The Outsider

by Anthony Franze

  Keir stomped out of the room. Mike followed after him, mimicking Keir’s melodramatic gait. He flashed them a smile before marching out.

  “That guy can never be serious, he’s got no respect,” Praveen said.

  Gray gave Praveen a hard look, and Praveen’s eyes hit the floor. Not the best time for Praveen to get on his high horse.

  “Let’s split up,” Gray said. “We approach Justice Marcus’s clerks one-on-one. They’re more likely to speak freely that way. And maybe one of them disagrees with their boss and will be willing to try to convince Marcus to go our way.”

  Lauren nodded. “Praveen, you know Mark, right?”

  “Yes, we were in the same section at Stanford.”

  “Okay, you take him. I’ll take Noah. He’s always looking at my ass, so maybe that will help. Gray you try the same strategy with Helen. She thinks you’re cute.”

  “Is it the scar? The girls always like the scar,” Gray said with a smirk.

  Gray found Helen in the courtyard outside. She was sitting at one of the iron patio tables eating her lunch out of a Tupperware container. She had red hair and freckles, and a high voice that Gray suspected caused people to underestimate her. He’d heard she was brilliant.

  “Pretty good weather for November, right?” Gray said. He sat down next to Helen.

  Helen looked up from the brief she was reading. “A lot nicer than Cambridge in November.” She took a bite of fruit from the container.

  “You traveling for Thanksgiving?” Gray asked.

  “I leave for home tonight. Trying to get some things wrapped up before I go.” She looked down at the brief again, signaling that she didn’t have time for chitchat.

  “Where’s home?”

  Helen’s eyes lifted again. She rested her fork in the container. She gave him a long, skeptical look. Then: “I can save you a lot of time with the small talk. He’s not budging on Filstein.”

  “Filstein? What makes you think I’m here about Filstein?” He gave Helen a sly grin.

  A faint smile crossed Helen’s lips. She stared over at the lamppost in the courtyard for a long moment. “You ever notice all the turtles worked into the architecture around here?”

  Gray followed her glance. There were turtle sculptures at the base of the lamppost. “No, I never noticed them before.”

  “There’s actually all kinds of animals around the building. I never noticed them either, but Justice Marcus can’t walk anywhere in the building without pointing them out. He says the turtle represents the slow, deliberate pace of the law. He thinks the court, like the turtle, should move slowly.”

  Gray understood where she was going with this. “So just because the drone policy has been around for a long time, that’s a good reason not to change it?”

  Helen shrugged. Then, she added, “Besides, after what the chief did in the Anton Troy case, it’s not like Justice Marcus is in the mood to do him any favors.”

  Gray was taken aback. Justice Marcus always voted to stop executions. “What do you mean?” Gray asked. “The chief voted to stay Troy’s execution. He and Marcus were on the same side on that one.”

  Helen emitted a faint noise of disbelief. “Maybe you don’t know your boss as well as you think you do.”

  Gray wished Helen a happy Thanksgiving, then skulked out of the courtyard, his thoughts more on Anton Troy than the Filstein case. In the hallway, he noticed a small lion’s head carved into a bronze gate. Then, on the trim framing the elevator doors, an owl. Helen wasn’t kidding about all the animals. Gray recalled Agent Milstein’s question: Is there anyone around the court who likes owls?

  He stopped by Keir and Mike’s office, but the lights were out and their computer screens dark. They must’ve given up. He then went to his office. Even Praveen was gone. Gray gathered up his things and decided to see if he could catch Lauren before she took off. Both her parents had passed away, but she said her aunt was visiting for the holiday. He walked up to the second floor and past the hallway filled with stacked chairs used for events in the East Conference Room. He tapped on Lauren’s door.

  Lauren poked her head out and looked down both ends of the hallway. She pulled him inside, then shut and locked the door.

  She pressed her body against his. Their lips met. A Rachel-McAdams-and-Ryan-Gosling-in-the-rain kiss that nearly buckled Gray’s knees. As Lauren unbuttoned his suit pants, she whispered in his ear: “Since I won’t see you tomorrow, I wanted to give you something to be thankful for.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Gray’s mom answered the door on Thanksgiving wearing an apron over her favorite blouse. She hugged Gray, then took the wilting flowers he’d picked up at CVS. In the living room, Gray’s father sat facing the old television. Emilio was on the floor sorting through some trading cards. He jumped up when he saw his uncle, and hugged Gray’s waist.

  “The stranger returns!” Miranda called out from the kitchen.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” his mom said.

  “Tell him to get off his ass and get his own drink,” Miranda said. “And perhaps help us out in here. What is this, 1950?”

  “Miranda, watch your language,” his mom said.

  Gray sauntered over and peeked in the oven at the turkey. He picked up the spoon for the mashed potatoes and was going to steal a taste, when his mother smacked the top of his hand lightly.

  “Go relax with your father,” she said.

  Miranda rolled her eyes.

  His father nodded hello, but kept his glance on the television. Gray sat on the floor next to Emilio.

  “Excited for your big day coming up?” Gray said to his nephew.

  “Mom said I can have my birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese!” Emilio gave a gap-toothed smile.

  “Birthday? I meant your other big day. I heard you were getting married.”

  “Nooooo,” Emilio giggled.

  Gray glanced down at the playing cards. He recognized them. “I see Grandma found my old Pokémon cards? Do kids still collect these things?”

  “Not really.”

  “But you like them?”

  He looked up at Gray with his large brown eyes. In a whisper, he said, “I’d rather play the Pokémon game on Mom’s phone, but she won’t let me. But it makes Grandma happy to see me playing with the cards. Mom says it reminds her of when you were a little boy. It also means I don’t have to help in the kitchen.”

  “Smart,” Gray said. He picked up one of the cards, his thoughts meandering to the days when he, Arturo, and Sam would spend hours sitting on that very floor, the cards spread out in front of them. The carpet was different. Dad had replaced it himself, but otherwise the apartment was stuck in time. His home was always a sanctuary for Arturo and Sam. A safe place.

  On cue, Sam arrived at the door. She held a bottle of wine and cheek-kissed everyone hello.

  “Your mother couldn’t make it?” Gray’s mom asked.

  “She’s not feeling well,” Sam said. They all knew what that meant.

  An hour later, they held hands as Dad said grace, then stood and carved the turkey.

  “Your sister said you brought a girl to Sam’s show. Someone special?” His mom smiled.

  “Her name is Lauren. She’s my co-clerk.” Gray took some turkey from the platter and passed it on. “I’ll keep you posted if you need to start scouting wedding chapels.”

  His mom let out a sigh, shaking her head at the deflection.

  Sam jumped in. “I don’t know, he looked pretty taken with her. I haven’t seen him that smitten since Jessica Silva in the seventh grade.”

  Miranda said, “He dodged a bullet with Jessica. I saw her at Safeway. She’s got five kids and a giant ass.”

  “Miranda!” his mom said, laughing in spite of herself.

  “How’s the job going?” his father asked.

  “It’s going great, actually. I’m working on my first opinion.”

  “I thought the justices write the law?”

  “They do, but the cler
ks do the first drafts of the opinions. And if the chief likes it, he’ll use a lot of my draft. So my words will be in a Supreme Court case forever.”

  “That’s wonderful, Grayson,” his mom said.

  “You know what you’re gonna do when the clerkship ends?” his dad asked.

  “The term ends in June, so I have some time to think about it, but I’ll probably take a job at a big law firm.”

  “I thought you wanted to do public interest work?” His dad cut into his turkey roughly, his eyes not leaving Gray’s.

  “Yeah, someday. But the firms pay a $400,000 signing bonus.”

  His father guffawed. “Four hundred thousand dollars? For what, writing papers?”

  “It’s not just writing papers. Corporate clients want the best, and the Supreme Court clerks are considered the best.”

  Gray caught the look from Sam. But she always stayed out of the scuffles he had with Dad.

  “There’s more to life than money,” his father added.

  “I know that, Dad. But if I commit to three years at a firm, I get a four hundred–K signing bonus, then two hundred-a-year salary. A million in three years. I can pay off my student loans. And pay you back…”

  “I’m in no rush.”

  Gray’s mother reached for Dad’s hand, signaling for him to stop.

  “Can’t you just be happy for me?”

  “I am happy for you, it’s just—”

  “It’s just what?”

  His father picked at his food. He seemed to be pondering, deciding on the words. “When I was a boxer—”

  Gray interrupted with an exasperated groan. He’d spent a lifetime indulging his father’s ringside wisdom. He loudly plopped a scoop of mashed potatoes on his plate.

  “Grayson Manuel Hernandez,” his mother said. It was never good when she said his full name. No escaping it now, he’d be hearing Dad out.

  “When I was a boxer,” his father repeated, “the biggest fight I ever had was at this arena in Colonia Doctores. We was so poor then.” Dad glanced at Gray’s mom, who held a reflective smile. Gray’s parents tended to romanticize their poverty. “So, I’m excited, anxious, this was gonna be my big break. And they take me to this fancy dressing room where I met the promoter. I go in there trying to act like it’s all no big deal and I meet the guy, an American, who wore this expensive suit and this big gold watch.” His father cupped his hand at his wrist, like he was holding something the size of a baseball. “So after everybody had been introduced he pulled me aside, asked if everyone was treating me okay. He told me he used to be a fighter. I’d never really been around anyone who’d made a lot of money fighting, and he was a nice man, so I decided to ask him for some advice. I told him I had a family and I was tired of working for nothing. I wanted a better life for you and your sister.” His mother tightened her squeeze on Dad’s hand. “You know what he told me?”

  Gray bit the side of his lip, then raised his hands: Do tell.

  “He told me to stop boxing. If I cared about my family, I should stop while I could. Before it was one hit too late.” His father’s tone intensified. “I told him boxing was my dream, the only thing I was good at. I just needed one big fight, one big payday. I thought he was crazy. And, he said something I’ve never forgotten. I didn’t understand it then, but now that I’m older…” his voice trailed off.

  Gray let the thought sit there. His dad didn’t speak. He was gonna make Gray ask. May as well get it over with. “So, what was it? What’d he say?”

  “He told me about a Chinese proverb, a warning. It goes, May all your dreams come true.”

  Gray scoffed. Chinese wisdom from a Mexican who sold Italian food for a living. Gray said, “Can’t you ever just—” He was interrupted by the ring of his phone. His mother frowned when he hurriedly pulled it from his pocket.

  Gray held up a finger. It was a special ring assigned for only the chief justice.

  Chief Justice Douglas began without pleasantries. “I unexpectedly have a friend in town who needs a place to stay. I hoped he could use the condo. Can you stay somewhere else tonight? Just for one night. Would you mind?” There was a loud noise in the background, the hum of a large engine.

  Gray was surprised. He didn’t realize that he was on standby and could be ousted from the condo on a moment’s notice.

  “No problem. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

  “You’re sure? He’ll be in at ten tonight and out by eight tomorrow morning.”

  “It’s really no problem. I have a lease on the old place until summer, so I can stay there.”

  “Excellent. It’s just for tonight, then the place is all yours again. I’d explain, but I’m at the airfield, and I’m next in line for takeoff.” The chief was a pilot who often took short trips in his private plane.

  “Safe travels, chief.”

  “Thanks, Grayson. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  Gray returned the phone to his pocket. Everyone was looking at him. “What?” he said.

  “Something wrong with the condo?” his dad asked.

  “No, everything is fine.” His dad hadn’t liked that he was staying there rent free. Nothing is free, son. No handouts, another pearl of wisdom from Manny Hernandez. But the guy just didn’t understand how the world worked. These people were different. Dad, whose only schooling had been in rural Mexico, for Christ’s sake, didn’t get it. And let’s face it, the promoter was onto something. Mom once confided that it was the concussions that ended his father’s boxing career. The injuries explained Dad’s occasional memory lapses and flashes of anger. Gray felt bad about the mean thoughts. He recalled the devastation he’d felt when he’d learned his father’s cancer had returned. The disease had stolen Gray’s chance to go away to school since he needed to stay to help with the pizza shop. But his dad was better now.

  “I don’t think you should be—”

  “Look,” Gray cut him off. “Can we enjoy the meal, and you just leave the Supreme Court to me?”

  The table went silent. The sound of knives and forks scraping on plates. Sam finally and charitably changed the subject. “Emilio, what do you want for your birthday?”

  The table grew loud again as Emilio talked about video games and Marvel superheroes and his birthday party. After dinner, Dad gave Gray the cold shoulder, but he still handed Gray a beer.

  As his parents said good-bye to Miranda and Emilio, Sam sidled up next to Gray. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, I just wasn’t in the mood for him to get on me today. He doesn’t get it.”

  “He just wants what’s best for you. And you have been kind of a dick.”

  “You too?”

  Sam shrugged.

  Gray left around nine-thirty, hoping to get to the condo to grab some clothes and toiletries before the chief’s guest arrived. Then it would be back to his cramped old place. He wondered if the roaches missed him. On the drive, he thought about his father. There’s more to life than money. How would he know? He’d never had any money. Who was he to give advice? Gray wasn’t some ten-year-old who hung on the man’s every word anymore. In the pit of his stomach, though, Gray knew Sam was right. He’d acted like a jerk.

  He pulled up to the building, and was jarred by the sight of the man walking into the lobby. Justice Wall. Was that who was staying at his place tonight? Wall was married, but had a reputation for having a wandering eye. At least according to the gossip mill—the secretarial pool—at the court. Maybe the chief was lending Wall the condo to meet some hot young thing.

  Gray would have to live without his clothes. As he pulled out of the parking lot, another jolt shot through him.

  Lauren slinking into the building.

  CHAPTER 41

  The Monday after Thanksgiving, Ben Freeman walked into the conference room in the FBI field office, Scott Cartwright at his side. Freeman was a tall African American man who wore an expensive suit and really expensive shoes. Milstein’s ex had been a clotheshorse. He’d always gotten on her for not being more s
tylish. But she preferred comfort over fashion. Just as well. She’d learned that an agent, particularly an attractive female one, would be marginalized if she looked too fashionable.

  Milstein stood and introduced herself. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “I know the holidays are busy. I hope traffic wasn’t too bad.” Freeman worked as head of corporate security at Capital One’s offices in northern Virginia. It was less than twenty miles away, but the journey could easily take more than an hour in traffic.

  “Happy to do it. This building brings back old memories. And, frankly, my office is a ghost town this time of year. The executives disappear from Thanksgiving until the new year.”

  “You were stationed at the field office?” Cartwright asked.

  “Just down the hall there,” Freeman said, motioning with his chin. “You mind if I get some coffee?” Freeman stood and walked to the coffeemaker and studied the machine. “We didn’t have these contraptions when I worked here, though. Whatever happened to a good old-fashioned coffee pot?”

  Cartwright jumped up and helped Freeman work the machine, which made one cup at a time using small pods popped into the device.

  “How long have you been in the private sector?” Cartwright asked.

  “Going on fifteen years now.” Freeman took a sip of coffee, then cut to it. “So, you wanted to talk about Kevin Dugan?”

  Cartwright nodded. “We understand you worked the Whitlock kidnapping with him?”

  Ben Freeman exhaled loudly. “You read the file?”

  “What’s left of it,” Cartwright said. “Tough case.”

  “A shit show all around. It got the best of Dugan. He was a good man, but he had little girls of his own, and the pressure got to him. The thought of that monster doing God knows what to those poor girls on his watch, well, he couldn’t take it.”

  “I understand you had to testify against Dugan?” Cartwright asked.