Brad Meltzer - The Tenth Justice

“Your choice,” Eric said, rolling up his window. “See you tonight.”

“I hope,” Ben said. “If you don’t hear from me by dinner, it means I’m still in the middle of my plea bargain.”

As the car pulled away, Ben continued his walk up the block. When he reached the commercial section of the neighborhood, his eyes darted everywhere. At the old man pulling his grocery cart along the snow-covered sidewalk. At the undeterred athlete jogging with her black labrador. At the supermarket employee shoveling the sidewalk. At the overweight woman struggling to keep her footing. Still jumpy, Ben reached his favorite bakery. I really have to calm down, he told himself as he stepped inside. There’s no one following me. After a quick bagel and a fresh banana, Ben wiped his mouth, zipped his coat, and stepped back into the cold. Immediately he saw that the only thing between him and the Metro station was the man in the navy coat and the brown fedora.

Cautiously, Ben inched up the block, trying to identify the approaching stranger. The man appeared to be Rick’s height, but heavier. But then, it was a heavy coat, Ben thought. As his heartbeat accelerated, Ben tried to convince himself that it was just his imagination. Relax, he told himself. There’s no reason to get crazy. When they were ten feet apart, Ben pulled off his right-hand glove and made a tight fist, determined to swing if the man made a suspicious move. When he was five feet away, Ben was sweating furiously. As they were about to pass each other, Ben was frantic, his mind preparing for every possible scenario.

Holding his breath as the man walked by him, Ben fought the urge to turn around. It wasn’t until he was well past the stranger that he finally breathed a sigh of relief. All that perspiration for nothing, Ben told himself, forcing a laugh. As he was about to turn to get one last look at the man, Ben’s neck snapped back as he was grabbed from behind. He felt an arm wrap firmly around his neck, while a hand in a navy coat sleeve shoved a pungent handkerchief into his face. Instinctively, Ben threw his head back, slamming it into his attacker’s nose.

“Son of a bitch!” the man yelled, releasing Ben and grabbing his bleeding nose.

Coughing as he ran up the block, Ben struggled to catch his breath. As he passed the supermarket, he looked back and saw that his attacker was in pursuit. Ben dropped his briefcase and grabbed the snow shovel from the hands of the supermarket employee. As the man approached him, Ben swung the shovel wildly. “Stay the hell away from me!”

“Calm down,” the man said. “I’m not here to hurt you.” As the man tried to keep Ben’s attention, Rick turned the corner and was slowly sneaking up behind Ben.

“Who are you?” Ben asked. “Who sent you?”

“I’m on your side,” the man said. “I swear. I’m from the Justice Department.” His eyes were locked over Ben’s shoulder.

Following the man’s gaze, Ben spun around, swinging the shovel blindly as he turned. To his surprise, the flat side of the shovel connected with Rick, who would’ve otherwise grabbed him. “I don’t believe it,” Ben said. When Rick fell to the ground, Ben took the shovel and hit Rick once more in the head. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Ben screamed. “This is my life!”

Ben yelled at the supermarket employee. “Call the police!”

“We are the police,” Rick’s accomplice said to the employee. “Don’t call anyone.”

“Grab him already, Claremont!” Rick yelled, holding his ear, which was covered in blood.

Throwing the shovel at Claremont, Ben turned around and ran down the block.

“Follow him!” Rick yelled, even though Claremont was already in motion.

Faster and more athletic than either of his attackers, Ben ran back toward the residential part of his neighborhood. Hopping fences and racing through backyards, Ben crisscrossed between houses so his pursuers never had him in sight for longer than a few seconds. He turned down one driveway, made a left when he reached the backyard, hopped over a fence into the next-door neighbor’s garden, ran to the back of the garden, hopped over a fence that put him in a connecting backyard, and ran back out another driveway. Weaving through the neighborhood, Ben knew that the only house he had to avoid was his own. If his two attackers had split up, one of them would definitely be waiting there. As the cold air packed his lungs, he worked his way back toward the supermarket, staying off the main streets and navigating through the garbage-filled alleys. Hoping he had lost his pursuers, he ran toward Boosin’s Bar, the only place he knew that had a pay phone and, more important, a back door. He took one last look around and then entered the bar.

Ben headed directly for the back of the bar. He shoved open the door to the men’s rest room, entered a stall, and locked it. He bent over and tried to catch his breath. As the warmth of the bathroom replaced the cold of the outdoors, Ben felt like he was burning up. He pulled off his jacket, then lifted the toilet seat and vomited the banana and bagel he had just eaten. When his stomach was empty, he convulsed with dry heaves, as his body reacted to the panic that flooded his mind. He flushed the toilet and sat down, shaking. I can’t believe this, he thought, his elbows resting on his knees. What the hell is happening? As he dabbed his forehead with toilet paper, Ben’s body temperature eventually returned to normal, and the color slowly returned to his face.

Twenty minutes later, convinced that Rick and his colleague were long gone, Ben left the rest room. He searched his pockets for change and pulled out a few coins, which he inserted into the pay phone. As he dialed Lisa’s number, his eyes darted through the bar, which was filled with a few basketball fans who were eating breakfast before the first game of the day.

“Hello,” Lisa answered.

“You will not believe what just happened to me,” Ben said, his voice racing. “I just got attacked by Rick and some other guy. They jumped me and tried to kidnap me. I slammed them in the head with a shovel and ran for-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Lisa said. “One thing at a time. Start over.” After hearing his explanation of the past half hour, she said, “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” Ben said.

“Did you get a good look at Rick’s partner?”

“Not really. My mind was running at full speed. All I remember is that he was trying to tell me that he was from the Justice Department.”

“Do you think he was?”

“Of course not,” Ben said. “The Justice Department doesn’t attack people with chloroform. He just didn’t want them to call the cops.”

“Who was he, then?”

Ben’s eyes were focused on the front door of the bar. “Either Rick’s lackey or the guy Rick’s using to make money on American Steel.”

“Why would Rick need a new person? American Steel’s a public company. Rick can buy all the stock he wants.”

“But you need money to buy stock. And presumably, Rick was wiped out from Grinnell. He needs someone who already has a lot of American Steel stock or who’s willing to put up the funds. Otherwise, he’s-” Ben looked at his coat on the floor. “Damn,” he said. “I just realized I left my briefcase by the supermarket. I’m sure they grabbed it.”

“You didn’t leave the decision in there, did you?”

“Of course not. But the letter I was working on is in there. Which means they know that I’m turning myself in.”

“They knew that the moment you didn’t show up at the museum yesterday,” Lisa said. “Meanwhile, have you called Nathan and Eric?”

“Not yet. Why?”

“Call them,” Lisa demanded. “If Rick’s running around your neighborhood, the first place he’s going to check is your house. Are they still home?”