The Second Life of Nick Mason (Nick Mason #1)(40)

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Quintero wasn’t happy. Mason was late again.

“Maybe you work on early for next time,” Quintero said as soon as Mason got to the park, “because this is the last time you’ll ever be late.”

Beyond him, the same hundred sailboats were anchored out in the open water. The fog had long burned off and it was a perfect summer day in Chicago—a cloudless cobalt sky, the lake glittering in the sunlight.

It was one of those days that feels like a gift. But here I am, Mason thought. This is how I have to spend it.

“I got held up,” Mason said. “Not everybody’s throwing a party about me being back on the street.”

“We got a problem?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“You put some clothes together, so you’re always ready,” Quintero said. “You answer the phone and by the time you hang up, you’re already out the door.”

“Fuck that,” Mason said, looking away.

Quintero shook his head and then pulled up the back of his shirt. For one second Mason thought he’d pushed him too far and was about to take one in the head. But it wasn’t a gun in Quintero’s hand. It was a manila envelope.

“You may have passed your first test,” Quintero said. “With some help. This one’s gonna be harder.”

Mason took the envelope and looked inside. There were two sheets of paper. One was a copy of a police mug shot. A black man, front and side, holding a placard with his name on it. Tyron Harris. His hair was cut tight to his head and he had a small mustache. The look on the man’s face was calm and cool like the whole experience was just a mild annoyance. On the second sheet of paper was a list of Chicago business names and addresses. Dry cleaners, liquor, electronics, and a half dozen more.

“Harris was the man who was scheduled to meet Jameson in the motel. I don’t know where he lives, but here’s a list of some businesses. He either owns them or has a piece of them.”

“What’s the job?”

“Find him,” Quintero said. “Watch him.”

Mason knew there’d be more to this job. He didn’t have to ask.

“If you knew he was going to meet that cop in the motel room,” Mason said, “and you wanted them both, why didn’t you just wait? We could have taken them both out together.”

I actually said that, Mason thought. This is how my mind works now.

“Harris would have come with at least four men,” Quintero said. “Maybe five. Two men in the room with him, another on the door. One in the parking lot. Maybe one more on the street. He’s still alive because he’s careful. After what happened to his new business partner, he’ll be even more careful. Get to work finding him. Call me on my cell, let me know what’s going on with this guy.”

Quintero took one step past him, then stopped. “One more thing,” he said. “Let me know if the piece of shit following you is a problem. Your problems are my problems.”

“He’s nothing.”

Quintero shook his head in disgust. “I’ll decide if it’s nothing.”

“I’m more worried about Detective Sandoval,” Mason said.

“How does a detective get on you that fast?”

“It’s a personal thing. We have some history.”

“You need to be clean when you’re doing this next job, Mason. Every minute.”

Mason looked out at the water.

“Now get to work,” Quintero said. Then he walked away.





21




Nick Mason knew that Frank Sandoval was following him because Sandoval wanted him to know. At least for today, Sandoval was making no effort to hide the surveillance, hoping it would keep Mason on edge and force him to make a mistake.

Mason watched the blue sedan in his side-view mirror. He tried running a yellow light to lose it. He thought he was free, but then he saw it again. Or at least he thought it was the same car. It was later in the morning and there was plenty of traffic, and there were blue sedans all over the place.

He tried to loop around a block, watching carefully behind him, but there were too many cars and he couldn’t get a clear bead on any one of them.

That’s when he got the idea.

He drove down Rush Street to Antonia’s. There was a car about to pull out of a parking spot right out front. The driver was taking his time getting into the car, starting it, maybe making a call on his cell phone. Mason stayed there in the street waiting him out, ignoring the honks from behind.

When the car finally pulled out, Mason took the spot. There on the street where anyone could see it. If you were looking for Nick Mason and you happened to follow him here, you’d have no doubt in your mind that this was his car and that he must be inside the place.

Mason went in through the front door and asked for Diana. The early-lunch crowd was just starting to sit down, so it wasn’t too busy yet. Diana came out from her office, looking a little surprised to see him there. She was wearing another dark suit, with a lavender blouse. The color looked good on her.

“What’s going on?” she said. “Is there a problem?”

“Where’d you park your car?”

“In the side lot, like always.”

“I need you to move it,” he said. “Go out and drive it down the street like you’re going somewhere. Then come back around, away from Rush Street, and park behind the restaurant.”