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

too. And even if they kept me on the hook for those things, I’d still
help bring the killer to justice and hope for leniency later.
    I turned on the TV while I was getting ready. I didn’t have
my contacts on, so I could only hear and make out vague, impressionistic
pictures, but I didn’t need much else. When they returned from commercial, the
anchor started out with my favorite story. “Police and FBI officials are
beginning to compile a list of suspects in the Gregory Timmons assassination
according to sources in both offices.” I moved close enough to the TV so I
could see an image of Timmons; he looked meek and unremarkable behind the
anchor’s well-coiffed hair. “Several terrorist groups have claimed
responsibility for the attack, but the FBI seems to discount these admissions.
At a press conference half an hour ago, FBI Press Secretary, Sally Hunt, said
the Bureau is looking for a lone assassin.”
    There was a cut to a well-lit, grave-looking young woman
standing behind a podium. “We believe this is the work of someone working
alone. We’re not ruling anything out at this point, but all indications are
pointing that way.” A man asked her if she could name any suspects. “We have
suspects,” she said, “but we’re not releasing those names.”
    The police, I thought, would soon know there was more than
one person involved, thanks to me. I turned off the TV as the newscast moved on
to a report about reptile cloning, and I headed for the shower. During all that
wonderful steam-filled bliss, I decided I’d put on the suit and tie I planned
to impress Stephanie with—even thinking of her made me sick—and make a nice
impression on everyone. I thought about just calling the NEA and telling them
I’d be late, but I was hoping that I’d walk in and find out from the office
gossips that Helper had already been caught.
    Of course, then I’d have to deal with the whole assault
thing, but I was willing to make that trade—at least I’d still be alive. I put
on my suit, packed up my other things, checked out, and threw my stuff in my
car. I decided not to drive, remembering that until I made my appearance at the
police station, I was almost certainly wanted for assault and battery and
avoiding The Boot. Instead, I left the car in the garage and took the Metro
from Foggy Bottom to Federal Triangle. It was a short trip. At eight-thirty
sharp, I was looking both ways and crossing 12th Street on my way to work.
    But there amongst the homeless people and pigeons were Kurt
and Damon, sitting on one of the benches and looking right at me. “What’s the
matter?” I asked both of them.
    “Someone broke into our offices last night. They’re up there
sorting through everything now,” Damon said, looking as if he had wished he had
brought a coat. I tried to keep my composure, but my feet wanted to move in
twelve directions at once. “What are you all dressed up for?”
    “Yesterday was the longest day of my life,” I said. “I’ll
explain it all someday. I have some errands to run. Is that cool? I’ll probably
be back later.” With the police, I thought.
    “Sure,” said Kurt. “That’s not a problem. Anything I can
help with?”
    I was trying to decide what I was going to tell them.
“Listen. I need to go correct a mix-up from last night. Part of the story
involves me punching a parking officer. They’re probably gonna throw the book
at me for that, and I’m going to the police station to take care of it.”
    “You did what?” said Damon, laughing.
    “What you’ve always wanted to,” I said. “He caught me at
exactly the wrong moment.” I looked around and felt very itchy.
    Kurt giggled. “Heavens to Murgatroyd. Well then, I’ll
definitely let you go—I don’t want to get on your bad side!”
    “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll tell you everything soon.” I started
to walk back across 12th Street, turning just in time to see someone pull out
in a black Mercury and head directly for