James Bell: Deadlock

How true that was. Her bank account was precariously low, her credit cards maxed out. “I believe in this case,” she said.

“’Course you do, darlin’. Mark of a good lawyer. And when I see a good lawyer, I want to make sure he – or she – gets a fair hearing. So before we go taking up a lot of time and trouble in court, how about we settle this right here and now?”

“What,” Charlene said slowly, “did you have in mind?”

“Well now, you’re asking for a whale of a lot of money, Ms. Moore. We know that’s how you play the game. I’ve got no grudge against a good game. Did you know my grandpappy played ball against Ty Cobb?”

The sudden turn threw her off balance. “Really?” she said, trying to sound interested.

“Sure enough. Baseball was a game for men back then. Tough men. And Cobb, well, he was one of the toughest. Used to slide into base with his spikes high, hoping to rip up the legs of anybody in his way. Well, my grandpappy stood in his way once. He played pro ball before settling on the law. And old Cobb, he came flying at him heading into third base, and what do you think my grandpappy did?”

Charlene could only shake her head.

“He took a step to the right, caught the ball, and slammed it into Cobb’s face. Bloodied his nose. And Cobb never tried that again with Beauregard Winsor. So, darlin’, instead of getting bloody over this, why don’t you take four hundred thousand dollars home with you? Give two thirds to your client, who will be very happy. And you’ll have more in your pocket than you’ve seen in your whole career.”

A flame ignited inside Charlene. “I’m not in this to make money,” she said. “This is about punishing an organization that scars young women.”

Winsor hardly blinked. “Why don’t you just think about it? Talk to your client. You see, if we go to trial, we’ll have to come at you with spikes high, just like ol’ Ty Cobb.”

Charlene bristled. “Then maybe we’ll have to bloody your nose.”

Winsor smiled. “Brave words, darlin’. But you ought to know one more thing. We added Larry Graebner to the team, as of this morning.”

If he had literally spiked her, the shock would not have been as great. Larry Graebner! The Yale law professor reputed to be the finest Constitutional lawyer in the country, a man on the short list of possible Supreme Court nominees, a scholar whose treatise on Constitutional law Charlene had used in law school… he was now part of the largest, most frightening legal opponent Charlene had ever seen?

“So you be sure to think it over,” Winsor said, “and get back to me now, ya hear?”

“You beat God back with a stick,” Senator Sam Levering said to Millie. “That’s no small feat.”

They were seated in Levering’s oak paneled office in the Senate building. The senator sipped a bourbon on the rocks. Millie drank a sparkling water. She did not drink much more than a little champagne on New Year’s. She had made her career with a clear, sharp mind, and did not want that to change. Especially now.

“You’re overestimating the role of one justice,” Millie said. She was still trying to figure Levering out. She’d spoken to him maybe half a dozen times in the past, but only cursorily and in a semi-official manner. Now they were face-to-face, chatting amiably.

Levering smiled his charming Oklahoma grin, the one that had gotten him reelected four times. He was sixty years old with perfect chestnut hair. “You know better’n that, Madame Justice. Which is precisely why I invited you here.”

With a short nod Levering took a sip of his drink. He wore a perfectly pressed white shirt and a maroon tie. There was a rumor he’d be in the next round of presidential candidates. Millie had no doubt he’d acquit himself like the winner he’d always been.

“They’re gonna look back on this time in history, Madame Justice, and you know what they’re gonna say about you? That you stood in the breech. That the country could have veered off in a terrible direction, but Justice Millicent Mannings Hollander was the woman fate had selected to keep her country from dying a horrible death. How’s that sound?”

Millie cleared her throat. “A little like Justice Hollander, Warrior Princess.”

With a laugh Levering said, “Maybe just like that. I mean, you handed that fancy lawyer his head today, didn’t you?”

“A justice has to ask the hard questions,” Millie said. “The lawyers know that going in.”

Levering waved his glass dismissively. Ice clinked on the sides. “You know what I’m saying. We can be open here.”

“I’m not sure I follow, Senator.”

“I’m a plain talker, Madame Justice,” Levering said. “The people in my state get up, go to work, raise kids, and what you and your colleagues do is going to affect them for a long, long time. Maybe forever. And you, Justice Hollander, are the five on the most important 5-4 majority in the history of this country.”

Deep down, she knew what he said was true. But that was not how she liked to think of herself. She wanted to be just another justice sworn to uphold the Constitution to the best of her ability. That she happened to be the key swing vote on a highly polarized court was simply the way the gavel slammed.

Levering went on. “We’d have a law against partial-birth abortion if it wasn’t for you. Can you imagine what that would have done? To women? To girls? We’d have Pat Robertson and James Dobson arresting doctors for murder. What a nightmare.”

Millie stared at the lime slice floating in her glass. That had not been an easy decision, even if Levering liked the outcome.

“And this case about religion in the schools,” Levering said. “Again with the Christian Right. You can’t get rid of ’em. But you held them back, Madame Justice, and next term – ”

“Senator,” Millie interrupted, “I would prefer that we don’t discuss anything about next term or about cases that might be considered. You know I can’t do that.”

“Well, can’t is a pretty strong word. A little bit of chat wouldn’t hurt, would it? Just between friends?”

“Senator,” Millie said, gripping her glass thoughtfully in two hands, “when FDR tried to pack the Court, you will recall, he was at the height of his popularity. He had a huge majority in the Senate and a 4-1 majority in the House. But his plans failed. You know why?”

Levering waited for her to answer.

“Because the American people knew it would hurt. They knew it was wrong even for a great president to blatantly meddle with the Court. I believe in the judgment of the people, Senator. Not only that, I hold it in trust.”

For a moment Levering looked at her, then finally nodded. “That’s all I need to hear. How’d you like to be Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court?”

There it was. She had been certain he was going to ask. It was still amazing to hear it. The first woman chief justice. Through all the political machinations of the last decade – the fractious Court appointments and hearings, the calculations and in-fighting, the public outcries and battling newspaper editorials – she had wondered if this moment would ever come. And now it was here.

Any justice with an ounce of ambition – and that was all of them – had thought about the CJ’s chair. She thought about it because the Court was her whole life, and she wanted to serve it in the highest and best way possible. To be named as the first woman CJ would be something even her mother might finally applaud.

“I can make it happen,” Levering said. “We all know Pavel wants to retire. That would mean the president would appoint the next chief, and the president and I are very good friends.”