Matt Hilton - Dead_s men dust

I didn't have to be so observant. Cain was already out of the urban sprawl and headed toward the vast American southwest.

Even at breakneck speed, it was almost an hour before we caught sight of the Dodge hijacked from the house at Long Beach. We were tempted to continue at top speed, attempt to catch and then force the Dodge off the road. Though I didn't want to believe that John was dead, now, at least, we could stop the Harvestman's reign. Of course, stopping him here would bring further complications.

Conclusion? It would be more prudent to follow at a safe distance and act when there was no likelihood of an innocent passerby being caught up in the gun?re.

Cain wasn't a fool. He was a crazy, murderous bastard, but he was also shrewd. Along with that, he'd been trained as a government agent, and it was a given that he was an expert driver, versed in all manner of countersurveillance measures and reactive driving. We fell into line, allowing more than a quarter of a mile, and at least four vehicles, to separate us. Though that was a meaningless exercise.

"He knows we're here," Rink said.

I looked across at him. There he was again, reading my thoughts.

"He knows we're here and he's taunting us," Rink embellished.

I nodded. "Probably."

"Back at the house, it was almost like he was challenging you to?nd him. Makes me think that's why he spent so long in the city; to let you catch up."

When I thought about it, I realized Rink was right. "Yeah, he was taking a big chance driving through the center of L.A. when there could've been an APB out for him. He could've easily switched vehicles, too. Looks like he wants us to follow him."

"You want me to get up a little closer? Put a little pressure on the squirmy little punk?"

"No. Just hang back where we are. Let's see where he wants to take us."

"My guess is it's going to be somewhere remote. He's looking for a showdown. Doesn't want anyone else getting in the way."

"If it's a showdown he wants, it's what he's gonna get."

Rink and I exchanged glances.

"He's certainly made this personal, ain't he?" Rink asked.

"He made it personal when he took John prisoner," I pointed out.

"Maybe so," Rink said. "But I'm referring to him and you. When he found out who you were, I could see it in his face-it was almost as if he was excited. As if he'd found a worthy adversary, y'know? You think he's lookin' to die, Hunter? Some of these sickos like to go out in a blaze of glory. Think he's lookin' for you to kill him?"

"Whether he is or he isn't, that's what's going to happen," I promised.

"Yeah," Rink grumbled. "But be wary, man. If he has a death wish, he intends to take you with him. If he's looking to bolster his reputation, who better to have on his dead list than you?" Rink looked across at me again. "Apart from me, of course."

Even in that moment, Rink could?nd humor. It made me smile. "Of course." "No, man, I'm serious. The psycho's looking to make himself famous." I shook my head. "You really think anyone will ever know the truth about him?"

"Not if it's left to Walter."

"The provision he put on us-allowing us to bring the Harvestman down-was that his name never got mentioned again. How likely is it that my name hits the news if the maniac manages to take me out?"

"Not very, I suppose. But then again, what about your folks back home? Don't you think they're gonna want answers, that they won't make a scene if anything happens to you?"

"Diane knows what my line of work is. She'll receive a call from Walter's office. She'll be told to keep quiet. She wants a quiet life, she'll comply."

Rink grunted. "An' here was me thinkin' you really understood your ex-wife."

I squinted across at him and he looked at me as though I was a complete idiot. "Hunter, man. You're not in that game anymore. How many times do I have to remind you? There's your mom and dad. Jennifer. An' you really think for one goddamn minute that Diane ain't gonna scream to the rafters if anything happens to you? You think she'll give a shit what line Walter tries to feed her about the Harvestman's identity being an embarrassment to the U.S. government?"

I exhaled. He was right again. Of course Diane would want-no, demand-answers. Suggesting otherwise was doing her an injustice. I nodded.

"Not only that," Rink went on. "But don't you think I won't raise the subject? I don't owe Walter a goddamn thing. I never made any promises to hide the identity of his little black sheep."

"No, Rink. I made the promise for both of us. By coming along, you bought into this."

Rink's face twisted, but he was giving in.

We drove for another hour and a quarter and silence reigned over the many miles.

"Look familiar?" Rink suddenly asked.

I glanced toward a rest stop across the highway to our left. There was a diner and rest area, beyond them a cul-de-sac of single-story cabins. I shook my head.

"That's where the couple was murdered. The man and woman who picked John up in their car."

"You mean the couple who picked up Martin Maxwell or Tubal Cain or whatever it is he calls himself? It's obvious now, isn't it, what really happened?"

"You're saying that somehow the Harvestman ended up with John's car-the one he stole from Petoskey-and it was him, not John, who the witnesses saw being picked up?"

"Yeah. Exactly."

"So how do you explain John and the Harvestman tying up together again? I mean… it's a bit of a stretch, ain't it?" "Not unless something happened between John and Cain. Something that ensured Cain would hunt him down." Rink gave an expansive shrug. "Who knows? They coulda been acting together long before any of this happened."

"No. I don't believe that. Chance threw them together. I think John became an unwilling puppet. The evidence is all there. Remember that it was John who saved the old woman, that it was John who gave us the tools to hunt Cain down. It was his decision to take my cell phone. Do you really believe he'd have done that if he was working with Cain?"

"No, I don't. An' I don't think he'd offer himself up as a sacri?ce, either. I'm only playing advocate here. I don't suppose we'll ever know the true story."

"Only way we're gonna?nd that out is to save John," I said. "If I have my way, Cain won't be around to do any explaining."

Out here on the fringes of the Mojave Desert, there was a surreal cast to the early evening sky. Behind us, hovering above the Pacific Ocean, the sun's?nal gasp made the sky a mother-of-pearl banner. Alongside the road, Joshua trees cast elongated shadows like accusing?ngers, pointing the way to the showdown ahead.

Four vehicles ahead, Cain?icked on his lights, ensuring that we could follow him as the night began to descend over the desert.

While he drove, Rink drank mineral water courtesy of the government. He offered me some. Pity that the bottle didn't contain something a little stronger. Nonetheless, I accepted it and chugged down a grateful mouthful.

Really, I should've been thirstier than I was, I should've felt the need for food. Neither of us had eaten anything since early that morning. However, the continued release of adrenaline ensured that nothing would pass my lips that required my stomach to hold on to it. Anything more solid than the spring water, I suspected, would end up projected out the window in a couple of miles.

As night came, Rink pushed the SUV on. One of the cars between us turned up a side road and Rink?lled the gap it left.

For two more hours Cain led us on a merry dance. Then, as if concerned that we might miss him turning off the main route, he used his turn signal, slowed down dramatically, and crawled to an intersection.

Two of the cars ahead of us overtook him before he reached the turnoff. As Cain swept to the right, the remaining car continued on to the east, and I saw Cain hit the brakes a couple of times, ensuring that we didn't lose him.