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

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while, but I imagined that politicians from any era could walk in and know this
was where they were supposed to do business. Most of the hotels I had been in
had room keys firmly attached to red plastic key chains with “postage guaranteed”
stamped on them, so all this luxury was a little foreign. Nice, but foreign
just the same.
    My room was on the fourth floor, adorned with curious lime
green and white striped wallpaper, a bed bigger than my apartment, and
furniture that cost more than my college education. Everything was sturdy and
shiny, and the value of the mini-bar probably would’ve been enough to make me
nervous. The bathroom was big and well-lit, and the closet was the approximate
size of a conference room. There was a really natty white terry cloth robe with
the Watergate logo embroidered on the breast that just had “secret agent”
written all over it, and I practically danced out of my clothes in order to get
into it.
    I lay down on the bed and watched the news. The lead story
was, naturally, the Timmons murder. The brunette reporter, who couldn’t keep
from constantly flipping her hair, described the packed rally and how the
killer had thrown some firecrackers into the crowd as a diversion and then
fired at Timmons as everyone else looked the other way. The constipated
analysts, who were all famous for some minor thing or another, discussed
whether this would strengthen or weaken the gun lobby and talked about the
irony of a gun lobbyist being killed by a gun.
    They talked about the Second Amendment and the Brady Bill.
Then the network did a biographical piece on Timmons, mentioning his political
ambition—big surprise there—and the tough re-election campaign that had led him
to offer promises of a scandal that would rock the “liberal establishment.” But
Timmons would never have the chance. He was now vastly more famous in death
than in life, and I noticed how handsome he was when they showed his picture as
they went to a commercial.
    There were no mysterious goings-on during the rest of the
night. After modeling my robe and doing my best James Bond faces, I took a long
shower and tried to wash everything off of my body and sat in a tub of insanely
hot water, pondering my next move. By the time I got out, I looked like a prune
and fell straight into bed, tired, and very scared—and jumpy.
    Even though my body could barely keep itself from falling
into drug-like sleep, I would start to drift away only to find myself kicking
or flailing at the pillow like a bad-ass Kung-Fu demon. This happened four or
five times, enough to make me consider raiding the mini-bar for all of its
over-priced alcohol, but I finally found some solace between frequent
nightmares.
    Well, they weren’t actually nightmares. My mind just kept
playing my day back accurately—from the message-taking, to the note-writing, to
the burglary, to that idiot ticketing my car, and my idiotic ass assaulting the
damn parking guy. How dumb was that? And every time, when it would start to get
too unbearable, I would realize it was only a dream. Then, unfortunately, I
would remember that I was dreaming about real life.
     
     

Wednesday

Chapter
----
    Seven
    I  woke up several times during the
night, too hot for the covers and too cold without them, painfully helping the
moments float by, and I could not go back to sleep at seven. I stared at the
ceiling for a good ten minutes, just trying to decide what to do.
    Everything does seem better in the morning. Despite my past
experiences, there was a chance that this simply was a coincidence, and, even
if it wasn’t, I now knew what I was going to do. There was a police station
just a few blocks from the NEA headquarters. I was going to go to work and tell
them I’d be back later. I’d then march to the police station and spill my guts
after I bargained like a mob informant and got them to drop the whole
assaulting a parking officer thing. Maybe I’d make them throw in the parking
tickets