Chapter 1
Here's chapter one. Please post and let me know what you think of it!
Mel was not the kind of man you’d expect to see here. He was aging his way through the 40s and heading quickly towards the 50s. The bars of K Street were usually only frequented by young lobbyists and the congressmen they were trying to win to their cause. Tonight, the Capital Offense was vacant. Mel wasn’t waiting for anyone; he had just come here on the off chance he could find someone willing to back his campaign. He’d been in every election for the past 12 years, and some thought he was running down. Once a junior congressman, he’d fought hard for issues he thought important, only to have his backers leave him for being too unpredictable. His support on legislation used to mean something. His vote used to count, and then, eight years ago he had lost. For some reason, still unknown to him, the voters had preferred John Balnedine to him. Sentimentality can only be company for so long, however, and Mel was reaching the end of his time. Dejected, Mel slowly finished his gin and tonic, paid the bartender, and slowly trudged out through the burnished iron door.
K Street was empty at this time of night; no cars were rolling through its silent intersections. Mel walked alone through the tight streets towards his apartment. His living conditions were modest, a small set of rooms above a store. A bookstore. His bookstore. It had started out as a hobby when he was still a member of Congress. Collecting old law and political interest books anywhere he could find them. He had hundreds of books sitting in his apartment, some first editions, copy of Blackstone that was once Jefferson’s, an original copy of The Federalist Papers, and early Italian version of Machiavelli’s The Prince. He had begun to fill his little apartment after a few years, so upon losing his first election, he bought a small historic row house on Q Street, and remodeled it into a rather quaint bookshop. It had been the only thing that had kept the bills paid the last few years. Off of his congressional salary, life had gotten a lot harder. His shop was frequented by congressional secretaries, occasional higher-ups and a lawyer or two. He had a few rooms above the shop where he lived, which were where he was headed now.
After 10 minutes of walking, Mel found himself in front of his shop. He slowly fumbled through his keys, finally finding the one he was looking for. He turned it slowly in the lock, and opened the door. Inside, as usual was his stack of mail. “It’s a little larger today,” he thought, “probably bills, maybe some credit card applications.” He picked up the stack of mail off the floor, and then walked through the aisles of the shop to the back, stopping only to set the alarm. His personal rooms consisted of a small kitchen, a full bathroom, a cozy living room, and his bedroom. He had been delighted with the space when he bought it, it had good views of the surrounding historical areas, and some good skylights for some extra light. He set the mail down on the coffee table, and picked up his laptop. He noticed his e-mail inbox was flashing. “25 messages, I suppose that’s what I get for being out all day.” He mused, “Well, I’ll deal with those in the morning. 12:30 is too late for me to be taking books off the shelves for people.” Sleep came quickly to Mel as he lay on the sofa, and it didn’t let him go till late the next morning.
Mel was not the kind of man you’d expect to see here. He was aging his way through the 40s and heading quickly towards the 50s. The bars of K Street were usually only frequented by young lobbyists and the congressmen they were trying to win to their cause. Tonight, the Capital Offense was vacant. Mel wasn’t waiting for anyone; he had just come here on the off chance he could find someone willing to back his campaign. He’d been in every election for the past 12 years, and some thought he was running down. Once a junior congressman, he’d fought hard for issues he thought important, only to have his backers leave him for being too unpredictable. His support on legislation used to mean something. His vote used to count, and then, eight years ago he had lost. For some reason, still unknown to him, the voters had preferred John Balnedine to him. Sentimentality can only be company for so long, however, and Mel was reaching the end of his time. Dejected, Mel slowly finished his gin and tonic, paid the bartender, and slowly trudged out through the burnished iron door.
K Street was empty at this time of night; no cars were rolling through its silent intersections. Mel walked alone through the tight streets towards his apartment. His living conditions were modest, a small set of rooms above a store. A bookstore. His bookstore. It had started out as a hobby when he was still a member of Congress. Collecting old law and political interest books anywhere he could find them. He had hundreds of books sitting in his apartment, some first editions, copy of Blackstone that was once Jefferson’s, an original copy of The Federalist Papers, and early Italian version of Machiavelli’s The Prince. He had begun to fill his little apartment after a few years, so upon losing his first election, he bought a small historic row house on Q Street, and remodeled it into a rather quaint bookshop. It had been the only thing that had kept the bills paid the last few years. Off of his congressional salary, life had gotten a lot harder. His shop was frequented by congressional secretaries, occasional higher-ups and a lawyer or two. He had a few rooms above the shop where he lived, which were where he was headed now.
After 10 minutes of walking, Mel found himself in front of his shop. He slowly fumbled through his keys, finally finding the one he was looking for. He turned it slowly in the lock, and opened the door. Inside, as usual was his stack of mail. “It’s a little larger today,” he thought, “probably bills, maybe some credit card applications.” He picked up the stack of mail off the floor, and then walked through the aisles of the shop to the back, stopping only to set the alarm. His personal rooms consisted of a small kitchen, a full bathroom, a cozy living room, and his bedroom. He had been delighted with the space when he bought it, it had good views of the surrounding historical areas, and some good skylights for some extra light. He set the mail down on the coffee table, and picked up his laptop. He noticed his e-mail inbox was flashing. “25 messages, I suppose that’s what I get for being out all day.” He mused, “Well, I’ll deal with those in the morning. 12:30 is too late for me to be taking books off the shelves for people.” Sleep came quickly to Mel as he lay on the sofa, and it didn’t let him go till late the next morning.
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