I stand outside a squad car waiting for Mason to unlock the doors.
“Get in back,” he says, “and stay down.”
I know I don’t have a choice in the matter if I want to be a part of this deal, but it would be out of character for me to go willingly. I don’t move.
“Come on, Sam. Trust me.”
“Where are we going?” I ask. “I’m not hiding in there all night.”
We stare each other down until I give in and move to the back door.
I get in the squad’s backseat and watch Mason through the cage. He puts his phone on its charger and smiles at me through the rearview mirror. We drive off. He’s got me right where he wants me, locked me in the backseat like a criminal. No wonder he took the squad.
“Where’s the Navigator?” I ask.
Mason catches my eye in the rearview mirror. He knows I’m picking a fight. He answers me by adjusting the mirror so he doesn’t have to look at me.
We drive south on Dearborn. I look back through the rear window. The lights on the Hancock are still green from Saint Patrick’s Day last week. The city is alive with light. It would be a spectacular view if I were a tourist. Or a photographer. Or anybody else. I feel like I’m waving good-bye to home.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
“Where is Wade?” I ask. “Are you sure he’ll show up this time, or will I be tonight’s stand-in?”
“I just told him where to pick up the stash. He has to come.”
We cross Cermak Road, and I have this bad feeling that I shouldn’t have told O’Connor to go to the bus station. I have this bad feeling if he goes there, the only person he’ll bust is Wade. Then Wade won’t show up. Mason and I will be empty-handed when we meet Trovic’s bosses. We’ll be in deep shit.
Mason turns right, and we drive down a dark row of tall warehouses. He pulls the squad into a deserted gravel lot just before we reach the expressway overpass.
“What is this place?” I ask. It’s nowhere near the bus station. It’s nowhere near backup.
“Used to be a shipyard. Stay down. I’m gonna look around.”
I wait until he gets out of the car and I hear his footsteps move away on the gravel. Then I peek out the window. I can’t see much. The only light comes from the moon. This looks like a place where business should be conducted during the day, if at all.
I eye Mason’s cell phone. I can’t get to it through the divider—no way my arm would fit through the grating. I can’t open the doors—precautionary features in squad cars, of course.
I sink down into the seat and figure I should do what he says and lie low until he gives me the opportunity to do otherwise. I want to scream at myself. I’d rather think O’Connor could be on his way here than know he’s headed in the wrong direction.
Mason’s cell phone rings in the charger. Over and over. I feel like a monkey in a cage. I know the way out, but I can’t get there. I could kick out the cage, it’d get me to his phone, but Mason would find out and I’d be dead before anyone could get here. Making a call isn’t going to help me now.
I could break out the window and make a run for it, but that’s not a viable option either. I am not running. I’m staying right here. I have to rely on Mason’s trust in me to be his downfall. Does he really think I’m going to help him? Has he set it up so I have to?
The phone keeps ringing, like the person keeps calling back. He’s not going to fucking answer. Hang up! The ringing is like a drill into my head. Into the wound Mason gave me.
The phone finally stops as soon as Mason appears. Of course. He opens the driver’s-side door and releases the rear locks.
“Let’s go,” he says, “move it or lose it.”
I run after him into the darkness. We go through an open garage door into a large open warehouse. The space is huge, and the wind blows through it like a sneeze—when it hits, the whole shell of the place shudders. Mason flips on a flashlight and shows me a foreman’s dock in the center: a platform about fifteen feet up and eight feet around that a boss must’ve used to survey his crew. It’s surrounded by empty unpaved ground.
“You’re going to stay up there,” he says, pointing to the dock. “Go on.”
He shines the light on the only way to get up there: a rickety metal ladder.
“No way,” I say. “I’ll never get down.”
“It’s safe. You’ll be able to hear everything from up there. All you have to do is lie down in the center and wait for your cue. Once the deal is made, you can jump off the fucking thing for all I care. Just as long as you shoot Wade.”
He hands me a revolver. He waits a moment before letting go, but not long enough to indicate any insecurity on his part. I check the gun; there’s only one bullet loaded in the cylinder. He’s got this all figured out. If I shoot him right here and now, I wind up with an empty gun and a lot of explaining to do to some drug dealers. I don’t think Wade will be much help.
“What if I miss?” I ask.
“You won’t,” he says. He takes the gun from my hands and shoves it in my pants. Then he leads me to a structure built into the side wall. He opens the door and pulls a string that turns on a naked bulb. The puny light casts huge shadows out the door and across the space.
“We’re doing business here,” he says. I look into what must have been an office, judging by the abandoned metal desk. Mason turns and puts his arms around me, over my shoulders, but it’s not exactly a loving gesture. “I’m telling you, these guys would like nothing more than a reason to take out a couple of cops. Don’t give them one.” He lets go and spins me around to face the loading dock. “Now get up there and make sure you’re out of the light.”
I’m so fucking nervous that I do what he says. I hurry over to the ladder and start climbing. I don’t know who Trovic’s bosses are or what the hell I’ve gotten myself into, and suddenly Mason is the least of my concerns. I get up the ladder as fast as I can, counting the rungs—one, two, three, four, five, fuck! Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, that’s twelve rungs to the top. From up here it seems like a lot more than fifteen feet off the ground. Another fucking jail.
Mason shuts off the office light. I drop to the floor of the platform and peer over the side. He shines the flashlight right in my eyes.
“I can see-ee you,” he taunts. I move back. “Good. Shoot when I tell you to.”
The sound of a car engine rumbles through the space like an airplane.
“That’s Wade.” Mason shuts off his flashlight and moves toward the entrance. I peer over the side again and practice my aim. I have the perfect shot at him just before he disappears into the darkness that hangs over the garage door.
“Bang,” I say. But he’s the only one with a shot here.
I cock my gun and lie back for all of two seconds before I know there’s no way I can stay up here. I feel the ladder under my feet, twelve eleven ten nine eight seven six—then I hear the car’s engine quit, so fuck it, I jump off and run for the edge of the building.
The only places I can hide are behind the office or outside the building. It was a terrible idea to have left that platform, but it’s too late now. Voices echo faintly around the place: they’re on the way inside.
I dart over to the farthest corner of the warehouse and hope the light doesn’t radiate this far. I lie on my stomach on the dirty ground. From where I am, I can see the entrance in the moonlight. I just hope no one can see me. I aim my gun. I’m ready to shoot if I have to.
Headlights flood the space from another vehicle entering the lot. I’m relieved when they don’t fall on me. I won’t be seen if no one’s looking.
“Weapons in the trunk!” I hear a voice call out like a drill sergeant. I don’t recognize it.
Then I hear footsteps on the gravel. There must be one, two three, four—too many people for one bullet.
“You check the place out?” a voice echoes through the space.
“Of course I did,” Mason says.
“We’re the cops, who do you think’s going to bust us?” Wade says as I watch Mason, then Wade, then two other men come in through the garage door. No one laughs. Mason takes a suitcase from Wade and I can tell by Mason’s body language that he’s annoyed.
“You take care of your female troubles?” asks the man in a slick suit. The other man carries a briefcase.
Mason says, “I held up my end. Now you hold up yours.”
Mason turns on the office light and they all go inside. I can feel the light on me, so I move toward a shadow on my left just before Wade, the last one inside, looks in my direction. He doesn’t see me. He closes the office door.
The rest of the warehouse goes black, except for the faint light from the tiny office window. I’m safe for now, but I’ve gotta move because someone’s bound to see me when they come out.
Just before I move, I hear more footsteps outside. I pray to God it’s O’Connor and he followed Wade here, but when the figure steps into the warehouse, he’s too huge to be O’Connor.
The man pulls out his gun and stands still for a moment, listening. Then he slips into the shadows to walk the perimeter of the place. If he makes it any more than halfway around, he’s sure to discover me.
I get on my elbows and hold my breath. I aim in his direction. He’s fifty yards away. I can’t see him, but I can hear his footsteps on the sandy ground. Coming closer. Pausing. Coming closer.
I can hear the folds of his pants chafe.
The only thing I can think to do is pick up the first thing I find and throw it, to distract him, but that’s my gun, so I sit there and hope if I have to fire, I won’t miss.
He’s coming closer. I have to swallow. I don’t.
Just then, the office door opens. The man with the gun turns toward the light. He’s so close that I can see the tattoo on the side of his neck just below his ear: a knife that bleeds the word TRUST. He must not get much of it.
“We good?” the man asks, and pivots, starting toward the office.
I’m in the light like he is, but I see a place only five feet to the left that’s still shadowed, so I roll like a log with my gun still pointed at the guy.
I’m hidden just as the man who had the briefcase comes out of the office with Wade’s suitcase and gives a thumbs-up. He joins the tattooed man near the loading dock.
“What the fuck is that platform?” the tattooed man asks the other, indicating my original hiding place. They study it for a moment.
“Beats me,” says the one with the suitcase. The tattooed one approaches it and jiggles the ladder. He puts his foot up on the second rung like he’s going to climb, but as soon as he puts his weight on it, the whole fucking ladder comes down at him. He jumps out of the way and the ladder crashes to the floor.
“You fat-ass.” The one with the suitcase laughs at him.
The commotion brings all the men out of the office.
“Let’s go,” says the third man, the guy in the suit. Evidently the one in charge.
Wade walks the men to the edge of the garage while Mason stands there, looking up at the platform, grinning. That bastard.
“Nice doing business with you,” Wade says, waving the men off.
“Fuck off, pig,” the tattooed man says.
Wade lights up a cigarette and watches them go. Mason goes back in the office.
Their car engine rumbles and I finally have enough nerve to swallow. I release my grip on the gun and wipe my hands on my pants.
The car pulls away and the lights fade. I’m waiting for Mason to come out and say “Shoot,” but I get the feeling that wasn’t the plan after all. Maybe he wanted me to think I was going with him until he was sure he’d get away. Then he’d leave me there, stuck on the platform, to deal with Wade’s dead body and a dirty gun. Another crazy story to tell the authorities.
I watch Wade put his cigarette out, bend over, and pull a gun from his ankle holster.
So maybe Mason is right about Wade.
But he’s wrong about me.