Several hours later, Eddie had a good grasp of Hetty’s time in limbo. He leaned back in the chair and stretched a bit as the chair complained. A growl from his stomach hinted it was time to eat. Eddie closed the cover on his H-pad. He turned it over a couple of times. He still hadn’t figured out how the damned thing actually worked. He assumed it got its information like a telephone, but this thing didn’t have a wire. Perhaps it worked like a wireless crystal set and received signals out of the air. But it had both pictures and sound.
Eddie shrugged: what did he care? It might as well be hell’s own black magic. The H-pad reminded him of a Tommy gun – all he had to know was how to work it, not how to build it. He shoved the H-pad aside and picked up the top envelope. It obviously contained more than paper. He tore open one end and dumped out the contents. It was his new Bastardcard – accepted everywhere in hell you want to be! He looked at the small plastic rectangle. There was a place on the back for his signature. Eddie sighed. He hated official signatures in Hell. He pulled the “signing” pen out of its base and stared at the razor sharp nib. No use in waiting. Eddie touched the nib to his other hand and immediately felt as if he had been stabbed with a dull ice pick. He grimaced and signed the back of the plastic card in his own blood then returned the pen to its base.
A flyer on his desk caught his eye. The ad promised a unique dining experience at the Inferni Club. Eddie smiled at the tag line – Fais Ce Que Tu Voudras: Do What Thou Wilt. He fondly remembered the many clubs in Chicago that felt the same way. Since he now had a way to pay for his meal without having to haggle over the current exchange rate for diablos or denominations of hellnotes, it seemed as good a time as any to check this place out. Besides, he could take the H-pad with him. If the H-pad didn’t need a wire to work in the office, it shouldn’t need a wire to work anywhere else. He stuffed the H-pad in his battered case and left.
Walking anywhere in hell was never boring. Again, Eddie felt oddly at home. Hell, like most places of his time, was perpetually either dilapidated, destroyed, or being rebuilt. Several men in togas moved purposefully across the street. Eddie didn’t stare. You had to get used to seeing the damned in all kinds of clothing; anything from a grass skirts to capes to flayed skin if you were going to make it down here.
Eddie disturbed hell’s pigeons, lizard-looking things that flew, squabbling over an amputated hand lying in the gutter. They scattered until he passed, then returned to their prize. Eddie had walked by bodies before, both in Chicago and in hell. It was just another day.
Eddie arrived at his destination without trouble. The instructions on the flyer had been amazingly correct. Interesting looking place, thought Eddie as the Inferni Club’s massive church doors swung open easily under his hand. He looked around and it hit him: this place was old. Not old like his time; old like paintings he had seen in museums. A man dressed as a monk stood just inside.
“Greetings, please step this way. Party of one?”
“Um, yes. I got one of your flyers.”
“Excellent. Would you prefer a table, booth, or room?”
“I think a booth would be fine.”
“Wonderful choice. Please follow me.” The monk picked up a menu and silverware wrap and led him back into the cavernous space. Eddie liked the retro décor. He saw the buffet table in the center with a few patrons circling it. It smelled good, if nothing else. How long had it been since anything had smelled good to him?
“Will this do, Sir?”
Eddie looked at the cozy booth, complete with fine leather seats and hardwood table. It may have been the finest furniture he had seen in hell.
“Yes, thank you. This will be just fine.”
Once Eddie had settled into the booth, the monk signaled to someone in the room that Eddie couldn’t see and then turned his attention back to his guest. “My name is Francis. If you need anything please let me know. Valeria Messalina will be your she-devil today.”
As Francis the monk walked away, a striking woman in classic Roman attire arrived at the table with a glass of water and small basket of rolls. “Hello, I’m Valeria and I am your she-devil for today. On the back of our menu are all of our specials. Our drink menu is inside the front cover and, of course, we have the buffet. What can I get you started with?”
Eddie liked her accent and her aristocratic attitude. Another aspect of hell that Eddie had discovered was linguistics. You might speak with an accent, but you were understood by almost anyone you talked to. “Do you serve egg creams?”
“We certainly do. I’ll give you a moment with the menu.”
Eddie watched her glide across the club. He flipped over the menu to see the specials. Apparently, the club offered daily themes: Holy Ghost Pie; Breast of Venus; Devil’s Loin; Friar’s Frivolous Fancies; Aphrodite’s Appetizers; Roast Pope; and a variety of other edibles populated the page.
Valeria reappeared at his table with his drink. “Here you go, my dear. Have you decided?”
Eddie scratched his head for a moment then went for the default answer. “I think I will try the buffet, this time.”
“Very good. I’ll leave the menu with you for a drink later, perhaps.” Valeria added a wink on the last word. “Please help yourself to the buffet.”
Eddie watched her saunter off before heading over to the food. His hopes rose slightly. Perhaps it was being in the familiar surroundings of a club, but he could swear that he could make out different foods by the smells from the table. His nose and eyes told him that those trays held chicken thighs and breasts in quite titillating display. The short ribs left nothing to the imagination. Eddie couldn’t help but smile. A lot of work went into making the Kama Sutra of food before him. He took pains with his selections and returned to his booth.
Eddie stared at the food on his fork for just a moment. Then he put it in his mouth. He sighed; at least it smelled and looked good. He would take what he could get.
As he finished his meal, he heard the H-pad make a pinging noise. Apparently, he was right: that H-pad worked just fine here. He had received a message. The message told him the claims on Hetty Green’s soul were available for review. He pushed his plate to the side and made room for the H-pad. Eddie tapped the Environmental Services icon to return the call. The screen flickered a few times before the ES logo appeared on the screen.
The pleasant countenance of the standard hellish paralegal appeared on the screen.
“Eddie O’Hare with Adjudications, returning your call about Hetty Green.”
“We have been expecting you, Mr. O’Hare. Please give me one moment while I pull up the file.”
“Please do, by all means.” Eddie was from an era in which you were polite. You may murder your dinner guest before dessert but until then, you were polite.
The perky paralegal looked up. “Yes, here we go. We are filing a claim on Henrietta Green’s soul for the wanton pillage of natural resources.”
“I have that noted. Are there any special considerations that your department feels it is due?”
“We are claiming the rights to continued sin.”
“On what grounds do you feel this applies?”
“Hetty was born into a family that owned a fleet of whaling ships. As we all know, there is no greater example of the wanton pillage of natural resources.” The perky paralegal’s countenance changed as she spoke. It shifted from that helpful look to the zealous look of a prohibitionist. Eddie knew that look all too well.
“Are there any other considerations to be addressed?” Eddie couldn’t help himself. His career as a defense lawyer had been based on exonerating the guilty. He could already drive a truck of bathtub gin through the Environmental Services claim.
The perky paralegal rolled her eyes as if to ask, ‘What more do you want?’ Instead, she said, “Missus Henrietta Green did nothing to atone for the prior heinous acts committed during her lifetime. In fact, if the whaling business in the developed world had not been supplanted by other products and technologies, her fleet would s
till be out there committing a wide variety of odious acts. I’m sending you all the specifics, page and line, now.”
Eddie carefully viewed the Environmental Services claims as they popped open on his screen. He took a moment to look everything over and see if he had any further questions.
The perky paralegal interrupted his train of thought. “When can we expect delivery of this sinner? We have a very special place all picked out for her.”
Eddie pursed his lips for a movement before he spoke. Old habits die hard, harder in hell. “I will take your claims into consideration; however, I have several other claimants for her soul.”
“I understand that you wish to give the other claimants a fair hearing, but I am sure you can clearly see that she belongs with us. Her entire life is a deplorable example of profiteering from environmental exploitation and wanton destruction of any species not human.”
“That may be true, but you can not apply later ethics to the era in question. She and her family were well within the rights of her society at the time to commit, without sin, all of the acts you cite as damning. As a matter of fact, her family’s beliefs were in line with the standards of the time.”
The paralegal no longer looked perky. If looks could kill (and they just might in hell), Eddie would be a smoldering heap under her self-righteous glare. Eddie smiled inwardly while his face remained impassive. He hadn’t lost his touch; he could still get anybody off the hook.
“Thank you so very much for your time,” Eddie told the ES paralegal. “The Judgment Panel will let you know the status of your claim soon.” Eddie saw her hand move across the screen and the connection abruptly ended.
Eddie smiled outwardly now. As he typed the last of his notes, he saw Valeria approaching.
“Let me clear these away.” Valeria offered, picking up his plate. “Would you like another soda?”
Eddie looked at his nearly empty glass. The egg cream had been just as tasteless as his coffee earlier. It just didn’t matter what it was. The color may be right, the texture may be right, but nothing had any enjoyable flavor. “Yes, please; that would be nice.”
“It will be just a minute. Do let me know if you see anything else you want?” Valeria added a touch of professional emphasis to her question. Eddie couldn’t help himself: He took a quick glance at her backside as she walked away.
He shook his head slightly then pressed the next series of icons for the Family Avarice Department (FAD). After an annoying moment of screen flicker, the ornate logo for the FAD appeared on the screen. Eddie took a last sip of the tasteless soda. He looked in the glass and shrugged. The video chat window opened.
“Eddie O’Hare with Adjudications calling about Hetty Green.”
An older man with a bow tie and disheveled hair stared quizzically at the screen for a few moments. Then his face brightened as he identified the correct icon to press on his end.
“Eddie. I believe you said your name was Eddie. Well, Eddie, my boy, we here at the FAD believe that we have numerous claims upon the soul in question,” the speaker drawled slowly like a politician from below the Mason-Dixon line.
Eddie winced slightly. “I have that noted. Are there any special considerations that your department feels it is due?”
Eddie winced again as he saw the lawyer on the screen take a deep breath. This one looked like a true pontificator.
“We believe, I say, we believe that the evidence is quite overwhelmingly in our favor. After all, she wasn’t knee high to a grasshopper when she was reading her daddy the financial pages from the newspaper. Our claims begin at the moment of her beloved daddy’s death. Somehow, over the objections and obviously legal claims of her entire family, Hetty was the recipient of seven and a half million dollars. I don’t care who you are, that’s a lot of money to bequeath to a young lady. This is an obvious sign of family avarice.”
“Are there any other circumstances you would like to be considered?”
“Any other considerations? Any other! Why when her dear Aunt Silvia departed the mortal world, your dear Hetty tried her hand at inheriting once again. She contested the part of her aunt’s will that left two million dollars to charity. Well, I say, she contested the will by producing a will of her very own. Don’t you know it, the case wound up in court and was a landmark. It was a landmark, I tell you. Those intelligent investigator boys used forensic mathematics on her version of the will and proved beyond a reasonable doubt that poor Silvia’s signature was indeed a forgery, the act of a charlatan. Her own cousins tried to have her indicted for this heinous act. She tore her new husband up by the roots and forced him to flee across the Body of Water with her, so to speak. Hid from her crimes in London, she did. This woman truly belongs with the FAD, as you can plainly see.”
Eddie entered his notes quickly while the bushy headed claimant waited, an air of complete confidence on his face. He remained silent until Eddie looked up into the screen.
“I say there, Eddie, my boy, when can we expect delivery?”
“As I am sure you are aware, there are a number of requests for this soul. I am required to hear from all the claimants.” Eddie waited for the rebuttal.
“And I am sure you will give them all a fair ear, a good listening to, as it were. However, I am quite sure you can see the clear facts – that she truly belongs with the FAD for final damnation.”
“While I agree that there are overtones of avarice, your claims lack factual, hard evidence. Since she was obviously a favorite of her father, the favoritism was the sin of the father, not of the child. If the rest of the family had wanted to share more deeply in the father’s inheritance, they should have taken a more active role. I see her first inheritance as legitimately earned. In the events surrounding the bequest of her aunt: yes, the will that Hetty Green produced was ruled to be a forgery – by new and untried and at that time unreliable techniques. It was never proven that my client, Missus Henrietta Howland Robinson Green, actually forged the signatures on the will. My client may have been as much a victim of the act as the rest of the family. It is also entirely possible that family members could have meant to entrap Hetty by providing the fake will in order to get back at Hetty for her original inheritance. And, yes, the family did object again legally, but without a conviction to support their case, there remain many unanswered questions. As for residing in London, a great number of Americans with means have resided in other countries.” Eddie covered each and every point while the man from FAD stared at him in utter disbelief.
Before the Southern gentleman could take a deep breath to begin a counter attack, Eddie gave him the slight nod that had terminated many an interview: this exchange was completed for now. “Thank you so very much for your time. The Judgment Panel will let you know the status of your claim soon.” Eddie saw the FAD man’s hand move across the screen and the connection abruptly terminated.
Eddie settled back into the leather booth for a moment. He felt some of his old confidence returning. As if on cue, Valeria arrived with another egg cream.
“Here you go.” She set the glass down and removed the empty. “Enjoy.”
Eddie wasn’t sure if she meant the soda or the view of her leave-taking. He leaned forward and looked at the H-pad to see who had queued up next. The screen flickered a bit then revealed the icon for Tactical Profiteering. If this was a special department of damnation, then he knew it would possess some of the greatest if most misguided minds that ever lived. He might have to pay them a visit in the near future. He pressed the icon and waited for the flickering to clear.
“Eddie O’Hare with Adjudications calling about Hetty Green.”
Add twenty years to the standard hellish paralegal and that is who just appeared on screen. The hair had been pulled back in a stark fashion that gave her face a certain accountant-like appearance.
“We’ve been expecting your call. Mr. O’Hare. I have the file right here. It looks like this soul was tailor-made for the Tactical Profiteering Department.”
“I have that noted. Are there any special considerations that your department feels it is due?”
“Her entire living career is a textbook case of tactical money making. However, there are a few outstanding cases I would like to point out.”
“Please proceed.” Eddie liked her approach, direct. He made a mental note to find this part of Hell and pay it a visit.
“During a difficult time for her country, she managed to earn over one and a quarter million dollars in greenback bonds in one year alone. She parlayed those profits in further exploitation of rail-bond purchases. That act alone had far-reaching effects for the country and its indigenous peoples. She even facilitated the failure of a major financial institution and had been profiteering from her own husband. In nineteen oh seven, she actually managed to hold the City of New York in her debt in the amount of over one million dollars in short term bonds.”
Eddie watched the woman from Tactical Profiteering closely. She obviously had a firm grasp on financial concepts. She even moved with conservative effort, no wasted motion. Eddie made his notes quickly. “Thank you for the additional points.”
“I am sure you have already been asked this, but I would be remiss if I didn’t inquire as to an estimated delivery date for the soul.”
“As you know, the final disposition of this soul is actually up to the Judgment Panel. However, I will point out that while she certainly did profit from unfortunate circumstances, none of these circumstances were the direct result of her actions or machinations. As a matter of fact, most of her activities were at the invitation of those from whom she profited. Most investors at the time of the greenback bonds were reluctant to speculate on a struggling government. She had no such reservations and her investments helped to stabilize a nation. Yes, the rail-bonds had far-reaching effects. In her defense, these events in history were already in motion with or without her money. She was merely wise enough to keep her financial position positive during a turbulent time. Even the City of New York came to her. The city was fortunate that she was in the position to take them up on their offer; not once, but several times.”
Lawyers in Hell Page 21
