Barack picked up the tab, and I didn’t argue. Afterward, we paused on the sidewalk outside the Waffle Depot. Mayflies started dive-bombing us from the fluorescent lights overhead. We tried swatting them away, but they had the numbers advantage. I wasn’t ready to get in the car yet, though. Not until we’d charted a new plan of action.
Barack, chewing a post-meal Nicorette, had a different idea. “It’s time to call it a night,” he said.
“You think the bad guys are going to call it a night?”
“The bad guys?”
“What else would you call them? We’ve got people breaking into houses, into motels. Into nursing homes, for God’s sake.”
“They could all be part of one organization. Law enforcement, the mob…the Secret Service,” Barack said, winking at Steve.
Steve did not wink back.
“Let’s go through what we have so far,” Barack continued. “We have a man on the tracks killed by an oncoming train. He has heroin in his pocket. We’ve got a missing square of carpet in his room. There’s a duffel bag, which could be in evidence or even picked up by his family, for all we know. Is that it?”
“From everyone I’ve talked to, he didn’t get high,” I said. “I’m not ruling it out, I’m just saying I don’t buy it. And we don’t know for sure if he was killed by the train. He could have been dead already.”
“An overdose or a heart attack,” Barack said.
“Or…”
“Oh, for cripe’s sake,” Steve said under his breath. “Here it comes.”
“You can’t tell me foul play’s not a possibility,” I said.
Steve looked at Barack. “Permission to speak freely, sir.”
“You don’t need my permission.”
Steve took a deep breath. “Okay. I think this has gone far enough. I was willing to indulge this little fantasy of playing detective, but that was before you disregarded my instructions and dove raw-dog into that motel room.”
“There was a woman,” I said.
“A woman who may have been a transient, or a prostitute. Or maybe a drug user looking for a place to shoot up. She may have been armed, in which case you both could be on gurneys right now—or, worse, on your way to the morgue. I can’t guarantee your safety, Mr. President, if you continue on this…this absurd quest.”
Steve was breathing heavy.
“Is this the carbs talking?” Barack asked.
Steve ignored him. He was on a roll. “If a torn-up patch of carpet is evidence of anything other than a spilled glass of red wine, I’ll be surprised. Very surprised.”
“That’s not the sort of place you’d expect to find a wine drinker,” I said. “You have to admit that.”
Steve shot me a look of pure disbelief. “You’re hung up on this, aren’t you? Say it. Just say it: murder. You think someone killed him.”
“I didn’t say that. But it’s one possibility. It’s a possibility no one else has looked at, as far as I know.”
“You know why? Because no one else has time for this nonsense. You have zero evidence of foul play. Bad things happen. Burglars break into houses. They break into motel rooms. People spill drinks. And you know what it all means? Nothing.”
I could feel my temperature rising. Steve knew exactly what buttons to push. Barack must have noticed I was about to blow because he stepped between us.
“This Lieutenant Esposito seems quite capable,” Steve said. “She was in the National Guard. Served in Afghanistan. I don’t have any reason not to trust her judgment.” He pointed a finger at my chest. “You, on the other hand…”
“I’m just some old bag of bones who’s seen too many episodes of Law and Order.”
Barack threw up his hands to prevent us from going at each other. “That’s enough. Steve’s right—we need to call it a day. We’re not done, though. Tomorrow’s a new day. If the lieutenant gives us a hard time, we’ll follow the leads wherever they take us. Finn was Joe’s friend, and Joe is my friend. We don’t abandon our friends just because the going gets rough. If that bothers you, Steve, perhaps you’d feel better if you were reassigned.” He paused. “To Bo.”
“I’d rather scoop up dog shit than clean up whatever mess you two make out of this ‘investigation.’ If anything happens to you—if you trip and skin your knee—that’s a black mark on my record. It could mean another year on the ex-presidential protection detail.” Steve was sweating like a sinner in church, but he couldn’t stop. “Plus, what do you think Renaissance would say if she found out you were playing Sherlock?”
“She wouldn’t say anything,” Barack said sternly, “about something she doesn’t know about. You don’t report to her—you report to your supervisor. Tell him whatever you need to, but we’re not going to discuss any of this with Mrs. Obama. Got that?”
“If she asks—”
“She won’t.”
“But if she does—”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but your agency’s motto is ‘Worthy of Trust and Confidence,’ ” Barack said. “I’m not asking you to cover for me while I sneak Marilyn Monroe in the back door of the White House. I’m just asking for a little discretion. A little trust.”
Steve started to object, but then grabbed his side.
“You okay, Steve?” I asked.
Steve put his other hand in front of his mouth. Before our eyes, his skin went pale and clammy. It looked like he was trying to contain Mount Vesuvius.
“The hash browns…” Steve croaked out.
“How you feeling, Joe?” Barack said.
Before I could answer, Steve doubled over and hurled onto the sidewalk. Wet chunks splattered Barack’s slacks. Barack and I both looked away. A man and woman were on their way into the restaurant, and Barack gave them a little wave. They picked up their pace.
When the awful retching noises finally stopped, we both turned to see if Steve was alive or dead. The Secret Service agent was wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his black jacket. He was mostly alive.
“Why don’t you go clean up,” Barack said.
“Can’t…leave you…here…alone. Have to stay…within arm’s length.”
“Forget whatever they tell you in training,” I said. “I say you’re not getting in my car smelling like a Jersey sewer rat.”
Steve made another uncomfortable gurgling noise. He dashed inside, leaving us on the sidewalk beside the puddle of upchuck.
“What a wet blanket,” I said. “He can’t even handle his hash browns. They’re greasy, but c’mon.”
“He’s a good guy. But…”
“But?”
“But he’s a third wheel. A classic third wheel.”
I had a thought. It was a pretty wild idea, but Steve was on the verge of blowing our entire operation. “I can’t work with this guy looking over my shoulder,” I told Barack. “Telling me to be careful all the time. We’re playing things safe, and all we’ve got so far is a fistful of nothing.”
Barack smiled slyly. He knew where I was going. It was the same place he was going.
“You’re a horrible person, Joe. A horrible, horrible person. What does the bro code say about leaving a wounded man behind?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “What does it say?”
“I don’t know, either. I’m not even sure the bro code exists. But if it did, it would say if we’re in pursuit of the greater good, we’re well within our rights to drop any dead weight that’s dragging us down.”
We went back inside to the men’s room, where we found Steve praying to the porcelain god. Barack slipped two hundred-dollar bills in Steve’s pocket so that he could catch a ride back to the Walmart parking lot.
My heart was aflutter as we stepped outside. I couldn’t believe we were ditching Barack’s detail. It was a dangerous world, especially for politicians in the public eye. Especially for presidents. Especially for Barack, who had received more death threats than any other president in history. So many plots against him had been foiled—more than the public would ever know. More than I would ever know. Half those whackjobs probably thought he was still the president, or running some sort of “deep state” operation behind the scenes. I wasn’t hip to all the latest ramblings of the black helicopter crowd, but there was one conspiracy theory that said Barack and I were both “lizard people”—half-alien half-human hybrids who’d infiltrated society and were secretly controlling the government. We were behind everything—terrorist attacks, natural disasters, even the interest rate. It was a comforting thought, that someone was in control of this chaotic world.
I didn’t think I’d look very good with a tail, though.
“Let’s go back to my place,” I said, unlocking my door. “We have a guest room—it’s made up like a ski lodge. There’s a pair of skis and everything.”
Barack stared at me over the top of the car. “That would be the first place Steve would look. We’d be busted before we even got to sleep.”
“Fine. How about my vacation house on Rehoboth Beach?”
“That’s the second place Steve would look,” Barack said. “We need to brainstorm on this. What’s the last place Steve would look?”
I didn’t need to think long on this one. “Zap-bam-bingo, I’ve got it.”
“Don’t say my house. Please don’t say my house.”
I shook my head. “I’ve got something even better.”