'Private
'If not Petoskey, who else could John have been working for?' I asked.
Harvey blew out in a harsh exclamation. 'Take your pick, Hunter. Could be anyone.'
'Yeah,' I agreed. If John was involved in crime, he could be working for any one of half a million employers from anywhere in the States. 'Louise said she didn't press him about his work, but twice she mentioned that John told her to contact me if anything happened to him. People don't give you those kind of instructions unless they're pretty sure something
'And,' Rink added, 'he's obviously been expecting something
'Yeah,' I said. 'That's what worries me the most.'
14
'different plates, same suv.'
Tubal Cain was in no doubt. The vehicle parked in the lot of the Pacific View Hotel was the one stolen from him yesterday. Even if it had been sprayed a different color, furry dice hung in the window, and whitewall tires added, he'd have known the vehicle for his own. It had a vibe that he could feel even from across the width of the parking lot. That vehicle had witnessed death, and the pall of violence hung over it like a miasma of poisonous fumes.
As nonchalant as a man with the right—which he certainly had, in his estimation—he ambled over to the 4x4. The locks were engaged. Not that they'd stop him from taking back what was rightfully his if he were of a mind to do so.
Nothing on the front seat but an empty water bottle and the remnants of a KFC meal, but on the dash was a disc removed from the CD player.
He wandered to the rear of the car. A cursory inspection of the license plate spoke volumes. The area around the locking nuts was clean, unlike the rest of the plate, which had a fine coating of dust. The clean areas proved that someone had turned the locking nuts very recently. It was obvious to someone with his expert eye that someone had removed the plates from another vehicle, then screwed them in place on this one.
'Guy's a freaking amateur,' he reminded himself. But—and this was a caution he would heed—not to be underestimated.
Credit where it's due, then: changing the plates was on the way to being a good idea. The thief didn't know that Cain wouldn't be reporting the theft of the vehicle, so it was sensible to install a new identity.
Some constructive criticism was in order, though. It was good that the thief had tried to cover his tracks. It was just a pity that he hadn't taken the time to do so properly. Any cop worth his salt would notice the clean area around the locking nuts and know immediately that the plates had been switched. He shook his head in pure reproof. 'I don't know if it's your lack of experience or whether you're just too lazy for your own good.'
A slow walk took him around to the driver's side. Peering inside he saw no sign of his stolen Bowie knife. It meant one of two things: either the knife was concealed out of sight or the thief had it with him in his hotel room. Considering the third option wasn't pleasant: that the thief might have dumped the knife somewhere along the way.
Finished with the car, he made his way toward the front of the hotel. It was a three-story affair, built on land barely a stone's throw from Route 405. Prime location, except that larger hotels blocked the view of the ocean. The name of the hotel was a marketing lie. Probably wishful thinking. Either that or the name was thirty years out of date.
Inside, overhead fans spun indolent circles in lemon-scented air, the lobby as cool and clean as a spring morning. Cain's rubber-soled shoes made a soft squishing sound on the faux-marble tiles, barely dis turbing the tranquility. On his right was a long reception desk behind which was a small office area. A young woman, a California cutie with straw-colored hair and rosy cheeks, was bent over a computer. Cain smiled at her, but she didn't as much as raise her head. Spreadsheets held more interest for her than a handsome man. Cain walked on past her toward the communal dining area.
The steward wasn't at his station. In fact, no one challenged him. The room was devoid of staff or any of the hotel's clientele. A glance at his wristwatch told Cain that it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner.
He stepped back into the lobby area, thinking about his best option. There were alternatives, but the sensible course of action would be to wait for the thief to show up at the SUV. From there he could take him out and regain what was rightfully his.
'Can I help you, sir?'
The blond woman had exited the office and now stood at the reception desk. She had a sheaf of papers in her hands and a smile on her face. Apparently a handsome man did override the attraction of a spreadsheet.
To miss an opportunity would be tantamount to a crime. Without pause Cain swung toward her, affecting his best humble-and-caringguy face. 'Yeah, uhm, I was wondering if someone could help me out. I didn't realize anyone was around when I first walked in.'
Like many before her who'd come into contact with Tubal Cain, the receptionist was oblivious to his lies. The power of a smile and twinkling green eyes are never to be undervalued in a lunatic's arsenal. She waved the sheaf of papers in the general direction of her office. 'Sorry about that, I had my nose buried in some work.'
Cain waved off her apology. 'It's nothing, really,' he said. 'I just pulled in and noticed that a car outside has its lights on. Just thought I'd come in and let you know. Wouldn't like anyone to find a dead battery. Bit of an inconvenience for them.'
The woman swung sideways, pulling a large ledger toward her. 'What kind of vehicle is it?'
'Mercedes SUV. Black and silver. Has Nevada plates.'
The woman checked the register. Opportunities presented must be grasped with both hands. As calmly as possible, Cain leaned over the counter, watching as she traced down a list of names with a wellmanicured fingernail. In the split second before she looked up, Cain turned his head aside and scanned a poster on the wall at the rear of the reception area as if it had held his interest throughout.
