50

The Tuesday night crowd at Norfolk’s Finest Sports Bar was bigger and rowdier than ever. Earlier that day, Nikki had finagled her way on as a guest for a popular drive-home radio show and invited all of Hampton Roads to the party. By 8:45 the line to get into the bar was half a block long.

Nikki decided to emphasize her divaness tonight by accessorizing to the hilt. Aviator shades, a multicolored bandanna, and a matching Bracher Emden bag were a start. She added tasteful chandelier earrings, chunky bangles from her wrist halfway up her forearm, a bead necklace, and fat rings on most of her fingers. Painted-on jeans, pumps, and a frilly white spaghetti-strap top completed the outfit. When she glanced with approval at the mirror on her way out the door, Nikki decided that only she could wear this much jewelry and not look overdone. Okay, maybe she and Beyoncé. But only if Beyoncé was having a very good day.

The aviator glasses went on top of the bandanna as soon as Nikki stepped inside. She smiled at the overflowing offering buckets and the people crammed into this place. She couldn’t wait to hear the crowd roar with approval for their local favorite.

Unfortunately for Nikki, Byron spotted her a few minutes after she arrived and latched on like a leech. She finally managed to brush him off when she found a booth full of friends, with room for only one more to squeeze in. “Maybe we can hook up as soon as the show is over,” Byron suggested.

“Maybe.”

Nikki had barely started on her first drink when Faith on Trial began with its standard introduction of the contestants. Finney’s face brought raucous cheers, Hasaan was roundly booed, and the others garnered mixed receptions.

A shining moment for Finney occurred less than fifteen minutes into the program, during Nikki’s second drink, when they showed Finney standing strong in the face of temptation. Nikki was astonished to learn that Finney’s temptation had occurred long before he had headed to the island. They replayed parts of it now, taped through the lens of a hidden camera.

The meeting took place in Finney’s cluttered office. The young man meeting with Finney had a soft western Virginia accent that rolled off his tongue as he introduced himself.

“Thanks for meeting with me, Judge Finney. My name is William Robert Lassiter, and I’m from the governor’s office.” Though Finney’s visitor wore the hidden camera and therefore couldn’t be seen by Nikki, his accent immediately brought to mind a Dukes of Hazzard cast member in a business suit. Given the man’s heavy accent, Nikki barely recognized Judge “Fee-ney’s” name, though she certainly recognized Lassiter’s name—a man who most decidedly did not work at the governor’s office.

Finney had never mentioned this visit to Nikki, a fact that would have been remarkable if it were any other judge. But with Finney, privacy and discretion were paramount. So now Nikki was about to learn, along with the rest of America, at least one thing that had happened behind Finney’s closed doors.

“Wheel-yum, huh?” Judge Finney said, repeating the way the kid had pronounced his own name.

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s a long way from the governor’s office,” Finney said, stuffing an unlit cigar in his mouth. “Welcome to southeast Virginia, Billy Bob.”

The young man hesitated for a moment. “Actually, I go by William now,” he said. “Can we talk off the record?”

“Sure.” Finney spit a small piece of the cigar in the trash.

“Well, as you know, there’s an unexpected vacancy on the Virginia Supreme Court,” William said. “And the governor really likes your ability to make the tough calls. He’s narrowed his list down to three for this interim appointment, and you’re one of them.”

Finney looked genuinely shocked. With good reason. Nikki didn’t follow politics closely, but she still couldn’t imagine that Virginia’s Democratic governor would appoint Finney.

“Does the governor know about my cancer?” Finney asked.

“Yes. That actually works in your favor. One of the problems with our system is that our part-time legislature only meets from January through March. The governor has the power to make interim judicial appointments and most of the time uses that power to select somebody with a prospect of being confirmed for a full-time slot once the legislature reconvenes.” William hesitated, and Nikki could hear the urgency in his voice. “Can I be frank here, Judge Finney?”

“Please.”

“As you know, one of the governor’s key initiatives last year was an executive order authorizing state grants for stem-cell research. Several other states have already gone this route, and if Virginia doesn’t act quickly, we’ll be left behind. All of the best genetic scientists are already relocating in areas like California and Massachusetts.”

Finney sat there impassive, his stare giving nothing away.

“A bunch of Republican senators filed suit, claiming that Governor Malone acted ultra vires by not running these grants through the budget process. That lawsuit will probably be decided by the Virginia Supreme Court this fall. Anybody who knows the justices can predict the results of the present court—a three-three split.”

“So you need a sacrificial lamb,” Finney interjected. “Someone conservative enough in his judicial opinions so that he won’t be seen as an obvious vote for the governor’s stem-cell funding. But once he does vote that way, of course, there’s no way he could ever get approved by the Republican-controlled Senate in the fall.”

It was vintage Finney, and Nikki loved it. Blunt. Insightful. And she knew what was coming next—unyielding.

Lassiter tried gamely to recover. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a sacrificial lamb. After all, this is a six- to nine-month term on our state’s highest court . . . and a chance to impact history.”

“How do you know I’ll impact it the right way?”

There was a long pause. “We don’t, of course. And we’re not looking for any guarantees. But we thought that your physical challenges would make you sympathetic to what the governor is trying to accomplish with this research.”

“You mean my cancer.”

“Yes, your cancer. But we would, of course, need to know ahead of time what your views—” Lassiter paused long enough for Finney to get the drift—“let’s just say, what your judicial philosophy is on issues like the governor being able to authorize new research programs through executive orders.”

“In other words,” Finney said, his voice harsh, “how I might vote on the stem-cell case.”

“Not really, Judge. I’m just talking about your overall judicial philosophy here, not how you would vote on a particular case.”

Finney stared at the camera for a long moment, and Nikki was sure that young Lassiter had been forced to divert his eyes. “Do you know how long I’ve been on the bench?” Finney asked.

“Not exactly. But a long time.”

“A long time is right,” Finney responded, his unblinking eyes focused hard on the camera. “And in all those years I’ve never promised anyone how I would rule on a case beforehand. I’m not about to start doing so now.”

“You da man!” somebody in the bar yelled.

“You tell ’em, Judge!”

As if in response, Finney shifted forward in his seat. “You go back and tell your boss that Judge Finney would be honored to serve his final months on the Virginia Supreme Court. But make sure you tell the governor that you don’t have the foggiest idea how Finney might rule on that stem-cell case.”

“I’ll tell him,” Lassiter promised. “And the governor would appreciate it if you kept this conversation confidential.”

“I can understand why,” Finney replied, and pandemonium broke loose in the sports bar.

“Fin-ney! Fin-ney!” the crowd chanted. Nikki couldn’t keep from smiling.

“It almost restores your faith in the justice system,” Tammy, the show’s host, was saying over the din. Finney had literally stared down his temptation and never blinked.

“I’ll drink to that,” somebody at Nikki’s table said. Nikki agreed.

The Assassin watched the show with a thin smile. Finney’s temptation had perfectly demonstrated the beauty of reality shows. It was so hard to know what was real and what was not. Even before the show officially began, Finney had been sucked into the alternative reality created by television. All of life had indeed become a stage.

The Assassin knew that even things portrayed as real by the show’s producers could in fact be contrived. A camera angle here, a remark taken out of context there, and reality could be warped to suit the purposes of the producers. The quest for higher ratings was the only reality that could be trusted.

What a perfect setting, this world of fun-house mirrors, for the Assassin’s most dramatic job ever. It was the game within the game. And it would be over before the others even knew that they were playing.

The Patient watched the temptation of Oliver Finney and then the televised cross-examinations of the contestants with great interest. He had heard about the results last week during the taping, but it was fascinating to watch the blow-by-blow.

Finney did a spectacular job of exposing the weaknesses of Buddhism, forcing Ando to defend the extreme limits of nonattachment that require people to turn their backs on anything they might love, including family. But Finney made a better attorney than he did a witness, stumbling some under relentless questioning by Kareem Hasaan.

The Patient was not surprised when Javitts awarded his verdict to Hasaan. The voting public, on the other hand, would probably go for either Finney or the ever-popular Swami. Dr. Kline could be a long shot if enough men voted.

The show’s last segment that night featured gripping footage of Finney’s attempted escape. Only on television could a man hit the highs and lows that Finney had experienced on this one episode, all within the span of one hour. Finney looked desperate as they brought him to shore on the back of a WaveRunner. Finney’s scrawny frame, matted hair sticking out from under his John Deere cap, and semi-crazed eyes all combined to form a telling caricature of the psychological toll being exacted on the contestants. He looks like a POW, the Patient thought. It was good television, no doubt about it.

The Patient was fascinated with Finney’s responses in the library room after the bungled escape attempt. First, Finney established that he was free to quit at any time. Then he claimed that he was just going for a midnight paddle and didn’t really want to quit.

But the thing that intrigued the Patient the most was the final remark by Finney just before the commercial break. When told that he would have to pass an exam by the island medical doctor and a clinical psychologist, Finney had a ready response: “Nobody told me that being sane was a prerequisite.”

“Crazy like a fox,” the Patient mumbled. He spent the next few minutes trying to get inside Finney’s head, ignoring the promos for Thursday night’s show when the winner of the viewers’ verdict would be announced and the contestants would face the ancient Chinese water torture.

It would be interesting to see whom the contestants ultimately voted into the finals. Though the contestants didn’t know it yet, one of the finalists would be determined by their own vote. Who better to observe how well people’s faith held up under trial than their fellow competitors?

Well, most of the contestants didn’t know it yet. The Patient speed-dialed the one who did.

After they chatted for a few minutes, the Patient decided it was time to pop the question. “If you had to vote today, who would it be?”

“Finney.”

“That’s what I thought.” The Patient smiled to himself. The plan was going smoothly, almost too smoothly. “You think he suspects anything?”

“Not yet, but don’t underestimate him. I think he’s got some cards under the table.”

“Crazy like a fox?” the Patient asked.

“Exactly.”