Heirs of Cain by Tom Wallace

a ponytail, and a blue bandana was tied around her head. She wore a white bikini that contrasted vividly with her sun-baked skin.
    “For God’s sake, Simon, what do you want this time?”
    Simon held up an empty bottle of Jack Daniels. “How many times have I told you? Never let me run out of whiskey. The only damn thing you have to do around here, and you can’t even do that.”
    “There’s plenty in that cabinet,” Hannah said, pointing to a glass door beneath the bar. “You’re just too lazy to look for it; that’s the problem.”
    Simon attempted to bend over, judged the task an impossible one to complete, straightened up. His breathing was heavy and strained. “Would you get it for me, darlin’?” he said.
    “You’d better lose some of that weight or one of these days you’re going to keel over dead from a coronary.” Hannah opened the door, removed the Jack Daniels, and ceremoniously handed it to Simon. “You’ll croak like an old water buffalo.”
    “No doubt that would cause you a great deal of grief.”
    “Yes, it would.”
    Simon grumbled something under his breath, poured a drink, and gulped it down. He refilled his glass two more times and drained the whiskey in a matter of seconds.
    Hannah opened the cabin door and started up the stairs. “And another thing,” she remarked, looking over her shoulder. “You’d better cut down on your drinking. You’re going to become an alcoholic if you’re not careful.”
    “Hell, I already am an alcoholic,” Simon shouted, refilling his glass again. “Charter member of AA and damn proud of it, too. But don’t you worry your pretty little self about it for one minute. It don’t affect you in the least.”
    Hannah left without answering, went to the deck, found her favorite recliner, and spent the next five minutes adjusting the back to a comfortable upright position. She sat down and was about to unbutton her bikini top when she saw the man coming toward the boat. Her heart fluttered with excitement. It was the Indian with the dark, movie star good looks.
    She thought about giving the Indian a good show—let him see her breasts again—but quickly decided that wasn’t such a wise idea. Simon was down below drinking like a fish, and when he got drunk he could become violent and dangerous. The last thing she wanted was to cause trouble for her or the Indian.
    She tapped on the cabin window.
    “What do you want now?” Simon said gruffly.
    “Someone is coming.”
    “Who?”
    “That man who was here before.”
    “You mean that crazy goddamn Indian?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Is that damn big black shadow with him?”
    “No, he’s alone.”
    “Wonder what the hell he wants.”
    “How would I know?” Hannah said, picking up a paperback. “He’s here to see you, not me.”
    “Send him down here.”
    Simon drained the last drops of whiskey from his glass. He opened a drawer, pulled out a Beretta, checked to make sure it was loaded, then tucked it into his back pocket. He wanted to be ready. Any trouble, even the slightest hint, and he’d blow that crazy bastard Indian’s ass back to the happy hunting ground where it belonged. No sense taking any shit from him again. Simon put his right hand in his pocket and let his fingers touch the cold steel of the gun.
    “Just watch your step this time, Indian,” Simon said aloud. His right foot tapped nervously against the bar rail.
    Hannah watched the Indian jump from the dock to the boat. He moved with the ease and grace of a ballet dancer. And, damn, what a looker. This was a man who was delicious enough to eat.
    “Hello again,” she said, smiling.
    He nodded.
    “Seneca, right?”
    “Ah, beautiful, bright, and with a good memory.” He moved next to the recliner and put his hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “A trifecta.”
    “Thanks for the compliments,” Hannah said. “They’re few and far between around here.”
    “I can believe that.”
    “Guess you’re here to see Simon.”
    The Indian