Lawyers in Hell

by Morris, Janet

  “Have you reached Queen Victoria?” Marie asked, taking a sip of her wine.

  “I got through several times, but the damned tower must have moved and my last call was dropped.”

  “Told you so.” Napoleon grinned. “I don’t trust those things. I don’t even trust my Ma-hell landline. I wish we could get our hands on a good, old fashioned phone. One of Caesar’s field phones would do the trick, too.”

  “Maybe Attila can get us one,” Wellington suggested.

  “Or your Cuban, in between cigars and fake I.D.s.”

  Wellington looked pensive. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “And meanwhile, we have to figure out what to do about my neighbor. I’m not overjoyed with the prospect of talking to the man. And if he’s totally unsettled Standish, that’s saying something. After all, Standish does practice law at the Hall of Injustice.”

  “Well, he’s a lawyer,” Marie said. “That’s where some of them earn their keep.”

  “He ought to sue your neighbor.” Wellington waved a hand. “If he was called all kinds of scurrilous names, he could go for defamation of character.”

  “A lawyer? A hell-certified lawyer?” Napoleon laughed. “That would be hard to prove, especially with no witnesses and given the professional company he keeps.”

  *

  Grass growing inches in hours was annoying; weeds springing up in every available crack in the driveway made matters worse, but now, adding insult to injury, the petty vandalism that had recently plagued the neighborhood had escalated. Napoleon stood in his front yard and glared at the remnants of his living room picture window. The repair people were on the way, but the cost to replace the window was something he didn’t look forward to.

  He’d found the large rock that had done the damage in the center of his living room after being awakened from a sound sleep. He and Marie had nearly levitated out of bed at the sound of shattered glass and the piercing alarm from the security system. Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine who would have taken aim at his window in the dead of night.

  Perhaps uncharitably, his thoughts turned to Attila. Well, rather, to Attila’s brats.

  Marie joined him in the front yard, bringing him a cup of coffee, and contemplated the broken window.

  “Who could have done this?” she asked. “Surely it wasn’t the Cong.”

  “Oh, no. They would have shelled the house, or at least the driveway. This isn’t up to their standards.”

  “At least we’ve got all the glass up from the carpet. Who’s coming to fix it?”

  “Windows4U.” Napoleon reached into his shirt pocket and extended a business card.

  Marie stared at the card. “Windows4U? What kind of a name is that?”

  “They’re newly arrived,” Napoleon explained, “and technology happy. It probably comes from their texting back and forth.”

  “Oh. Can Wellington do that with his phone?”

  “If he can, I’m not going to tell him.”

  “Where did you find them?

  “I got their name from Standish.”

  “Speaking of whom,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes, “I wonder if he gets a kickback.”

  “Hush. We don’t need to be on his bad side.”

  “I’d think since he’s been after you to talk to our reclusive neighbor, he’d want to stay on your good side.”

  “Possibly.” Napoleon finished his coffee and handed off his cup. “Do me a favor, Marie. When the repair crew gets here, hover close enough to make sure they’re doing what they’re paid to do, but far enough away so they can’t accuse you of meddling.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I think it’s time I paid a visit to Attila.”

  *

  Attila’s house appeared unscathed, his front yard neatly mowed, and all seemed quiet. Napoleon rang the bell and waited, now and then glancing at Decentral Park. It was about time to deliver another round of ribs but, with the expense of replacing his window, things were going to be a bit tight. Fortunately, he still received his generous pension as a retired general in Satan’s armies, as well as the fee he collected when he taught strategy at headquarters. Nevertheless, another outflow of cash was unwelcome.

  He rang the bell again. As far as he knew, Attila was off-duty from the Infernal National Guard and should be home. It was late enough so that any hangover from one of Attila’s frequent drinking bouts should have worn off by now. Finally, the door opened and one of Attila’s wives, Ildilco, stood there, her beautiful face puffy from sleep.

  “Sorry to bother you,” Napoleon said. “I need to talk to Attila. Is he home?”

  “That low-down bastard! Got in at who knows what time, drunk beyond drunk, singing off-key ... yes, he’s here. Staying out of my sight, mostly. He’d better.”

  Napoleon patiently waited for her venom to dissipate. Ildilco’s tirades were nothing new and were to be weathered like any passing storm.

  “Where is he?”

  “In the backyard.” She glared at nothing in particular and slammed the door.

  Napoleon smothered a grin. It must have been some party Attila had attended for Ildilco to be so out of sorts. Out in back, he found the king of the Huns standing in the midst of three longhaired goats. Or what, at first sight, he took to be goats. Whatever one assumed to be normal usually wasn’t. Attila seemed none the worse for wear and the goats were contentedly grazing in his yard.

  “Why you sly old fox,” Napoleon said, watching the goats make short shrift of the lawn. “Now I know why your yard always looks so neat.”

  “Don’t get too close,” Attila cautioned. “They bite.”

  “I’ll bet they do. Much like your new polo pony, I’m thinking.”

  “True. But I don’t have to mow and that’s worth it.”

  “Don’t let Wellington in on your secret. Mowing his lawn keeps him occupied.”

  Attila stepped aside as the goats began to move to an uncropped portion of grass. “What do you want?” A suspicious expression crossed his heavy face. “Not another favor for Caesar, I trust.”

  “No. I haven’t heard from him in a month or so. I’m here to ask you about your children.”

  “By the Vault Above! What have the little monsters done now?”

  “Besides drawing scandalous things in chalk on the sidewalks, nothing I know about. But last night someone threw a rock through my picture window, and I was wondering if you did a nose count when you got home.”

  “They were all asleep. I checked. Not that I wouldn’t put it past them, but this time I think they’re innocent.”

  “It was just a thought. Have you been targeted lately?”

  “The usual small stuff.” Attila gestured Napoleon back. The goats were coming closer. “Soap on the screen doors, shit in burning paper bags on the doorstep. Nothing bad as a broken window. Do you have any suspects?”

  “No.” Napoleon followed Attila to a safer corner of the yard. “Here’s the latest. Wellington bought a hellphone using a false I.D. He’s concerned about Queen Victoria and has to talk to her at least three times a week.”

  “Why doesn’t he just go see her?”

  “Can’t say for sure. You’ve heard the rumor?”

  Attila’s eyes narrowed. “Which one?”

  “The big one. The hells are being visited by some kind of heavenly auditors, a Babylonian god and his seven weapons. They’re here on instructions from Above to make sure everyone receives injustice justly. Or something like that.”

  Attila nodded slowly. “I’ve heard the same thing.” Then he grinned. “All the lawyers must be shaking in their boots or salivating over their opportunities.”

  “And you haven’t even mentioned Satan.”

  “Hoo boy!” Attila’s grin disappeared. “I hadn’t thought about that. Slipping up on his duty of tormenting us, hey?”

  “I don’t know. Wellington’s upset because of the rumor, and I’ll admit I’m none too pleased. I think that’s why he doesn’t drive
to see Queen Victoria, why he bought the hellphone, and why he used a fake I.D.”

  “Huhn. Makes sense. It’s got me worried, too.” Attila pulled on his mustaches, his usual bluster dampened. “It’s ... what’s the word? Arb ... arbi –”

  “It’s arbitrary,” Napoleon supplied, “Erra’s comings and goings. I agree. No one knows where or when he’ll show up next. And there’s not a damned thing we can do about it if he comes to this side of the Park. You heard what happened in New Hell City: the flood and the plague? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to end up on the Undertaker’s table. Our only hope is we get some kind of protection from Satan.”

  “By my ancestors’ ghosts! That’s a first, hoping Satan keeps us safe.”

  “I would imagine His Infernal Majesty is in a towering rage over this heavenly visit. Defending his turf, I think the term is. And as for our protection, Wellington and I served him for years and years, though we didn’t have a choice in the matter. You still serve. It’s obvious times are changing and we’re powerless to do much about it.”

  For a long moment, he shared an uncomfortable silence with the king of the Huns.

  Attila straightened, drew a deep breath, then gestured to the other side of his backyard. “You’d better move, Napoleon. The goats are coming.” Physically shaking off his somber mood with a shrug, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So, what else has got you troubled?”

  “Two things. I’d like to talk to Caesar; however, the Romans have, for all practical purposed, disappeared. I used to get periodic calls from him but, lately, nothing. I can’t trust my Ma-hell landline for anything save boring everyday conversations. Wellington’s hellphone can be traced no matter if it’s in use or not. Can you get me a vintage phone or a field phone, or something that’s secure?”

  Attila shook his head. “I can try, but it won’t be easy. What’s the other thing?”

  “My neighbor. The one who moved in next door more than three weeks ago. There’s something about him that has our HOA president spooked.”

  “Standish? I didn’t think anything could bother him. He thrives at the Hall of Injustice and that takes guts.”

  “Well, he wants me to try to find out more about this new neighbor. And I’m not particularly eager to do so.”

  “I can’t do anything about that,” Attila admitted. “I’ve never seen him, even close as I live to you. Now the field phone ... maybe. But I’ve heard another rumor.”

  “What a surprise. Is this one legitimate?”

  “Sounds like it. Has to do with leeches.”

  “Leeches?”

  “That’s what I’ve heard.” Attila spread his hands and took unusual care with his words. “There are supposedly different types of leeches that inhabit several pools somewhere beyond the outskirts of New Hell. Now the interesting thing about these leeches is that some of them can communicate among themselves. If someone attaches one of those leeches to a part of his body, he can communicate with another person wearing a leech from the same pool. Totally undetectable by any means.”

  “You’re a fount of information. I suppose while you’re talking, or whatever it is you do to communicate, the slimy things are feasting on your blood.”

  “I guess you have to give a little to get a lot,” Attila said. For a moment, he looked surprised to have made such a profound statement.

  “Well, if you can’t get a field phone, bag phone, or whatever, keep me in mind. I don’t trust the technology in New Hell right now. Too much can go wrong.”

  “If that’s all you want me to do. I was afraid you might suggest I go fishing for leeches.”

  “No, and I wouldn’t ask you to go alone. There has to be somewhere else to acquire them. New Hell City seethes with dishonesty.”

  “Hah! And I’d place a safe bet that’s why Satan likes to live there.”

  Napoleon felt something brush against his leg and looked down. One of the goats was nibbling on the grass by his foot. “Damn! Warn me the next time your four-footed lawnmowers are getting too close!”

  Attila laughed. “They’re pretty tame now that they’re not so hungry. Look at the yard, will you, it’s neat as a pin!” He slapped Napoleon on the shoulder. “Good luck with your weird neighbor. And I’ll see what I can do about the field phone.”

  *

  The repair crew from Windows4U had done an excellent job. Marie had followed Napoleon’s instructions and watched carefully without appearing to do so. Payment made, she decided to walk around to the backyard. A small stream ran along the row of houses next to Hellview Golf and Country Club, separating the 18th green and club house from the residential neighborhood. There were times when the flowing water sounded soothing and she enjoyed a brief respite from the continual trials of dwelling in hell. Oh, she’d chosen her lot, refusing to leave New Hell and ascend back to Purgatory, because she couldn’t imagine leaving Napoleon. As she had told him time and again, love was something the devil couldn’t understand and had difficulty dealing with.

  She didn’t dare go too close to the stream. Though it seemed innocent enough, nasty things periodically surfaced from beneath the water, and viewing them was something she scrupulously avoided. Today, she stood in the middle of the yard and tried to enjoy a few moments of solitude.

  A slight noise and a very faint scent of something noxious roused her from her thoughts. She turned and was surprised to see the new neighbor standing by his back door. Not wanting to appear nosy, she didn’t look directly at him, only slightly to one side. And nearly let out a cry of surprise.

  The few times she had seen the reclusive neighbor, he appeared to be a very tall, thin fellow, dark-haired, and with no memorable features. But what she saw now was not human. Scales covered his body and (oh, no!) he had a long, barbed tail that was slowly swaying back and forth. Heart in her throat, she glanced away, hoping he had not noticed her looking in his direction. Drawing a calming breath, she let her gaze focus squarely on him, then looked to the side so she could still see him with her peripheral vision. The tail was there again, as were the scales.

  Slowly, so as not to draw attention to herself, she turned and walked around the side of the house to the front yard. Only then did fear consume her. Napoleon! He had to know! And he had gone to Attila’s. She rushed down the driveway and had just rounded the hedge when she saw Napoleon returning from his visit to the king of the Huns.

  “Napoleon!” she gasped, grasping his hand. “You’ve got to listen to me! It’s important!”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned softness touching his grey-blue eyes.

  “It’s the new neighbor,” she explained, catching her breath. “He ... it ... He’s a demon!”

  *

  Napoleon stiffened in surprise. “A demon? Are you sure? How can you tell?”

  She quickly explained how the neighbor’s true form had been revealed by viewing him with her peripheral vision. He watched her closely as she talked, knowing full well it took a lot to intimidate her. She’d witnessed too much in New Hell to be easily frightened, but what she had seen today had truly disturbed her.

  “I’m going to see if he’s still out there.”

  Napoleon let loose of her hand and hurried to the back yard. Assuming a casual demeanor, he inspected the hedge that separated his yard from Wellington’s, ostensibly examining the growth of the bushes. He glanced over his shoulder. Yes, the neighbor was still standing by his door, seemingly unaware he was being spied upon. Napoleon looked directly at him, then let his gaze move slightly to one side.

  Marie had been correct. Scales and a tail.

  As if nothing had happened, he rejoined Marie.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Some kind of demon, I’m not sure of the genus. You’d better warn Wellington, Attila and the rest of the neighborhood.” He frowned. “I’d like to know what’s going on here that we rate our own resident demon.”

  Marie shook her head, to his eyes, she was still upset by what she’d seen.

&
nbsp; “Let’s go.” He took her arm and they set off around the hedge.

  *

  Wellington sat in a lawn chair on his front porch, his legs stretched out in front of him, apparently taking a nap.

  “Wellington! Wake up, will you!”

  The Iron Duke lifted his head, blinking several times. “Can’t you let a man rest for a moment?” he grumbled. “I’ve just finished mowing.”

  “This is more important that your yard right now. We’ve got a demon living next to me. You can’t tell by looking at him, but if you glance to one side, you can see his true form.”

  That got Wellington’s attention. “Damn! You’re certain?”

  “Marie pointed it out to me and, yes, I saw the same thing.”

  “Oh, Damnation! What are we going to do about –”

  At that very moment, Martin Chase Standish, Esquire arrived unannounced at Wellington’s porch. “Napoleon,” he said, without so much as a how-do-you-do, “have you had any luck yet with your new neighbor?”

  “You might say so,” Napoleon replied, interested in Standish’s reaction. “He’s a demon. That’s why you were so disturbed when you talked to him.”

  “What? A demon? Posing as a human? That’s totally irregular! Unless they’re on some mission from their superiors, they’re supposed to retain their infernal form.”

  “Thanks so much for the reassurance,” Wellington sniffed.

  “What do we do about him?” Napoleon asked. “You work at the Hall of Injustice. I would guess you’d find a few demons there.”

  “You’d be right. But …” Standish’s voice trailed off and he assumed a thoughtful expression. “I don’t think he’s supposed to be here. This neighborhood is pretty much off limits to them.”

  “You would know,” Wellington said.

  Standish glared in Wellington’s direction. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He means,” Napoleon quickly inserted, “you’re more familiar with demons, because of your profession, than we are. No offense meant, I’m sure.”

  Wellington lifted both hands. “Of course, I wouldn’t dream of insulting you.”

  And how do you know this neighborhood is “pretty much off limits”? What else haven’t you shared with us? “You’re the Home Owner’s Association president,” Napoleon said. “What are you going to do about the fact we have a demon living next to me? And I thought Goebbels was bad enough.”