Brad Meltzer - The Tenth Justice

“I have it,” Ben said, feeling his right jacket pocket for the first hundred and his left jacket pocket for an additional two hundred.

“I still think I should go,” Nathan said.

“Stop taking it personally,” Ben said. “I told you before: Lisa and I are going. They’re more likely to believe a man and a woman.”

“Says who?” Ober asked.

“Says me,” Ben said. “Now stop whining about it. It’s no big deal.” He grabbed an umbrella from below the front seat, opened the door, and got out of the car. Lisa followed.

Walking toward the building, Ben held the umbrella over Lisa. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lisa asked.

“Not really,” Ben said.

“Then why don’t we turn around and-”

“You know I can’t,” Ben pleaded. “I have to find Rick. Right now, this is the best way to do that. If you want to leave…”

“I’m here,” Lisa reassured him. “As long as we keep it legal, I’ll be here.”

When they reached the building, Ben was surprised find the front door locked. Lisa pressed her face against the glass to get a better view of the interior. “Buzz,” she instructed. “He’s in there.”

Moments later, a buzzer sounded, allowing Ben to pull open the door. Confidently and calmly, Ben and Lisa approached the night guard, who was sitting at his metal desk. “What’s wrong?” the guard asked. “Don’t you have a key?”

“We don’t actually live here,” Ben explained.

“Then who do you want to see?” the guard asked, picking up his phone.

“We don’t want to see anyone,” Ben said. “We have a favor to ask.”

The guard hung up the phone. “I’m listening.”

“My wife and I are looking for her brother, who used to live here. He has some money of ours, and as you can imagine, we’re trying to get it back.” Ben pulled out the five twenty-dollar bills from his right pocket and put them on the guard’s desk. “We were wondering if you could help us find his lease or his forwarding address. Either piece of information would be extremely helpful.”

Staring intensely at Ben and Lisa, the guard said, “There aren’t any leases.”

“How about a forwarding address?” Ben asked. “Can you check the Rolodex for us?”

“There are no files on anyone,” the guard said. “No Rolodex. Nothing.”

“Can you double-check to be safe?” Ben asked. “Maybe there’s something in the office.” He threw another hundred dollars on the desk. “His apartment was number three seventeen. All I need is his name or address. No one will ever know.”

“If he’s your brother, why do you need his name?” the guard asked suspiciously.

“Listen, do you really need to know the answer to that?” Lisa jumped in. “This is easy money. Do you want it or not?”

The guard continued to stare at the two clerks. Finally, he picked up the money. “Make it three hundred and I’ll do it.” Ben threw another hundred on the desk. Pocketing the money, the guard stood from his chair and opened the top drawer of his desk. He then pulled out a gun and pointed it at Ben and Lisa. “I’ll count to three.”

“What’d we do?” Ben asked, raising his hands in the air.

“I know who you are,” the guard said. “Now get the hell out of here.”

“Just relax,” Lisa said.

The guard pulled back the hammer on his gun. “Get out! Now!”

Turning around, the two clerks quickly walked to the door. When they got outside, they ran.

“Get us out of here,” Ben said when he and Lisa got back into the car.

“What’s wrong?” Nathan asked as he started the engine. “Did you get the lease?”

“Drive. Just drive,” Ben said nervously. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

At twelve-thirty, the roommates returned home. “What happened?” Eric asked from the sofa, remote control in hand.

“We didn’t get a thing,” Nathan said, collapsing on the big couch. “Ben’s a wanted man in that building.”

“And we lost three hundred dollars,” Ober added, taking off his sweatshirt and throwing it on the couch.

“Where’s Lisa?” Eric asked.

“We dropped her off at home,” Ben said. “There was nothing else to talk about.”

“From what the guard said, there were no leases and no records of the building’s tenants,” Nathan explained. “The way I see it, Rick is even more sophisticated than we thought.”

“So that’s it?” Eric asked. “You’re done with your search?”

“Not at all,” Ben said, walking up the stairs. “We’re just getting started.”

“HI, MY NAME IS RICK FAGEN, AND I WAS wondering if you could help me out,” Ben said in his most diplomatic voice. “I recently disconnected my phone, but I still haven’t paid the bill, and I think it’s because you still don’t have my new address.”

“What was your old phone number, sir?” After typing in Rick’s old number, the phone company employee said, “Mr. Fagen, you are correct. We still don’t have a forwarding address for you. If you’ll give me your new address, we’ll be happy to send you a duplicate bill.”

“That’d be great,” Ben said. “My new address is Post Office Box 1227, Washington, D.C. 20037.”

“Mr. Fagen, you should receive this bill in the next few weeks,” the employee said. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“Actually, I have one last favor,” Ben said. “I just realized that when I moved, I misplaced all my old phone bills, which I need for tax purposes. Is it possible to get duplicates of those as well?”

“Certainly,” the employee said. “Let me just make a note of that here, and we’ll get those to you. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Nope. I think that’s it. Thanks for your help.” When he hung up the phone, Ben looked up at Lisa who was sitting across from him.

“Do you think the bills will really help?” she asked.

“Not really,” Ben said. “I don’t think Rick is dumb enough to call anyone important on a traceable phone. My guess is he was constantly mobile and worked most of his deals on a cell phone. The local number was probably just for me.”

“That was smart to get the P.O. box,” Lisa said, in an effort to cheer him up.

“Whatever,” Ben said. “If anyone’s watching that phone line, they already know I’m involved.”

“You don’t know that,” Lisa said. Looking at her watch, she added, “It’s almost ten. We should probably head over.”

“I don’t feel like it,” Ben said, suddenly irritated.

“Are you crazy?” she asked. “They’re handing down the CMI decision. Don’t you want to see the crowd’s reaction?”

Ben was silent.

“Well, you’re coming anyway,” she said, grabbing his hand. “We’re not supposed to miss decisions.”

Although the justices returned to work in early September, and the fall term officially began on the first Monday in October, it wasn’t until early November-when the first decisions were announced-that the energy of the Court reached critical mass. While oral arguments were heard throughout the week, decisions were handed down at precisely ten A.M. on every subsequent Monday. Open to the public, the decision sessions were always packed with tourists, press, and friends of the Court. On a typical decision day, the line began to form outside the Court at eight in the morning. For a more popular case, the lines started at six. When the Webster abortion case was handed down in 1989, local entrepreneurs found that both tourists and press would pay big money to have others wait in line for them. The result was an underground line-sitting business that covered all major media events on Capitol Hill. In anticipation of the CMI decision, the professional sitters had started lining up almost a day in advance.