Dead Men's Dust (24 page)

“
YOU DON’T LOOK SO GOOD.
”

Cain studied his passenger.

His words, he decided, were an understatement.

John was spread across the backseat of the Dodge like yesterday’s fast-food wrappers; cold, soiled, and greasy. Blood from his wound caked his clothing all down his side. His hands were also reddish-brown and he had smears on his forehead. Perspiration oozed from him like water from a half-dead boiler.

“I said that you don’t look so good, John,” Cain said, watching John’s eyelids flutter in the rearview mirror.

“Turn off the light, willya?” John mumbled incoherently.

“I need to check that you’re okay,” Cain said, but he reached up and flicked off the interior lights.

“Why? You’re gonna kill me,” John said, his voice coming out like marbles over a tin sheet. “Or have you forgotten?”

“You keep saying that. I might have a change of mind.”

“Yeah, right.” John forced himself to sit upright.

“Lay back down.”

“I’m fine.”

“The road gets kinda rough up ahead. It would be better if you were lying down. Less chance you’ll open up your wound again.”

“My wound’s fine.”

Cain gave a humorless laugh. “Suit yourself.”

“Better than suiting you,” John said with little conviction.

Cain drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You know, I’m not sure this old heap will get us where we’re going. Not in any shape, at least.”

“Won’t matter,” John told him. “You won’t need it for the return trip. You’ll be getting a lift in the coroner’s car.”

“Ha!”

“I mean it. You mess with my brother, you’re buying your own body bag.”

“Keep thinking that way, John. Optimism will keep you alive.”

“I’m not gonna get outta this alive. I know that. I’ve known it all along. My only hope is that I see you die first.”

“If anyone ends up dead, it’ll be your high and mighty brother. Chances are I’ll have to do Jared Rington, too.”

“You actually believe that?”

“Are you saying that confidence in my abilities is a bad thing? Shame on you, trying to tarnish my self-esteem.”

“Nothing I say would make you think badly of yourself. You’re a fuckin’ psychopath.”

“Sticks and stones, John. Sticks and stones.”

“Stop being so damn patronizing. Why don’t you come clean and tell the truth? You’ve intended killing me all along, haven’t you? I can’t believe you saved me from drowning so that you could murder me. That’s so twisted, nobody would believe it.”

“The truth is, you’re here now. Makes no difference whether you believe me or not.”

John snapped, “You’re gonna get your head handed to you on a plate. My brother isn’t like me; Joe
will
kill you.”

“Nah, I don’t see things turning out that way.”

John gave a disgusted cough, squirmed down in the seat. Either his strength was failing him or he’d decided that it was pointless talking. Not that it made a difference; if Cain wanted to talk, he would talk. “Now, then, where is the big bold Joe Hunter?”

Cain squinted into the mirror, adjusting it. Some distance back he could see the headlights of the pursuing SUV. In response, he turned off the Dodge’s lights. “Don’t want to make things too easy, now, do we?”

“I thought you wanted him to follow you?”

“I do, just not too closely.”

“You might as well give up. Joe isn’t gonna be reading you your rights. He’s gonna put a bullet right between your eyes.”

“Then I’ll just have to make certain he doesn’t see me, won’t I?”

Cain grinned into the darkness.

The road had become a dirt trail, with ruts on either side and sagebrush along its center where the desert sand gathered. The moon hanging low over the horizon offered a little light, so Cain could make out the road ahead. Not that he needed to concentrate; he knew this trail as well as he knew his own dark heart’s desires. Despite his misgivings about the worthiness of the Dodge, he pushed it to greater speed, smiling at each jounce and the wince of pain it elicited from his passenger.

“I bet you wish you hadn’t pulled that stunt with the cell phone,” he said. John didn’t answer. “Right now you’re thinking that—not only have you signed your own death warrant—but your brother’s as well. Deep down, some errant grain of honor is festering like a malignant cancer, eating away at your insides. You’re thinking, I should’ve paid my dues and spared the others. Now I’ve put my brother in terrible danger.”

“No,” John said. “I’m thinking you’re so full of crap I can’t stand the stench any longer. I’m outta here, you maniac!”

Then John grabbed the door handle and thrust the door open. The rush of wind banged it back against him.

Cain would never admit to panic, but realizing John’s insane plan, he let slip a shout of denial. He immediately stomped on the brakes. John’s body was thrown forward, and his forehead slammed the back of Cain’s neck. The shock of the collision knocked Cain’s hands off the steering wheel, and momentarily he had to fight both the movement of the vehicle and the wave of agony washing over him. In those few seconds, John threw his weight against the partly open door and fell away into billowing dust.

“Son of a bitch!” Cain screamed, stomping on the brake pedal a second time. The Dodge fishtailed, sending up plumes of dirt, ending up crossways in the road. He threw open the door and lurched out, eyes scanning the road for John. Not on the road. He began running. In the distance were the telltale lights of Hunter’s car.

Forty or so paces along the road he found John sprawled at the base of a gnarly cactus. Momentarily he feared that John was dead, but then he saw the fire in the man’s eyes as he squirmed around to face him.

“You stupid, stupid idiot,” Cain snarled.

“Screw you,” John grunted.

Cain stepped forward as John attempted to rise up against him. Cain’s foot pushed him down again, pressing savagely against the wound in his chest. John screamed. Cain pressed harder. And the screaming stopped as John passed out at last.

Cain grabbed him, thrust his arms around John’s chest in a bear hug, and began backpedaling. Dragging the groaning man, Cain looked up. Hunter’s lights were some distance away, but looming nearer. “I should just leave you here to die, you goddamn ass. Leave you in the road so your freakin’ brother rides right over you.”

It was a hollow threat because he still had a plan for John Telfer.

THE ENIGMA THAT WAS TUBAL CAIN KEPT NAGGING AT ME.
How does a psycho like Martin Maxwell bluff his way through the rigorous selection processes employed by the Secret Service? How does he manage to conceal his true self—a depraved stalker and murderer—and pass himself off as normal?

Not only that, but to his wife and kids, had he been the epitome of the family dad? What had gone through their minds when they’d finally seen his true face?

What had his long-lost brother imagined when they’d first met? That they’d pick up on their missing past, that they’d shoot pool together, share a couple of beers, become bosom buddies? I bet he never imagined that he’d end up a scorched corpse in a house he’d never known, the ghosts of Cain’s wife and children keeping him company.

“You’re doing it again,” Rink said.

I looked over at Rink, who was doing a good job of looking at me without taking his full attention from the trail.

“Doing what?”

“Wearing that face.”

“What face?”

“The face that says you ain’t worried about what’s to come. The one you always wore on missions.”

“I’m worried, Rink.”

“Don’t look like it.”

Then he changed the subject.

“Heads up, Hunter. The lights have just gone out.”

I peered into the darkness ahead. I couldn’t see the Dodge’s taillights, either. They’d long taunted us, and their sudden disappearance brought an uncomfortable feeling. Like a hole had opened up and the devil had escaped us by fleeing back to hell.

“You think he’s stopped? Maybe fixin’ to escape?” Rink glanced my way again, back to the road.

“No. He’s running blind. He wants to get ahead of us so he can set up an ambush.”

“Time we played catch-up, then,” Rink said. The SUV surged ahead, bouncing over the higher ruts, blasting directly through others so that gravel and small rocks banged and clattered in the wheel wells.

Now the chase was truly on.

Again I checked my SIG. Full clip. Two spares in my waistband. Then I reached down and felt the hilt of my military issue KA-BAR where it was tucked in my boot. Somehow I suspected that the knife would be my weapon of choice when I finally came eye to eye with the murderous bastard.

Stars twinkled in the vault above us. Out here, in the middle of this empty space, the sky was endless, the starlight sharply defined. Shadows were stark, and the sand and gravel had a faintly luminous quality. Rocketing across the night landscape, the beauty of the desert was lost on me. I didn’t give any of it a second’s notice. How could I think of beauty when I was chasing something as loathsome as Tubal Cain?

I was inclined to lean out the window to check the night sky for
another reason: as we’d used the technology Walter had given to us, I had no doubt we were being tailed as diligently as we tailed Cain. They wouldn’t be coming in cars; they’d have command of helicopters, possibly even an AWACS aircraft high in the heavens to plot our course. In the end, I didn’t bother looking. Helicopters would be piloted without running lights, and a high-altitude spy plane would be impossible to spot.

“When we find him we do him quickly,” I said to Rink.

“My intention all along.”

“Walter’s goons will be coming,” I added.

“They won’t try and stop us.”

“I know. They’ll be coming to mop up, to make sure everything’s clean. I don’t want John falling into their hands.” I looked pointedly at Rink, and he jerked his chin in response. “They’ll make John disappear. They might even make us disappear.”

“They’ll goddamn try, frog-giggin’ punks.”

I returned my attention to the road ahead. The brush country was giving way to a higher elevation. On the skyline ahead, I could detect a deepening of the shadows, as if a colossal wall had been erected astride the desert.

“You any idea where we are?” I asked Rink.

“Nope.”

I looked for the GPS, switched it on, and studied the faintly glowing map on the LED screen. Tightly knit lines showed that the terrain was more mountainous ahead. The road wasn’t marked on the map, but that came as no surprise. I placed the GPS down at my feet. “Keep on going. Looks like we’re heading for those hills.”

Rink obliged. But we’d traveled no more than a quarter of a mile before I slapped my hands on the dashboard and commanded him to stop. I craned around so I didn’t lose sight of what was at the side of the road. Rink brought the SUV to a halt even as I was opening the door to get out.

I jogged back the way we’d come, slowed down, and came to a halt twenty yards from what I’d noticed protruding from a clump of brush.

I listened.

Nothing moved in the sandscape. All I could hear was the throaty hum of the SUV behind me and the rushing blood in my veins. Still, I remained motionless, using my peripheral vision to probe the shadows. What is often missed when viewed directly can be picked up in the peripheral, the slightest movement amplified tenfold. It’s a prey animal thing, a throwback to the days when man was hunted by carnivorous beasts.

Finally satisfied that this wasn’t part of Cain’s ambush, I stepped forward. A quick inspection showed that the dirt and gravel at the side of the road had been disturbed. More concerning, I saw a damp patch of blood where a body had been dragged across the earth. I guessed that John had made some effort at escape, only to be captured and forced back into the Dodge. Cain had John, yes, but he hadn’t noticed the briefcase that was hung up in the bushes farther along the trail.

I trotted over and snatched the Samsonite case from the brush. I was in no doubt that it was the one I’d seen John clinging to at the beach house. Chance could have dumped a briefcase way out here in the desert, but not one glistening with sticky blood. I didn’t spare the time to check its contents, noting only that it was heavy before I stuffed it under my arm and headed back to the SUV.

When I was back in the car, Rink set off again after Cain. He asked, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Money,” I said. I opened the case on my lap. Bundle upon bundle of bills filled the case. Rink gave a low whistle.

“Counterfeit?”

I checked.

“No. The real thing.”

“So that’s what this is all about,” Rink said.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, Rink. It was never about the money. Cain wants blood. That’s all it’s ever been about.”

“Bones,” Rink corrected.

“But I do think this is what it’s all been about for John.”

“Goddamn greedy fool.”

I shook my head. “Believe it or not, I don’t think he did this out of greed. I think he sees it as a way to put things right.”

“Yeah,” Rink said with no conviction. I shrugged. I knew John better than that. I believed that he’d changed. The old John wouldn’t have jeopardized his safety for the old woman; he wouldn’t have risked lifting the cell phone from my pocket for fear that Cain saw him. To me, John had turned a corner in his life, where more than his next bet meant something to him.

Even what we’d just come across back there on the trail now made sense to me. He hadn’t attempted to escape at all; he’d jumped from the Dodge so he could leave the cash for me to find. The money wasn’t for him; it was for Louise, it was for Jenny, it was for his children. Stuffing the case beneath my seat, I put the money to the back of my mind. I could see to it later.

“
HOW DO YOU LIKE THE PLACE?
”

Oblivious to Cain, John slumped against the wooden support-beam, smearing it with blood as he forced himself upright. His head lolled on his shoulders and he mumbled something incoherent.

“You could act a little more enthusiastic than that,” Cain said. “I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get the place just right for
my
brother. Put a lot of time and effort into the decor. Don’t you think the ambience is just right?”

John staggered. Cain clutched him under an arm, mindless of the way his fingers dug into flesh. “Watch that first step; it can be a real bitch.”

Then, with a shove, he pressed John forward. Watched as his captive tumbled down the short flight of steps into darkness. Only semiconscious, John made little noise. He fell as if constructed from rags that made only soft contact with the steps. A grunt was all that marked his resting place.

“That’ll teach you to pay attention,” Cain said. He wasn’t happy that John had lost the case of money, but neither was he unnecessarily concerned. Either Joe Hunter would fetch the money for him, or
he could backtrack and collect it when all this was over. Concern was unnecessary, but a little necessary cruelty would remind John Telfer what it meant to cross Tubal Cain. Taking one last glance behind him, Cain followed John into the darkness.

Fifteen feet down, the steps leveled out on a floor made of bedrock. Last time Cain had been here he had swept the desert sand away, but already he could feel windblown dust beneath his feet; it was the main downside to his hideaway that he had to continually maintain it by brushing and sweeping to keep the desert at bay.

He prodded John with a foot, moving him aside as he reached out in the dark and clutched for the padlock that held the metal door shut. Holding the lock in one hand, he traced the fingers of the other up the near wall, found a narrow niche he’d dug into the sandstone, and pulled out the concealed key. The key opened the lock with little resistance. Cain pushed and the door swung inward on well-maintained hinges.

The smell buffeted him.

He smiled.

Even in his semiunconscious state, John gagged at the stench.

“What the fu…?” John groaned.

Cain didn’t comment; he bent down and grabbed John’s shirt, hauling him to his feet and pushing him into the room before him, urging him into the charnel stink. John gave some resistance, refusing to breathe, steeling his shoulders as he attempted to ward off the sickening stench of rotted meat.

“Get inside,” Cain said, almost a whisper.

“No,” John gasped.

“Yes.” Cain pushed him into the cloying darkness.

Cain entered the room with a breezy exuberance. He fairly skipped over to the nearest lamp, scratched around until he found the butane lighter beside it, then set flame to wick, casting writhing shadows around the room. That done, he emptied his pockets of the bones
he’d garnered during his latest trip. They made quite a mound. Then, hands on hips, he surveyed the space before him.

“Now what do you think, John? Do you think Jubal would be pleased?”

On the floor, John was curled into a fetal ball. One arm covered his face, but Cain could see the whites of his eyes reflected in the lamplight, searching the room with a mix of fascination and revulsion. His pupils were like pinpricks in yellowed snow. Yes, Cain decided, John was very impressed.