Ghosts of Manhattan: A Novel(69)

I walk into the cardiac ward and ask at the nursing station for Jack.

“Oh, Mr. Wilson,” the nurse says, smiling. “He’s made quite an impression on us already.”

I take her meaning literally. I could make a joke here but hospitals always make me so damn uncomfortable. I feel like I’m supposed to be sad and respectful, so I don’t say anything.

“He’s in three forty-two. He’s awake.”

“Thanks.”

I walk into Jack’s room and he’s lying in one of those mechanical beds that has his head slightly elevated. There are all sorts of wires connecting his body to machines that are beeping like crazy. He’s watching TV and looks as white as the sheets.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Nick!” He lights up seeing me but his voice is still weak. I’m watching the numbers on the machines like a hawk and I see one of them start to rise. I think it’s the heart rate.

“You’ve looked better.”

“Yeah. I feel fine.”

“Good.”

“Thanks for the help. I appreciate the soft landing.”

“I didn’t have a choice. You had a hell of a grip on me.”

There’s a chair under the wall-mounted TV and I sit. The room is all white with a little window looking over Seventh Avenue. We could probably squeeze two more people in here with all the machines and crap. “What did the doctors say?”

“They say I’ll recover. I need to take it easy.”

“Yeah? You’re going to take it easy?”

“I am. No booze, no coke.” He pauses. “No work.”

“For how long?”

“For however long I have left. Hopefully a while.”

“You’re quitting?”

“Already did. Only took a phone call.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

I lean back in the chair trying to digest this. Jack is delivering this like happy news. It also feels like genuinely happy news. “Great.”

“Chappy said to take as much time as I need but I’m done. I told them I’m resigning. I can’t go back.” He smiles. “The doctors said keeping on with a job like mine is a death sentence.”

“Yeah.”

“You and I knew that a long time ago.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

We’re silent for a while, listening to the TV over my head. Jack is watching me, though. He continues, “I thought about getting out for years and never was able to bring myself to do it. In a way, I got off easy. My body put its foot down and it didn’t kill me. It’s amazing, but I feel happy. Even my ex-wife seems to like me now.”

“She’s been to visit?”

“Round the clock. She’ll be back in about an hour.” He puts his hands up to say, Can you believe it? “We’ve been pouring our hearts out, so to speak. It’s been weird but interesting. Who knows?”

“Good for you, Jack.” He looks calm and happy. He seems different. Better. Even the way he talks is a little different, like he stopped trying to win over the whole world all the time.

He can still read people, though. “How are you doing?”

The true answer is probably not as well as Jack. “I’m going to leave soon too. I’m going to do it.”

“I recommend it. The water is fine.”

A nurse comes through the door and goes straight to Jack. There’s no pause for an invitation or even a hello. “I’m going to check your vitals, Mr. Wilson.”

“Hi, Krista. You know, the best a woman can look with clothes on is in a nurse outfit. I tell you what.”

Krista the nurse has a modicum of cuteness, nothing more. And that’s beside the point. Or maybe it just adds a very little something to the main point. It’s clear some things with Jack are going to take a while to change and I decide that’s reassuring.

Neither Krista nor I acknowledges the remark and she goes on about her business. It’s a private moment and a good excuse to go. “I’m glad you’re okay. Take it easy on the nurses.” I stand and give him a handshake, picking up where we had left off the last one.

“I’ll see you around, Nick.”





24 | REWARD


February 1, 2006

I’M STILL THINKING ABOUT MY BOURBON OATH AND MY visit to Jack and I feel great this morning. The early trading has slowed down and I’m finishing up the Wall Street Journal at my desk when Freddie’s number rings through to my cell phone.

“Hey, Freddie.”

“Hi, Nick. Are you at your desk?”

“Yup. How are you?”

“I’ve been better.”

I wait a moment for more information. “What’s going on?”

“Nick, have you talked to your boss?”

“No. Why?”

“I’m sorry, Nick. I shouldn’t have involved you at all.”

“Freddie, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I’ve just been escorted from the building. By armed security guards. I’m calling you from the sidewalk, sitting on a cardboard box that has all my personal effects.”

“They fired you. They actually fired you.” It isn’t a question or even an incredulous declaration.