As for Yoo-hoo, he is not particularly tall or muscular. But his Volga-boatman shoulders look like they could out-pull a pair of oxen, and his forearms, what I can see of them beneath a solid scrim of Iron Curtain tattoos, are as big around as most men’s calves.

Clearly Yoo-hoo is capable of the physical mayhem performed in Michael Justman’s Georgetown kitchen.

He sits. The other Russians glare at our party. Gleason sets a folded towel down onto the seating surface next to Yoo-hoo. He lowers himself, in his suit, onto it.

GLEASON

Brought you something.

Gleason hands Yoo-hoo a square flat package, wrapped in brown paper. Yoo-hoo stares.

GLEASON

Open it.

The Russian glances to his compatriots.

He unbinds the wrapping paper without enthusiasm.

The package holds a framed photo of Evgeny Karkov, the Russian president.

YOO-HOO

What the fuck is this?

GLEASON

For your wall. Like at the post office. To remind you who you work for.

Yoo-hoo looks at Gleason the way a lion looks at a wolf. Strike that. Yoo-hoo is scarier. I’m eyeing Manning throughout this. He is clearly ready for anything.

Gleason now tugs a photo—an eight-by-twelve glossy tucked in a manila folder—from beneath his jacket. He hands the photo to Yoo-hoo. I can’t see the picture, but I will learn later that it’s a chalk-outline shot of “LV” Victim #1, Nathan Davis, dead on the floor of the dining room of the Century Association in Manhattan.

GLEASON

Whaddaya know about this guy?

Yoo-hoo drops the glossy onto the slimy seating surface.

YOO-HOO

I know he’s dead.

GLEASON

I bet you do.

Gleason asks the assassin how he left the “LV” mark.

YOO-HOO

The what?

GLEASON

What’s the trick? How did you make the blood vessels rupture in just that shape?

YOO-HOO

I dunno what the fuck you’re talking about.

Gleason tells the killer he’s got Verizon Wireless records of two phone calls from him, Yoo-hoo, to the home of U.S. Homicide Victim #1, Nathan Davis, from nine and six days prior to the murder. He says he knows that Yoo-hoo murdered Davis.

YOO-HOO

Then arrest me.

GLEASON

Don’t worry.

(stands)

I will.

Gleason leads our party two steps toward the exit. The Russians glower after him. I see Yoo-hoo meet Manning’s eye, then look away.

YOO-HOO

(to Gleason)

Whaddaya gotta come around here for, ruin our fucking day?

I follow Manning out. The sun hits us. I realize I’m drenched.

MANNING

You okay?

Gleason speaks apart with Silver as our driverless vehicles, which had parked themselves at the end of the block, pull up at the curb and stop. Gleason tells Manning he’ll speak to him back at the office. Gleason and Silver board their vehicle.

Manning starts toward ours, but not before flashing me a look that says we’re not going back to DivSix just yet. Gleason and Silver’s vehicle pulls out into traffic.