“Hello,” he said, shaking Gia’s hand. She liked a man to shake her hand. “Nice to see you again.” He also shook Vicky’s hand, which elicited a big smile from her.

“Just in time for dessert, Abe,” Jack said. He brought out the Entenmann’s cake.

Abe’s eyes widened. “Almond coffee ring! You shouldn’t have!” He made a show of searching the tabletop. “What are the rest of you having?”

Gia laughed politely, not knowing how seriously to take the remark, then watched with wonder as Abe consumed three-quarters of the cake, all the while talking eloquently and persuasively of the imminent collapse of western civilization. Although he had failed to persuade Vicky to call him “Uncle Abe” by the time dessert was over, he had Gia half-convinced she should flee New York and build an underground shelter in the foothills of the Rockies.

Finally, Jack stood up and stretched. “I have to go out for a little bit. Shouldn’t be long. Abe will stay here until I get back. And if you don’t hear from me, don’t worry.”

Gia followed him to the door. She didn’t want to see him go, but couldn’t bring herself to tell him so. A persistent knot of hostility within her always veered her away from the subject of Gia and Jack.

“I don’t know if I can be with him too much longer,” she whispered to Jack. “He’s so depressing!”

Jack smiled. “You ain’t heard nuthin’ yet. Wait till the network news comes on and he gives you his analysis of what every story really means.” He put his hand on her shoulder and drew her close. “Don’t let him bother you. He means well.”

Before she knew what was happening, he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.

“Bye!” And he was out the door.

Gia turned back to the apartment: There was Abe squatting before the television. There was a Special Report about the Chinese border dispute with India.

“Did you hear that?” Abe was saying. “Did you hear? Do you know what this means?”

Resignedly, Gia joined him before the set. “No. What does it mean?”

7

Finding a cab took some doing, but Jack finally nabbed a gypsy to take him back into Manhattan. He still had a few hours of light left; he wanted to make the most of them. The worst of the rush hour was over and he was heading the opposite way of much of the flow, so he made good time getting back into the city.

The cab dropped him off between Sixty-seventh and Sixty-eighth on Fifth Avenue, one block south of Kusum’s apartment building. He crossed to the park side of Fifth and walked uptown, inspecting the building as he passed. He found what he wanted: a delivery alley along the left side secured by a wrought iron gate with pointed rails curved over and down toward the street. Next step was to see if anybody was home.

He crossed over and stepped up to the doorman, who wore a pseudomilitary cap and sported a handlebar moustache.