A Perfect Machine(50)

Kinzett sighed. “Radio silence isn’t something we ‘do,’ Lamb; it’s something that just is, so long as you keep your mouth shut.”

They were quiet for another five minutes or so, then Kinzett’s cell phone buzzed on the passenger seat, scaring the shit out of her. “This better not be you, Lamb,” she mumbled. “Again.”

She swiped the green symbol across the screen, held the phone up to her ear. “Kinzett.”

“Kinzett, you and Lamb have been called back. Get off the apartment. We need everyone back at the warehouse, anyway. Figure this Palermo thing out.”

“Roger that, headed back now.”

Kinzett hung up the phone, pressed the button on the walkie. “Let’s go back. We’ve been called off,” she said, and started her car’s engine.

“What? Why?”

“Dunno, but we’re done here. Let’s go. You should be happy. You just got through bitching about the assignment, and now you’re questioning the reason we don’t have to do it anymore? Pick a side, sasquatch.”

“Sasquatch? Why you gotta call me that?”

“’Cause you’re hairy as hell, that’s why. When you sit in the bathtub, I bet it feels like you’re sittin’ on grass.”

They traded a few more insults, then drove away, their headlights slicing through the last bit of snow that would fall that night. The rest of the evening would be clear.

The next morning, though, it would start to snow again.

And dead bodies in and around Faye’s building – spines crushed and skulls splintered – would be the first to be touched by the snowflakes.





S I X T E E N





While Henry and Faye slept, Milo hovered around the living room, thinking, wondering where Henry was going to go, where all this was leading, and how it had all become so fucked up in the first place.

Was a simple, clean death really so much to ask for? Just lop my head off, and let me welcome the black.

Two hours into their three-hour nap, Milo was roused from his musings by headlights below. It was nearly 2 a.m., and nothing outside had moved for about an hour. The snow had finally stopped, and now lay in a thick blanket over everything.

He drifted over to the window, saw that a car had pulled into the parking lot. Two men got out. One he didn’t recognize, but the other was Edward Palermo. At street level, it would be difficult to see, but looking directly down as Milo was, it was unmistakable: the man he didn’t recognize had a gun in Palermo’s back and was marching him toward the back entrance of Faye’s building.

Milo’s eyes widened, and he immediately went for Henry. Drifted through the door, concentrated on engaging with the physical world, putting his hands on Henry’s broad shoulders, shaking, shaking. “Henry! Wake up! Palermo’s here. Fucking Palermo. We gotta bail, man. Wake up!”

He shook and shook, but Henry wouldn’t rouse. Milo concentrated harder, looked around for something to smash. Maybe that would wake him up.

“Fucking Palermo’s here, Henry, get UP!” Shaking harder still… until finally, Henry cracked his thick metal eyelids. Subconsciously, Milo registered that Henry’d gotten even bigger in the past ninety minutes. When’s he gonna stop fucking growing? Christ.

“Who’s here? Whuh?” Henry mumbled.

“What part of ‘fucking Palermo’ don’t you get, Henry? He’s on his way up here right now, and some douchebag has a gun in his back.”

Henry shook his head from side to side to clear the cobwebs. He reached an arm out. “Help me up,” he said groggily.

Milo gave him a look. “Right ’cause I’m suddenly Superman and can lift small cars on my own.”

Henry grunted something under his breath, used the closest wall to gain his feet instead.

“Henry? What’s… what’s happening?” Faye said blearily from the bed.

“We have to go,” Henry said, moving beside her. “Now. Get up.” Henry was awake now, the word “Palermo” cutting through the fog in his brain like a knife and kicking his ass into operating with pure efficiency.

“Why? Tell me what’s –”

“No time, just get up, let’s go.” He put one of his hands as delicately as he could around her left arm, pulled gently.

“Shit, you’re hurting me, Henry, stop it.”

“We need to get out of this apartment right now. Palermo is coming up the stairs. He does not want pleasant things for us. We need to go.”

“OK, alright,” Faye said, rubbing her eyes. “I just need my shoes.”

Henry looked around the room quickly. “There,” he said and pointed.

Faye moved to the edge of the bed where her shoes were, put them on as quickly as her sleep-deprived mind would allow.

“OK, let’s move,” Henry said, and headed for the front door.



* * *



Marcton parked the conspicuous Hummer four blocks away from Faye’s apartment, got out, told Cleve, Bill, and Melvin to keep quiet. “Not one sound except the crunch of snow under your boots – and even that needs to be next to silent.”

They were all packing one powerful handgun each and, in addition, Bill and Melvin had sawed-off shotguns hidden under their coats.