Dead Men's Dust (7 page)

As they had for the Hawaiian beauty, the crowds parted before him. Only the looks he received were anything but admiring. They were fearful. It was apparent to all that Cain was a fugitive. A dangerous fugitive, judging by the screaming overhead. There were no gung-ho heroes among the tourists, no one trying to snag his clothing or bring him down. But neither did they impede the man in taupe.
Younger than Cain, and in reasonable shape, he was gaining fast. All the while, he shouted into a radio and—more worrying—clenched a revolver in his other hand.

Cain cut to the right, charged up some more steps and onto the ramp arching over the highway, then raced head down for the anonymity offered by the stores a couple of blocks over. The man in taupe didn’t stop, matching him step for step all the way.

At the shopping strip, Cain ducked down a service alley and into the twilit underbelly of Santa Monica that was immeasurably different from the beachfront. The sights, the sounds, the smells, everything was tainted with neglect. He grabbed at a wheeled Dumpster crammed with the ghosts of pizzas past, tugged it out to block his pursuer’s path. Didn’t stop running. He heard the man heaving the Dumpster aside and realized that barely ten paces separated them. Sprightly son of a bitch, that one, not your usual run-of-the-mill rent-a-cop.

Fortunately, Cain gained the corner of the buildings first. He spun to his left into deeper shadows and rushed headlong through a narrow alley, trusting to luck that he didn’t smash headlong into an obstruction. Thankfully, he saw the turn and ducked left again.

Cain hoped that the security man would act with caution. He’d witnessed what Cain was capable of with his knife. Only a fool would relish the possibility of bleeding out in a deserted alleyway with only the smell of garbage for the final journey to the afterlife. Fearing ambush, he would slow at the corner. Cain sprinted on, gaining precious distance on his pursuer.

On a main shopping strip parallel to the beach, Cain slowed down. It was surprising how much anonymity a single block’s dash had given him. All around him the vacationers’ lunacy continued unabated. Not as much as a glance or a “How are you doing?” came his way.

A mini-mall enticed passersby with the promise of major discounts on all purchases. From within the entrance Cain watched the man in taupe rush by. Problem solved, almost.

Ducking through a service door, Cain took off his cap and jacket and dumped them in a waste bin. He freed his jeans from his socks. His shirt hung loose over his waistband, concealing the scaling knife tucked in the small of his back, as well as the large bulges his trophies now made in his jeans pockets.

Back out in the mall, he ambled in shopper mode. Shoplifting wasn’t a skill he’d engaged in since his school days, but the appropriation of a pair of sunglasses was as dexterous as any swish he’d ever made with a blade. Suitably disguised, he backtracked toward the pier.

Back at the promenade by the beach again, he looked toward the pier. A swarm of buzzing hornets, the paramedics and police had arrived. The wounded security man was the sheeted-up load going into an ambulance. The man in candy stripes hung his head by the open doors. Two accounted for, one to go. Behind his newly acquired sunglasses, Cain squinted left and right. No more than ten yards away, the taupe security man walked toward him. Cain wasn’t concerned; he stood looking out to sea, hands bunched around the trophies in his pockets. The man made the slow walk of dejection back toward the pier, totally oblivious that he was in stabbing range of the person he sought.

Cain turned away. He’d lost interest in this pointless game. Better he return to the VW to see if he still had the chore of getting rid of it.

Then the more pressing matter of finding the thief.

“
SO THIS IS YOUR HOMETOWN, RINK? I HAVE TO TAKE BACK
what I said about pickup trucks, huh?”

“Damn right!”

I don’t mind admitting when I’m wrong. I thought I’d be flying into a sleepy town full of wooden shacks. Instead, I found a vibrant city to equal any in the midwestern U.S. I was knocked back by the sprawl of beautiful high-rise buildings, fine museums, and scenic parks along the banks of the Arkansas River.

Not that Rink was gloating. His smile was all pleasure while pointing out the major landmarks, reminding me that Little Rock was the capital of the Natural State, and not some piss-pot backwater as I’d thought.

“Pity we couldn’t take the scenic route so I could see
even more
of your fine town.”

We were in a rental car we’d picked up at Adams Field, otherwise known as Little Rock National Airport, following a four-hour flight from Tampa. The car was a regular sedan, nowhere near as flashy as Rink’s Porsche, but clean and comfortable nonetheless. More trunk space, too. Rink drove. It was easier that way. This was
his old stomping ground, and he could get us to our destination much quicker.

That had been the plan. Yet it seemed to me that Rink must’ve been a cabdriver in a past life, judging by the winding way we took through town.

“Yeah, Le Petit Roche sure has come a long way,” Rink said as he pushed the sedan through a downtown convention and entertainment district. I think Rink himself was impressed. “I think you’re forgettin’ that this was Bill Clinton’s first capital city, Hunter.”

“I’m not forgetting, Rink. I didn’t know. Full stop.”

“Man, you’re just too ignorant for your own good. Admit it, you weren’t expecting anything like this, were you? We’ve even got the brand-new, one-of-a-kind William J. Clinton Presidential Center and Park right here in Little Rock,” Rink said, indicating off to his right with a wave of his hand. “It’s sure a sight to behold.”

“Like Disney World?” I asked.

Rink frowned. I smiled unabashedly.

“We far from Louise’s place?” I asked.

“Not too far. Another five minutes or so.”

“You said that five minutes ago.”

“I did. Now ain’t that strange?”

“Harvey going to be there?”

“Said he’d meet us at a diner where we can speak to Louise on neutral ground. Doesn’t want to be seen around her house in case anything comes back on him.” Rink gave a shrug. “I don’t know what he’s gettin’ all bowed up about. It’s not as if Petoskey’s the goddamn Godfather or nothin’.”

“Like you said, though, he’s got connections,” I said. “I’m starting to worry that we’re underestimating his outfit. City this big and important, he must be a key player if he’s controlling the politicians.”

Rink shook his head.

“Petoskey’s a two-bit asshole playing at the big time, just like I told you. It’s not as if he’s got the governor in his pocket, just some minor politicians and low-ranking cops who’re taking bribes for favors.”

I grimaced, but nodded.

Rink shot me a look. “I’m telling you, man. There ain’t nothin’ to get riled up about. I know his type. Thirty years ago, he was frog-giggin’ for meat to put in his momma’s stew, now he’s eatin’ the best cuisine and drivin’ around in flashy cars. He’s poor white trash actin’ like a big important hotshot. On the grand scale of things, he’s nobody. An’ he knows it.”

“Maybe, but he seems to have put the scare into John. He must have some sort of weight behind him.”

“From what you told me, John ain’t too hard to scare. Ran away from this weasely Shank character. I take it your brother’s not the bravest dude on the planet?”

My head shake was as much from memory as from disagreement.

“He wasn’t running from Shank. Shank was Jennifer’s problem, not John’s. There were others involved.”

“I know, he’d shacked up with this Blake woman, too,” Rink said. “He was runnin’ from his marriage.”

“Among other things,” I said.

Rink pulled the rental over to the side of the road. He sat looking at me.

“What haven’t you told me, Hunter?”

“I didn’t think this had anything to do with what happened before,” I said, “but now I’m not so sure.” I was pensive for a moment. Rink continued to give me the eye. “I told you me and John had a falling out, yeah?”

“Uh-huh. But you never told me why.”

My face felt like clay, cold and clammy, as I rubbed my hands over my features. I was already tired, but more than that, thinking about John’s predicament made me bone weary.

“Not long after I resigned from the job, he came to me with a problem,” I said.

“Go on,” Rink prompted.

“He’d got himself involved with some real heavy-duty shit. Stupid son of a bitch had been playing cards and writing IOUs he couldn’t hope to cover. First went his car, then the house. But it wasn’t enough. He had nothing left and had no one to turn to.”

“So you did the honorable thing?”

“Yeah, I bailed them out. Jenny doesn’t know it to this day. I gave John the cash to pay it off. But an addiction being what it is, John went and blew it on another
sure bet
. I called him on it—the money—and that’s when we had the falling out. It was just a stupid argument.”

“You didn’t talk to him again?”

“No, Rink. I didn’t even see him again.”

Rink nodded. “That’s when he run out?”

“He must have been planning it.”

“Punk.”

I shrugged. “After that, the only way I could think to help him and Jenny was to face down the guys he owed and make them back off. Wasn’t easy. They weren’t as easily intimidated as Shank was.”

“They didn’t back off?”

“No.”

“You’re slipping, Hunter.”

“Seriously,” I said. “Short of going to war with them, there wasn’t much I could do. So instead, I arranged for John and Jenny to disappear for a while. It was all set, they were going to go off together, assume new identities, everything. Then John went and messed it all up. Unbeknownst to all of us, he’d been seeing this Louise Blake on the side. Before we knew it, they took off together. Just flew. Gone.”

“Leaving poor Jenny and his kids behind to take the flack,” Rink concluded.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I did everything I could for her. Helped her get back on her feet. I had space in my house, but she refused. Said she needed a place of her own. John didn’t even get in touch and let her know where he was.”

“And you want to help this peckerhead?”

“He’s still my brother, Rink.”

Rink raised an eyebrow, but then gave a soft nod.

“Plus, I’m doing this for his wife and kids.”

“Okay. But I’m surprised she wants him back.”

“Jenny doesn’t want him back,” I explained. “She’s looking for some kind of closure. I think she wants me to find John so she can spit in his eye.”

“I’m with her on that one.”

“Me, too. Took a lot of work sorting out the problems he left. As I said, they were a major outfit with major connections. They put out a contract on him.”

“Shit,” Rink said.

“In the end they saw reason. I explained that John had double-crossed us all, that we were all equally aggrieved. So I made an agreement with them that they didn’t go near Jenny or the kids. The alternative was that I’d call back up and wipe them out.”

“They believed you were capable?”

“I think it was more fear of the unknown,” I said. “They didn’t know who I was or what I was prepared to do. But some of them had heard stuff. I believe in the end they decided it was more trouble than it was worth. You could say that going to war with me wasn’t profitable.”

“Did they call in the contract on John?”

“Who knows what they’d do if he ever showed up again.”

“Which is why you think he’s missing?”

“Nah.” I shook my head. “There’s more to it than that. John has
other reasons. I guess the point I’m trying to make is this: He’s a selfish son of a bitch. Doesn’t give a shit for anyone but himself. But I don’t think he’d be running from the likes of Petoskey if it’s only about a couple of hundred dollars’ gambling debt.” I paused, summing up exactly what it was that I was trying to say. “Something big has happened. Something he’s so frightened of that he’s disappeared again and he doesn’t want to go back. Louise Blake has been left high and dry, the same as he left Jenny. That means he’s attempting to cut all ties, so he can disappear without a trace. You don’t do that for any piddling gambling debt.”

Rink agreed.

“Petoskey’s an asshole,” he reiterated. “But I see where you’re coming from. What’s he gonna do? Maybe order an ass whuppin’, maybe a broken arm or something? He’s not going to order John’s death, is he?”

“Unless Petoskey’s more dangerous than we’re giving him credit for,” I pointed out.

“Could be, but I stand on my first opinion. He’s a small potato playing at the big time. The way I remember, he’s too chickenshit to take someone out for real.”

“You’ve been gone from here a long time. People change.”

“Okay, I’ll concede that. But it still leaves another option, doesn’t it?” “John’s made an enemy of someone else? Someone who is prepared to kill him.”

Rink leaned forward, turned on the engine, and pulled out into the traffic. He turned to me, said, “But you’re still fixin’ to start with Petoskey?”

“Yeah. We’re going to do it loud and hard. We need to shake him up, Rink. Make him fear us. I’m going to make him tell us where John is. Hopefully, it’ll end there,” I said. “But I don’t think so.”

“No,” Rink said. “Now that you’ve got me thinking, I don’t figure so, either.”

The city was behind us now and we were entering a grimier section of town.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“Just thought we’d take a detour and scope out the land. Harvey said Petoskey does business from an office downtown, also mentioned this place he visits when the dealings are a little more underhanded. Thought we’d just drive by and take a look. Thought it would be better to hit him there than downtown. Less chance of the cops arriving and saving his ass before we’re through.”

Up ahead was a building right out of a ghost story. Rink raised his chin to indicate the place.

“What do you think?”

“Is it haunted?” I joked.

“Only by hobos, I guess,” Rink said.

The building was a huge redbrick affair, but little of the original color showed through the accumulated soot. Five stories high with a flat roof, rows of windows on each level. Not too many of the windows retained their original glass. Some were boarded over with molding plywood, while others bore remnants of glass like the shards of teeth in a crone’s mouth. The uppermost windows had fared better; perhaps they’d been replaced more recently. Beyond the dull glass there appeared to be sheets of semiopaque plastic.

“What do you think the plastic’s for?”

“Not the obvious,” Rink said. “It’s not there to catch blood. More than likely it’s to dampen down any sounds from inside.”

“Looks to me like there could be squatters on the lower floors.”

“Uh-huh. Good cover. Who in their right mind’s goin’ to want to run a gauntlet of crackheads and thieves?”

“Only those who really have to,” I said.

Rink spun the car around in an abandoned lot so we could take a second drive by Petoskey’s hideout. Second time around it looked no better.

“Time to meet Harvey?” Rink asked.

“Yeah,” I said. In the rearview mirror, the building took on the color of old blood. It seemed to exude the promise of unrestrained violence.