The Second Life of Nick Mason (Nick Mason #1)(21)

“Fine,” Mason said. “I know all about rules.”

“We both know who we’re talking about. You make it a habit, then you don’t f*ck up when it really matters.”

“Speaking of habits,” Mason said, “how much time are you going to spend following me around?”

“I knew you’d be looking for your ex-wife and your daughter.”

“Let me make this real clear,” Mason said. “My ex-wife and my daughter have nothing to do with this. With any of this. To you, they don’t exist.”

“That’s not how this works, Mason. You made this deal. You think you get to make the rules now? I’ll go move into their f*cking guest room if I want to.”

Mason stood there for a moment, staring the man down. Then Quintero handed him a motel room key on an old-fashioned plastic key fob. The name and address of the motel was written on one side along with the room number: 102. On the other side was a promise to pay the return postage if you dropped the key into any mailbox.

“The room will be empty,” Quintero said. “You go there and you park in front of this room. Nowhere else. Get there at eleven thirty p.m. No earlier, no later. Go inside and you’ll find everything you need in the top drawer of the nightstand. Then go around and up the stairs to Room 215. Your man will be there. Call me when you’re done.”

Mason took a moment to process that. “Done with what?” he said.

“You’re helping him check out. What the f*ck you think you’re doing?”

This is it, Mason said to himself. I made this deal. I didn’t give him any exceptions. I didn’t say there are certain things I will not do.

I just said yes.

He turned to face his city one more time. Then he turned back to the man who was telling him to do the one thing he never thought he’d do.

“Why don’t you do it?” Mason said. “Something tells me it wouldn’t be your first.”

“I’m not doing it because it’s not my job to do it. It’s yours. We’re gonna find out just how well you can handle things.”

Mason stood there looking at the key. The sun kept breaking through the morning fog, making the glass on the buildings shine brighter and brighter. It was going to be a hot day.

“One thing I’ve never done,” Mason finally said, “my whole life.”

Quintero looked him up and down. He shook his head and there was almost a smile on his face. “No mames,” he said.

Mason didn’t know exactly what it meant, but he’d heard a Mexican in SHU use the phrase now and then. He figured it must translate to something like “No f*cking way.”

“I know you’re here for a reason,” Quintero said. “Cole doesn’t make mistakes. So you better get yourself ready, cuate.”

Mason put the key in his pocket and walked away.

“First one’s a bitch,” Quintero said to his back. “Then it gets easy.”





11




“What do you know about the samurai, Nick?”

The two men were walking along the perimeter of the yard. A chain-link fence ran alongside them, ten feet high and topped with razor wire that gleamed in the sunlight. Beyond that there was the other fence. More razor wire. On the issue of which side a man belonged, there would never be any doubt in his mind.

“Not much,” Mason said. “Why?”

“They got this code they live by. Called bushido. You ever hear of that?”

“No.”

“Bushido,” Cole said. He walked slowly when he was talking. “I like that word. I can look back on things in my life now, see how important that was, having a code like that. This shit goes back a thousand years, Nick.”

Mason knew how many books Cole read. Between morning roll and lunchtime, that’s when any man with sense left Darius Cole alone because that was the time reserved for reading.

Cole had an account with the Book Cellar in Lincoln Square and they would send him a new box of books every Friday.

The man read at least one book a day, Nick thought, but he couldn’t shake the streets of Englewood when he spoke.

“You got some of that,” Cole said. “What makes you stand out around here. You got yourself some bushido.”

This is what they did. Every day, after Cole received his afternoon visitors, this was Mason’s time to listen to him. Mason didn’t have to say much in return. In fact, that was probably one of the things Cole appreciated the most, Nick realized, just being able to talk to somebody who knew when to shut the f*ck up and listen.

“Don’t have to know the word,” Cole said. “Don’t have to know anything about it. That don’t mean you don’t have it. You remember those first couple times you came down here?”

“I remember.”

“What did we talk about? The rules you got for yourself. To keep your life in order. Keep your mind right. The way you handle things around here. I see you, you got this way of moving around the three worlds in here. White, black, Latino. Whenever you gotta leave your own world, make your way in another . . . You don’t compromise yourself. You don’t give up nothing. But you don’t look for trouble, neither. I know you think it’s no big deal. Just one day at a time. But when I see that, I see this bushido, Nick. You got that shit up to your eyeballs.”