“I’m not happy about that,” said Palermo. “I’ll go along with it because I’m stuck with it, at four thirty in the morning and all that, but I want you to know I’m not a happy man.”
“What’s wrong now?” said Elizabeth. She sat on the bed, keeping the gun trained on an imaginary spot a foot to the left of Palermo’s chest. She could see he was telling the truth—he wasn’t a happy man—but she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to be. She wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen now, but if he was unhappy she must be in control.
Palermo began to pace back and forth in front of the door. “Don’t you people ever do anything on your own?” he asked. “There’s always got to be a Mr. Brayer or Mr. Farquhar or some damn thing. No wonder none of you can find your own ass with both hands. You’re taking a lot of chances with my safety.”
Elizabeth said nothing, just let him walk back and forth, muttering to himself. Maybe Brayer could convince him to go there’s enough humidity. Look, I’m no rummy. I got things you’d like to hear.”
Brayer shrugged. “You came here because you think you’ve got something to sell. I can probably keep you alive, for one thing, and you wouldn’t be here if you had the same offer from anyone else. So I’d say that’s high bid.”
Palermo sat down on the bed with his shoulders hunched and said nothing. Brayer turned to Elizabeth and drew her to the other side of the room. At first she hesitated, but Brayer said, “You don’t have to watch him. What’s he going to do to us?”
When they were out of earshot he whispered, “What’s he told you so far?”
Elizabeth said, “He’s a partner of Ferraro, the man they killed in the hotel gift shop, and he’s afraid somebody’s going to get him too. He’s very particular about who protects him. He’s set on the Justice Department. Not the police or even the FBI.”
“Anything else? What about FGE?”
“Just that. The initials. But he must know something, or he wouldn’t be here.” She tried to remember the logic of it. “He wouldn’t need protection unless—”
Brayer nodded and said, “Probably not. But if a war is on, it’s hard to tell. He might be nothing. We can’t take the chance, of course. The question is, how do we make the best use of him?” Brayer looked over at Palermo, who was sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms folded, staring at the floor.
“Why don’t we get some guards and take him to the Bureau office?” said Elizabeth. “We could even call them to come get him. Then we could start making arrangements with Washington for the bargain.”
Brayer’s eyes narrowed. “You know, he may be right about the FBI. For one thing, we’ve got him and nobody knows it. If we take him to the Bureau headquarters openly, we lose the best part of him. If we don’t, all his pals will know is that he dropped out of sight. See what I mean?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Sure, but how do we do it? We can’t keep him here.”
Brayer said, “What I’d like to do is get him to Washington, but I don’t think we could do that very easily without either being spotted in an airport or driving, and that’d be worse. It would take a week before we got a word out of him. No, we’ve got to get him somewhere safe and quiet by morning.”
“But where?” said Elizabeth. “We don’t even have a field office in Las Vegas, and anyway—”
“No,” said Brayer. “But how about the capital? Carson City. We’ve got one there, and it’s within driving distance. Besides, it would convince him we’re going to meet him halfway on his bargain. Go get dressed.”
Elizabeth had a sick feeling. “We’re not going to do it ourselves, are we, John?”
“What else can we do?” he asked. “If we start collecting agents here at quarter to five in the morning we might as well put an ad in the paper. In fact, if he’s as valuable as he claims, he might even get killed.”
Elizabeth went to the closet and began collecting her clothes. Palermo looked up and said, “So. You must have made a decision. What is it?”
Brayer answered, “We’re going to do what you want, at least as long as you’re cooperative. We’re going to take you to the Justice Department’s office in Carson City for now. If we can get you that far without anybody noticing, we can fly you to Washington later.”
“Oh,” said Palermo, “I get it. If I tell you enough in Carson City you’re a hero and I get to go to Washington so you can show me off. If I don’t, you don’t have anything to show your boss, so you chuck me out.”
Brayer said, “Could be. That’s the chance you have to take. But don’t worry. As you said, you’ve got things we want to hear. You’re no rummy.”
“That’s right,” said Palermo, his big, dark eyes glaring up at Brayer out of his broad face. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Elizabeth dressed quickly in the bathroom. Of course John was right. If they could get Palermo out of sight where he could be interrogated before anyone knew he was missing, it might be just the break they’d been waiting for. Whatever he knew would stay fresh as long as his bosses didn’t know he was talking. As soon as they knew, things would begin to change, evidence would evaporate; they’d be raiding empty buildings and trying to arrest people who had already left the country.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror and shuddered. She must have been sleeping on her face; her eyes were puffy and her skin a sickly pale color she couldn’t remember seeing on anyone who wasn’t ill. A little makeup helped, but not enough, she thought. And if Brayer saw she’d taken the extra seconds to apply it—but that was something he’d have to let her decide. If he wanted her to be inconspicuous he’d have to wait.
When she came back to the bedroom, Brayer handed her a set of keys. “Take the rented car,” he said. “It’s parked almost at the side door by the casino.”
“Aren’t you going?” said Elizabeth.
“No. I’ve got to make the arrangements from here. And it’s less likely to attract attention, just the two of you.”
She was about to argue, but she stopped herself. She couldn’t say she didn’t want to go alone because Palermo gave her the creeps. He wasn’t dangerous; she was his best hope of living the year out. And she couldn’t ignore the fact that Brayer was doing her a favor, giving her a chance for a major coup.
At the car Palermo said, “I’ll drive.” When she hesitated he said, “Look, I know the way to Carson City. You don’t even know the way out of town.” It wasn’t until he had established himself in the driver’s seat that he added, “Besides, my nerves are shot already.”
She resented it silently. In a way it was comforting. It seemed right that he should be thoroughly unpleasant.
He drove down a network of back streets. When he emerged on the highway she was surprised, but refused to be impressed. After all, he lived here. And this was the last driving he’d do for some time, she reminded herself.
Suddenly he said, “You don’t care much for me, do you?” The formality of it seemed incongruous.
She was caught off-balance and only managed, “I don’t know you.”
He said, “I know. I’m a stool pigeon. Nobody likes a stool pigeon, even if it’s a stool pigeon who gets them a promotion. I don’t blame you. But I want you to know, I wouldn’t have done it if they hadn’t left me out here on a limb.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Elizabeth. She wondered how far away Carson City was. The world was supernaturally dark. She imagined desert on all sides, but could see nothing but the road.
“Damn right,” said Palermo. “When Old Granddad was killed—”
“Old Granddad?”
“Castiglione. When he was killed they said they’d protect me. Told Ferraro that too. They protected the shit out of him, didn’t they? Then I find out they’ve pulled out all the soldiers they had for some important project Carl Bala had on his mind. Nicky Palermo can go fuck himself. Well, we’ll see.”
“So you feel betrayed,” said Elizabeth.
“Betrayed?” said Palermo. He drove in silence, staring off into the darkness. “Yeah, I guess that’s the word for it. For years it was Nicky, you’re terrific, Nicky you’re a real friend, Nicky, I owe you. All of a sudden the roof collapses and what do I hear? Who’s Nicky Palermo?”
“What do you mean, the roof collapses?”
“Lady,” said Palermo, “I don’t know what you people do all day, but it must not be much. You must know about Castiglione, right? It was in all the papers, for Christ’s sake.”
Elizabeth said, “Of course.”
“Well, he was the old consigliere. He kept the young bulls in line—Carl Bala, Toscanzio, Damon, Lupo,
