"Different plates, same SUV."
Tubal Cain was in no doubt. The vehicle parked in the lot of the Paci?c View Hotel was the one stolen from him yesterday. Even if it had been sprayed a different color, furry dice hung in the window, and whitewall tires added, he'd have known the vehicle for his own. It had a vibe that he could feel even from across the width of the parking lot. That vehicle had witnessed death, and the pall of violence hung over it like a miasma of poisonous fumes.
As nonchalant as a man with the right-which he certainly had, in his estimation-he ambled over to the 4x4. The locks were engaged. Not that they'd stop him from taking back what was rightfully his if he were of a mind to do so.
Nothing on the front seat but an empty water bottle and the remnants of a KFC meal, but on the dash was a disc removed from the CD player. Swing When You're Winning, the very disc he'd been playing prior to stopping for the stranded motorist. If he had required con?rmation, there was his proof.
He wandered to the rear of the car. A cursory inspection of the license plate spoke volumes. The area around the locking nuts was clean, unlike the rest of the plate, which had a?ne coating of dust. The clean areas proved that someone had turned the locking nuts very recently. It was obvious to someone with his expert eye that someone had removed the plates from another vehicle, then screwed them in place on this one.
"Guy's a freaking amateur," he reminded himself. But-and this was a caution he would heed-not to be underestimated.
Credit where it's due, then: changing the plates was on the way to being a good idea. The thief didn't know that Cain wouldn't be reporting the theft of the vehicle, so it was sensible to install a new identity.
Some constructive criticism was in order, though. It was good that the thief had tried to cover his tracks. It was just a pity that he hadn't taken the time to do so properly. Any cop worth his salt would notice the clean area around the locking nuts and know immediately that the plates had been switched. He shook his head in pure reproof. "I don't know if it's your lack of experience or whether you're just too lazy for your own good."
A slow walk took him around to the driver's side. Peering inside he saw no sign of his stolen Bowie knife. It meant one of two things: either the knife was concealed out of sight or the thief had it with him in his hotel room. Considering the third option wasn't pleasant: that the thief might have dumped the knife somewhere along the way.
Finished with the car, he made his way toward the front of the hotel. It was a three-story affair, built on land barely a stone's throw from Route 405. Prime location, except that larger hotels blocked the view of the ocean. The name of the hotel was a marketing lie. Probably wishful thinking. Either that or the name was thirty years out of date.
Inside, overhead fans spun indolent circles in lemon-scented air, the lobby as cool and clean as a spring morning. Cain's rubber-soled shoes made a soft squishing sound on the faux-marble tiles, barely dis turbing the tranquility. On his right was a long reception desk behind which was a small of?ce area. A young woman, a California cutie with straw-colored hair and rosy cheeks, was bent over a computer. Cain smiled at her, but she didn't as much as raise her head. Spreadsheets held more interest for her than a handsome man. Cain walked on past her toward the communal dining area.
The steward wasn't at his station. In fact, no one challenged him. The room was devoid of staff or any of the hotel's clientele. A glance at his wristwatch told Cain that it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner.
He stepped back into the lobby area, thinking about his best option. There were alternatives, but the sensible course of action would be to wait for the thief to show up at the SUV. From there he could take him out and regain what was rightfully his.
"Can I help you, sir?"
The blond woman had exited the of?ce and now stood at the reception desk. She had a sheaf of papers in her hands and a smile on her face. Apparently a handsome man did override the attraction of a spreadsheet.
To miss an opportunity would be tantamount to a crime. Without pause Cain swung toward her, affecting his best humble-and-caringguy face. "Yeah, uhm, I was wondering if someone could help me out. I didn't realize anyone was around when I?rst walked in."
Like many before her who'd come into contact with Tubal Cain, the receptionist was oblivious to his lies. The power of a smile and twinkling green eyes are never to be undervalued in a lunatic's arsenal. She waved the sheaf of papers in the general direction of her of?ce. "Sorry about that, I had my nose buried in some work."
Cain waved off her apology. "It's nothing, really," he said. "I just pulled in and noticed that a car outside has its lights on. Just thought I'd come in and let you know. Wouldn't like anyone to?nd a dead battery. Bit of an inconvenience for them."
The woman swung sideways, pulling a large ledger toward her. "What kind of vehicle is it?"
"Mercedes SUV. Black and silver. Has Nevada plates."
The woman checked the register. Opportunities presented must be grasped with both hands. As calmly as possible, Cain leaned over the counter, watching as she traced down a list of names with a well-manicured?ngernail. In the split second before she looked up, Cain turned his head aside and scanned a poster on the wall at the rear of the reception area as if it had held his interest throughout.
"I'll give the owner a call and let him know. I'm sure he'll be grateful for your help," she said.
"It's nothing," Cain reassured her, "but there's nothing worse than a dead battery. And it's so easily avoided, too. I'd only hope that if I were ever so careless, someone would do the same for me."
"Me, too," said the woman. "I remember one time I was at the mall and I left my lights on. Had to call a tow truck and everything. It was so embarrassing."
"And costly, I bet?"
"Oh, not too bad. It was more the inconvenience," the woman said. She covered the memory of her discom?ture with a hand over her mouth. To some the act would look coy, but to Cain it was reminiscent of a self-conscious halitosis sufferer.
"Pity I wasn't around that time," Cain said. "Could've saved you some trouble."
The woman's amused laughter was the tinkling of Christmas bells. Humble and caring guy strikes again. When she looked at him this time, it was with more interest. "Are you a guest here, sir?"
"No," Cain said. "I was just driving by and my phone rang. I don't have a hands-free kit, so I pulled over. Hope you don't mind me using one of your parking spots for a few minutes? I'd have been gone by now if I hadn't noticed the lights on the car I told you about."
"It's not a problem, sir. In fact, it's good of you to take the time to come in and tell me. Thousands of people wouldn't have even bothered."
"That's true," Cain said in agreement. But then again, he always did suspect that he was unique. "Isn't it sad, though, that people have got to a point where they'll just walk on by without offering a hand?"
"It is." The woman nodded. "Not many people I meet are as nice as you."
Ooh, the nice word. Cain thought she was nice, too. Unfortunately, he had wholly different reasons for his opinion. His estimation was based purely upon the judgment of the ossuary-building artist within him. Clark Kent's X-ray vision was no less penetrating than his scrutiny. She had a pleasing bone structure behind the rosy cheeks. A little plump, perhaps, so that he couldn't easily de?ne the?ne skeletal lines he adored. He glanced from her face to her hands. They were slim and long?ngered, the nails polished to a sheen. Now there were treasures he would cherish. Slowly he traced each digit in turn with his eyes.
She was aware of this examination. She stirred, ever so slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. Cain acted startled, offering her an abashed grin.
"Sorry. You caught me staring," he said. "It's just that… well, uh, you have such beautiful hands."
"My hands?" The woman didn't know how to answer, but she was?attered. Unconsciously she gripped the sheaf of papers tightly in one hand while she held out the other and studied it. Cain leaned toward her.
"I hope you don't think I'm giving you some sort of cheesy come-on," he said. "I'm simply speaking the truth. Your hands are lovely."
"Thanks," she said. "That's really sweet of you to say so."
The catch in her throat gave her an appealing huskiness. She coughed. Eyes darting toward the of?ce as though checking for a disapproving supervisor. The unashamed impression she was portraying was frowned upon by the hotel management, either that or she genu inely was as naive as she appeared. She discretely slipped her hands below the counter. Her rosy cheeks had become twin candy apples.
"Sorry if I'm embarrassing you," Cain said. "I don't mean to."
"No, it's okay. I'm not embarrassed." Despite her words, her cheeks were growing even redder. She dropped her chin toward her chest, swayed in indecision, then laughed.
Cain laughed with her.
"Look," he said. "I have embarrassed you. I'm sorry. Please accept my apologies."
He put out a hand and the woman reached for it re?exively.
They shook hands.
"Apology accepted," said the woman, still laughing.
Cain was slow to release her hand. He allowed his?ngers to trail along her palm, prolonging the sensation for as long as possible. One of his human frailties was a total lack of empathy, but what he lacked in compassion he more than made up for in sensory ability. He did not have the capacity to love a woman, but he did love to touch a woman.
He would lodge the sensation in some far recess of his mind, a memory to summon for later. If he couldn't have her hands, he could have the sensory recall of their touch whenever he desired. And that thought was enough to sustain him for now. The primary need on his agenda was his reckoning with the thief. Afterward, if everything went well-as it most de?nitely would-he could come back at his leisure and take her hands as genuine trophies.
Finally, he stepped back, gave a slight wave.
"Well, I'd best get going," he said. "I've taken up too much of your time as it is."
"Honestly, sir, it was no problem."
"See you," he said. "And once again, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."
"Yeah, see you," the woman replied. She lifted her hand in re?ex. Caught it in midwave. Then laughed and continued the gesture.
Cain gave her his most self-effacing grin. His wink was full of promise.
He walked back through the lobby. In the old Hollywood musicals, Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire would have made the walk a grand swagger, hands in pockets, whistling merrily before swooping around to catch her looking. Cain wasn't so?amboyant; at the exit he merely twisted at the shoulder. It was enough to con?rm that, yes, she was still watching him. There was more than a little interest in her gaze. He waved again and she waved back, her face breaking into a wide smile. In true Astaire form he made a show of opening the door and pushing outside.
But as he walked away, his smile turned to a frown, then a scowl. Achieving his objective of?ushing out the thief was one thing, but there was no way he could act on it now. The receptionist was a bit dim, but she still had enough of her wits about her to remember the man who had lured the client outside before he was brutally butchered.
Self-recrimination wasn't something he often indulged in, but even he could see that he'd made a mistake. I shouldn't have?irted with her, he thought. I should've simply gone in, given her the story, then got the hell back out again. By?irting with the bitch, I've forced her to take a good look at my face. Stupid, Cain, stupid. If I take the thief now, she could give a good description of me to the police. And that just will not do.
He'd put his identity at risk for the sake of a minute or two of banter with a pretty girl. Not good when you are the United States' current most proli?c and undetected serial murderer.
Making matters worse, it wasn't even as if he needed to lure the thief outside. While the receptionist had checked the ledger, Cain had watched her?ngers pointing out the room number of the owner of the SUV. Why bother ambushing him in the exposed parking lot when he could go on up, knock on his door, and call him by name?
Time for plan B.
Cain spun around, but all trace of Astaire was gone from his light tread. Once more, he headed directly for the entrance door. Quick inhalation for effect, then he bustled into the hotel with feigned urgency. The woman was midway between closing the ledger and reaching for a telephone. Thankfully, she never reached the receiver. Her startled expression was a mixture of delight and regret as Cain jogged to the counter and slapped down the palms of his hands.
"Hi," he said. "It's just me again."
The woman still wore the startled look. She visibly fought to regain her composure, achieving the?xed stare and open mouth of an in?atable sex toy. Not that Cain had any experience of those kinds of things.
"You haven't called the SUV owner yet, have you?" Cain asked in breathless fashion. As the woman shook her head, he went on, "Seems I might have been a little premature coming in about the lights. While I was inside, the owner must've come back out and turned them off."
"They're off now?" the woman echoed.
"Yeah, I guess there must be another exit. I didn't see anyone leave while I was in here."
"There are a number of exits. I suppose he could've used one of them." The ledger was still beside her, and she?ipped it open with professional dexterity. She nodded con?rmation. "Yeah, he's got a room at the back, so he could've used the rear stairwell. I guess from his room he could see his car and noticed that his lights were still on."
"That's probably it," Cain agreed.
"Okay," the woman said. Her face had regained its natural elasticity and a smile was beginning to bloom.
"Okay," Cain replied, giving her his version of a sheepish smile. "I feel a complete idiot now."
The woman crinkled her nose at him. "What for?"
"I must look like the dead battery vigilante or something." Cain laughed. "I just thought I'd come back in and let you know everything's?ne now. Save you the trouble of phoning."
"It's not a problem," she said. "Yeah, but the owner would've been wondering what the heck was going on."
"I'm sure he wouldn't have minded," she said. "In fact, I dare say he'd have told me he'd already been out and turned them off. That would've been that, I guess."
"Yeah, I suppose so."
"Anyway, thanks again for going to so much trouble."
"No problem. Just doing my bit."
"Dead battery vigilante." The woman smiled at him, crooking a?nger in his direction. "Sounds like a superhero." "You got it," Cain said. A?ippant gesture of his head and hands?sted on his hips made him more Boy Wonder than Man of Steel. They both laughed as he walked away the second time. Before he reached the door, she called to him.
"Are you sticking around town for a while?"
Cain looked back at her, feigning disappointment. "No. Just passing through, I'm afraid. On my way to the East Coast. Have to be in Mississippi early next week for a sales convention."
Now it was the woman's turn to look dejected. "That's a shame."
"It is," Cain agreed. "But hey, who knows what's around the corner? I might be back this way in a month or so." She gave him a lopsided smile. "Well, if you're passing and you notice any lights on, give me a call, will you?"
Cain lifted his?ngers as if they were a gun and feigned shooting her. "You got it, lady. If your battery is running down you can count on me."
Quickly he left the lobby to the sound of laughter. "Dimwit could do with a couple of thousand volts up her ass," he assured himself. Directly across the entry drive ran a walkway that led into the parking lot. From there he followed the side of the building, past bougainvillea shrubs arranged to add a little privacy to the rooms on the ground?oor. At the rear of the hotel the grounds were laid out like an exclusive garden, verdant with golf-course-perfect lawns and bursting with color in the proliferation of?owering plants. The grounds contained a private swimming pool.
There were a couple of female guests sitting out in bathing suits, drinking from glasses smeared with lipstick. Cain sneaked a peek at them. Ordinarily he might have lingered and enjoyed the show. Sadly, neither of them was pretty enough to hold his interest. He paid them no attention, searching instead for the stairway the receptionist had mentioned. He saw it within seconds, a tiled staircase leading up to balconies on the two higher?oors. Chancing a stiff neck, he craned upward, seeking door numbers. Then, happy with what he saw, he rapidly moved away, skirting the building and returning to the parking lot.
Time for plan C.
He took the scaling knife from his jacket pocket as he approached the SUV. Kneeling down by the rear tire, he thrust the blade into the rubber seal next to the wheel hub. Pulling the knife out again, he noted that the narrow slash was barely detectable, but the almost inaudible hiss of escaping air was encouraging.
"That'll hold you for a while," he whispered. A flat tire would royally piss off someone who couldn't even be bothered to rub a little dust on the license plate.
He dropped the knife back in his pocket and straightened out his clothes as he returned to his own vehicle. The vintage VW Beetle had gone the way of the dinosaurs. Not that he required the intervention of a planet-destroying meteor; he'd merely dumped it in a dry canal bed, then set it ablaze. It was quick work to replace it with an undistinguished light blue Oldsmobile.
On the rear bumper was a sticker some might think pathetic: i brake for wildlife. Though he tempted discovery by leaving such a distinct identi?er on the car, he'd allowed it to stay in place. For one, it added to the disguise he'd adopted of a meek-mannered salesperson, plus it was a statement that actually resonated with him. Though he had no qualms whatsoever about butchering those of his own species, he had no desire to harm any other living creature. Faced with running down a rabbit or swerving into a line of children on a Sunday school outing, there would be only one choice in his mind. Sunday school would be missing a number of snot-nosed brats next week.
The temperature inside the Oldsmobile was a lot cooler than anticipated. When he'd driven the car here, the sun had made the heat inside almost intolerable. That's the drawback when appropriating an older-model car: no climate control. Plus the driver's window had a fault and he'd been unable to open it with the rotating arm. Oh how he suffered for his art!
When he'd driven into the parking lot, he'd left the car beneath a stand of palm dates to conceal it from the view of traf?c on the interstate. His fortuitous choice had also brought him some welcome shade.
Settling in the driver's seat, he prepared for a long wait. To pass the time, he took one of the?lm-wrapped packages from his pocket and teased the contents within. Kind of gnarly now, but they'd polish up nice. He imagined that the?ngers were those of the rosy-cheeked receptionist. Yes, he could be in for a long wait, but he was happy to do so with his mind thus engaged.