Jack pulled her away from the cowering figure.
"Come on! We've got to get away from here."
"Meet my half brother," she said through her teeth as Jack helped her down to the pavement.
Jack looked at the soft body, the lanky hair, and bulbous nose. "Must take after the other side of the family," he said.
"He does. He—"
She stopped and Jack saw she was staring at the two guys he'd flattened a minute ago. The driver had curled into a fetal position and was moaning as he clutched his left knee with his good hand. The other guy was already struggling to his feet. He had to be a tough one—a kidney punch like that usually put a guy down for the count.
He tugged on Alicia's arm again, pulling her away from the scene. Drivers backed up behind the truck would be wandering up to see what the hell was holding things up. He saw one getting out of his car now. Jack didn't want anyone giving his description.
"Let's go. Time to fade away."
8.
After the collision, Yoshio had seen Baker come out and move around to the front of the truck. He did not return. The concerned citizen appeared instead and freed Alicia Clayton.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Yoshio approached the truck on foot. Peeking inside the open door, he saw a man he recognized as Thomas Clayton wiping blood from his mouth. He went around to the front and saw Baker and another man, both much larger than the concerned citizen, both looking battered.
This carnage was certainly not the work of an average citizen. It appeared that Ms. Clayton had found herself a samurai… a ronin.
And then Baker, holding a hand against his back, over his right kidney, noticed Yoshio and snarled. "Whatta you lookin' at? Get the fuck outta here!"
As Yoshio made a frightened gesture and backed away, he glanced down the street to where Alicia Clayton and her rescuer were vanishing into the shadows.
Yoshio's car was trapped behind the accident, and would be so for a long while, he feared. He would not be able to follow them.
But he wished he could. Yoshio wanted to know more about the ronin.
9.
"I don't know how to thank you."
It must have been the twentieth time she'd said it. Jack sipped his Molson and said nothing. He'd given up on telling her not to worry about it.
They'd run a few blocks, then ducked into this sports bar to get off the street. The place traded on the Madison Square Garden crowd, and seemed to be lit solely by neon beer signs—must have been a hundred of them on the walls and over the bar. The long-haired guy in the apron on the Sam Adams sign stared at Jack over Alicia's shoulder.
At least the place was quiet. The Knicks were off tonight, so Jack and Alicia had a corner all to themselves.
And now with the adrenaline fading, his right flank began to throb where that big sandy-haired guy had connected. The man looked heavy and middle-aged but, he was in shape. Threw a mean punch.
He'd explained to her how he'd seen her pushed into the truck, how he'd commandeered a taxi and chased the truck until he could cut it off and stop it.
She was working on her second Dewar's, and when she lifted the glass to her lips he noticed that the adrenaline tremor in her hand was easing.
"If you really want to thank me," he said, "you'll forget about going to the cops."
"But this is my chance to put a stop to all this!" she said. She balled her free hand into a fist and held it over the table. "I've got them now. They abducted me! I don't have to worry about civil actions anymore. This is a felony and you were a witness. I know this detective, Will Matthews. We can go to him and—"
Jack felt his insides twist into a knot. "No, we can't."
She blinked. "Why not?"
"Because I can't be your witness."
"What do you mean? You saw the whole thing. You even cut me free."
"But I can't be a witness, Alicia. I don't exist."
Another blink. "What are you talking about?"
"I have no official existence."'
She shook her head. "How can that be? You've got to have a social security number. You've got to have a bank account, a credit card, a driver license. You can't function without them."
"I do. In fact, I have a number of them. All bogus."
"Well then, be a witness under one of those identities."
"No can do. Those identities hold up with a bank looking to get my money in its vault and hoping I'll start charging everything I buy on its credit card. And they hold up with a bored DMV clerk who's transferring the license of a dead man in Toledo to a nonexistent address in Park Slope. But they won't hold up under a real background check. Especially if they check with the IRS."
"You don't file?"
"Never. And please… you can't ever mention me to this detective friend of yours."
"Are you wanted for anything?"
"No, and I'd like to keep it that way."
Alicia leaned back, deflated. "Damn. For a minute there I really thought…"
"Sorry," Jack said.
"My God, don't apologize for pulling me out of that van."
"But maybe I shouldn't have," he said.
"That's not funny."
"I'm serious. It just occurred to me that I should have done everything the same except cut you free. If maybe I clobbered your brother like the other two and left the truck's door open with you still bound to that seat, and you started shouting for help, someone would have come along and seen you and called the cops. I'd have faded away to another part of the city, and those three would be locked up in Midtown South right now."
It annoyed the hell out of him that he hadn't thought of any of this at the time.
Alicia was nodding slowly. "That would have been perfect. But it didn't occur to me either. All I wanted right then was to be free of that tape and out of that truck."
"And I was trying to figure out how many more guys I was going to have to deal with."
"Yes," she said, leaning forward now. A small, tight smile played about her lips. The Scotch was getting to her. "Tell me about that. Both those men were bigger than you. And I know you didn't use your eyeball trick. So how did you beat them? Karate? Kung fu?"
"Surprise," Jack said, "The best weapon there is. The outcome could have been very different if they'd been ready for me. But they saw a guy who was scared, frightened, helpless. Easy meat. The second guy even smiled when he saw how helpless I looked. But I had my moves planned—went for their knees and noses. Doesn't matter how big a guy is, he's not much trouble after you pop one of his knee ligaments, or ram his nasal bones back into his head. Those two got caught napping. That only works once, though. Have to think of something else if I run into them again."
"I have to ask you this," she said. Jack noticed her looking at her hands. "Those thumbnails. You keep them so much longer than the others. Can I ask you why?"
"You'd probably rather not know."
"I do. Really I do."
Jack took a breath. "Sometimes you get into spots where things don't clean up as neatly as they did tonight. Sometimes you wind up rolling in the dirt or on the floor and you're dodging head butts and bites and you've got to use every trick you know and every part of your body just to survive. And that's when it's good to have a sort of built-in weapon." He held up his long-nailed thumbs and wiggled them. "Nothing like a gouged eye to end a fight."
Alicia blanched and straightened in her chair. "Oh."
Warned you, Jack thought.
He tried to stare down the guy on the Sam Adams sign. That didn't work, so he made to move the conversation away from himself and into a more interesting area.
"This is the second time I've asked you this today," he said, "but things have changed since this morning: What's your next move?"