Lawyers in Hell (19 page)

Pym was leaning back in his chair, his eyes half closed.  “We could, possibly,” he allowed after a moment of silent contemplation.  “Someone else brought something like this up a few weeks ago and has a court date scheduled.  We could piggyback on it and join them for a classless action lawsuit, though the defense may scream for a continuance while going over the new evidence.  If memory serves, the burden of proof is on the defendant to demonstrate lack of culpability in these cases.  Hell is strange with rules and laws.  Contracts are especially important.”

“How fast can this lawsuit happen?” Henrietta asked.  “Do you think we could win?”

Pym leaned forward in his chair and frowned.  “Usually something like this can take an eternity.”  Ignoring cries of outrage from both women, he pressed on:  “However, someone over at the Lost Angeles Circuit Court owes me a blood favor.  I think we can be in there next week, at the latest.”

“That soon?  Really?” Marie gasped.

Pym nodded.  “Despite my appearance, I’m still at the top of my game,” he reminded them self-deprecatingly.  “Uncouth I may be, and just a relic of hell now, but I practice law as badly as possible and try not to end up in the Mortuary.  I am forever damned to suffer for using my religion to usurp and overthrow your Charlie.”

“As well you should be!” Henrietta’s voice shrilled.  Her pale cheeks flushed an angry pink.  “May you suffer more!”

“I assure you, I will.  Is there anything else I can do for you ladies today?” Pym asked Marie, ignoring Henrietta’s outburst.

“Guarantee us a victory,” Marie sniffed as she stood; Henrietta followed her example.

Pym said nothing more.  He stood and ushered the two former queens from his office.  In the doorway, he paused.

“Henrietta?”  His eyes caught those of Charles the First’s queen.

“Yes?” Henrietta replied carefully.

“My stipulations?” he reminded her.

Henrietta sighed.  “Does it have to be now?” she asked.

Pym shrugged his shoulder and idly scratched the top of his head with a hook.

Henrietta gave Marie a resigned look.  “I’ll be home later,” she muttered, her voice low.  “Don’t wait up.”

“Wait up?  What?” asked Marie, confusion in her voice.  “What are you talking about?”

“She’s going with me to the Gremlins Chinese Theater this afternoon,” Pym said, tapping the door with a rusted hook.  He grinned wolfishly.  “I’ve got us prime tickets to
Bad William Slaying
.  I’ve heard the seats are simply
torturous!”

“Torturous, yes,” Henrietta acknowledged miserably.  Marie suddenly realized what Pym’s ‘stipulations’ had been and felt a momentary pang of pity for her roommate.

“Merde.
  I’ll see you later tonight,” Marie said and, deserting Henrietta, left the attorney’s office with a jaunty bounce in her step.

Nothing in hell could stop Marie now.

*

For their court appearance, Marie wore the best dress she could find in Beasterly Hells.  Madame Toadstool’s Finery had a gown she was able to buy for only a pittance in blood; the blood-letting itself was something Marie no longer minded.  And the blood-red dress was reminiscent of the coronation gown she had worn in life, but with tiny demonic symbols embroidered at the folds of the material.  She’d pulled up her hair in a french twist; for once, it was not frizzy from the oppressive heat.

Beside her, her fellow plaintiff, Henrietta, wore a demure black dress, her hair swept back from her face.  Marie shifted to see the lawyer across the aisle, representing their opponents.

A nondescript man in a brown suit stood alone at a large table, a small folder before him on the polished wood.  His expression was noncommittal.  In fact, everything about him was innocuous.  His hair, face and features were forgettable.  His suit was neither fashionable nor out of date.

Marie studied the opposing counsel carefully, then shook her head.  The other lawyer was wearing black shoes.

“Incroyable,”
she whispered to Henrietta.  “Black shoes and a brown belt? 
Mode erreur!”
  Henrietta tittered nervously.

Marie turned and leaned closer to Pym, waiting impatiently on her left.  “Who is he?” Marie asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of the opposing counsel.

“Someone named Smith,” Pym said with a shrug.  “Nobody of great consequence, really.  I was afraid we’d be up against a bloody genius like Stephen Douglas.  That man can orate, I’ll tell you.  Arguing against him would be a nightmare.”

“So if Prophecy Dolls only sent a single lawyer who is a nobody…” Marie’s voice trailed off hopefully.  Pym was already nodding, a slight smile on his stubbled face.

“Then that means they really don’t have much faith in their defense argument and are conceding,” Pym finished for her.  He waved a hook nonchalantly toward the judicial bench.  “Depending upon our judge, we could be looking at a very hefty prize for our victory.”

“Yes,” Marie breathed, her eyes bright and shining.  Hope filled her heart.  “I’m finally going to get what I deserve.”

The bailiff, who had been sitting quietly near the judicial bench, stood up and looked at both tables.  He cleared his throat noisily.

“All rise,” he intoned, his eyes flickering to his right.  Marie turned her head and watched as a tall, statuesque figure strode purposefully into the courtroom.  His robes were blood red, matching Marie’s gown perfectly.  Two large horns protruded from his forehead.  His pale skin shone in the dim light of the courtroom.  His black hair was slicked back from his face and swirled around his majestic horns.  His face was clean-shaven, and his lips betrayed a soft smile.  The bailiff continued:  “The court is now in session; the Dishonorable Raum, Great Earl of Hell and Demonic Lord of the Lost Angeles Uncivil Circuit Court of the Hall of Injustice, presiding.”

“Oh, shit,” Pym hissed through clenched teeth, eyes wide and terrified.

Marie stared fearfully at the lawyer.  Pym was visibly shaking where he stood before the demon judge.  Marie felt her hopes jump into her throat and violently escape, leaving her soul bereft.  Her knees felt weak.

“Be seated,” Raum muttered, reaching into his robes to pull out a small pair of reading glasses.  Once the glasses were settled upon his nose, the judge glanced over at the bailiff.  “Barney, what’s on the docket for today?”

“First case, Your Demonic Lordship, is case number Two Eight Four Three,” the bailiff recited from memory, adjusting an obscenely large revolver against his bony frame.  “Marie Antoinette and Henrietta Maria versus Prophecy Dolls, Limited Liability Corporation.”

“I love those little heads,” Raum murmured as he flipped documents, eyes quickly scanning the pages.

Marie watched him, sweat forming over every inch of her as she realized just how far up a creek they might be.  She’d been expecting a judge who was a damned soul, not a demon.

“I’ve got two of those little Rasputins and a Madame Blavatsky at my house,” said Raum.  “Hilarious to hear them argue with one another about a prophecy.  Better than advertised.  Do the plaintiffs have their argument prepared for the issue at hand?”

“Uh, yes Your Demonic Lordship,” Pym said, nearly choking on his tongue at Raum’s admission.  “Um, would Your Dishonor like to recuse himself from this case, per the potential conflict of interest resulting from your ownership of said Prophecy Dolls?”

Raum looked at Pym.  The lawyer squirmed as the demon judge regarded him with barely-controlled rage.

Seconds dragged by.  Marie waited anxiously.  Just how much power could an enraged demon wield?

“Uh, very well then:  plaintiffs withdraw the request for recusal.  We’re happy to have Your Demonic Lordship hear our plea for injustice,” Pym stammered.

“You may begin when ready, counselors,” the judge rumbled.  Leaning back in his chair, he nodded at Pym to begin.

“My clients claim they are victims of breach of contract and were led astray by Prophecy Dolls, LLC’s, false advertising campaign,” Pym began, his voice tight and constrained.  “My clients followed the instructions advertised on the Perdition Broadcasting System exactly.  After purchasing their Rasputin-model prophecy doll, my clients asked their Rasputin doll how they could obtain a better existence.

“Wrongly advised by the Rasputin model, my clients proceeded into misfortune, time and again.  Prophecy Dolls, LLC, therefore breached their contract to deliver viable prophecies and profited from the suffering of my unfortunate clients.  My clients believe that Prophecy Dolls, LLC, made false claims of performance to entice them to purchase a doll.  We seek only restitution and injustice, Your Dishonor.”

“Defendant?  You may now answer these charges,” said the demon judge.

Marie felt a tiny flicker of hope as the judge’s eyes bored into the defense attorney.

“May we approach the bench, Your Lordship?” asked Smith, the opposing counsel, suddenly, surprising everyone at the plaintiff’s table.

Raum grunted and motioned for both attorneys to step forward.

With only one sheet of paper in hand, the defense attorney walked calmly to the bench and was met there by Pym.  Smith handed the piece of paper to the judge, who read it.

After a moment, Raum nodded his horned head.  “I’ll allow it,” the demon stated and looked at his bailiff.  “Barney, fetch the witness.”

“Witness?”  Henrietta asked in surprise.  “What witness?”

Pym ignored her and waited as the bailiff returned, carrying a small black box with both hands.  Gingerly the bailiff set the box down on the witness stand, angling one side of the box toward a small microphone.  With a satisfied grunt the bailiff moved away, leaving the mysterious box perched atop the small wooden stand.

“To protect the identity of our witness, we ask that the person inside the box
remain
inside the box during questioning and cross-examination, Your Demonic Lordship,” Smith intoned as he walked slowly back to the defense table.

“That’s fine with me,” Raum stated.  Anticipating an outburst, he held up a big hand before Pym had risen fully to his feet.  “My courtroom, my rules, counselor.”

“Yes, Your Dishonor.”  Pym sank into his chair, defeated.

“I’d like to introduce witness ‘R,’ an assumed name to protect the witness from recrimination or reprisal,” Smith proclaimed with a satisfied smile.  “Mister ‘R,’ will you tell us what you saw that last, fateful day of your association with plaintiffs?”

“Objection!” Pym brayed.  “Defense counsel is leading the witness.”

“Overruled!” Raum growled.  “Shut up, Pym.  Witness will answer the question.”

“Well, Marie came into the front room of her apartment in a snit and accused me of lying to her,” the voice in the box said.  “She began ranting about how my prophecies had ruined her life and I had failed in my duty as a prophecy doll.”

“Rasputin?”
Henrietta squeaked.

“In your capacity as a prophecy doll, Mister ‘R,’ what do you do for a living?” Smith asked, ignoring Henrietta’s outburst.

“I provide prophecies,” the box stated.

“Witness, please tell the court how you define a prophecy.”

“Objection!” Pym interrupted, rising to his feet.  “I see no dictionary here.”

“Overruled,” Raum rumbled deep in his chest.  Pulling a thick dictionary from beneath his desk, he thumped his clenched fist down onto the book.  “Got one right here.  Please continue, witness.”

“Yes, O Wise One,” the voice in the box responded.  “Marie Antoinette and Henrietta Maria did not want prophecies in the traditional sense, Your Dishonor, yet that is precisely what I was created to do:  prophesy.  Marie and Henrietta wanted career and social counseling, which is not my function.  Yet, knowing this, they continually asked me for prophecies.  As I told them repeatedly, a prophecy reveals the future; knowing the future may allow the owner of a prophecy doll to act accordingly, and seek advantage.  I performed to the best of my capabilities for my owners.  It is not my fault that my owners are unable to distinguish a prophecy from a career path.”

“Thank you.  Witness may be excused.  Barney?”

Barney the bailiff walked over to the box and carefully lifted it from the stand.  The bailiff and the box disappeared into the courtroom’s side chamber.  A long moment passed before the skinny bailiff returned and took his place next to Raum’s bench.

The judge glanced over at Marie and shook his horned head.

“Marie Antoinette,” Raum intoned, his deep voice filling the cavernous courtroom.  “You asked for ‘housing befitting your status,’ is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Dishonor,” Marie acknowledged slowly.

“And the Department of Unwelfare Housing is moving you into one of their apartments?” Raum continued, his glasses nearly falling off his thin nose.

“Yes?” Marie answered, confused.

“I fail to see the problem there,” Raum said.  “You are a damned soul who can barely hold a job.  You received exactly what you deserved and, quite frankly, what you could manage.”  Looking back at his notes he continued, “Let’s see … then you requested a prophecy on how to be popular?”

“Yes, Lordship,” Marie nodded, still confused.

“Surely you admit you were popular when you had
tres leche
cake emanating from certain regions of your body,” Raum informed her with a delicate shrug.  “This document attests to the fact that gentlemen came flocking to you.  I will, however, sanction Prophecy Dolls, LLC, for their use of the ‘let them eat cake’ portion of the prophecy.  That phrase could be construed as slander against the plaintiff, Marie Antoinette, since it has been proven that she never uttered those words before the arrival of said prophecy head.”

“My clients, Prophecy Dolls, LLC, deeply apologize, Your Lordship,” Smith piped up quickly, remaining in his seat.  He folded his hands on the table before him and smiled at Marie and Henrietta.  “We shall issue a public apology to Madame Antoinette forthwith.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Raum muttered as he scanned the page.  “You told your Prophecy Doll ‘I want to be in a higher circle of friends.’  That’s a classic.  I’m surprised you didn’t end up somewhere worse than the fifth circle of hell.”