suppose you could say I'm well read. A mine of useless information, huh?'
'Or you do work for the people who are after me,' Telfer said. He made it sound as though he was joking, but the idea had obviously invaded his thoughts.
Cain twisted his mouth. 'No. I work alone.'
By the look in his eyes, Telfer believed him. But it didn't make his predicament any less dangerous.
Cain dropped the bill on the coffee table, reached for the litho plates. 'These can't be originals?'
'I don't suppose they are,' Telfer replied. 'But they're still worth decent money to the right person.'
Cain gave him a shallow smile. 'Are you attempting to bribe me, Mr. Telfer?'
'If it's going to save my life, yes.'
Cain's smile turned into a full grin. 'At last! We're being fully truthful now. That's more like it.' He pulled the tape free from the stack of four litho plates and held one of them up. 'They're not real plates. They've been etched from a copy after a hundred-dollar bill was scanned into a computer. That's why there's no clarity on the scrollwork. Still, like you say, they'll be worth good money to the right buyer.'
Telfer grinned along with him. 'So what do you say we make a deal? My life for the plates?'
'Nah,' Cain said, dropping the litho on the table. 'It's not as simple as that. Why would I let you go when I can kill you and then take the plates for myself?'
Telfer inclined his chin. 'You seem to know a lot about the process of making counterfeit notes. Do you also know who's in the printing game? Who'd be prepared to buy the litho plates from you?'
Nodding his head, Cain said, 'Well, I have to admit . . . you've got me there.'
'I've already set up a deal. I'm supposed to meet the buyer tomorrow.'
Cain snorted.
'It's the truth. Why would I lie to you?'
'Who are you meeting with?'
Telfer shook his head. 'Christ, man. Give me a little credit, will you? I'm trying to save my life here. You can't expect me to tell you who I intend selling the plates to.'
'I could cut the name out of your throat,' Cain pointed out.
'Yes, you could. But it wouldn't do you any good. My buyer won't deal with anyone but me. He's too afraid that the FBI is onto him to deal with anyone he doesn't know. If I don't show at the meet, he won't show.'
'Touche.'
'So that means that you need to keep me alive, or the deal will be off.'
'How much money are we talking about here?'
Telfer exhaled. Indicating the pile of money, he said, 'About two hundred grand for that.' He paused. 'Maybe half a million for the plates.'
Cain raised an eyebrow. 'Seven hundred thousand?'
'Three fifty apiece.'
Cain shook his head. 'Seven hundred for me. You get to stay alive.'
The corners of Telfer's mouth turned down.
'That's the deal,' Cain told him. 'All or nothing.'
'Okay,' Telfer said after a beat. For the first time in hours, he appeared to have relaxed into the seat. 'You've got yourself a deal.'
Cain smiled as well, restacked the litho plates. 'Yes,' he said. But his voice held all the promise of a serpent.
It had been a long night. And he'd done a lot of thinking.
He wasn't a greedy man. If he wanted something, he just took it as his own. Appropriated the chattels of his victims as if they were the spoils of war. He'd never found it difficult to finance his lifestyle before, but he had to admit that the thought of a cool seven hundred thousand bucks rang sweet even to his ears. Especially when enunciated slowly.
Seven. Hundred. Thousand. Dollars.
Undeniably, the subject of the money was a distraction. He'd pondered taking what was already available and making do, but the thought that the bogus money could spell his downfall made him hold back. Why risk blowing his cover by passing a fake note at a goddamn McDonald's when he could have as much of the real thing as he'd ever require?
Not only that, but the thought of playing Telfer like a pawn appealed to his sense of the grandiose. He'd allow Telfer to touch the money, hold it in his hands, let him sniff the stench of riches beyond his dreams, before finally snatching it away from him. That would be just punishment for the trouble he'd caused.
Then, of course, it would be a pleasant trip out into the desert for the final reckoning.
Yes, the subject of the money was a distraction. But so was what he'd just witnessed on the motel's TV set. He wasn't one for watching television. Never had been. The only reason he'd switched it on was to mask their conversation from guests in the adjacent rooms.
He wasn't averse to seeing his handiwork on the screen. But there
was a major difference this time. He had a good mind to telephone the freaking FBI and put them right about a thing or two. Particularly regarding Telfer's part in the slaying of the two drifters he'd appropriated the VW from.
