The Intern: Chasing Murderers, Hookers, and Senators Across DC Wasn't In The Job Description by Dale Wiley Read Free Book Online

out, making sure my
other two locks worked, and headed to my car—more cautious than ever.
    I checked my rear view mirror constantly, wondering if I
could spot a tail if there were one. I thought about the numerous mistakes I
had made that day, chief among them was leaving a note for Helper broadcasting
that I knew—or thought I knew—what he was doing. That was just brilliant.
    About a block before I got to her house, I started looking
for a parking space, which could still be akin to a quest for the Holy Grail
even late at night. I finally found a spot, which was actually bigger than my
car, pulled in and out three times, and got out. It was over a block past her
house, and I tried to be as nonchalant as possible, while I constantly looked
over my shoulder for conspirators. I was so preoccupied that when I walked up
the stairs leading into her building, it took me a minute to see the next shock
of the evening.
    After ascending the last step, I stood in front of her door
and looked quickly in the window. Unfortunately, the shade was up, just like
the night before, and, as I glanced in, I could see no one resembling my dear
Stephanie, but there was someone sitting there who looked like me. I froze for
a moment, my eyes stuck on him, and prayed he wouldn’t see. He was engrossed in
a book. I realized it wouldn’t take long to be spotted, so I darted back down
the stairs and practically sprinted down the block.
    Roger , I thought. That was Roger—just like the
pictures I’d seen: same height, same weight, same hair. He was probably enough
like me that I would hate him. I was a stand-in, but I wasn’t needed now that
the original was back. I was barely breathing by the time I approached my car.
But as I got closer, I saw a man silhouetted against the streetlights, standing
over my vehicle.
    I stopped cold. For an instant, I thought someone had
followed me, but then I understood. And then I got pissed.
    “What the hell are you doing?” I shouted, not really
thinking about the time. I knew damn well what the man was doing. I looked
farther down the block and saw his car parked in the street, hazard lights on,
the thing still running. The DC Parking Gestapo, handing out tickets like
politicians did pork, was the only thing in Washington you saw more than a fat
man in a polyester suit. They were not my favorites in any situation, but this
was war.
    “Ain’t ever no parking here,” he said, as he spoke into a
walkie talkie. “You’re parked in front of a hydrant.”
    “Oh, come on,” I said, moving toward the driver’s side, my
head spinning.
    “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to stay here. You have seven
unpaid tickets, and they’re coming with The Boot,”
    Oh shit. The Boot. A big orange contraption they lock on the
wheel until you pay your fines. In DC, it meant almost certainly getting your
windows smashed in addition to being without transportation and having to pay
all your tickets to get the stupid thing off.
    I walked back around to try to reason with the guy. “I was here
less than three minutes. You can’t …”
    “Sir, step away from the car.” He didn’t look at me.
    I wanted to try to reason some more, but no words came. I
just stood there, eyes half-closed, about to explode. Although I had read the
warning on parking tickets which said assaults on parking personnel would be
prosecuted, it just didn’t seem to mean much right then. I noticed that I was
much bigger than he was. When I saw he had gone back to writing my latest fine,
I moved in quick and hit him hard on the jaw with a solid right, the first one
I had thrown since the third grade. I yelled, “Come on!” and motioned like you
see in the movies. The man stumbled and  looked at me like I was blowing fire
out of my nose, thought for just a second about responding, and then turned and
ran, grabbing his walkie-talkie and trying hard to speak as he did. I jumped
into my car and felt my hand begin to throb, but that mattered little. I