The Butcher's Boy (31 page)

They all turned on him like sharks when one of them is bleeding. But that couldn't be it. It was too ridiculous. And they wouldn't have killed Orloff just because the specialist he'd hired had a black eye. But they'd ignored the moratorium that had held in Las Vegas for years, and killed everyone they could find. Now they were after him and they weren't going to give up. That meant that whoever had killed Orloff still felt vulnerable—but to what? He didn't even know for certain who was paying Orloff. It might be Balacontano, or Toscanzio, Lupo, even Damon.

Whoever it was had sent soldiers all over the country looking for a single man, even with Castiglione dead. Even the death of the old consigliere hadn't distracted him, although the families would now be spending most of their time watching each other to see who moved first.

So he had to find out. The one who paid Orloff had too much juice to ignore; he'd used Little Norman as his errand boy, and had watchers waiting everywhere. But whoever it was was worried about something, and the soft spot had to be in Las Vegas . The link was Orloff.

The more he thought about it, the more angry it made him. It was stupid.

Uneconomical. He had taken the contracts on the usual terms. He'd dealt only with Orloff and never inquired about who was paying the bill or why he wanted Veasy and the Senator. He hadn't been curious about it. He'd done his work and that should have been the end of it. He hadn't even been that curious about the killing of Orloff, although it had seemed bad luck that it had happened before he'd been paid. He'd behaved like a professional. But they'd gone too far. They'd panicked and shot down everything that moved. And that was stupid. Because they should have left him alone.

When Elizabeth awoke it was dark, but she had the disconcerting feeling that she was already late for something. It was a feeling of urgency; something had begun and she was still in bed. She heard the knock on the door, and remembered the sound of it. Somebody had been knocking for several minutes.

As she got out of bed she called, "I hear you," and the knocking stopped. She turned on the light and squinted at her watch on the nightstand— four thirty . It had to be Brayer, afraid to use the phone. Her bathrobe was draped across a 151

chair, but even with that she felt naked. "Just a minute," she called. It was foolish, she thought, but was it more foolish than opening the door to a knock in the night? The gun fit into the pocket of her robe. She kept her hand on it when she unchained the door and opened it.

The man at the door was a stranger. He wasn't even as tall as Elizabeth, but he gave the impression that he was big because his broad shoulders and belly seemed to belong to someone taller. His hair was dark, but beginning to turn gray.

"What?" said Elizabeth, not sure whether she was angry or not, but positive she was uncomfortable.

"You're Elizabeth Waring," said the man. Elizabeth realized that it had somehow been intended as the answer to her question.

"I know that," she said. "It's four thirty ."

The man said, "Please, can I come in?" He looked past her into the room as though he longed to be there. The look on his face startled her. Brayer hadn't sent him.

"What do you want?" she asked. Her grip on the pistol tightened.

"Please," he said, "I have to talk to you." She hesitated, so he whispered,

"FGE."

She let him in and closed the door. He said, "Do me a favor, and take the gun out of your pocket. You can point it at me if you want, but in your pocket it might go off by accident and hit us both." He sounded sad, as though he had resigned himself to putting up with a great deal of incompetence.

Elizabeth obliged him. She aimed the gun slightly to his side, but it was in sight. "What do you want?" she repeated.

"I want to be a material witness. Turn myself in and tell you stories."

Elizabeth said, "Stories?" But she was thinking, it's happening; he really is one of them trying to come in from the cold. But he's coming to me, and I don't know what to do with him. I can't even call for help because the telephone is tapped.

"Yes," he said, "I want to make a bargain with you. I want immunity, a new name, protection. In return I'll give you information about some people I know, testify in trials, the works.'-

"That all takes time," said Elizabeth . "And we hardly ever do it. How do we know your information and testimony are worth it?"

The man sighed. "If what I know wasn't enough to do them some damage, why would I want protection bad enough to come here?"

It hadn't occurred to her before, but it sounded true. If a man was willing to get involved at all . . . but she decided not to pursue it now, while she was still disoriented from sleep. "What's your name? Who are you?"

"I'm Dominic Palermo." He shrugged. "I don't imagine you know who I am. I was Ferraro's partner." He corrected himself. "Friend and partner."

Elizabeth understood. "So you're afraid they'll get you too. The way they got him in the gift shop. And that's why you came here, now. You didn't want 152

them to know."

He nodded and smiled, then seemed to hesitate. "I came to you to turn myself in."

"All right," she said, "the problem is, I don't know when they'll be able to get the Attorney General to agree to your terms. When do you plan to actually come in for good?"

"For Christ's sake," he said, "I'm standing in front of you. I'm here. Now."

"But I thought you had conditions," said Elizabeth . "A bargain." She didn't understand.

"That's only for what I tell you," he said. "Not for going in as a material witness."

"You don't seem to understand, Mr. Palermo," said Elizabeth . "They won't consider you a witness unless you tell them something. You can't sit in a cell and bargain."

"I'll chance it," he said. "Meantime I'll be alive."

She thought about it. "All right. What we've got to do is get you over to the Bureau. You know you would have been smarter to go straight into the FBI office, don't you? What if somebody saw you come in here?"

"No," he said. "I'm not turning myself in to them. It's to you. The Justice Department, not the FBI. Remember that, it's part of the bargain."

"But it's exactly the same thing. The FBI is part of the Justice Department.

We have to go there."

"I won't," said Palermo . "Look, honey. You don't seem to know how to do this, so I'll help you out. We'll help each other out. Whoever brings in somebody like me is going to look terrific—you'll get promotions, bonuses, whatever you people give each other. And your organization has control of the information.

Like your boss can say to somebody—the police commissioner in New York, maybe—‘I know who's running heroin in at Kennedy Airport . What have you got for me?' So believe me, it's to your advantage to hold onto me. Knowledge is the most valuable thing in the world."

She ignored the argument and decided to ground herself in facts. "But the Justice Department doesn't have field offices like the FBI. Most of them are just offices where lawyers work on federal cases, and it's usually civil cases at that.

There's no place to put a material witness, and nobody trained for that sort of work."

"Look," he said, "I'm willing to talk, but you've got to go a little way on this too. I picked the Justice Department because they give the best terms, for one thing. For another, it's the highest.”

“Highest?"

"Yeah. If I have a deal with Justice, then five years from now the sheriff of Herkimer County can't decide he wants me for double parking."

She had to admit to herself he was smart. His idea of the way jurisdictions worked was bizarre, but he was right about the way they'd work for him. "All right," she said, "I can't give you any guarantees about what you're asking for. I 153

can't even tell you if Justice will take you as a material witness. But I have to talk to my superior on this."

"Don't use that phone," he said. "It may be tapped."

She picked up the telephone and dialed Brayer. When he answered she said, "John, come to my room right away," and hung up.

"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 in to the FBI office downtown—

or better still, maybe Brayer and a pair of armed field agents would take him there.

She heard the knock on the door and stood up. Palermo was visibly uncomfortable now. She could see a thin film of sweat was beginning to appear on his fat cheeks. He said, "Let me fling it open and stand behind. If it's anybody but your Brayer, blow his ass away."

Elizabeth ignored him. "Who is it?" she said.

"John, Elizabeth . Open up."

When she opened the door he slipped in and locked it behind him. "So.

Who's this?" he said.

"John, this is Mr. Palermo. Dominic Palermo. He wants to turn himself in as a material witness on the FGE thing."

"And a hell of a lot more," Palermo volunteered. "But I want protection.

Immunity, resettlement, the works."

"Why did you come to Miss Waring?" asked Brayer.

"I heard she was working on some things I know about," said Palermo .

"Heard?" said Brayer. "From whom?"

"I just heard, that's all. So what's the deal? Can you get me what I want?"

Brayer looked at him, then at Elizabeth, then back at him. He said, "That depends. If what you know is worthwhile and you're cooperative, and you tell us the truth, I might— just might—be able to arrange something like that. But a lot of people I don't have the authority to speak for would have to agree to it."

Palermo shook his head and stared at the carpet. "Christ," he said.

"Another one. So you've got to call somebody too. And then he's got to call somebody."

"That's about the size of it," said Brayer, staring hard at the fat little man.

"So take it or leave it."

Palermo looked at him in desperation. "What can you guarantee? Not what you might do if the President feels like it and the Attorney General's new shoes don't pinch his toes and 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, 155

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."