Bars weren’t exactly open for business yet in Mud Lick, but tonight the Grassy Knoll Pub was lit as though business was usual. Inside, the proprietor, Jesse Custer, busied himself cleaning in anticipation of a guest’s arrival.
Custer had been on the wrong side of the law long enough to where he hadn’t planned on opening the Knoll tonight. A phone call from Sheriff Roy Templeton changed that. Someone from out of town called him asking a favor. Apparently this someone had enough clout to make Sheriff Roy and the county Health Department look the other way.
Jesse finished wiping down the baseboard of the bar when Cassidy, the Knoll’s doorman, called out, “Custer, our guest is here, and ye’ll never fuckin’ believe who it is.”
Four Secret Servicemen entered the Grassy Knoll Pub first, checking Jesse and Cass’s temperatures and searching the entire place for any compromising material or recording equipment. One barked “Clear” into a lapel microphone, and the door of the Knoll opened again.
Jesse Custer smiled faintly as Chief Justice John Roberts took a seat at his bar. “Evening, John,” the bartender said. He reached under the bar and produced a bottle of Bowmore 18 with two glasses. “I figured we ought to be prepared for the next time you came to town. Especially if you pulled strings just to come drink at my place.”
Chief Justice Roberts visibly relaxed as Custer poured the scotch. “Finally, an island of sanity in a world gone mad.”
“We do try to keep the Knoll a relaxed place,” Jesse replied. “What’s brought you to confessional tonight, Chief Justice?”
“Confessional?” Roberts sputtered.
“Well, people in my profession do a lot of listening. Last time we got together, you needed quite a bit of that. I suspect you’re here tonight because you want to get some stuff off your chest and can’t do it where you’ll be seen. So it’s like a confessional, except I put down the collar years ago. Now what’s on your mind?”
“It’s the job. Same as last time, only this virus thing is making everybody insane if they’re not sick. We went from barely tolerating each other to being full blown assholes all the time.”
Seems to be the way of the world these days,” Custer mused.
“Even inter-office stuff is getting harder,” Roberts continued. “When everything went crazy the first thing we tried was holding conferences via this Zoom thing. Our clerks are the ones with any sound grasp of technology, so without them it took a day or two to convince Ginsburg she didn’t have to lean so closely into the screen. No one’s really sure even now if Justice Thomas has figured out how to turn his microphone on. Not that it matters, I guess. He just sits there on the screen.”
“You’ll manage, I’m sure. Y’all still hearing cases?”
“Yeah, but it’s nothing interesting. Tax stuff. Business stuff. And all by telephone! You can’t appreciate a good oral argument via telephone!”
“Sounds about right,” Custer remarked.
“And then there was the spectacle with Kavanaugh’s dogs.”
“Do tell.”
“Look, he seems like a nice guy, and we were all happy for him when he announced he’d adopted three dogs from a local rescue. No one, and I mean no one, ever thought he’d name them “Christine,” “Blaisey” and “Ford!”
This caused a roar of laughter from Cassidy near the door that infected all three men for a few minutes.
“How about the rest of your colleagues, Chief Justice? What do they do in their spare time?”
“Well, I don’t know about all of them. Kagan’s taken to filming Jazzercise videos for YouTube. And Sotomayor’s been working on a cookbook for some time, she calls “The Wise Latina.” Ginsburg’s been talking about Crossfit nonstop.”
Custer nodded, urging Roberts on.
“No one really knows what Breyer does. He shows up to work and never really gets personal with anyone. And Alito and Gorsuch regularly fight over some game called “Fortnite.” As far as Thomas, he sits and reads for days. If you ever see Clarence Thomas with a book in one hand and coffee in the other don’t even try speaking to him.”
“And what about you, Chief Justice? What tickles your fancy in the downtime?”
“These days, Korean baseball.” Roberts sipped his scotch thoughtfully. “I can’t understand the commentary, but it’s the only live sporting event I can find on television.”
“Not bad, Chief Justice. Care for a bit of bartender wisdom?”
“Sure, why not?”
“My daddy used to tell me the world’s full of assholes, but it’s our duty to not be one in return. And sometimes, the best thing we can do to not be assholes is to show the biggest ones we find grace. That make sense, John?”
“I suppose it does,” Chief Justice Roberts said thoughtfully, finishing the Bowmore. “It’s late. i really should have my detail getting me back to D.C. now. How much do I owe you for the Bowmore?”
Custer waved a hand. “Your money’s no good here tonight, Chief Justice. Cass knew a guy.”
“Thank you for your courtesy, Mr. Custer.”
“Pleasure’s mine, Chief Justice.”
With that, Chief Justice John Roberts exited the Grassy Knoll, Secret Service in tow. As they sped off, Cassidy perked up from his dark corner next to the door.
“You sure about that one, Jesse? That Bowmore didn’t come cheap.”
“He’s a repeat customer now, Cass. We’ll stick it to him next time.”
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