puzzle. “And the oldest is diabetic. Let’s try the Mid-America Club. Maybe we can catch him while he’s still wet.”
When Blues stopped in front of the Mid-America Club, he turned to Mason. “You got a plan? Or you just going to ask him to write it out nice and neat for you?”
“I’ll ask nicely, but he’s going to write it down.”
“This isn’t a game. You know that?”
“You forget I already killed someone?”
“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget.” He opened the glove compartment and removed a blue-steel revolver. “It’s a Sig Sauer.45 caliber,” he explained as he loaded the clip, slid the safety to off, and handed it to Mason. “Just in case he doesn’t understand nice.”
Mason looked at Blues and the gun. A freak blow to a stranger trying to shoot him was one thing. Hiding in the woods with a shotgun to protect himself against a killer was doable. Pointing a gun at a friend, even one who’d betrayed him, was in a different league.
“Listen to me, Lou. Nobody is who you thought they were-at least not anymore. Blood changes everybody- there aren’t any rules. Don’t use it if you don’t have to. But don’t take the chance you won’t need it. I’ll catch up to you.”
Mason got out and stood in front of the revolving-door entrance to the club, shirt untucked to cover the gun stuck in his waist, pressed flat against his belly and pointed at his crotch. He was more afraid of tripping than anything else.
As the door spun around depositing him inside, Mason began to fear something else-his own anger. Knowing that someone wanted him dead scared him at first and still did. But his anger balanced his fear, giving him a chance to do what he had to if he was going to live. And that made him afraid of who he would be if he did survive. The gun was fast becoming an easy answer. Mason’s growing sense of the inevitability of that answer-and his acceptance of it-was terrifying. Blues was right. Nobody was who he thought they were anymore, including him.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Scott was alone in the pool, doing the backstroke, his long arms looping rhythmically overhead like twin paddle wheels, his legs knifing through the water. Mason watched from the deep end as Scott swam away, staring back at him as if Mason was a stranger.
Mason waited for his return lap, and before Scott could tuck, turn, and swim away again, he grabbed him by the hair and slammed his forehead onto the edge of the deck. Scott grunted and slid backward into the water. Mason slipped his hands under Scott’s arms and pulled him out of the pool and onto the deck, where he lay, coughing and bleeding.
“Jesus Christ, Lou! Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
“Pretty fucking close, buddy. Swimming is a dangerous sport. You should get out of the water before you get hurt.”
Scott sat up, holding his head in his hands. Blood trickled through his fingers, pooling on the floor. Mason tossed him a towel, yanked him to his feet, and shoved him into the locker room.
“Come on, let’s check the damage.”
Wooden lockers lined three walls and filled a half dozen aisles furnished with benches. One wall was all mirrors and sinks split by a doorway that led to the toilets and showers.
Scott leaned on Mason, woozy from the blow, as Mason leaned him up against the wall by the sink and cleaned the cut. Mason wrapped a bath towel around Scott’s neck and gave him a hand towel to hold against his forehead. When the bleeding slowed, Mason sat him on a bench and propped him against a locker. He pulled a bench from another row of lockers parallel to Scott’s and sat across from him.
“So how long have you and Vic Jr. been using the firm to launder money?”
“You’re not just crazy, Lou. You’re out of your fucking mind!”
“I just want to get out of this alive. And I don’t much care if you do. Help yourself and answer my questions.”
Scott laughed. “You don’t have it in you, Lou. Give it up and go away while you still can.”
Mason stood and grabbed the ends of the towel around Scott’s neck, choking him. Scott clawed at the towel, but Mason twisted it tighter and whipped Scott’s head against the locker, reopening the cut over his eyes. Holding the towel with one hand, Mason drew his gun and jammed into Scott’s cheek, his finger tightening around the trigger. Bug-eyed, Scott blinked as blood ran into the corners of his eyes.
“Now, Scott, I’m not having a very good day. Frankly, I’m more than a little edgy. Been doing some really weird shit. Help me out, will you? Talk to me. It calms me down. Okay?”
“Okay, sure, just put the gun down, please.”
Mason let go of the towel and sat on his bench, lowering the gun to his side. “I’m not going to ask again.”
“Okay, okay. It was Vic Jr.’s idea. He got hooked up with some mob guys while he was in college in Chicago. They bailed him out of a jam and he agreed to help them out.”
“How?”
“Laundering their money.”
“So why did you get into it?”
“Money. They let Junior take a cut, and Junior needed Harlan and me to cover the deals, so we got a piece too.”
Mason wasn’t surprised that Harlan had been involved. The fixtures deals must have been the source of the unreported income that caught the attention of the IRS.
“That’s what the fixtures deals were for?”
“Yeah. Quintex bought the fixtures and leased them back. The lease payments were the dirty money.”
“What were the fixtures for?”
“Strip joints and porno shops. The rent was pumped way up to provide the cash flow.”
“And the fees for work that was never performed?”
“We had to get the money out of Quintex, and the firm was the easiest place.”
“But how did you get it out of the firm?”
“Consulting fees paid on behalf of Quintex.”
“To whom? Who’s behind the whole thing?”
“I don’t know who got the fees and I don’t know who was running the show.”
Mason grabbed the towel again.
“Okay! I knew but I didn’t know. Sure, it had to be the mob but I never heard any names. Please, Lou! I’m telling you the truth!”
Mason let go. “Tell me what you did know.”
“We always dealt with a Chicago law firm. They had power of attorney. The principals were never identified.”
“Who got the consulting fees?”
“Don’t know. We just made out the checks to corporations and mailed them. Everything went to a post office box.”
“Angela had to cover the billings for you. You had to cut her in. And you had to pay the money back out. Seems like a lot of trouble for the amounts involved.”
“The firm was only a piece of it. We set up separate corporations to contract with Quintex for phony services. Ran a lot of the money through them. Harlan thought it would be fun to run some through the firm since O’Malley was Sullivan’s client.”
“Harlan?”
Mason thought of that gentle man getting a kick out of setting up Sullivan’s biggest client. Every partner has his secrets, Mason realized. Harlan’s secret must have been that he hated Sullivan.
“Oh yeah, Harlan,” Scott said, reading Mason’s mind. “He hated Sullivan as much as the rest of us. The more
