Matt Hilton - Dead_s men dust

Only one conclusion: double-cross. Couldn't be anything else. Telfer had been set up. And by association, so had Cain. And that made him angry. He began to walk faster, his shoes squeaking on the boardwalk. He slipped his hand into the small of his back, came out holding the gun. With his other hand, he drew the Bowie.

Only twenty yards away he heard raised voices, and he began to hurry.

Ten yards from the yacht he heard harsh laughter, then, "You think I'm about to go to war with Hendrickson over you, you goddamn asshole?"

Then Telfer's voice: "You bastard, Carson. I trusted you." "Shame," said Carson. "Let that be a lesson for you. Money talks and shit walks, my friend."

"You-"

"Quiet!" someone barked. One of the Latino men. "You're coming with us, Telfer. Dead or alive, I don't really give a shit."

Then Cain was at the bottom of the gangway. Without pause, he went up it in two bounds. Stepping onto the deck, he saw the man with the radio. Minder, Cain decided. Probably one of a number of guards on the boat. Cain's arrival caused the man to turn. Before the surprise could even register in his face, Cain was chest to chest with him. The man grunted, looked down, and saw the handle of the Bowie knife jutting from beneath his breastbone.

"Quietly does it," Cain hushed him as he tugged down on the handle. By the law governing leverage, the blade's tip sawed upward. Eight inches of honed steel easily found the lower chambers of the man's heart. He was dead before he could make a further sound. Cain lowered the man to the deck, then tugged loose the blade, wiped it clean on the man's trousers, and turned toward the cabin door.

The yacht was huge, and the living area was about as plush as any?ve-star hotel Cain had ever seen. Wide sliding doors led to an elegantly furnished sitting area. It was all cut glass and sumptuous leather. Even chandeliers. A massive plasma screen satellite TV dominated the forward wall. Then there were the six men.

John Telfer was sitting in a chair across a glass table from an older man in an open-neck shirt and tan slacks. His hair and the tufts that poked from his chest were white, standing out against his deep tan. That'll be Carson, then, Cain decided.

On the table was Telfer's backpack, open to show the spurious treasure within, and a briefcase that was shut tight. Inside it, Cain guessed, was the seven hundred grand. The two Latinos were there, their backs to Cain. He noted that they hadn't yet drawn their guns, but the two other men in the room had. These were minders, like the man Cain had just stabbed. Hard-faced men who crowded Telfer yet wore cautious expressions in front of the Latinos.

Cain detected movement on the deck above him. He glanced up, ready to lift the gun, and saw a young bikini-clad woman move hurriedly away.

One of two things was about to happen. The bitch would have the good sense to get the hell off the boat, or she was going to set up a racket to alert her sugar daddy in the cabin. Cain couldn't take the chance it would be the second option. He had to act now, while he still had surprise on his side. And with the decision came action. He only had six bullets and he had to make them count. The minders first.

Cain stepped up to the doorway. One of the sliding partitions was open, so he stepped inside. He was only ten feet away from the?rst minder when he lifted the gun and?red. The man's head erupted in cherry-red fragments.

Then chaos ensued.

Chaos was fine with Cain. He loved chaos.

Telfer's face came up, registering shock, and not a little relief in a mad sort of way. The Latinos were spinning, both going for their guns, the second minder already rounding on Cain. Only Carson had the good sense to throw himself to the?oor and attempt to escape beneath a nearby counter.

Cain snorted, and shot the second minder. He hit the man in the right arm, the bullet passing through it into the?esh of his thick chest. The man went down, though Cain knew immediately he wasn't dead. Didn't matter, he'd dropped his gun, and he saw that Telfer had the presence of mind to snatch it up.

The two Latinos were next. Cain shot the one with the bandaged ear, hitting him in the thigh as the man leaped away. The bullet spun him, and the man went to the?oor at the feet of his friend. The second Latino was already bringing up his gun to?re, and Cain realized it was time to move. But instead of bolting for cover, he leaped farther into the room, shouting, "Move your ass, Telfer!"

The second Latino?red. Not at him, as Cain had hoped, but at Telfer. The bullet struck the back of Telfer's chair. Directly where his head had been an instant earlier. Telfer was already bent double over the glass table, reaching for the briefcase. As the Latino tried to draw another bead on Telfer, Cain shot him. Twice, once in the gut, then higher up at the jawline. The man went over backward, trailing a ribbon of blood that was stark against the chandeliers' twinkling lights.

Cain turned on Telfer. "Get a freakin' move on!"

Telfer snatched the briefcase to his chest, rising up at last. Cain stepped toward him. The gun trained on him. "Give me the gun."

Telfer shook his head. Lifted his own gun and pointed it at Cain.

"We haven't got time for this now," Cain warned him.

"No," Telfer said. "We haven't."

They both eyed each other over the ends of their guns.

"Let's get the hell out of here and worry about the rest later," Cain offered.

Before Telfer could accept or decline the invitation, a door burst open at the front of the cabin and another man skidded through. He had a compact Uzi submachine gun in his hands. He made a quick scan of the living area. To give him his due, the chaotic scene didn't appear to faze him much. He lifted the Uzi and let loose an arching stream of bullets as he thudded over to cover Carson. In the same instant the injured Latino rolled over, grabbing at the gun he'd dropped on the?oor. Two targets, one bullet, more coming his way. Cain decided the best course of action was to get out as quickly as possible.

As bullets churned the decor behind him, he?ung himself through a side window, crashing through glass to sprawl on the deck. Shouts came from inside the cabin, then Telfer was sprawling on the deck beside him, the briefcase clattering away from him. Telfer's shirt was bloody and he groaned as he rolled to his knees. Cain grabbed him, checking his hands.

"What the hell're you doing?" Telfer demanded.

"Where's your gun?" Cain snapped.

"I dropped it," Telfer said.

"Jesus Christ," Cain said. He slapped Telfer's shoulder. "Get the briefcase. We're out of here."

Telfer went on hands and knees, grabbing at the Samsonite case. He came back to Cain, the case against his chest. "That better be real money," Cain said.

"Course it is. I'm not a friggin' idiot."

Cain nodded, indicated the front of the boat. "That way. Now."

They both lurched up as the fourth minder appeared at the window they'd recently crashed through. He gave an angry shout, twisted so he could bring the Uzi into play. As he did, Cain sprang toward him with his Bowie knife. The knife connected before the man could depress the trigger, severing his thumb. The man screamed and the gun?opped sideways, bullets splintering the wooden deck next to Telfer. Cain chopped again, this time deep into the man's wrist and the man withdrew his seriously wounded arm from further harm.

Telfer was up and running. Cain glanced at him, then down at the deck. He paused in his?ight to retrieve the severed thumb, popping it into his pocket alongside his other mementos.

The bodyguard was back at the window again, but only to scream in abstract terror while he attempted to replace his drooping hand in its rightful place. Cain grinned at him, then charged after Telfer.