The Tenth Justice - Brad Meltzer [113]
Ben sat down, crossed his legs, and said nothing.
“So tell us what’s been happening with your life,” Lungen said. “How’s your friend Eric?”
“I have no idea,” Ben said. “I haven’t spoken to him in weeks.”
“That’s too bad,” Lungen said, sitting in one of the two chairs behind the desk. Lungen leaned forward, so that his elbows rested on his knees. “But you still live together, don’t you?”
“Not for long,” Ben answered. “He’s moving out the first of the year.”
“I guess he’s moving to a bigger place now that he’s a hot shot at the paper. I saw that he’s covering all Supreme Court stories.”
“He’s moving out because I’m making him move out,” Ben said, struggling to remain composed.
“I know what you mean,” Fisk said, still fidgeting with the wires. “If I were you, I’d definitely be mad that my roommate wrote about my involvement with the whole CMI thing.”
“Listen, you better control your sidekick,” Ben said to Lungen. “If he wants to make an accusation like that, he’d better have proof. Otherwise, I’d be thrilled to slap your office with workplace harassment and defamation suits.”
“Fisk didn’t mean anything,” Lungen said defensively. “We’re all just a little anxious.”
“Well, I told you before and I’ll tell you again, I was as surprised about the CMI fiasco as you were.”
“But you do still admit that you leaked information to Eric about Blake’s resignation?” Lungen asked.
“I definitely did,” Ben said, his voice even-tempered and steady. “And as far as I know, there’s nothing illegal about that. I was just trying to help my friend.”
“So now Eric’s your friend again?” Fisk interrupted.
“No, not at all. The Blake incident took place before Eric wrote the CMI story. In case you’re having trouble with temporal relationships, that means it happened before I was mad at him.” Smiling, Ben watched as Fisk’s jaw shifted slightly off-center. “Now, I know you’re supposed to intimidate me with an hour of questions, but can we get on with this?”
“Hook him up,” Lungen told Fisk.
Fisk rolled up Ben’s sleeve and wrapped a Velcro pad around his arm.
“I thought you needed an expert to administer the test,” Ben said.
“I’m trained to do it,” Fisk shot back.
“Oh, then I know I’m in good hands,” Ben said sarcastically. “Your middle name is Impartial. Dennis Impartia—”
“Shut up.”
When the rest of the instruments were attached, Fisk sat in the empty seat on the other side of the desk. “I want you to take ten deep breaths,” Fisk instructed. “On the tenth, just remain as calm as possible. Then we’ll take your baseline reading.”
Following Fisk’s instructions, Ben took ten deep breaths. When he saw Lungen pull a sheet of notes from his jacket pocket, Ben tried to remain tranquil; closing his eyes, he ignored the image and thought about hang-gliding in the South of France.
When he heard the machine whir with electronic buzzes and beeps, Ben opened his eyes and looked straight ahead. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw Lungen writing on the sheet of paper.
Fisk opened one of the drawers in the desk and pulled out a deck of playing cards. “Look over here,” he said to Ben.
So predictable, Ben thought, struggling to remain in control.
“Here’s the thing,” Fisk explained. “I’m going to hold up a card and you’re going to tell me what the card is. If you tell the truth, you’ll see the little pencil on the machine stay still. If you lie, the pencil will scribble a bit wider.”
“Are you sure you’re trained to tell the difference?” Ben asked.
“That’s funny, smart-ass. We’ll see who’s laughing in an hour.”
“Calm down,” Rick said, cradling the telephone between his shoulder and chin.
“I’m serious—I want my money.”
“I told you, you’ll get the rest as soon as I’m sure Ben is out of my hair.”
“How much more out of your hair do you want him? I told you everything he knows, everything he’s doing, everything he’s thinking—”
“And when I complete my transaction, you’ll have your money.”
“I can’t believe how scared you are of Ben. For such a know-it-all, you can be a real coward.