The Tenth Justice - Brad Meltzer [46]
“Nice to meet you,” Ben said, shaking Nash’s hand. Nash looked like the typical Blake clerk: weasely and white, with an Andover or Exeter in his background.
“So, how’s the Big House treating you?” Nash asked. “Everything the way I left it?”
“Absolutely,” Ben said, immediately annoyed by Nash’s attempt at coolness.
“You picked a great year to be at the Court,” Nash said. “This CMI thing has the whole place in an uproar.”
“It’s definitely been exciting,” Ben said.
“So what do you think?” Alcott asked. “Did Maxwell know?”
“I have no idea,” Ben said with a strained smile. “They don’t tell the clerks the important stuff.”
“Right. Of course,” Alcott said, opening up his menu. “So, what shall we have for lunch? The snapper here is wonderful.”
Looking at Ben, Nash said, “I have to tell you, the Court is the world’s most exciting place to work, but there is nothing like a free lunch at an expensive restaurant. When it comes to food, I’m like a kid in a candy store.”
Struggling to pay attention to the conversation, Ben thought about the various possibilities for escaping lunch. I bet if I set fire to the curtains, I could lose them in the confusion, he thought, staring at the menu.
“I’m not sure if you know, but we’re going to be in front of you real soon,” Alcott said. “We’re representing the respondent in the Mirsky case. Our oral arguments are set for January.”
“You have to put in a good word for us,” Nash said, laughing along with Alcott.
Maybe I could start choking on mineral water, Ben thought. That would shut them up real quick.
“So what’s the Court working on now?” Alcott asked.
“Hey, don’t even think it,” Nash jumped in as one of their two waiters placed a tiny appetizer of blackened bass on his plate. “He can’t say anything. Court business is extremely confidential. When your clerkship is over, they even make you shred any documents you still have.”
“Is that right?” Alcott said.
“Definitely. The place is airtight.” Looking at Ben, Nash said, “How’s Justice Blake doing? Still as cranky as ever?”
“That’s him,” Ben said. “The most miserable man on the Court.”
“I spoke to him recently. I’ve been calling every once in a while to give advice to his current clerks, Arthur and Steve. They seem nice.”
“They’re really nice,” Ben said.
“I just try to be helpful,” Nash said, as a waiter refilled his water. “I know how crazy it can get there.”
“Do most clerks call their former chambers?” Ben asked, taking a roll.
“Some do,” Nash said. “It depends. I think all of Blake’s clerks do because a year with Blake can be such a miserable experience.”
“He works them like dogs.”
“That’s Blake. I think all of his former clerks are bonded by knowing that we’ve all lived through a year with him. Have any of Hollis’s old clerks called you?”
“No,” Ben said bluntly. “That’s why I was curious.”
“Wait, let me think. Who was clerking for Hollis when I was there? Oh, I remember, one of them was Stu Bailey. He’s a great guy. He works at Winick and Trudeau now.”
Alcott looked annoyed at the mention of Wayne & Portnoy’s rival firm.
“I’m actually not surprised no one’s called,” Nash added. “Hollis makes you work, but deep down, he’s a big teddy bear.”
“Is that right?” Alcott asked.
“That’s not a bad description,” Ben agreed.
“Have you had any encounters with Osterman’s clerks?”
“Not really,” Ben said. “They’re the only clerks who really keep to themselves.”
“Unbelievable!” Nash said, banging the table. “Nothing changes.” Nash leaned toward Ben and lowered his voice. “When I was there, Osterman’s clerks were the worst, most