Jack remembered posing as a tourist in there last summer while following one of the Indian diplomats all over town. What a load of bullshit he’d had to suffer through while waiting for Kusum to leave. Tempted to make a detour right now, stop in there this very minute and tell them how to get their act together. First thing he’d have them do was move the big tombstone of the Secretariat, maybe lay it on its side so it didn’t block the morning sun when he was walking by, or at the very least cut a hole in its center to let some light through.

Later. Maybe he’d straighten them out this afternoon. Right now he felt too damn good to waste even a second of this beautiful morning on those jerks.

But the flags—all these goddamn flags really bothered him. Rows of flags, blocks of flags, flags everywhere, wasting enough fabric to clothe most of Bangladesh. Reached into his pocket and grabbed his knife. Had a big-time urge to run up to those poles and start cutting the ropes—free the flags!

But no… take too long. Especially with Gia home alone. She was waiting for him, he knew. Jack was sure she could feel his approach, his growing proximity.

Moved on, passing a statue of Saint George killing some stupid-looking dragon on the other side of the fence, and there in the bushes, was that an elephant, a brown elephant? And then it was all blending together and then reversing direction and he felt like he was coming apart, pieces of him floating away, sailing into the air and then curving and boomeranging back to reassemble and fuse into something new and wonderful, the new Jack, King of the City.

After all, wasn’t it known as New Jack City?

Energy bloomed in him as he picked up his pace. No matter that it was uphill all the way, he was strong, stronger, strongest. Came to Fifty-fourth and cut east one more block to Sutton Place South where he had a beautiful view of the sparkling East River. God, he loved this city, his city. Hadn’t been born here, but that was OK. Meant he wasn’t here by some accident of nature but here by choice. He’d come here and made it his own, explored every nook and cranny, knew highborn and low and every sort between. Owned this city, man, and no one was going to tell him any different.

Gia knew that, and that was why she loved him. And he loved her because she knew that.

Wait…

Jack shook his head. Did that make sense?

Sure it did. Of course it did. Wouldn’t have thought it if it didn’t.

Breaking a light sweat, heavier in the small of his back where the Glock 19 rested in its nylon holster, and more around his ankle where he’d strapped the Semmerling, but he needed those guns, needed them because there were people in his city, not many but always a few, who might try to take the city away from him and make it their own, so he had to be vigilant, ever vigilant.