He had awakened with the future looking pretty grim. It had brightened quite a bit in the past few minutes.
Thanks to Drexler… and his bosses in the Septimus Order.
Strange how things happened. Almost as if there was a plan. Daddy had had his Plan, but this seemed bigger. Much bigger.
But who was behind it? The Septimus Order, obviously. But who or what was behind the Order?
22
Naka Slater was staying at the Grand Hyatt on 42nd. The taxi took the high road and dropped Jack off at the Park Avenue entrance that admitted him onto one of the mezzanine levels. He looked around, spotted some elevators, and headed that way.
"Hey, honey," said a sultry voice. "Is that a sword or are you just glad to see me?"
He stopped and turned to find himself facing a sultry, eye-poppingly proportioned redhead in a scarlet minidress and black stockings. She'd draped a silk scarf over her bare shoulders. The red of her lips matched the scarf and dress. Perfectly.
Jack waved her off. "No time now."
But as he started to turn away he spotted the snow-white miniature poodle peeking from her shoulder bag.
A woman. With a dog.
"Are you her?"
She pivoted and lowered the scarf to reveal the crisscrossing lines and open sores on her back. That clinched it.
He said, "Any particular reason for the Jessica Rabbit look?"
She smiled and shrugged. "It's Forty-second Street, and I remember the good old days." Her smile faded. "We need to talk."
He held up the wrapped katana. "About this, I presume."
A nod. She pointed to the railing overlooking a wide-open space. "Let's go over there."
She led the way. They leaned on the railing for a moment and watched the comings and goings in the large, bustling lobby one level below. To the right an escalator led down from the lobby to the marble pool-and-fountainlined entrance that opened onto 42nd Street.
The poodle watched from her bag, pink tongue out, panting.
"Before we go any further," he said, "who are you?"
She shook her head. "How many times must I tell you: I am your mother."
"You're not getting off that easy this time. Who or what are you?"
Her green eyes fixed on his. "I think you know. You tell me."
"I…" This sounded so crazy. "I think you're Mother Earth."
She smiled. "Would it were that simple, but it's much more complicated. Too complicated to go into right now."
"But—"
"Some other time." She touched the katana. "This is of more immediate concern."
Something in her tone convinced Jack that arguing would be futile.
"Okay. What about it? In five minutes it's going to be in someone else's hot little hands and probably by tomorrow it will be on its way back to Maui."
"Instead of giving it to this man, it might be better if you took a boat out past the continental ridge and dropped it into the Hudson Canyon."
He glanced at the katana, then back at her.
"You're telling me it's evil?"
"Good and evil are difficult to apply to weapons. They can be a means to either end. But this blade… I sense something significant, something of great import about it… that it will be a means to a momentous end."
"A good end or a bad end?"
"I wish I could say."
"Didn't we have this conversation about a certain unborn baby?"
She nodded. "They are somehow linked. The baby is all potential with no history. But this…" She pointed to the katana. "It has been used for both good and ill throughout its existence. Its last act before the fire was fratricide—a terrible thing, yet done for good reason for a good end. Immediately after that came the fire."
Before the fire…
"The bomb?"
She nodded. "The nuclear fire changed it. It is now something less, in that it has lost some of the steel its fashioner gave it. But it is also something more."
"More how?"
"I wish I knew. It might now be a weapon only for good, or only for evil. Or, like any blade, it might cut either way, depending on who wields it. But it will be used for something momentous."
"So you'd rather have it used for nothing at all."
She shrugged. "Just an instinct. No one can tell the future."
"Trouble is, it's not my decision. Maybe you can talk to Slater, convince him to give it to you or drop it in the ocean off Maui. I'll introduce you…" Her stare stopped him. "What?"
"You're going to return it to him."
"Yeah. We have a deal."
"Even after what I said about its momentous potential."
"Look, he paid me. I said I'd look for his katana and if I found it I'd return it to him. We shook hands on it. I gave my word."
She nodded. "Your code. Is that more important?"
Jack sighed. He didn't like to get all philosophical and look too deeply into these things. He tended to follow his gut. He'd learned to trust it.
He shrugged. "My word is my word."
"And you've never broken it?"
Yes, he had. He thought of his final facedown with Kusum. But Vicky's life had been at stake there. Where Gia and Vicky were concerned, he also listened to his gut, and in that situation his gut had said, Fuck the code, waste him.
And he had.
But the odd thing was, despite the unquestionable necessity, it had bothered him for a long time after. Still bothered him.
"It's like being the little kid with his finger in the leak in the dike. If he pulls it out because it starts to feel a little uncomfortable, he may not be able to get it back in. And then more and more of the sea will flow through, widening the hole until the dike fails and drowns him." He hated verbalizing this stuff. He shrugged. "Am I making any sense? Do you see what I'm saying?"
"You're saying you're going to return the blade."
"Well, given a choice between my word and a big fat maybe, yeah, I'm returning the blade."
"I hope it's the right decision."
"As far as I can see, it's the only decision."
But he'd rather someone else be making it.
23
A smiling Naka Slater opened the door and stepped back, his eyes on the package in Jack's hand.
"At last. The prodigal sword returns to the fold."
Jack figured that mix of metaphors beat his own from the park yesterday, but didn't congratulate him. Instead he added to the mix.
"Wrapped in a coat of many colors." Closing the door behind him, Jack handed it over. "All yours."
And good riddance.
But the Lady's words haunted him.
… it will be used for something momentous…
Was this chubby sixty-something plantation owner going to be the one to wield it? Hard to believe.
"How did you ever track it down?"
"Crack detective work."
"And you didn't have to buy it back? Because I'll reimburse—"
"No need. Reasoned discourse carried the day."
He carried it to the bed where he began to unwind the drop cloth.
"Would you believe this is the first time I've ever handled it? At least that I recall."
"You mean it was sitting in your house and you were never tempted to play samurai with it?"
"Tempted like crazy. But it was displayed in a sealed glass case for just that reason."
The grip end came free first.
"You've added a handle and a hilt."
"Not me. Someone along the way."
When he revealed the rest he grinned like a little boy with his first puppy.
"A scabbard too!"
As Slater grabbed the scabbard and pulled the blade free, Jack stepped back and slipped his hand to the Glock under the back of his loose T-shirt. He'd already played this scene once and had come away with a sliced-up shoulder. Not taking any chances this time.
Slater stayed bedside, however, swinging the blade back and forth. But as he swung it his smil
e faded to a frown, and then a grimace of distaste. He stopped swinging it and dropped it on the bed.
Jack stared at him. "This isn't where you try to tell me that isn't the right sword, is it?"
He shook his head. "No. I'd recognize those defects anywhere. But there's something wrong with that thing."
"Maybe the handle changes the balance or—"
"No-no. I mean something wrong inside it. The legends say that Masamune put a little of his gentle soul into each of his katana so that it would not be used for indiscriminate killing. It would sever an evil man's head but not cut a passing butterfly."
Buuuullshit… buuuullshit…
"So you're saying it's not a true Masamune?"
"I'm not enough of an expert to tell. Maybe it is, and maybe the Hiroshima bomb burned away whatever of Masamune was in there. I don't know. But I do know I don't want that thing in my house."
"You kidding me? It's been in your house all your life."
"Yes, two houses and two countries. Maybe I touched the katana when I was little. Maybe a part of me recognizes the difference. I don't like what it's become. I don't want it." He sheathed the blade and held out the katana to Jack. "Here. You take it."
"Hell no. What am I going to do with—?"
He grabbed the drop cloth, shoved it and the katana into Jack's hands, then hurried to the dresser. He returned with an envelope and gave that to Jack as well.
"Here—the rest of your fee." He then stepped to the door and opened it. "Please. Take it. Do whatever you want with it."
Nonplussed, Jack stepped back into the hall. "You're sure?"
"Absolutely. You did a wonderful job, but I've changed my mind. Are we square?"
"If you say so."
"Then it's a done deal. Thank you. Good-bye."
He closed the door.
"Yeah. Good-bye."
Jack looked down at the katana. Now what?
24
1:06.
Dawn blinked at the display on her bedside clock radio: P.M.? Couldn't be.
Clad only in panties, she dragged herself from under the covers and stepped to her bedroom window. She pulled aside the heavy drapes and cringed in the bright light. The sun was high, and Fifth Avenue and Central Park bustled below.
Right back where I started.
Or had she ever left? The events of the past few days seemed too totally fantastic to be real.
Shadowed around the city, abducted in broad daylight, Kickers, Jerry's brother swinging some weird sword, then kidnapped by ninjas, drugged by Japanese monks, rescued by Mr. Osala—who, it seems, likes to stand on the roof of his car during a storm—and now back to the penthouse.
Had she dreamed it all?
She went to her closet and pulled out a robe. She'd totally never worn one before she came here. After all, she'd been able to walk around her house in pretty much any state of undress she pleased. But this wasn't her house. So when she didn't feel like getting dressed—like now—she threw on one of these things.
She stepped out into the hall. The marble floor was cold on her feet as she padded to the kitchen hoping to find some coffee. But the kitchen was empty, just like the coffeepot. She'd make some herself if she knew where anything was, but this was Gilda's domain and she ruled it like a jealous queen.
Dawn realized she needed more than coffee. She was starving. She'd have to track down Gilda and have her whip up some breakfast. Or lunch. Or whatever.
She found her in the hall carrying an armful of men's clothing. They looked like…
"Are those Henry's?"
Gilda didn't look at her. "Yes."
"Then Mister Osala really did fire him?"
Gilda said nothing, just kept on moving toward the foyer. Dawn followed in a daze. Then it was true… all true… the nightmare had been real… and Henry had been fired because of her.
"I'm sorry about what happened. I—"
Gilda's cold look cut her off as she stopped and turned. "You should be ashamed. He was only trying to make you happy, and you betrayed him."
The truth of her words struck like a slap in the face. Yes, she'd totally betrayed him.
"But don't you see? I didn't want to stay here. I wanted to get away and none of you would let me."
"We are here to protect you."
"I know that, and after all that happened, I know this is the safest place to be. But I didn't see it that way then. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."
The ice remained in her tone. "Well, you did."
She turned and continued toward the foyer where she laid the pile by the door.
"Is Henry coming to pick them up?"
She wanted to tell him how sorry she was, but didn't know if she could face him.
Another cold look from Gilda. "Henry is never coming back."
"Then why are you putting his clothes out?"
"They are to be burned."
"Burned?" She didn't get it. "But he was only fired. You talk about him like he's dead."
Gilda turned away and headed in the direction of the kitchen.
"I will make you some lunch."
But Dawn was no longer hungry. She stared at that forlorn pile of clothing, thinking it couldn't be… it totally couldn't be.
Henry was out there in the city, totally alive and looking for another job. He had to be…
But what she'd seen in Gilda's eyes just before she'd turned away said otherwise.
She felt her blood turning to ice.
Dead? But that could only mean that Mr. Osala had…
What have I done? Who are these people? What have I gotten myself into?
25
Jack entered his apartment with the katana.
The Lady's words had haunted him.
It might now be a weapon only for good, or only for evil. Or, like any blade, it might cut either way, depending on who wields it. But it will be used for something momentous.
She'd wanted him to dump it in the ocean but had not offered a clear reason why.
… something momentous…
Momentous good or momentous evil?
If the latter, then yeah, dump it in the Mariana Trench, where no one, not even Rasalom, could reach it.
But if at some crucial moment in the coming showdown it could tip the scale against the Otherness, Jack didn't want it under seven miles of ocean.
… it might cut either way, depending on who wields it…
O'Day had killed Gerrish with it, and Jack guessed that would be considered an ill use of the weapon. But Glaeken had used it defensively, and nonlethally at that.
Yeah… so it depended on who wielded it.
He'd given it a lot of thought, leaning this way and that. The tipping point had come when he remembered what Veilleur had said about Rasalom being at the Kakureta Kao temple. If so, he could have gone after Dawn or the katana. The fact that he'd chosen Dawn told Jack that the katana wasn't all that important to him.
Jack decided to keep it, figuring he could dispose of it at any time if he changed his mind. But if he ditched it now, there was no going back.
It wouldn't fit in the false back of the secretary with the rest of his goodies, so he found a spot on the top shelf of one of his closets. It was too long to lie flat so he leaned it at an angle.
He stared at it for a moment, wondering if he was doing the right thing.
Don't make me regret this, he thought, then shut the closet door.
www.repairmanjack.com
This file was created with BookDesigner program
[email protected]
01/02/2009
FB2 document info
Document ID: 246342f2-655b-4138-9f12-d4dff97b9b65
Document version: 2
Document creation date: 2009-12-17
Created using: doc2fb, FB Editor v2.0 software
Document authors :
Slava Chesnovsky
About
This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.
(This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)
Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.
(Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)
http://www.fb2epub.net
https://code.google.com/p/fb2epub/
By the Sword rj-12 Page 34
