By the time we got outside, it was like a scene from Law and Order. Camera crews everywhere. Police had the place surrounded, securing the site and directing people away from a massive hole in the street. Matthew grabbed one of them who had tried to shoo us away initially.

“Excuse me, sir. Our boss is down there. She just called us.” The cop looked at once confused and relieved. “Oh good, so you know whoever’s down there is OK?”

“As of about ninety seconds ago, she was fine. She just wants to get out,” Matthew explained.

“DAMN IT, I’M IN A HOLE!” The judge had managed to roll down her window from twenty feet under.

“That seems clear. Wow, she’s got a voice on her,” the cop noted, wincing.

“You have no idea,” Matthew said, chuckling.

“She’s also going to be arrested, your boss.” The thought of the judge in handcuffs, while alluring, was absurd. “Seems that your boss didn’t feel like obeying the road sign.” He pointed to a quadrangular orange sign that read, DANGER: MEN AT WORK. “This manhole was surrounded by orange cones and your boss just plowed through and I guess her car went in. At least that’s what a couple of witnesses said.” He shook his head slowly from side to side, just like the cops did on TV. “If she’s OK, then I’m sure her car is totally wrecked. And she’s damn lucky all the construction workers had headed home about twenty minutes earlier. If anyone had been hurt, she’d be looking at a misdemeanor at least. Felony maybe.”

The reality was sinking in much like the judge’s car. Judge Friedman was in a hole on Market Street. The lady hadn’t lied.

“I don’t know what possessed me to return to this.” Matthew shook his head.

“Well I, for one, am thrilled you did. Can you please promise not to ditch again?” I begged.

Matthew smiled: “Deal, Sheera.”

It took a little more than an hour for a tow truck to come and yank the judge’s red BMW out of the gaping hole. The car was unscathed, without a single scratch. The cops and remaining bystanders looked amazed. I wasn’t. I knew she’d get out of it. It’d take a hell of a lot more than a twenty-foot manhole to hurt her or anything she owned. What was incredible was that the judge appeared to be furious—much like she did after awakening from her nap on the bench that morning. She surfaced from the hole, thrusting her minifist in the air like Louis Farrakhan. Matthew and I walked over to the driver’s side to help her out.