Chapter 97: Predator, Part 17

Blue lights flash. Sirens are wailing. His fingers tapping at the wheel, James drops to a normal driving speed. "Klempner, get your head down. Don't let yourself be seen."

"James..."

"Shut the fuck up! I've already had enough from you this evening." The words rattle out of him. "Where's your knife?"

"My knife?"

"Yes, your knife. The one you keep in the sheath at the back."

"As you say, it's in the sheath."

"Show me."

"James... What..?"

This doesn't feel like mere annoyance or embarrassment. There's no mistaking his fury. "Just fucking show me."

What the hell's going on?

As we ease past the bar, James jerks a thumb towards the blue-flashing chaos. "There's a dead man inside there with a knife stuck in his chest. Your knife."

"Rubbish. My knife is..." Stooped low in the car seat, keeping my face away from the betraying lights, my position is awkward as I swipe around myself for the blade I habitually carry...

... and find an empty sheath.

"It's not there, is it?"