“I’ll bet she does,” Pepper said. Juanita was JJ’s girlfriend. She’d been the housekeeper and cook up until JJ’s wife, Pearl, had passed. Juanita still did the cooking and housekeeping; a few other duties had been added.
“Hold on,” Pepper said. “I think I’m supposed to have an opinion on that. I’m supposed to have an opinion on everything, including the moons of Jupiter. It’s somewhere in here…” She opened her briefing book, flipped through the pages. “Here it is. Get a load of this.” She read aloud:
“Question: In the event the Texas Border Enforcement Initiative (TBEI) becomes state law and is challenged in the federal courts-as would almost certainly be the case-how would you vote on that?
“Answer: I am very glad you raised that, Senator. The issue of illegal immigration is indeed a complex and highly charged one, at the federal, state, and certainly local level. While it would not be appropriate for me to comment about this or for that matter any hypothetical case that might come before the Court, I would point out that in Jimenez v. California, the Ninth Circuit held, in a case involving a private aircraft chartered by an out-of-state corporation, that state legislation permitting the strafing of illegal aliens did not run afoul of the Dormant Commerce Clause. At the same time, in Montez v. Arizona Minutemen, the Fifth Circuit held, in another case involving a private aircraft chartered from an out-of-state corporation, that Title 14-266 of the Arizona Revised Statutes 19b, which permitted dropping incendiary devices on illegal immigrants, did, in fact, run afoul of the Dormant Commerce Clause. Now, as to reconciling these divergent opinions…”
“What in the hell is that?” JJ said. “I didn’t understand one damn word.”
“It’s my homework,” Pepper said. “I got to memorize that, along with a thousand other pages just like it.”
“Julius Caesar. You sure you want this job?”
“Suppose.”
“Suppose? That don’t sound like ‘whuppee’ to me.”
“I don’t know, JJ,” Pepper said, suddenly feeling like she was going to cry. “It’s the Supreme Court, isn’t it? Shouldn’t I ought to want it?”
“Wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference to me, either way. We’re already proud of you just for being asked. Juanita’s bought a new dress for the hearings. Oh, I’m supposed to ask you-she supposed to curtsy when we meet the President?”
“No, JJ. It’s America. Nobody’s got to curtsy to nobody. We fought a war over that.”
“That’s what I told her.” Pwwttt. “But you know how she is. Hell, she’s about the first person in her family ever to own a pair of shoes.”
“Well, you tell her not to. Tell her I said. You talk to the bishop?”
“Bishop” was the word Pepper and JJ used privately for the Reverend Roscoe.
“I called him on Monday.” Pwwttt. “He called me back on Thursday. I said, ‘Been so long since I called I can’t remember what I was callin’ you about.’ That boy’s got the manners of a…”
“Now, JJ,” Pepper said. “You go easy on him. You know Daddy ain’t dealin’ off a full deck.”
Pwwtttt. “I know that. I think he’s got a case of the guiltys. He offered me and Juanita a ride up there to Washington on that plane of his.” JJ chuckled darkly. “Preachers with their own planes. I said to him, ‘So what kind of private plane did the twelve apostles have?’ He didn’t laugh none.”
JJ and his son, Roscoe, had a somewhat textured relationship. Though JJ had never admitted as much, Pepper suspected that he’d taken a major amount of ribbing from his fellow lawmen about his son being the one who told Jack Ruby where he could go shoot Lee Harvey Oswald. JJ was as down-to-earth as asphalt. His idea of a religious experience was a pretty sunset; of religious service, doffing his hat when a hearse went by. He tended toward skepticism in the matter of his son’s ministry, with its rhinestone sermons and televised Sunday services, $20 million private jet and all-female choir that looked like the Dallas Cowgirls got up in angel costumes.
“Now, JJ,” Pepper said, “you don’t mind that plane none when he lets you use it to go trout fishing with your buddies up in Montana.”
“That’s different,” JJ said.
Pepper laughed. “How is that different?”
“It’s putting the plane to some decent use. I don’t mind if he’s flying some kid with cancer to a hospital or whatnot, but most of the time, he’s lendin’ it to politicians so they’ll give his church another tax break. What’s he need another tax break for, I want to know. Hell, he’s already got enough money to burn a wet dog.”
Pepper said, “President’s folks asked me to try to keep him from coming up to the hearings.”
“Can’t say’s I blame ’em.”
“They’re just worried it’ll give the media the excuse to drag up the whole damn Ruby business. I told them under no circumstances. And I told them they ought to be ashamed for asking me. Maybe he’s a little unusual, okay, but he’s my daddy and he’s going to be there.”
JJ snorted. “ ‘Unusual.’ You got that right.”
“Now, JJ Cartwright, you look here,” Pepper said. “It would be nice if while the senators are peeling the bark off me, the two of you weren’t sitting behind me pecking at each other like a pair of snake-bit roosters.”
“Don’t you worry none about that. We’ll be quiet as the Tetons. As for those senators,” JJ pronounced the word with disdain, “if there’s one thing they can do, it’s read polls. You’re about the one thing this country agrees on right now.”
“Well,” Pepper yawned, “we’ll see about that. All right. I’m gonna eat a thousand dollars’ worth of nuts and memorize another forty pages of this horseshit. I love you.”
“Love you, too, Pep.”
THE NEXT MORNING at six-fifteen on the set of Courtroom Six, Pepper was sitting in front of the mirror, eyes closed, as the makeup lady was doing her thing when Bob the director entered and, looking embarrassed, said that he had a “couple of notes” for her.
“They’re from Buddy,” he added. “Not me. So you know.”
Pepper opened one eye warily. She was tired from staying up late with Corky’s Gutenberg Bible-sized briefing book. Macadamia residue sat uneasily in her tummy.
“He wants a guilty verdict in the Robinson case. And in the Bofferding case. And in Nguyen v. Rite-Aid, not guilty.”
Pepper cocked her head to one side. Both eyes were open now. She liked Bob. He was an affable old pro in his midsixties, with nothing left to prove professionally, nicely devoid of ego. In six years she and he had had maybe three arguments, all of them forgotten within an hour.
“Bob,” Pepper said, “what in hell are you talking about?”
“Like I said, they’re from Buddy.” Bob shrugged. “I told him you’d probably want to hear it from him directly, but he said for me to tell you. So I have. You look terrific, by the way.”
“Who does he think he is… Hammurabi? Since when does he dictate verdicts?”
“I know. It’s…”
“Well, you tell our producer for me he can kiss my Texas…”
Bob smiled and gestured with open palms-universal sign language for Ireally, really do not want to get involved in this.
Throughout the taping of the Robinson case, which involved a leaf blower that had (allegedly) been used for indecent purposes, Buddy sat in his usual chair behind Bob. Instead of following the proceedings, he ostentatiously thumbed his BlackBerry. Pepper concentrated on the case. When it came time to pronounce the verdict, she said, a little more loudly than usual, “Not guilty,” adding, “and I ought to fine the plaintiff for costs for wasting this court’s time. Shame on you, sir. And you will apologize-right now-to Mr. Gomez here.”
Buddy looked up from his BlackBerry, tapped Jerry on the back, and drew his hand across his throat.
“Cut,” Bob said.
Buddy whispered something to him. Bob rose, walked over to Pepper, crouched down beside her behind the bench.