“I definitely want to avoid that. And with the right kind of help, I figure I can.”

He stepped out of the car and looked around at the mix of office buildings and town houses. Not many people out on this cold night. He shrugged into a shapeless old stadium coat he pulled from the backseat; next a pair of ratty leather gloves; then he yanked a knitted cap over his head, fitting it over his ears and down to his eyebrows. The final touch was a bucket containing two inches of soapy water and some other goodies.

Alicia leaned forward, staring at him through the open door. “What on earth…?”

“Meet the scourge of the streets: the sight of him can cause even the toughest New York City driver to quail. Meet… Squeegeeman!”

“I don’t believe this.”

“Wait five minutes, then walk around the block and meet me in front of the house.”

“But what—?”

“Be there. See you.”

He closed the door and trotted around to Thirty-eighth. He stopped twice along the way to scan the passersby and the streets for a tail, but could spot no one suspicious.

Damn. Why did he feel he was being watched?

2.

2.

That was close, Yoshio thought as he turned onto Thirty-ninth Street.

For a moment there he had been sure the ronin helping Alicia Clayton had spotted him, but he’d managed to drive past without arousing suspicion. The man seemed to have a sixth sense, almost a counterpoint talent to the one that allowed Yoshio to tail without being seen. Yoshio would have to be very careful with this one.

He had chosen to watch Alicia Clayton for the early part of the evening, then move on to Kemel. Yoshio had been glad to see the arrival of her ronin. This man seemed to be popping up everywhere. Yoshio had followed Kemel and Thomas Clayton to their attorney’s office yesterday; while waiting outside, wishing he had a bug in the meeting room, Yoshio had seen this man emerge from the building in the company of a tall black man, both in suits. It could not be a coincidence.

So tonight, when they had driven off in a rented car, Yoshio had followed. Along the way, the ronin had lost Yoshio with a sudden, last-second turn off Twenty-third Street. Yoshio had been stuck, two cars behind. But he had suspected that they might show up at the Clayton house, so he headed in that direction. He had taken his time, munching on a bucket of extra crispy Kentucky Fried Chicken along the way, and had been pleasantly surprised to see their car pass him on Third Avenue.

And now the ronin, shabbily dressed and with a bucket in his hand, was walking toward the Clayton house.

Very curious.