Joel Goldman - The last witness

"Exactly."

"If you've got any more toys hidden in your pants or stuck up your ass, get them out now. We'll never get next to Fiora without being searched. If we get to the point that we need weapons, it'll be too late to use them."

Mickey put a switchblade knife and a lead sap in the glove compartment and closed it.

"Where did you get those?" Mason asked.

"Home Shopping Network."

Mason called the Dream Casino, leaving a message with Fiora's administrative assistant that he was on his way to watch Fiora's home movies. The drive to the casino was an adventure in urban off-road driving. Mason used side streets whenever he could, and sidewalks when he had to. Cops he passed shook their heads and fists at him, but they were too busy with car wrecks and traffic jams to chase him down.

Mason couldn't get the image of Judge Carter sitting behind her desk, frazzled and distracted, out of his mind. Now he understood why she had looked frayed at the edges. On the one hand, she had made herself vulnerable to Ed Fiora and paid the price. On the other, Mason had shoved her over the edge. It was another IOU that Mason would have to carry until he could find a way to pay it back.

The clanging, whistling, siren-sounding slot machines were getting a workout in spite of the weather, gamblers thankful for the storm that gave them the perfect excuse for getting home late. Tony Manzerio escorted Mason and Mickey to Fiora's office.

"This weather is killing my business!" Fiora complained when Mason walked through the door.

"The storm's like a kidney stone. It'll pass-painfully-but it will pass."

"Is that the kind of legal advice you give? 'Cause if it is, I'd seriously consider another line of work."

"I'm close to figuring out who killed Jack Cullan. I need one more piece of the puzzle. It may be in the videotape you told me I should come see after this case ends. I need to see the tape now. If it shows what I think it does, it may help me close the loop on a suspect."

"Mason, you're starting to act like I'm your fairy godmother with all the favors you've been asking. You haven't even thanked me for the last one I did for you."

"As long as I'm asking, I want Judge Carter's account marked paid in full. Take her off your books."

"This is no time to get a conscience, Mason. Everybody's a player at some level. She played, she lost. What's the big deal?"

"If you've got a marker with Judge Carter's name on it, I'd like to see it."

"It has her son's name on it. She keeps him from getting a beating when he comes up short, which happens with some regularity."

"How much does the kid owe?"

"Doesn't matter. He pays up one week, he's down the next. We send him postcards about Gamblers Anonymous; makes us feel better."

"Clear the kid's marker and don't let him back in the casino. That's my deal."

"In return for which I get what?"

"Jack Cullan's file on you."

"You're squeezing an awful lot of mileage out of that file."

"Just show me the videotape, and then I'll get you the file. You've probably got me on tape asking you to get Blues released. You can keep that, but I want the judge off the books."

Fiora shrugged. "That will work. Trade a judge for a lawyer. Too bad you can't throw in a player to be named later."

Fiora opened a cabinet behind his desk, revealing a television and DVD player. He popped a disk into the DVD player and pushed a button, and the screen came to life.

"Like I told you before," Fiora reminded Mason, "anyone comes into the casino, they are picked up on video before they've lost their first quarter. They move out of range of one camera, another camera picks them up. We can even create a video of any one person from the minute they set foot in the parking lot to the minute they leave."

"So whose video are you going to show me?"

"Watch."

He sat down in his desk chair and aimed a remote control at the DVD player. Beth Harrell materialized on the screen. The day and date were printed in the bottom right-hand corner. It was New Year's Eve. Even with the camera's grainy, long-distance perspective, she flowed across the casino floor, drawing stares and envy. The absence of sound added a surreal note to her movements.

"I'll jump ahead to the good part," Fiora said as he punched another button on his remote control.

Mason watched as the camera followed Beth to the rear of the casino, where she found him, then out to the prow of the boat, where they had embraced. Mickey poked Mason in the ribs when the video showed Mason pushing Beth away. Mason winced at the memory of that moment, seeing the bitterness in Beth's expression as she had walked away.

The video jerked a bit as a different camera picked her up when she returned to the deck. Her face became indistinct as she slipped into shadows that made it impossible to see what she was doing or even to be certain that she was still the person on the video.

Mason recoiled as small flashes erupted from the darkness where the shooter was hidden. Then he saw his own image fill the screen, cowering in the prow and dodging bullets that ricocheted around him, shattering pale blue Christmas lights. He grimaced with sharp memory when he saw a bullet singe his side, touching the still healing wound, holding his breath as his video self vaulted into the river.

"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.