At five p.m. Danny Messer was home showering. He had been given two weeks' mandatory leave with pay and with the possibility of an extension.
He had to see Sheila Hellyer for half an hour every day for those two weeks. That was fine with him.
The tremor was gone. Hot water beat soothingly on his head and down his back. He heard himself humming, surprised that he was looking forward to the next two weeks.
He had promised himself that someday he would read War and Peace. Now would be a very good time, but then again, the Mets were opening a home series with the Cardinals tomorrow night.
At five p.m. Joshua lay in his hospital bed trying without success to understand what had happened to him. They had given him shots of morphine for his pain. Suddenly he experienced an epiphany. His way was not religion. He had served it badly and it had served him badly. It was not his calling. He needed a cause, a real-world cause, a new group of the devoted young around him. If Communism were the least bit viable, Joshua would have become a Communist at that very second.
Animal rights. That was it. He smiled and imagined all the abuse taken by cows, ducks, horses, chickens, turkeys, seals, whales, pigs, even fish. I'm a vegetarian, he thought. From this moment, I'm a vegetarian. He closed his eyes.
At five p.m. Jane Parsons and Mac Taylor were sharing a pizza at a hole in the wall with three tables. Most of the trade was pizza by the slice to go.
They had both agreed on double cheese, onions and anchovies.
There was a ceiling fan spinning and wobbling dangerously, providing almost no relief from the heat of the ovens, which added to that of the air coming in through the open door.
The plan was to finish the pizza and the Diet Cokes and get back to work. Jane had DNA orders piled up at least two inches high. Mac had the gun Evan Drew had used. He planned to send e-mails to Interpol which, in turn, would send the request to its 184 members around the world, asking if they had any unsolved murders from before eight years ago involving two shots in close proximity to the back of the head with bullets from a small-caliber gun.
Someone behind the counter was shouting to someone behind him to make a large sausage-and-onion to go. Jane and Mac were silent as they ate. Then, pizza finished, she put her hands together and touched them to her lips, saying, "Tell me about your wife."
Talking about Claire was not easy. Usually he simply didn't do it, but in this loud, hot pizza shop he began talking. He was surprised that it didn't hurt. He was surprised by Jane's attentiveness. He told her things that he had not told anyone, including himself, since 9/11.
Outside it began to rain and, for a few minutes at least, it was cool in New York.
Stuart M Kaminsky
