Dead Men's Harvest (25 page)

‘OK.’ Walter walked away without further comment. He went through to the back rooms where I’d entered when Hartlaub and Brigham first brought me here. I trusted that he was already on to it. Harvey clutched my shoulder. ‘Let’s go outside, Hunter. We need to speak.’

I followed him outside and I could tell from the way his shoulders had bunched tight that I was in for more raised voices. Yet he surprised me. ‘Thanks for what you just did for me and Rink, Joe.’

‘It’s not right that either of you should suffer for my mess.’

‘It’s not your mess. You didn’t start this.’

‘Maybe I did, Harve. Maybe I did.’

I’d turned my back on my brother when he was at his lowest. Christ, I’d been close to punching his lights out, but had walked away instead. I’ve often asked myself whether, if I’d just handed over the money he needed then, everything would have been different. Because I hadn’t helped him, John had sought to solve his problems by running away. That had led him to cross paths with Petoskey and then Hendrickson. In turn, that had brought him into the crosshairs of Tubal Cain. It was the butterfly effect, my inaction reverberating down through the years to this point where all those I held dear were in more danger than ever. Shit, it had even made me the man I’d become. Some legend: a fucking vigilante guilty of murder. Well, enough was enough. It was time to send the bad karma back at the person who truly deserved it.

‘Do something for me, will you?’

‘Anything,’ Harvey said.

‘Go back and check on Rink. Tell him I’m sorry for taking off without saying goodbye.’

‘Tell him yourself when you get back.’

‘
If
I come back,’ I corrected.

I wasn’t talking about running away from the law; I seriously doubted that I’d return in one piece. If it meant the difference between John and Jenny’s safety, and me dying under Tubal Cain’s blade, then I chose the blade. No question.

Chapter 33

Getting into the UK had been relatively simple for Cain; not so getting out again with a hostage added to the equation.

Nevertheless he was resourceful, and using Hendrickson’s contacts he arranged flights for himself and Jennifer Telfer on a private jet employed to shuttle a TV mogul back and forth across the Atlantic. Said mogul was known to travel with a contingent of staff and ‘guests’, some of the latter often a little the worse for wear when arriving at their destination, so Jennifer blended in nicely.

Cain found the flight interminable. Not because he was surrounded by starlets stoned out of their heads, but because he had no way of satisfying his urge to take a memento or three from their skinny bodies. The TV guy was an insufferable ass, someone whose ego was larger than his fat head, and was sarcastic without wit. He sat in his plush leather seat, liquor flowing freely, and a couple lines of white powder offered to him on a tray. He used a glass tube to snort the cocaine, and Cain considered going and giving him a pat on the head for all he was doing for the TV ratings. He wondered if one pat would be enough to ram the glass tube all the way into the unctuous bastard’s brain. The two minders wouldn’t be able to stop him; in fact, they were an embarrassment, engaging in the party the way they did. Cain had once worked as a bodyguard to US dignitaries, and these scumbags brought shame to his trade. The only thing that stopped him from slaughtering them was that he’d have to go through the entire retinue, and the cabin crew, and Cain did not have the ability to safely land the plane.

As a consolation prize, Cain lifted a steak knife from the silver service galley and went to thank the TV guy for his hospitality. Up close his eyes were a little crossed, and he had accepted Cain’s hand without listening to a goddamn word, but when Cain walked away again he was palming a strip of cloth snagged from the asshole’s necktie. Neither the mogul nor his inept guards realised how close Cain had got to slipping the knife under the man’s sternum and into his heart. Cain returned to his seat, and showed Jennifer his prize. She was decisively underwhelmed, as the TV guy was wont to say. Cain spent the flight rubbing the fabric between his index finger and thumb like it was an executive stress ball.

On arrival at Baltimore/Washington International, Cain had mingled with the noisy group, swaying along with the rest of them, even cackling with everyone else at a girl who went down on her hands and knees on the tarmac. As the giggling TV mogul lent his arm to the stoned girl, Cain supported Jennifer on his elbow and handed over both their passports. Used to dealing with celebrities and dignitaries, the security was lax and the couple were waved through as readily as all others in the entourage. Their fake passports would have passed muster even if Homeland Security had studied them, but the young guard manning the booth at the private entrance had eyes only for the beauties that flanked the haughty celebrity star-maker. The leggy blonde who’d recently taken the tumble was a minor celebrity in her own right, having been a stand-out on a countrywide talent show. Her mediocre singing voice might have ensured she was voted through each week, but the way she was nibbling on the TV boss’s earlobe indicated a more likely explanation.

Cain was pleased to be leaving them all behind and quickly veered away once they were through the first-class arrivals lounge.

Cain had a van waiting outside and helped Jennifer in and strapped her into her seat. For good measure he gave her another shot of anaesthetic to ensure she remained drowsy. Regretfully, he’d dumped his weapons back in the UK, but there was another set waiting for him on the passenger seat. He had been mildly surprised to find that everything was in order for his return, but it seemed that Kurt Hendrickson’s name carried weight even after his death.

News of Hendrickson’s demise had filtered through to him via the gangster’s contacts back in England. Cain hadn’t been upset at the news. Neither was he surprised. He had cautioned Hendrickson that Joe Hunter was remorseless, but his warning hadn’t been taken seriously. He was only amazed that Hunter had allowed Baron to escape when he had him in his sights. That was a big mistake, because the man had taken the loose reins of Hendrickson’s empire and was even now plotting vengeance. That he had organised the pick-up and supply of weapons for Cain meant that Baron intended using him to finish Hunter once and for all. Well, Cain thought, let Baron think he was in command, but he would be used by no one. Especially by someone who’d made so many mistakes that he was becoming a liability.

Following a foolhardy attempt at having Hunter captured by the police, Baron had fled back to the house where Jared Rington had been tortured, and where Sigmund Petoskey subsequently died. Cain had no intention of taking Jennifer there, because it was already on Hunter’s radar. Instead he’d have her held somewhere neutral, a place that he could control. If only Jubal’s Hollow had gone undiscovered . . . but his ossuary had been dynamited, the ground levelled, and it was now a featureless destination for ghoulish tourists following the serial killer trail.

Climbing in the van, he studied the man who was at his disposal. He liked that choice of word: disposal. He’d been so well behaved on his jaunt to England, maybe he could try out his new knives when the driver was no longer needed. He’d taken bones from Jeffrey Taylor and his bodyguards in Montana, as well as from the CIA man in the Adirondacks, plus a couple treasures from Michael Birch, the cowardly DA’s assistant, but since then his collection of trophies hadn’t grown. From his trip to England he’d only gleaned the tail-end of a waitress’s apron and a strip of a multi-millionaire’s necktie – though they were still valuable trophies. No, wait. He did have one other trophy and it was worth more than any he’d taken since his escape from Fort Conchar. He looked into the back of the van to where Jennifer Telfer slumped in her seat.

Jennifer would bring John Telfer to him.

He wondered if the woman was enough to bait his trap, or if he should have brought the two children along as well. The problem with that scenario was that getting all three of them into the country undetected would have been nigh-on impossible. No, he decided. He recalled his conversation with Ol’ Johnny Boy, and how the man had wished only to do right by his family. He would not want the mother of his children to die: Jennifer still meant an awful lot to him, Cain was sure, and would bring John running to save her.

Of course there’d be one other coming to rescue her, too.

Bring it on!

Almost as much as he wanted his final reckoning with John Telfer, Cain looked forward to reacquainting himself with Joe Hunter.

‘I’ve a bone to pick with you,’ he said.

‘Say what?’

‘Private thoughts,’ he told the driver. ‘Just do what you’re supposed to and drive.’

‘Would if I knew where you wanted to go.’

Cain studied the man, giving him more attention this time. He was a hard-faced punk, fair-haired, with a wispy beard, and spectacles perched on a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. He had the look of a street fighter, and from the tattoos on his forearms Cain deduced that he’d had a tough upbringing. The coded tats were
de rigueur
in prison yards for someone who had killed another man. If Cain had followed that practice he’d need a body the size of a house.

‘You don’t know?’

‘I didn’t ask.’

Cain nodded. The driver was to be trusted. By omitting knowledge of a destination, he was showing that he wasn’t leading Cain into a trap. Thoughtful, Cain decided, but unnecessary. The driver was still at his disposal, whether or not he was trustworthy.

‘Take us to the harbour at Baltimore,’ Cain said.

‘You have someone meeting you there?’

‘No. I’m hungry and I hear they have great crab cakes.’

The driver adjusted his spectacles before setting the van rolling. Along the way, he cast sidelong glances at his passenger, generally followed by frowns that marred his rugged complexion with even deeper folds. He had no concept of a man like Cain, but then again, not too many people did. Cain ignored him, choosing instead to lean over the seat and keep an eye on Jennifer. She was sleeping, her head drooping over her chest. She’d have a hell of a stiff neck when she woke up, but Cain could help loosen it with a few expert probes of his knife. He smiled at the thought, and in his mind’s eye began stripping back the outer dermis to display the spine hidden beneath.

Taxis rocketed by, but the driver held the van at a couple miles below the speed limit. He had no intention of giving the local cops a reason to pull them over. The distance to Baltimore was short, and within half an hour they were moving through traffic that had slowed to a crawl as it navigated the routes into the centre of Charm City. Jennifer’s eyelids began to flicker: she was lost in a dream, but as long as it wasn’t a nightmare and she started screaming, she was of no concern for now.

Cain eyed a Gothic building standing alongside more recent skyscrapers. The look of the building conjured years gone by, an anachronistic monument to older, simpler times. Cain grunted when he saw that it was an original Bank of America tower; nothing simplistic about that. Now the tower was a symbol of control and order, the antithesis of everything he stood for. He turned his eyes from it and towards the Inner Harbor directly ahead of them. From their slightly elevated vantage he could see across to the headland where Fort McHenry squatted, but he’d had quite enough of forts in the last year or so. Instead he directed the driver to the left, passing the
Spirit of Baltimore
that was moored at the wharf, and a twin-level collection of restaurants and boutique shops. Towering over it all was the World Trade Center, an odd construction with five sides, and beyond it a massive indoor aquarium complete with a cascading waterfall tumbling through a faux rainforest. A Hard Rock Café, a book store and sports bar dominated a reclaimed power plant and offered lively entertainment. None of those sights held any attraction for him.

‘You want crab cakes still?’

Cain frowned at the driver.

‘Crab cakes?’

‘You said you were hungry.’

‘Not for crustaceans, my friend. I prefer my bones on the inside.’

The driver adjusted his glasses again.

Another one that his wit was wasted upon, Cain thought. Maybe if the driver knew his passenger was the famous Harvestman he’d have chosen to be less trustworthy. That was a point worth redressing before they parted company. ‘Just take me to Fells Point, willya?’

‘Good restaurants there,’ the driver acknowledged with a wry smile. He knew exactly where Cain was heading to.

Baltimore Inner Harbor was the tourist destination of sightseers, Fells Point the place those same tourists flocked to of an evening, but beyond the spit of land were the shipping wharfs and one in particular owned by associates of Kurt Hendrickson. Baron had suggested it as an appropriate place for Cain to hold Jennifer.

Fells Point passed without attention from Cain, who was too intent on studying Jennifer again. When first he’d laid eyes on her he’d thought she was beautiful, and he didn’t give much credence to the old adage that beauty was skin deep; quite the opposite in fact. He couldn’t wait to discover Jennifer’s hidden treasures. He must keep her alive to bait his trap, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make a start on her. Truth be told, it was a struggle not to clamber into the back of the van there and then and try out his new blades.