Political Science 101

Chapter Twenty-Eight

SPRING IN Washington D.C. is a sight to see. People of all races, colors, and creeds use the opportunity of newly-warmed weather to flock to all the tourist attractions and monuments the nation's capital has to offer. School field trips to the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, and the Martin Luther King Memorial added a patriotic sense of pride and heritage to the air. And the air of education and admiration could be inhaled in the same breath as the somber silence and dolefulness of the Vietnam Memorial. Curious onlookers stood outside the White House and the U.S. Capitol Building, hoping to catch a glimpse of (or even a word with) a well-known politician while others had their pictures taken with this majestic city as the backdrop.

United States Congressman Arnold Jenkins knew it was a beautiful day when he dressed for work on that Monday morning. Before leaving his Washington D.C. apartment, he picked up his briefcase and decided to drape his suit coat over his arm for the ten-minute walk to his office on Capitol Hill. He walked lightly down the stairs in his upscale apartment building and strode happily to the orange front door of the classy structure, stepping into the flow of the late-morning Washington D.C. sidewalk foot traffic.

He stood on the sidewalk for a moment and took a deep breath of spring air, exhaling with optimism.

And that's when he heard it.

It was a thud; a deep thud; a pressured thud. He felt heat; a burn. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. People walked by. No one looked. He tried to inhale; he could not. The pressure still; in his chest; something was wrong. He looked down. He was bleeding. His chest; his shirt pocket; he saw blood; the pressure. He tried to speak. He had no words. He had no breath. He had no life.

Slowly, as though life had suddenly gone into slow motion, United States Congressman Arnold Jenkins carefully sat down on the concrete in front of the large orange door of his apartment building. He leaned back and tried to close his eyes — he could not.

Nearly a quarter-mile away, an empty window in a tall deserted warehouse smelled of gunpowder and sulfur.

Arnold Jenkins, the distinguished congressman from the state of Missouri, slumped to his right. He was finally able to close his eyes, but never did regain that last breath. A single solitary tear dripped down his left cheek, trickling to the bottom of his lifeless chin.

United States Congressman Arnold Jenkins was dead.