Despite the crowd of people in the area, the incident happened so quickly that few individuals had actually witnessed it. Although several people went to the aid of the downed bicyclist, no one went after Kevin, who was pedaling furiously in pursuit of Jack. Since it was quite light despite the sun’s having set, Jack could still be seen in the distance heading north.

“At least that went smoothly,” Steve said. “Now what do you think we should do? Sit here?”

Curt scanned the area as if he expected the answer to be in the surroundings. After a moment’s consideration, he shook his head. “No, I think we should head over to Central Park West. If Stapleton lives on the Upper West Side, that’s where he’ll come out.”

Curt put the van in gear. At a comparatively leisurely pace he drove west on Central Park South. As he did so he pulled out his cellular phone, checked to make sure it was on, then put it on the dash.

TWENTY

________

TWENTY

Wednesday, October 20

6:30 P.M.

Jack sat up and took his hands off his handlebars. With no hands he coasted along the pathway strewn with dead leaves. Just ahead was Central Park West and the exit across from 106th Street.

The ride home had been most enjoyable. The weather had been as glorious as he’d anticipated. The ride up First Avenue had had its normal share of aggravations, but it had been stimulating just the same. His nightly circuit around the Pulitzer fountain had been so inspiring that he’d been moved to stop to admire the resplendent nude statue of Abundance in the fading daylight. But by far the best part of the trip, as usual, had been the ride through the park. As soon as he’d broken free from the clutch of people near the park’s entrance he’d poured on the speed. It had been as if he’d been flying in a dream.

Jack waited for the traffic light to change before cycling across the busy avenue and entering his street. He was now in the cool-down stage of his ride and pedaled quickly in a low gear with almost no resistance. He stopped at the fence at the basketball court. As he’d hoped and expected, a game was in progress. Once again Warren and Flash were on opposing teams.

“Hey, Doc, you going to run or what?” Warren called out. “Get yourself out here, man.”

“You better be in good form,” Jack called back. “‘Cause I’m going to be trouble tonight!”

“Uh oh!” Spit yelled. He was one of the younger players but had become Warren’s protégé. “Doc’s threatening to make some house calls.” The group teased Jack by calling any of his better moves “house calls.”