MASON WOLFE
Mason is a wall of muscle with a shaved head and the conversational range of a concrete bollard. He answers on the first ring. He says "Boss" and waits for instructions the way a weapon waits to be aimed. In a city full of men who talk too much and do too little, Mason is the opposite—a man of terrifyingly few words and absolute, unflinching action.
When Marino says handle it, Mason doesn't ask what "it" is. He makes phone calls, and problems stop being problems. Nobody knows where he came from. What everybody in Vegas knows is this: if Mason is standing between you and the door, you are not leaving through that door. Not standing, anyway.