The phone feels as familiar in his pocket as his apartment key or jangling change. It’s no object of love. Its case is basic and void of design and he’s sure the speaker is lousy but the reception is the reception, the network is the network, whatever phone you have, so Zack feels fine about his purchase.

He can reach and be reached. He’s rejoined the world.

34.

34.

Joey stands on his old front stoop, talking to his old landlord, Gerardi. Fatter and slower than ever, Joey notices.

“Hey, Mr. Gerardi.”

“Joey,” says Gerardi nervously.

The way he barely opens the door—when he used to throw it wide and chatter on about the New York Jets, whose hat he wore constantly—tells Joey that Gerardi knows exactly where Joey’s been for six months.

“Listen, I was wondering—”

“It’s rented,” says Gerardi. “You were behind six months, and it’s rented.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t get you the rent. See, I—”

“I know,” says Gerardi gruffly. “I watch the news.”

There is a pause while Joey debates asking for a room for the night. “Look, if I gave you a fifty, could I—”

“Fifty! Hah! You jokin’, right?” The landlord shakes his head. “I don’t want you here. Or anywhere near here, okay?”

Pretty bold way to talk to an assassin, thinks Joey. An increasingly pissed-off assassin.

But then Gerardi suddenly throws his apartment door wide open, sweeps out into the hall, and waves for Joey to follow him.

Joey follows Gerardi down the hallway to the storage area at the back of the building. Gerardi inserts a key from his thick keyring into the lock and throws open the storage door.

“Your stuff,” says Gerardi. “All of it. We tossed it all into these boxes for you. No charge, if you get out of here.”

Four cartons. Clothes, linens, toiletries, shoes, a few plates, a couple of pots. All his worldly goods, in four cartons.

“I’ll go through them, just take what I need, whatever’ll fit into a cab, okay?”

Gerardi shrugs, a little annoyed but obviously glad to be putting this episode behind him.

He walks away as Joey yanks open the cartons.

Looks like they just threw all his stuff into them as fast as they could. It was a complete mess. But it looks like everything is here.

He sifts through to find what he’s hoping for. Fingers crossed.

He’d always been super careful about it. Stripped and disassembled, he’s always been able to hide its pieces in shoeboxes, in a locked cutlery box, and in a couple of hollowed-out hardcover books.

There in the storage area, he quickly reassembles it. His Ruger.

Beautiful gun. Gleaming black in the slanted light of the storage room. Transforming it.

The rounds are there too. Stuffed into various socks and shoes.