'Seems a little pointless, doesn't it?' Cain said.
'You're telling me,' said the fat guy. His bulk formed a line of its own behind Cain at the automated hand drier. Energized by his need to get about his journey, he hopped from foot to foot in anticipation of his turn at the hot air.
Cain took his time dry-washing his hands to a point where his skin began to stick together. A
'It's all yours.'
'Gee, thanks,' said the fat guy, not really meaning it.
'My pleasure,' Cain said. Not meaning it, either.
It would be nice to kill the fat guy. But in the end, he decided not to. Too dangerous. What if someone walked in before he was finished concealing the gross body in one of the stalls? He could obviously kill them, too, but then he'd be right back to square one. Last thing he wanted was to end up in a loop where the only guarantee was that he'd finally run out of places to conceal the dead. He would allow the man to live, but there was something he could do that'd bring him a modicum of fulfillment.
It was more than a friendly gesture as he patted the fat guy's shoulder. Two solid slaps of his hand. The man flinched at the contact, blinked at him.
'See you, friend,' Cain said. He moved toward the exit. Happy.
'Yeah, see you,' the fat guy intoned. Then, stupidly, he muttered something under his breath.
Cain turned and stared back at him. His look was that of a prowling leopard eyeing a wounded buffalo.
'You say something, buddy?'
The fat guy blinked rapid-fire. His jowls hung slack, framed by long, wiry curls. 'No, I didn't say a thing.'
Cain stepped toward him, and a piece of grit crunched beneath his boot. The sound was more invasive than loud, an expression of Cain's aversion to the man before him. The fat guy reacted as though it was a gunshot. He reared back, lifting his chin in anticipation of avoiding a blow. Cain shook his head at the overreaction. He said, 'That's funny. I'm sure I heard you call me an asshole.'
Now the fat guy shook his head.
'Look, mister. I don't want any trouble, okay. I just want to dry my hands and get outta here. Wife and kids are waiting for me in the car. We're going down to see my wife's mother for a day or two is all. So I don't want any trouble with you. Gonna get enough of it off the mother-in-law if I'm more than a minute late.'
Funny how people babbled when they were afraid.
'I was being polite to you,' Cain said. His smile was mock whimsy. 'Even looked after your health and well-being for you. Not many people would've bothered. Quite happily could've let you go and get back in your car with your wife and kids. Could've allowed you to spread all those nasty little germs to them. Take them on down to grandma's house, too, no doubt. But I didn't. I thought I'd be nice and remind you to wash your hands. No big deal?'
'No,' the fat guy said. 'No big deal.'
'So why'd you have to call me an asshole?'
'I didn't—'
'Don't lie to me. Please?'
'I'm not lying. I didn't say a goddamn thing.'
'Ingratitude. Lies. Now profanity?'
Sometimes even scared fat people got to a point when enough was enough. 'Look, fella. I don't know what your problem is with me, but I'm outta here.' He shoved by Cain, heading for the door. His exit was as desperate as his entrance.
From the open door, Cain watched him go. A hot breeze lifted whorls of dust in his wake. The man kept glancing back, his hair waving Medusa-like. Cain waved at him. The man jumped in his station wagon, babbling loudly in distress, hands stabbing for the ignition. His prodigious wife and two equally fat children looked over at Cain. Redhaired, with pie-dish faces, they looked like orangutans in a zoo. He waved at them, too. Then the station wagon was headed for the highway with a little more haste than was sensible.
Too quickly, the show was over. While it lasted, the slight distraction had proved enjoyable. Would've been more satisfying if he'd sliced up the fat guy. But at least the look on the guy's face was a bonus.
'And I got another trophy.'
In his palm was a strip of plaid cloth. A patch taken from the man's shirt when he'd patted him on the shoulder. Not just a friendly farewell, it was a well-rehearsed move. It was all part of a game he played. If he could get a slither of clothing and remain undetected he let the target live. Those who felt the tug at their clothes or the slice of the knife against their flesh he had to kill immediately.
'Fatty, you just don't realize it yet. Today is the luckiest day of your life.'
10
rink's condominium was set in a small community in woodland near Temple Terrace, northeast of Tampa. Set on a limestone outcrop, it was elevated above the flat country all around. Across the way, I could see families in their backyards, reclining on deck chairs with a cool drink at hand, some splashing in private swimming pools. A different world to the one I knew back home. Rink had obviously been pulling in decent work to afford this kind of accommodation.
From the front of the house, I heard an engine growl, Rink announcing his return. Rising up from the chair, I wandered into the living room and met him coming in with his arms full of take-out food.
'Let's eat,' he announced.
'You bet.'
The food wasn't too fancy, but it was more satisfying than the artificial slop the flight crew offered on the
