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WASHINGTON, D.C.—L’ENFANT Square
Naim continued to process the falling out with Thurman around his mind, as he popped out the L’Enfant Plaza green-line Metro Station. The station and square were named agent French engineer, Pierre Charles L’Enfant, the man that planned the city.
The youthful-looking sex-siren, Brandy Scott, leaned on the side of the armored Escalade leaving the driver behind the wheel; no doubt, prepared to take off just in case Naim bolted from underground being followed by federal agents.
After giving Brandy a quick hug, they climbed into the back seats of the truck. The driver sped away from the curb as soon as the doors slammed shut. Settled into their seats they looked at one another.
“And where’s your client, counselor? My source.”
“Gone.” Somber. “Where exactly are we headed?”
“Slight change of plans,” she replied, smiling. “Cute pivot, though,” she added, “you’re becoming one ol’ Washingtonian. But you’re not getting off that easily. Where’s Thurman?”
Staring out of the window, watching D.C fly by, he said, “He’s on his own. Didn’t like my plan.” He snuggled up to her, resting his head on her shoulder. She draped an arm around him caressed his shoulder, while listening to his version of what had transpired between him and David Thurman over the past few hours. “I mean, if he wasn’t lying, he told me graphic details about the justice’s murder. The jury will be delightfully horrified.”
“How’d you manage to talk at the Capitol?”
“We whispered and I had him write things down,” he said, tapping his briefcase. “The notes may be leaked to a certain New York Times editor.”
“This case will definitely have a gag order in place,” she said, “so be sure they end up in said editor’s E-mail inbox soon. Anonymously.”
“Indeed.”
“He’ll be back around. He loves or likes to appear in control. A true narcissist.”
“And that pisses me off. Why on earth do defendant’s believe that they’re in control as if they have the law degree and experience?”
“Good question, one that can be answered when we get to the Georgetown Law School. I’ve gotten us visitors clearance to do some legal research.”
Naim lifted his head. They were being driven east on Maryland Avenue with the U.S. Capitol Building ahead, it’s bronze Statue of Freedom on top looking Naim in the eye. He looked out of the back window and saw the Washington Monument in the distance, the tapering obelisk of white marble reaching five hundred fifty-five feet in the air. Panicked, he shot up, tapped the driver’s shoulder, and asked, “Isn’t Georgetown in the opposite direction?”
“Well, yes, it is,” the driver said. “But the Georgetown University Law Center is located on New Jersey Avenue in the Judiciary Square neighborhood of the city.”
Naim looked at Brandy for confirmation, as they passed the Capitol Reflecting Pool.
“I was just as perplexed,” she shrugged. “But it’s a strategic location on the school’s part.”
The lawyer sat back in his seat. His hand had a slight shake, his heart raced. He suddenly acknowledged the anxiety associated with being an attorney.