A Perfect Machine(44)
“Oh, yes? And what’s that?”
“It’s about your daughter.”
Palermo stiffened, then relaxed ever so slightly. “So what? You know I have a daughter.”
“I know you had a daughter, but now she’s gone. Probably dead. And probably you killed her.”
“That doesn’t–”
“Her name was Adelina. Oh, and my sister, too, died because of you. I watched her die in front of me, the result of one of your Runs, or whatever the hell you call them. Stray bullet. Her name was Marla Krebosche.”
And then Krebosche described Adelina’s physical appearance, right down to the two moles – one big, one smaller – near the top of her right thigh: “Like a planet and its moon,” he said. Which was what Palermo had said to his daughter when she’d asked about the birthmarks as a child.
Palermo said nothing, realized this had to be the Bill Krebosche that shithead Duncan had mentioned, nodded when Krebosche asked him if he was going to sit still in the jeep.
“I thought you might.”
They got in. One arm still around Palermo’s neck, the knife digging in painfully where it had already broken skin, Krebosche closed the door. He put his free hand on the steering wheel, gunned the gas.
Blue light from the moon overhead immediately filled the tracks left behind.
* * *
Through his binoculars on the warehouse rooftop, Marcton watched the taillights flicker as they receded, obscured by yet more falling snow. Below him at ground level, Cleve stood breathing heavily. When he’d driven the jeep over, he’d wanted very badly to smash the weedy little fuck’s face with his boot, but he couldn’t risk it. The guy was clearly a nut – but exactly how dangerous a nut, they didn’t know. He may well have slit Palermo’s throat if Cleve had made a move – not life-ending, of course, but if the guy knew that, too, maybe he’d just keep sawing, which would be life-ending. Palermo looked genuinely concerned for his own well-being, which was unusual. Cleve wasn’t used to seeing Palermo so vulnerable, and it unnerved him.
Marcton and two others had had rifles trained on the kidnapper and Palermo, but no clear shot had presented itself.
Now the instant the taillights had fully receded and Marcton was sure the kidnapper could no longer see them in his rear view, he yelled down to Cleve, “You, me, and two others. We’re going after them. We’ll use the Hummer. Get it running; I’ll be down in a sec!”
Cleve nodded, said, “Got it,” and radioed two of his most trusted colleagues, told them to come to the Hummer ASAP.
When all four men were in the Hummer, Marcton in the driver’s seat, they tore off after Palermo and his kidnapper.
“Any idea who that was?” Marcton asked.
“None,” Cleve said. The other two shook their heads.
“And no idea where he’ll be taking Palermo, either, right?”
Everyone nodded.
“Fucking great.”
* * *
A few blocks away, Krebosche pulled the jeep over to the side of the road, cut its lights. His car was where he’d left it, unchanged, but piling up with snow.
He jabbed the tip of the knife into Palermo’s leg wound – not deep, but enough to wrench another scream from him. While Palermo writhed in pain on the seat, Krebosche grabbed his gun back from Palermo’s waistband, put it in his own, quickly jumped out of the jeep, and trained the knife on Palermo.
“Your fuckhead buddies will be coming soon, no doubt. They’re a fairly tight little unit, so I don’t doubt they’ll find us in short order. Problem is, we won’t be here. And we won’t be in that jeep anymore. Quit your fucking squirming and get in the car.”
When he’d recovered enough to speak, Palermo glared at Krebosche, was about to let loose a string of curses and threats – a rarity for him – but then he thought of something. Something that might buy him some time.
“Wherever you’d planned to take me, Krebosche, I have a better place to go. Somewhere much more interesting.”
“Oh, yeah, where’s that?” Krebosche looked over his shoulder for any sign of lights, listened hard for engine noises.
“I know where the guy who killed Adelina is. I know exactly where he lives. I’ve got men watching his place as we speak. We could go there.” Palermo raised his hands to show he meant no threat, maneuvered himself to the edge of the jeep’s seat, let his weight carry him off the edge as gently as he could. Grimaced as his feet touched the ground. Used the open door for support. “Right now. We could go there. If I’m lying, you can do whatever you want to me.”
“Motherfucker, I can do whatever I want to you right now.”
Palermo nodded, tried to catch his breath. “So it would seem.”
“Besides, I already know who killed Adelina: you did. I’ve known it for nearly a year.”
Palermo’s mind scrambled to put the pieces together. Nearly a year? Why don’t I know who this guy is? No time for that now; he needed to convince him it was in his best interest not to take him wherever he had planned. At least if Palermo could get him to an address he knew, he’d have a shot at his guys being able to help him. Now that the knife was away from his neck he didn’t particularly need his men to save him – even with his leg injured, he was fairly certain he could overpower Krebosche – but his curiosity was piqued, and he wanted to know who this guy was, what he knew about Adelina, how he’d been able to retain all this information for nearly a full year. “You think you know all sorts of things, clearly,” Palermo said. “But I’ve already planted a seed of doubt, haven’t I? What if I’m not lying? Don’t you want the guy who actually pulled the trigger, not just the person you think ordered it?”