“Most birds haven’t had the shit shot out of them when they get up early,” Lucas said.
“Heard it was mostly superficial,” Bob said.
“Whoever told you that probably never had the shit shot out of them,” Lucas said.
Rae was looking around the small suite and said, “How’d you get authorized for a palace like this one?”
“I didn’t ask,” Lucas said.
Bob shook his head: “There’s a rookie mistake. If you’ve made any more, feel free to tell us about them, so we’ll know what we’re up against.”
Lucas yawned and stretched, said, “Well, after two days in town, I’ve made more progress toward finding Garvin Poole than the whole fuckin’ Marshals Service did when it had him on the Top Fifteen list for five years. That ought to be good for something.”
Rae shrugged. “All we heard is that you broke your car and didn’t catch the people who broke it.”
Lucas: “Maybe you ought to wait in the lobby.”
“That’s no way to treat a brother marshal,” Bob said. “Why don’t you go brush your teeth? I’m getting some bad breath over here.”
—
LUCAS WENTto the interior half of the suite, closed the door, shaved, showered, checked to make sure none of his cuts had started bleeding again, then put on a dark blue dress shirt, a medium blue Givenchy suit, and George Cleverley oxfords, which he buffed up. When he emerged from the back room, Rae checked him out and said, “I’m going back home. Can’t compete with this shit.”
“Bet he can’t get his gun out as fast as we do,” Bob said.
“That’s why I hired you guys,” Lucas said. “I’m basically the brains behind the operation. You’re the muscle.”
“Muscle, my ass,” Rae said. “We’re the Einsteins of the Marshals Service. Let’s get some pancakes and figure out what we’re doing today.”
—
SHE KNEW NASHVILLE,and had a particular pancake house in mind, and Lucas followed them over in the Nissan. On the way, he called the Mercedes dealer in St. Paul and ordered a new SUV.
The salesman said, “I can get you a loaded GLS550 in two days in any color you want, as long as it’s black. If you can wait a couple of weeks, I could get some other color.”
“I’ll take the black one—I’m out of town right now. Get the paper ready, I don’t want to hang around there any longer than I have to.”
“Got a bunch of new Porsches in, big guy,” the sales guy said. “I could put you in a Cayenne Turbo S that would eat the 550 alive, any way you run it—straight line, curves, off the line...”
“Shut up, Dick. Get me the papers for the 550.”
“The Porsche’s in carmine red. Commit now and I’ll give you five thousand off. No, wait—did I say five thousand? I meant seven thousand.”
“Listen, Dick, I don’t need some snowflake SUV with two inches of road clearance. Get me the goddamn 550. I’ll see you in the next week or so.”
“How many miles you got on the trade?” Dick asked.
“The trade expired yesterday,” Lucas said. “State Farm is giving me cash, but not enough. There’s no trade.”
“Then... what are you driving?”
“A Nissan Armada.”
“Oh my God, I wouldn’t leave my driveway in one of those things.”
“It seems... sturdy,” Lucas said.
“Probablyissturdy. It’s big enough you could land an F-16 on the roof,” Dick said. “It’s just that I’d die of embarrassment.”
