Free Heirs of Cain by Tom Wallace Page B

pushed Simon back against the bar. Simon’s face was bathed in fear. He grabbed a napkin and wiped sweat from his forehead.
    “I didn’t come here to listen to your redneck bullshit,” the Indian added. “I’m here to find out where Karl wants to meet. Tell me that, and I’m gone.”
    Before Simon could answer, Hannah walked into the cabin, looked around at the three men, and smiled. “Sounds like you boys are getting a little rowdy down here.”
    Simon coughed. “Get enough sun, Kitten?”
    “Don’t I look tan and lovely?” she answered, turning toward the Indian. “Simon, why don’t you introduce me to your friends?”
    “The one in front …”
    “Seneca,” the Indian said, cocking his head in the direction of the black man. “That’s Deke.”
    “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Deke said, relieved to see her fully clothed.
    Simon coughed again, louder this time. “Honey, I have important business to discuss with these gentlemen. Why don’t you take a shower? Freshen up a bit before dinner.”
    “She can stay if she wants,” Seneca said.
    “It goes against my beliefs to talk business in front of a woman.”
    “Maybe you need some new beliefs.” The Indian looked at Hannah. “Have a seat.”
    “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Simon grunted.
    “Simon is right,” Hannah said. “I do need a shower, but thank you for offering to let me stay. A lady always likes to feel wanted.”
    The three men were quiet until she left. Simon followed, locked the cabin door behind her, then turned back toward his visitors. “Dumbest broad on God’s green earth. But you can’t argue with a body like that. Makes up for a lot of those missing IQ points.”
    “You ought to treat her better,” the Indian said. “If you don’t, she might not be around much longer.”
    “She’ll be with me when they’re kickin’ dirt on my coffin,” Simon growled. “She’s not that dumb. She’s read my will.”
    Simon opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of Tennessee whiskey. “I understand everything went well in Arlington.” He took a drink straight from the bottle. “That true?”
    The Indian slid past Deke and sat on the couch. “Karl. When do we meet him?”
    “You don’t. Not yet, anyway.”
    “Why?”
    “He has another assignment for you. Another run-through to make sure everything is hunky-dory.”
    The Indian stood. “Doesn’t work that way, fatman. I don’t audition for anyone, including Karl. Tell him that. And while you’re at it, tell him I said he can fuck off.”
    “You’re making a big mistake, my Indian friend. Karl won’t take kindly to attitude.”
    The Indian walked to the door and unlocked it. “Tough shit. Tell Karl the next time he wants me, he’ll have to come looking.”
    Simon laughed. “What makes you think there’ll be a next time?”
    Seneca reached up and grabbed Simon by the throat. “Because what he wants done is big. Big enough that he knows I’m the only one who can do it.”
    He released his grip and pinched Simon’s sweating cheek. “See, when you’re the best at something, fatman, there’s always a next time. But being the best isn’t something you’d know much about, is it?”

Lucas had been right. There was nothing in the file on Seneca that Collins didn’t already know. Nothing he couldn’t recite from memory. He leaned back on the couch and tossed the folder onto the table. An 8×10 black and white photo slipped out and fell to the floor. He bent down, picked it up, and held it in front of him.
    Dwight David Rainwater. Full-blooded Cherokee Indian, born on a reservation in Oklahoma, son of a chief, descendent of warriors.
    Code name: Seneca.
    Profession: hired assassin.
    Weapon of choice: knife.
    Those were the only bits of information that counted. The rest of the data was insignificant.
    Collins leaned the picture against the crystal decanter. Even now, even in a photo, Seneca’s dark eyes radiated hatred. Hate and power.
    It has