Dead Men's Dust

car.'

    'Ha!'

    'I mean it. You mess with my brother, you're buying your own body bag.'

    'Keep thinking that way, John. Optimism will keep you alive.'

    'I'm not gonna get outta this alive. I know that. I've known it all along. My only hope is that I see you die first.'

    'If anyone ends up dead, it'll be your high and mighty brother. Chances are I'll have to do Jared Rington, too.'

    'You actually believe that?'

    'Are you saying that confidence in my abilities is a bad thing? Shame on you, trying to tarnish my self- esteem.'

    'Nothing I say would make you think badly of yourself. You're a fuckin' psychopath.'

    'Sticks and stones, John. Sticks and stones.'

    'Stop being so damn patronizing. Why don't you come clean and tell the truth? You've intended killing me all along, haven't you? I can't believe you saved me from drowning so that you could murder me. That's so twisted, nobody would believe it.'

    'The truth is, you're here now. Makes no difference whether you believe me or not.'

    John snapped, 'You're gonna get your head handed to you on a plate. My brother isn't like me; Joe will kill you.'

'Nah, I don't see things turning out that way.'

    John gave a disgusted cough, squirmed down in the seat. Either his strength was failing him or he'd decided that it was pointless talking. Not that it made a difference; if Cain wanted to talk, he would talk. 'Now, then, where is the big bold Joe Hunter?'

    Cain squinted into the mirror, adjusting it. Some distance back he could see the headlights of the pursuing SUV. In response, he turned off the Dodge's lights. 'Don't want to make things too easy, now, do we?'

    'I thought you wanted him to follow you?'

    'I do, just not too closely.'

    'You might as well give up. Joe isn't gonna be reading you your rights. He's gonna put a bullet right between your eyes.'

    'Then I'll just have to make certain he doesn't see me, won't I?'

    Cain grinned into the darkness.

    The road had become a dirt trail, with ruts on either side and sagebrush along its center where the desert sand gathered. The moon hanging low over the horizon offered a little light, so Cain could make out the road ahead. Not that he needed to concentrate; he knew this trail as well as he knew his own dark heart's desires. Despite his misgivings about the worthiness of the Dodge, he pushed it to greater speed, smiling at each jounce and the wince of pain it elicited from his passenger.

    'I bet you wish you hadn't pulled that stunt with the cell phone,' he said. John didn't answer. 'Right now you're thinking that—not only have you signed your own death warrant—but your brother's as well. Deep down, some errant grain of honor is festering like a malignant cancer, eating away at your insides. You're thinking, I should've paid my dues and spared the others. Now I've put my brother in terrible danger.'

    'No,' John said. 'I'm thinking you're so full of crap I can't stand the stench any longer. I'm outta here, you maniac!'

    Then John grabbed the door handle and thrust the door open. The rush of wind banged it back against him.

    Cain would never admit to panic, but realizing John's insane plan, he let slip a shout of denial. He immediately stomped on the brakes. John's body was thrown forward, and his forehead slammed the back of Cain's neck. The shock of the collision knocked Cain's hands off the steering wheel, and momentarily he had to fight both the movement of the vehicle and the wave of agony washing over him. In those few seconds, John threw his weight against the partly open door and fell away into billowing dust.

    'Son of a bitch!' Cain screamed, stomping on the brake pedal a second time. The Dodge fishtailed, sending up plumes of dirt, ending up crossways in the road. He threw open the door and lurched out, eyes scanning the road for John. Not on the road. He began running. In the distance were the telltale lights of Hunter's car.

    Forty or so paces along the road he found John sprawled at the base of a gnarly cactus. Momentarily he feared that John was dead, but then he saw the fire in the man's eyes as he squirmed around to face him.

    'You stupid, stupid idiot,' Cain snarled.

    'Screw you,' John grunted.

    Cain stepped forward as John attempted to rise up against him. Cain's foot pushed him down again, pressing savagely against the wound in his chest. John screamed. Cain pressed harder. And the screaming stopped as John passed out at last.

    Cain grabbed him, thrust his arms around John's chest in a bear hug, and began backpedaling. Dragging the groaning man, Cain looked up. Hunter's lights were some distance away, but looming nearer. 'I should just leave you here to die, you goddamn ass. Leave you in the road so your freakin' brother rides right over you.'

    It was a hollow threat because he still had a plan for John Telfer.

38

the enigma that was tubal cain kept nagging at me. How does a psycho like Martin Maxwell bluff his way through the rigorous selection processes employed by the Secret Service? How does he manage to conceal his true self—a depraved stalker and murderer—and pass himself off as normal?