“Suit yourself,” Bingham said irritably. “But I’m not going to tolerate your going over there flashing your medical examiner’s badge for some personal vendetta. That’s an egregious misuse of official authority.”

“I thought our mandate was to get involved in anything that could affect public health,” Jack said. “Certainly a case of plague falls under that rubric.”

“Indeed,” Bingham pronounced. “But you had already alerted the Commissioner of Health. She in turn alerted the City Board of Health, who immediately dispatched the chief epidemiologist. You had no business being over there, much less causing trouble.”

“What kind of trouble did I cause?” Jack asked.

“You managed to irritate hell out of both the administrator and the city epidemiologist,” Bingham roared. “Both of them were mad enough to lodge official complaints. The administrator called the mayor’s office, and the epidemiologist called the commissioner. Both of these public servants can be considered my bosses, and neither one of them was pleased, and both of them let me know about it.”

“I was just trying to be helpful,” Jack said innocently.

“Well, do me a favor and don’t try to be helpful,” Bingham snapped. “Instead I want you to stay around here where you belong and do the work you were hired to do. Calvin informed me that you have a lot of cases pending.”

“Is that it?” Jack asked when Bingham paused.

“For now,” Bingham said.

Jack got up and headed for the door.

“One last thing,” Bingham said. “Remember that you are on probation for the first year.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jack said.

Leaving Bingham’s office, Jack passed Mrs. Sanford and went directly across to Calvin Washington’s office. The door was ajar. Calvin was busy at his microscope.

“Excuse me,” Jack called out. “I understand you were looking for me.”

Calvin turned around and eyed Jack. “Have you been in to see the chief yet?” he growled.

“Just came from there,” Jack said. “It’s reassuring to be in such demand around here.”

“Dispense with your smartass talk,” Calvin said. “What did Dr. Bingham say?”

Jack told Calvin what had been said and that Bingham had concluded by reminding him that he was on probation.

“Damn straight,” Calvin said. “I think you’d better shape up or you’ll be out looking for work.”

“Meanwhile I have one request,” Jack said.

“What is it?” Calvin asked.

“How about that ten dollars you owe me,” Jack said.

Calvin stared back at Jack, amazed that under the circumstances Jack had the gall to ask for the money. Finally Calvin rolled to the side in his seat, withdrew his wallet, and pulled out a ten-dollar bill.

“I’ll get this back,” Calvin vowed.

“Sure you will,” Jack said as he took the bill.

With the money comfortably in his pocket, Jack returned upstairs to his office. As he entered he was surprised to find Laurie leaning against Chet’s desk. Both she and Chet looked at Jack with expectant concern.

“Well?” Chet questioned.

“Well what?” Jack asked. He squeezed by the others to plop down in his seat.

“Are you still employed?” Chet asked.

“Seems that way,” Jack said. He started going through the lab reports in his in-basket.

“You’d better be careful,” Laurie advised as she started for the door. “They can fire you at their pleasure during your first year.”

“So Bingham reminded me,” Jack said.

Pausing at the threshold, Laurie turned back to face Jack. “I almost got fired my first year,” she admitted.

Jack looked up at her. “How come?” he asked.

“It had to do with those challenging overdose cases I mentioned this morning,” Laurie said. “Unfortunately, while I followed up on them I got on the wrong side of Bingham.”

“Is that part of that long story you alluded to?” Jack asked.

“That’s the one,” Laurie said. “I came this close to being fired.” She held up her thumb and index finger about a quarter inch apart. “It was all because I didn’t take Bingham’s threats seriously. Don’t make the same mistake.”

As soon as Laurie had gone Chet wanted a verbatim recounting of everything Bingham had said. Jack related what he could remember, including the part about the mayor and the Commissioner of Health calling Bingham to complain about him.

“The complaints were about you specifically?” Chet asked.

“Apparently,” Jack said. “And here I was being the Good Samaritan.”

“What in God’s name did you do?” Chet asked.

“I was just being my usual diplomatic self,” Jack said. “Asking questions and offering suggestions.”

“You’re crazy,” Chet said. “You almost got yourself fired for what? I mean, what were you trying to prove?”

“I wasn’t trying to prove anything,” Jack said.

“I don’t understand you,” Chet said.

“That seems to be a universal opinion,” Jack said.

“All I know about you is that you were an ophthalmologist in a former life and you live in Harlem to play street basketball. What else do you do?”

“That about sums it up,” Jack said. “Apart from working here, that is.”

“What do you do for fun?” Chet asked. “I mean, what kind of social life do you have? I don’t mean to pry, but do you have a girlfriend?”

“No, not really,” Jack said.

“Are you gay?”

“Nope. I’ve just sorta been out of commission for a while.”

“Well, no wonder you’re acting so weird. I tell you what. We’re going out tonight. We’ll have some dinner, maybe have a few drinks. There’s a comfortable bar in the neighborhood where I live. It will give us time to talk.”

“I haven’t felt like talking much about myself,” Jack said.

“All right, you don’t have to talk,” Chet said. “But we’re going out. I think you need some normal human contact.”

“What’s normal?” Jack questioned.

Chet turned out to be extraordinarily resolute. No matter what Jack said, he insisted that they have dinner together. Finally Jack relented, and just before eight he’d ridden his bike across Central Park to meet Chet in an Italian restaurant on Second Avenue.

After dinner Chet had been equally insistent about Jack’s accompanying him for a few drinks. Feeling beholden to his officemate since Chet had insisted on paying for the dinner, Jack had gone along. Now, as they mounted the steps to the bar, Jack was having second thoughts. For the past several years he’d been in bed by ten and up by five. At ten-fifteen after a half bottle of wine, he was fading fast.

“I’m not sure I’m up for this,” Jack said.

“We’re already here,” Chet complained. “Come on in. We’ll just have one beer.”

Jack leaned back to look at the facade of the bar. He didn’t see a name. “What’s this place called?” he asked.

“The Auction House,” Chet said. “Get your ass in here.” He was holding open the door.

To Jack the interior looked vaguely like his grandmother’s living room back in Des Moines, Iowa, except for the mahogany bar itself. The furniture was an odd mishmash of Victorian, and the drapes were long and droopy. The high ceiling was brightly colored embossed tin.

“How about sitting here,” Chet suggested. He pointed toward a small table set in the window overlooking Eighty-ninth Street.

Jack complied. From where he was sitting Jack had a good view of the room, which he now noted had a high-gloss hardwood floor, not the usual for a bar. There were about fifty people in the room either standing at the bar or sitting on the couches. They were all well dressed and appeared professional. There was not one backward baseball cap in the group. The mix was about even between male and female.

Jack mused that perhaps Chet had been right to have encouraged him to come out. Jack had not been in such a “normal” social environment in several years. Maybe it was good for him. Having become a loner carried its burdens. He wondered what these attractive people were saying to one another as their easy conversations drifted back to him in a babble of voices. The problem was he had zero confidence he could add to any of the discussions.