Death of an Intern (22 page)

This was the Kat I remembered from the reception. “This is a little like the small town I came from.”

“I come from a small town too,” she replied.

I nudged Max. “I'm from Janesville, Wisconsin.”

“Clay Center, Kansas.”

“I went to the University of Wisconsin. How ‘bout you?”

“Kansas State in Manhattan, as an Ag major.”

“A couple of small town, midwestern girls, Max. How about that?”

“I'm a city boy from right here.”

He took his cue well. “How long have you known the Vice President?”

“I knew them when he was in the Senate. I worked on the Senate Agriculture Committee, had dealings with them. When he became Vice President-Elect, I was invited to join the staff as their Agriculture liaison. I knew everybody on the Hill.”

“That was a good break for you.”

Max said. “You must be more senior than Janet or Sarah.”

“We're a mixed bag. Some have a senior person on staff they report to. I report to the chief of staff. Jan assisted me on occasion, when my load got heavy. Another reason why I miss her. We all work together. The Graysons are very team-oriented.”

Max smiled. “It sounds like a nice place to work.”

“It is.”

Listening to Kat and Max gave me a different side of the VP's office. It was refreshing. It was also getting late. I caught Max's eye.

Max waved at a waiter. “Well, I don't know about you ladies, but my alarm is relentless in the morning.”

“Mine too. It was good seeing you, Kat.”

She smiled. “You ought to come to a game.”

“I might do that.”

Marsha suddenly appeared. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I replied. “Marsha, this is Max. Max, Marsha.”

“Sorry we have to run, but I'm an early riser.”

“Oh, you're leaving?” Marsha looked questioningly at me.

I caught her look. “Kat's invited us to come to one of the games. Kat, do you have a card or can you give me your number? I'll get your schedule.”

“Oh sure.” There was a scramble for paper and pen. Kat wrote out her direct dial number. “Here you go.”

All the Grayson warnings forgotten.

“Thanks, I'll try and make it. I'm supposed to do a lot of walking. Sorry to be a party pooper, but I'm sleeping for two.”

They all laughed in the congenial way friends did over something that wasn't necessarily funny. We said our goodbyes.

Milo saw the black guy wave over a waiter. The nigger was showing off by paying the bill. He fumed inside. He knew it was the only way he could get the white chick—spend money on her. Milo remembered ways he and his old blackjack coulda made the nigger wished he'da stayed in the jungle.

They were finally leaving. Good riddance, he thought, the place already smelled better. Milo's little bird had gone off toward the restroom. He had already paid up, an old habit for quick getaways. He saw one of the chippies leave.

“That went well,” Max offered, once we were out on the street. “I thought you showed great restraint. The old Laura Wolfe would have been knee-deep in conspiracy talk two minutes after the young woman said hello.”

“I was never that bad,” I pouted.

“I'd keep my money in my pocket if I were you.”

“It dawned on me I didn't have to rush the issue. Besides,” I held up a small piece of paper, “I now have Kat's direct phone line.”

Marsha came rushing out. “Well?”

“It went well,” I assured the law student.

“Did you ask her?”

“No. We need to establish a friendship first, and I think we did.”

“I needed to know in case she said something. I didn't want to mess things up.”

“Very astute of you,” Max said admiringly.

“Yeah, well done.”

“Okay, I'm going back.” She left.

“Marsha has a good head on her shoulders,” I said.

When Milo's mark came back, he was ready. Fortunately, so was she. All four left together. He was still burning about the mixed couple when he got outside. He trailed the women until they split up. His mark went to her car. He went to his. He'd had enough for one night.

A few miles down the river, in Alexandria, two men sat in a car down the street observing Frankie Grayson's townhouse. The garage door opened as two cars approached; one pulled in and the other parked in the short driveway.

“Looks like she has company tonight,” one said.

“Things are heating up with those two,” said the other.

A dark-haired, well-rounded female with a knapsack got out of the compact and walked into the garage. The door closed behind her. One took photos, while the other checked a photo album.

“Hey, that's Number Six, Lisa Sherra, not Carr.”

The other snickered. “That's another one for twin sister.”

“You think brother and sister use the same bed?”

“Who changes the sheets?”

They laughed.

I
had a fitful night sleeping, and still felt tired after the alarm woke me. I turned on my cell phone. There was a message from Lassiter's assignment editor, Van Peoples. He had a city story they wanted me to do. It would be a return to the halls of the D.C. government that had been like a second home to me over the past year and a half. Unlike broadcast reporters who covered only the city government, I reported on wherever they sent me.

I smiled thinking about that. My exclusive exposé on the financial director's swindle had been right under those specialists' noses, and they'd blown it. They'd never seen it or possibly ignored it, and I had scooped them with the biggest D.C. government fraud story in years.

No matter how anyone looked at journalism, the reporting game was extremely competitive. It was why broadcast people occasionally got themselves in a bind, rushing to be first on the air and forgetting to bring the whole story with them. However, I didn't enjoy those embarrassments. They shed a bad light on my industry.

I wasn't always careful either, but few reporters had the luxury of having an Avery Lassiter at their back. She had rattled my cage more than once, but that beat public humiliation.

I made a few calls from home and found the mayor was on a tear that could make for some good fireworks. He had recently likened the United States Senate's feet-dragging on a federal school voucher program to that of delaying disaster protection. He was only asking for thirty million dollars.

As interesting as battles with the Feds were, it was the mayor's struggles with the City Council I enjoyed most. The mayor's favoring of the voucher program had pitted him against the D.C. school board president and some City Council members. I spent the morning collecting the mayor's and a D.C. delegate's publishable opposing comments.

During these battles with the Senate over money, I felt the District government lost some of its luster. It was a hat-in-hand relationship—a dumb way to operate. The horror stories of what Congress had done to the District over the decades were myriad. I didn't see this shaking out to be an epic battle, but it fully illustrated how wrong the system was.

On the Hill, both Democrats and Republicans in the Senate were making their final push for votes. Each party blamed the other for playing partisan politics. The expression “double standard” echoed in the Capitol Rotunda, as adroit senators accused each other of practicing it.

It was a circus. It was government at work.

I was at the paper by noon and had talked with press relations people in several offices. The spin was ferocious. Their arguments were about money and programs, debates far above the heads of youngsters needing a vastly improved education system.

The mayor and City Council were beholden to the federal government for their very existence. There were cries for an increase in the Feds' apportionment to the city.

The whole thing was a long engagement in rhetoric, while the school kids suffered. The dropout rate in the District was worse than in most third-world countries. The mayor referred to the lack of commitment to the youth as…
lost lives, lost opportunities
. Another leader said,
We ought to do something different. We need to do something about it
. How ambiguous was that?

Actually the entire school system needed an overhaul, starting with more good teachers and administrators. Someone had suggested the only solution was a czar with credentials, who would be given an unlimited checkbook and unobstructed power, including temporarily deunionizing if necessary. Maybe they should try modeling it after the most successful systems in the country.

A desperate parent wrote,
Establish free preschool programs and make reading, writing, and arithmetic a real and valid foundation. We need a public school of preschools. Educate them before promoting them. Have tougher teacher certification. Raise teachers' pay to attract better educators. Student testing requirements are a joke in a system that doesn't properly prepare its students.

Another also wrote,
All schools should be made accountable before getting federal money. But because of the abuse given the District by Congress over the years, they should be forced to come up with the money, whether it is vouchers or direct funding. Privatize the entire system, if necessary, but give no preference to private or public schools. Most of all, get off the dime and do something before there is nobody to do anything for.

Of course, both sides of the issue attacked that statement with a proliferation of adjectives. Putting my feelings aside, I planned to put the story together representing both sides of the debate, and let the people fall where they may.

In between visits and phone calls, I did manage to touch base with Max and Jerry about visiting the Ellipse tonight. I called Kat. It was brief, but friendly. Marsha touched base too. We decided a social evening after the game on
Scalawag
was the way to go.

My early afternoon was spent polishing up the story and turning it in for edit. Mary had poked in and chided me for not eating a proper lunch. Snacks were for snacking, she scolded. I promised to be more attentive.

The article came back with a few marks on it. I made the corrections and sent it on its way. I wrapped things up, checked out with Mary, and headed for the apartment.