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Gallo heard a single rap on his door and called out “Enter” as Erik Mason came into his office, immediately apologizing for being late, saying he had run into a series of closed roads this afternoon.

“No need to explain,” Gallo said. “On the rare occasions when you are a few minutes late, you always have a very good reason.”

Erik Mason was the person in his organization John Gallo trusted the most. And the one who was most fiercely loyal to him. He was a former LAPD cop, tall and lean, all hard angles and edges and an almost military bearing that Gallo thought was part of his DNA. From the time he had hired him away from his job overseeing security for Joe Wolf, Gallo had never seen Mason in anything other than a black suit, white shirt, and black tie, despite the frequent changes in the San Francisco weather.

Mason was head of Gallo’s security now, his body man, as the expression went, even his occasional driver. But perhaps more than anything else, Erik Mason was a fixer. What was the name of the character in that TV show Gallo used to watch? Ray Donovan? Erik Mason wasthatkind of fixer for John Gallo. And more, when more was necessary.

“Have you given any further thought to our conversation this morning about Ms. Wolf?” Gallo said as Mason took a seat in front of him.

Mason’s black shoes, as always, gleamed.

“I have, sir.”

“And have you come up with any ideas about how I should deal with the current situation?”

“As a matter of fact, sir, I do have some thoughts on this matter.”

“As I expected you would,” Gallo said.

“As youknewI would.”

Gallo liked to refer to Mason as his top cop. And with Gallo, Mason had found the kind of structure he’d missed since he’d been fired from Robbery-Homicide in Los Angeles after a career-long habit of making up rules as he went along and after what Gallo considered a rather impressive history of excessive force.

On the way to work this morning, Mason driving him today, Gallo had told him that he didn’t just want Jenny Wolf out of the National Football League. He wanted her out of San Francisco when they were finished with her.

“I’m all ears,” Gallo said now.

He saw a small smile on Mason’s face.I should have had him handle the situation with this woman from the start,Gallo thought. The brothers, in the end, ultimately didn’t have the stomach for this kind of fight. They would never go far enough. In Gallo’s eyes, it just made them weak. John Gallo despised weakness.

The antithesis of that was seated across his desk, a person every bit as ruthless and cold-blooded as he was, as ruthless as the only man from whom John Gallo took orders. And feared.

“The key, sir, is to continue to attack the enemy at their weakest point. Or hers, in this case.”

“You mean the people she cares about the most,” Gallo said.

Mason nodded.

“It’s a very small circle with her. We’ve discussed this previously.”

“All due respect,” Mason said, “she does oversee two football teams.”

Now Gallo smiled fully. He had only been focused on the Wolves.

“Obviously you’re including the players on her high school team?”

“Yes, sir, absolutely.”

“You’d go after them?” John Gallo said.

“Why not?”

Eighty

BEN CANTOR AND Iwere having burgers at Causwells, on Chestnut Street, the first time we’d been together since I’d returned from Los Angeles. He said he couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate than with the best burger in town and a pitcher of beer.

“I’m a man of simple tastes,” he said.

“Sure. Go with that.”