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 maitre d’ intercepted him, and they had a conversation.
The conversation was short. The maitre 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.”