskly toward the Bowery. He hadn’t expected to be following a pedestrian, and he debated if he should get out of the van and follow on foot or stay in the van, circle around, and try to follow the man while driving.

Thinking that a slowly moving van would attract more attention than a pedestrian, Jack got out of the truck. He followed at a distance until the man turned right on Eldridge Street. Jack then ran until he reached the corner.

He peeked around just in time to see the man entering a building across the street, midway down the block.

Jack quickly walked to the building. It was five stories, like its immediate neighbors. Each floor had two large, storefront-sized windows with smaller, sashed windows on either side. A fire escape zigzagged down the left side of the facade to end in a counterweighted ladder pivoted some twelve feet from the sidewalk. The ground-floor commercial space was vacant with a For Rent sign stuck to the inside of the glass.

The only lights were in the second-floor windows. From where Jack was standing it appeared to be a loft apartment, but he couldn’t be certain. There were no drapes or other obvious signs of domesticity.

While Jack was eyeing the building, vaguely wondering what to do next, the lights went on up on the fifth floor. While he watched he saw someone raise the sash of the smaller window to the left. Jack was unable to see if it had been the man he followed, but he suspected it was.

After making certain he wasn’t being observed, Jack quickly moved over to the door where the man had entered. He tried it, and it opened. Stepping over the threshold, he found himself in a small foyer. A group of four mailboxes was set into the wall to the left. Only two had names. The second floor was occupied by G. Heilbrunn. The fifth-floor tenant was R. Overstreet. There was no Frazer Labs.

Four buzzers bordered a small grille which Jack assumed covered a speaker. He vaguely contemplated ringing the fifth floor but had trouble imagining what he could say. He stood there for a few minutes thinking, but nothing came to mind. Then he noticed that the mailbox for the fifth floor appeared to be unlocked.

Jack was about to reach up to the mailbox when the inner door to the building proper abruptly opened. It startled Jack and he jumped, but he had the presence of mind to keep himself turned away from whoever was exiting the building. The person hastily brushed by Jack with obvious distress. Jack caught a fleeting glimpse of the same nylon ski parka. A second later the man was gone.

Jack reacted quickly, getting his foot into the inner door before it closed. As soon as he was certain the man was not immediately returning, Jack entered the building. He let the door close behind him. A stairway wound up surrounding a wide elevator built of a steel frame covered by heavy wire mesh. Jack assumed the elevator had been for freight, not only because of its size but also because its doors closed horizontally instead of vertically, and its floor was rough-hewn planks.

Jack got into the elevator and pushed five.

The elevator was noisy, bumpy, and slow, but it got Jack to the fifth floor. Getting off, he faced a plain, heavy door. There was no name and no bell. Hoping the apartment was empty, Jack knocked. When there was no answer even after a second, louder rapping, Jack tried the door. It was locked.

Since the stairway rose up another floor, Jack climbed to see if he could get to the roof. The door opened but would lock behind him once he was outside. Before he ventured onto the roof he had to find something to wedge between the door and doorjamb so he could return to the stairwell. Just over the threshold he found a short length of two-by-four, which he guessed was there for that very purpose.

With the door propped open Jack stepped out onto the dark roof and gingerly walked toward the front of the building. Ahead of him he could see the arched handrails of the fire-escape ladder silhouetted against the night sky.