Joel Goldman - The last witness

The light turned off a few minutes later, only to come on again in an irregular cycle. Mason could make out an electrical line that ran from the roof of the shelter to a utility pole to the west. The line bowed, heavy with ice.

"It's a motion light," Mason said. "It's for security. Any movement near the light turns it on for a preset period. Then it goes off. If the wind blows hard enough, that will turn it on. We'll be able to see Zimmerman and Toland when they get close enough to activate the sensor."

"Then what do we do, Counselor?" Fiora asked.

"I don't know."

"In the meantime," Fiora complained, "I'm freezing my ass off. Where the hell is Tony?"

Mason ignored Fiora's complaint and his question. Fiora was used to running the show and didn't like being a spectator. Though Mason wondered where both Tony and Blues were waiting. Fiora had been standing on Mason's left. Mason turned to his right to talk to Mickey only to discover that Mickey was gone.

Mason hissed Mickey's name, but the sound died in the wind. Mason remembered Mickey's announcement as he got out of the car-Wingman on your flank. Mason silently cursed himself for getting Mickey involved.

A moment later, he cursed aloud when he saw Mickey emerge from the woods closest to the shelter, being pushed ahead by a tall figure poking Mickey in the back with a shotgun. Mickey stumbled and fell. The gunman prodded him with the barrel of the shotgun until Mickey got to his feet.

As the pair reached the shelter, the light came on again. In the instant before the gunman smashed the light, Mason saw Mickey's panicked face and the block-cut jawline of James Toland.

Fiora started toward the shelter, but Mason grabbed him by the arm. "Don't. "That's exactly what they want us to do. They'll try to take us one at a time. Mickey can handle himself."

Mason knew that he was right about everything except Mickey. The kid could deal cards, field strip a pistol, and hustle a rent-free pad, but Mason knew he was out of his league against Toland. Besides, sending Fiora to rescue Mickey was like telling the Dutch boy to put a bigger finger in the dike. Without Tony to back him up, Fiora was just a street-wise punk. Toland wouldn't be impressed. Fiora puffed himself up, as if sensing Mason's dismissive appraisal.

"Why not? I'm the guy they're expecting. If I don't go, they'll know they're being set up. I'll tell Toland that the kid is my driver and that he wandered off. You go find Tony and Blues."

Mason couldn't argue with Fiora's reasoning or stop him. Fiora chose a slow, casual walk, raising his right hand in greeting as he neared the shelter. Mickey and Toland were hidden in plain sight under the shelter, swallowed by the dark. When Fiora reached the edge of the shelter, he suddenly collapsed to the ground. Mason couldn't tell whether he'd been shot or struck, but Fiora didn't move as the snow gathered around him. In the same instant, Mason felt the icy sting of cold steel against his neck.

"I had a feeling you were in on this, Mason." Carl Zimmerman pressed the barrel of his gun tightly against the base of Mason's skull. "You should have told your client to take the plea."

Zimmerman jammed his gun hard against Mason's neck. "Hands behind your back."

Mason knew that Zimmerman was going to cuff him, taking him out of the game. He had size on Zimmerman, but Zimmerman had a gun on Mason's brain stem. Mason obeyed and winced when Zimmerman caught his flesh in the cuffs.

"Stand real still," Zimmerman instructed. Keeping his gun in place, Zimmerman patted the pockets on Mason's coat and found his pistol. "Hope you've got a permit for this concealed weapon, Counselor. Otherwise, I'll have to issue you a citation."

"You shouldn't have lied about the body in Swope Park. Otherwise, you might have gotten away with it."

"I'm getting away with it now."

"You killed Cullan, forged Blues's fingerprint, stole Cullan's secret files, and killed Shirley Parker. That's a lot to get away with."

"You don't know shit. And I didn't kill anybody. At least not yet."

"It doesn't matter what I know. Harry knows you used Blues's fingerprint in his personnel file to forge the one on Cullan's desk. That will be enough for him. He'll hunt you down like a dog. You won't be able to use Cullan's files to wipe your ass."

Zimmerman spat into the snow. "Ryman's too old and too slow."

"We'll put that on your tombstone."

Zimmerman gave Mason a sharp shove in the small of the back. "Move it!"

Mason marched toward the shelter, squinting against the snow. There was no sign of Tony or Blues. Fiora was still down. Zimmerman shoved Mason again as they stepped beneath the shelter, knocking him into Mickey, who was handcuffed and sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Toland pressed the barrel of his shotgun under Mason's chin, dragging it down to Mason's chest until Mason joined Mickey. Toland crouched down to Mason's eye level, keeping the shotgun flush against Mason. Mason smiled at the trickle of blood frozen on the side of Toland's face.

"Cut yourself shaving?" he asked Toland.

"That big moose you had chasing us in the woods scratches like a girl. I had to damn near kill him just so I could tie him to a tree. Don't make me tie you to a tree."

Zimmerman said, "We've got these three. Tony is out of commission, which leaves Bluestone."

High-beam headlights flooded the shelter as a vehicle bore down on them, make and model invisible in the dark.

"Who in the hell is that?" Toland yelled.

The vehicle was aiming directly at them as it picked up speed over the fresh snow. The engine was revving hard as if the driver had floored the accelerator.

"Damn!" Zimmerman shouted as it got closer. "That's my Suburban!"

"It's got to be Bluestone," Toland said. "He's going to ram us. Shoot him!"

Toland fired his shotgun, pumped, and fired three more rounds while Zimmerman emptied his clip into the Suburban. Mason and Mickey jumped to their feet and ran to Fiora. Crouching down with their hands behind their backs, they each grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him out of the path of the Suburban.

The windshield on the Suburban shattered, but the truck roared on like an enraged beast made angrier by the gunfire, crunching and packing the snow beneath its tires, oblivious of the barrage of firepower. Zimmerman and Toland leaped out of the way at the last moment as the Suburban crashed into one of the poles supporting the shelter, toppling the roof. The car flew past them, becoming airborne before plunging headfirst into the lagoon, sizzling and bubbling as it found the muddy bottom.

Harry and Blues were following on foot behind the Suburban. Blues ran low and straight at Toland, colliding with him and rolling across the snow. Toland managed to get to his feet first while Blues was on one knee. Toland launched a booted kick at Blues's head. Blues caught Toland's boot and sprang up, sending Toland tumbling onto his back.

The power line had snapped off the roof of the shelter with the impact from the Suburban, its deadly blue current dancing and writhing across the snow, measuring Toland like a cobra as he struggled to get to his feet. Toland slipped in the snow, clawed at the ground on all fours, and screamed as the power line stung him with a lethal jolt, the line lying across Toland's electrocuted body as the snow sizzled around him.

Zimmerman was in a shooter's crouch, knees bent, arms extended, aiming Mason's gun in a rapid arc, looking for a target. Harry tackled him from behind, flattening him against the pavement and pressing his face into the snow. He planted his knee in the middle of Zimmerman's back and wrapped his hand around Zimmerman's gun hand, forcing the barrel against Zimmerman's ear.