Matt Hilton - Dead_s men dust

Tears welled in her eyes. Fear, it seemed, has many expressions.

"You think John is dead."

I didn't answer. It wasn't a question, anyway.

"Don't you?" she asked.

The air I sucked through my teeth wasn't the ideal reply. In hindsight, I wouldn't have done it. I'd have considered the action, and spared Louise my concern. Trouble was, I did fear the worst, and Lou ise was intuitive enough to know it. She leaned forward into her hands and wept. Around her, three big tough guys squirmed. I reached across and took her hands from her face.

"Sorry, Louise," I said. "I know that's not what you wanted to hear."

Louise sniffed. Shook her head. Sat up a little straighter, playing with her hair. Her way to regain composure. A smile forced into place didn't work; it was too redolent of misery.

"I don't know why I'm crying," she said. "It's not as if I haven't already thought of it. He's been gone for ages now. I mean, surely he'd have called me if he was still alive, right?"

In reality, she was asking why John would bother to pick up a phone when he'd never done the same with his wife. He'd cautioned her against phoning her own mother, for Christ's sake. So just because he hadn't been in touch didn't mean he was dead.

"We can only hope that he's hiding someplace. Maybe he is. Maybe he's hiding out and won't call for fear of jeopardizing your safety." I gripped her hands with a little more pressure. "But you may have to accept the worst, Louise."

"I know," she said quietly. I gave her an extra squeeze.

"But," I said, expecting the sideways glance from Rink, "if it's possible, I'll?nd him. I will bring him back, one way or the other."

After that there wasn't much left to cover. Louise was done speaking and prepared herself to leave. Being the consummate gentleman, Harvey offered to give her a lift home, but she declined.

"I feel like a real shit," he announced after Louise was gone.

"No need to," Rink said.

"The more I look at this, the more I think I should be helping you guys more than I am," he said.

"We don't know what we're up against," I told him. "Don't know how it's going to turn out. So maybe it's best you leave things as they are."

He shook his head. "I've heard another whisper. I can't substantiate it, but some people are saying John disappeared owing Petoskey more than a bad debt."

"Like what?" I asked.

"No one is saying. But Petoskey is screaming murder. Making him speak to you might not be as easy as it sounds. He might very well resist. Big time."

"He's a punk," Rink put in.

"A dangerous punk," Harvey told him. "You might go in there and not walk out again. All I'm saying is it'd be better if you had an extra pair of eyes watching your backs."

"You live here, Harvey," I reminded him. "It's okay for me and Rink. We can shake up the local bad guys, but we don't have to hang around afterward. We don't have to live with the consequences of making any enemies here. You do."

"Appreciate that," he said. "But I still feel like a goddamn shitheel. It's like I'm running out on you guys." "No need to," Rink said. "We ain't expecting you to put your head on the block for us."

"Anyway, you've done a lot for us already," I pointed out. "All we need from you now is the stuff we asked for. If Petoskey's as dangerous as you say, we'd better take it with us."

"It's in the car with the photographs I told you about," Harvey said.

The stuff we were referring to was a 12-gauge shotgun for Rink and a steel-bodied 9-mm Parabellum blowback semiautomatic SIG Sauer for me. Added to that I'd asked for a couple of military issue KABAR knives and an untraceable cell phone. To corner Siggy Petoskey, we'd be like ninja warriors assaulting the shogun's castle. A shogun, self-made or not, would have his private army of loyal retainers. However we looked at it, it was going to be a dangerous mission.

Then we got back to Louise Blake. Since she'd arrived, something had been bugging me. "There's something she isn't telling us," I said.

"Yeah," Rink agreed. "I was getting the same vibe."

Harvey simply raised his eyebrows, shrugged his wide shoulders.

"I'm not suggesting that she's involved in John's disappearance. But there's something that isn't gelling with me," I said. "She says that John was acting all jumpy and nervous, but she didn't press him for what he was concerned about. That strike either of you as normal behavior?"

"No way. We're talking about a woman here," Rink joked.

"She also said she didn't know who he was working for. I?nd that a little hard to believe," I said. "Even though my work was top secret, my wife still knew who the hell it was I was working for."

"I suppose he could've been doing subcontract work," Harvey offered.

"Or a little private enterprise," Rink said.

"Private criminal enterprise," Harvey added.

"If not Petoskey, who else could John have been working for?" I asked.

Harvey blew out in a harsh exclamation. "Take your pick, Hunter. Could be anyone."

"Yeah," I agreed. If John was involved in crime, he could be working for any one of half a million employers from anywhere in the States. "Louise said she didn't press him about his work, but twice she mentioned that John told her to contact me if anything happened to him. People don't give you those kind of instructions unless they're pretty sure something is going to happen to them."

"And," Rink added, "he's obviously been expecting something real bad… considering the business you're in, Hunter."

"Yeah," I said. "That's what worries me the most."

"Different plates, same SUV."

Tubal Cain was in no doubt. The vehicle parked in the lot of the Paci?c View Hotel was the one stolen from him yesterday. Even if it had been sprayed a different color, furry dice hung in the window, and whitewall tires added, he'd have known the vehicle for his own. It had a vibe that he could feel even from across the width of the parking lot. That vehicle had witnessed death, and the pall of violence hung over it like a miasma of poisonous fumes.

As nonchalant as a man with the right-which he certainly had, in his estimation-he ambled over to the 4x4. The locks were engaged. Not that they'd stop him from taking back what was rightfully his if he were of a mind to do so.

Nothing on the front seat but an empty water bottle and the remnants of a KFC meal, but on the dash was a disc removed from the CD player. Swing When You're Winning, the very disc he'd been playing prior to stopping for the stranded motorist. If he had required con?rmation, there was his proof.

He wandered to the rear of the car. A cursory inspection of the license plate spoke volumes. The area around the locking nuts was clean, unlike the rest of the plate, which had a?ne coating of dust. The clean areas proved that someone had turned the locking nuts very recently. It was obvious to someone with his expert eye that someone had removed the plates from another vehicle, then screwed them in place on this one.

"Guy's a freaking amateur," he reminded himself. But-and this was a caution he would heed-not to be underestimated.

Credit where it's due, then: changing the plates was on the way to being a good idea. The thief didn't know that Cain wouldn't be reporting the theft of the vehicle, so it was sensible to install a new identity.

Some constructive criticism was in order, though. It was good that the thief had tried to cover his tracks. It was just a pity that he hadn't taken the time to do so properly. Any cop worth his salt would notice the clean area around the locking nuts and know immediately that the plates had been switched. He shook his head in pure reproof. "I don't know if it's your lack of experience or whether you're just too lazy for your own good."