“Thought you use Marquis for that sort of thing.”
“His lack of mobility is an issue.”
“I could use the work.”
“You free tomorrow?”
“Affirmative.”
“Let me give you some background.”
Lucas told him some of it. They agreed to meet early the next day.
EIGHTEEN
Bobby Waldron was standing on Emerson, leaning against his Ford Lariat SuperCrew pickup, when Lucas came out of Miss Lee’s house in the morning.
Waldron stood straight as Lucas approached. He wore cargo pants and a white T-shirt whose sleeves were filled with his bulging, Bengal-striped biceps. His left forearm was heavily dotted with shrapnel and ink. His hair, shaved back and sides, said military or police. A chaw of tobacco swelled his jawline.
Lucas wore dark blue Dickies pants, a matching blue long-sleeved Carhartt shirt, and black steel-shanked Wolverine boots. It was too warm for such an outfit, but any discomfort he would feel was necessary.
“My man Waldo,” said Lucas.
“Sir.”
“Knock that shit off.”
“Yes, sir.”
“C’mon.”
They went to the back of the Jeep. Lucas lifted the tailgate, exposing the cargo area, which he had loaded with tools and equipment. Waldron looked at a dark blanket covering several items and the thick pine handle that protruded from its edge.
“What is that, an ax?”
“It’s a sledgehammer,” said Lucas. “Haven’t decided what I’m gonna use so I brought a racka shit.” Lucas reached into a box, handed Waldron a two-way and headset, and a disposable cell. “Use the radio when we’re in range. When we get out of range, use the cell. Here’s my number.” Lucas handed him a slip of paper. “You have the address of his house.”
“I do.”
“Park on Somerset or Tuckerman. Be aware that it becomes one-way on that strip due north. If our man is a creature of habit, he’ll go right to the Safeway after he leaves his crib. He gets his morning coffee at the Starbucks there.”
“Right.”
“I’ll be in the lot to make sure this is going as planned. From there you’re on your own. Last time we tailed him he went to a pole-dance club deep down on Georgia. Look for him to go there or some other stroke palace and then over to his spot in Edmonston.”
Waldron spit juice on the street. “Got it.”
“He starts heading back to his house, hit me up.” Lucas looked him over. “You got a long-sleeve shirt?”
“It’s too hot for that.”
“I know you’re proud of your guns, but you do stand out with all your ink.”
Waldron flexed, his stripes expanding. “Whaddaya think?”
“Tony the Tiger’s jealous.”
Waldron issued a lopsided grin. “I don’t have a long-sleeve shirt with me.”
“I’ll get you one.”
Lucas went back into his apartment and returned with a Johnson Motors long-sleeved T carrying a print of Bud Ekins riding his Triumph. Waldron examined it.
“Who’s this guy?”
“McQueen’s stunt double. He jumped the bike over the barbed wire in The Great Escape.”
“Cool.”
“My brother doesn’t think so,” said Lucas.
“He’s overeducated.”
They climbed into their vehicles and went to work.
Lucas was far back in the lot of the Safeway on Piney Branch Road, waiting, when Ricardo Holley, in his white Lincoln, pulled in and came to a stop. Bobby Waldron’s Lariat arrived shortly thereafter. His voice came into Lucas’s headset.
“I’m here,” said Waldron.
“I got you,” said Lucas.
Waldron parked in another far corner. Holley stepped out of the Mark V and crossed the lot. He wore a purple shirt tucked into triple-pleated black slacks and a black bolo tie. His hair was large, puffy, and somewhat bronze in the sunlight.
“Where do you get that haircut in this day and age?” said Waldron. “And those clothes. Where do you buy shit like that? Seriously.”
“Maybe he’s got a time machine in his basement.”
“Weird-lookin dude, bro.”
“You think so?”
Soon Holley emerged from the Safeway with a cup of Starbucks in hand. He started up the old Lincoln and cruised through the parking lot toward the Georgia Avenue exit. Waldron ignitioned his truck.
“I’m on it,” said Waldron.
“Switch over to your disposable.”
“I will.”
“He starts to head back to his house, you call me, hear?”
“Copy that.”
Lucas watched Waldron follow Holley, Waldron spitting a stream of tobacco juice out the window. PFC Bobby Waldron, 2nd Platoon, 2nd Battalion, 503rd Infantry Regiment, had been stationed at a firebase in the Korengal Valley and had participated in harrowing recon patrols throughout his deployment. Lucas was not worried about his friend. This was butter for him. He’d do fine.
Lucas started his Jeep and drove toward Holley’s residence.
As there is with nearly every house in D.C., there was an alley behind Holley’s house on 9th. Lucas drove through it, north to south, slowly. He noted the No Parking / Tow Away Zone sign, stopped his Jeep, and took several photos of the rear of Holley’s bungalow. It was bordered by a cheap post fence one grade up from chicken wire that could be easily vaulted. It had a couple of windows that were probably locked and definitely hard to access, and an iron set of steps with a handrail that led to the wooden back door. Lucas saw no water dish, paw- dug holes, mounds of feces, or any other evidence of a dog. If Holley had one, he would mistreat it, and the animal would be mean. Lucas would deal with that if he had to.
He looked to his right. There was a commercial building on the west side of the alley whose windows faced north; its occupants would have no sight lines on the Holley house. Past the building was the busy Georgia Avenue intersection beyond which Piney Branch would soon become 13th Street.
Lucas drove out of the alley, went around the block, and parked on Tuckerman facing Georgia.
He examined the photographs he had taken on his iPhone. He stowed that phone in the glove box and slipped his disposable into his pocket. On his belt he wore a holster for a Leatherman utility device, which, assuming there was no safe to crack, had all the tools he might need, including a knife long enough to blind someone if properly stuck. He picked up a knit watch cap off the shotgun seat and fitted it on his head.
Lucas got out of the Jeep, went around it, lifted the tailgate, and pulled back the blanket in the cargo area. He looked at the sledgehammer and knew that it was too conspicuous and heavy. Beside it was a Stinger all-steel battering ram used by police that Lucas had bought off a website for two hundred and seventy-five bucks. It was
