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forth, becoming progressively sloppier as the hour went on, with the exception of the play of Dellenbaugh and DiNovi. Though they were clearly taking it easy, they stood out; both had awesome speed and stick-handling ability. Once Dellenbaugh had racked up a hat trick—three goals—he stopped taking shots, instead passing it whenever he had a clean shot.
    Dewey played respectably, racking up two more assists.
    With only a few minutes left, Dewey found himself with the puck at mid ice. He passed it to a wing, who brought it into the opponent’s zone and took a shot, which went wide. Behind the net, Dewey saw the red helmet of DeGray as he made his break out from behind the net, skating up the ice.
    Dewey began his run at the congressman from his own blue line. He tracked DeGray as his red helmet weaved through several players. Had DeGray passed the puck, Dewey would have aborted his run, but DeGray held on, gathering speed and momentum. By center ice, DeGray was at full speed. So was Dewey.
    A good hockey player, like Dellenbaugh, can skate with the puck without looking down, stick-handling blind and thereby avoiding hard checks that seemingly come out of nowhere. But most players needed to occasionally glance down at the puck to make sure it is still on their stick. DeGray was mediocre at best.
    Unfortunately for the Democratic congressman from Chicago, Dewey chose to make a temporary exception to the no-checking rule. As DeGray crossed mid ice, lurching left past his own centerman, Dewey was skating at full speed. Dewey was as locked into DeGray as a torpedo is locked into the hull of a battleship. DeGray looked up at the last second as Dewey crossed mid ice, lowered his shoulder, and struck him squarely in the numbers. DeGray was pummeled. He went flying off his skates, backward, dropping his stick and landing with a loud groan on the ice. His red helmet went flying off his head, spinning toward the boards.
    Play stopped as DiNovi grabbed Dewey to keep him away from DeGray, who lay facedown on the ice. When DiNovi attempted to push against Dewey, Dewey stood his ground. Dellenbaugh broke them up.
    “I got him, Tony,” said Dellenbaugh.
    Dellenbaugh skated with Dewey toward the door. Dewey glanced over his shoulder as a few players helped DeGray to his skates.
    “I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side,” said the president, laughing. “I was going to politely level him into the boards. That was brutal.”
    Dewey said nothing as he stepped off the ice.
    Hastings filed in behind Dewey and the president as they stepped off the ice.
    In the locker room, Dewey, Dellenbaugh, and Hastings were the first to sit down.
    Hastings pulled his goalie mask off. His face was bright red and his brown hair was matted in sweat.
    “It’s about time someone took out that little bastard,” said the chief justice, giving a thumbs-up to Dewey.
    The door opened and DeGray stormed in, a trickle of blood on his chin, coming from his mouth.
    “You son of a bitch!” he screamed at Dewey, stepping toward him. His helmet was off. Dewey didn’t flinch, calmly continuing to untie his skates, ignoring him. “That was the dirtiest hit I’ve ever seen.”
    DeGray stood in front of Dewey, who pulled his helmet off and put it down. Dewey looked up at him.
    “Fuck off,” said Dewey dismissively.
    DeGray looked around, his face beet red with anger. Suddenly he swung at Dewey. Dewey caught the fist with his left hand, then stood and, in one fluid motion, grabbed DeGray by the neck. Holding DeGray’s forearm in his left hand and neck in his right, Dewey thrust up at him, throwing DeGray backward, off his skates, to the ground in front of Hastings.
    “It was a clean hit,” said Hastings, as he untied his right skate and stared at DeGray on the floor. “And don’t forget, I’m the chief justice of the United States.”
    “I thought there wasn’t any hitting, Mr. President,” said DeGray from the ground.
    “Dewey just gave you a little