MANHATTAN – 1 JUNE
Mrs Esther Wolfowitz was pissed off. She felt pissed off most of the time these days. You work your ass off for fifty years, and for what? You raise a son and then he hardly ever calls! She pressed the on button on the TV remote. Now, most of her days were spent in her small two-bed apartment, in a block full of retired people on Jay Street. The main interests in their lives were their illnesses, and she was no different. Though she still had Sidney, she supposed, as she heard her husband turn the key in the front door.
Sidney Wolfowitz shuffled in to the kitchenette, just as he did at 10.15 a.m., seven days a week, and took a loaf of bread, a carton of milk and The New York Times out of a plastic bag. At about 10.28 a.m., Mrs Wolfowitz knew that he would shuffle into the lounge with two cups of coffee and four slices of toast on a tray. He would hand her a cup of coffee and two slices on a plate and make some comment about the weather. He would then sink into the other armchair and, with a heavy sigh, he would open the newspaper. They would then watch Dr Phil, Rikki Lake, Oprah and Jerry Springer re-runs – or rather she would try and watch while Sidney annoyed her with his tut-tuts and grunts. Is this what I survived Auschwitz for? she sometimes asked herself.
Dr Phil turned perfectly on cue and looked out at his viewers. ‘And we’ll be back to see if Bruce did get through the week without beating his kids – right after these messages.’
Sidney Wolfowitz tut-tutted. Esther Wolfowitz sighed. A picture of a retired couple in a badly lit apartment came on their screens. These people were unhappy, just like them. The voiceover said in a weary tone, ‘Are you feeling tired? Do you suffer from headaches, bowel or stomach problems? Do you sometimes wish you had more energy?’
The screen now showed the couple chatting with an earnest and honest doctor, who nodded and smiled as he handed them a prescription. The voiceover and the screen both brightened – ‘Then all you need is SuperVerve.’ The screen showed an attractive, smiling pharmacist, handing a box of SuperVerve tablets to the delighted couple.
‘SuperVerve is clinically proven to alleviate bowel and stomach problems, headaches and listlessness. Get your energy back. Get SuperVerve.’
The advertisement cut to a new scene where the beaming elderly man was now energetically pushing his laughing grandchildren on two swings. The camera panned across a neat garden to where the grandmother sits relaxing on a comfortable garden chair. She is beautifully dressed, smiling and chatting with family members, while a daughter, or daughter-in-law, tops up her glass of wine. The sun is shining. Grandmother catches her husband’s eye, he winks at her and she waves back.
The upbeat voiceover declares, ‘SuperVerve – putting the verve back into your life. Ask your doctor if SuperVerve is suitable for you.’
Wow, thought Esther Wolfowitz. She glanced over at Sidney, who also seemed to be impressed. ‘Maybe we should find out more about that, dear?’ she said.
‘Yeah, sounds good, it’s even in The New York Times,’ he replied, turning the broadsheet towards her and tapping on a full-page colour advert. The bright blue and white SuperVerve logo beamed out at them and there were the same laughing faces of those grandparents and their families.
‘We’ll ask about it at the clinic,’ said Mrs Wolfowitz. ‘I was thinking of calling in there anyway. I haven’t been feeling great.’
‘Sure. Let’s do that, dear. I’ll come with you. Oh, I didn’t show you these,’ said Sidney, as he half stood to take something out of his trouser pocket.
‘What is it?’
‘Well, it looks like there is such a thing as a free lunch.’ He handed her a coupon, as he squinted to read the print on a bright red and yellow flyer, with a picture of a succulent beef burger. ‘BurgerFantastic – home cooking without the hassle. Buy one get one free, with this coupon.’
‘That looks like a good deal,’ said Esther Wolfowitz, studying the advert, but struggling to read the print. ‘One for you and one for me.’ She paused and looked into the mid-distance. ‘BurgerFantastic. Yeah, there’s one of those down near the clinic. Let’s try it out.’ Then, raising her voice in exasperation as her husband shuffled towards the kitchen, ‘Sidney, Sidney where have you put my glasses this time?’
She found them later in the fridge. Exactly where she had left them.
*
‘So, Anna girl, like what did you say then?’ Cindy asked as she and Anna checked their make-up in the restroom at Dynamic Communications. Anna had been updating Cindy on her only date with John Wyse, since the dinner at Le Cirque.
‘I said I’d love to go out again but that I was really busy on these projects at work and could he leave it for a week before calling me. It’s hardly even a white lie, I’ve got so much on.’
‘Good move, girl. I’d push it to two weeks. Maybe even three. You’ll work him into a frenzy. Best way to make sure of landing him long term.’
‘Jeez, Cindy, I hope you’re right. I don’t wanna blow this.’
‘Trust me, Anna. Don’t get used. Hey, he didn’t say if he had any more good-looking detective pals looking for a real energetic mystery woman, did he?’ Cindy giggled, scrunching a palmful of gel through her spiky red hair.
‘Just his best buddy Cabrini that you met. He’s great fun – life and soul of the station apparently. And separated.’
‘Nah. He drinks way too much. Been there, done that, dated those guys. I do prefer to date married men though, they’re so predictable.’
‘Oh, how’s that?’ said Anna, inspecting her lipstick.
‘There’s no more potent mixture than a married man who feels he’s not getting enough action at home, and the old four, three, two. Always works.’
‘The what?’
‘The four, three, two. Four drinks, three compliments, and two big tits. Never fails!’
Anna had to hold on to the side of the sink, she was laughing so much.
‘So, those cops?’ Cindy continued. ‘Do they hang out a lot at that bar where we met them?’
‘Harry’s – yeah. It’s near the police station, and it’s near John’s place too.’
‘Oh, where does he live?’
‘New block on Eldridge Street – not that I’ve been inside it.’
Hmmm. Harry’s and Eldridge Street.
‘Hey, I’d better get goin’, Cindy. There’s a few of us going out for lunch – they’re waiting in reception. You wanna come along?’
‘Yeah, sure, I was gonna have a sandwich at my desk, but I’d love to get out.’
‘Cool, come on then.’ Anna grabbed her handbag and rushed out to where four of the girls were waiting.
‘Come on, Anna, we’re starving.’
‘Sorry, guys, where’ll we go?’
‘What about this?’ said Sonya, handing her something over the reception desk.
Anna looked at the coupons in her hand and read aloud, ‘BurgerFantastic – home cooking without the hassle. Buy one – get one free, with this coupon. Hey, that’s one of our clients.’
Sonya smiled. ‘A whole bunch of coupons got dropped into reception this morning.’
‘Well, okay then,’ said Cindy, opening the door, ‘so let’s take them up on their offer. There’s a BurgerFantastic just down the street.’
‘Hey, I’m all for supporting the clients, but it’ll be caesar salad for me,’ Anna said, patting her flat stomach.
*
At about the same time as Anna and her colleagues were heading out for lunch, Mr and Mrs Wolfowitz were walking half a block north to their doctor’s clinic, near the intersection with Harrison Street. Sidney Wolfowitz walked slower than his normal pace, so that his wife could keep up. His twice-daily walks to the newsagent and convenience store were keeping him pretty fit. Mrs Wolfowitz wasn’t happy.
‘And David never visits. You’d think he’d have more respect for his mother, after all we’ve been through? Sheesh!’
‘But he was here last weekend, darling,’ said Sidney gently. ‘We had lunch.’
‘Don’t talk nonsense, Sidney,’ she shot back. ‘You trying to make me sicker than I am? He hasn’t been in New York for a year.’
They reached the surgery of Dr Ian French and took their seats in the busy waiting room.
‘Mrs Wolfowitz, Dr French will see you now,’ smiled the receptionist through the hatch.
‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, standing up slowly. She made her way towards the doctor’s surgery. Dr French was waiting at the door. She liked Dr French. He always made her feel much better. They both sat down.
‘And what seems to be the problem, Mrs Wolfowitz?’
‘Well, doctor, I have very bad irritable bowel, stomach cramps and headaches,’ she replied. ‘Oh, and a lack of energy,’ she added.
‘And how long have you had these stomach cramps?’
‘Oh, a long time, doctor.’
‘And do you have diarrhoea, Mrs Wolfowitz?’
‘Oh yes, from time to time. And sometimes I feel bloated.’
‘Would you mind lying up on the examination table, Mrs Wolfowitz? I’d like to have a look at your tummy.’
Mrs Wolfowitz heaved herself up on to the table and lay on her back. Her very ample stomach settled in various directions.
Dr French worked his way around her stomach, pressing gently. From time to time Mrs Wolfowitz released a little groan.
‘Yes, certainly seems to be a bit tender. Okay, Mrs Wolfowitz, you can sit back down.’
As she tucked in her blouse and sat down heavily in her chair, Mrs Wolfowitz said, ‘You know, doctor, I’ve been hearing that SuperVerve tablets are really very good for this type of thing. What do you think?’
‘Well, they would certainly be helpful for any inflammation of your intestines. We don’t want it turning into colitis. It may be that you’ve picked up a persistent bug. That could also explain your headaches and generally not feeling well.’
He finished taking her blood pressure. 150 over 90, not too bad for an overweight eighty-something. He checked her temperature, which was normal.
‘Right, Mrs Wolfowitz,’ he said, typing her name into his computer to open her file. ‘So,’ he scanned down the screen, ‘you were last with me a month or so ago, when you had that bad cold and cough. And we gave you some doxycycline for a chest infection.’
‘That’s right – that cleared up fine – but this bowel and stomach problem’s really getting me down.’
Dr French moved his mouse to open the screen where he would record today’s visit. He had a brand-new mouse mat that morning – the pharmaceutical reps were always dropping them in. This one had a bright blue and white logo and the strapline, ‘SuperVerve – Working with doctors in alleviating gastro-intestinal problems, headache and listlessness.’
Okay, now SuperVerve, he thought, that’s cephalosporin, isn’t it? He knew there was a leaflet on SuperVerve in his drawer. He pulled it out and read it. Yep, straightforward cephalosporin, that should work.
‘Okay, Mrs Wolfowitz, I’ll write you a script for SuperVerve. Take two tablets immediately, followed by two per day for a week. I’ll give you a repeat prescription in case it doesn’t clear up straight away,’ he said, tearing off the script and handing it over.
‘Oh, thank you, doctor.’ Mrs Wolfowitz beamed.
Fifteen minutes later, Mr and Mrs Wolfowitz walked into the AppleDay Pharmacy on Harrison Street. Sidney bought eggs, milk and orange juice while Esther waited for the prescription to be filled. They got a twenty dollar bonus on their AppleDay Pharmacy loyalty card. Mrs Wolfowitz asked for a glass of water in the store and swallowed her first two SuperVerve tablets.
Funny, I feel better already, she thought. ‘C’mon Sidney, let’s go get lunch.’
Esther Wolfowitz clutched the brown paper bag containing the SuperVerve tablets, in their bright blue and white packet, as they walked to the BurgerFantastic restaurant six doors away. They ordered one BurgerFantastic, two fries and two coffees. Sidney proudly handed over his coupon and they received another BurgerFantastic – free. They sat in a corner booth.
‘Hit me baby,’ pumped out of the sound-system, as Sidney consumed his first, and Esther her second, large dose of cephalosporin that day.
*
6 JUNE – 11 P.M.
‘Shit,’ muttered Takar el Sayden. He was taking two bags of powder out of the case when one of his rings snagged on the plastic and a stream of white powder poured out onto the carpet. What the hell is this stuff? he asked himself for the hundredth time. He scooped some powder off the floor onto his finger and licked it off. Same as always: tasteless. If there was any smell at all, it was a vague smell of some medicine he remembered from when he was sick as a boy. He scooped a little more into his mouth. He waited. He could hear his watch ticking as he kneeled there and waited for another minute. He felt absolutely no reaction to the powder. No effect on his brain, no sickness in his stomach. What the hell is all this about?
Takar decided he’d better get on with his orders. He put two of the bags into a white plastic sack, which he carried down the office steps. He pushed open the door into the production area. Lucky the sauce vats are at the office end of the building.
There were thirty-five or so production staff on duty for the night, scattered around among the equipment, mass producing food for the early morning deliveries to New York’s two hundred and fifty-two BurgerFantastic restaurants. The staff were well used to seeing him in the factory at night and wouldn’t take any particular notice. He walked across the spotlessly clean sealed concrete floor to the nearest vat. It towered above him, almost to the full height of the building’s twenty-five-foot eaves.
Shit.
He put the sack down and quickly doubled back to the door into the production area. Rows of hooks covered the wall. Most of them were empty. He took a white coat and hat from the top left hook, which was marked with the initials T.S. One thing the staff would find remarkable would be to see the boss not sticking to his own rules on hygiene. He pulled on his hat and coat, picked up one of the bags of powder and began climbing the steel staircase, which wound its way upwards to the top of the vat. How ridiculous. Here I am wearing a hat to prevent a hair falling into any food and I’m about to empty five pounds of some goddam powder into the sauce.
He reached a steel platform at the top, opened the hatch and looked into the slowly revolving, pale liquid. He emptied the contents of the bag into the middle of the creamy mass, which was gently thickening as it blended. He stuffed the empty bag into his coat pocket, descended the steps, and repeated the process in the second vat. He had decided that if anyone questioned what he was doing, he would say he was adding a brand-new secret ingredient. His staff would readily believe that, as other burger chains made a big deal about the ‘secret ingredients’ in their sauce.
Takar el Sayden left by the front door and got into his car. He drove slowly, on the way back to their friends’ party, thinking hard about the last few days. He had badly underestimated the amount of beef and buns he was going to need. By Saturday afternoon, on just the second day of the rebranding launch, the computer in the depot was showing that some restaurants would run out of burgers by Sunday evening. He made a mental note to increase his orders for burgers and bread buns by another thirty per cent and to see how it went. He pulled up outside his friend’s house, where he had been at a fortieth birthday party with Tasha. She was used to his quick trips to the depot at short notice, to sort out some problem or other. But she was becoming suspicious. She had confronted him that morning.
‘There’s something going on, Takar, and I don’t like it,’ she said. ‘You are becoming withdrawn, secretive. Are you having an affair?’
‘No, no, of course not, I promise.’
‘There is definitely something on your mind. Is there something wrong with the business? I never understood why we had to start selling beef? You know many in our families would not appreciate killing cows outside the Halal tradition.’
‘I’m sorry, love. I know I have been distracted. I will be okay again soon. Always remember that I love you and the girls, more than anything.’
He would have to be very careful. What if she gets a private detective to keep an eye on me? That al-Qaeda bastard might spot him and think I’ve tipped off the police.
*
MANHATTAN – 7 JUNE
The heavy blades of the slowly rotating fan cast a flickering shadow across the fourteen white coats in the conference room. The coats belonged to a selection of the consultants and department heads at the Patrick J. Brock Memorial Hospital on Broome Street, near the financial district. The meetings were arranged by management to review any issues that had come up the previous week. They were marked in the schedule as ‘Patient Care Review’. The doctors knew that their main purpose was to give the administrators an early warning of any patient problem that might lead to a lawsuit. On a bad week, when there was a risk of litigation, a lawyer or two in dark suits would attend and anyone remotely connected with the case got the fifth degree.
‘Quiet one today, thank God,’ muttered Dr Conrad Jones to Dr Valerie Mahler, the head of the Accident and Emergency unit, who was perched on a table top to his right.
‘Amen to that,’ she replied. ‘It’s bedlam down there after that bus crash last night.’
Irene Sefton, the senior hospital administrator, who had been running the hospital for over twenty years, raised her voice.
‘Okay, that’s just about it, guys. Coupla smaller items – remember to get your leave requests in early by email to me, so we can coordinate things a little better this year.’ She peered reproachfully over her clipboard. They all nodded.
‘Also, I’ve got a note here from the finance guys. Apparently Yamoura Pharmaceuticals are supplying their cephalosporin at half the cost of the other companies’ brands. So, under our economic prescribing policy, that’s what the hospital will be stocking – so no point looking for any other brands. Okay, everyone happy?’
Fourteen grunts and nods, eager to get back to business.
‘Thanks for your time, have a good week,’ said the administrator, as she closed her clipboard with an efficient snap.
‘Sounds like Yamoura are buying some market share,’ said Conrad Jones to Valerie Mahler as they walked out the door.
‘Sounds like someone left a machine on all night in Tokyo.’ Valerie Mahler grinned as she hurried off down the corridor.