'Come on, man. You can't do this to a Good Samaritan.'
'I can and I will.' The man jerked the gun again. 'Get moving. Down in the ditch.'
'I'm not dressed for climbing.'
'Well, jump.'
Cain started toward the arroyo. 'You think you could let me get something from my car? You're going to leave me out here in the middle of nowhere; at least let me get a bottle of water.'
'In the ditch.'
'It's called an arroyo.'
'Well, get in the damn
Cain shook his head again. No urgency to his tread. 'Easy now, I'm going.'
The man watched him clamber down the embankment. Cain turned and peered up at him. His face was a spectral gray in the starlight. A blob of silver that would prove an easy target for a gunman. 'Turn around and face away from me, kneel down, and put your hands on your head.'
'Why the amateur dramatics?' Cain asked. 'You're going to take my car. There's no way I can climb out and stop you, so why do you want me to kneel down?'
'Because I said so,' the man answered.
'It's going to ruin a perfectly good pair of slacks,' Cain said in a singsong voice, choirboy sweet. He turned and knelt in the gravel as though at a pew.
'Okay, stay right there,' the man said.
The scuff of shoes through sand marked the man's progress. Fetching something from his own abandoned vehicle, Cain surmised. The unmistakable thud of a hood being slammed. Then the sound of footsteps returning to the brim of the arroyo. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the man outlined against the stars. In his hand he carried a backpack. He delved in the bag, pulled something out, and cast it down.
Cain's assumption was justified. Definitely not a killer. A plastic bottle three-quarters full of water settled against a boulder ten feet in front of him.
'Don't say I'm not grateful for your help,' the man called down. Then he turned to go.
'Wait!' Cain shouted.
'What?'
'I'll do you a trade.'
'There's nothing you have that I want.'
'You sure?'
'Positive.'
'How's about the keys to my car?'
That got his attention.
'Throw them up here.'
'No.'
'Throw them up here or I'll shoot you.'
'No. Like I said, I'll do you a trade.'
'Just throw the damn things here or I'll put a bullet in you.'
'You do that and you won't find the keys. While you were off gal- livanting, I hid them. Fair enough, they're not too far away, but it'll take you a while to find them. Are you sure you want to waste precious time looking for them for the sake of one little request? You know, you could kill me, but what if someone was to come along while you were still searching for the keys? Are you prepared to kill them as well? Could even be a cop.'
The man swore impolitely.
Cain grunted in amusement. 'One little request,' he repeated.
'All right, but you give me the keys first.'
'No. You get something from my car first.'
More profanity. Then, 'So what the hell's so important?'
'Look under the front passenger seat. You'll find a utility belt. Bring it to me, please.'
'Okay, but then you give me the keys. And no messing around.'
'Deal.' Cain lifted one hand off his head and gave the driver a thumbs-up.
What could the man do but acquiesce?
'Don't move. I'll go and get your utility belt. But if I come back and you've moved as much as an inch I'm going to kill you.'
'Deal.' This time he put up two thumbs.
He knelt in the gravel, ignoring the sharp edges of rocks against his knees like a monk in penance. He attained Zen tranquility through the mantra of 'Mack the Knife' hummed to himself.
'You liar.' The man's voice broke the trance. 'The keys were in the car all along.'
Without looking around Cain shrugged.
'I've got a good mind not to give you your bloody bag for that,' the man said.
'It's no good to you,' Cain pointed out. 'You may as well leave it.'
'I took a look in your bag, mister. Hope you don't mind, but I wanted to check there wasn't a gun inside. Didn't want you chasing me up the road taking potshots at me.'
'Well, now you know there's no gun. Just leave it there for me, please.'
