False Impression

Krantz wet her bed, and then explained to the doctor about her weak bladder. He authorized periodic visits to the bathroom, but only when accompanied by at least two guards.

These regular little outings up and down the corridor gave Krantz an opportunity to study the layout of the floor: a reception desk at the far end of the landing manned by a single nurse; a drug clinic that could only be unlocked if a doctor was present; a linen closet; three other single rooms; one bathroom; and, at the other end of the corridor, a ward containing sixteen beds, opposite a fire escape.

But the outings also served another, more important purpose, and it certainly wasn’t anything the young doctor would have come across when reading his medical textbooks or carrying out his ward rounds.

Once they had locked Krantz into her cubicle, also windowless, she sat on the toilet seat, placed two fingers up her rectum, and slowly extracted a condom. She the

n washed the rubber container in the toilet water, undid the knot at the top, and pulled out a roll of tightly wrapped twenty-dollar bills. She extracted two from the roll, tucked them into her sling, and then carried out the whole process in reverse.

Krantz pulled the chain and was escorted back to her room. She spent the rest of the day sleeping. She needed to be wide awake during the night shift.

Jack sat in the back of the taxi, looking out of the window.

The gray cloak of 9/11 still hadn’t lifted from Manhattan, although New Yorkers rushing by no longer stared upward in disbelief. Terrorism was something else the most frenetic city on earth had already learned to take in its stride.

Jack sat back and thought about the favor he’d promised Anna. He dialed the number she’d given him. Sam picked up the phone. Jack told him that Anna was alive and well, and that she had been visiting her mother in Romania, and he could expect her back that evening. Nice to start the day making someone feel good, thought Jack, which wasn’t going to be the case with his second call. He phoned his boss to let him know that he was back in New York. Macy told him that Krantz had been taken to a local hospital in Bucharest to undergo an operation on her shoulder. She was being guarded round the clock by half a dozen cops.

“I’ll be happier when she’s locked up in jail,” said Jack.

“I’m told you speak with some experience on that subject,” said Macy.

Jack was about to respond when Macy added, “Why don’t you take the rest of the week off, Jack? You’ve earned it.”

“It’s Saturday,” Jack reminded his boss.

“So I’ll see you first thing Monday morning,” said Macy.

Jack decided to text Anna next: Told Sam U R on way home. Is he only other man in yr life? He waited a couple of minutes, but there was no reply. He called his mother.

“Will you be coming home for supper tonight?” she asked sharply. He could almost smell the meat stewing in the background.

“Would I miss it, Ma?”

“You did last week.”

“Ah, yes, I meant to call you,” said Jack, “but something came up.”

“Will you be bringing this something with you tonight?” Jack hesitated, a foolish mistake. “Is she a good Catholic girl?” was his mother’s next question.

“No, Mother,” Jack replied. “She’s a divorcée, three ex-husbands, two of whom died in mysterious circumstances. Oh, and she has five children, not all of them by the three husbands, but you’ll be glad to know only four of the kids are on hard drugs—the other one’s currently serving a jail sentence.”

“Does she have a regular job?”

“Oh yes, Ma, it’s a cash business. She services most of her customers on the weekends, but she assures me that she can always take an hour off for a bowl of Irish stew.”

“So what does she really do?” asked his mother.

“She’s an art thief,” said Jack, “specializes in Van Gogh and Picasso. Makes a huge profit on each assignment.”

“Then she’ll be an improvement on the last one,” said his mother, “who specialized in losing your money.”

“Good-bye, Mother,” said Jack. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He ended the call, to find there was a text from Anna, using her ID for Jack:

Switch your brain on, Stalker. Got the obvious R. U R 2 slow 4 me.

“Damn the woman,” said Jack. His next call was to Tom in London, but all he got was an answering machine saying, “Tom Crasanti, I’m out at the moment, but will be back shortly, please leave a message.”