saying the other day, about not wanting to kill anybody…”
“If that’s a problem, I’ll bow out,” Stickney said quickly.
“That’s not it, Stick. I was just wondering how you came to get there.”
“It’s not a big revelation, Ray. I just have this idea that when I finally cash out, I want to be able to think that I’ve done more good than wrong. I figure I’m in the hole to life right now, and I want to even things out if I can.”
“The karmic balance sheet,” Favor said.
“For lack of a better term.”
“I feel the same way,” Favor said. “But I think I’m so far in the hole, I’ll never get on the right side.”
“Not necessarily,” Stickney said. “Look for a chance to do the great act of good. Or strike down a great evil. You can turn things around in a hurry that way.”
“And if that means hurting people?”
“I don’t know, Ray. I draw the line there, but I can’t tell you what to do. You’re not me. You’re not like anybody else I ever knew. Be yourself, but always look for a chance to do the right thing. That’s the best I can say. It shouldn’t lead you too far wrong.”
A few minutes later, Favor told Stickney that he was going out for a while, that he would be back in an hour or less.
He walked out into the crowded sidewalks of Tondo. Three blocks south, two east. It brought him to a grimy storefront window. Inside the glass was a hand-lettered sign on a board:
KNIVES & CUTLERY
Galicano Esqueviel, Prop.
He had passed this place during his morning run, but the door had been locked. Inside was a small room, a single old display case. Favor saw nobody inside, but from out on the sidewalk he could hear the raspy squeal of steel against a grinding wheel.
This time the door opened. The squeal got louder. It was coming from a room behind the shop. A bell rang on the door when Favor entered and closed the door, but the squeal continued.
Favor looked through the glass top of the display case at the knives inside. It was a mixed bag: kitchen knives, a butcher’s set of skinning and boning knives, a bowie-style with a bone handle. And off to one side, two balisongs: butterfly knives with split handles that would fold up to cover the blades. Or swing back to expose them.
The squeal stopped. Favor reached back for the door, opened it and shut it. The bell chimed, and in a few seconds a man came out from the back, pushing aside a grimy curtain that hung over a rear door. He was about Favor’s age. He wore shorts and rubber sandals, and his face and naked torso were sweat drenched. He squinted at Favor through the smoke from a cigarette clamped in his mouth. Favor guessed that this must be Galicano Esqueviel, Prop.
He waited for Favor to speak.
“I’d like to see a knife,” Favor said.
Sweat dropped off the end of the man’s nose as he reached inside for the bowie.
“No, a balisong,” Favor said.
The man put down the bowie and reached in and took out one of the balisongs and laid it on the glass. He watched through the curling cigarette smoke as Favor opened the knife with a shake of the wrist, one side of the split handle swinging back, the blade locking into position, switchblade quick.
Favor studied the knife blade. Like most balisongs, it was a single-edge, with a slightly dropped point and a flat back that tapered down to a fine edge. Clean, simple. Nice.
“Four hundred pesos,” Esqueviel said. Eight dollars. “It’s one thousand in the gift shop at the Shangri-La hotel. They take everything I send them.”
“This is much too good for a tourist’s souvenir,” Favor said.
“I disagree. The way I see it, every man should have a chance to own a good knife. Even if he doesn’t appreciate what he holds in his hand.”
Favor folded the handle forward, back over the blade. He latched it and put it on the counter and said, “Thank you. That’s very nice work.”
He pushed it back across the counter.
Esqueviel stared at Favor. He said, “This knife isn’t worth four hundred pesos?”
“It’s worth much more than that. But it’s not quite right for me.”
Esqueviel took the cigarette from his mouth and balanced it on the edge of the counter. It took the veil of smoke away from his eyes, and he looked at Favor as if for the first time.
“What