Dead Men's Dust

    'I might cut myself.'

    'I don't give a rat's ass if you cut yourself. Kick it away now.'

    Cain used the edge of his foot to prod the knife away.

    'Satisfied?'

    The thief grunted.

    'Sit on the bed.'

    Argument was pointless. He sat down.

    'Sit on your hands,' the thief said.

    'What for? You have a gun. You think I'm crazy enough to come at you?'

'Humor me.'

    Cain sighed expansively. Could things get any worse? Of course they could, the thief could shoot him. He was no killer, but a nervous finger could slip. Cain pushed his hands beneath his thighs.

    'If you take your hands out I'll shoot you.'

    'Fair enough.'

    'You think I won't?'

    Cain shrugged. 'I have to give you credit. You got the drop on me.'

    'Good. It's best you remember that. Now . . . tell me. Who the hell are you?'

    'You could call me a concerned member of the public.'

    'Bull.'

    'Honestly. I'm simply a member of the public attempting to right a wrong.'

    'So you say. Who the hell do you think you are? Dressed up like friggin' Batman?'

    Cain tilted his head. 'You don't like my costume?' he asked.

    'You look like a reject from a beekeepers' convention. What's the deal? Your employers can't afford to buy you a ski mask or decent gloves?'

    Cain frowned. My employers? Now what's that about?

    The thief continued. 'Who's with you?'

    'No one.'

    'Bullshit! You assholes always hunt in packs. You're like a bunch of damn hyenas.'

    'I'm telling you,' Cain said slowly. 'I'm alone, so you needn't worry. You can stop waving that gun around if you like. I won't move. I only want what is rightfully mine. Then I'll walk out of here and leave you alone.'

    The thief made a sound of scorn deep in his chest.

    'Do you think I'm an idiot?'

    'No, like I said, I've a healthy respect for you. You got the drop on me. In fact'—Cain laughed in good humor—'you ambushed me exactly the same way I was planning for you.'

    The thief sniffed. There was a hint of self-conceit in his eyes. He was proud of his accomplishment and equally pleased at its acknowledgment. Conceit and vanity, both weaknesses Cain could exploit.

    'You're too good for the likes of me. I should've known better than trying to sneak in here.'

    'Don't patronize me,' the thief warned.

    'I'm patronizing no one. Just showing my appreciation of your skills.'

    'Just cut the crap, will you? Tell me why you're really here?'

    'To regain something that belongs to me. I told you.'

    'Something that belongs to Hendrickson, you mean?'

    Hendrickson? Who the hell is Hendrickson?

    'I've no idea who you're referring to,' Cain told him. 'I think you're confusing me with someone else.'

    'I'm not confusing you with anything but a piece of lying crap.'

    'Oh, but you are,' Cain said. 'And if you would only let me take off my hood, you'll see.'

    The thief paused. Considering. Then he shook his head.

    'No, I don't want you to move.'

    'Then you take off my hood. It'll explain everything.'

    The thief considered a moment longer, then he pointed his gun at Cain's head as he snatched the hood away. His look was testament to the confusion Cain's face produced.

    'You're that weirdo from the desert?'

    'Got it in one.'