But no way he was letting her out of his sight. He'd followed from a distance, watching the two of them go in and out of one store after another. So he'd been hanging across the street from the fourth store, killing time, when all of a sudden this blonde with a green dishrag or napkin or whatever tied around her head comes rushing out. It took him a second or two to realize it was the girl from the flyer—without her veil.

    He had a frozen, what-the-fuck? moment, and then he'd started to move—cautiously, expecting her driver guy to pop out behind her. But he didn't show.

    Darryl was hanging well back. Good thing too, because she kept looking over her shoulder, like she was on the run from someone. Her driver? That didn't make sense.

    Whatever, she was easy to track with that dumb green thing on her head. Sure, it hid most of her blond hair, and she wore these big sunglasses, and she kept her hand clapped over her mouth, but none of that had been enough to fool old Darryl.

    He wished to hell he had a cell phone so he could call Hank and get some backup. If she jumped into a cab and he couldn't find another one in time, he could kiss that reward good-bye.

    He followed her along Spring until she headed down the steps of a subway station.

    Darryl pumped his fist. You are living right!

    Alonzo Cooter glared defiantly up at them from his chair.

    "You slopes think I'm scared of you? Think again."

    Hideo looked down at the man's angry black face. Most people would be terrified and begging for release or at least an explanation. This man radiated defiance. Hideo had seen that in his photo and so had prepared this building for… persuasion.

    Cooter-san had not been hard to find, but he had been difficult to isolate. He pumped gas at a Lukoil station on Tenth Avenue in Manhattan and was not accessible at work. After work he spent some time at a Ninth Avenue bar with two of his coworkers. Then he took the subway to the Bronx. Kenji, Ryo, and Goro accosted him outside his apartment building and shoved him into a van where Kenji asked him a question that an average man would have been frightened enough to answer without hesitation. But Cooter-san had refused and so the yakuza brought him to this abandoned building, duct-taped his wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of a sturdy wooden chair, and called Hideo.

    "It's a simple question, Mister Cooter. Where does Hugh Gerrish live?"

    "Fuck off. Never heard of him."

    "Do not lie, Mister Cooter. You were arrested with him during an attempted robbery. You do know him. And obviously you are loyal to him. That is admirable and honorable. And I am being equally honorable with you when I say that we wish him no harm. In fact, we intend to make him rich by purchasing an item he holds."

    Cooter-san surprised him by grinning. "Look at me, chinky boy. Do I look like I just popped out of my momma's pussy? I got nothing to say to you."

    Hideo heaved a dramatic sigh. "I was afraid of this." He nodded to Goro. "You may begin."

    Goro grinned and pulled off his shirt, revealing his yakuza irezumi. The tattoos were so extensive that he appeared to be wearing a long-sleeve bodysuit. Hideo had heard of the yakuza tradition of tattoos, of course, and had seen photos, but never before had he seen them in the flesh. A pair of carp swam in different directions across Goro's chest; from his back a tiger attacked with extended claws. Waves and hillsides and cherry blossoms filled the spaces between and wound down his arms.

    Cooter-san stared in awe, speechless.

    The prisoner's wrists were already secure, so Ryo began taping the fingers of his left hand to the arm of the chair—all except the little one.

    Cooter-san found his voice. "The fuck you think you're doing?"

    Hideo stepped away from the table, leaving the stage to the yakuza. In a very real way, it was a stage. For they were each playing a part, carefully worked out in advance.

    "In my country," Kenji said in a matter-of-fact tone, "members of our organizations have a ritual known as yubitsume. When we offend a superior, or make a mistake that costs the organization, we make amends by yubitsume."

    "Yeah? Well, you can bitsume my big black dick."

    "The word means 'finger cutting.' We use a tanto—that is a certain kind of knife—and cut off the tip of a finger, usually the smallest, which we then send to our superior."

    "I'll bet he's real tickled about that. What's he do with it? Shove it up his ass?"

    Kenji didn't miss a beat. "You have offended our superior by not honoring his simple request for information. Therefore we have decided to perform yubitsume on you."

    Hideo knew how far outside true yakuza tradition this was, but Cootersan would not know that.

    The man's expression lost some of its belligerence.

    "Yeah?" He looked down at his left hand, where his little finger had been taped flat and straight along the arm of the chair. "You're kidding, right?"

    Kenji gave his head a slow, solemn shake. "I do not know this 'kidding.' My associate will perform the yubitsume. We do not have a tanto available, so we have had to make do with what is available."

    As if by magic, a meat cleaver appeared in Goro's hand. He tested the edge with his thumb.

    "Oh, yeah," Cooter-san said, his air of bravado returning. "Gotta admit you put on a good show with this finger business. But I notice all you guys got your pinkies. I'm supposed to believe you guys've never screwed up? That's a laugh."

    Goro frowned and shot Kenji a questioning look. Cooter-san's English had been too rapid for him. Kenji translated.

    Goro smiled and tucked the cleaver under an armpit. He spread the fingers of his left hand. Then he grasped the tip of the fifth and pulled it off.

    Cooter-san's shocked gasp echoed through the room.

    And then Ryo revealed his stump, and finally Kenji.

    As the still-smiling Goro grasped the cleaver again by its handle, Cooter-san began writhing and thrashing about in his chair.

    "Wait a minute! Wait-wait-wait a fucking minute!"

    The cleaver was all for show. All three of the yakuza carried tantos, but a meat cleaver caused a more visceral reaction—at least in Hideo. And, from the looks of it, in Cooter-san as well.

    Hideo had given strict orders not to harm the man, merely frighten him. He was sure the sight of the tattoos and the cleaver—and now the foreshortened fingers—along with Goro's merciless black eyes would be more than enough.

    Hideo admitted to some qualms about putting the cleaver into Goro's hands. He had a feral quality about him, a sense that violence lurked very close to the surface, no deeper than his tattoos. That increased the level of threat, but also increased the chances of Cooter-san suffering injury.

    Goro stepped forward and positioned the cleaver over the last joint on Cooter-san's little finger.

    Kenji said, "I will give you until the count of three. One…"

    Goro smiled at Cooter-san and Hideo couldn't remember a more chilling sight.

    "Two…"

    Still smiling, Goro raised the cleaver.

    "Th—"

    "All right, all right, all right! He lives in Jamaica!"

    Hideo's burst of elation at Cooter-san's capitulation died in midflash.

    "Jamaica? He lives in Jamaica?"

    "That's what I said. Now get this guy away from me."

    "Why did he leave the country?"

    Cooter-san laughed. "Leave the country? You dickwad! Jamaica, Queens!"

    Relief flooded Hideo. Queens… he knew where Queens was… and he would find this Jamaica in Queens.