Maybe that was it. She felt dirty, and totally worthless. So low she wouldn't mind being dead. And when you felt that low, all sorts of things you never thought possible suddenly were easy—like lying and cheating and trading sex for favors.
She had to climb out of this hole. And the first step up and back to her old self was to be rid of this baby. Because the old Dawn hadn't been pregnant.
Tomorrow… at three P.M.… she'd take that step.
Jack waited inside the Ear this time—same table, same back-to-the-wall seat under the perils-of-drink poster. The place was only a quarter full, the kitchen just getting up to speed.
He'd worn the arm sling on the subway ride down. Didn't like the feel but it did seem to make people give him a slightly wider berth. As he'd seated himself here he glommed on an unconventional use for it. He pulled his Kel-Tec backup from its ankle holster and sneaked it into the sling where it could rest unseen, just inches from his fingers.
He liked that so much he thought about making a sling a regular accessory, then decided against it. Put ten guys in a crowded room, one with a sling, nine without: Who would people remember?
No, save it for special occasions.
He thought about his trip to the hospital earlier this morning, right after his breakfast with Winslow. The guy calling himself Naka Slater had been taken down to Roosevelt on 59th Street. Jack had inquired at the ER about an auto accident victim brought in last night. After much wheedling and cajoling he'd been told that they'd admitted an Asian John Doe who'd refused to give his name.
Still alive… good.
Jack said he wondered if the guy could be his good buddy, Ishiro Honda. Could he maybe just go up and see if it was really him?
She had to check with the higher-ups to see if that would be okay. Ten minutes later she'd returned to say the higher-ups needed to talk to the hospital attorneys—concerns about hippo regulations or something like that.
He'd told her he'd be back. He wanted to talk to this guy, find out what he was up to, why he'd tried to kill him. But first… the new Naka Slater.
He snagged a copy of the Post from a neighboring table where one of the help had left it. The Staten Island thing still dominated the front page: an aerial photo of the dead area of woods under a huge headline:
If the Pulitzer folks awarded a prize for headlines, the Post would win every year.
He skimmed the page three article. It reported how tests had shown that even bacteria and mold spores had been killed. The consensus was some sort of toxin, but nobody knew what particular toxin. Whatever it was, this stuff killed everything.
Just then a vaguely Asian guy stepped in and looked around. He wore khaki slacks and a long-sleeve, blue-and-white-striped rugby shirt. As his gaze settled on Jack, he raised his eyebrows and pointed. Jack nodded.
The guy wound through the tables and offered his hand when he reached Jack's. "Nakanaori Slater. But you can call me—"
"Naka," Jack said, shaking his hand. Good grip. He pointed to the other chair. "Yeah, I know."
Close up now Jack could see the Caucasian influence in his skin tone and features. Unlike his predecessor, this guy looked like the genuine offspring of a Japanese and an American. He also looked older than his predecessor—Jack guessed a well-preserved sixty, or maybe younger—and a lot more relaxed. His black hair was streaked with gray, and he too wore it combed down over the left half of his forehead.
"Moki's friend must have told you," he said, smiling as he seated himself. "What else did she tell you?"
His smooth English said he'd been raised in an English-speaking household.
"Nothing. I have no idea who she is."
He frowned. "Then how—?"
"Let me tell you a story, see if it rings a bell. Four days ago, right here at this table, I met with an Asian dude who also called himself Nakanaori Slater. He gave me a middle name too but—"
"Okumo?" Slater's face lightened a few shades. "He said he was Nakanaori Okumo Slater?"
"Yeah. Quite a mouthful. So I was glad for the just-call-me-Naka part."
He looked baffled. "But I'm—"
The waitress arrived then. Older than the one last time. Jack ordered a Hoegaarden, then waited to see what Slater would do.
"A double Jack Daniel's on the rocks."
Jack realized in the case of Naka One he should have heeded W. C. Fields's warning about never trusting a man who doesn't drink. Naka Two drank Jack Daniel's before lunch. Did that earn extra trust points?
He caught Jack studying him. "I need a double after what you just told me."
"Don't have to explain to me."
"Describe this 'Naka,'" he said.
"Japanese—all Japanese from the look of him, though he said he had an American father." He pointed to the dippity-do over Slater's left forehead. "Same hairstyle too."
Slater lifted his hair, revealing the rest of his forehead. "Did he have this?"
Jack stared at what looked like a red wine stain spreading from his hairline almost to his eyebrow. He tried to picture Naka Slater Number One's face and couldn't recall ever getting a peek under the dip.
"Couldn't say."
"My dad called it the Slater Stain. All the Slater men have something like it." He released the handful of hair, letting it drop back into place. "He had it, and both my sons have it, though thankfully to a lesser degree than I." He leaned forward, his onyx eyes intent. "What else did he tell you?"
Jack gave him a condensed version: Heirloom katana blade stolen from his Maui plantation, traced to New York, woman living with artist friend gives him Jack's name, so Naka Slater comes to New York to hire Jack to find the blade.
Slater's face was even paler than before. "That's incredible! It's all true except that I'm Naka Slater, but I didn't get to New York until yesterday. He didn't happen to mention any scrolls, did he?"
"No, nothing about scrolls."
"A bunch of ancient scrolls my father and Matsuo confiscated from—"
" 'Confiscated.' I like that."
"Okay, stole. They were stolen from me along with the katana, and I've recovered neither. I don't care about the scrolls—have no idea what's on them and couldn't care less—but that katana…"
The drinks arrived. Even though he wasn't all that hungry after the earlier omelet, Jack ordered the burger with cheddar cheese and bacon. Couldn't pass up an Ear burger. Slater ordered the same.
Naka Two was starting out a lot easier to like than One.
As the waitress was leaving, he tapped her arm and rattled the ice in his near-empty glass. "Another of these?" He pointed to the barely sipped Hoegaarden but Jack shook his head.
Not yet.
Slater drained his sour mash and said, "Another Slater trait: a fondness for booze and a very efficient liver." He put down the glass and stared at Jack. "Now the all-important question: Did you find the blade?"