My version of Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia’s death follows. It is based on 25-hours a day of research conducted in a little adboe church outside Magma, Arizona, where I spend a great deal of time playing ska on a mandolin.
In the early morning hours of February 13, Scalia heard a knock on his door. He arose from bed to see it was the man he had been waiting for. They said nothing to each other, merely nodding.
Sam, the new arrival, carried a small satchel. He unzipped it and pulled out a syringe with a bottle labeled XXX Poison. Scalia looked on grim-faced. He was ill. His physician in Washington told him he had only months to live. The cancer that had been publicized as diabetes had spread.
Scalia slipped in to bed and turned over on his stomach. Sam filled the syringe, pulled down the Justice’s top-of-the-line PJs. Sam was familiar with syringes. He had worked for many Planned Parenthood clinics, killing embryos after they showed signs of life following an abortion.
The two met months earlier in an Alexandra, Virginia, think-tank. Mitch McConnell and other high-ranking Republicans surrounded Scalia. It was called “a political intervention.” They all knew about Scalia’s fragile health.
“Think about it, Justice,” McConnell said, placing his vulture-face next to Scalia’s ear so no one could hear perfectly. “We’re all going to die someday. You can make your death truly important to the conservative movement. You die under a veil of mystery and we’ll be able to convince our base that it was murder. We win the election in November, and name a conservative to replace you on the Court. Really, you know as well as I, Supreme Court appointments in the next eight years will greatly shift America one way or another. . So how about it? We’ve got an out of the way resort in West Texas to do it. Sam here will take care of you. Uttelry painless. What do you say?”
A McConnell minion delivered the word orally to Scalia’s children. “Think of your father’s great legacy,” thye were told, each in turn bowing to the powers that be.
Sam stood over the obese Justice and pushed the needle deep into the fleshy butt. It was a kind of poison that works fast and could not be detected easily. The local police and county sheriff and judge had been bought off. The aftermath would be easy to handle.
Scalia closed his eyes and pulled the pillow over his face as he had done as a scared child 75 years before. He took one last deep breath. The flicker of a smile quickly vanished. He was gone.
The rest is history.