Joel Goldman - The last witness

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."

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 turned off the engine. If he was lucky, they hadn't been seen. Mason looked at his watch. It was seven thirty.

"What now?" Mickey asked. "It's cold enough to freeze-dry my nuts."

Mason handed him the keys. "You can turn the heat on if you have to. Just remember, Zimmerman can find you a lot easier when the engine is running."

"Hey, where are you going?" Fiora demanded.

Mason took his gun from the glove compartment. "For a walk."

"That's not our deal!"

"Mickey will keep you company, but don't play gin with him. He cheats."

"Like hell I'm waiting here. Zimmerman is expecting me, and if I don't show, you guys shoot craps."

"Suit yourself," Mason said, knowing there was no way to make Fiora wait in the Jeep.

"Wingman on your flank," Mickey said to Mason as he climbed into the front seat, grabbed his gun, and joined Mason and Fiora.

"Give me that," Mason said to Mickey, pointing to the gun.

"Are you kidding me?"

"You don't know how to use a gun. You'll shoot yourself or one of us. Give me the gun."

Mickey held the pistol up with both hands, and before Mason could reach for it, he unloaded it, disassembled it, and put it back together.

"Oh, ye of little faith," he said.

"That's pretty good, kid," Fiora said. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"Video games-the perfect home-school curriculum."

They hugged the edge of the woods, walking briskly and single file along the service road, the storm concealing them. Before reaching the lagoon, they stepped into the woods. Mason took off his gloves and wrapped his fingers around his gun. The steel was icy and refused to warm against his hand. He found the safety with his thumb and switched it off.

"Let the games begin," Mickey whispered.

If Fiora had insisted on being early, Mason had to assume that Zimmerman and Toland would do the same and that Blues would not be the last one to arrive. Tony had gotten out of the Jeep twenty minutes ago. No one was going to be late for this party. Everyone was probably already there, each man fighting off the wind chill, waiting for someone else to make the first move.

"Why in the hell would Zimmerman set the meeting out here?" Fiora asked.

"Look around," Mason answered. "It makes sense. The interior of the park is isolated but accessible. There's not much chance of other traffic on a night like this. The shelter is out in the open. The nearest woods are far enough away that you'd have to be an incredible marksman to shoot someone from the trees."

Fiora wasn't convinced. "You think Zimmerman had that all figured out. How would he know about this place?"

"He's a cop who knows where bodies are dumped. Plus, he's a Cub Scout den leader. He's probably brought his troop here."

"You're shitting me? This hump is a Cub Scout leader? I'd pop him myself except I don't kill people."

Mason studied the wind-driven waves breaking along the snow-packed shoreline of the lagoon, moving his gaze outward to the road. There were no tire tracks, meaning that everyone else had walked in.

The shelter stood twenty-five feet from the southern edge of the lagoon. There was a streetlight close enough to outline it, but too far away to illuminate what was beneath it. The shelter was little more than a roof supported by four stout poles, a shelter from sun and gentle rain, but no port in a snowstorm. A bright light came on at the center of the shelter's ceiling, startling Mason and the others. Neither Zimmerman nor Toland was camped out beneath the shelter.