III – "…With a Twist…"

I ducked into the nearby alley, and ran. I had to disappear. I dived into the (thank God!) nearby bar, (something called Sergio's), and zipped into a booth facing away from the door.

The waiter strode up. "What can I get for you?"

"Some peace and quiet to start. You gimme that, we'll see what else comes up."

He took the hint, and sidled over to another table. That left me to evaluate my situation. First order of business: I had to figure out where I was. After that, depending on the answer, I could do one of three things. I could…

My ribs twinged, and a short bark of agony escaped my lips before I could stop it. The waiter was there in a flash. "Can I get you something, sir?"

I nodded, and managed to gasp out, "Whiskey double. Straight up." I hoped I didn't sound as bad as I felt. If I was to use this place in the future as an information center, I didn't want there to be any doubt in the service's mind that I could handle myself. All it took was one headstrong chump at the wrong moment, and an innocent's blood could be on my hands. Worse, mine could be on his.

He bowed, and dashed in the direction of the bar. I was left with my thoughts. Back on track, I could…

A loud horn burst through my mind, like a lighthouse lamp cuts the fog, or a woman's scream catches my attention.

"16th! All out for 16th! 16th East! All out!"

Instinctively, I checked my watch. 8:30 PM. The 16th Street bus would be at…

East Central. The 64th block, to be accurate.

Talk about your blind, dumb luck. That made up my mind. I pulled a half-crushed congratulatory cigarette out from my trouser pocket, and lit it. I closed my eyes, and had just started planning my next move when the waiter's voice pulled me out of my reverie.

"Sir? This is from the lady by the entrance. Red dress. Can't miss her." The sound of glass hitting wood snapped my eyes open. My whiskey, and a martini, lightly chilled, with a twist of lemon greeted my orbs. This was my absolute favorite drink. Coincidentally, it happened to be the most expensive in town. I turned to see this woman, only to stare into red silk. Following the silk up (and around), I saw an unfamiliar face. Seemed to be a trend tonight.

"Mr. Pierard, I assume?" Second time tonight I had heard that, and so far no sign this was going to turn out any better. She spoke perfect English, yet had the pale tint and almond-shaped eyes that spoke her Japanese ancestry better than if she'd greeted me with a "Konbonwa. Anata wa Pierardo-san desu ka?" Her legs were divine, culminating in nice red high heels.

I nodded. "Please siddown, miss. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don't know yours."

She half-bowed, and slid down. "I am Ada Inho. Dozo yoroshiku."

I smiled. "Hajimemashite. Pierardo desu. Dozo yoroshiku." I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Pierard.

She giggled. "Anata wa nihon-go o wakarimasu ka?" You understand Japanese?

"Hai." I raised the martini. "To you, Inho-san. Thanks." I drank a little. Exquisite.

"I saw you out there. In the car."

I set the glass down. "And you didn't help?"

She shook her head. "They were professionals. If I'd helped, I'd be dead and you'd be on your way to meet Gardener."

That name again. I could almost place it, something about the New York underworld and… Nope, it was gone again. "I guess you're right. Why are you here? Most people in this town see a guy go flying out of a car, they ignore it, figger it's Mob business. You've not only followed me, you've bought the best drink at this establishment. Why?"

She looked into the pool of other patrons, and swallowed. "I'm here because an… associate of mine was at your office earlier. A Miss Virginia Hatherly."

"What about her?" I asked around my cigarette.

"She has you looking for her brother, right?"

"Maybe."

She arched her right eyebrow, and smiled a little. "Here," she handed me an envelope. "Read these. I'll be in touch." She stood, and tapped out of the bar.

I raised my eyebrow, and downed the whiskey. My rib called for medical attention, but right now, Good ol' Dr. Daniels would have to do. I set my glass down, drained the whiskey, and pondered my course of action. I could investigate my case, this "Malcolm;" track down Smiley and get my gun back; or just ignore it all and go home. Decisions, decisions.

I cracked open the paper envelope, and riffled through the papers enclosed. They were all in sequential order, so far I could gather. I would read them later. Now, it was time to get my bearings.

I finished the martini, and stood up to leave. I had made it out the door, when a hand grabbed my shoulder. I was spun roughly into the wall, and my right arm was wrenched behind my back. My other hand was braced against the wall. Someone knew their martial arts. A sibilant voice hissed in my ear. A smell of old dust and… decay?… washed over me.

"Watch your step, Pierard. You don't want to overdo it on your first dive, do you? The puddles are deep, and the moon is nowhere to be seen. Submerge yourself, and perish."

I craned my head back for a look at my assailant. Nothing. It kept talking. "Remember this, Pierard. Night is salvation"

With that, all pressure disappeared from my body. I spun around, but no one was there.

"Damn…" I lit a cigarette. I slipped into a sea of people. Port of destination: home.