“Hollow points and cyanide,” Jack said. “Kind of overkill don’t you think? If you were a good shot, you wouldn’t need all that.”

“I am a very good shot. But I do not leave anything to chance.”

Jack believed him!

He forced himself to relax. At least the guy wasn’t one of the Arab’s men—or didn’t appear to be. And then something occurred to him.

“That wouldn’t happen to be a small caliber job, would it?” Jack said. “Like a twenty-two?”

“This is correct.”

“And did you happen to use it on Thirty-eighth Street last night?”

“That is also correct.”

“And can I assume that you’re not working for Kemel?”

“Correct again… although I do not understand how you are so familiar to use the first name of a man you should not even know about.”

I’m so familiar with him, Jack thought, I’ve been assuming it was his last name.

He settled back in his seat as he turned onto Broadway and joined the downtown crawl. He’d wondered who Kemel had meant by “the wrong hands,” and had assumed he’d meant Israel. But this guy was anything but Israeli. He looked Japanese.

“I tell you these things,” the gunman went on, “because I do not wish to be placed in the condition where I must kill you. Condition—that is the correct word?”

Swell, Jack thought. He’s got a gun on me and he wants me to help him with his English… But then, he does have the gun.

“‘Position’ might be better.”

“Position… yes, that is better. Because I am very admiring of how you disposed of your attackers last night. You are very clever.”

That’s me… Mr. Clever.

“Was that you following me to the Clayton house last night?”

“You saw me?”

He sounded offended. Time to repay a compliment in kind.

“No. Not once. Sensed you but didn’t see you. You’re very good.”

Let’s form a mutual admiration society, he thought.

“Thank you. What is your name?”

“Jack.”

“Jack what?”

He thought a moment. “Jack-san.”

Jack saw the gunman’s eyes narrow, then crinkle as he smiled. “Ah, yes. Jack-san. That is very humorful.”

“I’m a bundle of laughs.”

“And now you will please give me the envelopes you brought from the bank.”

So polite… but despite how “admiring” this guy said he was, Jack had no doubt he’d end up like the two corpses outside the Clayton house if he tried anything. Might end up like them anyway.

With that pleasant thought bobbing through his brain, Jack handed the envelopes over the seat.

The pistol muzzle was removed from his neck. Jack watched the gunman glance down at his lap as he fumbled with the envelopes. This might be his chance… but he vetoed the thought. No sense in precipitating something right now. Take it easy and see how this played out.