The Autumn Sky
by Jack Echs
Copyright © 2001



I ground the remains of the cigar I had been chewing more than smoking into the sidewalk with my shoe and started walking towards the Metro's entrance while pressing the buttons on my cell that would bring an end to this job and more. The scene that had just played out erased the last bit of doubt that I had and would soon confirm the doubts that had caused another to hire me to be here. Through the loft's window the two lovers still embraced unaware.

At Chinatown I transferred to the yellow line and took it south to the Navy Memorial. Reaching the top of the escalator, my shoes hit the sidewalk and with a steady, but slow pace I headed east up Connecticut towards Union Station. A block from the bend in the avenue I turned and walked the last two blocks to the hotel where my client waited.

The evening was surprisingly cool after the heat of the week. Mid-October had felt closer to August at its worst in DC for the past few days, melting the pavement and the people flowing over it. But tonight the auburn sky at my back did nothing to warm my spirits or me.

Walking past the valets who were parking the pretty people's cars, I pushed my way through the revolving door . . . the air sucking at my ears as the pressure shifted from the natural to the sanitized air pre-packaged and wrapped for each guest along with the bar of complimentary soap and other toiletries waiting in the rooms above me. It smelled too pure, too clean for this work.

I made my way over to the bar through a mixture of young and old Democrats who were mingling in the lobby . . . another fundraiser waiting for the last of the ink to dry on large corporate checks before moving on to the next sale. I might not get to rub elbows with the powerful, but I can drink with 'em. I ordered a Chavis on ice to look less conspicuous and waited for my client to arrive. It didn't take nearly long enough and yet it still felt like forever.

She knew the answer when she looked into my eyes, but I nodded nonetheless. After handing me an envelope from her purse, her eyes lost mine and didn't find them again. Instead she turned around and walked towards the row of elevators across the lobby. I watched her go . . . a feeling of melancholy making its way through the whiskey.

I wasn't surprised to find the plastic key card nor was I surprised the next morning when I found myself alone. My gun was gone and the wad of cash in the envelope was thicker than it had been the night before. The Post would have the rest of the story tomorrow. I cracked open the seal on a bottle of Chavis from the bar and poured it into a plastic cup.