Free The Nomination by William G. Tapply

addressed to Judge Thomas Larrigan, Federal District Court, Boston, MA. It was postmarked Miami, FL.
    Moran looked up at him with his eyebrows arched.
    Larrigan slid the newspaper clipping out of the envelope and handed it to Moran. “Read this,” he said. Larrigan himself had pretty much memorized it.
    It read:
    JUDGE CRENSHAW TO RETIRE
    Supreme Court Justice Lawrence Crenshaw will announce his retirement from the seat he has held for the past thirty-two years, effective at the end of this term.
    A source close to the Justice said: “Justice Crenshaw has informed the president of his intention to step down. He will make his formal announcement at the end of the current session.”
    Justice Crenshaw celebrated his 86th birthday in February. He has been in failing health.
    According to Beltway insiders, the search for a replacement has already begun. Leading contenders for Justice Crenshaw’s seat include Maria Anna Alvarez, Circuit Court judge in San Diego; William Howard Raymond, former Virginia Attorney General; and, Thomas R. Larrigan, Federal District Court judge in Boston.
    White House sources declined comment.
    Moran glanced at it, then folded it and handed it back to Larrigan. “So it ain’t a secret,” he said. “Congratulations, I guess, huh?”
    â€œTake a look at this.” Larrigan handed Moran a photograph. Actually, it was a photocopy of a photograph. “Look familiar?”
    Moran glanced at it and nodded. “It’s like those from Bunny’s shoebox. There’s you and your Vietnamese chick—what was her name? Li An?”
    â€œYes,” said Larrigan. “Li An.”
    â€œAnd me and Bunny.” Moran laughed. “We’re all looking pretty drunk, wouldn’t you say?”
    â€œYes, we are. We’re not looking very dignified.”
    Moran frowned. “How’d you get ahold of this?”
    Larrigan didn’t answer. He took the note out of the envelope and handed it to Moran.
    Larrigan had memorized the note, too. It had been eating at him all day.
    There was no date or return address on the top.
    â€œDear Tom,” it read. “Now it all makes sense. Congratulations. And then Eddie Moran just happens to show up after all these years. Nice to see him again. He’s still cute. I’m guessing that the National Enquirer or Hard Copy or Geraldo might enjoy our story along with some photographs from those happy days. I bet one of them would give me $50,000 for it. Maybe all four of us could go on TV together. Have a tearful reunion, talk about old times. What do you think?”
    She had signed it: “Bunny.”
    Larrigan studied Moran as he read the note. His lips actually moved. If you didn’t know better, you might think that Eddie Moran wasn’t very bright.
    Larrigan knew for a fact that Moran was extremely bright. Unprincipled, devious, amoral. Borderline sociopathic. But plenty bright.
    Moran folded Bunny’s note and handed it to Larrigan.
    Larrigan put it back into the envelope. “Well?” he said.
    â€œI probably shoulda taken the damn pictures,” said Moran.
    â€œShe expects me to give her fifty grand.”
    â€œExtortion’s illegal, Judge.” Moran was grinning.
    Larrigan snorted. “Yeah, we’ll have her arrested. Good idea. A public trial. Just the ticket.”
    â€œYou want to pay her off?”
    â€œYou think that’ll shut her up?”
    â€œProbably not,” said Moran.
    Larrigan gripped the steering wheel with both hands, squeezing as hard as he could, as if he could strangle it. All that was thirty-five years ago. Nobody who hadn’t been there could have any idea what it was like. You could watch all the movies, read all the novels and memoirs and history books, and you still wouldn’t have a clue.
    They were just kids, and they all thought they were going to die. They had all resigned themselves to that. It was the only way they