“Yeah, whatever his name is. Tell him to come in here.” Thank God for Roy. I managed to get up and drag myself out of the torture chamber.

Roy was sitting, staring at his blank computer screen. His back was perfectly straight. His mullet crisper than autumn in New England. He wasn’t doing one damn thing. Then again, I couldn’t find one small metal thingy. And who knew, maybe Roy would have better luck. After all, he’d been hunting people all weekend. Surely he could find a bridge.

“Yes?” Roy asked utterly petrified. So was the air that his breath violated. I wondered if you’d die if Medieval Roy gave you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

“The judge wants you in there.” I pointed to her office. “She needs help finding her bridge.” A pause. As if he hadn’t heard the entire charade from the torture chamber. “It’s something small and metal and holds her dentures together.”

Before he could respond, I dodged the malodorous bullet and returned to my cubicle. Type type type. The Sixth Amendment to the United States Constitution provides that “In all criminal prosecutions—”

“Can’t you do anything, Roy?!”

“The accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the state and—”

“Roy! Roy! Faster. Look faster.” How did the woman expect us to work when she screamed like that? The best I could do was stare at Camden. The mere sight of Roy on all fours enraged her more than Dr. Fernandez’s truancy.

“AAAGGHHH!”

Camden would have to wait. Matthew jumped up and hid behind our door to witness the action. I peered to my left. Large medieval man with tight khaki pants. Butt in the air. Visible tighty-whitey line due to crawling position. Judge. Big bun, standing behind him.

“Roy! Roy! Roy!” Then she kicked the bottom of his cheap loafers. He moved an inch, nose to the floor. The moan was apparently caused when Roy bumped into a table, causing one of her deceased plants to fall over. Roy had watered that plant just hours earlier. I felt for Roy.

Thank God for Bob. As it was, even Dr. Fernandez, the head of cardiology at the University of Pennsylvania Hospital, was scared of the judge and returned her call the moment he finished a triple bypass. The judge forgot about the importance of her teeth, shooed Roy away, and answered her phone.

“Yes?” she asked as if the doctor were bothering her. Dr. Fernandez was rightfully confused.

“You called me, Judge. What can I do for you?”

“So nice of you to make time for me. You know that I’m a rilly rilly busy person. I’m a federal judge.”

“Listen, Judge Friedman, if there’s something I can help you with, please let me know. Otherwise, I’ll have to go as I’ve got a full list of patients today.”