Lawyers in Hell

by Morris, Janet

  “Whatever happened to him?” Wellington asked. “Do we even know?”

  “Here one day and gone the next. Forget Goebbels. We’ve got a bigger problem now.”

  “Hmmm.” Standish rubbed his nose. “I’d be willing to bet that demon’s gone AWOL.”

  “AWOL? A demon? Absent without leave?”

  “Yes. There have been instances when a demon of lower rank has tried to escape torment by his superiors. They attempt to disappear into the population of the damned, keeping as low a profile as possible. That’s probably why no one ever sees him except in his backyard.”

  “Thanks for the history lesson. That still doesn’t solve our problem. As far as I know, it’s not easy to kill a demon.”

  “Well ... in certain circumstances....”

  “Don’t let Attila know,” Marie inserted, much calmer by now. “He’d try.”

  “Mostly for the fun, sport and amusement of it, I’m sure.” Napoleon locked eyes with Standish. “Maybe there’s a legal way to get rid of him.”

  “What?”

  “You’re the lawyer. Certainly you have something in your bag of tricks that can help us.”

  Standish’s face lit up. “There’s a good possibility of that, especially if he has gone AWOL.”

  Wellington drew himself up to his full aristocratic height. “And?”

  “I’ll have to do some research. I’ll get on Gurgle and check the list of local demons to ascertain their locations. I do have access to such things. A highly restricted password, you know.”

  “And then?” Napoleon asked, allowing just a bit of impatience to tinge his voice.

  “If it is true, I’ll file an emergency petition.” He lifted his chin and assumed his best trial lawyer’s stance. “Hellview Estates Home Owner’s Association versus Demon of Unknown Origin, Emergency Petition Alleging Fraud Against the Infernal Government.” His voice deepened and smoothed, as if he addressed a jury. “Hellview Estates Home Owner’s Association (hereinafter referred to as ‘Petitioner’) alleges –”

  “Save it for your brief,” Napoleon said. “We’ve got to get busy.”

  Standish grinned, the first time anyone had seen such an expression cross his face in months. “I’ll get points for this, of course. Can’t hurt my standing. Leave it to me. I’ll let you know what happens.”

  With that, Standish turned and set off toward the sidewalk and his house.

  “I thought mowing my grass every day was a bloody pain,” Wellington complained, watching Standish go.

  “Welcome to New Hell,” Napoleon said.

  *

  Several days passed without so much as a peep from Standish. The demon neighbor still kept to his backyard and totally ignored anything happening around him. The vandalism that had escalated in the neighborhood had died down, leaving Attila’s children as the likely culprits. No one had mentioned the neighbor’s true identity to Attila for fear the Hun would try to solve the problem in his usual bloodthirsty way. In fact, Attila had been called up for maneuvers with the Infernal National Guard in response to mounting unrest in the region. That left the goat herding up to his wives who, as usual, were not overly fond of such duty.

  This day, Napoleon and Marie were busy trimming the hedge. The bushes had grown bushier during the night and, along with fighting the ever-present weeds in his driveway and grass, Napoleon was certain he would reach master gardener status before long.

  “I wonder why we haven’t heard from Standish,” Marie said, dumping a handful of hedge into the basket that had become her ever-present accessory.

  “Who knows?” Napoleon took another swipe at the hedge with his clippers. “I’m familiar with how events unfold at the Hall of Injustice and it’s as they say: the wheels of justice grind slowly.” He lifted an eyebrow. “If there’s anything that might bring New Hell to a stop, it would be bureaucracy run amok.”

  “Where’s Wellington been? He didn’t even join us for dinner last night, and I haven’t seen him all day.”

  “I think the fact a demon lives two doors away has rattled him; not that it hasn’t rattled us. I also think he’s beginning to regret the purchase of his hellphone.”

  Marie laughed. “Did you see the hellphone tower in the middle of Decentral Park yesterday? I happened to look up and there it was. Not five minutes later, it had disappeared.”

  “Huhn. Let’s hope one of them doesn’t end up in our living room.”

  “I imagine the Cong weren’t thrilled with the intrusion.”

  “Probably not.” Napoleon straightened and surveyed his handiwork. “Speaking of the Cong, we’re going to have to deliver ribs soon now, or they’ll go back to shelling the neighborhood.”

  A mischievous expression crossed Marie’s face. “Maybe we can get them to target our neighbor’s house. In exchange for an extra large delivery of ribs,” she amended.

  Napoleon shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be a party to that. We have enough trouble as it is.” He winced inwardly. He had to stop saying that. Not that it wasn’t true, but it verged on the repetitious.

  Marie half-turned toward the stream. “Don’t look now; our neighbor is in his backyard again.”

  “Scales and tail and all?”

  “Hullo!” Wellington came through the side yard. “Your hedge looks smashing. Nearly as neatly trimmed as my side.”

  “Where have you been?” Napoleon asked. “Have you managed to ‘lose’ your hellphone yet?”

  “Not yet. I’m working on it.” Wellington studiously avoided looking in the direction of Napoleon’s new neighbor. “I think you and I need to have a talk.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s about the goats. Attila’s goats. The goats you never bothered to tell me about.”

  “Oh, those goats. I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  “And how would you –”

  Suddenly, the air temperature felt like it dropped at least twenty degrees, and the afternoon light dimmed slightly. Marie stepped closer to Napoleon, and Wellington’s face turned pale. Napoleon couldn’t resist the temptation to look at the demon neighbor’s yard. And fervently wished he hadn’t.

  Things that could only have been conjured from a nightmare had crawled up out of the stream running behind the neighborhood. Not the usual nastiness that sometimes rose up above the water, these things were straight out of one of the lower planes of the hells. And from the front of the neighbor’s yard stalked four large demons, each uglier and more vicious looking than the next.

  Napoleon’s neighbor let out a shriek that probably curdled the blood of anyone within a half mile radius. The things from the stream advanced quickly, as did the newcomers. The demon neighbor stood transfixed, frozen still as stone.

  Napoleon put his arms around Marie, unable to look away from what transpired next. Wellington had turned to watch as well, his face gone paler still.

  The four demons surrounded the demon neighbor, as the things from the stream drew closer, and a cloying scent of coppery decomposition wafted on a slight breeze.

  “Whatever you do, Marie,” Napoleon said in a hushed voice, “don’t look.”

  The demon neighbor shrieked. The other demons growled and howled.

  With deliberate slowness, the attacking demons began to systematically dismember Napoleon’s neighbor, throwing chunks and strips of him toward the things from the stream. Drops of thick, gelatinous fluid flew in all directions. The aquatic newcomers snarled and hissed as they fought for the dripping pieces thrown to them. The screams grew in intensity. All semblance of humanity had vanished from the demon neighbor, now revealed in his true form.

  It seemed to go on forever, with demonic screams and agonizing howls rising in pitch, then dying slowly away. Soon, there was nothing left of him but a slowly twitching tail on the gore-drenched grass.

  Sated, the things from the stream turned and oozed back to their domain, as the four large demons slowly turned toward Napoleon, Marie and Wellington.

  Napo
leon swallowed heavily, hearing Wellington murmur something that might have been a prayer if offered anywhere but here. And then, amazingly, the demons nodded once and slowly evaporated into the late afternoon light.

  “Oh, my benighted soul,” Wellington breathed. “What was that all about?”

  Napoleon lifted Marie’s head from his shoulder. “I think,” he said, amazed his voice was steady, “we’ve been acknowledged for revealing our former neighbor’s whereabouts.”

  Wellington drew a deep breath. “If that’s all –”

  “Ah ha!” Standish walked into the backyard. “I assume you’ve witnessed the fallout from my emergency petition. Not bad, was it?”

  “It all depends on whether you saw it or not,” Napoleon replied. “Maybe you’re used to such things downtown, but we’re not. I haven’t seen the like in years, and I’d rather not witness something similar for a long time.”

  “Well, it’s over now.” Standish smirked, pleased with himself. “And, if you happen to look in front of your ex-neighbor’s house, you’ll see a large sign posted that says ‘For Sale.’” He looked at the basket full of hedge clippings. “Glad to see you’re keeping up your property.”

  And with that, he turned and made his way back toward the sidewalk.

  “That ... that bastard,” Wellington said in a tight voice. “Not that I’m sorry about what happened, but I bloody well wouldn’t be so damned jovial about it.”

  Napoleon glanced at the empty yard next door. The tail was still twitching, but its movements had become feebler. Finally, it faded from view, leaving only stained grass to give evidence of what had happened.

  “Remember what Standish said. He gets extra points for this.”

  “And we get thanks from a pack of demons. What a privilege.”

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Napoleon said. “If it means being ignored for a while, that’s a good thing.”

  Marie still refused to look at the neighbor’s now empty yard. Napoleon could see she was struggling to overcome her disgust.

  “All right, Wellington,” he said. Anything to change the subject. “You came here for a reason. Something about goats?”

  “Oh, right. The goats. Why didn’t you tell me Attila used goats to keep his grass under control?”

  “I just found out myself,” Napoleon replied, relieved to be on safer ground. “As I said, I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  “Well, I am. I’m bloody tried of mowing, so I borrowed the goats today.”

  “Really? And how did that go?”

  “Nasty beasts, I’d say. Ildilco told me not to get too close to them because –”

  “They bite. Attila told me.”

  Wellington grumbled something, his pallor fading. “And why would you think I’d not be interested?”

  Napoleon didn’t even try to hide his smile. “Take a look at your boots.”

  The Iron Duke snapped his mouth shut on another comment and dropped his eyes to his always perfectly shined boots. “Oh, for the love of –”

  “I said I didn’t think you’d be interested. You know what happens. What goes in one end usually comes out the other. And I see you’ve been walking in it.”

  “Damn! Now I’ll have to thoroughly clean my boots. I hope it’s not caustic.” Wellington looked up from his feet. “I’ll wager it doesn’t bother Attila.”

  Napoleon shrugged. “Have you been downwind of him lately? Between horse sweat and goat shit, the man’s a walking stench factory.”

  “Hmmpf!” Wellington was trying to scrape goat dropping from the bottoms of his boots. “There does seem to be a lot of it.”

  “The taller your grass is, the more –”

  “I’m getting the picture.” Wellington shook his head. “I might have to rethink the whole enterprise. Those damned goats ... I swear they have fangs. At least my mower behaves itself without trying to take a chunk out of my legs.”

  “So far. Tell Attila you’re not interested. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

  Wellington snorted. “Don’t worry. Events around here have turned strange enough without having to wade through goat manure, too!”

  Marie laughed quietly, her voice now sounding close to normal. Napoleon squeezed her hand, but wondered if he and Wellington would get a good night’s sleep after seeing the ever-present, but thankfully mostly-hidden, side of New Hell erupt next door.

  He exhaled softly. Hell was hell and, no matter what happened, the residents of the neighborhood had no choice but to make the best of it.

  Ancient gods, demons and goats notwithstanding.

  And Injustice For All

  By

  Jason Cordova

  “I’ve had it!” Marie Antoinette screeched, entering the dilapidated apartment. The former Queen of France pointed one manicured finger at the shrunken head perched on her dining table. “You! You did this to us! You lied to me!” She stamped a petite foot on the ruined carpet and glared at the bearded head.

  “That could be construed as slanderous, you know,” the head of Rasputin the seer replied. His normally warm brown eyes were cold. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were accusing me of not fulfilling my duties.”

  “You haven’t fulfilled a single thing, you egotist!” Marie stomped over to the table and grabbed the shrunken head, hoisting it up by its beard, letting it sway dangerously, upside down. “I did exactly what you told me to do. And now I’m going to have to move out of this dump –” she spat the word emphatically, “– and into Unwelfare housing!”

  “We’re going to do what, now?” a familiar voice called from the other room. Henrietta Maria, once consort of England’s Charles the First, poked her head around the corner, concern etched upon her face: “We must move again?”

  “Oui,” Marie snarled, glaring at the swaying shrunken head. “Our dear prophet has lied again!”

  “I did not lie,” the shrunken head stated simply. “I only did as you asked.”

  “I asked for a prophecy about how to move into a place befitting my status!” Marie shrieked. “And your ‘advice’ got us evicted from this dump and into Unwelfare housing, like common trash!”

  “Then obviously my prophecy was correct….” Rasputin’s head muttered, exasperation lacing his tone.

  “Oh, this is horrible!” Henrietta whined, looking back into her bedroom. “I only now just unpacked the final box! Dear Rasputin, please tell me this is a mistake!”

  “Look lady, I don’t know how you survived in the real world, but here in hell you … well, you just aren’t cut out for this,” the shrunken head replied. “But Marie here demanded a prophecy and I gave her one, fulfilling my contract. Prophecy Dolls, LLC, takes no responsibility for actions taken by a customer based on that customer’s interpretation of a prophecy. It says so in our liability waiver, which you automatically signed when you placed an order for one of the many thousands of miniature heads we offer.”

  “Every single prophecy you have given me has ended up bringing me misery!” Marie complained and tossed the head back onto the table, where it rolled to a stop against the wooden perch whereon it normally resided. Marie began to pace, thinking of all the misfortune that had befallen her since her purchase of the shrunken head from the Perdition Broadcasting System. “First I asked how to move in a higher circle of company, and by following your prophecy I somehow ended up in the fifth circle of hell…”

  “I’m rather proud of that one,” Rasputin smirked.

  “Then I said I wanted to know the touch of a man, and I was changed into a doll for a weekend,” Marie moaned, shuddering at the memory. “I could not move an inch and the Undertaker’s breath was horrid.”

  “Yeah, that was funny,” Rasputin agreed, before hastily adding “– and prophetic.”

  “Oh, don’t forget about the cake incident,” Henrietta called from her bedroom.

  “The cake,” Marie hissed dangerously, her eyes narrowing as she glared at the shrunken head. “I had to ask around,
but I finally understand your ‘let them eat cake’ comment. I’m still digging cake out of every crevice of my … person. And none of those new dead will return any of my calls!”

  “Hey, that was very pertinent to your prophecy request,” Rasputin protested, trying to roll so he could see Marie. After a few abortive attempts, he managed to roll onto one ear. He sighed and looked up at his owner. “You wanted to know how you could become popular. I prophesied how: ‘let them eat cake.’”

  “I’m going to sue your makers,” Marie announced suddenly. She rubbed her hands together, a gleeful expression on her face. “I’m going to sue them for false advertisement and breach of contract!”

  “Look lady, I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye on this whole ‘prophecy’ thingy,” Rasputin said with a chuckle.

  “You’re a vile little head,” Marie growled, hands clenched tightly at her sides.

  “Marie,” Rasputin sighed. “I know you may not have benefitted from my prophecies, but I can almost guarantee you that you will not win any lawsuit against Prophecy Dolls, LLC. The contracts are iron-clad and designed to be litigation-proof. Any claim will be summarily tossed out of court if the plaintiff cannot present clear, convincing evidence of intentional fraud.”

  “Henrietta!” Marie called out in the direction of Henrietta’s bedroom. “Do you know any lawyers?”

  “In hell?” Henrietta asked, peeking through the crack in her door. “Yes, one. But he’s a stinking rat.”

  “Call him.”

  “But, Marie…” Henrietta protested, opening her door and stepping into the dingy living area, “…what if the head is correct? What if we cannot win in the uncivil court? You know how corrupt the circuit court of the Hall of Injustice can be.”

  “We must win,” Marie stated firmly. “We must be given what we’re owed.”