Miracle Cure by Harlan Coben Page A

then he would go uptown and see Harvey. At the Clinic.
    Capital C in his mind.
    Michael was not looking forward to that visit. Immature to say but the place gave him the creeps. He was not sure if it was the magnitude of the disease or his not-so-latent homophobia, but the place intimidated him. Terrified him actually.
    To be honest, Michael had never been all that comfortable with gays.
    Yes, he believed that homosexuals should be treated like everyone else, that their private lives were their own business, that discrimination against someone because of his sexual preference was wrong. He recognized that Sanders and his gang of mentally malnourished bigots were deranged and dangerous people. But still, Michael found himself making the occasional gay joke, referring to someone effeminate as "that big fag," keeping away from someone who was a "blatant fruit." He remembered when his teammate Tim Hiller, a good friend and apparently a ladies man, shocked the sports world by admitting he was gay. Michael had stood beside him, supported him, defended him, but at the same time, he distanced himself from Tim. Their friendship did not crumble; Michael just let it slowly slide away. He felt bad about that.
    Back on the court the ball was passed to Reece Porter, | Michael's closest friend on the team and the only Knick besides Michael who was over thirty. Reece spotted Michael and tossed him the ball.
    "Do it, Mikey," Reece cried.
    Michael made a beautiful fake on the rookie Holloway, dribbled down the middle of the key, and laid up a soft shot.
    As Michael watched the ball float gently toward the basket, Jerome Holloway came flying into view. The rookie smacked the ball with his palm, sending the orange sphere off the court and into the seats. A clean block.
    Again the rookie grinned.
    Michael held up his hand.
    "Don't say it. Faced again, right?"
    The cocky grin strengthened.
    "The word Spaulding is imprinted on your forehead, old dude."
    Michael heard the laughter. It was coming from Reece Porter.
    "What the hell are you laughing at?"
    Reece could barely control himself.
    "Old dude," he managed between cackles.
    "You going to take that shit, Mikey?"
    Michael turned back toward Holloway.
    "Take the ball out of bounds, hotshot, and dribble up while I cover you."
    "One- on-one?" the kid asked in disbelief.
    "You got it."
    "I'll blow by you so fast you'll wonder if I was ever there."
    Michael grinned.
    "Yeah, right. Come on, hotshot."
    Jerome Holloway caught the ball. He took two dribbles and began to accelerate toward Michael. He was six feet past him when he realized that he no longer had the ball.
    "What the?"
    Holloway spun in time to see Michael making an uncontested lay-up. Now it was Michael's turn to smile.
    Jerome Holloway laughed.
    "I know, I know. In my face, right?"
    Reece whooped and hooted like a lottery winner.
    "Bet your sweet ass, brother. You've been faced something awful."
    "Guess so," Holloway agreed.
    "You know something, Michael? You're a smart old dude. I bet I can learn a lot watching you." Old dude. Michael sighed heavily.
    "Thanks, Jerome."
    A whistle blew.
    "Take five," Coach Crenshaw shouted.
    "Get a quick drink and then I want everyone to take fifty foul shots."
    The players jogged toward the water fountain all save Michael. He stayed where he was bent forward, his hand leaning on his knees. Richie Crenshaw walked over.
    "I've seen you look better, Michael." Michael continued to draw in deep breaths.
    "Appreciate the pep talk, Coach."
    "Well, it's true. You wouldn't want me to lie to you, would you?"
    "Maybe a little."
    "The knee giving you problems?"
    Michael shook his head.
    "You look like something's bothering you."
    "I'm " The next word never came out. A surge of white-hot pain pierced right through Michael's abdomen. He let loose a loud, short cry and clutched his belly below the ribcage.
    "Michael!"
    The shout came from Jerome Holloway. Wide-eyed with fear, the rookie sprinted back on the court. Reece