The Tenth Justice (7 page)

“It’s not that I’m trying to leave you out of anything—”

“I know,” Nathan said. “And I’m not here because I’m afraid of being left out. I’m here because I want to help you.”

“I appreciate it,” Ben said as Nathan pulled out of the driveway. “I just didn’t want to get you involved with my problems.”

Nathan drove up Seventeenth Street, and pulled into a parking spot a few blocks from the address. “Let’s walk up.”

Ben looked up at the dark clouds. “Do you have an umbrella? It’s about to pour.”

“There should be one under your seat,” Nathan said.

Located near the city’s business district, 1780 Rhode Island was a building displaced in time. Designed in the late 1970s, it was bilious green, eight stories tall, and had tinted, full-story glass windows. A sore thumb on any architectural hand. After pushing open the heavy glass doors, Ben and Nathan walked into the lobby and approached the doorman, who was sitting at a slightly rusted metal desk in the otherwise renovated surroundings.

“Can I help you?” the doorman asked.

“I’m here to see my brother, Rick Fagen,” Ben said. “He’s in apartment three seventeen.”

The doorman stared at the two friends for a few seconds. Eventually he said, “Follow me.” Ben and Nathan glanced at each other, hesitating for a moment. But when Nathan nodded approval to Ben, they fell into step behind the doorman. Leading them up a small set of steps and past the building’s only elevator, the doorman turned down a long hallway that ran along the right side of the building. He stopped at a room marked PRIVATE and opened the door, leading them inside. “Take a seat,” the doorman said, pointing to two worn leather sofas in the waiting area. Nathan and Ben obliged, and the doorman walked through another door, which looked like it led to an office.

“You think this’ll work?” Nathan asked.

“Can’t hurt to try,” said Ben.

Nathan looked around the empty waiting area, paneled in fake knotty pine. “This place has Mafia written all over it,” Nathan whispered.

“What are you talking about?”

“It does,” Nathan said. “It smells musty like my cousin Lou’s house. We should get out of here.”

“You can go,” Ben whispered. “I’m staying.”

“This was a bad idea,” Nathan said. “For all we know, Rick could be in that room.”

Before Ben could respond, the doorman and a small man with a mustache stepped out of the office. “I’m the manager. Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Rick Fagen’s brother,” Ben said, extending a hand to the manager. “He told us to meet him here.”

The manager ignored Ben’s extended hand, and examined Ben and Nathan. Putting his hands in the pockets of his slacks, he smirked. “If you’re his brother, how come you didn’t know he moved out of here two weeks ago? Listen, people like their privacy here. If you think you’re going to fool us, you’ll have to make up a better line of bullshit than saying you’re his brother. Now, unless you’re cops, get the fuck out of here.”

The doorman opened the door, and roughly escorted Ben and Nathan outside. “I think that was pretty successful,” Nathan said as the glass door closed behind them. Standing under the building’s awning, Ben stared out into a furious downpour. Opening his umbrella, Nathan said, “Well, at least we won’t get—”

“I’m a dead man,” Ben said as he rushed into the rain, toward the car.

Throughout the drive back, Ben was silent. “C’mon, snap out of it,” Nathan said when they returned home.

“I just need to think,” Ben said, heading straight for the kitchen.

“You’ve been thinking for the past fifteen minutes. Say something.”

“What do you want me to say?” Ben raised his voice. “I just got screwed, and I jeopardized my entire career. Boy, what a wonderful day!”

“Listen, don’t take this out on me,” Nathan said. From the refrigerator, he poured himself a glass of iced tea. “I’m here for you, and I’ll do my best to help you, but don’t make me your whipping boy.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben said as he sat at the small kitchen table. “It’s just—I just—this’s a disaster.”

Nathan handed the iced tea to Ben. “That’s okay. But let’s at least do something. Focus your energy. How about we plan Rick’s death?”

“I’ve been doing that for the past three hours,” Ben said, clutching the glass. “So far, the best I can come up with is slicing off his eyelids and sitting him in front of a mirror. He’ll go insane watching himself since he won’t be able to shut his eyes.”

“That’s one way to deal with him.”

“I’m not screwing around,” Ben said. He took a gulp of tea. “I have to find this guy. If word gets out that I leaked a decision, my life is over. And without Rick, I can’t prove my innocence. At least with him, I can try to prove his link with Maxwell. Otherwise, I don’t know what else to do. Can’t we put a search on him through the State Department?”

“Not without saying why we’re looking for him. And if you do, you can say good-bye to your job.”

“And my entire career.”

“But we can do a confidential search,” Nathan blurted, his voice racing with newfound confidence. “All we need is a member of Congress to—” Hopping off the counter and grabbing the phone, Nathan dialed Ober’s number. “Hello, Ober? It’s me. We need some serious help. Are you still answering constituents’ letters?”

“Absolutely,” Ober said. “I’m the master of junk mail.”

“Then you still have access to the pen-signing machine that fakes the senator’s signature?”

“Of course,” Ober said. “Did you really think Senator Stevens signed your birthday card?”

“I need a favor,” Nathan said. “I need you to write an official request on Senate letterhead. Address it to my attention at the State Department and ask that a confidential background check be done on—what’s his name, Ben?”

“Richard or Rick Fagen,” Ben said with a wry smile. “Here’s his old phone number and address.”

After relaying the information, Nathan told Ober, “Make sure that the letter says that all correspondence should go to me.”

“What’s this for?” Ober asked suspiciously.

“I’ll tell you later,” Nathan said. “Now’s not the time.”

“But isn’t this illegal?” Ober asked.

“Kind of, but it’s an emergency,” Nathan said. “We need this information.”

“Actually, I have a way around the illegal part,” Ben said, grabbing the phone from Nathan. “Ober, it’s me,” he said. “Let me ask you a question: What do you do when a wacko writes a letter to the senator?”

“It depends,” Ober said. “Serious death threats go straight to the Secret Service. But if it seems like the writer is just a regular wacko, we’re supposed to use our discretion.”

“Perfect,” Ben said. “Then here’s what you do: Write a fake death threat to the senator and sign it Rick Fagen. But make the letter a little weird. That way, if anyone ever asks why you opened the investigation, you’ll give them the letter and say you were just trying to protect the senator’s life.”

“Nicely played,” Nathan said, taking back the phone. “Ober, one last thing. Make sure we get a good signature on the autograph machine. You can spot those fake ones a mile away.” Nathan said good-bye and hung up the phone. “Feeling a little better?”

“A little.” Ben wiped his still-wet hair from his forehead. “By the way, thanks for coming home.”

“You give the order, I follow it,” Nathan said, saluting his friend.

Later that afternoon, the phone rang in Ben’s room. “Hello?” he answered, stretching from his bed to pick up the receiver.

“Ben, it’s Lisa. I just called to see how you were feeling.”

“I’m doing okay,” Ben said, uncomfortable about lying. “It was just some stomach cramps.”

“Are you bullshitting me?” Lisa asked. “Because I’ll come straight over there after work.”

“I swear, I’m okay,” Ben said, lying back on his bed and staring at the ceiling. “I have an upset stomach and I wasn’t feeling well. Is that okay?”

“Sure. Fine,” Lisa said. “So, how much have you missed me?”

“Tons. Now what happened today? Anything exciting?”

“Nothing really. Everyone’s been talking about the Charles Maxwell case. Hollis is worried that once the decision is announced, everyone is going to scream that he had an inside source.”

“It’s definitely possible,” Ben said as he fidgeted with the vertical blinds that covered his window.

“I guess,” Lisa said. “I just think the media sucks Carter’s left peanut. They cry conspiracy at the drop of a hat.”

“Carter’s left peanut?”
Ben laughed. “What decade are you living in?”

“You never heard that? That’s a famous saying.”

“I’m sure it was,” Ben said sarcastically, “back when there was an oil crisis.”

“Listen, I don’t need to be made fun of. I have better things to do. Meanwhile, who sent you the flowers?”

Quickly realizing he’d forgotten to throw away Rick’s bouquet, Ben tried to stall. “What flowers?” he stammered.

“There’s a giant basket sitting on your desk.”

“They’re probably from my mother. I told her I wasn’t feeling well last night.”

“Do you want me to open the card?” Lisa asked. “Because I can see the envelope right next to—”

“No!” Ben yelled. “Leave it alone.”

“Sorry,” Lisa said. “I didn’t—”

“It’s not your fault. I just don’t like people opening my mail.”

“Maybe I should take the week off from work,” Ben said as he and Nathan made dinner.

“No way,” Nathan said, dicing a large onion. “You don’t want to call attention to yourself. The best thing you can do is just go about your business.”

“I won’t be able to concentrate, though. I have to find Rick. I have to—”

“Forget it,” Nathan interrupted. “What are you going to do? Wander aimlessly around the city until you bump into him? If Ober opened the investigation correctly, we’ll have some information by the end of the week.” He pulled the lid off the rice cooker and a fragrant cloud of steam wafted into the room. “Have you decided whether you’re going to tell Ober what happened?”

“I have to,” Ben said as he set out two plates on the table. “He’s my friend.”

“He’s also a moron,” Nathan added.

“Yeah, but he’s still my friend. And he has a right to know what that letter’s about.”

“How about Eric?” Nathan asked as he dumped the diced onion into a saucepan.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to drag everyone into this. It’s bad enough you two are involved.”

“I appreciate the concern, but I think you should tell Eric. Maybe some of his contacts at the paper can find out something about Rick’s building.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Ben agreed.

“Have you thought about telling Hollis?”

“I can’t,” Ben said, shaking his head. “He’d lose all respect for me. Not to mention having to fire me for violating the Code of Ethics.” As he put out forks and napkins on the table, he added, “I think I may tell Lisa, though.”

“Bad idea,” Nathan said. “Definitely a bad idea. You hardly even know her. What makes you think she won’t turn you in?”

“She wouldn’t,” Ben said. “Lisa’s a great friend. Besides, she has a right to know. She’s spoken to Rick. For her safety alone, I have to tell her.”

“She’s in no danger. You don’t have to say a thing.”

“I do,” Ben said. “It’s the right thing to do. If the situation were reversed, I’d want her to tell me. Besides, with all those flowers Rick sent to the Court, it’s clear that he isn’t just going away. I think he’s trying to tell me that he knows how to reach me—and if that’s the case, I have to warn Lisa.”

“Just be careful,” Nathan said. “I would hate to see it backfire on…Damn!” Nathan missed a clove of the garlic he was chopping and sliced into his finger. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled.

“Are you okay?” Ben asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Nathan said. He ran his bleeding finger under the faucet. “It’s just a tiny cut.”

“Those’re the ones that hurt the most.”

Just then, Ober and Eric returned. “Home, crap home,” Ober announced as he walked through the door. Heading straight for the kitchen, he looked at Nathan. “Now what was all that secrecy about today? What the hell happened?”

Holding his finger and looking at Ben, Nathan was silent.

“I got into a bit of trouble,” Ben said, trying to be as casual as possible.

“It better be bad,” Ober said. “Writing fake death threats to a senator could get me thrown in jail.”

“You wrote a death threat to a senator?” Eric asked, stealing a slice of red pepper from the cutting board.

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Ben said, “but you have to swear you won’t say a word.” He quickly explained everything that had happened, including his and Nathan’s encounter at Rick’s old building.

“You’re a dead man,” Ober said. “They’re probably plotting your death right now.”

“I told you not to tell him,” Nathan said to Ben.

“Eric, do you think you can find out anything about this building from people at work?” Ben asked.

“I’ll try,” Eric said, not meeting Ben’s eyes.

“What?” Ben asked, noticing Eric’s uneasiness.

“This is no joke,” Eric said, sitting at the kitchen table. “This guy Rick, whoever he is, isn’t some petty scam artist. You can’t just walk up to Charles Maxwell and say, ‘I’ve got a secret.’ Rick’s got to be connected.”

“I’m sure he is,” Ben said. “When we went to his building today, the manager wouldn’t say a single word about him.”

Eric paused for a minute, then said, “I know you may think this a crazy option, but if you want, you can go to the press with this.”

“No way,” Ben said. “If the Court learns I violated the ethics code, they have to fire me, and my career is ruined. And on top of that, I’d look like a fool in front of millions of people.”

“You did get suckered pretty badly,” Ober said as he reached for his own piece of red pepper.

“Thanks,” Ben said. “Thanks for your support.” He looked at Eric. “At this point, I still want to see what we can find out ourselves. My career is in enough jeopardy, and the last thing I want to do is publicize that fact.”

“Whatever you want,” Eric said. “It’s your life.”

When Ben returned to work the next day, he immediately searched for the card from the floral bouquet. Ripping up the tiny note, Ben thought about what to do with the basket. He didn’t want to keep it around, but was afraid that if he threw it away, Lisa would be even more curious. He eventually put the bouquet on top of one of the file cabinets. That way, he could decorate the office and say the flowers were from his mother.