"I can't believe that's the place where John Wilkes Booth and his cohorts plotted the Lincoln and Seward assassinations," Sean said. "A Chinese joint."
"Yeah, I'm not sure how I feel about it," Tommy said. "On the one hand, it's an infamous place from history that should have been preserved."
"Right. And on the other hand, it's a place where an evil plan was hatched. With that thinking, maybe it should have been torn down."
"Exactly."
They stood there in the cold for a moment, gazing down the sidewalk. There were only a few other pedestrians walking around. Most people were indoors, keeping warm.
"You think we'll find anything in there?" Tommy asked.
Sean rolled his shoulders underneath his thick coat. "No idea. But we have to give it a look. I just hope the restaurant owners won't mind us snooping around."
The two trudged down the sidewalk. Little piles of snow lined both sides of the concrete, swept aside by municipal workers. The snow on the roads had melted from salt the city had applied. Soupy gray skies overhead foretold more of the same and already dripped with big snowflakes that fluttered to the ground.
Underneath the awning, Sean opened the door and let his friend pass through first. The smell of onions, garlic, broccoli, and meat filled the air and wafted by the visitors in a steamy cloud, dissipating in the freezing cold outside.
Inside, the kitchen was situated behind a counter. Two cooks stirred various ingredients in giant steel woks. Fire flashed around the pans, rising up toward the ventilation fans overhead before disappearing just as fast as the flames appeared.
A young Asian woman stood at a cash register behind the counter. She wore a polite smile and gave a welcoming nod to the two men as they entered.
"Welcome to Wok and Roll. How can I help you?" she said in a thick accent.
Sean cleared his throat and stepped to the counter. "Hello. My name is Sean, and this is Tommy. We work for a historical agency in Atlanta and were wondering if you could help us with an investigation."
The young woman's face scrunched into a frown. "You're police?"
"No, no. Not police," Tommy corrected. "We're doing some research on the Abraham Lincoln assassination and were wondering if we could have a look around your building."
The moment the words came out of Tommy's mouth, he realized the poor girl probably had dozens of similar requests every single day.
"So, you're not police?"
"No," Sean said.
"Upstairs is a private residence. You're not allowed up there." She was clearly offended by the request. At least it sounded like she was.
"We're really sorry," Sean said in an attempt to smooth things over. "The research we're doing is extremely important. You're sure we can't just have a quick look?"
An older man walked up to the register from a doorway in the back corner. From the potbelly and the sagging face, Sean and Tommy figured him to be in his late fifties or early sixties.
"What's the problem here?" he said in a booming voice that startled the other two customers in the room.
"They were asking to see the rooms upstairs," the girl explained.
"No." He wagged a finger. "Do you have any idea how many people we get in here every week who want to see the Surratt boarding house?"
"No, but I'm betting it's more than a few," Sean whispered, mostly to himself.
"If you want to know more about the building, read the plaque the government posted outside."
"We've read the plaque," Tommy said. He wasn't lying. They read it online before coming to visit the building in person. "But we think it's possible there is a key piece of evidence for our project somewhere in here. We'd just like to look around and see what we can find."
The older guy — who Sean and Tommy figured was the manager — shook his head. "This building was stripped apart several times over the last hundred years. Anything that may have been hidden here is long gone. I'm sorry, but it appears you've wasted your time."
Sean and Tommy exchanged a forlorn glance.
"Would you like something to eat while you're here?" the girl asked.
Tommy started to say he wasn't hungry when Sean spoke up first. "I'll try the lo mein and General Tso's tofu."
"Your friend want anything?"
Tommy relented. "Fine. I'll get the tofu as well with a side of white rice."
A few minutes later, the two were sitting in a booth near the back of the building, spinning noodles around chopsticks and shoveling rice into their mouths.
"What should we do?" Tommy asked, looking around at the employees. "Come back later when they're closed?"
Sean surveyed the room. "And what," he whispered, "break in? You heard them. They live upstairs. And besides, the manager said that the place was torn apart multiple times over the last hundred years. It's highly unlikely that something would still be here after all that."
It wasn't like Tommy to offer the brazen option. Tommy's nature wasn't necessarily timid. It's just that he usually chose to do things by the book, follow the rules, rarely step out of line.
In certain circumstances, Sean would have agreed to a little breaking and entering of the old Surratt boarding house. In this instance, he wasn't sure that was the best course of action.
"Then what do you suggest we do?" Tommy asked.
"Excuse me," a new voice interrupted their quiet conversation.
The two turned and saw an older man in the booth behind them. His thick gray hair was combed to one side. Even though the restaurant was warm, he wore a beige trench coat. The skin under his eyes sagged, showing dark circles beneath weary blue eyes. He had the appearance of someone who'd been working in politics for most of his life — the sort of rugged yet refined handsomeness voters loved.
"I couldn't help but hear you two talking to that manager about having a look upstairs," he said.
Tommy and Sean stared at the guy, wondering what else he'd heard.
"There's nothing up there," the man continued. "The manager's right. This place went through several renovations through the years."
The stranger could tell the two friends were curious as to why they should listen to him, maybe even as to who he was.
"Eli Stumper," he said. "I've been coming to this joint ever since I got elected."
I knew it, Sean thought. A politician. "I'm Sean, and this is my friend Tommy."
"Nice to meet you, sir," Tommy said, awkwardly twisting his body in the booth to reach over and shake the man's hand.
"Are you a history buff like me?" Eli asked.
Sean let a wry grin ease across his face. "I guess you could say that. We work for the International Archaeological Agency. He's the founder." Sean gave a nod at Tommy.
"You don't say. I thought I recognized you."
Tommy blushed. Sean's face reddened, too, but for a different reason. If this guy — a government official — knew who they were, there could be trouble if he relayed the message to a corrupt coworker. They were already taking a huge chance coming into DC. The last thing they needed was to have some guy start blabbing about them being here.
"We're trying to keep a low profile," Sean said. "The project we're working on at the moment is… sensitive."
Eli's eyes widened. "Oh, I see. Well, I won't trouble you anymore."
The man started to turn around, but Sean stopped him. "That's not what I meant. Care to join us?"
Eli looked at one and then the other as if the question required deliberation. "Sure," he said. "I'd love to."
The older man slipped out of his seat as Tommy moved over. He brought his half-eaten plate of dumplings and set it on the table next to Tommy's.
"So, you know a lot about this place, huh?" Tommy asked.
"Yep," Eli said, shoving a forkful of the sweet and spicy food into his mouth.