Tonight, it was the Rittenhouse Hotel in Philadelphia, and her name was Allison. At least, that’s what she claimed it was. Allison had brought the drugs with her, because they were included in the $5,000 fee the congressman had already wired her employer. This outfit was the most exclusive, most reliable, and most discreet entity of its kind in the world. New clients were thoroughly vetted before being taken on. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the personal guarantee of Henry’s father, Terence Townsend, a longtime customer, the service would not have taken on Henry as a client.
The New York congressman never did much of the cocaine himself. It was mostly for the girls. He liked them all cranked up. He knew to be careful with his own intake, because too much would impede his performance. But a line or two would get him going like nothing else could. The rest was for her. Allison. Or whatever her real name was. He didn’t care. She liked to party, and that was exactly what she was here for. She leaned over the mirror on the bed, did two of the lines, then threw her hair back.
Henry admired her beautiful young face, as well as the magnificent curves beneath her Victoria’s Secret lingerie, which looked brand new.
Henry chopped up another dozen lines of the white powder. Two for him, ten for her. Somewhere around number eight, she’d taken a break to service him. He was rough with her from the start, just like he planned on being the rest of the night. He tore off her brand-new lingerie and took her from behind. His hands were around her throat. Not quite choking her, but on the verge of it. Letting her know he could at any second. Because that’s what he really enjoyed. Letting them know.
“Allison” slowly leaned downward toward the mirror on the bed to finish her last two lines, which should have been enough to last awhile.
All Henry could think was that the young lady multitasked with ease. He pulled her up by the back of her hair, shuddering with anticipation. Oh, did he have plans. The things he was going to do to this young lady.
Because the congressman was behind her, he couldn’t see her face when it happened. Her stunning young eyes bugged out, more in shock than in pain, because she couldn’t breathe. Her skin suddenly turned pale. Her hands clenched the sheets as she went into cardiac arrest due to what would later be determined a congenitally thin lining of her left artery. For the moment, all she knew was that she needed to scream, and couldn’t.
She arched, and clenched, and then went completely limp. At first, he thought the girl just might have passed out, which would have been disappointing, but not devastating. It had happened before. But when he rolled her on her back, her skin was blue. It was clear she wasn’t breathing. And that he was now in a full-on crisis. “This is not happening!”
It had been over two decades since he’d taken any kind of CPR class, but he did his best to remember the basics. He tilted her head back, opened her airway, gave three strong breaths into her lungs, then placed both hands on her chest and gave three firm compressions. Nothing happened. He repeated the sequence. Still nothing. “Come on, breathe, you stupid little bitch!” He continued the compressions, pausing only to fill her lungs with air. His rage now turned to desperation. “Please, dear God, breathe!”
Over the next several minutes, his pleas grew increasingly pathetic. But there was nothing he could do. The girl was dead. Finally pausing to catch his breath, he looked around the room to assess the damage. Cocaine was sprinkled all over the bed. Ripped lingerie and empty champagne bottles were strewn about the floor.
If it wasn’t for the dead girl, the scene would be inviting. But there she was, cold and motionless. Ruining everything.
Henry quickly paced around the room, figuring out what he should do. There would be no getting out of this cleanly. The suite was registered in his name. The hotel had lots of security cameras, which undoubtedly had captured him coming and going. He had no access to a vehicle, even if he could magically transport the body outside the hotel. And he was much too high to seriously consider driving, anyway. The thought of being pulled over while transporting a dead hooker was so ghoulish it was almost funny.
Henry was going to need help, and knew exactly who he would turn to. The group who’d been in the shadows his entire political career, helping him whenever and however necessary. Like his derelict record in college that had somehow been sanitized. And his many other indiscretions that had never reached the light of day. Most importantly, he had won every election he had ever entered, by doing exactly as he was told. Not only did these people have the ability to rewrite the past, they could determine the future as well.
Henry had never once deviated from their instructions or guidance, because while certain aspects of his character left much to be desired, his survival instincts were superb. He knew better than to disobey them, whoever they were.
He took out a second phone, a device they had given him with explicit instructions: use only in case of emergency. Well, this certainly qualified. Henry pressed the “1” button, speed-dialing the only number he was ever to call from this device.
“Yes?”
“I need your help.” Henry’s voice quivered slightly. He knew he sounded high.
“Is the matter urgent?”
“I wouldn’t have called otherwise.”
The phone’s GPS transmitter let the man on the other end know that Henry was calling from inside a hotel in Philadelphia. “What is your room number?”
“It’s 3902.” Henry decided to ignore how unsettling it was that they already knew what hotel he was in. He convinced himself this was a good thing.
“Two friends will be there within ninety minutes. Do not leave your room. Do not communicate with anyone else. When they are outside your door, I will text you.”
The two men were seven minutes early. The time was 2:28 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time when the text message arrived on Henry’s phone: knock knock.
Henry peered through the peephole at the two expressionless men. They wore nylon sweat suits and baseball caps. Phillies and Mets. Henry had never seen either man before, and knew he would never see either one again. He opened the door and stepped back as they entered. Both men put on surgical gloves. There would be no trace they were ever here. They locked the door behind them and moved quickly from room to room to assess the situation.
It was bad.
Henry followed carefully behind them. “Please tell me you guys can get me out of this.”
Mets fan turned to him and spoke evenly and clearly. “You must do exactly as we say.”
“Just tell me what to do.”
Phillies fan pointed to the beige carpet next to the bed where the dead girl was sprawled. “Stand here.”
Henry did so. It seemed a little strange, but he was not about to question a damn thing.
“Face her.”
Henry turned toward the body, even as his instincts told him something was wrong.
Unfortunately, he was right.
The two men moved swiftly and in perfect unison. Mets fan stepped behind Henry, grabbing him from behind. Phillies fan grabbed his right arm, placing a handgun into Henry’s hand and forcing his fingers around the handle. The man’s grip was incredibly strong. There wasn’t anything Henry could do to stop Phillies fan from forcing the gun barrel into Henry’s mouth.
Having thoroughly rehearsed the sequence, Mets fan knew to duck just as Phillies fan pulled the trigger. The back of the congressman’s skull covered a good portion of the wall behind him as he dropped dead to the floor. The weapon remained in his hand. The residue on his fingers would clearly show that he had pulled the trigger. Any forensics expert in the world would conclude this was a suicide. The congressman had gotten away with too much for too long. Anyone who read the newspapers knew it. But his luck had finally run out.
Mets fan retrieved the encrypted phone from Henry’s pocket, and the two assassins exited the room. The body would be discovered shortly after nine o’clock the next morning when he didn’t show up for a breakfast with his chief of staff. A hotel security guard would tweet the news at 9:17 a.m. Within fifteen minutes, the guard would receive competing six-figure offers from three different news outlets for photographic evidence from the scene.
The Democratic Party was going to have to find another front runner for the upcoming presidential election. And the man who had ordered the death of Henry Townsend knew exactly who they were going to turn to.