22
Jack stood on the edge of the bridge with his feet apart, his gaze never wavering. “Glad you could make it,” he said. “Should be a wicked good time.”
In the middle of that bridge, Slade raised both hands into a fighting stance. The man chuckled under his breath. “I was wondering which one of you I would have to kill,” he remarked. “I'm glad it's you.”
“So, that's it?” Jack exclaimed. “Just straight to business? We're not even gonna bother with the pleasantries? How's your mother?”
“Dust beneath the soil of China.”
Pressing his lips together, Jack nodded slowly. “Poetic,” he said. “Have you ever considered putting that on a card?”
Slade came at him in a rage, glass crunching under his feet. Most of it had fallen to the lower level, but there were a few shards on the bridge. A hazar
