willing to be of assistance. I don't care for selfish people. What about you, John?'
'I don't suppose they have much choice when you're pushing a gun under their noses.'
Cain shrugged.
'What if there are children?' Telfer continued.
'I haven't killed a child lately,' Cain said.
Telfer didn't reply, concentrating on shuffling by his nemesis to
conceal his disgust. Cain allowed him to take the lead. He glanced down at the empty gun, considered its convenience as a tool, and decided that as long as no one suspected it was empty, it was still worth the effort to lug it along with him.
Telfer shuffled the length of the jetty, the briefcase stuffed beneath one armpit. Behind him, Cain grinned to himself. Telfer reminded him of a shambling mummy as he clawed at a railing to help him up the steps to the house. Beyond them the summerhouse presented a skull-like visage, dark empty eye sockets for windows and a grinning jaw of picket-rail teeth. It was an image that appealed to Cain but only added to Telfer's apparent foreboding. He turned and gave Cain an imploring look.
'On you go, John. You've got nothing to worry about.'
Telfer shook his head. He set his shoulders, unresigned to the prospect of further violence. Cain nudged him in the small of his back but he resisted the push.
'You don't have to kill anyone.'
'No,' Cain agreed. 'I don't have to.'
Telfer still refused to move.
Cain said, 'But I might just start here and now if you don't move your ass.'
A propane blaze of anger flushed Telfer's face. Slowly he turned and faced his captor. Cain glared back. The tableau held for half a dozen heartbeats. 'You know,' Telfer said, 'the more you threaten someone, the less those threats mean.'
Cain grunted, but this time in humor. 'You should know by now that I don't make threats idly, John.'
'I'm fully aware of what you're capable of. All I'm saying is that maybe you should take care who you direct those threats at. Sooner or later you're going to have to do something about it.'
'Now who's making threats?'
'No. Not a threat. Call it friendly advice.'
Cain winked. 'Okay, John, I get you. Now do me the honor of getting yourself inside on your own two feet before I have to plug you and drag you in by your ears.'
'Another threat?'
Cain shrugged. 'Call me Mr. Predictable.'
Telfer loped on ahead, and Cain glanced down and saw a pattern of dark splotches on the wood planks. Telfer was bleeding worse than he'd thought. Probably the reason for the bravado. A last-ditch attempt at showing he had a backbone after all. Following the trail, Cain lifted his gaze once more to Telfer's shuffling form. Maybe patching him up was a waste of effort; maybe he should just end it now. Dead, he'd no longer be the hindrance he was proving. And he'd be more manageable stuffed in the trunk of the Dodge than up front riding shotgun. But that would mean changing the plans he'd fantasized over these past hours. Killed here with little fuss or later at the designated place with all the pomp and ceremony the occasion demanded? It wasn't too difficult a choice. He followed on behind, his mind made up.
Although the house looked uncared for, the tiny yard was a different story. Bougainvillea in terra-cotta troughs made a pleasant border for the final approach to the front door. He curled his lip. Kind of spoiled the overall ambience. So, too, did the tinkle of piano music coming from beyond the screen door.
Exhaling at the homeliness of it all, Cain hurried so that he came to the door just as Telfer raised a hand to rap on the door frame. He was about to halt Telfer when the crunch of feet on gravel achieved that for him. Synchronized, they turned and greeted the man rounding the side of the house. Then they both glanced down at the Rottweiler that strained at the leash in his grasp. Telfer's mouth held the ghost of a smirk as he looked at his captor.
'Help you gentlemen?' the man asked from ten feet away. He ap peared to be about sixty years old, sunburned and paunchy. An early retiree on a short break. Cain would bet his right testicle that this man prefers to take his holidays in a mobile home. The massive dog continued to tug at the leash, tongue lolling in anticipation of a couple of tasty morsels.
In another sleight of hand, Cain spirited the gun into his waistband and his hand clapped down tight on Telfer's shoulder to halt any telltale movement. 'Hopefully you can, brother,' Cain said, stepping past Telfer. 'My friend here is injured. I'd appreciate it if you'd call 911 for us.'
'Need an ambulance?' the man asked, craning to see past Cain as though attempting to ascertain the severity of Telfer's injuries. Subtly, Cain shifted onto his other foot. The blood on Telfer's shirt was like a flashing light to the man. Eyes wide he lurched forward, aided by the pull of the heavy dog. 'My God,' he spluttered. 'You're bleeding!'
Cain held up a hand. 'Don't worry, brother. It looks worse than it is. But we'd appreciate your help nonetheless.'
'Yes, yes,' the man said, coming forward at a trot. The dog bounced along at his side, no longer tugging at its leash. Cain gave the dog a nanosecond of perusal. He feigned alarm. Stepped away. The man saw the movement, gave a shake of his head. 'Oh, don't be worried about Popeye none. He looks scary, but really he's a big old softie. More likely he'll lick you to death than bite you.'
'Phew. That's a relief,' Cain said. For Telfer's benefit he raised an eyebrow, gave a lopsided smile. Telfer gave a short cough, but already Cain was dropping to a knee as if to greet the dog.
As the dog brushed past, Cain swiped his hand under its muzzle. An innocent enough looking pat of its
