And exhort them to give.
Give till it hurt.
As he was coming up the slope toward Central Park West he saw an elderly, bearded gent dressed in an expensive-looking blue blazer and gray slacks trudging with a cane along the park side of the street.
And about a dozen feet to Jack's left, a skinny guy in dirty Levi's and a frayed Hawaiian shirt burst from the bushes at a dead run. At first Jack thought he was running from someone, but noticed that he never glanced behind him. Which meant he was running toward something. He realized the guy was making a beeline for the old man.
Jack paused a second. The smart part of him said to turn and walk back down the slope. It hated when he got involved in things like this, and reminded him of other times he'd played good Samaritan and landed in hot water. Besides, the area here was too open, too exposed. If Jack got involved he could be mistaken for the Hawaiian shirt's partner, a description would start circulating, and life would get more complicated than it already was.
Butt out.
Sure. Sit back while this galloping glob of park scum bowled the old guy over, kicked him a few times, grabbed his wallet, then hightailed it back into the brush. Jack wasn't sure he could stand by and let something like that happen right in front of him.
A wise man he'd hung with during his early years in the city had advised him time and time again to walk away from a fight whenever possible. Then he'd always add: "But there are certain things I will not abide in my sight."
This looked to be something Jack could not abide in his sight.
Besides, he was feeling kind of mean tonight.
He spurted into a dash of his own toward the old gent. No way he was going to beat the aloha guy with the lead he had, but he could get there right after him and maybe disable him before he did any real damage. Nothing elaborate. Hit him in the back with both feet, break a few ribs and give his spine a whiplash he'd remember the rest of his life. Make sure Aloha was down to stay, then keep right on sprinting across Central Park West into yuppieville.
Aloha was closing with his target, arms stretched out for the big shove, when the old guy stepped aside and stuck out his cane. Aloha went down on his belly and skidded face-first along the sidewalk, screaming curses all the way. When he stopped his slide, he began to roll to his feet.
But the old guy was there, holding the bottom end of his cane in a twohanded grip like a golf club. He didn't yell "Fore!" as he swung the metal handle around in a smooth, wide arc. Jack heard the crack when it landed against the side of Aloha's skull. The mugger stiffened, then flopped back like a sack of flour.
Jack stopped dead and stared, then began to laugh. He pumped a fist in the old guy's direction.
"Nice!"
"I needed that," the old dude said.
Jack knew exactly how he felt. Still smiling, he broke into an easy jog, intending to give the old dude a wide berth on his way by. The fellow eyed him as he neared.
"No worry," Jack said, raising his empty palms. "I'm on your side."
The old guy had his cane by the handle again; he nonchalantly stepped over Aloha like he was so much refuse. The guy had style.
"I know that, Jack."
Jack nearly tripped as he stuttered to a halt and turned.
"Why'd you call me Jack?"
The old man came abreast of him and stopped. Gray hair and beard, a wrinkled face, pale eyes.
"Because that's your name."
Jack scrutinized the man. Even though slightly stooped, he was still taller than Jack. Big guy. Old, but big. And a complete stranger. Jack didn't like being recognized. Put him on edge. But he found something appealing about that half smile playing about the old dude's lips.
"Do I know you?"
"No. My name's Veilleur, by the way." He offered his hand. "And I've wanted to meet you again for some time now."
"Again? When did we ever meet?"
"In your youth."
"But I don't—"
"It's not important. I'm sure it will come back to you. What's important is now and getting reacquainted. I came out here tonight for just that purpose."
Jack shook his hand, baffled. "But who—?" And then a sixty-watter lit in his head. "You don't happen to own a homburg, do you?"
His smile broadened. "As a matter of fact I do. But it's such a beautiful night I left it home."
For months now Jack had intermittently spotted a bearded old man in a homburg standing outside his apartment or Gia's place. But no matter what he'd tried he'd never been able to catch or even get near the guy.
And now here he was, chatting away as casually as could be.
"Why have you been watching me?"
"Trying to decide the right time to connect with you. Because it is time we joined forces. Past time, I'd say."
"Why didn't you just knock on my door? Why all the cat-and-mouse stuff?"
"I doubt very much you like people knowing the location of your door, let alone knocking on it."
Jack had to admit he had that right.
"And besides," Veilleur added, "you had more than enough on your plate at the time."
Jack sighed as the events of the past few months swirled around him. "True that. But—?"
"Let's walk, shall we?"
They crossed Central Park West and headed toward Columbus Avenue in silence. Though they'd just met, Jack found something about the old guy that he couldn't help liking and trusting. On a very deep, very basic, very primitive level he didn't understand, he sensed a solidarity with Veilleur, a subliminal bond, as if they were kindred spirits.
But when and where had they met before?
"Want to tell me what's going on?"
Veilleur didn't hesitate. "The end of life as we know it."
Somehow, Jack wasn't surprised. He'd heard this before. He felt an enormous weight descend on him.
"It's coming, isn't it."