Dead Men's Dust

    'What's with all the knives?'

    'Just a passion of mine.'

    'They don't look expensive. Not the kind of thing anyone would collect.'

    'I use them in my work, that's all. And you're right, they're not expensive. So it'd be pointless stealing them.'

    'What the hell's so important about them if they aren't expensive? You were prepared to risk a bullet for the sake of a few old knives?'

    'Just call it sentimental value. I've had them a long time. They hold a lot of memories.' Cain turned and peered over his shoulder. He held the gaze of the driver. 'Indulge me, will you?'

    The man dropped the utility belt on the ground, kicked it down into the arroyo. 'Don't climb up from there until you hear me driving away. I'll be watching.'

    A wink. 'Understood.'

    'Good.'

    As he was commanded, Cain waited until he heard the SUV grum

ble to life, then recede into the distance. What would be the good of rushing? A footrace with a 4x4 wouldn't offer good odds.

    First, he retrieved the bottle of water. It felt tepid against his palm. Then he picked up his belt. He didn't need to make an inventory of its contents. He could tell merely by its weight that something was missing.

    'You thieving asshole!' He tore open the pouch. His Bowie knife was gone.

    This changed everything. He practically hurled himself up the arroyo wall. Reaching the top on his elbows and knees, he lurched up, took half a dozen running steps toward the road. The taillights of the SUV were mere pinpricks in the distance.

    'I'll see you again, thief.' His promise was as righteous as his fury. 'I'll see you again. And when I do there's gonna be hell to pay.'

7

so there you have it. why i hotfooted it to the u.s. I took an evening flight to Miami. On the first leg out of the U.K., I slept for hours. I dreamed of people screaming. After transferring planes in New York, the nightmare was with me still. I couldn't sleep, so sat staring out the window. Surreal cloud formations were a mild distraction. They piled all the way down the East Coast. Rink hadn't been exaggerating; storms were raging across Florida.

    The air-conditioned terminal tricked me. I stepped out into rain, which I was used to, but the cloying humidity slapped my face like a hot rag.

    Damp with the rain and wringing wet with sweat beneath my clothes, I walked toward Jared Rington's Porsche Boxster with a grimace of greeting for the big guy. Christ, I hadn't seen the brute in two years. Rink pressed a button and dropped the passenger-side window.

    'What's with all the bags, Hunter?' he asked, nodding at the two I carried. 'Figuring on staying a month?'

    'As long as it takes.'

'Fine by me.'

    I nodded at him. 'Are you gonna invite me in or do I stand out here all night getting even wetter?'

    'S'long as you don't get any stains on the upholstery,' Rink said.

    I checked out the Porsche, then looked down at my sodden clothing. 'Maybe I'd best take a taxi,' I said.

    'The hell you will. Jump in. Toss your bags on the back shelf . . . if they'll fit. Otherwise you're gonna have to keep them on your knee. That's the problem with these beauties—no trunk space.'

    'Not much room for anything.'

    'I didn't buy a Porsche for its capacious luggage-handling qualities,' Rink said.

    'You got it to impress the young ladies, huh?' I clambered in, clutching one bag to my chest.

    'Yup. But to be honest, I don't score as often as I used to in my old pickup truck.'

    Previously clean-shaven, he now sported what looked like a hairy caterpillar on his top lip. He caught me staring at it. He checked himself out in the rearview mirror. 'What's wrong with my mustache?'

    'Makes you look like a porn star,' I said.

    Rink grinned unabashedly. 'Yeah, so I've been told. But then again,' he puffed out his chest, 'I've also got the goods of a porn star.'

    'Dream on, Casanova,' I said. 'Don't forget, I've seen you in the showers.'

    'Yeah,' Rink agreed. 'But you're forgettin' what battle stress does to a man. Sometimes adrenaline makes you shrink up like that.'

    'Never seemed to affect me,' I told him as he was pulling away from the curb.

    'Trouble is,' Rink said, his tone losing its bantering edge, 'nothing ever seemed to affect you the way it did us mere mortals. I sometimes used to wonder if you know what fear is.'

    'Oh, don't you worry,' I said. 'There were plenty of times I was scared to death.'

    'It didn't show.'

    'It was there, Rink. I just didn't let it show.'