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AFTER A ROWDY MID-DAY romp, Brandy dressed, and Naim admired her curves that seeped through her jeans and T-shirt. She was an in-shape woman that had planned ahead for a rally by the looks of her sneakers and New York Yankees fitted cap, covering her hair pulled into a ponytail.
He kissed her goodbye at the suite’s door. “Be safe,” he suggested, “and hurry back. I didn’t come to D.C. to be alone.”
“Neither did I,” she said. “I’ll be back by dinner time.”
“OK, I’ll book a table somewhere nice. We can have a drink here first and then head out.”
“Perfect,” she said, and she was gone.
When she reached the valet stand and spoke to an attendant, he pointed to an SUV at the hotel’s curb with a driver standing next to it. The French man held a sheet of paper with B. Scott on it. Making eye contact with the driver, he nodded opened the back door for her, but she walked around the car once and recorded the license plate number in her iPhone Notes app. A habit she did with all taxi, Uber, or other drivers that were strangers. She felt that she was in capable hands because Naim had hired a security firm that Baker and Keefe represented to whisk her around the city. The same security firm that sold Naim his armored Cadillac Escalade to protect him. This after he was shot at during an incident, escaping bullets from some woman that he had engaged in sex with while her husband was at work.
The veteran newswoman hopped into the back seat, and said, “This makes my trip to the court seem like a dangerous mission.”
“Well, ma’am,” the driver said, locking the doors, “Americans for Sentencing Reform, despite their mission and motive are notorious for forcing riot gear and gas masks to come out. I assure you, you’ll be safe from both, and bullets, in this tank.” He pulled off of the hotel curb, and asked, “Air conditioning?”
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Naim, dressed in all black, despite the heat, shot out of the hotel’s entrance like a bullet out of a pistol. He stopped under the US flags flying over the entrance. Looking around he found a young couple approaching a taxi, passed them a fifty and said, “I really need this cab,” while hopping into the back seat. To the driver, he said, “Follow that SUV,” slamming the door shut. “And don’t worry about being seen. The driver knows I’m behind him.”