Christopher Buckley - Supreme Courtship

IT HAD BEEN THE PRACTICE, in the previous court, for the justices to shake one another’s hand before hearing oral argument, but given the dissensions and strains in the Hardwether Court, this agreeable protocol had fallen into desuetude. Paige Plympton had made efforts to resuscitate it, without success.

Silvio Santamaria refused to speak to Mo Gotbaum, much less shake his hand. In conferences, he wouldn’t even look in his direction. Mike Haro couldn’t care less for pleasantries. To judge from his thousand-yard stare and attendant spearminty aroma, Chief Justice Hardwether was focused on other things. Pepper felt sorry for him. Watching him across the room as the justices prepared to file out in threes and take their places behind the long mahogany bench in the Great Hall, Pepper thought, He looks like he could use a hug. But she was nervous enough on this, her first day of oral argument. Somehow she didn’t feel it would be appropriate to go slap him on the back and say, Hang in there, pard.

She caught Ruthless staring at her. Pepper instructed herself mentally that she had to stop thinking of her that way, lest it pop out in conversation. Oh, hey, Ruthless, how’s it going? Ruthless-that is, Justice Richter-gave Pepper a sort of wincy smile. Justice Crispus Galavanter stood in front of Pepper, who, per her most junior status, was at the back of the judicial choo-choo train. Crispus gave her a companionable wink and smile as if to say, What have you got yourself into?

Precisely at ten o’clock the Marshal of the Court nodded to the justices, held back the red velvet curtain, and pronounced the thousand-year-old French words, “Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! All persons having business before the Honorable, the Supreme Court of the United States, are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the Court is now sitting. God save the United States and this Honorable Court!”

Pepper felt her stomach go tight. Don’t screw up, she said to herself.

Her chair was on the end. Your seat gets closer to the middle as you accrue seniority. The night before, she’d come into the Great Hall and rehearsed the simple act of sitting down in it so she wouldn’t roll off the edge or tip over backward on her first day.

She took a deep breath and looked out at the people gathered before the Court. On her right, she recognized various reporters. On her left was where the guests and various-

– Aw, hell. JJ and Juanita. They must have flown in to surprise her. JJ was beaming at her as if to say, You didn’t think I was gonna miss my little darlin’s first day on the Court, did you?

She wondered: did he know that this case was about whether a criminal who’d tried to shoot a sheriff’s deputy had grounds for grievance because his gun had misfired?

Justice Santamaria looked at Jimmy James Swayle’s attorneys. There were three of them, including one with a ponytail, a famous New York lawyer who took on cases just to annoy the law enforcement establishment. Santamaria regarded them as he might a three-course meal that he intended to devour whole.

“You cite Norbert v. Stigling Auto Parts,” Santamaria said. Oral arguments plunge right in without preamble. “Where’s the relevance. I don’t see it.”

The ponytailed lawyer said, “The South Dakota Supreme Court ruled that the carburetor made by Stigling-”

“Hold on. You’re comparing a carburetor to a firearm?”

“They are both-”

“Made of metal? I grant.”

“With respect, Justice Santamaria, I was only going to point out, sub specie aeternitatis…”

“Sub specie infernalitatis, I should think,” Santamaria shot back.

Pepper thought, What in the hell are these people talking about? Had she been teleported back to the rostrum in the Roman forum?

The lawyer pushed on. “… that a carburetor and a firearm, however distinct from a mechanical point of view, are both devices that come with implicit guarantees of functionality.”

“Like an electric chair, say?”

A susurrus of laughter rippled through the Court. Justice Santamaria was frisky today.

The lawyer smiled wanly. “If you will. The relevant aspect here is that Mr. Norbert forfeited victory in his NASCAR race because his carburetor malfunctioned on the next-to-last lap. Not only did he forfeit the prize money but considerable income from product endorsements. It was this aspect that the State Supreme Court found-”

“What if Norbert’s kidneys had failed on the next-to-last lap? Could he have sued his urologist for damages?”

Another ripple of laughter.

“Actually, I’m glad you brought that up,” the lawyer said. “Absent invasivity, of course, there would be no grounds there. However, as I’m sure you’re aware, in Bosco v. Worcester Stent, the Court held that Worcester Stent was in fact liable when one of its vascular stents implanted in Ms. Bosco’s left thigh become dislodged while she was singing ‘O mio babbino caro’ at the Pierre Opera-”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Justice Santamaria said peevishly. “But that was purely on sub tecto grounds.”

A tiny ripple of approval went through the spectators, the sound of a dozen bees coming upon a satisfactory rose.

“Yes,” said the lawyer unblinkingly, “but as you’ll recall, in Norbert the Court concluded that the contract between Norbert’s racing organization and Stigling provided that the governing law was Delaware ’s. Paragraph 7.23, I believe. It was in fact that clause that-”

“Are you saying,” said Santamaria, in tones that suggested his intelligence had been insulted, “that money earned from product endorsements is qua pecunia no different from money demanded at the point of a gun during a bank robbery?”

“Oblatively, no, Justice. However, from a pro tanto standpoint, I would say that-”

“Uh-uh. No way. Not in Delaware,” Justice Santamaria grunted. “And in case you were thinking of citing Minnesota, my advice to you, sir, would be, don’t go there. The Eighth Circuit practically hired a skywriting plane to spell it out.”

Santamaria sat back heavily in his chair, which emitted an authoritative squeak.

“I wasn’t going to adduce Minnesota,” said the ponytailed lawyer, beginning to show signs of hyperventilation, “but you might agree that in Arkwright v. Gadmunster-”

Justice Plympton, who by now had had enough of Silvio’s theatrics, ventured into the turbid water. “I’m a little confused,” she said, “perhaps even a mite troubled by your invocation of Greenox v. Pesterson Hydraulics…”

Pepper’s cheeks flushed. She felt like a chickadee that had alighted on a branch with eight owls. Eight horned owls. While she could pretty much make out the references-her clerks had prepared a detailed bench memo for her-it was just all so darn… boring, really.

She thought, Here we got an idiot bank robber suing the maker of his gun. What I could do with this on Courtroom Six.

She looked over at JJ. It was clear he didn’t have the foggiest idea what they were all talking about. How could he? Should she say something? On her first day? Some justices waited weeks, months, years, before saying a word.

Justice Haro had jumped in.

“I don’t have any problem with Greenox,” he was saying to the lawyer. Justices rarely if ever address one another in oral argument. “From my review, I’m not satisfied Mr. Swayle was even aiming the gun at Deputy Fogarty. So absent mens rea, you’d have concommittant diminuendo of ballistico ad hominem. Unless,” Justice Haro shrugged with transparent insincerity, “I’m being obtuse.”

Justice Santamaria shot his fellow justice a sidelong glance of withering contempt.

Satisfied that his rhetorical question had carried the day, Justice Haro continued. “Not that that’s relevant in quem particularem insofar as the functionality of the firing pin is concerned. Which, really, is neither here nor there. But let me ask, was the firing pin manufactured by Rimski? Or was that outsourced to some… sweatshop?”