A Perfect Machine(52)

“Alright, then, knock on the door. And don’t speak unless spoken to.”

Palermo raised his fist, had a momentary mindflash of whipping around fast enough to punch Krebosche with it, maybe wrestle the gun from him, shoot him, flee. But it was a ridiculous action-film fantasy; he knew he’d never be able to do it. Especially not with his nerves as frayed as they’d become. Besides, he’d tried once already and failed. Knew that as soon as he started to turn, in that split second that his intention became clear to Krebosche, the man would know, react, and bullets would tear his neck apart.

Instead, the knuckles of his fist connected with the fake wood of the apartment door.



* * *



Inside the apartment, the knock sounded. Milo, Henry, and Faye froze where they stood.

Milo looked at Adelina. She shook her head back and forth, eyes wide. “Don’t answer it. Henry’s not ready for this fight. He hasn’t changed. He hasn’t changed.”

Milo said, “He has changed, Adelina. Look at him!”

The knock sounded again. Someone asked very politely if he could please speak with Henry Kyllo.

Adelina continued shaking her head. “Not enough. He hasn’t changed enough. And it’s not these men he needs to worry about. It’s the ones following soon after.”

Milo had no idea what other men she was talking about, and the voice on the other side of the door was getting more insistent. He turned his attention away from Adelina, hissed, “Henry, what do we do?”

Henry considered for a moment. “No other way out besides through that door, so I guess we’re opening it.” He turned to Faye, said, “Stand behind me.”

Faye was about to protest that she could take care of herself, but quickly realized that, should there be gunfire, standing behind a giant metal behemoth was a fairly smart place to be, despite the possibility of ricochet.

Henry then realized that they basically had an invisible man at their disposal. With some effort, Milo could interact with the physical world now, but only Henry could see him. Why the hell hadn’t he – or Milo – thought of this before?

“Milo, you’re invisible!” Henry hissed at him.

“I know,” Milo said back. Henry saw the gears turning, then Milo understood. “Oh!”

“I’ll open the door. You get ready to rush them if anything looks fucked. Attacking right out of the gate will only wake the neighbors and bring unwanted attention, so I doubt they’ll want to do that.”

“Yeah, give me a signal or something.”

“The signal will be that I’ll be attacking them, too.”

“Perfect.” Milo smiled. Henry wanted to return the smile, set Milo at ease for whatever came next. But he didn’t really feel it. He felt instead the same way Palermo felt on the other side of the door. As though things were coming to a head – that if it wasn’t already a seriously deadly business, it was about to become so in very short order.

I mashed someone to baby food through my freakshow-gigantic fingers, he thought. I think I can handle a couple of guys with knives and guns, or whatever other weapons they have. Unless they’ve got close air support, this should pan out in our favor.

Henry wanted desperately to believe in this voice, but he was still so unsure of his size, the way he moved. Pulping something (or someone) – no matter how vile and repulsive an act – in a state of relative calm was not the same as fighting angry people in close quarters. And although a lot of Henry was metal, there were a lot of undeveloped parts on his body still in the process of changing, hardening. Some that weren’t even hardening to metal, but some other substance. Some kind of rock, he thought. But these many spots were still not even close to impervious.

My Achilles heels. Plural.

The knocking was so insistent now that it would certainly wake the neighbors if they didn’t open up soon.

Henry stepped forward, head scraping the ceiling. Unlocked the door, turned the knob, pulled it open.

Krebosche’s face was level with Henry’s stomach. He stepped back from Palermo, and his eyes traveled upward, met Henry’s gaze.

Henry’s rocks-in-a-grinder voice said, “Who are you?”

Krebosche took a moment to gather himself – or, rather, what he thought constituted gathering himself. He was so astonished that he wasn’t entirely sure what was coming out of his mouth. “Are… are you Kyllo?” he said.

If I’m gonna make a real break for it, now is certainly the time, Palermo thought. But he didn’t. He just stood there with a gun at his back, terrified. And ashamed of that fact. But in all truth, he had never imagined that Henry would have turned into what stood before him now. He was nearly as dumbstruck as Krebosche.

Henry didn’t answer the question. Instead said, “Tell me who you are.”

“William Krebosche. I… need to know what happened to… my girlfriend.” His mind spun. He felt nausea threatening. He didn’t know how to make sense of the figure before him. It was as though his brain was trying to plug in what it thought it should be seeing rather than what it actually saw. He felt control of the situation already slipping.

“Who was your girlfriend?”

“Adelina Palermo,” Krebosche said, running on autopilot.

Everyone just stared. Milo turned his head toward Adelina, who was expressionless.