Matt Hilton - Dead_s men dust

Cain snorted. There was something disarming about John Telfer that appealed to him. Something that made him smile. Maybe killing him was a little extreme? No, it was just. An eye for an eye. Telfer had stolen his Bowie knife and thrown it away. It was?tting that a knife be used to punish him in turn.

Cain made Telfer push both feet out. Then, in a swift draw that would have shamed a gunslinger, Cain brought out the scaling knife and swiped it down in a shallow arc. The cord from the Venetian blinds that he'd used to tie Telfer's ankles gave with a twang and Telfer's legs sprang apart. Before Telfer could control his wayward feet, the knife was back in Cain's waistband.

Cain gave him a tight smile. The quick-draw display was for more than the purpose of loosening his prisoner's legs; it was a show of his skill with a blade. Something for Telfer to dwell on while they traveled together.

"So how're we gonna do this?" Telfer asked.

"We're going to go out to my car. I'll have the gun. Simple as that."

"Do I get to put my shoes back on?"

"Obviously," Cain said.

"What about my backpack?"

"I'll carry it."

"My spare clothes?"

"Leave them," Cain said. Again he smiled, but this time there was a cold edge to it. "If you wish, you can always come back for them afterward." Telfer sat back, lips pursed. "Do you want to pass me my shoes or can I fetch them myself?"

"Here," Cain said, slinging his shoes to him. Telfer squeezed his feet in without the bene?t of untying the laces. "Ready?"

Telfer smiled in af?rmation.

Cain came forward. He held the gun in his left hand, and again drew the scaling knife with his right. This time the motion was languid. He pressed the gun to Telfer's forehead. "Easy now," he warned.

Telfer didn't move except to raise his bound wrists. Cain snicked apart the electrical cord. Telfer dropped his hands but continued to work his wrists in small circles, attempting to get the blood?owing again. Cain backed away.

"Now," Cain said. "We do this nice and easy. We go out of the room and down the back stairs. You'll lead the way. When you get to the ground?oor, go to the right, go around to the parking lot. When we get there, I'll tell you where my car is. Okay?"

"Got it," Telfer con?rmed.

"And remember: try to alert anyone…"

"And you shoot me."

"Got it," Cain mimicked.

Telfer rocked his weight back in the recliner, using the motion to bring himself to his feet. As he came up, his right hand remained behind him, hidden momentarily from Cain's view.

Cain was ready for Telfer to make a break for freedom, but not at that instant. Not while Cain still held the weapons. He was totally unprepared for Telfer whipping his arm toward him, the blade of his very own Bowie knife slicing the air before him.

"Whoa!" Cain yelped, taking a step back. Out of reaction his response wasn't to bring up his gun, it was to grab his scaling knife. If Telfer wanted to, he could have sprung in close and gutted him in one motion. But despite Cain's dazed senses, Telfer never followed through. Instead, with a smile on his face, he twirled the knife over and presented the handle to Cain.

"What the hell?" Cain demanded.

Telfer said, "This the knife you were so concerned about?"

Cain gaped at Telfer for a long moment. Telfer returned his stare, watching him steadily. Finally, Cain gave his head a little shake, seemed to come out of his daydream. "So you didn't toss it away? You had it all along?"

"Down the back of the recliner," Telfer said. "A trick I learned back home. You never knew when you'd get a visitor with less than your best interests at heart. Not that I ever needed to pull a knife before, but I was always prepared. Just in case."

"You could've killed me. You could've escaped." Cain appeared to be mildly impressed. "Why didn't you?"

"I'm not a killer," Telfer said.

Cain stared at him.

Telfer sniffed. "Just call it an act of faith, okay?"

Cain's eyebrows shot heavenward.

"I've given you back your knife." Telfer paused. "All I ask is that you stay true to your word."

Cain bobbed his head in answer. Slowly he reinserted the scaling knife in his waistband, then tentatively reached for the hilt of the Bowie.

Taking it, he withdrew it slowly from Telfer's grasp. "I've done you an injustice, after all. Perhaps you're more dangerous than I thought. Maybe I should kill you now and get it over with, huh?"

In answer, Telfer raised his shoulders. "If that's the way it's gonna be, there's nothing I can do about it. Not now that I've given you back your knife."

His head tilted to one side, Cain beamed a smile. "You know something? For a thief, I think I'm beginning to like you, John. Maybe I will let you live after all."

"Just maybe?" Cain tapped the?at of the Bowie on John's chest. "Let's not attempt to fool each other. We're both the same in many respects. One thing is obvious; we can both lie. If I told you that I promised not to kill you, would you believe me? Perhaps it's best I simply say 'maybe.' At least then you can't be sure. Does that not give you a modicum of hope?"

Telfer shook his head in bemusement. "When you put it that way, I suppose it does. Can I ask you one thing before we leave?"

Cain raised his chin.

"Can't we do this in a civilized manner? Without the threat of a gun constantly pointed at me?"

Cain agreed. "As an act of faith?"

"Precisely."

"Lead on, then, John. You know the way."

Telfer turned toward the vestibule. Cain slipped the gun into his trouser pocket and followed on behind. The Bowie he held like a baby cradled in his arms.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Cain asked.

"Marina del Rey," Telfer said over his shoulder.

Cain glanced down at the magazine spread out on the coffee table. All the beautiful yachts. He laughed. "I should have known."

We walked out of lax into brilliant sunshine tinged with smog.

"Welcome to Los Angeles," Rink said.

I stiffed the urge to cough.

Rink laughed to himself. "You get used to it. Just try not to breathe for the next week or so and you'll be?ne."

We hailed a cab and followed Route 405 north. Off to our left was the vastness of the Paci?c Ocean. We only got snatches of the blue expanse, but I was constantly aware of it. Something about the sky over the sea, like it hovered over a magni?cent precipice. Signposts over the highway indicated Marina del Rey, Venice Beach, Santa Monica, all off toward the sea. All places I'd have loved to visit given the opportunity.

To our east, Hollywood and Beverly Hills beckoned, but we continued north past the Getty Center until we hit the 101, then joined the?ow of traf?c heading east. We passed Universal Studios, and like most, I craned my neck hoping to see someone famous. Then we were fast approaching Pasadena, where Rink had set us up a place to stay.

We had to speak to a house manager, something like a low-rent concierge, who had an apartment on the lower?oor of the apartment block where we were going to stay. He gave Rink a key card and directed us to our apartment, gesturing with the ham sandwich he held in his hand.

When we found our apartment, it turned out to be bigger than I'd expected. We both chose a bedroom, then convened in the lounge area. It was clean and roomy, and the air-conditioning was a blessing after the sweltering drive. Still, neither of us wanted to remain cooped up there for long.

"Want to hit the shower, then go out and get a bite to eat?" Rink offered.

"Sounds like a plan," I admitted. "But I think the shower can wait. My stomach thinks my throat's cut."

"What do you want?" Rink asked. "Silver service or burger an' fries?"

"Burger and fries all the way, big guy," I said.

"I know just the place," Rink said.