The Steel Kiss

Jon Perone rose. He wasn’t a tall man and was solidly built. Like a column. Wearing a gray suit, white shirt and tie the color of the sea surrounding a Greek island. Black hair, slicked back. He’d cut himself shaving and Nick wondered if he used a straight razor. He seemed the sort who might. A gold bracelet encircled his right wrist.

“Mr. Carelli.”

“Nick.”

“I’m Jon. Have a seat.”

Both men lowered themselves into supple leather chairs. Perone eyed him carefully.

“You mentioned Algonquin Transportation.”

“I did. You’ve heard of it?”

“It’s not in business anymore but I believe it was a private trucking company.”

“That’s right. It transported drugs and cigarettes in unmarked semis for big brand manufacturers—unmarked because, of course, hijackers would target trucks with Philip Morris or Pfizer logos on them.”

“I’m aware of that practice. What does that have to do with me?”

“Fifteen years ago an Algonquin semi carrying two million dollars’ worth of prescription drugs was hijacked near a bridge over the Gowanus Canal.”

“Was it?”

“You know it was. The hijacker stashed the drugs in a warehouse in Queens but before he could get back and fence them to his buyers he got busted. Somebody in a Brooklyn crew found out about the ’jacked merchandise and stole the whole shipment from the warehouse. It took me a while but I found out those guys worked for you.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“No? Well, I do.”

Perone said nothing for a moment. Then: “How’re you so sure?”

“Because I was the hijacker.” Nick let that sit for a minute. “Now. My take from the job was going to be seven hundred K. Which you robbed me of. Inflation and interest? Give me a million and we’re square.”

CHAPTER 42

Well, look at this.” Mel Cooper was grinning, running a hand through his thinning hair.

Stepping into the parlor, moving slowly, Lon Sellitto nodded to those present. He’d been Rhyme’s partner for some years when the criminalist was on the NYPD. Of recent years the Sellitto had fed Rhyme consultancy work, helping Major Cases with forensics and other investigative services.

“Lon!” Pulaski was on his feet and pumping the detective’s hand.

“All right, all right. Take it easy on an old man.” In fact, Sellitto was comfortably lounging somewhere in middle age.

Thom, who’d let the officer in, said, “Anything for you, Lon?”

“Hell yes. If you baked it, I’m all over it.”

The aide smiled. “Anyone else?”

The others declined.

Sellitto was a Cliffs Notes version of himself, having been sidelined for a long time thanks to a perp who’d poisoned him. He’d nearly died and had undergone a great deal of treatment and therapy. He had dropped, Rhyme guessed, forty pounds over the past year. His thinning hair was graying. With his lithe new physique he looked even more rumpled than usual. The clothes didn’t fit and some of the newly emptied skin was baggy too.

Sellitto walked farther into the room, eyes on Juliette Archer. “What is this… ” His voice faded.

Rhyme—and Archer—laughed. “You can say it.”

“I… ”

Archer cocked her head. “A wheelchair showroom?”

Sellitto, blushing one of the few blushes Rhyme had ever seen on his cheeks, said, “I was gonna say convention. But yours is funnier.”

Rhyme introduced them.

She said, “I’m an intern.”

Sellitto cut a glance toward Rhyme. “You? Are a mentor? Jesus, Juliette, good luck with that.”

Sachs hugged Sellitto. She and Rhyme saw the detective and his girlfriend Rachel with some frequency but, now that Rhyme wasn’t doing criminal work and Sellitto had been on medical leave, they hadn’t worked together for a long time.

“Ah.” His eyes glowed as Thom brought a tray of Danish into the parlor. Sellitto scarfed. Thom handed him a coffee.

“Thanks.”

“You don’t want sugar? Right?”

“Yeah, I do. A couple.” Sellitto’s idea of losing weight had been to choose black coffee to accompany the doughnuts. Now, slim and freed, he was indulging.

The Major Cases detective looked over the parlor with a critical eye, half the equipment covered with plastic. The dozen whiteboard, turned against a far wall. “Jesus, I take a break and everything goes to hell.” Then he smiled. “And you, Amelia, heard about your big-game hunting, escalators in BK malls.”

“What exactly do you hear? I got the incident report to the team on time.”

“All good,” the detective added. “They’re holding you up as Miss Ingenuity. And better’n good. Madino’s got cred—he just got tapped for a spot at One PP—so you’ve got a power hitter rooting for you.”

Rhyme said sourly, “Fans root for hitters, Lon, not the other way around.”

“Jesus. Did kids in school regularly beat the crap out of you, Mr. Hand-Up-First-With-The-Right-Answer?”

“Let’s get caught up later on irrelevant issues, shall we? Lon, you were saying, big picture?”

“I read what you sent.”

Sellitto was the expert Rhyme had uploaded the Unsub 40 case file to. He smiled to himself at the man’s laconic response.

Yah, yah. Tomorrow…

“First, this is one sick fuck.”

Accurate but irrelevant. Rhyme said with subdued impatience, “Lon?”