Twisted Prey (Lucas Davenport #28)(29)

“Go home, Russell,” Lucas said. “Tomorrow’s fine. I’ve got a couple of places I want to visit in Washington anyway. I’ll check with you in the morning. Not too early.”

“Thank you,” Forte said.



* * *



—

WHEN LUCAS GOT BACK to the hotel, he ate dinner, went to his room, took a quick shower, then dressed carefully in a medium blue summer-weight suit, with a checked dress shirt, a slender Hermès necktie, and black John Lobb shoes.

He thought about taking the Walther, but the gun messed with the drape of his jacket. He finally locked it in the room’s safe, although he happened to know how to open any hotel room safe in approximately eight seconds. When he was ready, he called down to the front desk to get a cab, and ten minutes later was on his way up New Hampshire Avenue to Figueroa & Prince, a men’s tailor shop that he’d read about, done research on, and finally called before he left St. Paul.

The shop was on N Street, on the bottom floor of what looked like a New York brownstone even though it was constructed of red brick, a three-story building with only a small silver sign next to the door designating it as a commercial establishment. When Lucas tried the door, it was locked, although he’d been told they were open until nine o’clock.

He took a step back, spotted another small sign, this one saying “Please Ring for Entry.” He pushed the doorbell button, an apple-cheeked young man looked out the window at him, and a buzzer sounded to let Lucas in.

The young man did a quick eye check on Lucas’s suit, smiled, and asked, “Can we help you?”

“I’m looking for autumn and winter suits . . . I was told to ask for Ted.”



* * *



—

TED WAS A THIN MAN, older and balding, with a shy smile and a soft voice. Lucas introduced himself, and Ted said, “Oh, yes, the gentleman from Minnesota.”

After that, it was forty-five minutes of looking at fabrics and talking about colors, not only of the materials but of Lucas’s eyes, hair, and complexion. There was also a subtle interview about where Lucas had bought other suits, accessories, and shoes. Next came forty minutes of measurements, after which Ted said, “This should be good enough for the preliminary work; you will have to come in again for the next fitting . . . probably in two or three weeks?”

“That’ll be fine,” Lucas said. “I’d like to get them before it gets cold back home.”

“We should have them finished by mid-September.”

Lucas spent an absurd sum on the suits, put it all on his American Express card. When it had cleared, Ted called a taxi, and Lucas shook his hand and said, “This was a nice experience.”

“Happy to be of help,” Ted said, as he walked Lucas to the door. “There aren’t that many men who take your interest. Mostly, they want something dark that won’t wrinkle too badly and they want it quick.”

Lucas smiled, went out the door, heard the lock click behind him, and walked down the stoop to the street, where the pleasant evening came to an end.



* * *



—

THREE MEN. At a casual glance, they might have been street people—funky dress, too heavy for the heat, with weird headgear. But the funky dress was too clean and too uniformly funky, as though it had been manufactured that way. None of them had beards. And they didn’t move with the halting gait of longtime street people, they moved like well-fed athletes. They were coming in hard. And they weren’t carrying anything in their hands.

In addition, there were a few more salient aspects to the approach: (1) The jackets looked heavy, as though they might be covering armored vests, which would be good protection in a fistfight. (2) They were all wearing hats pulled low on their heads—one wore a ball cap, and the other two wore tennis hats. Tennis hats on bums? Don’t think so. (3) Lucas could feel them focus on him. One was hurrying in from his left, one was crossing the street straight toward him, one was coming in from his right.

No gun. Couldn’t get back inside, the door had locked behind him. In the two seconds that it took him to scan the three of them and discern their intention, he made a snap decision.

Run.

The guy on the right was the bulkiest, and maybe the slowest, and Lucas ran right for him, then swerved to the right, and when the guy moved to block him, Lucas cut left, the guy swung at him, Lucas blocked his fist and with the heel of the same hand hit the man in the face, under the nose, jamming it up into the ridge of his brow, sending him staggering and down on his back.

As Lucas hit him, he realized he couldn’t see the man’s mouth: he was wearing a tan knit face mask. The impact turned Lucas enough that he could see the other two were almost on top of him. He pivoted and went left, which meant that the farthest one would be behind the closer one, and Lucas’d only have to fend off one man.

The closer one pulled a flashlight from his pocket as he came in, a Maglite, as good as a billy club. Lucas dodged him but then was open to both of them again, and he turned away and the man with the flashlight swung it at him, hit him in the back below his left shoulder, above his shoulder blade, and he stumbled and half turned and nearly stumbled over the first man, who was back on his hands and knees.

Lucas cleared him and the flashlight man came in again and Lucas dodged the light and grabbed the man’s face mask and wrenched it sideways, enough to see the man’s face, for an instant, from the eyes down. The man wrenched free, and the mask slipped up over his eyes and blinded him; he collided with the third man, and they reeled away. Lucas took advantage of the break to jump over the man on the ground, digging a heel into his back in the process, and Lucas was off and running.