Brad Meltzer - The Tenth Justice

“Hold on a second,” Nathan said. “What’s to prevent Rick from striking a plea bargain with the authorities? For all we know, he can point to the CMI case and offer up Ben on a silver platter, saying that the Supreme Court clerk is the mastermind behind the whole scheme. Then Rick walks free, and Ben gets indicted-all because of our great plan.”

“Rick would never do that,” Lisa said. “The CMI decision is probably the best thing that ever happened to him. He probably made at least a couple million dollars on that deal. If he turns in Ben, or even attracts any attention toward CMI, the SEC will be all over Charles Maxwell’s ass, even more than they are now. I’m sure Rick understands that it’s better for him to do a few years for bribery on this second decision than to lose all his money and risk the wrath of Maxwell. He’s not playing with small fish. CMI will eat him alive.”

“I’m impressed,” Nathan admitted.

“And you didn’t think she was smart,” Ben said, crossing his arms as he looked at Ober.

“Wait a minute,” Lisa said to Ober. “You didn’t think I was smart?”

“I didn’t-” Ober began.

“You?” Lisa persisted, rising from her chair. “When we were playing Scrabble last week, you tried to use the word ‘duh,’ and you think I’m stupid?”

“‘Duh’ is a word,” Ober said.

“It’s not a word!” Lisa said. “It’s a slang expression used by primates in the late twentieth century. It’s nonsense. Noise. Stupidity. But it’s not a word.”

“It’s a word,” Ober repeated.

“You can fight later,” Ben interrupted. “Right now I want to think about the plan. It sounds like our best bet is to nail him on the bribery charge. It’s not the greatest revenge, but it’s the best we can do. Now how are we going to catch him?”

“What if you wear a wire?” Nathan said. “I might be able to get one from some of my buddies who work in security.”

“Can you definitely get one?” Ben asked.

“If not, you’ll wear a tape recorder,” Lisa said. “Either way, he’s on tape.”

“I still think we should get some pictures of him,” Ober said.

“You just want to wear a disguise,” Lisa said.

“I definitely want to wear a disguise,” Ober admitted. “But I also think it’d be smart to get some physical proof of what Rick looks like.”

“That’s actually not a bad call,” Ben admitted. “Eventually, the authorities are going to have to bring him in. We might as well let them know what he looks like.” When he saw Lisa scrunch up her nose, Ben asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Huh?” she asked. “No, it’s nothing.”

“Don’t give me that,” Ben said. “I know that look. What are you worried about?”

“Well, I can’t help but think-shouldn’t we go directly to the authorities with this? I mean, we’re getting way out of our league. We might be better off asking for help.”

“No way,” Ben said. “If I do that, it means I might as well kiss my job good-bye. Besides, even if I went to the police, Rick would see us coming a mile away.”

“What makes you think that?” Lisa asked.

“Are you kidding?” Ben asked. “For the past month he’s watched our every move. Besides, it’s not like we’re doing anything so sophisticated. We’re just trying to get his voice on tape. It’s not like we’re trying to invade his hidden sanctuary located on a private island.”

Lisa turned to Ober. “Don’t worry. Rick doesn’t really have a private island. It’s just a figure of speech.”

“No duh,” Ober shot back.

“I’m serious, though,” Ben said. “If things get hairy, we can call in help. But until then, I’d like to try this by ourselves.”

THE FOLLOWING DAY, BEN AND LISA WORKED nonstop on four different decisions. After three months together, the two clerks had developed an efficient method for writing opinions. The better of the two at crafting original arguments, Ben always composed the first draft of the decision. With an aggressive writing style and uncompromising persistence, his opinions always barreled forward from introduction to conclusion. Lisa was the impeccable analyst. Ben said she had X-ray vision since she was able to see the holes in the most well-reasoned arguments. So after Ben presented his completed first draft, Lisa’s editing skills went to work. A stickler for detail and the superior logician, she usually wrote twenty-page responses to Ben’s forty-page decisions. When they’d finished their rewrite, the opinion went to Hollis.

At six o’clock, Ben shut off his computer and grabbed his jacket from the closet.

“Where are you going?” Lisa asked, looking up from the desk.

“I have a dinner date I can’t break. Eric’s aunt and uncle have been inviting us over since I got back from Europe.”

“But I still haven’t seen your first draft of the Russell decision.”

“It’s almost done. You’ll have a finished draft by tomorrow at lunch.”

“I better.”

“You will. I promise.” As Ben walked to the door, his phone rang. Assuming it was Eric calling with another excuse about why he’d be late, Ben ran back to his desk and picked up the receiver. “This is Ben,” he said.

“Hey, Ben,” Rick said. “How’s everything going?”

“What the hell do you want?” Ben asked, recognizing the voice.

“Nothing,” Rick said. “I just wanted to know what you’re up to. I understand you have a big dinner date tonight.”

“Are we still on for Saturday? Because-”

Rick hung up.

Ben slammed down the receiver.

“What’s wrong? Who was that?”

“It was Rick,” Ben said, rushing to the door.

“What’d he-” Before Lisa finished her question, Ben was gone.

Ben ran down the Court’s forty-four steps and impatiently waited for his ride to arrive. At five after six, Eric and Ober pulled up in Eric’s car. Ben was silent as he got into the pale gray Honda.

“I thought of the best name for a Mexican restaurant today,” Ober excitedly announced, turning around in his seat. “I’m going to call it Tequila Mockingbird.”

Ben didn’t say a word.

“Sorry I’m late,” Eric said. “I was-”

“Where’s Nathan?” Ben interrupted.

“We’re picking him up at home. I figured you three would want to change before dinner. Aunt Katie doesn’t require a shirt and tie.” Looking in the rearview mirror, Eric noticed the scowl on Ben’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ben said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Are you-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ben repeated.

Glancing at Ober, Eric shrugged his shoulders and headed home.

“You’re late,” Nathan proclaimed the moment the door opened. Walking inside, Ben headed straight to the kitchen.

“What’s wrong with him?” Nathan asked.

“He wouldn’t say,” Eric said. “I think something happened at work.” Sitting on the love seat, Eric asked, “Were you waiting long?”

“I want you to know it still amazes me that you are consistently five minutes late to everything,” Nathan said, looking at his watch. “I mean, I can set my watch to your lateness.”

Unaccustomed to a close shave, Eric rubbed his face. “I’m not late,” he said. “You’re messed up because you set your watch ten minutes ahead.”

“Don’t even start with that,” Nathan said. “On my watch you’re fifteen minutes late, but you’re still five minutes late in real time.”

“I’ll never understand that,” Ober said. “If you know your watch is always ten minutes ahead, then what good does it do you?”

“Au contraire, my simpleminded friend. I don’t pay attention to the-”