Chapter Twenty-Six

Check, Please

Jimmie glanced in the direction of Clinton Plaza as he stepped off the bus. Had the president known about his little clandestine meeting last night? Unlikely. The “dangerous people with dangerous ideas” could have been the Occupy protestors who camped out in the park when the weather was nice enough. If the president had known about his midnight meeting, Jimmie would surely have been fired by now.

Or worse.

As Jimmie turned the doorknob to his room, he noticed the frame was splintered around the lock. It hadn’t been damaged this morning.

He pushed the door open slowly, holding the key out like a knife. It was the only weapon he had on him. He hoped the key might catch the streetlight and appear to be a weapon in his hand.

“I’ve got a knife,” Jimmie announced, peering into the darkness. Then as an afterthought, “And a gun.”

Why not add some nunchucks to that list while you’re at it, genius?

There was no response from inside the room, save for the sound of his own voice rattling around his head. He flipped the light switch on.

The room was empty. There was no assassin in the bathroom. Ditto with the shower and the closet and underneath the queen-size bed.

His laptop was still under the pile of soiled laundry. Nothing had been stolen. Maybe somebody had opened his laptop—maybe they’d hacked into it—but why not just take it? While there were unanswered questions, he had no doubt that someone had been in his room. Somebody besides the cleaning staff.

He ran down the list of suspects. While Putin had been with Trump all day, he could have sent one of his KGB goons over to do the dirty work. Corey Lewandowski could have snuck away from the White House at any point during the day, though it seemed unlikely with his busy schedule. Chris Christie? Yeah, that sounded about right. A little B and E seemed right up the White House janitor’s alley.

The Socialist Justice Warriors could have also been upset he rejected their offer. They could have come for his laptop, looking for evidence of presidential wrongdoing on it. If so, they were pissing up the wrong tree. Jimmie knew better than to access his work e-mail from his home computer. He didn’t want to pull a Hillary.

Regardless of who the culprit was, the Royal Linoleum Hotel was no longer safe. If it ever had been.