"Excuse me," he said, "how do you get to Carnegie Hall?"
Philip thought of the old joke he had told Lara and was tempted to say "practice," but he pointed to the building behind him. "It's right there."
As Philip turned, the man shoved him hard up against the building. In his hand was a deadly-looking switchblade knife. "Give me your wallet."
Philip's heart was pounding. He looked around for help. The rainswept street was deserted. "All right," Philip said. "Don't get excited. You can have it."
The knife was pressing against his throat.
"Look, there's no need to..."
"Shut up! Just give it to me."
Philip reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. The man grabbed it with his free hand and put it in his pocket. He was looking at Philip's watch. He reached down and tore it from Philip's wrist. As he took the watch, he grabbed Philip's left hand, held it tightly, and slashed the razor-sharp knife across Philip's wrist, slicing it to the bone. Philip screamed aloud with pain. Blood began to gush out. The man fled.
Philip stood there in shock, watching his blood mingling with the rain, dripping into the street.
He fainted.
BOOK FOUR
Chapter Thirty
Lara received the news about Philip in Reno.
Marian Bell was on the phone, near hysteria.
"Is he badly hurt?" Lara demanded.
"We don't have any details yet. He's at Roosevelt Hospital in the emergency room."
"I'll come back immediately."
When Lara arrived at the hospital six hours later, Howard Keller was waiting there for her. He looked shaken.
"What happened?" Lara asked.
"Apparently, Philip was mugged after he left Carnegie Hall. They found him in the street, unconscious."
"How bad is it?"
"His wrist was slashed. He's heavily sedated, but he's conscious."
They went into the hospital room. Philip was lying on a bed with IV tubes feeding liquid into his body.
"Philip...Philip." It was Lara's voice calling to him from a long way off. He opened his eyes. Lara and Howard Keller were there. There seemed to be two of each. His mouth was dry, and he felt groggy.
"What happened?" Philip mumbled.
"You were hurt," Lara said. "But you're going to be all right."
Philip looked down and saw that his left wrist was heavily bandaged. Memory came flooding back. "I was...how bad is it?"
"I don't know, darling," Lara said. "I'm sure it will be fine. The doctor is coming in to see you."
Keller said reassuringly, "Doctors can do anything these days."
Philip was drifting back to sleep. "I told him to take what he wanted. He shouldn't have hurt my wrist," he mumbled. "He shouldn't have hurt my wrist..."
Two hours later Dr. Dennis Stanton walked into Philip's room, and the moment Philip saw the expression on his face he knew what he was going to say.
Philip took a deep breath. "Tell me."
Dr. Stanton sighed. "I'm afraid I don't have very good news for you, Mr. Adler."
"How bad is it?"
"The flexor tendons have been severed, so you'll have no motion in your hand, and there will be a permanent numbness. In addition to that, there's median and ulnar nerve damage." He illustrated on his hand. "The median nerve affects the thumb and first three fingers. The ulnar nerve goes to all the fingers."
Philip closed his eyes tightly against the wave of sudden despair that engulfed him. After a moment he spoke. "Are you saying that I'll...I'll never have the use of my left hand again?"
"That's right. The fact is that you're lucky to be alive. Whoever did this cut the artery. It's a wonder you didn't bleed to death. It took sixty stitches to sew your wrist together again."
Philip said in desperation, "My God, isn't there anything you can do?"
"Yes. We could put in an implant in your left hand so you would have some motion, but it would be very limited."
He might as well have killed me, Philip thought despairingly.
"As your hand starts to heal, there's going to be a great deal of pain. We'll give you medication to control it, but I can assure you that in time the pain will go away."
Not the real pain, Philip thought. Not the real pain. He was caught up in a nightmare. And there was no escape.
A detective came to see Philip at the hospital. He stood by the side of Philip's bed. He was one of the old breed, in his sixties and tired, with eyes that had already seen it all twice.
"I'm Lieutenant Mancini. I'm sorry about what happened, Mr. Adler," he said. "It's too bad they couldn't have broken your leg instead. I mean...if it had to happen..."
"I know what you mean," Philip said curtly.
Howard Keller came into the room. "I was looking for Lara." He saw the stranger. "Oh, sorry."
"She's around here somewhere," Philip said. "This is Lieutenant Mancini. Howard Keller."
Mancini was staring at him. "You look familiar. Have we met before?"
"I don't think so."
Mancini's face lit up. "Keller! My God, you used to play baseball in Chicago."
"That's right. How do you...?"
"I was a scout for the Cubs one summer. I still remember your sliders and your change-ups. You could have had a big career."
"Yeah. Well, if you'll excuse me..." He looked at Philip. "I'll wait for Lara outside." He left.
Mancini turned to Philip. "Did you get a look at the man who attacked you?"
"He was a male Caucasian. A large man. About six foot two. Maybe fifty or so."