A Perfect Machine(47)

“Seriously, can I get some sort of tourniquet on this? If we’re going to sit and chat, I need to be conscious.”

“Fine, shit.” Krebosche rooted around behind Palermo’s seat for a couple of seconds, sure to keep an eye on him, then came up with a camera with a strap. “Use the strap.”

A minute later, Palermo had the camera strap wrapped around his leg. The bleeding stopped.

“So this person you were going to bring me to – the guy who you said killed Adelina. Obviously a trap of some kind. What’s there? What kind of ambush would I have been walking into?”

“Not a big one. Just two of my men stationed there, watching an apartment I asked them to keep an eye on.”

“Well, clearly we’re not going there now.”

“Clearly.”

Another car drove by, didn’t turn in.

“You know,” Palermo said, deciding on a different tack, realizing that trying to convince Krebosche to go somewhere – anywhere – of his choosing would never work. “I’m something of a weather tracker. All weather means something, I think. It’s a harbinger of things to come. If you study it closely enough, I think you can tell what might be coming down the road for you.”

Krebosche just looked at him.

“I keep notebooks,” Palermo added.

“Good for you.”

“Yes, actually, it is, because I think this storm means something. We’ve never had one like it – not in the entire time I’ve been keeping track, which is to say nearly my whole life.”

“Fine, I’ll bite. What do you think it means?”

“Damned if I know.”

That hung in the air for a moment, then Krebosche said, “Alright, then. Good to know.”

“I’m just saying, maybe our meeting wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe we were supposed to meet like this. Maybe there’s a reason for it.”

“Yeah, the reason was for me to kill you.” But now… Krebosche thought. He closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled slowly, rubbed his head with the heel of the hand holding the gun. “But now I don’t know. It’s fucked. I had everything all planned out, but…” He shook his head as if trying to put his thoughts back in their proper order.

“But you’re not a killer.”

Krebosche looked up. “Really. Now, how do you know that?”

“You’d have done it by now. You’d have done it the moment we were safely away from the warehouse. You’d have had me park somewhere, told me who you were, cut my head off or shot me to death, left my body in the jeep to rot. But you didn’t. And I don’t think you will now. You don’t have it in you. As much as you wish you did. It’s just not there. I know what a killer looks like, and you’re simply not it.”

In truth, Palermo knew no such thing. But he felt there was enough truth in what he said that he had a shot at this panning out in his favor.

“I mean, you gave me a tourniquet for the leg you stabbed. Twice.” Palermo allowed himself a smile, hoped his instincts were serving him well, and that his attempt at humor wouldn’t backfire.

Krebosche seemed to have softened at Palermo’s words. His scowl less severe, shoulders less tense. The gun, however, continued to be held tight in Krebosche’s hand, so any sudden movements could still end very poorly for Palermo.

Krebosche thought things through, analyzing them from every angle. Was he a killer? Had all this preparation been for nothing? Could he let it all go so easily, just let Palermo get out of the car, walk away?

Palermo watched his face intently. He was sure he’d convinced him. Perhaps tricked Krebosche out of killing him. He wondered how far he could push it. When – or even if – he should ask to be released.

But then something snapped into Krebosche’s features – a hardness that was not there before. As suddenly as a light being switched on. And Palermo had seen this look before. Was reasonably sure he’d had the very same look when he’d hammered Carl Duncan to death in the warehouse.

“No,” Krebosche said, raising the gun to Palermo’s head, pressing it hard against his skull. “I’m going to do this. Because you deserve it. Whether your stories are true or not. Adelina is fucking gone. Along with my sister. And now so are you. I doubt even you can survive a bullet at this range.”

“Please, wait!” Palermo said in a rush, ashamed of his fear, but unable to control it. His mind scrambled for anything at all he could say to save his life. He realized he had only one card left to play. “I lied, OK, I lied! Two of our number have ascended. Henry Kyllo is the second person. He knows where Adelina is, and I swear I can take you right to him. I don’t know why, but he didn’t disappear like she did. And he knows. He knows where she is.”

“More bullshit just to save your life. Forget it. You’re done.”

But again, nagging doubts in Krebosche’s mind… Five seconds went by – the longest in Palermo’s life. His eyes were closed tight, waiting for the gun to erupt.

Then the gun was removed from his head, but still hovered close. He opened his eyes, looked at Krebosche, sweat beads forming and rolling down his forehead.

His voice low and dangerous, Krebosche said slowly, “Why didn’t you mention this Kyllo guy before?”

“I was trying to keep as much from you as possible. You’d’ve done the same in my position.”