Dead Men's Dust Page 15

“Unless he took out the man first,” Harvey said. He peered up at me from his swivel chair. “Sneaked up behind him and slit his throat or whatever. Then he could have done the woman.”

  Rink said, “Regardless if John’s their man or not, the FBI is searching for him. Kind of complicates matters a bit, don’t it?”

  “Yes and no,” I countered. “They’ve more resources than we have. They might be able to find him for us. When he’s cleared of their suspicions, it could be as simple as going and picking him up.”

  “You think they’re just gonna let you walk in and take him home?”

  “If he’s innocent, yes.”

  “And if he’s not? If he does turn out to be this punk Harvestman?”

  “Then they’re welcome to him,” I said. The words felt cold in my mouth.

  “You think Jennifer’s going to be happy with that?”

  “Jennifer isn’t going to be happy whatever the outcome,” I told him.

  “And what about you, Hunter? What if you don’t take him home? How will you feel?”

  “How d’you think I’ll feel?” I pondered for a moment. “What about my family? How d’you think they’ll feel when I have to tell them my brother’s locked up in an American prison?”

  “Won’t be good.”

  “No, Rink, it won’t.”

  Harvey swung his chair side to side. The machinations of thought whirred away behind his furrowed brow. In the end, he looked up at the two of us and said, “Neither of you boys thought about it yet?”

  “Thought about what?” Rink asked.

  “The obvious,” Harvey said.

  “Obviously we haven’t or we’d have mentioned it already.”

  Christ, it was like working with Abbott and Costello.

  “Thought about what?” I asked.

  “When you spoke with Petoskey earlier, why didn’t he mention that the FBI had been in contact with him? That they’d already talked to him about his car? That John was a suspect in the biggest hunt since the Unabomber?”

  “Son of a bitch was lying to us,” Rink said. “Unless he got mixed up when he said the CIA had been on his back.”

  “Bit of a difference between the Feebies and the Spooks,” Harvey said.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” Rink said.

  “No, it doesn’t,” I said. “And John as a serial killer doesn’t make any sense, either.”

  “I’m beginning to think that nothin’ about this case makes sense,” Rink said.

  “Me, too,” I admitted. “Petoskey knows more than he’s saying, that’s for sure.”

  “What about Louise Blake?” Harvey offered. “Should we talk to her again?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Let’s see her first thing in the morning.”

  “We’ll have to be careful, Hunter,” Rink cautioned. “With the heat on John over this Harvestman thing, you can bet your ass that the FBI is staking out her home.”

  I nodded.

  “Harvey, you said someone was watching Louise’s place. You think they were feds?”

  Harvey shook his large head. “No. They’ve been watching her since before Telfer became a suspect in these killings.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “All I can say is they’re not from around here. They look Mexican or Puerto Rican, could even be Cuban,” he said. “I spotted two of them, but there could be more; looked like backing singers for the Kings of Mambo. Slick-dressed muthas.”

  Whatever involvement these two had, it wasn’t good.

  “We have to find these guys,” I said.

  “Shouldn’t be too difficult,” Rink said. “Ain’t too many homeboys hanging around Louise’s hood.”

  “Unless,” Harvey reminded us, “the FBI are already there and they’ve beat a hasty retreat.”

  Rink sniffed. “You want to have a run over and see if we can round them up now?”

  I glanced around, looking for a clock. Other than that it was late, I hadn’t a clue what time it was. Finally I said, “We’ll wait for morning. I don’t know about you boys, but I need a couple hours’ sleep. Jet lag’s got to me, I think.”

  Rink shook his head sadly.

  “Jet lag, my ass. Admit it—old age is finally catching up with you.”

  I gave him a weary smile. “No, I just think it’d be better if we speak to them at a more civilized time.”

  “And,” Rink asked, “in a more civilized manner this time?”

  Only thing is, there’s no such thing as dealing with scum in a civilized manner.

  23

  “SON OF A BITCH.”

  Cain sighed as the gun barrel pressed to his hooded forehead. Even cultured killers let a little profanity slip now and again.

  “You’ve got that right,” said the thief as he stepped out of the wardrobe. Pressure from the gun made Cain step backward. “Now drop the knife or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

  Cain dropped the knife. It landed with a faint thud on the carpet.

  “Kick it away,” the thief ordered.

  Cain glanced at his bagged feet.

  “I might cut myself.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you cut yourself. Kick it away now.”

  Cain used the edge of his foot to prod the knife away.

  “Satisfied?”

  The thief grunted.

  “Sit on the bed.”

  Argument was pointless. He sat down.

  “Sit on your hands,” the thief said.

  “What for? You have a gun. You think I’m crazy enough to come at you?”

  “Humor me.”

  Cain sighed expansively. Could things get any worse? Of course they could, the thief could shoot him. He was no killer, but a nervous finger could slip. Cain pushed his hands beneath his thighs.

  “If you take your hands out I’ll shoot you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You think I won’t?”

  Cain shrugged. “I have to give you credit. You got the drop on me.”

  “Good. It’s best you remember that. Now…tell me. Who the hell are you?”

  “You could call me a concerned member of the public.”

  “Bull.”

  “Honestly. I’m simply a member of the public attempting to right a wrong.”

  “So you say. Who the hell do you think you are? Dressed up like friggin’ Batman?”

  Cain tilted his head. “You don’t like my costume?” he asked.

  “You look like a reject from a beekeepers’ convention. What’s the deal? Your employers can’t afford to buy you a ski mask or decent gloves?”

  Cain frowned. My employers? Now what’s that about?

  The thief continued. “Who’s with you?”

  “No one.”

  “Bullshit! You assholes always hunt in packs. You’re like a bunch of damn hyenas.”

  “I’m telling you,” Cain said slowly. “I’m alone, so you needn’t worry. You can stop waving that gun around if you like. I won’t move. I only want what is rightfully mine. Then I’ll walk out of here and leave you alone.”

  The thief made a sound of scorn deep in his chest.

  “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “No, like I said, I’ve a healthy respect for you. You got the drop on me. In fact”—Cain laughed in good humor—“you ambushed me exactly the same way I was planning for you.”

  The thief sniffed. There was a hint of self-conceit in his eyes. He was proud of his accomplishment and equally pleased at its acknowledgment. Conceit and vanity, both weaknesses Cain could exploit.

  “You’re too good for the likes of me. I should’ve known better than trying to sneak in here.”

  “Don’t patronize me,” the thief warned.

  “I’m patronizing no one. Just showing my appreciation of your skills.”

  “Just cut the crap, will you? Tell me why you’re really here?”

  “To regain something that belongs to me. I told you.”

  “Something that belongs to Hendrickson, you mea
n?”

  Hendrickson? Who the hell is Hendrickson?

  “I’ve no idea who you’re referring to,” Cain told him. “I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”

  “I’m not confusing you with anything but a piece of lying crap.”

  “Oh, but you are,” Cain said. “And if you would only let me take off my hood, you’ll see.”

  The thief paused. Considering. Then he shook his head.

  “No, I don’t want you to move.”

  “Then you take off my hood. It’ll explain everything.”

  The thief considered a moment longer, then he pointed his gun at Cain’s head as he snatched the hood away. His look was testament to the confusion Cain’s face produced.

  “You’re that weirdo from the desert?”

  “Got it in one.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’ve told you.”

  “You’re trying to regain something belonging to you. Yeah, you already said. But that’s—” The thief shook his head. “You want your SUV back. Is that it? You can have it and you’re welcome to it. Has a flat tire anyway.”

  “I’m not bothered about the car,” Cain said. “It’s something personal to me that I want.”

  “If you’re after revenge, you can forget it. I’m the one holding the gun, remember?”

  “Not revenge, either,” Cain said.

  “What the hell is it, then?” The thief’s face was a picture of concentration. If only for a second or so. “Oh, I get it. You want your knife back.”

  Cain smiled.

  “Well, you’re wasting your time. I threw it away. All this has been for nothing.”

  Cain shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”

  “Believe what you want.”

  “Why’d you throw away a perfectly good Bowie knife?”

  The thief shrugged. He’d be useless in a game of poker; deceit was painted across his features as plain as a billboard advertising Honest John’s Quality Used Cars. “What good was it to me? I’ve got a gun. Why would I need a knife?”

  “If that’s the case, why did you take it?”

  “Because I wanted to,” the thief said. “And anyway, I don’t need to explain myself to you. You’re the one who needs to start giving me answers.”

  “There’s nothing more to say. You stole my knife, I followed you, and I want it back. End of story.”

  “Can’t help you.”

  Cain shrugged. “You could at least tell me where you left it, so I can go and find it.”

  “Who says you’re going to walk out of here alive?”

  “Oh, come on,” Cain said. “We both know you’re not going to shoot me. If you were any kind of killer you’d have left me for dead out in the Mojave.”

  “I did leave you for dead,” the thief said with no conviction. “I didn’t think a soft ass like you would survive more than a few hours.”

  Cain laughed. “Next to a major highway?”

  “I made a mistake.”

  “You made more than one,” Cain told him. “Haven’t you wondered how I found you so easily?”

  The spark in his eye told Cain he was intrigued. Maybe more than intrigued, perhaps a little concerned.

  Cain sat back on the bed, resting his shoulders against the wall. The inconspicuous movement had a twofold purpose: one, he was attempting to disarm the thief by appearing relaxed; the other, he was subtly relieving the pressure from his hands. “It’s obvious you’re on the run from someone. This Hendrickson guy you mentioned—you’re afraid of him, right?”

  As ebullient as a piece of driftwood, the thief sniffed.

  Cain went on, “When you’re trying to lose yourself, there’re a number of things you don’t do. For one, you don’t use any credit cards or ATMs.”

  “I know that.”

  “I believe you do,” Cain said. “Next, you don’t use an alias that’s anything like your real name. For instance, if you’re called David Johnston, you don’t go calling yourself John Davidson. It’s too easily spotted.”

  “Yeah, I know that, too,” the thief snapped.

  “Third, you never write anything down that’ll give away your hiding place.” Cain paused, waiting for the truth to dawn on the thief. “Or if you do, you make sure it’s destroyed.”

  The thief nodded. “I wrote down the telephone number for this shithole.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But how did you find it? I threw the damn thing out the car window.”

  “The wind must have blown it back in.” Cain’s shoulders lifted. “Hey, don’t be so disappointed. We all make mistakes. I made a mistake by underestimating you, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you did,” the thief reminded him. “But don’t think I’m gonna underestimate you. I know what you’re trying to do. Trying to get me to think of you as someone with my best interests at heart. I can smell the bullshit from here, so you may as well give up now.”

  Cain shifted marginally. He wasn’t at a loss, the way the thief was. He’d just slipped one hand out of its plastic bag. His palm was slick with perspiration and he gripped the bed sheets beneath him to dry it off.

  “I’m only trying to help,” he said.

  “Right,” the thief snapped. “Why would you want to help me?”

  “Because I want to.” Cain shook his head. “Another lesson for you, my friend. Never turn down help; it may save your skin.”

  “Two things. First, I’m not your friend. Second, I don’t need any lessons from you.”

  “You’re partly right,” Cain agreed. “You don’t need any lessons from me. You’re the one with the gun. I’m the one made the mistake. But you might want to reconsider the friend part.”

  “Yeah, right. What the hell do you take me for?”

  “Someone in need of help,” Cain said.

  “I don’t need or want your help.”

  “Shame,” Cain said, “because from where I’m sitting it looks like you need all the help you can get.”

  “There you go again. Patronizing.”

  “Take it as you will. I only want to help.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “You’d be better off begging for your life.”

  “Nah,” Cain said. “Why bother? We’ve already established that you aren’t going to kill me.”

  The thief lifted his gun, pointing it directly at Cain’s face. “Maybe not in cold blood. But who knows what I’ll do in self-defense?”

  Cain smiled up at him. “Like I’ve already said, though, I’m not going to make a move on you. So you won’t get the opportunity to test your theory.”

  The tableau held for the best part of a lifetime. At least a lifetime counted in seconds. Finally the gun barrel wavered and dropped away from Cain’s face.

  “So what have we got then? Stalemate?” the thief asked.

  “More like an impasse,” Cain offered.

  “Same thing, isn’t it?”

  “Depends on your perspective,” Cain said. “A stalemate’s when two enemies are at a deadlock. If we look at our situation as one of companions with a shared problem, then we can look to resolve it together.”

  “Only problem I can think of is how to get rid of you,” the thief said.

  “You can’t very well call the police, can you?” Cain asked. “Fair enough, you could say I was an intruder, but what happens when I explain I followed you here because you hijacked my car? Two wrongs don’t make a right, my friend.”

  The thief pondered a moment.

  “I could tie you up and leave you here, though. Then I could make an anonymous call to the cops.”

  “They’re still going to ask questions. They’ll identify you in no time. I take it your fingerprints are all over this room? Not to mention the SUV—which, I’ll remind you, is not going anywhere soon. And before you consider wiping everything down, may I remind you about the front desk downstairs? Are you positive you didn’t leave your
fingerprints there when you signed in?”

  The thief sniffed again. “You’re assuming the police are after me. I’m not on the run from the cops.”

  “You will be if I tell them you kidnapped me.”

  The thief watched him and Cain smiled.

  “Impasse,” Cain said.

  “No,” the thief replied. “Stalemate.”

  “Look,” Cain said, “we could go on like this all evening. We’ve both wronged each other. I’ll admit that. If you’re prepared to let bygones be bygones, so am I.”

  “I can’t trust you,” the thief said.

  “But can I trust you?”

  Now it was the thief’s turn to smile. Honest John’s Quality Used Cars had a new head salesclerk.

  Cain closed his eyes. “If I tell you something, then you’re going to have to trust me. I don’t want the police involved any more than you do.”

  The thief shook his head. “I don’t want to know anything about you.”

  Cain opened his eyes slowly. “You did earlier.”

  “That was then. That was when I thought you were one of Hendrickson’s men.”

  “And you believe now that I’m not? Well, that’s a start.”

  “Something’s bothering me, though,” the thief said. “You’re not here on some stupid quest to recover a stolen knife. What’s the real reason?”

  “I was telling you the truth,” Cain said. “I do want my knife back.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “Sentimental value,” Cain explained.

  “You follow me hundreds of miles, sneak into my room like some psycho from a cheap horror movie, just to get a knife back?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Well,” Cain said, “if you want the full truth, I did intend to make you pay for putting me to the trouble.”

  Glancing down at the discarded scaling knife, the thief laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “But now you want to help me?”

  “Yes,” Cain said. “Believe it or not, I like you. You’re a man after my own heart.”

  “You like me? You’re so full of crap I can’t believe it,” the thief said.

  “Of course, if I’m going to help you, there are conditions attached.”

  “I give you back your knives so you can stick them in me first chance you get?”

  “Exactly,” Cain agreed with his most disarming grin. “And one other thing. If I keep your secret, you do the same for me.”