Brad Meltzer - The Tenth Justice

“You don’t understand.”

“I definitely understand, Ben. You’re mad because he beat you on the I.Q. test.” Lisa sat down next to him on the sofa. “Get your head out of your ass. It’s not your fault. You weren’t stupid or gullible. You did what any smart person would’ve done. You just got set up. Rick played you and you have to accept that.”

“Can’t I just sulk a little more?”

“You get thirty more seconds,” Lisa said, looking down at her watch. She waited. “Okay, time’s up. You done?”

“How’d the decision go today?” Eric asked Ben later that night as they sat in front of the television.

“It was fine. What was the Washington Herald’s take on the whole affair?”

“They went crazy with it,” Eric explained between mouthfuls of cereal. “Wait until you see tomorrow’s edition. The front page has a massive picture of Maxwell minutes after the decision. He’s wearing this shit-eating grin that just about makes you want to vomit.”

“Great.”

“And the Sunday edition is running a massive piece on him. The guy is getting better press than the pope.”

“Great,” Ben repeated, flipping through channels. He stopped on CNN, then caught a glimpse of Maxwell and continued flipping.

“CMI stock flew up almost seventeen points by the end of closing today.”

“Great. Eric, can you go to the kitchen and get me a knife? I want to gouge my eyes out.”

“Oedipus, huh?” Eric said, shoveling another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “That’d be a good look for you.”

Without warning, Ober walked into the house singing, “Guess who’s stopped answering phones in Senator Stevens’s office?”

“You got a promotion?” Eric asked, jumping up to embrace his friend.

Nathan strolled in behind Ober. “He got the promotion?” Ben asked.

“You won’t believe this one,” Nathan said. “Ober, tell the story.”

“Oh, you’ve got to hear this,” Ober said. “This is mondo.”

“Mondo?” Eric laughed. “This isn’t L.A. Get out of here with that crazy talk.”

“Just let him tell the story,” Ben said.

“Here’s the story,” Ober began. “Remember when you had me write that fake death threat from Rick to Senator Stevens?” Ben nodded. “Apparently, the staff director found out that I started a State Department computer search on Rick. Last week, she came up to me and asked me why I did it, so I told her I was just being cautious-that I didn’t think it was a real death threat, but I wanted to be extra safe. This week, she calls me into her office and tells me that I’m their newest legislative assistant. I’ll be responding to all of the constituent complaints on zoning laws and orange juice subsidies.”

“Clearly, you’re at the forefront of Stevens’s re-election campaign,” Ben said.

“It gets better,” Nathan said. “Ober, show them the letter.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ober said, opening the leather briefcase his parents had bought him for graduation. He pulled out a single piece of paper and handed it to Ben.

“Dear William,” Ben read aloud as he stood in the living room. “Thank you so much for your follow-up efforts on the recent threat on my life. Your actions are a shining example of the kind of initiative few people are willing to take. I hope you know how much I appreciate all of your work. Marcia tells me you are doing a wonderful job. Keep up the fight.”

“Read the closing,” Ober said, laughing.

“Your friend, Paul.”

“He signed it ‘Paul’?” Eric asked, grabbing the letter from Ben’s hands.

“And I’m his friend,” Ober said.

“This is unbelievable,” Ben said.

“Unprecedented,” Nathan said.

“Unheard of.”

“Impossible.”

“It’s fantastic!” Ben continued.

“They’re mondo stupid!” Ober shouted. “And I got a promotion out of it!”

As Ober and Eric danced around the room, Ben asked, “Have you ever read ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’?”

“Exactly,” Nathan said as the phone rang.

“Hold on a second.” Ben walked to the kitchen to get the phone. Picking up the receiver, he answered, “Hello?”

“Hello, Benjamin.”

“Hi, Mom,” Ben said.

“Benjamin, let me ask you a question. Did you have anything to do with that Charles Maxwell decision that came down today?”

“Not really,” Ben said, rolling his eyes. “That was handled by another justice’s clerks.”

“But you knew the decision before it happened, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Of course, Mom. I knew it three months ago.”

“Thank you,” Sheila Addison said. “Now why don’t you tell your father because he’ll never believe it if I say it. The man thinks that just because he’s a columnist, he knows everything.”

“Mom, is there anything else?” Ben asked. “We’re in the middle of celebrating. Ober just got a promotion.”

“Good for him!” Sheila said. “Oh, Barbara will be so proud. Put him on the phone, I want to say hello.”

“I’m not putting him on the phone,” Ben said.

“Well, tell him I better see him when you guys come home for Thanksgiving. By the way, do you know if you’re coming in Tuesday or Wednesday yet?”

“It’s still three weeks away. I have no idea,” Ben said. Hoping to change the subject he asked, “What else is going on at home?”

“Nothing really,” Sheila said. “I got a piece of mail for you today. It looked like an important bill, so I didn’t know if you wanted me to open it before I sent it to you.”

“Who’s it from?” Ben asked.

“The return address says ‘Mailboxes and Things.’ It has a big stamp on it that says ‘Second Notice.’”

Recognizing the name of the store where he had opened his P.O. box, Ben was confused. He’d already paid them in advance, he thought. “Open it,” he said.

“It’s definitely a bill,” she said. “It says that if you don’t pay the balance, your P.O. box, number thirteen twenty-seven, will be closed, and your mail confiscated. Why do you have a P.O. box, Benjamin?”

“What was the number of the box?” Ben asked, ignoring his mother’s question.

“Thirteen twenty-seven.”

“It must be a mistake. That’s not my box.”

“Should I send you the bill?”

“No, I’ll just go down there tomorrow to fix it. Listen, I really have to go. Give my love to Dad.” Ben hung up the phone and returned to the living room.

“Are you coming out with us?” Ober asked. “We’re going to celebrate my promotion.”

“Of course I’m coming,” Ben said, grabbing his coat from the hall closet. “Miracles like this happen only once a decade.”

Walking into Boosin’s Bar, Ober inhaled the smell of stale beer and smoldering cigarettes. “Ahhh, there’s nothing like bar whiff,” he said. “I feel like I’m back in college.” Their regular haunt since they had arrived in D.C., Boosin’s was the second home for much of Washington’s young shirt-and-tie crowd. It wasn’t long before they were approached by their regular waitress at their usual spot in the back.

“Hey, Tina,” Ben said.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“Ober got promoted today. We’re hoping to fill him with so much beer that he falls down and vomits in joyous celebration.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said as she headed to the bar. She returned with two pitchers and four glasses. After filling each of the roommates’ glasses, Nathan raised his glass in a toast.

“To Ober. May dumb luck embrace you in all of your travails.”

After the friends toasted, Ben put his hand on Ober’s shoulder. “I’m really proud of you, my friend.”