CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
'I love happy endings,' Fiora said when the screen went blank.
'I want a copy,' Mason said.
He was past understanding or explaining Beth. She had fallen out of first place in the Jack Cullan murder sweepstakes, but she was ahead of the pack in the psycho competition. Mason didn't know what he would do about her, only that he would do something.
'This is strictly pay-per-view. No more party favors. You get me the file; then we'll talk.'
'You know a homicide detective named Carl Zimmerman?'
'Sure. He was one of Cullan's guys. Cullan called him and that other cop, Toland, his golden retrievers. Any time some bigwig or his kid stepped in the bucket, those two guys fetched the bad news to Cullan.'
'I think they killed Cullan and went into business for themselves. They made Shirley Parker tell them where Cullan kept the files and then they stole the files and killed her.'
'They don't call this the land of opportunity for nothing. Now you're going to go up against two rogue cops and put them out of business while stealing my file back for me. Is that it?'
'I've got help.'
'Must be your client that I sprang from the county jail. That might even be a fair fight from what I understand. Are you keeping the good cops out of this?'
'We've got to until we get the files. After that, the good cops can have the bad cops.'
'Why tell me all of this?'
'We don't know where Zimmerman and Toland have hidden the files. I want you to call Zimmerman and offer to buy your file and hire him as a security consultant. The only catch is that your offer expires at midnight. Tell him if you don't have the file by then, you'll send Tony to get it.'
'Your partner figures to follow Zimmerman to the files, pop him, and bring me my file. Then you have a come-to-Jesus meeting with the prosecutor, Blues pleads guilty to some bullshit misdemeanor, and the whole thing goes away.'
'You're not the only one who loves happy endings.'
Fiora thought a minute, drumming his fingers on his desk, calculating the odds for the house.
'You got a phone number for this bum Zimmerman?'
Mason handed Fiora a slip of paper, and Fiora dialed Zimmerman's number, putting the call on speaker. Zimmerman went through the stages of grief, denying that he had Cullan's files, angrily accusing Fiora of blackmail, asking if Mason was in on the deal, and unsuccessfully negotiating better terms before accepting Fiora's offer, agreeing to a meeting at nine o'clock in Swope Park at the shelter next to the lagoon and hanging up.
Fiora spread his arms wide. 'As you heard, Detective Zimmerman is seriously pissed off and seriously suspicious.'
'Thanks. We're out of here.'
'I don't think so. You and junior are going to keep me company until tonight. We'll go to the meeting together.'
'Ed, that's not a good idea. This could get ugly. I don't think you want to be anywhere near the park.'
'I don't like the odds if I'm sitting here fat and unhappy hoping you keep up your end of the deal. I figure Tony gives us an edge, and I always take the edge. So sit down and sit tight.'
'Zimmerman has killed two people already. You don't kill people, remember?'
'I don't kill people. Tony kills people.'
Mason looked at Tony, who had planted himself in front of the door to Fiora's office.
'I need to make a phone call.'
'I thought you might.'
Mason called Blues. 'Nine o'clock at the shelter next to the lagoon in Swope Park.'
'Good. Meet me at the office. We'll get ready.'
'Can't do it.'
'Fiora got you on a leash?'
'You got it.'
'He and Tony figuring on coming along?'
'All the way.'
'Make for a helluva party,' Blues said, and hung up.
Mason closed his cell phone. 'You got an unmarked deck of cards? I'm into Mickey for two hundred and fifty bucks. I might as well try and get my money back.'
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Tony remained at the door, moving only to allow Fiora to go in or out. Mason and Blues had not discussed the possibility that Fiora would hold him and Mickey hostage and insist on coming along. Though unexpected, Fiora's intervention would bring all the bad guys together. The combination would be volatile, unstable, and uncontrollable.
Fiora came back at six o'clock. 'Let's get going,' he said. 'The roads are still a mess and I want to get there ahead of Zimmerman and Toland. What are you driving?'
'I've got my Jeep. It has four-wheel drive.'
'Perfect. You drive.'
The snow was still falling when they left the casino. Though city crews had been working for seven hours to clear the streets, they were fighting a losing battle. Fresh snow blanketed every plowed surface, erasing tire tracks and hiding the ice beneath like a land mine.
Tony sat in front next to Mason, leaving Mickey and Fiora in the back. Road conditions were treacherous, even for the Jeep. The wind blew snow across the roads in ground-level clouds, making it nearly impossible to see headlights or taillights.
Salt trucks outfitted with snowplows plodded along, clearing lanes while depositing a layer of salt in their wake. Mason crept steadily along, occasionally reaching speeds of thirty-five or forty miles per hour when he hit a stretch of clear tire tracks.
Mason entered Swope Park on Gregory Boulevard. The two-lane road ran ahead of them flanked by snow- laden trees looming like ghostly sentinels in the darkness. Irregularly spaced streetlights pointed the way, adding a halo to the falling and blowing snow. A concrete railroad bridge arched overhead as the boulevard funneled them into the park.
Colonel Tom Swope had donated Swope Park to the city in the early 1900s. The largest green space in the city, it was home to the zoo, an outdoor theater, two golf courses, and enough trails for anyone to get lost in. The lagoon was near the center of the park along Gregory Boulevard. Over the years it had been stocked with fish by the city and, occasionally, dead bodies by the less civic minded.
Mason eased to a stop along the curb where a bike path intersected with the road, and turned off his lights.
'Why are we stopping?' Fiora asked.
'The lagoon is around the next curve. If we go all the way in and Zimmerman is already in place, he'll see us.'
'Tony.' Fiora spoke his name as a command.
Tony grunted as he opened the door and disappeared without a backward glance.
'Where's he going?' Mickey asked.
'For a walk, Junior,' Fiora answered.
Mason turned onto the bike path, keeping the Jeep at a slow crawl and his headlights off, the automotive version of blindman's bluff. The bike path emptied onto an unmarked service road that Mason followed another half mile before picking up the bike path again. This time, he backed the Jeep a hundred yards down the bike path and