“What time is it?” Jack asked.
“It’s almost twelve,” Terese said. “We’re still here in the studio, and sometimes we forget that the rest of the world sleeps normal hours. I wanted to ask a question about sterilization, but I’ll call you tomorrow. I’m sorry to have awakened you.”
“Actually I’ve been unconscious on my kitchen floor,” Jack said.
“Is that some kind of joke?” Terese asked.
“I wish,” Jack said. “I came home to a ransacked apartment, and unfortunately the ransackers were still here. To add insult to injury they also kind of heat me up.”
“Are you all right?” Terese asked urgently.
“I think so,” Jack said. “But I think I chipped a tooth.”
“Were you really unconscious?” Terese asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Jack said. “I still feel weak.”
“Listen,” Terese said decisively. “I want you to call the police immediately, and I’m coming over.”
“Wait a see,” Jack said. “First of all, the police won’t do anything. I mean, what can they do? It was four gang members, and there’s a million of them in the city.”
“I don’t care, I want you to call the police,” Terese said. “I’ll be over there in fifteen minutes.”
“Terese, this isn’t the best neighborhood,” Jack said. He could tell she’d made up her mind, but he persisted. “You don’t have to come. I’m okay. Honest!”
“I don’t want to hear any excuses about not calling the police,” Terese said. “I should be there in fifteen minutes.”
Jack found himself holding a dead telephone. Terese had hung up.
Dutifully Jack dialed 911 and gave the information. When he was asked if he was in any current danger, he said no. The operator said the officers would be there as soon as possible.
Jack pushed himself up onto wobbly legs and walked out into his living room. Briefly he looked for his bike, but then vaguely remembered something about his attackers wanting it. In the bathroom he bared his teeth and examined them. As he’d suspected from touching it with his tongue, his left front tooth had a small chip. Twin must have had something like brass knuckles under his gloves.
To Jack’s surprise the police arrived within ten minutes. There were two officers, an African-American by the name of David Jefferson and a Latino, Juan Sanchez. They listened politely to Jack’s tale of woe, wrote down the particulars, including the make of the missing bike, and asked Jack if he’d care to come to the precinct to look at mug shots of various local gang members.
Jack declined. Through Warren he understood that the gangs did not fear the police. Consequently, Jack knew the police could not protect him from the gangs, so he decided not to tell the police everything. But at least he’d satisfied Terese’s demand and would be able to collect insurance on his bike.
“Excuse me, Doc,” David Jefferson said as the police were leaving. Jack had informed them he was a medical examiner. “How come you live in this neighborhood? Aren’t you asking for trouble?”
“I ask myself the same question,” Jack said.
After the police had left, Jack closed his splintered door and leaned against it while surveying his apartment. Somehow he would have to find the energy to clean it up. At the moment it seemed like an overwhelming task.
A knock that he could feel more than hear made him reopen the door. It was Terese.
“Ah, thank God it’s you,” Terese said. She came into the apartment. “You weren’t kidding when you said this wasn’t the best neighborhood. Just climbing these stairs was a trauma. If it hadn’t been you opening the door I might have screamed.”
“I tried to warn you,” Jack said.
“Let me look at you,” Terese said. “Where’s the best light?”
Jack shrugged. “You choose,” he said. “Maybe the bathroom.”
Terese dragged Jack into the bathroom and examined his face. “You have a tiny cut over your jawbone,” she said.
“I’m not surprised, Jack said. He then showed her the chipped tooth.
“Why did they beat you up?” Terese said. “I hope you weren’t playing hero.”
“Quite the contrary,” Jack said. “I was terrified into total immobility. I was sucker-punched. This was evidently some kind of warning for me to stay out of the Manhattan General.”