He went to a pawnshop and spent a long time leaning across a flat glass case of knives. Asking for first one and then another to be brought out. Until he settled on a long thin-bladed doubled-edged stiletto with a vine-and-leaf motif etched into the blade, the handle fine wood the color of old rose petals with inlaid straps of brass running up to the boss, which was a delicate knob of solid brass with an oval of the same wood laid into the flat top surface. The knife was balanced and keen, the sheath of fine thick leather supple to the touch. There was no strap; the knife lay inside the sheath like sex, firm and grasped, but slid into his trouser pocket and reached for, the blade came out of the sheath without friction. Finally he took out his razor and laid it beside the knife and looked at the man behind the counter, a tall bald Jew with a beard golden and long, the gold stippled with silver. “How much,” he asked, “the one against the other?”

The Jew touched the razor but did not pick it up. “Garbage,” he said. “The knife is five dollars.”

“That razor’s whetted to a fine edge. A lot of use still in it.”

The Jew looked at Jamie. He wore a fine shirt with a real collar and cuffs. After a bit he blinked slowly and said, “In the gutter allover are empty bottles. You take one up by the neck, smash off the belly against a lamppost and what you got left cuts just as fine as your razor. So. You want style, you want substance, or you want both.” He shrugged. “I care less.”

“Four dollars.”

“Five.”

“Four with the razor.”

The Jew sighed and took up the stiletto and placed it back in the case. Pushed the razor across toward Jamie. “You come back when you don’t waste my time.”

“Jesus Christ.”

The man crossed his arms over his chest.

“Four fifty.”

He shook his head.

“Seventy-five?”

“Look at me,” the man said. “You think you can wear me down?”

“It come with a guarantee?”

“Of course. The guarantee is that whoever you cut-up with it, I never saw that knife before in my life.”

“Five dollars,” Jamie said, no longer quite a question.

The man did not nod but waited.

Jamie went back onto the street with the knife in his pocket. It made a nice weight against his side. Comfortable. The brass boss lay just above his pocket seam, covered by his coat but easy to reach down and pull free. There was no one he wanted or planned to cut. There was no one he would be cut by.