She pulled her coat closer around her against the chill. Maybe she should try calling for a cab. She opened her shoulder bag and hunted through its jumbled contents. Half her life seemed to be in here. Not much money, but her stethoscope, diagnostic kit, beeper, keys, and somewhere among the old charge card receipts in the bottom, her cell phone.

As she rummaged, she glanced back the way she had come—still looking for that damn gray sedan—and noticed three men huddled around the door of a shiny red sports car parked on Julio’s block about fifty feet from where she stood. A motley crew—a pierced-up white guy, a black, and a Hispanic—the two darker ones were shielding the white from view as he shoved a thin flat piece of metal into the car’s window slot and worked it up and down.

Alicia didn’t know much about cars but had no doubt these three were up to no good: looking to steal either the radio or the air bag, or maybe the whole car. She glanced around to see if anyone was coming, but at the moment the sidewalk was deserted.

Maybe it would be safer to wait for a cab farther down the street. She’d call 911 on her cell phone once she was safely on her way.

But as she turned to slip away, she spotted Jack leaving Julio’s. He was ambling in her direction, but if he’d noticed her, he gave no sign. His eyes were fixed on the men trying to break into the car. Alicia noticed a change in his gait as he approached them… he was moving like a cat now.

He’s not really going to get involved in this, is he? she thought. He’s smarter than that, I hope.

But sure enough, Jack sidled up to the three men and stood before the two shielders, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels as if watching them change a tire.

She thought she heard him say, “Hey, guys, whatcha doin’?”

Curiosity got the better of Alicia’s common sense. Fascinated, she edged closer for a better look.

The black guy—he had a fade haircut and looked like he worked out a lot—looked at Jack as if he couldn’t believe somebody was stupid enough to ask him that.

“What’s it look like we’re doin’?” He pointed to the white guy. “Our friend here locked himself out of his car and we’re helpin’ him out, okay? That all right wichoo?”

“Can I watch?” Jack said. His posture was loose and slouched; his voice sounded high and nerdy.

“No. Move on.”

“Why not?”

“Because like I’m gettin’ my period and I’m real cranky, and you hangin’ aroun’ is disturbin’ our concentration. So just haul your nosy white ass on outta here.”

“But I’ve never seen anybody use a Slim Jim before,” Jack said. “I mean, it’s really convenient that one of you happened to have one. You know, so you could help him out and all. I didn’t think they were legal.”