60
“Morning, Barry.”
Barry just grunted.
When a three-star like Barry Sizemore was playing it cagey, Drake knew it meant bad news. Worse, he was being cagey right at the crack of dawn.
The August weather hadn’t yet broken the back of the DC summer. The five-acre park that was the center of the Pentagon would soon be baking like an oven. Despite the trees, by ten a.m. the air trapped inside the four-story pentagon that surrounded the park would be stultifying.
At this early hour, it was still pleasant under the maple trees.
They met at the Dunkin’ Donuts in the center of the courtyard.
“I still miss when you could get a goddamn hotdog here,” Barry growled in greeting.
“Christ you must be old.” Drake remembered the Cafe Ground Zero fondly. As far as he was concerned, everything since
