Tuesday evening
“All right,” Mason squared his shoulders and straightened the front of his jacket, “you can do this.”
Perhaps if the building had looked a little seedier, if there hadn’t been a cheerful set of pots overflowing with inter-woven ivy and impatiens, if there had been any indication at all that he was about to enter a place that didn’t appear to be just another demure little business, Mason might have kept walking.
“You can just set it up by phone,” Greg had told him. But he’d needed to see. He’d needed a chance to convince himself that the transaction wasn’t as sleazy as it felt.
“Okay, see?” he whispered. “No screaming babies. No young people banging on windows to be set free. Consenting adults. Exchanging trade…” He let his words drift off as he reached for the door hand
