“I’m nervous, though,” Phil admitted.
“Okay, so you’re a little nervous,” Twin said. “Let me look at you.” Twin reached over and pushed Phil’s shoulder back. “How’s your tie?”
Phil reached up and felt the knot in his tie. “I think it’s okay,” he said.
“You look great,” Twin said. “Looks like you’re on your way to church, man. You look like a damn banker or lawyer.” Twin laughed and slapped Phil repeatedly on the back.
Phil winced as he absorbed the blows. He hated this. It was the worst thing he’d ever done, and he wondered if it was worth it. Yet at this point he knew he didn’t have much choice. It was like going on the roller coaster and clanking up that first hill.
“Okay, man, it’s time to blow the mother away,” Twin said. He gave Phil a final pat, then reached in front of him to open the passenger-side door.
Phil got out onto rubbery legs.
“Phil,” Twin called.
Phil bent down and looked into the car.
“Remember,” Twin said. “Thirty seconds from the time you go in the door, I’ll be pulling up to the restaurant. You get out of there fast and into the car. Got it?”
“I guess so,” Phil said.
Phil straightened up and began walking toward the restaurant. He could feel the pistol bumping up against his thigh. He had it in his right hip pocket.
When Jack had first met Terese he’d had the impression that she was so goal oriented, she’d be incapable of small talk. But he had to admit he’d been wrong. When he’d started to tease her unmercifully about her inability to leave her work behind, she’d not only borne the brunt of the gibes with equanimity but had been able to dish out as good as he gave.
By their second glasses of wine they had each other laughing heartily.
“I certainly didn’t think I’d be laughing like this earlier today,” Jack said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Terese said.
“And indeed you should,” Jack said.
“Excuse me,” Terese said as she folded her napkin. “I imagine our entrées will be out momentarily. If you don’t mind, I’d like to use the ladies’ room before they get here.”
“By all means,” Jack said. He grasped the edge of the table and pulled it toward him to give Terese more room to get out. There was not much space between tables.
“I’ll be right back,” Terese said. She gave Jack’s shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t go away,” she teased.
Jack watched her approach the maitre d’, who listened to her and then pointed toward the rear of the restaurant. Jack continued to watch her as she gracefully weaved her way down the length of the room. As usual, she was wearing a simple, tailored suit that limned her slim, athletic body. It wasn’t hard for Jack to imagine that she approached physical exercise with the same dogged determination she devoted to her career.
When Terese disappeared from view Jack turned his attention back to the table. He picked up his wine and took a sip. Someplace he’d read that red wine was capable of killing viruses. That thought made him think of something he hadn’t considered but perhaps should have. He’d been exposed to influenza, and while he felt confident given the measures he was taking regarding his health, he certainly didn’t want to expose anyone else to it, particularly not Terese.
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.