Matt Hilton - Dead_s men dust

"How about Hendrickson?" I asked.

"Like I said, I don't know the names personally. Hendrickson? Sounds familiar. I'll?nd out." Rink gave Barker his cell phone number. Barker, looking every bit the cowgirl, tipped the brim of an imagi nary Stetson our way. "I'd best be on my way. Dallied a little too long. Dispatcher's probably wondering if I've got myself shot dead and is already planning a search party."

I shook hands with Barker, wondering if we'd ever cross paths again. Probably not. Then Barker and Rink hugged as if they'd been intimate once. I didn't ask. Barker then turned to her car and slid behind the wheel. She gave us both an exaggerated wink. "I'll be in touch."

We watched her drive off, her vehicle almost concealed by the plume of road dust churned up by her wheels. After she was gone, we stood kicking our heels.

"So what's the plan of action?" Rink?nally asked. "Marina del Rey's about as good a place as any to start," I suggested.

John Telfer was leaking blood. ordinarily that would have been good. But not under these circumstances. Not when the bleeding got in the way of Cain's plans. Not when it could alert a nosy observer to Telfer's plight. Anyone with an ounce of brains would immediately tie a bleeding man to the recent events occurring at the not-too-distant harbor.

"We have to do something about your wound," Cain said.

Lying?at on the bottom of the dinghy, Telfer grimaced up at him. Cain sat at the rear, guiding the outboard motor with one hand. With his other, he held the now-empty pistol aimed in Telfer's direction. The waves were choppy, causing the rubber boat to lurch as it breasted each successive wave.

"Feeling nauseous?" Cain asked.

"What do you care?" Telfer grunted.

"I care. Isn't that enough?"

Telfer twisted his face. "The only thing you care about is getting your hands on the money."

"Not true. I also care about your well-being."

"Yeah. Right."

Cain shrugged. "Think what you will," he said. He made another scan of the horizon. Off over his right shoulder, distant Catalina Island was wreathed in sea haze. He could see the ferry to the mainland chugging toward the harbor, and there were other boats on the water. There were a couple of yachts, a speedboat, and half a dozen chartered boats hauling groups of men off to favorite?shing sites. Thankfully, none of the boats appeared to be coast guard or LAPD. Equally thankfully, none of them was near enough for anyone to see Telfer lying in the bottom of the dinghy.

"Were you shot?" Cain asked.

Telfer ran a hand up his chest. He was tentative, expecting the worst. Finally, he shook his head. "I think it was more of a ricochet. Luckily whatever hit me didn't go all the way in, just scored along my?esh. Hurts like a bugger, though."

Cain nodded solemnly. Inwardly he was relieved. He didn't want Telfer dying on him before he was ready. Still, he didn't want Telfer to know that. The last thing he needed was for Telfer to start kicking up a commotion out here on the water. If Cain had to kill him, it could attract unwanted attention. And he didn't relish attempting to outrun the coast guard in this paltry boat.

"As soon as we make land I'll take a look at it for you," Cain offered. "I know it's only a couple of hours since, but it shouldn't be bleeding now."

Telfer rolled his shoulders. "It'll be okay. I think I just opened the wound crawling into the boat."

"Maybe so, but it won't harm you if I take a look."

Telfer sighed. "Why're you bothering?"

"Bothering? Because it's important to me."

Telfer shook his head. "You don't give a shit about me. I know you've got no intention of upholding our bargain." "You can think what you like. Just ask yourself one thing. If I intended killing you, why would I bother saving you when I could as easily have left you on that yacht back there?"

"That's easy. You needed me to carry the money."

"So what about when you were in the water? I could've let you drown. It'd have been easier for me to take the briefcase than to haul your sorry ass to safety."

Telfer thought about that one. In the end, he had no reply. Instead he asked, "So what exactly do you intend doing with me?"

"First things?rst, eh? First, we get to dry land. We clean you up. Then I'll decide what happens from there."

"What about this?" Telfer reached behind him and touched the briefcase he was using as a somewhat uncomfortable pillow.

Cain gave him a smile. "I'll unburden you of that. You're injured. It would be unfair of me to expect you to lug it around with you."

"I've still got one good arm. It'll be no problem, really."

Cain laughed. "I like your sense of humor, John."

"I'm not joking."

"Regardless. You're still a funny man."

Telfer smiled at the thought. Even under the circumstances, he felt strangely pleased with himself. "You should see me when I'm happy. I'm the life and soul of the party."

Cain shook his head, as though at the amusing antics of a toddler. He adjusted the outboard so that they began angling toward land. Here there was a stretch of golden shore, where beach houses on stilts crowned the low horizon. Beyond them loomed mist-shrouded tower blocks where the urban sprawl of South L.A. crept past Redondo Beach toward Long Beach. He selected one of the beach houses at random and headed for a wooden jetty that nosed out into the waves.

Beyond the jetty was a summerhouse; a playground for the not so rich judging by the way the paint?aked from the window frames. There was only one car, a battered Dodge sitting under the porch that abutted the southern side of the house, and no speedboat at the mooring point. The house had a semidilapidated edge, as though it were used infrequently, and maintained even less. There were no kiddies' swings or toys strewn along the edge of the beach, and no sign of a family in residence at the stone-built barbecue, which contained only ashes and a lingering scent of burgers gone by. If anyone were home, it would be barely more than one-two at the most.

He deftly steered the dinghy up to the pilings, a lasso action snaring the boat to a stanchion. He used the threat of the gun to motivate Telfer. "Bring the briefcase," he ordered. "I'll take it off you when we get inside."

"What if there're people home?" Telfer asked.

"Then we impose on their generosity to get you?xed up."

"That's all?"

"What else?"

Coming to a painful crouch on the jetty, Telfer studied the empty windows. "You won't hurt them, will you?" Cain looked pained. "I thought you were beginning to understand me by now."

"I am," Telfer said. Then to himself, "That's the trouble."

"I heard that," Cain said in singsong fashion.

"You were meant to."

Cain's features went from night to day in an instant. "I suppose it all comes down to whether or not they're willing to be of assistance. I don't care for sel?sh people. What about you, John?" "I don't suppose they have much choice when you're pushing a gun under their noses."

Cain shrugged.

"What if there are children?" Telfer continued.

"I haven't killed a child lately," Cain said.

Telfer didn't reply, concentrating on shuf?ing by his nemesis to conceal his disgust. Cain allowed him to take the lead. He glanced down at the empty gun, considered its convenience as a tool, and decided that as long as no one suspected it was empty, it was still worth the effort to lug it along with him.

Telfer shuf?ed the length of the jetty, the briefcase stuffed beneath one armpit. Behind him, Cain grinned to himself. Telfer reminded him of a shambling mummy as he clawed at a railing to help him up the steps to the house. Beyond them the summerhouse presented a skull-like visage, dark empty eye sockets for windows and a grinning jaw of picket-rail teeth. It was an image that appealed to Cain but only added to Telfer's apparent foreboding. He turned and gave Cain an imploring look.