Chapter Six

Sunday morning came with bright sunlight spilling into his bedroom. He groaned, reaching for the nightstand. Bottled water sat on the tiny table. He cracked open the top and guzzled it before sitting up straight. Once he finished drinking half the bottle, he looked at it. William taught him to have water ready for hydration after a night of drinking. Having bottled water by the bed was a habit he maintained.

Ronald moved from the bed to the bathroom and climbed into the shower. The pounding water on his skull felt good but sounded like rapid small arms fire. Once he finished, Ronald toweled off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He searched for the cell phone in the pocket of the pants he wore the night before. It wasn’t there. Neither was his wallet or keys.

Before he panicked, Ronald went down the little hallway, closed the closet door, and slipped into the kitchen. On the counter were his wallet, the house keys, and the cell phone lined up. Instead of worrying about the events leading up to the placement of the personal items, Ronald responded to a few texts from friends. He checked the news feeds.

A bombshell report made him unbalanced. He grabbed the counter to stop from falling over. Quickly, he called Shao.

“Yeah, I saw the report.” She seemed less concerned than Ronald. “You exposed his shady dealings to the world, and the guy fell asleep in his sauna last night, so what?”

“How am I supposed to process this?” he asked.

“You were out with Lowell and the others last night, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, we went to the club.”

“So you have a slew of witnesses, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t understand.” He reread the newsfeed. The junior senator fell asleep and drowned in the sauna in a hotel room. “You think I had something to do with this?”

“You brought it up,” Shao pointed out. “I think it’s just karma.”

“Was he alone in the hotel room?” Ronald asked. While it wasn’t in the news, Shao and Ronald knew sometimes reporters left out information to spread out over a few days. It made good copy.

“I don’t know.” She quickly added, “But you need to stay off this story. I’ll assign Lowell to it if I can wake him up.”

He scanned the story again. The same guy Ronald exposed to the world for shady business associates and laundered money, offshore accounts, ended up sleeping in a sauna in a hotel room. The guy had a wife. He had a nice house. Sleeping in a hotel shortly after the world crashed around him because Ronald did his job, made him feel a little guilty.

“Do you think he was alone?” Shao asked him.

“How should I know?”

“You brought it up.”

“I just thought you knew more than what they printed.”

“Stay off the story, Hayden,” she demanded. “I mean that.”

“I’m going to the office.”

“You’re need to take a day off. Go to the museum, have dinner with family.” The tone that came with her words suggested she meant every bit of her advice. “Though I know you will still come to work today.”

“I get it.” He thumbed off the call and quickly called Lowell. A groggy and thick voice answered with a grunt. “You have a big story to cover.” And Ronald used his time to fill in details of what he knew and get dressed. By the time he hung up with Lowell, Ronald was dressed in a short-sleeve button-down shirt and cargo shorts with sandals.

He left the apartment and went for a stroll in the September breeze along Capital Heights Boulevard in DC. The apartment building near Oakcrest was a modest residential housing development from the 1950s. Most of the buildings were converted townhouses. He had a one-bedroom apartment in a newer building. It cost more than it was worth. But Ronald liked the convenience of the location more than the residence or his neighborhood.

When he left the apartment, he didn’t think anything out of the ordinary. A man died, but it appeared to be an accident. Ronald only reported the news; he wasn’t part of the problem that caught the man off-guard.

His usual path to work took him from the small apartment on the third floor of a converted turn of the century house on D Street, past a coffee shop, and around the broad sidewalks along 12th Street, back into the bustling heart of the city. Walking was never a problem for Ronald. He spent years on his feet chasing stories.

When the taxi left the pavement, climbed up on the sidewalk in front of Ronald, he thought he imagined it. But a hard knock to his shoulder, driving him away from the path of the fast-moving taxi, reminded Ronald there were still good people out there.

“See that guy?” The young man asked; watching the DC taxi bolt away, swerve back into traffic. The African-American stood over Ronald lying on the grass off the sidewalk. He reached to help Ronald stand up again.

“Thank you,” Ronald said. There were soil marks along his pants. The palm of his hand burned where it scraped along the cement. But he wasn’t a hood ornament on a taxi. He had the young man to thank.

“I didn’t get a look at the license plate,” the young man told Ronald, as he hurried away. “I got to get to school.” And he waved. He’d saved a life, and it was a trivial moment before he got back to his life.

Ronald brushed the grass and dirt on his pant leg. He managed to smear it instead of removing it. He squared his shoulders and removed the cell phone from his satchel. The one primary tool in his reporter arsenal was the leather satchel he carried everywhere.

Ronald texted Shao he’d be late for work. He left out the near-death appointment with the Washington public transportation. She didn’t reply. He was a self-motivated reporter. Work was all Ronald had left that mattered to him. Arriving later for work only meant he’d stay over. He composed a piece on good Samaritans as he walked back to the apartment.