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 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 hell.
He picked it up and began swinging it again.