The Black Stiletto: Stars & Stripes Read Online Free PDF Page B

intruder have it with simple American boxing triple punches.
    But Pock Face got the better of me when I wasn’t looking. I must have still been shell-shocked from before, because I should have sensed him coming. I’ve
always
been able to anticipate attacks, but this time it didn’t work. Something hard and heavy hit me on the side of the head, and all the noise around me ceased. It was as if I had been dunked underwater.
    Everything went fuzzy, and then someone was lightly slapping my face.
    â€œLady! Lady!”
    I held up a hand so he’d stop. My vision was blurry, but I could tell it was the boy. He was kneeling beside me.
    I heard his mother whimpering. I turned my head. She had thrown herself over the body of the older man and was wailing with grief.
    Then I became aware of another familiar sound. Police sirens headed our way.
    â€œYou go now!” the boy said. He held out my stiletto.
    â€œWhere?” I looked around the restaurant.
    â€œMen leave. Now you go! Hurry!”
    I took my knife and sheathed it. He helped me up. I hurt all over.
    Dear diary, we trashed that restaurant. As I recall, there were maybe ten tables all together in the place, plus a bar, cash register counter, and a swinging door to the kitchen. By the time it was all over, there were three tables still standing untouched.
    I indicated the woman and the dead man.
    â€œYour mother?”
    The boy nodded.
    â€œYour father?”
    He nodded again, tears welling in his eyes. He then indicated the other dead man. “My uncle.”
    The sirens were louder and closer.
    â€œThank you,” he said. “Now go!”
    He didn’t have to tell me again. The last thing I wanted was for the Black Stiletto to be implicated in a double homicide in Chinatown.
    So I limped out of there. The cold air hit me like a train, but it helped revive my senses. I got myself together and took off north on Elizabeth, kept to the shadows, and made it safely back to the gym.

4
Maggie

T HE P RESENT
    The Woodlands facility encompasses just a small part of my practice, but it’s probably the most fulfilling. I visit the nursing home twice a week and monitor a number of patients, whom the staff call residents. A nursing home is generally the last stop these people make during their journey through life. No one likes to say it, but it’s where a person goes to die. The staff—and I—try to make that experience as pleasant and comfortable as possible. For the patients who still have some time left, I treat all kinds of ailments. Dementia is probably the most common one. Alzheimer’s is one of my specialties, although I must admit there’s a lot I—we—don’t know about the disease. There are medications that can treat the behavioral manifestations, but as of today there is no cure.
    My private practice is in Lincolnshire. I share it with three other physicians, all of whom specialize in internal medicine and geriatric care. I can’t tell you how proud I was when my name was etched into the glass door—“Margaret H. McDaniel, M.D.” It was a long, hard road to get there, and I’ve managed to keep it going for twelve years. I opened the office when I was thirty-one. Now I’m forty-three, and I can’t imagine another life. I take my profession seriously.
    I want to be as diligent as possible when it comes to my patients. With Alzheimer’s, the more you know about a patient, the better. You’re dealing with a person’s entire
life
. By that, I mean memories.We all take memories for granted until you start to lose them. That’s why I like to know a patient’s complete history, his or her biography, anything that can help me help the patient regain some foothold in what has become a very elusive past.
    And that’s why the case of Judy Talbot concerns me so much.
    Judy—I like to be on a first-name basis with my Alzheimer’s patients because it helps me