The Second Life of Nick Mason (Nick Mason #1)(36)

“There was a problem with the arrest.”

“I’ve heard of shit like that happening,” Eddie said. “But I never thought—”

“Let’s get this out of the way,” Mason said, cutting him short. “I went away and you didn’t.”

“I know, man.” Eddie looked at the garage floor.

“That’s the way it happened. You wouldn’t have given me up if it was you.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Eddie said, looking back up at him. Mason could feel him grabbing onto this idea like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline. “I would have done the same thing, I swear.”

“Okay, then, we’re good.”

“But I should have come to see you,” Eddie said. “I was worried they would see my name and, I don’t know, try to keep me there.”

Mason took a hit off his beer. You feel really bad, he said to himself. And yet if I was still down there, you’d still be sitting here in Bridgeport, not coming down to pay me a visit. So you wouldn’t have felt that bad.

“It’s okay,” Mason said. “You’re married. You got kids. You gotta move on.”

“I was gonna come. Really, I was. But Sandra, she just . . .”

She just wouldn’t let it happen, Mason thought. I get it. The same woman who even now is making us sit out here in the garage instead of coming into the house. I should go in there, find her in her bedroom with both her kids hugged tight to her chest, tell her I just got done doing five years in a federal penitentiary and would have done a lot more. I never said a word about your husband being involved. Not one f*cking word.

“So I heard about Gina,” Eddie said. “I mean, I don’t know if you’ve seen her yet. You knew she got remarried?”

“I heard,” Mason said, trying to hide how much it still hurt.

He’d been keeping his cool. But it was getting to be a bit too much. He held on tight to his beer can and counted to three.

That “code” that Cole said he saw in Mason—all that bushido honor and bushido loyalty—maybe it really was a rare thing after all.

“I’m sorry, man,” Eddie said. “It must feel like I forgot all about you in there. I really didn’t. Every day, I thought about you in there and me out here.”

Mason was quiet.

“We grew up together,” Eddie said. “How many times did you save my ass, even before you went away? I should have been a better friend. After what you did for me.”

“I said forget it.”

“I’m turning this into a f*cking soap opera, I’m sorry. Come on, let’s drink to something, okay? You’re out of prison.” Eddie raised his beer. “To getting out. To freedom.”

Mason raised his halfheartedly. The two cans clicked together. Mason wasn’t so sure what they were drinking to. Whatever he had now, it wasn’t really freedom. Like Quintero had said, it’s mobility.

“To Finn,” Mason said, raising his beer again.

“To crazy old Finn.”

They clicked their cans one more time. Neither of them said anything for a while.

“I saw McManus,” Mason finally said.

“How’d that go?”

“Could have run him over. Didn’t even realize who it was until I was down the street.”

“I’m surprised that * is still in town. If I ever see him, he’s a dead man.”

Mason took a hit off his beer.

“It’s funny,” Eddie said. “I think back to that night . . . That f*cker was out of the truck before they even started shooting.”

Mason nodded. He’d been thinking about it for years.

“He better not come to Bridgeport. I swear, I’ll beat him to death. Right in the street.”

Yeah, sure, Mason thought. While Sandra and the boys are watching you. That’s exactly what you’ll do.

“I saw Detective Sandoval, too,” Mason said. “You remember him.”

“Yeah.”

“He might come by, ask you some questions, now that I’m out.”

Eddie looked out at the house like he was imagining a detective on his front porch and Sandra answering the doorbell.

“Sandoval couldn’t touch you five years ago,” Mason said. “He can’t touch you today. You got nothing to worry about.”

“Right.”

Eddie took a long sip off his beer and stared at the garage floor for a while.

“Hey, that reminds me,” Eddie said. “I got something to show you.”

He put down his beer, got up, and grabbed the stepladder from the far corner of the garage. He set it up and went into the rafters. He came down with a cardboard box. When he opened it, he pulled out a stack of newspapers. The first masthead read Chicago Sun-Times, and it took Mason about two seconds to understand what these represented. These were the newspapers from five years ago, all of the coverage from the harbor job, the dead agent, the apprehending of the suspect, the police superintendent standing on the court steps and saying that a federal agent’s death has been avenged. The whole f*cking circus.

“Eddie,” Mason said, “why the hell would you save these?”

“I’m not even sure what I was thinking, but, I’ll tell ya, when I’m having a bad day or something, I’ll take out these papers and I’ll remember what you did for me. How I’m here in this house with my wife and kids because you didn’t give me up. How Finn never even made it back home at all. It just puts everything in perspective, you know?”