Matt Hilton: Dead_s men dust

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?nding you then?"

He parked the car in a massive lot?lled 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?shing, 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 re?ecting 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?rst-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?ngers. Man, but this really was the life!

The day and the sights were glorious. The sun was beginning its roll toward the Paci?c 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 over?owing 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?ung 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?lm-wrapped?ngers 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?rst, 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?nished 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?ash 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?ve 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?icker 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?rst time. But the storefronts and carousels held no real interest for him. They were cover for his own surveillance. In the re?ective surfaces, he checked behind him. Taupe shirt was still there. Plus, another in a?amboyant 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?st. Not muggers, then. De?nitely 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.