Masked Prey (Lucas Davenport #30)(53)

“No . . .”

Bob asked, “Sir, are you carrying a firearm?”

“Sure, isn’t everybody? I’m all licensed.”



* * *



—

LUCAS FOUND HIMSELF CONVINCED. Forlorn Hope was a bunch of sad sacks with guns. He wouldn’t be totally surprised if one of the men went off some day and shot up a store or a newspaper or a school, or was busted for rape, but they probably knew nothing about 1919.

Rae pushed a few more questions out—why the “Woke Café” she asked, and Stapler said that woke people were aware of the various kinds of tyrannies inflicted on individuals by the American culture, including the tyrannies inflicted by women on helpless men.

“I’m not suggesting you do this,” Rae said, “but . . . you know, you want sex, you go to certain parts of town . . .”

“Hookers?” Darrell blurted. “We could go to hookers. Some do. But that’s not what we’re looking out for. We want women who want us. We’re entitled to women who want us. Everyone’s entitled to somebody who wants them.”

“Okay,” Rae said. “I don’t see how you solve that problem.”

Darrell was getting angrier. “You think I like being like this? You think any woman gonna want me like this? You think—”

“Whoa, Darrell, save it for the meetings,” Stapler said.

“Fuck it,” Darrell said, and he disappeared back into the café.

Lucas called it off: “Mr. Stapler, I’m sorry we had to bother you, but you see our problem, I hope. If you hear anything at all, please call me; we’d be grateful.”

He left his card. If his card had had a GPS transmitter on it, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it landed in the nearest dumpster about two minutes after they left the café.



* * *



—

AT THE TRUCK, Rae said, “Five perfectly good hours we’ll never get back.”

“You think they’re clear?” Lucas asked.

“If they had a website, it’d probably be as dumb as 1919, I gotta give you that. But, I didn’t get a guilty vibe from them; nothing there,” Rae said. “I kinda feel sorry for them. But, you know, as a woman, they were distinctly creepy.”

“I didn’t feel anything,” Bob said. “Though, I gotta say, I’d like to hear that rape theory. That’s gotta be some interesting theory, right there. Some guy out there is like the Isaac Newton of rape? I bet . . .”

“Shut up,” Rae said.

Lucas said to Bob, “Why don’t you ride up front?”

“Well, you’re the big boss. Why would you want to ride in the back of the bus?”

“Careful,” Rae said.

“Because I want to think,” Lucas said. “I can think better in the back when I don’t have Rae to talk to.”

“What are you thinking about?” Rae asked.

“About what Stapler said.”

Lucas sat in the back and thought. Bob and Rae chatted about the landscape, about boats they saw from the bridge going back into Annapolis, about the traffic and weather and tourism possibilities within walking distance of the Watergate that they hadn’t seen on their previous trip to Washington, and when they got back to the hotel, Bob turned and asked Lucas, “Where’d all that heavy thinking get you?”

“Not where I wanted to go,” Lucas said. “I need to go see a rich kid.”



* * *



—

LUCAS WENT UP TO HIS ROOM, washed his face, and called Mary Ellen Winston. “I need to talk with Blake. Is he around?”

“He will be,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

“Something worries me. I would best explain it face-to-face. When will he be home?”

“He usually gets home around four, unless he stops with friends . . . you don’t think he’s done something?”

“No, I don’t. Actually, I need his help,” Lucas said.

“I’ll call him and tell him to come home.”

“Great. Listen, ask him not to say anything to any of his friends. Any of them. Not even Audrey.”

“I’ll tell him.”



* * *



—

LUCAS GOT A QUICK SANDWICH and a Diet Coke, collected the Cadillac, and went back across the Potomac to McLean and the Winston home. Mary Ellen Winston’s assistant was nowhere to be seen and Mary Ellen came to the door herself, said, “Blake’s on the way, he should be here . . . here he is.”

Blake Winston rolled into the driveway in a black-and-white Mini Cooper. He left it in front of the garage doors and climbed out, hustling, looking concerned. “What happened?” he asked.

Lucas said, “Why don’t we go sit?”



* * *



—

THEY WENT BACK TO THE ROOM overlooking the tennis court and Lucas took a long look at Blake Winston and finally said, “I want to ask if you could do something for me, something really tough, that you might not like, at all, but could be a huge help.”

The Winstons looked at each other and then Mary Ellen said, “I imagine that would depend on what it is.”