* * * *
The townhouse in DC was sticky and hot. Every window in every room was wide with nothing but the screens to hold back the summer breeze. If there’d been one. Which there was not. The a/c, Henry had told him, was “down for the count” and wouldn’t be up and running until the servicemen at whatever shop Henry had found fit to call were “good and ready to fit them into the schedule.” That was all right with Lyle. The heat would dissipate come nightfall, and what happened during daylight hours rarely gave Lyle pause.