by Brad Meltzer
“The pee-ons of the People, huh?”
“That’s what they say. But I won’t be for long.”
“And why’s that?” Ben smiled.
“Because I’m good at what I do. I solve problems.” The boy motioned to the front end of the train. “That’s what’s wrong with the people who set the train schedules. None of them are problem solvers. They’re boring, staid, reactive. That’s why we’re sitting here right now. No one goes after the problem proactively.”
“So what’s your solution?”
“It’s not so much a solution as it is an approach. In my mind, if you really want to deal with a problem, you have to go straight to the heart of it. But no one in this city ever does that. They just dance around everything defensively.”
“And that’s your grand plan?”
“I never said it would change rail travel as we know it,” the boy snapped. “I’m just telling you my approach.”
“You planning to go to law school?” Ben asked.
“How’d you know?”
“I can smell lawyers a mile away. They have a distinctive scent.”
“Don’t mock what you don’t understand. Being a lawyer is the only way to be taken seriously these days. Without a law degree, no one will listen to a single thing I say, but if I’m a lawyer, they’ll give me real responsibility.”
“You think so?”
“I know so,” the boy insisted as the train started moving. “Good ideas can only get you so far. You need credibility to get real work. If you’re suffocating at your job, you should think about it. Law school’s for everyone. It’ll open up your future.”
“I appreciate the advice,” Ben said, as the train arrived at its next stop. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“I hope you do,” the boy said. “It may change your life.” The boy got up and walked to the door. “Well, here’s where I get off. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
“You, too,” Ben said as the boy stepped out. Seconds later, the subway doors slid shut and the train pulled away.
When Ben arrived at home, Eric and Ober were washing dishes in the kitchen. “Finally,” Ober said the moment he saw Ben.
“Don’t tell him,” Eric said, running a dish towel across the outside of their large ceramic pasta bowl. “He’ll hate it.”
“No, he won’t,” Ober said, his hands foamy with soap. “He’ll love it.” As Ben put away his coat, Ober called across the room, “We thought of a whole new way to organize the judicial system.”
“That’s great,” Ben said dryly, as he approached the kitchen.
“What happened to you?” Eric asked when he caught sight of Ben. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” Ben said.
“Everything okay at work?” Eric asked.
“It’s the best,” Ben said, pulling some leftover Chinese shredded beef out of the refrigerator. “Every day’s a pleasure.”
“You didn’t hear from Rick, did you?”
“Not yet.” Ben grabbed a fork from the utensil drawer.
“Screw Rick. He’s gone,” Ober said, rinsing a plastic mug. “Now listen to this idea. Here’s what we propose: To make the judicial system more efficient, wouldn’t it be great if everything—every case, every motion, every hearing—was decided by arm wrestling?”
“Just think about it for a second,” Eric said. “Don’t dismiss it too quickly.”
“Consider the possibilities,” Ober said. “Law firms would be populated with huge wrestlers; they’d recruit at all the best gyms.”
“It’d be a return to Darwinism,” Eric interrupted. “Survival of the fittest! Instant justice!”
“Your Honor, I object. One, two, three—case dismissed,” Ober said, pretending to be beaten by an imagined arm-wrestling opponent.
“So?” Eric asked as Ben sat down at the kitchen table. “What do you think? Pretty good idea, eh?”
Ben stared down into the carton of shredded beef. “Do you think I should turn myself in?” he asked.
“What?” Eric asked.
“You heard me. Do you think I should turn myself in?”
“Why would you do that?” Eric asked.
“So I could get out of this mess.”
“You wouldn’t get out of this mess,” Eric countered. “All you’d do is get in deeper. The moment you told anyone, you’d be fired.”
“So what? Is my job worth all this headache?”
Eric threw his dishrag on the counter and approached Ben. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked. “You have the best legal job on the planet. Why would you want to jeopardize it?”
“What do you think?” Ben asked Ober.
“If you’re actually serious, I agree with Eric. Why risk it all now? Rick’s beaten. He’s gone. What’s to worry about?”
“What if he comes back?” Ben asked. “What do I do then?”
“I have no idea,” Ober said. “But if you’re going to wreck your life, I’d at least wait until Rick showed his face again. Otherwise you’re throwing it all away for no good reason.”
“Maybe,” Ben said as he stabbed at his shredded beef. “Although I’m not sure that’s true.”
Lying in bed that evening, Ben tried to fall asleep. His feet were clammy from sweat, and he searched endlessly for a comfortable sleeping position. Lying on his back, he thought about open green meadows. Shifting to his side, he pictured the tumbling of sapphire ocean waves. Turning on his stomach, he fantasized about sex with a long-legged redhead. But in the end, the meadow always became the Supreme Court, the waves always crashed too loudly, and the redhead always became Rick. His eyes long since adjusted to the darkness of his room, Ben eventually got out of bed and sat down at his desk. On one of his bookshelves, he spotted the cheesy metal scales of justice his mother had bought for him when he first got his clerkship. He grabbed the scales from the shelf and smiled.
Alternating his fingers, he tipped each side of the scale, hoping the repetitive movement might lull him to sleep. Five minutes later, he was still wide awake. He opened his top drawer looking for a new distraction and pulled out erasers, paper clips, highlighters, and other desk accessories. He placed a staple remover on the left balance of the scale and watched justice tip toward the left. Adding a paper clip to the same side, he said, “This is all that is good in the world.” Adding a highlighter, he said, “This is all that is bright.” Smiling as he added a small bottle of whiteout, he whispered, “This is my honesty.” Slowly, he added pencils, extra staples, rubber bands, and an eraser to the balance: his intelligence, his integrity, his happiness, and his future. He grabbed his wallet from the corner of the desk and held it over the still-empty right side of the scale. “And this is the Supreme Court,” he announced as he dropped the wallet into place. When it hit the scale, the desk accessories flew through the air.
“Are you sure?” Lisa asked, surprised.
“Not entirely,” Ben said early the following morning. “But I’m ninety percent there. Just tell me what you think the next step is.”
“It depends who you trust,” Lisa said, sipping her coffee. “You can probably go to Hollis.”
“I was thinking about that,” Ben explained, hoping that his cup of tea would calm his nerves. “But I don’t think he’s the right person to turn to. He may be able to smooth things over if he takes me to the authorities, but he certainly won’t be able to help me catch Rick.”
“I agree. Hollis may be a great justice, but there’s no way he’ll let you use your position on the Court to trap Rick.”
Ben wrapped the string of the teabag around a pencil to squeeze the teabag dry. “So who does that leave?”
“I wouldn’t go to Lungen and Fisk. They’ll never help you.”
“No question about it. They’d arrest me the moment I opened my mouth.”
“What about going over their heads? Go talk to the head of the marshals.”
“That’s what I was thinking last night. I need someone with authority who isn’t loo
king for a promotion. That way, they’ll be more concerned with catching Rick than with simply turning me in.”
“Then you’ve got to go to the head of the marshals.”
“Then that’s that.”
Lisa leaned back in her chair. “I can’t believe you’re going to turn yourself in!”
“What are you talking about? You’re the one who suggested this whole thing.”
“I know. I just can’t believe you’re doing it. What put you over the top?”
“The next head of the D.C. Transit Authority.”
“What?” Lisa asked.
“Nothing. Forget about it,” Ben said. “When it came right down to it, I thought your argument yesterday really made sense. For the past few months, I haven’t been in control.”
“So when are you going to do it?”
“I think during lunch. I just have to find out the name of the chief marshal.”
“Have you thought about how you’re going to get in to see him?”
“I’ll tell his secretary that I have to personally deliver a vital message from Justice Hollis. The moment I get in his office, I can explain the real story and ask him if he’ll help us catch Rick.” When Lisa nodded her approval, Ben continued, “So that means we only have one more thing we need to do.”
“Which is what?”
“We have to figure out how to catch Rick.”
At noon, Ben grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
“So this is it?” Lisa asked, handing Ben his briefcase.
“It could be,” Ben said. “If he buys the plan, we’ll have some more time, but if they arrest me—”
“I’m sure they’ll buy the plan,” Lisa interrupted. “It’s their best option.”
“Maybe I should call my parents first,” Ben said. “That way they won’t be surprised if they see their son on the news tonight.”
“You’re not going to be on the news,” Lisa said. “The marshals will love the plan.” Lisa noticed the panicked crease in Ben’s forehead. “But are you okay with all this?”
“I guess I am. I mean, this is what we planned. I shouldn’t be so worried….”
“But you are.”
“Of course I am,” Ben said. “It’s my life. In the next hour, I’m going to take it and flush it down the toilet. For some silly reason, that doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Do you want me to come down there with you?” Ben paused. “No.”
“I’m coming,” Lisa said, opening the closet.
“No. I’m fine,” Ben insisted, his voice shaking. “There’s no reason to get you involved.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lisa asked, coat in hand.
“I’m perfect,” Ben said firmly. “You don’t have to come.”
“Be careful.”
“I will,” Ben said, noticing that his briefcase handle was damp with sweat. “Just be sure to look for me on the news tonight. I’ll be the one in leg irons.”
“Don’t say that,” Lisa said. “You’ll be fine.”
“Thanks for lying,” Ben said. “And thanks for all the help.”
“Anytime,” Lisa said as Ben walked out the door.
As Ben rode the Metro to Pentagon City in Virginia, his stomach churned with both anxiety and anticipation. For months, he had done everything in his power to avoid this moment, and now he was actively riding toward it. As the subway crossed into Arlington, Ben wondered if he was crazy and if this current plan was really the best way to solve the problem. Steeling himself against indecision, he reassured himself that he was right. There was, after all, no other way.
Ben got out of the train and stood facing the Pentagon City Mall. Following the instructions he had been given by the receptionist, Ben walked toward the offices of the United States Marshals Service. Housed in a twelve-story contemporary office building, the U.S. Marshals Service was headquarters to ninety-five presidentially appointed marshals, including the director of the Marshals Service. Responsible for protecting the federal judiciary, they ensured the safety of federal judges as well as federal witnesses. Although Carl Lungen and Dennis Fisk protected the Supreme Court justices while they were in the District of Columbia, the main office assigned individual marshals to protect those justices who ventured outside the District.
Ben took a deep breath and pulled on the glass doors of the office building. Walking inside, he was stopped by a security guard. “Can I help you?” the guard asked.
“I have an appointment. Ben Addison.”
“With who?” the guard asked suspiciously.
“Director Alex DeRosa.”
Checking his clipboard, the guard turned to his desk and picked up the phone. “I have a Ben Addison here to see DeRosa,” the guard said. “Okay, I’m sending him up.” Looking at Ben, the guard said, “It’s the twelfth floor. You can’t miss it.”
Minutes later, Ben exited the elevator on the twelfth floor.
A receptionist was seated in front of the glass entryway that led back to a series of offices. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“I have an appointment with Director DeRosa. I’m Ben Addison.”
“Yes, he said to leave Justice Hollis’s message with me.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I have strict instructions to deliver the message personally.”
“You can deliver it to me, sir. Director DeRosa is very busy today.”
“Let me explain something to you,” Ben said, his agitation turning to annoyance. “Justice Mason Hollis is also very busy. He has three personal assistants and two legal clerks. Not to mention the three hundred Supreme Court employees who are also under his direct authority. Any of those people could have typed up the message and sent it over here. But Justice Hollis decided I should deliver it verbally. Now, if a Supreme Court justice has a message that is so important he’s not even going to put it on paper, do you really think it’s okay for me to simply leave it with you?”
Ben stared at the receptionist until she picked up her phone. “I have a Mr. Ben Addison to see you, sir. Justice Hollis asked that the message be delivered in person.” The receptionist paused. “Yes, he is quite serious about it.” Listening for another minute, the receptionist hung up the receiver and pushed a small button that unlocked the glass doors to the offices. “You may go in, Mr. Addison. He’s in the far right corner.”
Following the hallway, Ben tried to act as calm as possible. As he reached for the handle to DeRosa’s door, the door flew open. “This better be damned good,” DeRosa said, blocking the entrance to his office. Short and squat, Alex DeRosa was known for both his ruthless intellect and his lack of patience. With his sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, hairy forearms, DeRosa pointed to the single chair that was in front of his desk. “Sit.”
Military awards decorated DeRosa’s office: framed medals, ribbons, commendations, and diplomas from the Naval Academy and Columbia Law School. On the right wall of the office were photographs of DeRosa with two past presidents.
“So tell me this top-secret message,” DeRosa barked, sitting down behind his desk.
“This is a matter of great importance, but it’s not from Justice Hollis—” Ben began.
“Then what the—?” DeRosa asked, rising from his seat. “Get your ass out of here! I’m going to call Hollis personally and make sure that you—”
Ben stood as DeRosa rounded his desk. “No one knows this, but a clerk’s been leaking information from inside the Court!” he blurted. “Charles Maxwell knew about the CMI merger before it came down!”
DeRosa stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes. “Sit.” Ben sat. “Now start from the beginning. Who’s the clerk?”
Ben paused. “I am.”
“I’m still listening,” DeRosa said.
“A few weeks into the fall term, a guy named Rick Fagen, who said he was one of Hollis’s former clerks, called the office to help ease us into the position. Lots of old clerks do the same thing. It’s hard getting started there and—”
“I know how it works,” DeRosa interrupted.
“Anyway, thinking Rick was an old clerk, I was talking to him one day, and he asked me the outcome of the CMI case. I told him I couldn’t tell him, but he promised he’d keep it secret. He knew all about the ethics code we signed, and he had helped us for over a month with all our Court stuff.” Sensing DeRosa’s impatience, Ben continued, “So I casually told him the outcome of the CMI case. A few days later, Maxwell bet on a legal victory. When I tried to find Rick, he’d disappeared. His number was disconnected; his apartment was abandoned. When I tried to track him down, I found out that Rick Fagen was never a Supreme Court clerk. And for the past four months, he’s been trying to get another decision out of me.”
Still standing, DeRosa scratched his chin. “Have you given him anything else?”
“Last month, I purposely gave him the wrong outcome to the Grinnell case. But that was just to piss him off.”
DeRosa snickered.
“It got him off my back for a while. But I’m sure he’s going to approach me again.”
Silent as he thought about Ben’s predicament, DeRosa finally said, “So you violated the foremost rule of our highest Court, and now you want me to save your ass? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you taken into custody and charged with judicial interference?”
Ben looked straight at DeRosa. “I can help you get Rick.”
DeRosa walked to his chair and sat down. “Keep talking.”
Two hours later, Ben returned to the Court. “What happened? Did you do it? How’d it go?” Lisa asked before Ben was even through the door.
“I did it. I told them.”
As Ben sat in his chair, Lisa sat on the corner of his desk. “What’d they say? Tell me already!”
“Calm down, I will,” Ben said, his voice sedate.
“Don’t tell me to calm down. Tell me what happened.”
“I think it went okay. He wanted—”
“Who’s ‘he’? DeRosa?”
“Yes,” Ben said. “He’s the big man there. He wanted to hear every detail. And I mean everything. How I beat the lie detector, how Eric was contacted by Rick, how Rick reacted to Grinnell. It took me over an hour to tell it all. And after that, I told him our plan.”
