“Tell Roderick I’m coming there now. Now! It’s Judge and it’s an emergency!” Roderick was her hairdresser. Her husband was missing (and potentially flashing innocent children) and the emergency was her bun? Ideology was beside the point. Senators should require judicial nominees to undergo extensive psychological testing before confirmation. Did it matter if judges were liberal or conservative if they foamed at the mouth?

The final sighting came at 6:15. It was the nurse’s aid.

“Ah, Mrs. Judge, I think I’ve found Bob. Ah, he’s at the deli on the corner of Nineteenth and Locust. He refuses to leave without you. He’s not wearing much and is shivering.”

I wanted to cry. The thought of a half-naked, deranged old man amid deli meats was too much to bear. Even worse was his wife’s response.

“Well, tell him he’ll have to wait. I’m rilly busy and have to get my hair done!” Slam.

With that, she grabbed her bevy of bags and headed to the salon.

My head was spinning. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t do something, anything. I made a break for it when Matthew got up to go to the bathroom, since I figured he’d try to stop me. It turned out he’d used the judge’s absence to stealthily retrieve a new mechanical pencil, and he cut me off at the pass.

“Where are you going, Sheila?”

“I’m going, um, I’m going to get Bob.” Saying it out loud paradoxically underscored the lunacy of the plan and gave me the resolve to carry it out. “So, please don’t try to stop me. I know you think it’s ridiculous that I even care at this point, but he’s an old man and—”

“Sheila, Sheila,” Matthew said, grabbing my shoulders, “I think it’s amazing that you care. Crazy, yes—considering that the judge is evil incarnate but amazing that you even give a shit about her husband.”

“Well, I’m sort of curious about the naked part,” I joked, hoping that a little laughter would lower my escalating heart rate.

“Me, too,” Matthew said and winked, “which is why I’m coming with you.”

We left the courthouse, squinting north, south, east, west in search of a taxi.

“Nineteenth and Locust, please,” I instructed the driver and turned to Matthew. “What if she’s there? What if she actually went to the deli and not the salon and sees us? What if she—”

“Sheila,” Matthew said, taking control. “Would you rather risk seeing the judge and saving Bob or not risk it and let him continue streaking the city?”