What Happened at East Houston Street

Chapter 45

"It was good to see you after all this time, Mason," Bob Perkins said, shaking his hand and slapping his back.

Mason smiled, flicking the man's velvet lapel with his thumb and forefinger. "You too, Bobby," he said. "Hal would have hated to miss such a glorious reunion. Me, you, Hal, and Harry. We were like the four musketeers!" He shook his head, feeling nostalgic.

"Where is Harry, anyway?" Bob asked. "Why didn't he show up?"

Mason had been surprised when he didn't see Harry at the wake that evening. He and Hal were like two peas in a pod in college, always pulling pranks on each other, trying to see how far they could go without getting arrested. It was quite odd for him not to show up to pay his final respects. It was against everything that Harry Wellington stood for.

"Probably forgot to pick up his tux from the dry cleaner's," Mason joked, trying to keep the concern out of his voice.

Bob held his lapels and bowed. "We still paint quite a dapper picture, old man!"

Mason chuckled giving Bob's hand a shake. "Take care, Bobby. Say hi to Missy."

The other man shook his head. "That one's going to be the death of me!" he complained.

Mason nodded, walking away and muttering to himself. "That's what you get for marrying a woman 52 years younger than you, you poor bastard."

As he drove home, Mason thought about Harry. He hadn't called him tonight to see if he was coming, because he didn't have his phone book with him. He hoped nothing bad had happened, knowing that he was helping him out with the Lauren situation because his other contact had 'left the business' and his services were no longer available. He felt guilty for a quick moment before shaking his head. He owed me one, he reasoned. It's not like he had to do any dirty work. He's got people for that.

Still not feeling right that Harry hadn't shown up to the wake, he decided to stop at his house. His townhouse was one block away from Mason's, so he wouldn't have to go too far out of his way. Once he pulled onto Harry's street, he double-parked in front, not expecting to be long. He put the hazard lights on and got out of the car, buttoning his jacket and flattening his hair with his hand.

He rang the bell and knocked three times quickly, paused, and knocked twice again. It was their secret signal. When no one answered, he rang and knocked again. A few moments passed and still no answer. He stepped off the stairs and looked at the windows. The first level was dark, but the entire second floor was lit up. He's definitely here, he thought. Looking down at his watch and saw that it was after 9pm, he thought it odd that so many lights were on in the house at this hour. He walked back up the steps and rang again, this time not knocking. Instead, he tried the doorknob and raised his eyebrows when the handle clicked open.

Has he lost his mind?

Though Beacon Hill was a wealthy area, it was situated next to one of the most crime-ridden areas of Boston. All the old boys knew to lock their doors at night. Suspicious now, he slowly crept into the house.


Back at Tip's apartment, Sarah and Lauren ate their spaghetti in silence. They were each lost in their own thoughts about the day's events. When Lauren finished her meal, she stood up and brought the empty bowl to the sink, where she rinsed it and put it into the dishwasher. Sarah, having only made it through half of her pasta, dropped her fork into the dish and looked at the clock on the microwave. She turned to Lauren and said, "He's been gone for almost two and a half hours."

Lauren shrugged. "I know. It's weird that he left his phone here," she said, picking it up and finding it was password protected.

Sarah furrowed her brow, worried about him. "Where does his grandfather live?" she asked, hoping that all of these rich people visited each other regularly.

Lauren hunched her shoulders. "Um, I don't know exactly where, but I know it's within walking distance of my grandfather's house."

"Okay, well he took his keys, so we don't have a car," she said defeatedly. "But I'm willing to pay for a taxi," she added. "Do you know how far it is though? I just need to make sure I have enough money on me."

Lauren shook her head. "They live here in Beacon Hill. Everything is close by. No taxi required." She smiled at Sarah, trying to be friendly.

Sarah let out a breath of relief. "Okay, can we just go look? Maybe we'll see him walking back."

Lauren nodded, sensing Sarah's concern.

As they walked toward Mason's townhouse, they bypassed it and began scanning the other streets for any sign of Tip. It was dark and quiet, making them appear suspicious, as if they were looking for a house to rob. When they got to a narrow one-way road, Lauren noticed a car double-parked. She knew that parking was prohibited on that street, so it perked her attention.

"Wait," she whispered, grabbing Sarah's arm. She led her down the brick sidewalk toward the car. Her eyes fell on the license plate of the Mercedes. MJN617.

"That's my grandfather's car," she pointed.

It was getting late and most of the windows on the street were dark, except for the second floor of the townhouse. Sarah looked at Lauren quizzically.

Lauren said, "Something's going on here." She wrinkled her forehead as she tried to calm the bad feeling that was making her tremble.

"Should we call the police?" Sarah asked.

Lauren thought for a moment. Should she call her grandfather? She shook her head. How would she explain why she needed to find Tip so badly that she would call his boss at 9:45 on a Thursday night? She was at a loss for ideas when Sarah nudged her.

"Let's go around back," Sarah whispered, walking to the alleyway to find the back of the house. It wasn't hard to spot, as all of the second floor windows were lit up. She scanned her eyes over the building, searching for a way in. She had many years of practice in gaining entry into old houses, since her drunk uncle would regularly lock her and Stephanie out.

The only entryway they would possibly be able to reach was the door to the basement. Sarah walked over to inspect it and was surprised to find that the old metal handle was very loose. She looked at Lauren, a small grin on her face.

"Some of these houses were built in the early 100's and old rich Yankees are notoriously cheap. They're not going to waste $12 on a new doorknob." She giggled while shaking her head.

Sarah nodded. "Do you think there's an alarm?"

"Remember? Old. Rich. Yankees," she laughed, excited to have a possible way in.

Sarah looked back down and wiggled the handle around, hoping it would just fall off.

"That's not going to work," Lauren said, walking to a pile of old bricks stacked by the bottom window. She picked one that looked the sturdiest and carried it back to the door.

Sarah looked at Lauren nervously.

"On three," Lauren said.

Sarah counted, "One....two....

Mason stood silently in the foyer, tilting his better ear towards the stairs, listening for any trace of sound. When he didn't hear anything, he slowly tiptoed up the stairs, pausing after three to catch his breath. Making his way up again, he clutched the railing to rest for a moment. He was about to make his way to the next tread when he heard what sounded like crying. His breath hitched, a tingle shooting down his spine. He leaned down to crawl his way up the remaining steps, holding the treads with his hands. As he got closer, he could hear words.

"Grandad, don't."

Mason wrinkled his brow, adrenaline pumping through his body. When he got to the topmost step, he crawled onto the landing and listened.

"I know about OBC Inc. I know you laundered 60 million dollars for Mason Newell."

Mason's eyes opened wide at the mention of his name, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. He heard another voice.

"Shut up!"

Mason recognized Harry's voice and leaned as close to the edge of the wall as he could without being seen. His entire body was shaking.

"I have all the evidence. I have the contract with Pete Newell's signature on it that Mason forged."

Mason almost audibly gasped, before he stopped himself.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Tip."

Tip?! Tip Wellington knows about OBC?! Mason's breathing became erratic from holding in another gasp. His entire face was covered in sweat.

"I know about the donation you made to a police department in the Cayman Islands. You're one of the stingiest men I know. You'd never give one red cent to your own family, let alone a police department thousands of miles away...unless you had something to gain from it."

Mason pulled at the collar of his shirt, trying to get some air.

"I said shut up!"

"Why would you do something like that for the Newells? They're the worst...some of them...are the worst people I know!"

Mason's eyes rolled back into his head as he struggled for air, his heart hammering in his chest. Unable to remain in a crouching position under this much stress any longer, he fell into the hallway, making both men jump at his sudden appearance.

Harry ran to him, dropping the gun to his side. "Mason! Are you alright?" He loosened the bow tie around his neck and unbuttoned his shirt a little. "Mason, just breathe!" he shouted.

Mason coughed uncontrollably, leaning to his side.

Tip took the opportunity to try to get the gun out of his grandfather's hand. He scrambled his way off the ground and lunged at Harry, gripping his wrist to shake the weapon out of his hold. Harry flung his arm back with great force, knocking Tip back to the ground. He stood and walked over to his grandson, pointing his finger at him. "You stay out of this! When two men make a deal that doesn't involve you, you look the other way! Got it?"

Tip nodded, his hands in front of his face. He was relieved that his grandfather chose to point his finger at him this time, instead of the gun.

Mason, having somewhat recovered from his fit, leaned his arm against the wall and made his way to a standing position. "Why don't you tell Sherlock Holmes here what really happened, Wells?" he said smugly, doing his best to straighten his loose bow tie.

Harry immediately dropped his gaze to the ground. Tip stared up at him, thinking he saw a look of shame flash in his eyes.

Mason chuckled and walked over to stare down at Tip, a look of victory on his face.

"The Newells are the worst people you know, huh kid?" he repeated Tip's own words back to him. Mason shook his head. "That's really ironic, son, because one of the Wellingtons is the worst person I know."