Chapter 3 (Earlier in the evening)
Toby
"Bye, Sam. Don't forget the President wants to see the first draft of his speech to the teachers he's scheduled to give next week in Cleveland."
"Yeah, Toby. I have it on my books. Can't you just give me one night of peace?"
"I would if you already had it done."
"Night, Toby."
Toby turned and went back to his desk. He hated to keep reminding Sam to do anything, but his job was to keep things organized around the Communications area. The President wanted to see the first draft of that speech tomorrow. He had told Sam that yesterday, but he had yet to see any draft from Sam himself so how could he know how far along it was.
CJ knocked on his door and Toby motioned her in,
"What do you want?" he muttered.
"Hey, go a little bit easier on Sam, will you? He's trying."
"Are you trying to tell me my business?"
"No, Toby. I'm not. But if you keep this up, Sam's going to leave and go back to California. You know he'll get the work done."
"Yeah, but when? I gave him this assignment three days ago and I've got Leo breathing down my neck to see a draft. And he's got the President breathing down his neck. You know the saying, 'Stuff rolls downhill'? Well, Sam is at the bottom of that hill."
"Toby, he may be at the bottom of that hill, but he can only do so much. So lay off of him. He'll get it done."
He stared at her. "If you are done with telling me how to manage my employees, I would appreciate you leaving and shutting the door behind you."
CJ shrugged and slammed the door behind her.
Toby was angry. Angry at being told he was wrong. Hell, he knew he was wrong, but when he was getting crap from his boss, he just passed it along. It had been an awful day. It was past midnight. Time to leave.
Not even taking his briefcase, he grabbed his coat and left the West Wing. He drove home, found a great parking space on the street, and entered the apartment. He went straight to the liquor cabinet and fixed himself a straight scotch. Usually he mixed it with some water, but tonight he needed the kick the straight alcohol would give him.
After knocking down the first drink in one swallow, he fixed another and looked through the mail. Only bills. Of course. No one he knew would send a letter. He went over to the living room window and looked out on the street. At this time of night, the street was silent except for a shadowy figure across the street. With the street light broken, he couldn't make whether it was a man or woman. His attention was diverted elsewhere when a car with a loud muffler came down the street. Just then, the window shattered and Toby felt a pain in his neck. He reached up with his free left hand and felt liquid. Bringing his hand down, he saw fresh blood.
It was then he realized that it was a bullet that had shattered the window and had hit him. He staggered to his coat and pulled out his cell phone. Just before he passed out, he hit the 911 button.
"911, what is your emergency?"