Free Dead Men's Dust by Matt Hilton Page B

wholly different reason than he’d admit. “That’s a relief, friend. For a moment there I thought you were about to rob me or something.”
    “We just want to ask you a couple of questions,” said the man. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting a minute or two?”
    “Wait for what? What am I supposed to have done?”
    “We’ve been having problems with pickpockets. Been watching you, and we’d just like to ask you to turn out your pockets.” The man, large and impressive-looking, had a nervous cast to his eyes. Not been on the job long, Cain decided.
    “I don’t think you’re at liberty to do that,” Cain told him.
    “If you’d just wait for my supervisor, he’ll explain everything to you,” said the security man. His hand was as big and hot as a Sunday roast on Cain’s shoulder.
    “Hey!” Cain shrugged him off. Amiable enough. A lack of aggression ensured that he didn’t encourage a tighter hold.
    Yes, the big guy was new to the job, obviously unsure of his level of authority here. His hand wavered in the air as though plucking at floating threads of lint.
    Cain exhaled. Rule five: If you’re accosted, keep them thinking. While engaged in thought, the fools aren’t acting. Gives you the opportunity to act first. Rule six: If you are going to act, do so immediately and without prejudice.
    “So where is your supervisor?” he demanded.
    “Coming.”
    Cain glanced around, saw that the man in candy stripes was about twenty feet away, attempting to skirt a group of kids on an outing. Hecouldn’t see the one in taupe. Good, that gave him a few seconds to spare.
    “I can’t wait here all day.” Cain engaged the man by locking eyes with him. Simple but effective. It was all Cain required. His hand moved below their plane of vision. Motion that was barely a flicker. A quick jabbing action between the man’s legs. Very little contact. Hardly noticeable. Then he was past the man and taking his first couple of steps down the stairs. The security man was motionless, looking down between his thighs at the lake of blood pooling between his feet.
    Cain counted the steps, one, two, three, four; then the caterwauling began. A horror-movie scream as the truth became apparent. Cain’s feet gave a backbeat to the howl, clattering down the remaining steps to the promenade. On the pier, heads were swiveling toward the commotion, but Cain simply ran. He needn’t look back to witness the result of that one simple knife jab. A punctured femoral artery came with a guarantee; without immediate medical help, the security man would bleed to death in minutes. Confusion would erupt and allow him to escape. Also, attempting to staunch the flowing blood of their downed fellow meant the man’s companions couldn’t possibly pursue him, too.
    Of course, Cain was also a firm believer in not trusting people to react the way you expected them to. A shout broke through the murmur of consternation rising behind him. He heard the slap of determined footsteps in pursuit down the stairs. He did glance back, a natural instinct that would not be denied. The man in taupe rushed after him. Cain swore and increased his speed.
    As they had for the Hawaiian beauty, the crowds parted before him. Only the looks he received were anything but admiring. They were fearful. It was apparent to all that Cain was a fugitive. A dangerous fugitive, judging by the screaming overhead. There were no gung-ho heroes among the tourists, no one trying to snag his clothing or bring him down. But neither did they impede the man in taupe.Younger than Cain, and in reasonable shape, he was gaining fast. All the while, he shouted into a radio and—more worrying—clenched a revolver in his other hand.
    Cain cut to the right, charged up some more steps and onto the ramp arching over the highway, then raced head down for the anonymity offered by the stores a couple of blocks over. The man in taupe didn’t stop, matching him step for step all the way.
    At the shopping