Vector

'Well, he didn't know much, ' Jack added. 'He just knew it was a disease mainly of cattle. He mentioned cows and sheep.'

'I'd venture to guess that's more than the average New Yorker knows, ' Chet said.

After a bit more small talk about activities over the immediately preceding weekend, Chet said his goodbyes and left. Jack turned to his desk. Without enthusiasm he eyed his ever-burgeoning pile of uncompleted cases Lying next to a stack of waiting histology slides.

He thought briefly about getting out his microscope until he glanced at his watch.

It was after seven. Knowing he had to pedal home, shower and dress, and then pedal back across town all before eight-thirty, Jack decided he didn't have time for more work.

The traffic on First Avenue had abated somewhat from a half hour earlier, and Jack ran with it beyond the United Nations building.

Taking Forty-ninth Street, he crossed to Madison Avenue and then again turned north. He rarely used the same route home until he got to the Grand Army Plaza at the southeastern corner of Central Park. It was there that he took his nightly turn around the Pulitzer fountain to admire the gilded nude statue of Abundance atop it. Then he entered the park and his favorite part of the trip. Over the years he'd figured out the best and most scenic route and used it most nights.

With an eye peeled for other cyclists, joggers, and in-line skaters, Jack cranked up his pace. Although the trees still had most of their leaves, a lot had already fallen, and they swirled in his wake and filled him with the unmistakable scent of fall.

Although Jack immensely enjoyed his rapid transit through the park, it also made him feel edgy. Finding himself paradoxically isolated in the lonely expanse within the confines of the otherwise teeming city never failed to remind him of the night he'd almost been shot and killed here by a hired gang member. There was no doubt danger lurked in the park's silent shadows.

Jack burst out of the tranquil darkness onto the bustling avenue, Central Park West. It was like returning to civilization. Slowing his speed considerably, he wound his way north among the darting, honking clutch of yellow cabs. At 106thStreet he turned west.

Knowing he didn't have a lot of time to spare, Jack had fully intended on heading directly to his tenement. Instead, he couldn't resist the siren song of the basketball court. Even though he was unable to play that evening, he couldn't pass by without at least stopping to check out the action.

The court was part of a larger, mostly cement park featuring swings, monkey bars, and sandboxes for the younger children, as well as benches for the doting mothers. Jack loved to play B-ball. He'd played at Amherst, which had never had a very competitive team. Years later, when he'd first moved to New York City, he'd ventured one day onto the court merely to shoot baskets by himself as a diversion, but by chance the locals had had only nine players. So they'd lowered their standards and asked Jack to play. He'd been immediately hooked by the lively and often rough urban games. Now, weather permitting, it was almost a nightly ritual.

For almost a year, Jack had been the only Caucasian player among the horde of local and considerably younger African-American players. But over the next few years two other white players had ventured into the fray, as well as a number of African-Americans closer to Jack's age of forty-four.

As a regular and a fanatic, Jack financed new backboards, new outdoor balls, and mercury vapor lighting. He accomplished this combination philanthropic and self-serving gesture through negotiations with the local community leadership. The final deal stipulated that Jack had to pay to refurbish the other park amenities as well. Jack had not minded in the slightest and considered it a small price to pay to be welcomed into the neighborhood.

Jack pedaled his bike up to the massive chain-link fence that separated the B-ball court from the sidewalk. Without taking his feet from his toe clips, he grabbed onto the fence to support himself. As he'd expected, there was a game in progress, with the players sweeping up and down the court.

'Hey, Doc! ' a voice called out. 'Doc' was Jack's neighborhood sobriquet. 'Where you been? Get your ass out here. You going to run or what?'

' Jack glanced to the sidelines to see the heavily muscled Warren Wilson dribbling a ball in and out between his legs. His shaved head gleamed in the glare of the overhead lights. He was standing with a pack of other fellows waiting to get into the game.

'I don't have time, ' Jack called back.

Warren detached himself from the others and started toward Jack. He was joined by Flash, one of the taller players whose level of ability was about on a par with Jack's. Warren was a quantum leap above both of them.

Jack nodded a greeting to Flash, who returned the gesture. Since their B-ball talent was roughly equivalent, they frequently covered each other when they were on opposing teams. Flash had the irritating knack of scoring on Jack when games were close, often winning the game. The situation had spawned a friendly rivalry.

'What do you mean you ain't got time? ' Warren questioned as he leaned up against the fence. 'You weren't out here much last week. Seems to me you're getting your priorities screwed up. What are you doing, letting work interfere? ' He loved to tease Jack about their differing philosophies as to what was important in life.

'I have to meet Laurie across town at eight-thirty, ' Jack said.

'We've got winners, ' Flash said. He had a particularly deep, rich baritone voice. 'It's going to be me, Warren, Spit, and Ron. We got room for one more if you could get your ass down here in record time.

It'd be a killer matchup.'

'You're tempting me, ' Jack admitted.

'We're going to sweep this team that's winning at the moment, ' Warren said. 'It's going to be a new dynasty. But, hey, we shouldn't keep you from your shortie.' Jack glanced at his watch and then over at the game in progress. He was tempted, but there was no way he could do it without arriving late at Elio's, even if he played only one game.

Ultimately he had to shake his head. 'Sorry, not tonight.'

'Natalie's been ragging me about getting together with you and Laurie, ' Warren said. 'You guys have been making yourselves scarce.'

'I'll say something to Laurie, ' Jack promised, although he couldn't be Optimistic, not without knowing her current secret, especially if she was moving to someplace like the West Coast. The thought of Laurie leaving made him wince.

'Hey, man, you okay? ' Warren asked. He leaned forward and regarded Jack through the fence.

O 'Yeah, sure, ' Jack said, yanking himself out of his momentary worry.

'Are you and Laurie cool? ' Warren questioned. 'I mean, you people aren't having words, are you? '

'No, we're cool, ' Jack fibbed. The truth of the matter was that he and Laurie had not spent much time together over the last month or so.

'I think you'd better get yourself out here for a run as soon as you can, ' Warren said. 'You look all wound up to me.'

'You're right! I need a run, ' Jack agreed. 'Tomorrow night for sure.' Jack said his goodbyes and then rode diagonally across the street to his building.

Knowing he would be going right back out, he locked his bike to the railing on the building's front steps.

Then he went up to his apartment and climbed into the shower.

After the shower Jack scanned his limited wardrobe for something to wear, only to get mad at himself for such stupid indecision. He couldn't remember the last time he had trouble deciding about clothes.

Ultimately he donned his usual jeans, blue chambray shirt, darker blue knitted tie, and tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows.

After a quick brush of his short hair to encourage it all to go in the direction it preferred, Jack went back down to the street and retrieved his bicycle.

The ride across the park was uneventful. He went south on Fifth Avenue until Eighty-fourth Street, which he took over to Second. The restaurant was just a few doors up from the corner. With slightly tremulous fingers Jack secured his bike with the requisite number of locks. As he entered the restaurant, he wondered why he was as anxious as he was.

Elio's was crowded. To Jack's left the small bar was five people deep.

To his right were a group of tables with the usual complement of TV personalities having their dinners.

Pushing his way deeper into the restaurant, Jack scanned the other diners for Laurie's familiar face and burnished auburn hair. He didn't see her.