Hank glanced in his rearview and saw the sun nudging the horizon. Time to go.
He drove at the speed limit, trying to time his arrival at the farm with dusk. He needed some light for his plan, but didn't want too much. The closer he got, the more he felt his excitement build, tingling down his back and around to his belly to settle lower, like a horny kid heading out to meet the easiest girl in town, knowing she'd give it up with the barest minimum of persuasion.
As he turned off Middle Road he spotted a puddle. He stopped and rubbed mud on his license plates, then continued to the farm.
The light was perfect when he reached it. He parked in the blind spot and removed the katana from the blanket on the backseat. He held up the blade and saw the dying light reflect dully along its pitted, riddled surface. He found it strangely beautiful, almost… mesmerizing…
With effort, he pulled his gaze away and hopped the fence. A Guernsey stood about thirty yards away. She looked up at his casual, unhurried approach. Not afraid. Why should she be? The worst any human had done to her was milk her teats. She lowered her head to the grass and resumed grazing.
Hank positioned himself beside her, feet spread, facing her thick neck. As he raised the katana above his head he felt a stirring in his groin.
He needed this… really needed this. And he wanted to see what this katana could do… wanted to cut all the way through with a single swing.
But he wanted the cow looking at him when this happened.
"Hey!" he called in a soft voice. "Hey, you."
When the cow looked up he saw his reflection in her large dark eye, a man-shaped blotch silhouetted against the fading twilight.
Now… do it now.
To add extra force behind the blow, Hank envisioned the fake John Tyleski's bland features against the skin of the neck. With a low cry he raised the blade even higher and swung with all he had.
"Here's an odd story," Abe said, staring down at a newspaper through the reading glasses perched on his nose.
Jack glanced up and saw it was the Long Island paper, Newsday. Abe hadn't ventured into the wilds of Long Island since he'd had a full head of hair, but that didn't keep him from Newsday.
"Odd how? Like congress-has-impeached-itself-for-high-crimes-and-misdemeanors odd, or two-headed-cow odd?"
"A cow he mentions. You're psychic maybe?"
"Call me Criswell. Another moon-jumping incident?"
"Not quite. Someone killed a cow on a farm out Peconic way."
"That's not odd, that's the first step toward a Big Mac. Hard to get ground beef with the cow still alive."
"This one wasn't killed by its owner."
"Those pesky aliens again? Mutilated?"
"Beheaded."
That brought Jack up short. He looked up at Abe and saw he wasn't kidding. The thought of someone hacking away at some poor dumb animal's neck until the head fell off made him queasy.
"Jeez."
"There's more. It seems to have been done with a single blow."
"To a cow? Behead a cow with a single cut? What'd he use—a chainsaw?"
"They think it was a sword."
Ah… so this was why he'd brought it up. Jack had told Abe about the Gaijin Masamune, and how it had sliced through his shoulder like a hot Ginsu through butter—no, make that soft margarine.
But could it be the Gaijin? Maybe. It had cut through the barrel of his Glock, yes, but was any sword sharp enough to do a cow like that?
Could it have been the katana?
"You think there's a connection?"
Abe gave one of his shrugs. "A sword maven I'm not. But you yourself just told me this blade was very sharp. But then it disappears and what happens: The next night—the very next night—a cow is beheaded with a very sharp, swordlike object." His Norman Mailer eyebrows oscillated like caterpillars in heat. "Coincidence?"
Last year Jack had been given the chilling message that there'd be no more coincidences in his life. But that cow wasn't a part of his life, so why couldn't this be a coincidence?
"Do you believe that?"
Abe shook his head. "No."
"Neither do I."
Crap.
And then he remembered a passage from Kick where Hank Thompson mentioned his years of working in a slaughterhouse.
Could it be?
If so, it would be another in a long chain of noncoincidences.
But he had no way of knowing, so he let it go.
"If it was the same sword, the story could have been about your head being separated from its body."
"Tell me about it. That thing is sharp. Barely felt it cut me."
"Speaking of cuts, how did you explain yours to Gia?"
Jack glanced at his shoulder. He hadn't worn the sling today and hadn't missed it. His deltoid throbbed, but nothing he couldn't ignore.
"Haven't had to. Haven't seen her since it happened."
"What are you going to tell her?"
Jack shrugged. "The truth. No biggie."
"And when are you going to tell her the truth about the accident that was no accident?"