"And selling to you's gonna help?"

    "Sure. You've got a murder weapon hidden away. Gerrish may have shown it to a friend. It's pretty distinctive, and if they find it on you, you're cooked. But sell it to my guy and he'll sneak it back overseas where he came from. You'll have big bucks, he'll have his sword back, and I'll have my fee. Win-win-win."

    O'Day chewed his lower lip in silence for a moment, then gave a quick nod.

    "For the record, I found Gerrish dead, just like you did. The katana was lying next to him. Since he wouldn't be having any more use for it, I decided to give it a good home."

    Riiiight.

    "Like I said: Never knew Gerrish. What happened between you and him stays between you and him. Like Vegas. What do you want for the blade?"

    "A hundred grand."

    Jack blinked. "Whoa. I don't know if he wants it back that badly."

    O'Day gave him a sour smile. "Well, we'll never know if we don't ask, will we."

    "I getcha. Where is it?"

    He didn't want to be responsible for involving his customer in some lowrent scam.

    "In the back. Wanna see?"

    "I think I should, don't you."

    He shrugged. "I guess so." He started toward the front of the store. "But first…" He went to the door and pulled down the security shutter, closing them in behind a wall of corrugated steel. "Like a fishbowl in here. Can't be too careful."

    "We could've just gone back there."

    "Don't want anyone wandering in."

    Jack felt an uneasy tingle in his gut. Something askew here.

    As he watched O'Day stride toward the back room, he wondered if he'd bought the security cam bit. If he hadn't, then Jack was the only person who could connect O'Day to Gerrish, and it would be in O'Day's best interest to eliminate that link.

    He pulled his Glock from the small of his back and turned sideways, shielding it behind his right thigh.

    O'Day returned balancing the katana on his palms. The blade was riddled with pocks and holes, just like in the photos. Jack noticed that he'd done some fixing up.

    "You put a handle on it."

    "It's called a tsuka. Yeah. I spent half the night getting the wrapping right." He pushed the sword closer to Jack. "Wanna closer look?"

    "That's okay."

    A little farther out. "C'mon."

    "I can see what I need to see. Okay, I'll tell my guy—"

    O'Day was fast for his age. In a flash he had the katana raised in a one handed grip and swinging toward Jack's head. With a choice between getting off a shot or being scalped, he ducked and raised the Glock to ward off the blade. It struck the pistol with almost enough force to knock it free. As it was, the blow pulled his finger against the trigger and fired off the chambered round. Jack rolled and pulled the trigger again.

    Nothing.

    He glanced at the Glock and saw only half a pistol. The blade had sliced through the plastic frame just forward of the trigger guard, then through the spring and guide rod and—hell, it had cut through the barrel as well. The slide had been knocked free, exposing the chamber. He could see the next round waiting to be chambered.

    What the—?

    He leaned back as the katana made another slice at his head—the guy had one hell of a reach. He heard the whisper of lacerated air and felt the breeze in its wake.

    O'Day had a two-handed grip now and was already making another swing for the bleachers. Jack flung the remnant of the Glock, bouncing it off his forehead. O'Day grunted in pain and his swing went wide.

    With that, Jack vaulted over the counter, grabbed a dagger off the wall, and flung it. O'Day knocked it away in midair with the blade. He grinned, confident. He knew how to handle a katana.

    And now Jack knew it too.

    He grabbed another knife—a heavy dirk—threw it, and reached for his Kel-Tec in its ankle holster. But the dirk went wide and the katana smashed into the display case inches from Jack's head, showering him with glittering shards of glass.

    He forgot about his backup for an instant as he rolled away from the glass and O'Day's follow-up swing. Then O'Day climbed over what was left of that section of the display case and charged, the katana held high with both hands, his mouth wide in a scream of rage. Looked like he'd had enough and wanted to end this here and now.

    On the floor, with no room for lateral movement in the narrow lane behind the cases, Jack scrabbled away on hands and knees. In desperation he grabbed a wavy bladed kris from a case as he passed and winged it over his shoulder. He heard O'Day's scream choke off but he didn't slow. Without looking back he dove onto the display cabinet and rolled to the other side. As soon as he hit the floor, he rolled again, yanking his backup free along the way. He leaped to his feet, aiming the Kel-Tec P-11 at O'Day's center of mass.

    But didn't fire.

    O'Day stood behind the counter, leaning against the wall. He'd lowered the katana, though he hadn't dropped it. His eyes were glazed as blood poured from his mouth. Somehow, the kris had landed point first in his open mouth, piercing the rear of his throat. The wavy blade protruded at an angle, and began to bob as he made a slow turn and staggered toward the rear of the store.

    Jack heard a clattering clank and figured he'd finally lost his grip on the sword. He made it to the NO ADMITTANCE door before collapsing face-first onto the floor. The dead-weight impact of the floor against the pommel of the kris drove its blade deeper into his throat and out the back of his neck. His legs spas-kicked a couple of times, then he lay still.

    Jack watched it all and felt nothing.

    Bye-bye, Tom O'Day. Maybe Hugh Gerrish will be waiting for you on the other side. Should be an interesting conversation.

    He hurried around to the back of the counter and lifted the katana, careful to avoid its cutting edge. He felt a strange sensation run through him as he touched the blade. Couldn't identify it—at once thrilled and repulsed. He gripped it by the handle and had to fight off a mad urge to swing it in a decapitating arc.

    Was that what had happened between Gerrish and O'Day?

    No matter. He wasn't going to keep it…

    Or was he?

    Jack felt this mad rush of desire to take it and hang it on his wall and shred anybody who tried to take it from him.

    He shook it off. Three people dead now because of it—at least he assumed the bat-wielding guy who had charged into Gerrish's apartment had left the living. Three that he knew of. Who knew how many it had killed since Masamune had made it? He couldn't see how it could be worth it.

    Time to get out of here. He needed something to wrap it in, and then he'd be gone. He looked around…

    And his gaze settled on the security cam.

    Shit!

    Despite his hat, with all that dodging and weaving and rolling over the counter, no way his face hadn't been exposed. Had to find that tape or disk or hard drive or whatever and trash it.

    He dragged a chair over to the corner and was climbing toward the cam when a rattling racket came from the front of the store. Someone was banging on the security shutter.

    "Mister O'Day?" a voice called. "Are you in there? You are supposed to be open by now."

    That sounded like the yakuzas' boss from last night. The same guys? Could it be possible?

    Didn't matter. Couldn't be caught here.

    He hopped down and pulled on the NO ADMITTANCE door, but it wouldn't budge because O'Day's corpse was slumped against it. Jack was trying to slide him out of the way when he heard the steel curtain begin to roll up. No time to get out, so he darted toward the counter. On the way he spotted the pieces of his ruined Glock on the floor. He snatched up everything in sight and ducked behind the display cases. Beneath them he spotted wooden doors. He slid one open and found a near-empty space occupied by a few stilettos and folding knives. A tight fit but…