Dead Men's Dust

    'In particular what he said about CIA agents?'

    'Bullshit. He knew full well who those other guys were. He was just spinning us a line because he thought we were federal agents.'

    'You remember the name someone shouted when we were in the building?'

    'Yeah. Hendrickson's men are here,' he said. 'They were shouting like we were from a rival gang.'

    'Yes. A rival gang. I think Hendrickson sent them to mess with Petoskey. I get the feeling Petoskey and Hendrickson aren't on good terms anymore. Shit, we went in there and blasted the hell out of some of his guys, shot up his building, probably ruined his evening. But he hasn't made one word of complaint to the police. If he believed that we were government agents, don't you think there'd have been a massive lawsuit lodged by now?'

    'Unless he knew we weren't with the CIA and was only playing out a scenario for the benefit of his guests.'

    'Nah, too slim.' I mulled it around my head a little longer. 'Could be he thought we were sent by Hendrickson, and he mentioned the CIA to put a scare into us. You know, like a subtle threat?'

    'Unless these Latinos are government agents?'

    'They're not CIA. Walter confirmed that.'

    'He could've been lying.'

    'No, Rink. He wouldn't've given me approval to shoot to kill if they were any of his men.'

    'So why all the bull from Petoskey about the CIA?'

    Back to square one.

    'We can only wait and see,' I said.

30

the sun was warm on cain's face. above him, a yellowand-white-striped awning dotted with dried insects flapped on a lazy breeze. He was quite at home sitting outside a cafe overlooking the boardwalk in an exclusive part of Marina del Rey. He could see himself living in a place just like this. Then again, seven hundred grand wouldn't buy him a toolshed here.

    Beyond a six-foot wall was a yacht valued at more than five million bucks. In keeping with the area, even the concrete wasn't tacky. For its entire length, there was a bright mural lovingly painted in azure, emerald, and stark, brilliant white. Beyond it, he could hear the lapping of the water, the groan of boats as they moved against the pilings of the dock. Gulls wheeled above the masts that heaved like a forest in a gentle breeze.

    Against his better judgment, Cain had allowed Telfer to enter the private harbor alone. Before agreeing, he'd first made sure that the only exit—apart from the open sea—was through the wrought-iron gate thirty yards to his right. It was of course the only way the deal could be struck. Telfer had argued that his buyer would panic if he saw a stranger tailing him onto the boat. In that case his likely assump tion would be that Telfer had set him up, and he would do one of two things: refuse to negotiate or, worse, have Telfer and Cain sunk to the bottom of the sea at the next high tide.

    Cain had to agree. Though he wasn't happy about relinquishing either the bag of goodies or Telfer, had he walked aboard the yacht with a gun trained on Telfer, he could say good-bye to the promised riches and to the reckoning he still planned for him.

    A waitress brought Cain an espresso in a cup hardly bigger than a thimble. He drank it in one gulp and ordered a second. The woman gave him an odd look that he greeted with a sour expression of his own. She went off to fetch another.

    'Make it a double,' Cain called after her, as though ordering whiskey at a Wild West saloon.

    When she returned, she placed the cup—more like a teacup this time—on his table, then hurried off before he could tie up any more of her precious time. Service, it appeared, was not customary for those who came to ogle the rich dudes' yachts.

    Fifteen minutes passed without any activity. Cain was sure that Telfer hadn't slipped away undetected, unless he'd snorkeled his way to freedom beneath the waves.

    Still, he was beginning to grow uncomfortable.

    Fifteen minutes wasn't a long time for someone to make a deal for seven hundred thousand, but it was fifteen minutes too long for Cain. Scenarios were beginning to play out in his mind, and he knew he couldn't wait another five minutes. His inner pessimist was working overtime.

    What if Telfer had done the deal, but then appealed to his business partners to help him escape? What if they'd already called the cops, telling them that a self-confessed killer was sitting outside, sipping bitter coffee at the harbor side? What if, even now, plainclothes detectives were creeping up on him, disguised as rich men in Armani suits?

    He surreptitiously scanned the boardwalk. Could there be police posing as tourists who, like him, feigned interest in the elegant yachts? Are they moving on me now? he wondered.

    It was enough to make him squirm. Cain didn't like squirming. He liked to make others squirm.

    'Enough is enough,' he told himself.

    Telfer had too much to lose if the police became involved. Okay, his life would be back in his own hands, and likely he would get the money, but chances were that the police would be onto him and his business associates as thick as stink on a mangy goat.

    Knowing the way a thief's mind worked, Cain believed that Telfer would do the deal, then return to him with the hope of escaping and relieving him of the money when a healthier opportunity presented itself. If the tables were turned, that's exactly what he'd do. So he could do nothing but bide his time and take charge again when Telfer returned with the money.

    He might as well enjoy the sunshine and his coffee.