the Second Horseman (2006) by Kyle Mills

was connected throug h t he hotel's WiFi, so he pulled up Explorer and started tapping in addresses.
    "Shit," he muttered after a few minutes of effort. Mostly he was pissed off, but he also had to admit to being a little bit impressed. He'd checked four bank accounts and all four had come up closed. That was almost a hundred grand of emergency funds up in smoke. No wonder Catherine had gone for the filet. He'd paid for it.
    Another ten minutes confirmed that these assholes were really irritatingly efficient. His net worth had sunk to sixteen thousand dollars -- Canadian, no less -- in an account in Banff. What was even more annoying was that he didn't have any way of accessing that money personally. He could use his still - operational Internet bill-paying service to send him a check, but he had no ID to cash it, and Vegas was a notoriously suspicious town. He could, however, send checks to other people. Real people with identities and lives and houses and families.
    Ironically, he hadn't stashed a single ID or bag of cash in Vegas. The idea was that it was the first place anyone would look for him, so he'd have every reason to avoid it. Yet another mistake in what was becoming a long list of mistakes. His closest stash was in Salt Lake City. And, of course, there was no guarantee that instead of fake driver's licenses and cash, he wouldn't find a herd of well-armed goons or a booby trap. But what choice did he have?
    Brandon removed his glasses and squinted against the bright sun. He could see well enough not to bump into anyone and skipping the glasses would make him slightly less recognizable. Of course, crossing the road was going to be fairly death defying. What was it the bumper sticker said? Live on the edge: There's a better view.
    After only a few minutes of walking along the Strip, the heat had plastered his new shirt to his back and his hand was sweating profusely around the sixty dollars in his pocket. He'd found it in a pair of slacks hanging in the closet of his unknown benefactor and was reluctant to release it since it was all he had to live on for the foreseeable future.
    His best -- only -- option was to make it to Salt Lake and take his chances getting his IDs. Then buy a reliable old truck and head to Central America for a few years. If he could track down some local talent, he might even be able to pull a small job or two and live a fairly comfortable little lifestyle. A quiet hut by the beach had neve r r eally been his vision of paradise, but it beat the hell out of a prison cell or a coffin.
    But first, a little information. This Catherine woman knowing everything about him while he knew nothing about her and her playmates had to go. It was time to balance the scales a bit.
    He wandered over to a pay phone and thumbed through the yellow pages until he found the section for private investigators. He found a national outfit that he'd never used and dialed the number. Admittedly kind of dull, but the truth was that Pis were a great way to gather information without introducing the often unpredictable criminal element.
    "Hi. I'd like to hire an investigator, please."
    "You've got one," came the pleasantly motivated voice on the other end of the line. She sounded cute, too . . .
    He punched himself in the forehead "Focus!"
    "Excuse me?"
    "Nothing. Sorry."
    "What can I do for you?"
    "I need information on a private plane and a house."
    "What kind of information?"
    "I dunno. Whatever you can get."
    "Yo! Could I get some more peanuts over here?"
    The bartender frowned and dipped the bowl behind the counter, returning it filled with what was to be Brandon Vale's dinner.
    He'd managed to get a room at a dive hotel about six blocks away by wiring double the price of the room into the front desk guy's personal bank account.
    Thank God for dishonesty. Without it, the world would just plain cease to function. It could be a bit of a two-edged sword, though. The clerk had drawn the line at kicking Brandon back any