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toward the political instead of the personal. One group, the Center for Public Accountability, seemed to lead the charge. They — or, for all I knew, some guy in a basement somewhere — had a regular column called “Fight the Power.” The latest entry was titled “Robbin’ the Hood: Steal from the Poor and Give to the Rich.”

Using free-market principles as their Teflon cover, the members of the Boys & Girls Club of Washington, which is to say the banking lobbyists and our very own elected officials, have crafted one blank check after another for their corporate cronies. Yes, the very people who brought this country’s economy to its knees are still being treated like royalty on Capitol Hill, and guess who’s picking up the tab? These are your tax dollars I’m talking about, your money. In my book, that’s called stealing, and it’s all happening right before our eyes.

Click here to get home addresses and phone numbers for some of DC’s most outrageous robber barons. Give them a call during dinner some night and let them know how you feel. Better yet, wait till they’re not there, then break in and help yourself to some of their hard-earned cash. See how they like it.

    In some ways, the most unexpected thing in Pilkey’s office was the collection he kept of his own press about the scandal. One recent article was still in an unmarked folder on his desk. It was a
New York Times
op-ed.

Both Pilkey and Vinton are the subject of what will no doubt become yet another long, drawn-out investigation, proving nothing, punishing no one, and accomplishing negative gain when it comes to protecting the people who matter the most — the average joes of the world, just struggling to make ends meet.

    So, no surprise, Pilkey had more than his share of haters. This was almost the opposite of no leads. Everything I’d read was just the tip of the iceberg. I flagged anything that mentioned specific threats, but the information was mounting, and the list of suspects was going to be impossibly long.
    One thing was clear to me already: we were going to need a bigger team.

Chapter 12

    DENNY HATED THE SHELTER on Thirteenth Street with a passion that bordered on homicide, and particularly tonight. Lining up on the sidewalk for a bed sucked big-time, especially while the rest of the city went apeshit over their two perfect sniper hits on Eighteenth Street. What a rush! And what a waste of a good night when he and Mitch should have been celebrating.
    Of course, it also made more sense than ever to be seen going about their business right now. So that’s what they were doing.
    Mitch stuck close as always, shaking his head and jacking his knee up and down the way he did when he got stoked. It made him look just like any of the other basket cases who called this place home, which was fine, so long as the big man kept his mouth shut.
    “Don’t talk to no one,” Denny reminded him as they filed like an army of zombies into the dorm. “Just keep your head down and get some sleep.”
    “I won’t say nothing, Denny, but I’ll tell you what. I’d sure rather be sucking down a little Jim Beam about now.”
    “Party starts tomorrow, Mitchie. Promise.”
    Denny put Mitch on the bottom bunk for a change and took the top for himself so he could keep an eye on things from the bird’s nest.
    Sure enough, not long after lights-out, Mitch was back up.
Now what?
    “Where you going, man?” he whispered.
    “Gotta piss. I’ll be right back.”
    Denny wasn’t feeling paranoid exactly — just extra cautious. He sat up and waited a minute, then followed Mitch just to make sure.
    It was quiet in the hall. The place used to be a school, and these lockers were originally built to hold little kids’ lunches and book bags and whatnot. Now grown men used them to hold on to everything they owned in the world.
    And what a fucked-up world it was! No doubt about that.
    When Denny got to the bathroom, he found all the showers running with no one in