They left the diner and got into his car. He took East Capitol toward the Capitol and saw that one of the white vans had pulled behind him. The sun was low on the horizon.

“See how orange the Supreme Court looks?” she said. “I have a friend who’s a cinematographer in Hollywood. They call this time of day ‘magic hour.’ Must be when they take all those postcard shots. I love the way Washington looks in this light. Almost makes you—”

“Believe,” he interrupted. “Almost.”

The van stayed behind Addis’s Honda as he headed toward Union Station and followed him west on Massachusetts. When he turned on 6th Street Northwest, the van kept going straight.

33 - The Gauntlet June 29

33

The Gauntlet June 29

Dunne stood in the alley behind the bar. He pictured Starrell facing down Lancette’s assailant. Inside he had been told that Lopez was in the basement with the plumber and would not see him.

He picked up a broken brick and threw it toward a window. The glass shattered. He waited a few seconds and hurled a stone through another closed window. The back door opened. A man wearing spandex shorts shouted at him.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Please tell Mr. Lopez I’m waiting for him,” Dunne said.

Dunne found another rock and tossed it hard toward a basement window. It skipped against the ground and crashed into the glass.

“You’re fucking crazy,” the man shouted at him. “He’s gonna kill you.”

“Tell him I’m waiting.”

Thirty seconds later, Lopez burst through the back door.

Shit, he’s big, Dunne thought. Starrell hadn’t exaggerated.

Lopez took two strides toward Dunne before he saw the gun Dunne was holding. He came to a stop.

“You’re a dead man,” he said.

“Turn around,” Dunne said.

“Deader than dead,” Lopez said.

Lopez faced the brick wall. Dunne pushed Lopez against it. Dunne noticed several men standing by the back door.

“Stay back,” Dunne yelled at them.

They did not move. He lowered his voice so only Lopez could hear him.

“I imagine they have standing orders not to call the police unless you tell them to.”

“Something like that,” Lopez said.

He shoved the gun barrel into the back of Lopez’s neck.

“Tell them to go back inside,” Dunne said.

“Leave this fuck to me,” Lopez shouted at them. “But he pulls any shit, you call the cops and the whole wide world and tell them that Clarence Dunne, the asshole in charge when Hanover was wasted, went nuts behind a gay bar.”

The men went inside and closed the door.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Dunne said.

He backed away from Lopez and told him to turn around. Dunne kept the gun trained on him.

“To what do I owe this fucking pleasure?” Lopez asked.