Mason left the kitchen. He was still shaking his head when he got into her car. Then he settled back in the seat and his assignment came back to him. An almost smile left his face as he started the car and headed out into the day.
When he got to Fuller Park, both of Harris’s cars were parked in front of the house. One car had spent the night there. The other must have arrived in the morning to pick up the woman. He watched her come out and leave in that car. Harris was back to one driver and two bodyguards.
They all got in their car and left.
He followed them through the South Side again. It was a different set of businesses today, including the barbershop and the restaurant from Mason’s original list that they hadn’t hit the day before, but it was the same routine. Go in and pay a quick visit, Harris carrying his laptop. There was one laundromat where Mason could actually see in through the window. Harris sitting there at a table with the laptop open, the manager sitting down next to him. The bodyguards standing by, looking serene. Harris gave the man a hug when he stood up, then he and the bodyguards came out and got in the car and went on to the next business.
By the end of the afternoon, Mason had put in another long day of watching. He was starting to worry that they’d eventually clock him. You can only trail a man for so long, no matter how well you do it, before he turns around and takes a good look at you.
The next stop was different. They headed back north, over the river, and parked by a little coffee shop near Homan Square. The three men got out and went inside. Mason saw Harris sitting at a table with two strangers. His bodyguards were at a separate table nearby. Half an hour later, all five men came out together. Mason got his first good look at the men Harris had been meeting with. They were both wearing dark suits. One man was older and acted like he was in charge of the whole meeting. His hair was cut close, so fair it was almost white, and there was something almost paternal about the way he put his arm around Harris’s shoulders. There probably weren’t too many men around who did that.
Mason had seen enough cops in his life. These were definitely cops.
They stood outside on the sidewalk for a few minutes. Then the two cops got into a black Audi and drove away. Harris and his men kept talking for a moment. Their friendly smiles were long gone. Then they got into their car and left.
Mason followed them downtown, where they parked outside Morton’s again. Harris was clearly a creature of habit. A weakness, perhaps, but not when you travel with an army.
Quintero said I’d be getting some help, Mason thought. Whatever that means, I sure as hell haven’t seen it yet.
The same woman showed up and looked just as blond and gorgeous getting out of her car after shopping or waxing or whatever the hell someone who looks like that does all day. Harris kissed her and then they all went into the restaurant. When they came out two hours later, Mason was ready for the cars to separate again, but this time they both headed out in the same direction.
Mason pulled out behind them, tracking them through town. They passed right under the expressway. They weren’t going back to Fuller Park. They were heading west on Lake Street, into new territory. Then both cars slowed down in the right lane, turned off into a parking lot, and it all made sense.
It was a strip club.
Mason pulled in after them. He parked a row over and watched everyone leaving the cars. Harris and the woman. All of the men. They weren’t going to leave anyone sitting here in the parking lot.
A strip club meant noise and confusion and very little light except on the stage. It sure as hell meant distraction, unless these men were from some other planet. Mason stayed there in the car, his cell phone in his hand. He looked down at the screen for a long time. Finally, he called Quintero.
“They’re all at a club,” he said. “There may be an opportunity.”
“Open your trunk,” Quintero said. “Lift up the spare tire.”
He got out of the car and opened the trunk with the phone still held to his ear. He pulled up the carpeting to expose the spare tire compartment. The tire was secured with a nut, so he had to find the tool bag in the trunk’s side compartment to loosen it. He looked both ways down the parking lot, then pulled up the tire.
There was a pair of black leather gloves. There was no gun.
What the hell, he thought. He picked up the gloves and saw the knife underneath. The blade was folded inside, but he knew one push of the button would release it. Six inches long and no doubt razor-sharp.
“Listen to me,” Quintero said. “Take a moment, get your head on straight. If you’re not focused, you’ll do something stupid. Keep your eyes open. And don’t do anything unless you have a clean exit.”