“I guess… You heading home?”
“Yeah, why?” I check my phone but the app says my driver is still a good fifteen minutes away.
“I heard the governor is closing the city. Call Sam. Have her buy two weeks’ worth of groceries and hunker down. Grayson called and said not to worry. He’s making sure everyone gets paid.”
“That’s damn accommodating. Thank him for us. Wait, before you hang up… How’s Lilac?”
My pal hesitates, then his voice tightens. “They took her off pediatrics and scheduled her for the emergency room.”
I picture his pretty wife without enough personal protective gear and clench my teeth.That shit ain’t right.“I don’t suppose you can convince her to quit.”
He sighs heavily and for my buddy, that says a lot. “Not a chance.”
I figured as much and try to find words of comfort but it comes out sounding like clichés. “She’s young and strong. They say the virus mostly hits older people.”
“Not so sure, but yeah, I’m hoping.” When his voice wavers, I pray a bit and hope the good Lord is listening.
When it thunders, I add an amen. “Stay in touch. If there’s anything me and Sam can do, let us-”
“There is. Ask your partner to use her magic research skills and find us some N95 masks. Lilac says they’re going to run out.” Done talking, Slate hangs up.
Long ago, I asked him what he has against goodbyes. He told me they’re a waste of time. Who am I to argue?
“Damn.” I duck into a doorway when the wind whips up and the heavens rain down.
Bored of waiting, I Google all things plague related and miss my car pulling to the curb. The driver honks, I jump over the puddle, and into the back seat.
Once we’re in traffic, brown eyes under dark brows glance in the rearview mirror. “Any news on the virus?”
I meet his gaze with a frown of my own. “They’re putting cots in the Javits Center, sending a hospital ship and we’re hours away from a total shutdown.”
“Shit.”
“You said it, bro.” Hundreds of small shops along Eighth Avenue fly by and I can’t imagine all those folks out of work. It boggles my brain cells to the point where I got nothing to say, a miracle in itself.
My driver explains the tunnel is at a dead stop so we take the bridge and drive through the busy streets of Brooklyn.
“Stay safe.” He drops me off an hour later and as his Ford burns oil in the distance, I wander toward my building.
Under our second story plate glass window, the café on the ground floor does a booming business. Across the street, the elevated subway train squeals to a stop and about fifty people pile out. They trot down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. Some talk, some buy dinner, and the rest hurry home. Today, could be any regular day but it’s not.
We’ve now entered the Twilight Zone.
I purchase chocolate chip cookies from Mrs. Murphy, wait at the light, then jay walk to my front door. Waving to the new barista, I take stairs two at a time and unlock the top door.
A former dentist’s office, I have yet to transform the waiting area into extra living space. For now, it holds a coat tree and a couple of metal folding chairs. Two steps later, I arrive at the inner door where my wife stenciled,Suds and Sam, Private Detective Agency.
“Heeere’s Johnny.” My best imitation of Jack Nicholson ignored, I place my keys and Samsung on the kitchen-slash-conference-room table.
“Your coughing fit has gone viral.” My pretty gal grins as she circles down from the loft with our kitten at her heels.
She places her phone in front of my nose and I roll my eyes. “Jesus, lord have mercy. A piece of meat went down the wrong way.”
That might be stretching the truth but a cough is no reason to get all upset.
“People are behaving more fucked up by the minute.” She scrolls through more tweets and when the edges of her mouth sink lower, my spidey senses tingle.
I figure I should listen. “Maybe we should get out of Dodge. I own a small cabin in Utah. The place needs some cleanin’ and fixin’ up, but we could stay for as long as we want.”
