1.58 Seconds

Contents

PROLOGUE

9MM

CHAPTER 1

Preparation

CHAPTER 2

Jimmy Smith

CHAPTER 3

Time Stood Still

CHAPTER 4

Brooklyn

CHAPTER 5

The Code

CHAPTER 6

Rosa

CHAPTER 7

The Crush

CHAPTER 8

The ICU

CHAPTER 9

Out of Body

GLOSSARY

PROLOGUE

9MM

It was winter 1983, around mid-February, when the city turns rouge and sentimental under the commercial throb of Valentine’s Day, and my birthday was soon approaching. Winter had gripped the city with venomous strength that year, blistering New York with thick blankets of deep, white snow, new layers replacing old with each passing day.

Tuesday, February 15, my birthday, inconveniently positioned the day after Valentine’s Day, resulted in an expensive annual two-day spending stint. That year, my birthday had involved whisking my first wife, Stephanie, to bustling Broadway to see Evita, a performance the New York Times had raved about and that we both had long desired to see. The show authenticated its hype, allowing Stephanie and me to retire from the theater contented, taking a detour home via Little Italia for a subdued dinner of penne and pinot prior to my far less relaxing and far more colorful birthday celebrations.

The agreed-upon one glass of wine in Little Italia had rapidly multiplied into a bottle and a half, making the morning routine from bed to work an immense challenge, exacerbated by the extreme cold outside that seeped through the windows and into the apartment. The heavy silken duvet on our warm bed had cocooned me as soon as my eyes had closed to sleep; however, by caffeine-fueled willpower I managed to haul myself through the process of getting ready and arrived on time for the early 5:00 AM shift at the hospital. Working at the hospital the morning of my birthday was not the worst experience. I was annually inundated with cards, offers of a beer at the end of the week, and that year, a surprisingly large beige wicker basket heaving, not with fruit, but with doughnuts and other devilish confectionery delights, a quantity of which we’d happily devoured before the basket had left the hospital reception and made it through the snowfall to my frosted car.

I trawled home through the traffic on the black ice and snow-laden roads, traveling no faster than a slow jog through congestion, noise, and pollution. Despite having finished early at the hospital, the poor driving conditions ensured I wouldn’t return to the sweet, warm embrace of the apartment until past noon. My cold, damp limbs dragged themselves up the stairs to the sixth floor where, once in the bedroom, I planned to crawl back into the soft, fresh sheets for a nap before the terrible twosome returned home from school and energetic excitement ensued.

Stephanie, however, did not have such sedentary plans; she entered the bedroom shortly after I had escaped the hot fumes of the shower, with no more than a towel around my hips. The luxury of being a stay-at-home mother ensured her body was always on point, slim, and athletic; she trained in the gym daily at this class or that, guaranteeing that if I were to look at another woman it would not be primarily for her physique. Dressed in the sexiest ivory lingerie she had worn since our honeymoon, she sauntered across the room in matching four-inch ivory stilettos, stroking her hand on the chestnut curtains, drawing them nearer to closed with each seductive step. She pushed me onto the bed, dispensing with the towel in one fluid movement.

Her dark, sturdy thighs straddled my waist, her back flexed and arched, and her voluptuous breasts bounced with each thrust as we climaxed together, finally collapsing into the sheets, hot, sweaty, and utterly satisfied. She pressed her soft, silky skin against my clammy body, and I curled my thick arms around her hard torso to sleep before the impending disruption of the girls returning from school.

The alarm buzzed into action at 2:30 PM. Stephanie drowsily clambered out of my grasp and onto the cool floor; her small naked feet padded softly into the bathroom and then into the hallway. I could hear the metallic jingle of keys as they rattled in her hand and then clanged against the door as she opened it to exit the apartment. With the apartment now vacant, I too gradually ebbed out of bed, wiping my face with my palms as I scuffled toward the bathroom to bathe again.

The closet was generous in size, considering it was only an average two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. Stephanie, much to her disgust, presided over only half of the walk-in closet, providing me ample space to occupy with my own lust for nice attire. My shoe collection provided a topic for regular debate. Unlike a woman, a man can look in his closet and pick out precisely what he intends to wear, the first time.

Clasping the last button at the bottom of a crisp, black Tommy Hilfiger shirt in front of the long gold-framed mirror in the bedroom, I was content with my choices: the smart, straight black jeans and fashionable slate-gray cardigan provided a stylish ensemble. I teamed the look with a pair of sleek, black cowboy boots and responsibly thick black sports socks to keep my feet warm once outside and I placed both next to the bed. I stretched my hand back up to the shelf above my favorite wall picture and placed my silver metal companion in its holster on my right side, after checking to make sure that one of its projectiles was seated and ready to take off. I extracted a thick, black scarf and leather gloves from the bottom drawer beside the bed, placing them next to the thick, black trench coat already waiting patiently.

I counted my strides from the bedroom into the living room, a childhood habit I periodically indulged, and I hastened my pace to meet the girls in the hallway. Their high-pitched girlie giggling transcended the doors and walls as they bundled out of the elevator and into the corridor. They bounded simultaneously through the front door, dropping their school bags and outerwear, where it landed just as I paced into the living room. Daddy, Daddy, you’re home! Happy Birthday! they squealed in enthusiastic unison, having not seen me in the morning due to my early start at the hospital. They sprang upon me like wolves at the smell of fresh blood, dragging me down toward the sofa, allowing me the role of helpless deer, their small arms furrowing around me, the tightest their small biceps could handle, competing to hug the hardest.

Thank you, babies, I replied, chuckling and kissing both of them on the soft, fair skin of their foreheads, squeezing one chubby little monster with each arm. The twins, Anna and Donna, were out of infancy; however, they had not been attending school for long and still possessed a youthful excitement for everything, an attribute that seems to wilt and die a little bit more with each passing year.

Spending time with children on one’s birthday or other special occasions such as Christmas and Easter will always be a pleasure, in spite of the fights, temper tantrums, messes, and other drama associated only with having children, especially girls. The love they give is worth one hundred times more than the trouble they cause, however, and I was looking forward to spending some quality time with my family.

By 4:00 PM the twins had both dressed, not in the cute little dresses Stephanie had laid out for them, but in much warmer jeans and tops with extra layers; certainly more appropriate given the continually falling snow outside that had accumulated into mounds two feet deep on each side of sidewalk, atop cars, and blocking the dirty gutters. Stephanie had been difficult and ignored my loving advice as usual, opting for a pair of tight black trousers that emphasized her sexy athletic gluts and calves, but that were little thicker than the beautiful sheer top she was wearing with its intricate copper-colored stitching.

The four of us hopped down the front steps of the apartment building, skipped across the pavement, and jumped into the Range Rover, which I had managed to conveniently park no more than ten feet from the entrance to the building, a delightful treat that I was rarely afforded, let alone on my birthday. Despite only having been deserted for a few hours, the windows had already iced up and were opaque from snowfall. I turned on the engine and bumped the heating up to maximum, abandoning the family in the increasing warmth inside the vehicle to de-ice the car in the blistering exterior conditions, decked head to toe in my warm clothes. I scraped the windows tediously with a thick, black leather glove on each hand.

It was no short drive from East Nineteenth Street to the Green Acre Mall in Queens, and despite leaving home before the worst of the rush hour traffic, the drive still took us a comfortable hour. For better or worse, the girls fell asleep in the back seat cuddled up in their warm coats and a few blankets, leaving Stephanie and I to a moderately relaxing drive.

The previous Wednesday, I had managed to sneak a quick call to the Red Lobster restaurant in between patient appointments, reserving a table for four, ensuring we were able to have a nice meal before going into the cinema and allowing the girls to gorge on too much sugar and caffeine. Nothing could make this man happier than to sit in a nice restaurant and eat lobster with his family on his birthday.

Donna made the greatest mess of the two; having relented with her knife and fork, she had resorted to chewing the shrimp whole with shells on, heads and all. The shrimp heads shoved in her little mouth disintegrated with