Matt Hilton - Dead_s men dust

The thief made a sound of scorn deep in his chest.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"No, like I said, I've a healthy respect for you. You got the drop on me. In fact"-Cain laughed in good humor-"you ambushed me exactly the same way I was planning for you."

The thief sniffed. There was a hint of self-conceit in his eyes. He was proud of his accomplishment and equally pleased at its acknowledgment. Conceit and vanity, both weaknesses Cain could exploit.

"You're too good for the likes of me. I should've known better than trying to sneak in here."

"Don't patronize me," the thief warned.

"I'm patronizing no one. Just showing my appreciation of your skills." "Just cut the crap, will you? Tell me why you're really here?" "To regain something that belongs to me. I told you." "Something that belongs to Hendrickson, you mean?"

Hendrickson? Who the hell is Hendrickson?

"I've no idea who you're referring to," Cain told him. "I think you're confusing me with someone else."

"I'm not confusing you with anything but a piece of lying crap."

"Oh, but you are," Cain said. "And if you would only let me take off my hood, you'll see." The thief paused. Considering. Then he shook his head. "No, I don't want you to move." "Then you take off my hood. It'll explain everything." The thief considered a moment longer, then he pointed his gun at

Cain's head as he snatched the hood away. His look was testament to the confusion Cain's face produced.

"You're that weirdo from the desert?"

"Got it in one."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I've told you."

"You're trying to regain something belonging to you. Yeah, you already said. But that's-" The thief shook his head. "You want your SUV back. Is that it? You can have it and you're welcome to it. Has a?at tire anyway."

"I'm not bothered about the car," Cain said. "It's something personal to me that I want."

"If you're after revenge, you can forget it. I'm the one holding the gun, remember?"

"Not revenge, either," Cain said.

"What the hell is it, then?" The thief's face was a picture of concentration. If only for a second or so. "Oh, I get it. You want your knife back."

Cain smiled.

"Well, you're wasting your time. I threw it away. All this has been for nothing."

Cain shook his head. "I don't believe that."

"Believe what you want."

"Why'd you throw away a perfectly good Bowie knife?"

The thief shrugged. He'd be useless in a game of poker; deceit was painted across his features as plain as a billboard advertising Honest John's Quality Used Cars. "What good was it to me? I've got a gun. Why would I need a knife?"

"If that's the case, why did you take it?"

"Because I wanted to," the thief said. "And anyway, I don't need to explain myself to you. You're the one who needs to start giving me answers."

"There's nothing more to say. You stole my knife, I followed you, and I want it back. End of story."

"Can't help you."

Cain shrugged. "You could at least tell me where you left it, so I can go and?nd it."

"Who says you're going to walk out of here alive?"

"Oh, come on," Cain said. "We both know you're not going to shoot me. If you were any kind of killer you'd have left me for dead out in the Mojave."

"I did leave you for dead," the thief said with no conviction. "I didn't think a soft ass like you would survive more than a few hours."

Cain laughed. "Next to a major highway?"

"I made a mistake."

"You made more than one," Cain told him. "Haven't you wondered how I found you so easily?" The spark in his eye told Cain he was intrigued. Maybe more than intrigued, perhaps a little concerned.

Cain sat back on the bed, resting his shoulders against the wall. The inconspicuous movement had a twofold purpose: one, he was attempting to disarm the thief by appearing relaxed; the other, he was subtly relieving the pressure from his hands. "It's obvious you're on the run from someone. This Hendrickson guy you mentioned-you're afraid of him, right?"

As ebullient as a piece of driftwood, the thief sniffed.

Cain went on, "When you're trying to lose yourself, there're a number of things you don't do. For one, you don't use any credit cards or ATMs."

"I know that."

"I believe you do," Cain said. "Next, you don't use an alias that's anything like your real name. For instance, if you're called David Johnston, you don't go calling yourself John Davidson. It's too easily spotted."

"Yeah, I know that, too," the thief snapped.

"Third, you never write anything down that'll give away your hiding place." Cain paused, waiting for the truth to dawn on the thief. "Or if you do, you make sure it's destroyed."

The thief nodded. "I wrote down the telephone number for this shithole."

"Uh-huh."

"But how did you?nd it? I threw the damn thing out the car window."

"The wind must have blown it back in." Cain's shoulders lifted. "Hey, don't be so disappointed. We all make mistakes. I made a mistake by underestimating you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did," the thief reminded him. "But don't think I'm gonna underestimate you. I know what you're trying to do. Trying to get me to think of you as someone with my best interests at heart. I can smell the bullshit from here, so you may as well give up now."

Cain shifted marginally. He wasn't at a loss, the way the thief was. He'd just slipped one hand out of its plastic bag. His palm was slick with perspiration and he gripped the bed sheets beneath him to dry it off.

"I'm only trying to help," he said.

"Right," the thief snapped. "Why would you want to help me?"

"Because I want to." Cain shook his head. "Another lesson for you, my friend. Never turn down help; it may save your skin."

"Two things. First, I'm not your friend. Second, I don't need any lessons from you."

"You're partly right," Cain agreed. "You don't need any lessons from me. You're the one with the gun. I'm the one made the mistake. But you might want to reconsider the friend part."

"Yeah, right. What the hell do you take me for?"

"Someone in need of help," Cain said.

"I don't need or want your help."

"Shame," Cain said, "because from where I'm sitting it looks like you need all the help you can get."

"There you go again. Patronizing."

"Take it as you will. I only want to help."

"I don't need your help."

"I beg to differ."

"You'd be better off begging for your life."

"Nah," Cain said. "Why bother? We've already established that you aren't going to kill me." The thief lifted his gun, pointing it directly at Cain's face. "Maybe not in cold blood. But who knows what I'll do in self-defense?"

Cain smiled up at him. "Like I've already said, though, I'm not going to make a move on you. So you won't get the opportunity to test your theory."

The tableau held for the best part of a lifetime. At least a lifetime counted in seconds. Finally the gun barrel wavered and dropped away from Cain's face.

"So what have we got then? Stalemate?" the thief asked.

"More like an impasse," Cain offered.

"Same thing, isn't it?"

"Depends on your perspective," Cain said. "A stalemate's when two enemies are at a deadlock. If we look at our situation as one of companions with a shared problem, then we can look to resolve it together."

"Only problem I can think of is how to get rid of you," the thief said.

"You can't very well call the police, can you?" Cain asked. "Fair enough, you could say I was an intruder, but what happens when I explain I followed you here because you hijacked my car? Two wrongs don't make a right, my friend."

The thief pondered a moment. "I could tie you up and leave you here, though. Then I could make an anonymous call to the cops."

"They're still going to ask questions. They'll identify you in no time. I take it your?ngerprints are all over this room? Not to mention the SUV-which, I'll remind you, is not going anywhere soon. And before you consider wiping everything down, may I remind you about the front desk downstairs? Are you positive you didn't leave your?ngerprints there when you signed in?"