The elevator doors opened. Palermo and Krebosche stepped out. Krebosche looked up and down the hallway, saw no one. He poked Palermo in the neck to get moving.
“So what are you gonna say?” Palermo said, hoping to unnerve Krebosche, distract him from whatever plan he might have. Depending on what Kyllo had become, distracting him might be a good tactic for helping get the hell out of the way, should things get intense. And, if recent weather was any indicator – and Palermo truly believed it was – an incredibly intense situation was bound to come due sooner or later. His subconscious had felt something building for a while now, but when, precisely, the shit would hit the fan, he didn’t know. This all just felt like he was on a track of some kind, and there was no way off – and, in all likelihood, no brakes.
“You’ll see. Got it all worked out. Stay tuned, friend.”
Stay tuned, friend? A shiver went up Palermo’s back at the words. Krebosche’s tone had changed. Something in his voice was different now. Even the choice of words was strange. Not like something Krebosche – what Palermo knew of him, anyway – would say.
Their feet made little to no noise on the gray carpet of the hallway. There was a stillness in the air that Palermo didn’t like. Sounds seemed to be muffled. Palermo’s desire for flight was suddenly incredibly strong. He had to resist the urge to bolt down the hallway.
They were only about ten feet away from the door now. Sweat popped out on Palermo’s forehead. He said, “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, Krebosche. I’ve got this very strange feeling. Don’t you feel it? Something’s… off.”
He tried to stop, turn around, but Krebosche jabbed him with the gun, spun him around, said, “Keep walking.”
Palermo’s gut twisted. He felt suddenly ill. Under no circumstances did he want to see what was behind this door.
“Nine-eighteen, you said, yeah?”
Palermo briefly considered lying, giving Krebosche another number. Was just about to when they arrived at nine-eighteen, and Krebosche said, “Yeah, that was it. Nine-eighteen. Here we are, Palermo. Anything else I should know before we knock?”
Palermo could only shake his head. His vision was blurring. He was having trouble breathing. Felt like he was sucking air through a cheesecloth.
“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.”