Larinda pushed through the Court Building’s west exit and descended the steps quickly on light feet, needing to put distance between her and the guy the court cops had taken out. She hit the second set of steps, took them two at a time. Never again would she go on a mission where weapons weren’t permitted. Too exposed, too defenseless. She’d had her fill of the Court, and this incident confirmed that an assassination attempt anywhere inside the Court Building would never work.
Larinda passed a plaza water fountain with a circular pool under it, one of two bookending the front of the building, then she broke into a jog on the plaza’s flat, sculpted concrete. The last set of steps brought her to street level, the entrance to D.C.’s public transit Metro trains a few blocks away. Good weather for a stroll, sunny, with the late morning air crisp and invigorating.
Slapping footfalls behind her. She heard them too late, was tackled and sent shoulder first onto a patch of lawn before sprawling spread-eagle onto her stomach. In her mouth now was a meal of grass and dirt.
Her assailant barked at her. A woman’s voice. “STAY. DOWN!” Knees jabbed the back of her shoulders, immobilizing them, with pressure against her temple coming from a fisted hand, not a gun. She couldn’t see her chatty attacker busy shouting at a nearby pedestrian witness. “Dial 911! This woman is a fugitive. Citizen’s arrest.”
If anyone dialed, Larinda had no idea. She rocked her shoulders then rolled, got off a roundhouse punch against her assailant’s jaw, knuckle to bone. The woman’s jaw snapped out of place, and Larinda pushed out from under her. Her attacker struggled to stand, groaned, but was still able to reach and connect with Larinda’s hand, pressing it backward toward her wrist. She was strong, stronger than Larinda who dropped to her knees from the pain of the hold and the threat of more pain to come. Larinda’s other fist delivered an uppercut to the woman’s dislocated jaw, her assailant reeling from the punch then dropping to her knees, blood streaming from her mouth, the woman still calling to passersby, “…ineun-un…”
Enraged and energized, Larinda hovered. She could do more damage to her attacker, older than she’d realized, a surprise, forties-fifties maybe, but buff. One more punch to the jaw knocked the woman out. Larinda sprinted around a treed corner then jogged along the street long enough for a cab to materialize.
Inside the cab her wrist dangled in pain, was maybe broken, the same arm as the one with the poorly healed palm, its cut open again. “Key Bridge Boathouse parking lot,” she said, out of breath. “Big tip if you’re quick about it.”
The driver was a pagan swami, turbaned. Pagan or not, she needed his help. “You have a first aid kit in here?”
A knock on Naomi’s courthouse chambers door. The Marshal of the Court entered and delivered an update on the incident. The courtroom had been cleared and the justices were in lockdown, separately, in their respective chambers.
“It’s impossible to screen for what just happened,” the court officer told her. “We have the man in custody, plus an accomplice. We’re interviewing them now. That’s all I have to report at the moment, Madam Justice.” He made eye contact with Marshal Trenton, at her side and standing at attention. “Nicely done, Deputy Marshal Trenton.”
Edward nodded.
Court adjourned early for lunch, maybe longer, to give Court Security a chance to analyze surveillance video plus assess the likelihood of an additional threat. The Chief Justice asked them all to stay loose pending a decision regarding holding the afternoon session. She dismissed her law clerks to their offices while she waited for lunch to be delivered. Edward had already seen the footage.
“Are you all right, Edward?”
“I’m fine, ma’am. The man’s name is Drury. He’s a Marine. We’re going to owe him an apology, Your Honor. We blew it.”
Physically, Edward did appear fine. Emotionally, Naomi wasn’t so sure. “I’m sure it’s not that bad, Edward.”
“The Marine’s explanation, ma’am, is that a certain woman who was in the courtroom is the threat, not him.” Edward swallowed hard. “I had to react like I did. But from the footage I’ve seen, Mister Drury was right. The woman who left the courtroom before him didn’t react to the takedown, didn’t miss a step or even turn around, just kept walking.” The more he talked, the tighter his jaw got. “I’m afraid, ma’am, we’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“Please, Edward, I’m sure your superiors will understand. I’ll speak with them. And I’ll also speak with Mister Drury.”
“Your Honor, ma’am, respectfully, you don’t understand what just happened. See…”
A hard knock at her door; the Marshal of the Court entered without waiting for an answer. “Madam Justice, security footage outside on the plaza shows an altercation between two women. We believe one of them was the woman who fled the courtroom in front of the men we apprehended. It appears the other woman was also in the chambers at the same time. I’ve just told the Chief Justice. You should remain here until further notice. Mister Trenton, stay sharp.”
With the Marshal of the Court gone, Edward finished his thought, his voice serious. “Madam Justice, after analyzing the footage from the cameras at the two Planned Parenthood buildings, the U.S. Marshal’s office, the court police, and the FBI all think the woman Mister Drury was pursuing is the Planned Parenthood terrorist.”
Edward didn’t do exasperation well. His upper torso inflated, his stare piercing. He was looking for something to hit. “She was in the courtroom, ma’am, less than fifty feet from you, and I let her walk.”
“Edward. Please. I am fine. All the justices are fine. Those fifty feet will now be the safest fifty feet in America, other than the perimeter the Secret Service keeps for the president.” She searched his weather-beaten face, for what, she didn’t know, but it pained her to see this brave warrior question himself. “Please know, Edward, that I do feel safe with you.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am. But the consensus among the agencies is this person is less interested in the other justices and more interested in you.”
Her office phone rang; she picked up. “I understand. Fine. Thank you,” she said into the receiver. “Edward, a mailroom employee is on the way up to deliver an overnight package.”
“Your Honor, has it been…”
“They’re taking the proper precautions, Edward.”
“Your Honor, if I may…”
“Yes, you can answer the door and examine it.”
The mailroom supervisor arrived, prepared with powder-free sterile latex gloves. He slipped them on and commenced removing pages from the pouch, all handwritten, plus a sealed business envelope. He unsealed the envelope, slipped out a number of folded photocopies. Nothing in the pouch and the business envelope but paper. Edward escorted the supervisor out of Naomi’s chambers.
At a small table, Naomi sat unwrapping the lunch the café prepared for them. She would address the letter after she and Edward ate. “Please have a seat and join me, Edward.”
“Ma’am, no thank you, they’re about to release Mister Drury. I want to be there when they do. A court cop is posted outside your office. I’ll be back shortly. Madam Justice, I, ah…”
His face showed his conflict, the concern that he was abandoning her.
“I’ll be fine, Edward. Thank you. Go.”
The door closed behind him. She worked on her pasta salad, each forkful punctuated by a glance at Chester Plunkett’s letter on her desk. To peruse the pages now, while she ate, she’d need to enjoy teardrops in her food, but she couldn’t hold out any longer. She unfolded the letter.
The message was on his personal stationery, from the OU School of Law, the words in a shaky longhand.
“My Dearest Madam Justice Naomi,
I hope you are having a wonderful day in our nation’s great capitol. You receive this note on the occasion of my pending transition to the spirit world. My passing will be joyous, so do not dwell on it, please. The Great Spirit guides me, has granted me a clear, healthy mind, and with it a loving heart, but a heart that gets heavier the sicker it gets. I am so proud of you, Naomi, like your family is, and like our people and the people of Texas and Oklahoma are, but I must make you aware of something I’m sure you never knew. I’m sorry I can’t say this to you in person.”
Flashbacks queued up inside and played for her, of the Badger moving seamlessly between citing tribal court and national legal decisions, chapter and verse, in the classroom, to performing at Native American ceremonies in Cherokee dress, to practicing the traditions at powwows. A legal pioneer, and a preservationist who had embraced his heritage as a full-blooded Cherokee. She loved this man as much as she loved her father, and she’d known him almost as long. Tears slipped onto her cheeks, down them, into her salad.
“I made an inquiry via the Texas Public Information Act regarding the Texas Native American Scholarship Program, this after a number of years of steering students to the same scholarship that provided you with your college funding. For them, their applications met with zero success. Every one. What I learned was the scholarship program had considered only one application during its existence, yours, and the fund was active only for the years in which you were a student. Its support came from a small circle of religious and business leaders and one federal politician. The sole reason for this scholarship program was for your benefit, Naomi. What remains a mystery to me is the why.
Benevolence as welcome as this, so inviting financially for a family of limited means like yours, and awarded as it was to a high achiever, would rarely be questioned. Until your career success outstripped my wildest expectations for you, I thought better than to ever bring this up. What good does it serve to alert you to this now? Forewarned is forearmed, Naomi. Beware people looking to trade on, and assign your complicity with, this curious benevolence. Their names appear in the Freedom of Information response copies enclosed here.
I will visit you before I go, Naomi. Somehow, some way, I will visit you. Elohino dohiyi gesesti. (Peace upon this land.)
With love, your most humble law professor,
Chester Fights Like A Badger Plunkett, Esq.”
Naomi was stunned, and now felt physically ill. She reread the letter: “…one federal politician…a small circle of religious and business leaders…”
What the hell was going on?