7.
Hideo was having no luck. He wanted to grab his keyboard and bat it against the desk until it shattered into a thousand pieces, but he resisted that dubious pleasure. He must appear to be in control of himself and the situation-the rapidly deteriorating situation.
Despite his best efforts, he had been unable to find a traffic cam with a view of the Bladeville doorway. He also had searched the Manhattan Webcam sites available on the Internet but still no luck.
So he decided to go to the source: Check police records on the Hawaiian Islands for a report of a stolen sword. That would lead to the owner and give Hideo a starting point.
But no such report existed on any of the islands. The possibility of a thief like Gerrish buying it seemed too remote to consider. Which left Hideo with a number of unpleasant prospects: The owner was either dead, or did not know the sword was missing, or did not legally own it.
He rubbed his sweaty palms on his trousers. What was he going to do? He had to report back to Sasaki-san"s office within the next twelve hours. What was he going to say? Certainly not that he had hit a dead end. Certainly not that he had run into a man who matched one of the pictures his brother had sent back-that would only remind them of Yoshio"s failure and perhaps wonder if this brother might not be headed along the same path.
No, he must sound optimistic: Through his diligence he had already had two near encounters with the katana. Perhaps add that he had missed it by scant minutes each time and hint at how he wished he had been a.s.signed this mission sooner. Had he arrived in New York even half a day earlier, he would have the katana by now and be flying it home. He believed this to be true, and hoped it might mitigate any ire in the home office about his lack of success to this point.
What he dared not say was that he had run out of leads. The two men he had connected to the blade were dead. His encounter with Yoshio"s ronin ronin had been a one-in-a-million chance coincidence. He could not count on another. had been a one-in-a-million chance coincidence. He could not count on another.
All he could do was ask his ancestors for help and guidance, and pray that they or fate would drop something in his lap.
Until that happened, he must appear to be in control and homing in on the katana. The only course open to him at the moment was to find the previous owner-the one from whom Gerrish had most likely stolen it.
That meant tracing Gerrish"s movements from the time he landed on the Hawaiian Islands until the time he boarded Northwest flight 804 out of Maui.
At least then he would have a goal. He could look busy, be be busy, all the while knowing he"d set himself a nearly impossible goal. busy, all the while knowing he"d set himself a nearly impossible goal.
And then two seemingly unrelated facts collided and clung: If the previous owner of the katana had no legal claim to it, might he not have followed the blade to New York and hired a local to find it? Yoshio had termed the mystery man a ronin ronin-and ronin ronin had been known to sell their services. had been known to sell their services.
He straightened in his seat. Here was another avenue of inquiry-a daunting task but one he must pursue: Seek out someone in this city who hired out to solve problems that needed to remain hidden from the authorities.
An urban ronin ronin.
8.
Delivery was scheduled for ten o"clock tonight. Naka Slater did not want to take possession of the katana in a public place. Said he needed to examine the blade before he forked over the rest of Jack"s fee.
Fair enough. Were positions reversed, Jack would have demanded the same.
He"d decided on the alley next to Julio"s. It was convenient, he was familiar with it, and meeting there wouldn"t necessarily connect him to the bar.
After cutting the call, he stood in his front room staring at the rolled-up rug lying on his round oak table. It seemed to call to him.
Shrugging, he unwrapped it and took a two-handed grip on the handle. He knew next to nothing about swords, but the katana"s balance was so perfect it seemed to want to move of its own accord. He carried it to the center of the room where he lurched into an improvised sword kata that probably looked a lot more like John Belushi than Toshiro Mifune.
He felt a twinge of regret that he"d called Naka Slater. It felt good in his hands, so good that he didn"t want to set it down. Heirloom or not, collector"s item or not, object of murderous desire or not, he wanted this on his his wall, not some rich plantation owner"s. He could give back the advance... wall, not some rich plantation owner"s. He could give back the advance...
He forced himself to put down the sword, telling himself not to start down that slippery slope. He"d made a deal to find and return it. He"d accomplished the first half, now to complete the job.
He stared down at the sword where it lay on the dirty old rug. Something entrancing about the pattern of holes in its blade. Almost hypnotizing.
What the h.e.l.l.
He picked it up and began swinging it again.
9.
"He has the katana, sensei sensei!" The familiar voice was bursting with joy. "He will deliver it tonight!"
Only a supreme effort of will prevented Toru from leaping to his feet and shouting Banzai! Banzai! For once the meaning would be literal-possession of the katana guaranteed the Kakureta Kao a thousand years. For once the meaning would be literal-possession of the katana guaranteed the Kakureta Kao a thousand years.
But the Order did not yet possess it.
Controlling his voice, Toru said, "You have done well, but two tasks remain: Take possession of the katana, and see that no one can connect you or the Order to it."
"Yes, sensei sensei."
Toru studied the younger man through the eyeholes of his silk mask.
"You have been trained in the fighting arts, and you are so proficient that you have trained others. But you have never used them for anything like this. Are you capable of killing?" He raised a hand as Tadasu opened his mouth. "Think well on this. It is crucial. If you are not sure, I will send someone along to see it is done."
His dark eyes flashed. "I will need no help, sensei sensei. I can do this."
Toru studied his determined expression for a few heartbeats, then nodded.
"I believe that you can and that you will."
He bowed. "It will be an honor to so serve the Order."
10.
Darryl checked his watch-4:40. Man, he was tired. Had to give it up and catch some Z"s. Needed to be rested for the red-eye shift at midnight.
Okay. Give it another twenty and quit at five, grab a couple of brews and hit the hay.
He watched a cab pull up, saw the door open and a gal get out. Seemed the right age, short brown hair, shades. He was about to write her off when he took another look. Something familiar about those shades. Just like the ones Dawn had been wearing-he knew "cause he"d got a couple of close looks when he"d seen her in that Arab getup. He took a closer look at her face and- f.u.c.k me! It"s her!
He watched in shock as she kept her head down and hurried inside. He shook it off and checked the cab as it pa.s.sed, memorizing its number. Then he hurried over to the van. He was going to give the guys inside a bit of pure h.e.l.l. And then who did he see standing there, leaning in the window, but Hank himself.
Perfect.
Hank smiled at him as he came up to the van.
"Hey, Darryl. What"s-?"
"She got out!" He pointed to the guys in the van. "She got past them! Me too!"
Hank"s smile vanished. "What are you talking about?"
"I just saw her get out of a cab and go inside."
"Bulls.h.i.t!" said one of the guys in the van-Darryl didn"t know his name. "We been watching like hawks."
"Yeah? Well, your hawks need gla.s.ses because I just saw her. Lucky for us she was going back in. But that means she was out, "cause you can"t go in "less you been out."
"You"re crazy!" said another one of the van guys.
"Whoa! Whoa!" Hank said. He was staring at Darryl. "You"re sure?"
"Sure, I"m sure. You were right about her changing her hair color, Hank. But she cut it too. It"s short now-kinda spiky and d.y.k.ey, if you know what I"m saying."
Hank looked worried. In fact his face had gone dead white. "How"d she look?"
"I just told you."
"No, I mean her health. Did she look well?"
What was he getting at?
"How so?"
"I mean, did she look like she"d just had surgery or something?"
"No. She was moving pretty good."
He looked relieved. "Okay. But where could she have gone?"
"I"ve got the cab number, if that"s of any use."
Hank laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Darryl, my man, you"re invaluable!"
Darryl felt a warm glow envelop him. Hank Thompson thought he was invaluable. How great was that?
He shrugged. "Just trying to help the evolution."
"Well, you"re doing a great job." He pulled a small notepad from one pocket and a ballpoint from another. "Here. Write it down. I"ll have Menck grease the driver"s palm with a few bucks and we"ll know where she came from."
Darryl wondered why that was so important and what Hank was worried about, and then it hit: the baby. Was he worried she"d gone out and had an abortion?
Darryl was about to ask just that when he realized Hank was staring at him again.
"It just occurred to me, Darryl-what are you doing here?"
"Keeping watch."
"You had any sleep since your shift?"
"No, I-"
"You"re supposed to be resting up for your next shift."
"But-"
Hank raised a hand. "I appreciate the heads-up you"ve just given us, but you"re gonna be no d.a.m.n good on your own shift if you don"t get some shut-eye."
"But she got by these guys."
"She got by you too-on her way out. And she"ll get by you again if you"re not sharp." His expression turned stern. "Now get off the street and get some rack time. We know what she looks like now, so she won"t give us the slip again. But if I see you around here during your off hours, I"m cutting you from the surveillance detail."
Darryl waved his hands. "Okay, okay. Just trying to help you out."
Hank gave him a thin smile. "We both know who you"re helping, but that"s okay. I"d be the same in your place. Now get out of here."
Darryl did just that. But he didn"t like it.
11.