Dead Men's Dust (6 page)

ONLY EIGHT MILES FROM LOS ANGELES INTERNATIONAL
Airport and thirteen miles from downtown L.A., Santa Monica was pretty much Tubal Cain’s most favorite place on the western coast. He’d visited there many times before but never grew tired of it. How could you be bored with its striking contemporary style and architecture or its shameless attempt at snaring a buck from the tourist market?

Santa Monica had been a playground of chic Victorians. Then in the early 1900s it blossomed again with movie-star glamour. As early as the 1920s, stars such as Will Rogers, Greta Garbo, and Marion Davies had built mansions there. During the 1980s it boomed again after a multimillion-dollar restoration transformed the city.

Many people thronged to take up residence there, but many of them were transients with no roots to speak of. It was the perfect hunting ground for one who preyed primarily on strangers who wouldn’t be missed.

Cain was hunting one of those transients now.

A certain thief of a certain knife dear to him.

Traversing Lincoln Boulevard in his Bundyesque VW, he grinned
at the characters he saw swarming the sidewalks. Here were wannabe actors, wannabe directors, wannabe rock stars. You name it, they were there. Then there were the
others
. They were there to gawk in wonder at all the other wannabes, to rub shoulders with the wannabe rich and famous. To be sure, no one truly rich and famous would wander along those sidewalks for fear of being torn to pieces by starstruck souvenir hunters. Yet Cain could see a half dozen Michael Jackson look-alikes, a handful of Marilyn Monroes. Who would know if the star was real or not?

The world was twisted full tilt in this wondrous place. But that was what Cain loved so much. It was an escape from humdrum reality, a dimension to which one of his kind belonged. He knew that he didn’t exist in the everyday world that most others belonged to. As a sociopath, he understood that what he was doing wasn’t acceptable in ordinary society. But as a psychopath, he didn’t care. Here in this modern-day Babel he could thrive and grow, easy in the knowledge that he was surrounded by a myriad of like minds.

Cain liked to speak to his dead victims. They tended not to butt in. For the same reason, he was equally happy conversing with himself. He could be as verbose as he wished. “Rule two, thief: The easiest place to hide is in full sight. Here, I’m a sardine in a massive shoal of sardines. I’m indiscernible from the thousands of others, and unlikely to be picked out when there are so many to choose from.” Not that he particularly liked the sardine metaphor, but he had to admit that it served his purpose. He tended to think of himself more as a shark or a swordfish, lurking within the shoal, ready to spring forth from concealment to show his ripping teeth or flashing blade.

No doubt about it. The thief was most likely to be holed up in his hotel room.

“You’re making it too easy for me, thief. You should be out here in the sunshine, mingling with everyone else in this crazy, topsy-turvy place. What chance would I have of finding you then?”

He parked the car in a massive lot filled almost to capacity. Nearby was the promenade that led to the pier, an easy stroll he relished after driving so far. Day or night, it made no difference; people would be on the pier fishing, watching the waves, entertaining themselves in the arcades or shopping for souvenirs, riding the carousels or roller coasters, laughing, yelling, screaming in delight.

Why bother locking the car or removing the keys from the ignition? If some thief should happen to steal his vehicle while he was gone, then all the better. It’d save him the job of disposing of it later. Wiping the steering wheel, console, and doors was both sensible and necessary. Wouldn’t like to think that a cop discovered the car before the joyriders did.

He strolled on the promenade beneath the bluffs, sunlight reflecting from the windows of the houses built there back in Victorian times. Where the afternoon sun caressed his face beneath the peak of his cap, it was molten honey. A couple of girls Rollerbladed by, thong bikinis barely concealing their cute little assets. It was all for show, but so was his reaction. He smiled and nodded, adjusted his cap as if in amazement. Just like any other first-time visitor who was male and red-blooded would do. “Rule three, thief: it’s an easy one to remember.” To avoid funny looks, he kept his words to himself now. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

Good advice.

To Cain’s delight, a woman rode by on a bike, towing a Jack Russell terrier on a skateboard. Screwball madness, insanity, and he loved it all.

He paused at a vendor to buy some food, then continued strolling to the pier, eating directly from the carton with his fingers. Man, but this really was the life!

The day and the sights were glorious. The sun was beginning its roll toward the Pacific Ocean, the sky and sea a holiday-brochure cerulean blue. The beach was packed with beautiful people glisten
ing with the sheen of tanning oil. All that was missing was Pamela Anderson in a red swimsuit.

Cain felt good. Only one thing could make the day better. But that would blow his cover as a tourist. He dumped his greasy food tray in an overflowing trash can, felt for the scaling knife in his jacket pocket. A little bone harvesting was out of the question, but he had ample opportunity for a little game, he decided. With most people skimpily attired it might be a challenge, but that only made things more interesting. And as always, a challenge conquered produced more satisfaction.

His first target was apparent immediately, a statuesque woman in khaki shorts and a vest top. She was standing at the end of a line waiting to purchase ice cream. Cain didn’t pause. He moved directly in, pretended to accidentally jostle the woman.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I do apologize.”

The woman, forty-something but looking every bit of ten years older under her makeup, gave him a frown. Not used to the concept of strangers copping a feel from the likes of her, she wasn’t concerned by the unsolicited contact. She flung back her hair and turned back to the more pressing engagement of securing her place in the ice cream line. Cain walked away, clutching a belt loop from her shorts in his left hand.

“One–nil,” he whispered.

He secreted the trophy in a pocket of his windbreaker, pushing it alongside the film-wrapped fingers and thumbs of his collection. Light of spirit, he climbed a series of plank steps to a ramp leading onto the pier. From this high vantage point, he spied the woman at the kiosk. She’d already forgotten him in her desire for raspberry whip delight. Standing behind her in the ice cream line was a man in taupe shirt and chinos. He didn’t appear to be checking out the ice cream menu. He seemed more interested in Cain. Only a brief glance at first, but their eyes met and locked. Then the man looked away. Hmmm, interesting.

“Rule four, thief: Semper vigilo. Remain vigilant at all times.”

On the pier, the pickings were even sweeter. The crowds were hemmed in, and accidental collisions were the order of the day. Within a minute, he had a button from an elderly gent’s blazer and the tassel from a woman’s parasol. Neither were what he considered too great a challenge, but they joined his collection just the same.

Cain wasn’t finished yet.

“The catch of the day!”

She was stunning in a pale lilac swimsuit and matching sarong. Looked Hawaiian. A dark-eyed beauty with dusky skin and full red lips. Cutting her out of her bikini would make anyone a happy man.

She moved through the crowd with the fluid confidence that the masses would open a path before her. Sure, she was beautiful, but she had an innate disdain for the lesser mortals around her. Cain wouldn’t hold that against her; she was a person after his own heart. He would have loved to teach her that there was at least one among the crowd who would not give way so easily. Trouble was, she was too prominent. More than one man gave her a lingering glance. Some women looked, too. But their stares were of the green-eyed variety.

The attention she commanded meant it wasn’t a good idea to approach her. Someone would notice and remember. Guaranteed.

An older woman sitting on a deck chair was much more viable. He took two steps toward her and stopped. Something registered. A flash of taupe passing by. He blinked slowly. The color taupe wasn’t something that would generally cause concern. Not unless you were as cautious as Tubal Cain.

He entered an arcade. Families fed coins into machines as though they were going out of fashion. A grandiose show of holiday overexuberance. Sweaty faces and the smell of popcorn. Cain absorbed and then discarded it all. He was in the Zone. He took five paces, then rounded on his heel. Walked back the way he’d come.

The man entering the arcade had no option but to continue inside. The flicker in his eyes, the almost imperceptible pause in his step, was
the giveaway. Cain was more adept at this game. No one would guess that he was suspicious of the man.

Immediately outside, Cain turned toward the deck-chair woman. Spun on his heel again. Just in time to see the man in taupe shirt and chinos come out of the arcade. Pushing his hand through his dark hair, he scanned the crowd as though looking for someone else. It was good cover. Not convincing to Cain, though. Should have stuck to buying ice cream, Cain concluded.

No doubt about it, now: the man was following him. Only thing was, Cain couldn’t quite guess his motive. Slowly, Cain turned around and began the walk along the pier.

He affected the look of one thrilled to be there, ogling the attractions like a country boy in the big city for the first time. But the storefronts and carousels held no real interest for him. They were cover for his own surveillance. In the reflective surfaces, he checked behind him. Taupe shirt was still there. Plus, another in a flamboyant yellow and blue striped number. He was being hunted down by at least two men.

“What have we got here, then? Muggers or cops?” Neither assumption boded well. “Time to go, I think.”

Escape beckoned. The steps leading back to the promenade were in front of him. But a huge man blocked the way. He glowered like a bullmastiff as he whispered into his fist. Not muggers, then. Definitely police.

Feign indifference. Just walk on past him. Good plan, but the man stepped in front of him, held up a hand, and pushed it against Cain’s chest. He was like a stuccoed wall, wide, pale as whitewash, and a little rough up close. Not too polite, either. Didn’t even have the good grace to introduce himself. All he was capable of was a nod over Cain’s shoulder. Ergo, his intention was to distract rather than contain. Taupe shirt or the other in candy stripes must be moving in on him.

Cain blinked up at the man. The innocent look. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“You can wait there a moment, sir.” He did the over-the-shoulder nod thing again. The slight urgency told Cain that the man’s friends weren’t as close as they should have been.

“What’s this about?” Cain asked as he pushed his hands into his pockets.

“Security,” said the man. “We’d like a word with you.”

“Security?” Cain’s nervous laugh was real. But for a wholly different reason than he’d admit. “That’s a relief, friend. For a moment there I thought you were about to rob me or something.”

“We just want to ask you a couple of questions,” said the man. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting a minute or two?”

“Wait for what? What am I supposed to have done?”

“We’ve been having problems with pickpockets. Been watching you, and we’d just like to ask you to turn out your pockets.” The man, large and impressive-looking, had a nervous cast to his eyes. Not been on the job long, Cain decided.

“I don’t think you’re at liberty to do that,” Cain told him.

“If you’d just wait for my supervisor, he’ll explain everything to you,” said the security man. His hand was as big and hot as a Sunday roast on Cain’s shoulder.

“Hey!” Cain shrugged him off. Amiable enough. A lack of aggression ensured that he didn’t encourage a tighter hold.

Yes, the big guy was new to the job, obviously unsure of his level of authority here. His hand wavered in the air as though plucking at floating threads of lint.

Cain exhaled.
Rule five: If you’re accosted, keep them thinking. While engaged in thought, the fools aren’t acting. Gives you the opportunity to act first. Rule six: If you are going to act, do so immediately and without prejudice.

“So where is your supervisor?” he demanded.

“Coming.”

Cain glanced around, saw that the man in candy stripes was about twenty feet away, attempting to skirt a group of kids on an outing. He
couldn’t see the one in taupe. Good, that gave him a few seconds to spare.

“I can’t wait here all day.” Cain engaged the man by locking eyes with him. Simple but effective. It was all Cain required. His hand moved below their plane of vision. Motion that was barely a flicker. A quick jabbing action between the man’s legs. Very little contact. Hardly noticeable. Then he was past the man and taking his first couple of steps down the stairs. The security man was motionless, looking down between his thighs at the lake of blood pooling between his feet.

Cain counted the steps, one, two, three, four; then the caterwauling began. A horror-movie scream as the truth became apparent. Cain’s feet gave a backbeat to the howl, clattering down the remaining steps to the promenade. On the pier, heads were swiveling toward the commotion, but Cain simply ran. He needn’t look back to witness the result of that one simple knife jab. A punctured femoral artery came with a guarantee; without immediate medical help, the security man would bleed to death in minutes. Confusion would erupt and allow him to escape. Also, attempting to staunch the flowing blood of their downed fellow meant the man’s companions couldn’t possibly pursue him, too.

Of course, Cain was also a firm believer in not trusting people to react the way you expected them to. A shout broke through the murmur of consternation rising behind him. He heard the slap of determined footsteps in pursuit down the stairs. He did glance back, a natural instinct that would not be denied. The man in taupe rushed after him. Cain swore and increased his speed.