14

The overpass receded in his rear-view mirror, and with it the memory of that night. Jack wiped his sweaty palms against his slacks. He wondered where he’d be and what he’d be doing now if Ed had dropped that cinderblock a half-second earlier or later, letting it bounce relatively harmlessly off the hood or roof of his folks’ car. Half a second would have meant the difference between life and death for his mother—and for Ed. Jack would have finished school, had a regular job with regular hours by now, a wife, kids, stability, identity, security. He’d be able to go through a whole conversation without lying. He’d be able to drive under that overpass without reliving two deaths.

Jack arrived in Manhattan via the Lincoln Tunnel and went directly crosstown. He drove past Sutton Square and saw a black-and-white parked outside Nellie’s townhouse. After making a U-turn under the bridge, he drove back down to the mid-fifties and parked near a hydrant on Sutton Place South. He waited and watched. Before too long he saw the black-and-white pull out of Sutton Square and head uptown. He cruised around until he found a working pay phone and used it to call Nellie’s.

“Hello?” Gia’s voice was tense, expectant.

“It’s Jack, Gia. Everything okay?”

“No.” She seemed to relax. Now she just sounded tired.

“Police gone?”

“Just left.”

“I’m coming over—that is, if you don’t mind.”

Jack expected an argument and some abuse; instead, Gia said, “No, I don’t mind.”

“Be there in a minute.”

He got back into the car, pulled the Semmerling from under the seat and strapped it to his ankle. Gia hadn’t given him an argument. She must be terrified.