At the base of the glass table, Ben spotted a small dark object. On his knees in a matter of seconds, Ben closely examined the object. It was nothing. A clump of dirt from someone’s shoes. Undeterred, Ben tilted the table and searched under each leg for Rick’s microphone. Then he looked at each chair. He turned over the couches, lifted the cushions, squeezed the pillows, flipped the coffee table, ran his hands along the back of every picture frame, examined the television, turned over the VCR, inspected every videotape, pulled apart the closet, checked the pockets of every coat, opened every umbrella, peeked into baseball gloves, peered into tennis-ball cans, looked behind the toilet, cleared out the refrigerator, picked through all the cabinets, lifted every appliance, emptied every drawer, scrutinized every lamp, and took apart every phone. By the time he was finished, the first floor of the house was a shambles. And still nothing.
Hold it together, Ben told himself, his shirt soaked with sweat. Don’t lose it. After rearranging the kitchen, the bathroom, the dining room, and the living room, Ben collapsed on the large sofa. He lay facedown; his right arm sagged to the floor and his fingers picked at the carpet. Catching his breath, Ben reached his conclusion. No matter what, you have to trust your friends. That’s the only way to stay sane. Trust your friends.
When Ben’s roommates arrived back at the house, Nathan headed for the bathroom, Ober headed for the kitchen, and Eric slumped in front of the television. Hearing the front door slam, Ben left his room and headed downstairs. He found Ober digging into a pint of ice cream. “How can you possibly be hungry?” Ben asked. “Didn’t you just eat a full meal?”
“I’m a growing boy,” Ober said.
Nathan returned to the living room. “How are you feeling?” he asked Ben. “Still worried about Rick?”
“Of course I’m still worried. But I’ve calmed down. I just needed the time alone.” He joined Eric on the large couch. “How was dinner?”
“You missed it,” Ober said, still picking at the pint of ice cream. “Eric’s aunt is hotter than ever!”
“Can we stop talking about her?” Eric pleaded.
“Listen, we can understand why you feel the need to be protective, but you have to face facts,” Nathan said. “Your aunt is steamy.”
“I don’t understand,” Eric said. “She’s not even that pretty.”
“You’ll never understand,” Nathan said. “It’s her aura. It speaks to us.”
“Does she still have that picture of herself in a bikini on the refrigerator?” Ben asked.
Ober smiled. “Not anymore.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the photo and threw it to Ben. “I figured you needed a little pick-me-up.”
“You stole the picture from her refrigerator?” Eric asked, looking over Ben’s shoulder.
“We borrowed it,” Ober said. “We’ll give it back. I just wanted to show Ben what he missed.”
“Hello, perverts,” Eric said. “This is my aunt we’re talking about.”
“What would happen if you had sex with her?” Ober asked. “Would your kids be mutants or something?”
“What’s the word again for kids who are born from inbreeding?” Nathan asked.
“I think they’re called ‘Obers,’” Eric said.
“Now that’s funny,” Ober said. “That’s a real laugh riot.”
Comforted by the camaraderie, Ben was even more convinced that the letter was just Rick’s way of playing mind games. He passed the photo to Nathan and put his hand on Eric’s shoulder. “I meant to tell you, I have a good bit of gossip for you. But you have to keep it secret until I say it’s okay.”
“Let’er rip,” Eric said, watching Nathan fawn over the picture of his aunt.
“Let’s just say that if you had to have a journalistic hunch in the next few days, I’d start asking around about an old Supreme Court justice.”
“Blake’s finally retiring?” Eric asked.
“You didn’t hear a word from me,” Ben said. “All I’m saying is that if you want to impress your editors with your sense of intuition, that’s the path I’d start sniffing.”
“Thanks.” Eric smiled.
“Is what you told him illegal?” Ober asked, looking up from his now melting ice cream.
“Of course it’s not illegal,” Ben said. “It’s just friendly advice.”
“Because if it was illegal, I’d be forced to make a citizen’s arrest.” When Ben shook his head, Ober said, “I’m serious. I’d arrest the both of you.”
“Ober, if you got me arrested, I’d call your boss and tell her you faxed me a photocopy of your penis last week.”
“So?” Ober said.
“And then I’d tell her you were the one who sideswiped her car at the office barbecue last July.”
“So?”
“And then I’d call all your overdue credit cards and give them your real address and your daytime telephone number.”
Ober paused. “So?”
“And then I’d tell Eric that you’re constantly stealing his quarters to do your laundry.”
“You’re what?” Eric asked.
“Oh, he’s so full of sh-”
“That’s where all my quarters went!”
“Good night,” Ben said, standing from the couch. “Time for bed.”
At six-thirty the next morning, Ben walked into the kitchen for breakfast. “Morning,” he said to Nathan, always the earliest riser.
Folding the newspaper on the table, Nathan pushed aside his bowl of cereal. “I think you should see this.”
“What is it?” Ben asked, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “Read it to me.”
“I think you should read it,” Nathan said.
Ben picked up the paper. The headline blared, INVESTIGATION OPENED AFTER HIGH COURT’S CMI DECISION. Quickly, he read, “A high-level source at the Supreme Court revealed that an official investigation has been opened to dismiss rumors of wrongdoing during the recent CMI decision. After Charles Maxwell risked millions on the outcome of the case, critics from Wall Street to Washington have suspected foul play. As a result, the Court has begun ‘a high level and thorough investigation.’ According to the source, ‘Everyone who knew the outcome in advance, from the printing department to the law clerks, will be thoroughly questioned.’”
Ben ground his teeth. “This is a bunch of crap,” he said, throwing the paper on the table. “There’s no investigation. They’re just trying to create some controversy.”
“Did you see the byline?”
When he read the words “By Eric Stroman,” Ben’s stomach dropped. “I don’t believe this.”
“Just relax,” Nathan said, putting a hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“That motherfucker!” Ben screamed, ripping up the paper. He ran out of the room and shot up the stairs. “ERIC! WAKE THE HELL UP!”
“Just calm down,” Nathan called, following his friend.
Ben kicked open the door to Eric’s room. The bed was empty. Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. “Where the hell is he?” Ben asked. A white envelope lay in the middle of Eric’s unmade bed, with Ben’s name written on the outside.
As Ben opened the envelope, Ober staggered into the room, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. “What the hell is going on?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Don’t ask,” Nathan warned.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” Ben announced, ignoring the card in his hand. “Our piece-of-shit roommate wrote a story on page five of the newspaper about potential wrongdoings at the Court. He then went on to wrongly report that an investigation has been opened, and that members of the staff are suspected of leaking information to Charles Maxwell before the decision was handed down. In other words, he fucked me. If there wasn’t an investigation before, there is one now. And if there was one before, he just forced Court security to turn the heat up.”