It had come to this. The man stared at the semi-automatic pistol in his shaking hand before shoving it into his belt and buttoning his suit jacket over it. He took a deep breath and went to meet his friend for the last time.
Eleven months earlier. .
“That’s your plan?!” Alexander Corbin didn’t hide his skepticism. Corbin, an attorney, was a couple years out of law school and not yet thirty. He and his officemate were at Fiddeja’s, a restaurant where they typically spent their lunches. Apart from them, Fiddeja’s was empty today because of the sleet.
“What’s wrong with it?” asked Evan Beckett, running his fingers through his tousled hair. Beckett neared forty, and unlike the younger Corbin, who favored designer suits and ties, Beckett’s clothing was well-worn, his shoes were unpolished, and he generally looked disheveled.
“Is it legal?”
Beckett shifted uneasily. “It’s not illegal.”
“Wanna try and explain that one?” Corbin asked, finishing his beer.
“You know what I mean. It’s not technically legal, but no one gets hurt. No harm, no foul!” Beckett said with a smile.
Corbin laughed. “Wait a minute! Aren’t you the guy who lectured me a few months back that ‘right is right and wrong is wrong no matter what the circumstances’?”
Beckett pointed at himself. “Moi?”
“Vous. In fact, if I remember correctly, you said ‘stealing is always wrong because theft is the deprivation of the labor of another,’ which you said was ‘akin to slavery.’ Then you called me ‘morally vacant’ and said I should go to church. Any of that sound familiar?”
“You should go to church. Faith is the foundation of happiness.”
“Uh huh, sure. Now that you’re advocating theft, when should I expect an apology?”
“I wouldn’t rush home and check your mailbox,” Beckett responded doubtfully.
“Hypocrite.”
“This isn’t stealing!” Beckett insisted.
“What else do you call it? Aggressive borrowing?”
“I’m just borrowing more equity than they expected me to borrow, that’s all.”
“You mean, more equity than you legally own, don’t you?”
“Technically, that is correct,” Beckett conceded.
“Ok Socrates, square that with your position on stealing.”
“Easy: I’m not taking the equity. I’m only borrowing it. It’s not like I’m going to default or anything.”
“If it’s that simple, why don’t you tell the mortgage company what you’re up to?”
“I’m sure they have other things to worry about.”
“Does your wife know about this?”
Beckett smiled again.
“Face it, it’s stealing no matter how you slice it.”
Beckett furrowed his brow. “Call it what you want, but you don’t have a family to worry about. I have people who depend on me. Sometimes, you need to bend the rules if you want to take care of the people you love.”
Corbin ignored Beckett’s suddenly darker tone. “The old Evan Beckett once said to me, after calling me ‘hopelessly corrupt’ mind you, that ‘a starving man may need to steal bread to survive, but his need does not make the theft proper. It remains theft.’”
Beckett shook his head. “I’m not stealing. Think of it this way. I’m not taking bread from the baker’s shelves, I’m dumpster diving for the bread he no longer wants.”
Corbin pursed his lips. “‘Dumpster diving’? Remind me never to accept an invitation to your house for dinner.”
“Consider it done.” They both laughed.
“All right, stealing, borrowing with intent, call it whatever you want. I have no love for mortgage companies.” Corbin poked at his half-eaten french fries and watched Beckett finish the last of his fajitas, adding a new grease stain to his frayed paisley tie. “Hey Evan,” Corbin asked cautiously, “how far would you go to help your family?”
Beckett set down his fork. “What do you mean?”
“Would you break the law?”
“Depends on the law, I guess.”
“What if I could show you a way to get a lot of money, and no one gets hurt?”
“Somebody always gets hurt when money goes missing.”
“Not necessarily. . not if they don’t miss the money.” Corbin looked around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. “Every year, credit card companies issue millions of credit cards. The more cards they issue, the more money they make. Of course, the more cards they issue, the greater the chance they’ll extend credit to the wrong people.”
“You’re talking about credit card fraud. They’ll definitely miss the money,” Beckett replied, before finishing his Coke.
“No, they won’t. Hear me out on this. Credit card companies make their money by charging high rates of interest and high fees to high risk cardholders. The trade off is they know lots of those people won’t pay. Sure, they make a cursory effort to collect the debts, but they give up quickly and write them off their taxes. To cover the losses, they buy insurance. Since they have insurance, they won’t miss the money.”
“Then the carrier will miss it,” Beckett retorted.
“Believe it or not, they’ll welcome the theft.”
“Welcome it? How many times were you dropped on your head as a child?”
“I’m serious. Insurance companies make money by selling policies, but they can only sell policies if people fear a potential loss. If no one ever stole from credit card companies, there wouldn’t be a market for insurance. No market for insurance means no premiums. So rather than being upset, insurance companies welcome a bit of theft because it allows them to get rich.”
Beckett scratched his head. Corbin could see Beckett looking for holes in the argument, so he waited quietly for Beckett to formulate a response.
“This may work in theory, but they’ll still miss the money you actually steal.”
“We. . we steal, Evan. And no, they won’t. They’ll just raise their premiums to get the money back.”
“Then it’s back to the credit card companies.”
“Yeah, but they don’t care about premiums. They pass those on to customers in their fees.”
“So the cardholders get hurt.”
“In a way, but these premiums get spread over billions of cardholders, each of whom knows what fees they need to pay to get and keep the card. If they think the fees are too high, or they aren’t getting a good deal, they can cancel the card. But frankly, they don’t even know or care what the charges are for. Trust me, they won’t miss the money. No one will miss the money.”
“It’s still stealing,” Beckett protested.
“Yes, it is. But these are large, soulless multinational corporations that spend millions more lobbying to take away your rights than we will ever be able to steal from them. Who gives a fuck about them?!”
Beckett stared at his empty plate. Normally, he would never entertain Corbin’s suggestion, but lately, he’d begun to worry about his finances and how he could care for his family. A year ago, he had a job he loved as a Federal Public Defender in New Jersey. But with two children in private school and a mortgage that was a little too large, he had trouble making ends meet. He desperately needed a promotion. But in the federal government, it’s often impossible to move straight up the career ladder. Instead, employees learn to zigzag between agencies to get promoted. So when the Washington job came open, Beckett’s boss told him to take it and then zigzag back once an available slot opened at his old agency in New Jersey. This sounded so certain Beckett even decided to leave his family in New Jersey and commute to Washington by rail each morning. But as the days passed, and he heard nothing about any openings in New Jersey, he began to feel a growing sense of desperation. The credit card bills were piling up beyond the point of no return and even hints of a divorce had been made. This was the only reason he considered Corbin’s suggestion. . well, that and he knew if anyone could pull something like this off, it was Corbin. Corbin was one of those rare people who could do anything he set his mind to doing.
Corbin waited silently, but didn’t break his gaze from Beckett’s eyes.
“How do you know so much about credit cards?” Beckett asked.
“When I worked for my uncle’s law practice during law school, I helped him represent a credit card executive who was wrongfully terminated. He laid out all their tricks and tactics, every strength, every weakness, every motivation.”
Beckett returned his eyes to his empty plate for some time. “I’m going to wait for my promotion,” he finally said, though without the certainty with which he usually spoke.
“Fair enough.”
After a quick walk through driving sleet, Corbin and Beckett found themselves back at the office, where they discovered yearly evaluation forms sitting on their chairs. Beckett’s desk sat closest to the door, facing the wall. Corbin’s desk sat behind Beckett, facing Beckett’s back. Both had brown leather chairs with high backs, as did each of the attorneys in the office. Next to each desk sat wooden chairs with padded cloth seats which matched the gray commercial carpet. Filing cabinets lined the wall by the door. A large window spanned the office, looking out over a parking garage several floors below. Sleet struck the window.
Corbin picked up his evaluation form from his seat. Their boss, George Kak, intensely disliked dealing with employees face to face. Hence, he tended to drop off work and things like the evaluations when the employees were out of the office. He also used the time to search desks. These particular forms were blank as Kak always made the employees fill them out themselves before he reviewed them.
“Ah, the yearly evaluations. I did mine in iambic pentameter last year,” Corbin said.
“Did he sign it?” Beckett sounded shocked.
“Without reading it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he never told me to take out the part where I listed harnessing the power of lightning as an achievement for the year.”
Beckett stared at Corbin. “You’re insane, you know that?”
Corbin grinned. “I do like to amuse myself.”
Beckett sat down, put his feet on his desk, and picked up his copy of The Washington Post, required reading for federal employees. “Aren’t you afraid someone will read it, someone who cares, like a future employer or an inspector general?”
“Not really. These evaluations go into our files, never to be seen again. Besides, it’s Kak’s name on the form. He’s the one who swore I conquered lightning, not me. I can’t help it if he was a little over-exuberant in his praise. I bring that out in people.”
“Well, I need to take mine seriously.”
“Don’t worry my friend, this is Club Fed, everyone gets great evaluations no matter how crappy they work.”
Corbin and Beckett had similar experiences upon joining the office. The more diligently they worked, the more their coworkers dropped by and “jokingly” suggested they slow down. When neither heeded those suggestions, Kak himself “jokingly” suggested they slow down. When they ignored his hint as well, Kak cut off their supply of work. When they still found work despite Kak’s embargo, Kak took the extraordinary step of telling them directly to “slow down or else.” These days, Corbin and Beckett did just enough work to annoy Kak.
Beckett looked at his blank form and grimaced. “This really is a horrible job. What I can’t figure out though, is why you’re here? This doesn’t seem your speed at all.”
“First job out of law school, other than the clerkship. Once I get this on my resume, I am outta here!”
“Where to?”
“The private sector, that far away land our coworkers fear and loathe, and yet envy.”
Just then, Stuart appeared at the door. Stuart came to deliver a letter, a letter which would change Corbin and Beckett’s lives forever, though Stuart had no idea of the importance of this letter. But first, Stuart had something more important to discuss.
“Knock knock,” Stuart drawled. The ever-present fluorescent lights reflected brightly off his prematurely-balding forehead and his thick glasses.
“Come on in, Stuart,” Beckett said, waving Stuart into the office.
Stuart entered the office, leaving his mail cart in the hallway. “Hey, I’ve got something you gotta see,” said Stuart, as he unzipped the fanny pack on the front of his belt. Fearing this meant pornography, Beckett tried to stop him, but Stuart was undeterred. He pulled a bent paperback book from the fanny pack. “Did you know the moon landing was fake? Do you know how they know?” Stuart asked in an overly-loud conspiratorial whisper. “NASA forgot to put stars in the pictures. They say they took pictures on the moon, but there aren’t any stars. That’s because they took the pictures in a warehouse and were supposed to add the stars later, but they forgot.”
Stuart paused for a response, but got only silence.
“Know what else? NASA never got any satellites into space. You know this one?” he asked, fanning the book open and pointing to a picture near the book’s middle. “It’s called Pioneer. It’s got pictures of naked people on the side.” Stuart chuckled.
Corbin smirked. “You mean the menu?”
“What? What do you mean?” Stuart asked, suddenly perplexed.
“The picture on the side. It’s a menu.”
Beckett didn’t approve of anyone “playing” with Stuart, so he tried to interrupt Corbin. But his efforts came too late, Stuart was hooked.
“What do you mean ‘menu’?” Stuart started shifting back and forth nervously.
“Think about it, Stuart,” Corbin said, ignoring Beckett. “When you go to a restaurant, they hand you a big book with a lot of pictures of food in it, right? This is the same thing. This tells aliens, whoever finds the satellite, ‘come to earth. . eat human’.”
Stuart snorted. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“It’s an ad,” Corbin continued. “It says, we’re on planet number three and we’re tasty.”
“Why would the government do that?” Stuart asked, sounding somewhat mystified.
“He’s just kidding, Stuart,” Beckett interjected.
“Am not. This is the government advertising their willingness to trade us for some crazy alien gear. Seriously Stuart, why else would NASA send drawings of naked people into space? Trust me, Uncle Sam would trade you for a fancy new ray gun in a heartbeat.”
Stuart increased the pace of his shifting and began rubbing his hands together.
“Fortunately, we don’t need to worry about that, do we Stuart?” Beckett said trying to calm Stuart.
“What do you mean?” Stuart asked.
“You said it yourself. NASA never got any of those satellites into orbit. That means there are no satellites flying around for aliens to find, right?” Beckett flashed Corbin a “shut up now” look.
Corbin ignored him. “Of course NASA got those satellites into space. How else do you think we got those great close ups of Jupiter, Saturn,” Corbin rolled his head toward Beckett, “and Uranus.”
“I need to think about this,” Stuart said. He began scratching his forehead. “You might be right. I never believe the government. My mother says I’m crazy, but she’s the crazy one. She believes everything the government tells her. You guys don’t believe what the government tells you, do you?”
“Not if it comes from Kak,” Corbin responded sarcastically.
“Stuart, do we have any mail?” Beckett asked, trying to redirect the conversation.
“You can borrow my book if you want to?” Stuart said to Beckett.
Beckett shook his head. “No thanks Stuart, I have too much to read already. Do we have any mail?”
“What about you Alex, do you want to borrow my book?”
“I would, but I can’t read.”
Stuart let out a loud, sharp laugh, which caused him to hiccup. “‘Can’t read’? That’s funny! How did you get this job if you can’t read?”
“I slept with someone.”
Stuart laughed again, and again hiccupped. “You’re funny. ‘Can’t read.’ Ha! ‘Menu’! I need to think about that one.” Stuart reached into his mail cart and pulled out the letter he came to deliver. “You got a letter, Evan. It’s marked personal, so I didn’t let anyone touch it.” He handed Beckett the envelope and waited for him to open it.
Beckett tossed the envelope onto his inbox to indicate he wouldn’t be opening it anytime soon, but Stuart didn’t leave. Getting him to leave an office was often a delicate matter. Thus, Beckett folded his newspaper and rose from his chair. “It’s been fun, Stuart, but we need to get back to work.”
“Ok, I’ll let you go,” Stuart responded, as he slowly retreated from the office. “But think about my book though.”
“We will.”
With Stuart whistling his way down the hallway, Beckett entered his password to turn off the screensaver on his computer. This would signal Kak that Beckett had returned to his desk. Kak maintained a log of how often, and for how long, each employee’s screensaver ran, which he equated with absence from the office.
“You shouldn’t have told Stuart that thing about NASA,” Beckett said over his shoulder.
Corbin shrugged his shoulders. “It’s harmless. So he has to run home and dig his bunker a little deeper, the exercise’ll do him good.”
“Seriously, it’s not nice to pick on him. Blessed are those who have regard for the weak, the Lord delivers them in times of trouble.”
“Don’t get Biblical on me. Besides, I’m not picking on him, I’m just goofin’ around with him. He knows I’m kidding and he gets a kick out of it. Go ask him. I do the same thing with you all the time, only he’s got a better sense of humor than you do. In fact, I think it’s more condescending to treat him like he’s a child like everyone else does. He’s actually quite bright, he’s just a little odd.”
“I don’t agree with treating him like a child either, but you were playing with him.”
“Guess we’ll have to agree to disagree, as usual.”
Beckett turned to face Corbin. “You know, for a liberal, and all that’s supposed to entail, you’re surprisingly callous.”
“For a libertarian, and all that’s supposed to entail, you’re surprisingly judgmental,” Corbin shot back. “Must be that whole church thing you’ve got going.”
“Just because libertarians don’t like the government dictating behavior doesn’t mean we don’t recognize right and wrong,” Beckett replied defensively. “Also, it would do you well to go to church once in a while; you might find there’s more to life than you realize.”
“I can’t go to church, I’d burst into flames the minute I crossed the threshold. You said that yourself once.”
Both friends laughed, erasing any tension between them.
Beckett’s phone rang.
“Small conference!” Kak roared into the receiver before hanging up. This was Kak’s way of ordering employees to come to his office. In fact, “small conference” were the only words Kak ever spoke over the phone to either Beckett or Corbin.
“I’ll be back.”
With Beckett on his way to Kak’s office, Corbin headed downstairs to the mall beneath their office building to buy coffee. He went with Molly. Molly was the only other attorney in the office around Corbin’s age. This drew them together. She was also one of the few people in the office Corbin found interesting. Molly loved attention, good or bad, and she excelled at getting it. She also enjoyed pushing people’s buttons. She was particularly interested in Corbin because he remained a riddle to her, a riddle she was determined to solve. Corbin understood this, but he got a kick out of watching her work her craft, so he let her try. He was regretting his decision today, however.
Molly stared at the cookie and frowned. Corbin stood nearby with his back against the counter. He watched her push her shoulder-length, golden-brown hair back over her ear for a third time, exposing multiple silver studs. She wore a black pinstriped pantsuitand a French-blue blouse with the collar spread over the lapels of her suit. Corbin wore a similarly colored shirt, though his suit was dark gray.
“Can we please leave?” Corbin asked for a second time. “My coffee’s getting cold.”
“Hold your horses. The cookie and I may have business to discuss.” Molly tapped her wallet against her open palm.
“You’ve been staring at it for five minutes now.”
“Technically, it’s been ten minutes. I was down here yesterday too.”
“Why don’t you just buy it?”
“Maybe I’m trying to talk myself out of buying it? Did you ever think of that?”
“Can we go now, please?”
“What?” Molly pretended she didn’t hear Corbin.
“Can we please go?” Corbin repeated.
“Let me get this straight. You want me to go with you?” Molly pointed at herself on the “me” and at Corbin on the “you.” She smiled patronizingly. “How cute, are you asking me out? What was your name again?”
Corbin bit his tongue and tossed his hands in the air, almost knocking the lid off his coffee. “That’s it! I’m done. I’m going back to the office. I’ll leave you and your cookie to whatever sordid business you two have planned.”
“Fine! We can go back upstairs,” she groaned as if she’d just made the world’s greatest concession. “The cookie’s probably just a tease anyway.” She returned her wallet to her purse and they started for the elevator. Their footsteps echoed throughout the empty mall. “So who’s this chick I hear you’re dating?” Molly asked, smirking at the word “chick.”
Gossip was the office currency, and relationship gossip was most prized. Relationships or, more accurately, tragic relationships were also Molly’s favorite topic, both her own and other people’s.
“Dating? Why is everyone saying that? I’m not dating anyone. I just went on one date, one single date.”
“And. .” Molly gave the word a dozen syllables.
“And what?”
Molly stopped mid-stride and waved her manicured finger at Corbin. “Don’t make me beat it out of you. I’ll smack you around right in front of all these people.” There was no one else in sight.
Corbin couldn’t help but smile at the show she was putting on.
“Well?!” she demanded as they started toward the elevator again.
“It was one date,” Corbin said with a laugh. “We went to this sushi restaurant and-” Corbin stopped mid-sentence as Molly veered off sharply toward the display window of a women’s shoe store. He grimaced and reluctantly followed her.
“Look, shoes!” she exclaimed. “A girl can never have too many shoes.”
“I’m sure,” Corbin said, looking at his watch.
“What do you think about those?” Molly pointed at something behind the display window. “I’d look great in those.”
“Sure. Can we go now,” Corbin replied, without looking to where Molly pointed.
“But I’m probably too tall to wear them,” Molly continued.
“Sure. Can we-. . wait, what?!”
Molly exhaled melodramatically. “Listen, my tall friend. Lots of guys are intimidated by tall women. That’s why I can’t wear heels very often.”
Corbin looked at Molly’s feet. Beneath her black suit pants, she was wearing rather high heels, as she almost always did. “You’re wearing heels today.”
“So?”
“Weren’t you wearing heels yesterday?”
“Are you keeping track of my shoes?” Molly said with faked disgust. “That’s really creepy.”
Corbin ignored her diversion. “You know you’re not that tall, right? I mean, what are you, like five eight, five nine tops?”
“Your point being?”
“You’re just not that tall.”
Molly folded her arms and tapped her foot. “Not all men are as tall as you. It’s just not something you’re going to understand. Ask your roomie. He can explain it to you; he comes up a bit short,” Molly said the word “short” with utter contempt. She was largely indifferent to Beckett, but she often tried to get a rise out of Corbin by insulting his friends.
Corbin rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch. Are you seriously telling me he’s not short?” Molly asked.
“If you don’t like his height, take it up with him. I’m not the Evan Beckett complaint department. Now, can we please go back to the office?”
“Fine,” Molly said, and without warning, she shot past Corbin before he could even turn around. As she walked toward the elevator, she called back to Corbin. “Stop shopping for shoes and let’s get back to work!”
Corbin groaned.
Corbin returned to his desk just as Beckett and Theresa Miller rounded the corner of the dingy beige hallway leading to Corbin and Beckett’s office. Theresa pronounced her name “Tur-rae-sa” and had no tolerance for anyone who mispronounced it or shortened it. As always, Theresa was immaculately dressed, though her clothes were slightly dated. Today, despite the sleet, she wore a navy-blue suit with her trademark pencil skirt and heels. A silver pendant hung around her neck between the collar of her white blouse. A matching silver clip held her shoulder-length black hair out of her face.
Theresa, also an attorney, was a few years older than Beckett, and it was no secret she was extremely interested in Corbin. Corbin never returned the interest, but this didn’t deter Theresa. Beckett, on the other hand, rubbed her wrong. Indeed, Theresa and Beckett couldn’t start a conversation without turning it into an argument. That’s how the present argument started, as a conversation which began as they waited to see Kak. The conversation continued after they finished with Kak, turned into a disagreement as they walked down the hallway, and matured into an argument as they reached Corbin’s office.
“Oh bull!” Theresa’s voice rang out. She jabbed her finger at Beckett as the two of them entered the office.
“I can’t believe you’d say that!” Beckett responded.
“You just don’t want to admit some people are rotten and need to be locked up. This is typical liberal garbage.”
“No, not at all. I know lots of people who should be locked up. I’m saying it’s morally and philosophically wrong to frame somebody for a crime they didn’t commit, no matter how rotten they may be. ‘Guilty until proven innocent,’ ring any bells?” Beckett loosened his mauve paisley tie and unbuttoned the collar on his frayed, off-white Sears dress shirt before taking a seat. “Also, I’m not a liberal, I’m libertarian.”
“Same difference,” Theresa said, waving her hand dismissively. “If a guy deserves to be locked up, then what does it matter how he gets there?”
“‘Deserves’?”
“Yes, deserves! Killers, violent criminals, repeat offenders, people who like to hurt people.” Theresa counted off on her fingers as she delineated her list of evildoers. “People like that need to be locked up, and I don’t care how it happens.”
“Who are you to decide someone deserves to be imprisoned?”
“I’m the public, that’s who. I’m the person who has to live with these creatures. Besides, you make it sound like I want to start locking up innocent people! I’m talking about people everyone knows are guilty.”
“History is full of people ‘everybody knows are guilty.’ Lots of them turned out to be innocent, often after they were executed.”
Theresa rolled her eyes. “Oh cry me a river. You know guilty people escape justice all the time.”
Beckett became annoyed. “You’re missing the point. No matter what you think they’ve done, you’re talking about substituting your judgment for the legal system. You’re assuming they’re guilty, even though they’ve never been found guilty. You’re talking about throwing away the legal system and replacing it with millions of people seeking their own private vengeance.”
Theresa grunted. “I’m not talking about getting rid of the system, I’m-”
“But you are,” Beckett interrupted. “If we go with your plan, no one can trust the system because it won’t be the system making the decisions. What you’re suggesting takes us back to the age of Romeo and Juliet where ‘justice’ meant private vendettas.”
Theresa folded her arms. “You are so thick. I’m not talking about getting rid of the system. I’m talking about people who are clearly guilty, but who escape justice through some ridiculous technicality!”
“What you call technicalities are safeguards that protect you from the government. Two thousand years of jurisprudence have proven that certain types of evidence are so unreliable or so inflammatory that you can’t get a fair trial if the government is allowed to use it. Confessions obtained through torture, unsubstantiated rumors or innuendo, those are your technicalities. Eliminate those safeguards and nobody’s safe. They protect you from the government. You’re a lawyer, you should know that.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. I took criminal law too, but I didn’t drink the Kool-Aid. Genuinely innocent people have nothing to fear.”
“You’re still missing the point!”
“No, you’re missing mine!” Theresa shot back. Her lips snarled and a wide crease developed across the center of her forehead. She was known for her temper, a temper which often seemed to verge on violence. “I’m not afraid of getting rid of these loopholes because I haven’t done anything wrong. I haven’t committed any crimes, and I don’t intend to.”
“But guilt or innocence become irrelevant if you eliminate these safeguards. The Nazis, the communists, they got rid of these so-called technicalities because they wanted to use the courts to get people. They just made up some charge, held a show trial, and locked you away. Guilt or innocence didn’t matter. There was no evidence. It was just character assassination thrown up like a shroud over the truth. Do you really think you’d be safe living under those regimes, especially with your penchant for speaking your mind?”
“There’s a huge difference between Nazis and Democrats and Republicans!”
“There is now, but how long do you think it would take before our politicians start taking advantage of the new powers you’re giving them?”
“‘I’m giving them’?! So now I’m Hitler?!” she growled.
“If the moustache fits,” Beckett said coldly.
Theresa’s face turned crimson and her eyes narrowed. She clenched her fists and stepped toward Beckett aggressively. He rose.
“Children, behave,” Corbin interjected calmly from behind a magazine.
Both Beckett and Theresa looked at Corbin and backed off slightly.
Beckett continued. “What’s more disturbing is you won’t admit what you’re advocating. When you claim the right to frame an innocent person, you’re putting yourself above the legal system as judge, jury and executioner. You’re giving yourself the power to eliminate people you don’t like, but you don’t even have the moral courage to tell the truth about why you’re eliminating them.”
“Shove your moral courage!” Theresa stepped closer to Beckett.
“Don’t make me separate you two,” Corbin said more forcefully.
“You can jump in any time,” Theresa sneered at Corbin without unballing her fists. It wasn’t clear if she meant for Corbin to join the argument or the pending assault.
Corbin rose and moved to the other side of his desk, between Beckett and Theresa. “Beckett and I don’t argue about criminal justice, we’ve agreed to disagree,” he said, as he leaned against the edge of his desk. “There is one important point however, which both of you are missing.”
They looked at Corbin. He smiled.
“Evan’s tie. Where in the world did you get that tie, Evan? Was it grave robbing night at the Beckett household?”
Beckett laughed. “What’s wrong with my tie? This is a cool tie.” He flapped the paisley tie about with his hand.
“It’s an awful tie!”
“No way.” Beckett held his tie out toward Theresa. “What do you think? Cool, right?”
“It’s horrible.” Unlike Beckett, she continued to steam about their argument.
“I don’t care what either of you says. This is one cool tie.” Beckett smoothed his tie and sat down.
Theresa focused on Corbin, which calmed her. “Speaking of ties, that’s a lovely tie, Alex, and a beautiful suit,” she said of Corbin’s red and gold designer tie and his dark-gray, tailored suit. “You always have such great suits.”
Before Corbin could respond, Beckett started up again. “You know, there’s another problem with your plan.”
Theresa tensed up immediately.
“Doesn’t your plan guarantee that at least one guilty person will go free? After all, you can’t charge the real criminal with the crime after you frame somebody else for it. . unless you’re planning to start charging multiple people with the same crime? If that’s your plan, why not drop the whole charging charade? Just lock up the people you don’t like.”
Theresa glared at Beckett. “You are so frustrating,” she said icily.
Beckett chuckled. “I really am.”
Theresa walked toward the door, but stopped at the threshold. “Even you, Beckett, need to admit too many bad people escape justice because of technicalities.”
Beckett smiled good-naturedly. “Which technicalities would you like to eliminate?”
Without another word, Theresa stormed off down the hallway.
“Some day she really will punch you,” Corbin said, as he returned to his seat, “or run you over with her car.”
“That’s ok, I heal fast.”
Beckett pulled the letter Stuart had brought him from his inbox. The envelope was marked “personal.” It was from his former boss in New Jersey. As Beckett read the letter, his complexion became ashen, his breathing became labored, and his shoulders slumped. A few moments later, he crumpled the letter up and tossed it into his garbage can.
“Good news?” Corbin asked.
Beckett ran his hands through his hair before answering. “I’m not getting my promotion. . I can go back to my old job, but there won’t be a pay raise. . I’m going for a walk.” He never looked at Corbin.