Satan Loves You (21 page)

“I’ve got a plan –  “ he started, but was interrupted as a sheriff’s deputy stuck his head in the door.

“They’re waiting for you,” he said.

“What’s your plan?” Satan asked.

But Nero was too busy wetting his toga.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Bailiff shouted. “All hail the living incarnation of swift justice, the man who knows where all the bodies are buried, the master of the gavel and the robe, Juuuuuudge Cody Goooooooooooooolllllldddddd!”

The room went wild – there had been a spontaneous outbreak of applause the day before when Judge Gold had plucked an annoying fly out of the air with one hand and since no one had been charged with contempt the spectators took it as a sign that Judge Cody Gold was fine with spontaneous demonstrations of approval.

“Hear ye, hear ye,” the judge said, settling himself down on the bench. “We got a crime, we got a victim, we got a criminal, we got lawyers and now we got a jury. I think it’s time we put
‘
er in gear. Opening statements! Let’s go! Prosecution? Tell us why we should hate evil.”

Eddie Horton stood up and walked to the bench. He made a microscopic adjustment to his lapels.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Counselors. Your honor. I could give you a long and eloquent opening statement, but really I just want to say one thing.”

He pointed at Satan.

“That is Satan. And Satan is evil. And we’re here to kick evil’s butt. Thank you.”

He sat down to wild applause.

“Well, I’m convinced,” Judge Gold said.

Nero’s opening statement consisted of five, single-spaced pages. He was a terrible reader. And then he dropped his statement and got the pages mixed up.

It is better to pass over Nero’s opening statement in silence.

After Nero’s lackluster performance, the legal team for the plaintiff called their first witness to the stand. Nancy Standing, inner child release and emotional catharsis counselor, specializing in Satanic ritual abuse. She looked like one of those earth mothers who pretend to be laid back but become incredibly uptight when it's time to split the check.

“Mrs. Standing,” Eddie Horton said. “You have treated Frita Babbit, the plaintiff, for how many years?”

“Six days,” Nancy Standing said.

“And in your opinion, is that enough time in which to form a complete diagnosis?”

“More than enough,” Nancy Standing said. “I’ve been in situations where I’ve only had three minutes.”

“Have you ever been wrong?”

“Never. My training is excellent.”

“How would you describe the symptoms that the plaintiff exhibits?”

“Troubling.”

“How troubling? In your professional opinion?”

“Deeply troubling.”

“Can you describe for the jury these deeply troubling symptoms?”

Nancy Standing turned towards the jury.

“Ms. Babbit – Frita – demonstrates a lack of self-confidence, poor self-esteem and a negative self-image. She also suffers from depression, anxiety and irritability. Bad skin, poor posture, limp hair and phantom pain.”

“Anything else?”

“Chronic insomnia, inexplicable headaches, irritable bowel syndrome, halitosis, sensitive teeth, abnormally large gum pockets, sore tongue, dermatitis, cellulite, hammer toe, spider leg veins and infantile aggression syndrome with dissociative tendencies.”

“Would you mind restating this in terms a layperson can understand?”

“She’s a mess.”

“And in your opinion, why is she a mess?”

“In my expert opinion, she is a mess because she was sexually abused by Satan.”

“By Satan?” Eddie Horton said, feigning surprise. “What makes you so certain that it was Satan? Couldn’ t someone else have abused her and caused these same symptoms?”

“Absolutely not.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I say so.”

“And you are?”

“An expert.”

“No further questions, your honor.”

Now she was Nero’s witness. Nero wasn’t quite sure what to do with her. He knew that he had to cross-examine her, he knew that he had to put up some kind of a fight, but his head was a whirling mess of contradictory assumptions and instincts. And then he had a sudden flash of inspiration.

“Mrs. Standing – ”

“Ms.,” she corrected him.

“Ms. Standing,” Nero said. “Do you drink alcohol?”

“I have drunk alcohol in the past, yes.”

“Did you drink any this morning?”

“No.”

“Are you drunk right now?”

“Of course not.”

“I see. No further questions, your honor.”

But Ms. Standing was not finished.

“Your honor,” she said. “If it pleases the court may I say something?”

“That’s not allowed,” Judge Gold said. “But let’s get outside the box. This is a zone for free thinkers. Go for it!”

“Frita Babbit is not an easy person to like,” Nancy Standing said. “Look at her. She’s irritating and unpleasant. She is insecure and neurotic. A lot of you will talk about her in the upcoming days. You will say,
‘
She should go to the gym more. She needs to wear nicer blouses. She should really do something about her hair.’ And I want you all to know that she would...if not for Satan!”

An appreciative murmur spread through the courtroom.

“What was that all about?” Satan whispered to Nero as he sat down.

“I’ve got a plan, sir,” Nero said. “Just wait.”

If Nero had a plan, it wasn’t a very good one. The prosecution ran an impressive parade of psychologists, psychiatrists, counselors, therapists, doctors and nurse practitioners through the witness chair over the next two days and every single one of them hammered on the same fact: if not for Satan, Frita Babbit would have discovered a cure for cancer by now.

“Are you sure you have a plan?” Satan asked Nero, after the third outburst of spontaneous applause from the courtroom.

“Of course,” Nero said.

“Can you share it with me?”

“My plan is to win this case,” Nero said.

“Are there any more details than that?”

“Not yet, sir. But I’m working on it.”

Satan buried his head in his hands.

The man sitting in the witness box that afternoon was Dr. Everett Scott, a specialist in Satanic cults and black magic.

“Dr. Scott,” Eddie Horton said. “Do Satanic cults exist?”

“Most definitely,” the wheelchair-bound Scott said. “They are, to coin a phrase, all around us. One might even be in this courtroom right this very minute.”

A murmur ran through the courtroom.

“As I said,” Dr. Scott continued. “ Satanic cults are all around us. There is growing criminal activity in the world and most of it stems from an underground network of Satanists who make up the global elite. What is the global elite? It is a United Nations of evil made up of witches, warlocks, rock musicians, liberal politicians, Islamo-fascists, French people, geneticists, internet users, child pornographers and Hollywood producers.”

“And can you tell the court how this conspiracy functions.”

“Do you have five thousand hours?”

Appreciative laughter rippled through the courtroom. People liked it when a professorial type in a wheelchair, who reminded them of their crazy old college physics professor, made a funny.

“But seriously,” Dr. Scott said. “I can sum it up for you very simply. The global elite have many perverse needs and they use mind control and circumcision to form an international army of children who are given alternate personalities as assassins, drug runners, servants and prostitutes. Catamites, so to speak. These
‘
alternates’ are activated by code words that they disseminate via techno music to the Satanists around the world. They also impregnate many small Catholic girls and then barbecue and eat their babies. They love babies. It’s a little known fact, but Lee Harvey Oswald claims to have been victimized by a Satanic cult when he was child. It’s been hushed up, but I would love to get my hands on his body and see if he had been circumcised or not. That would be very revealing.”

“Can you describe the effect of this Satanic conspiracy on our great nation?” Eddie Horton prompted.

“Large,” Dr. Scott said. “Huge! Many young people commit suicide every day under Satanic circumstances. In Michigan, a young Webelo Scout who was working on his Arrow of Light award killed his entire family, strangling them to death with his official Webelo neckerchief. Afterwards, he turned it on himself. To me it is clear that Satanism was involved. If they can do this to a Webelo Scout, who can’t they reach?”

A concerned rustle passed through the courtroom.

“No further questions, your honor,” Horton said.

“Dr. Scott,” Nero said, striding up to the witness stand. “You claim that there is a massive, underground, Satanic conspiracy that controls the world and it is everyone’s duty to resist it?”

“I not only say that,” Dr. Scott said. “It is true.”

“Where is your evidence?” Nero asked.

“Of what?”

“Of this conspiracy!”

“Objection, your honor,” Eddie Horton objected. “Counsel is being provocative.”

“This is a courtroom and a courtroom is all about evidence,” Judge Gold said. “Overruled. Witness is directed to present evidence.”

“There is no evidence,” Dr. Scott said.

Nero smiled.

“If there is no evidence, how do you expect us to believe your wild tale?”

“No evidence is the most damning evidence of all,” Dr. Scott said. “Do you see how far this conspiracy reaches? They eat those babies, bones and all. There’s nothing left for
‘
evidence.’ That mind control is unbreakable. How can someone who is being unbreakably mind controlled give you your so-called
‘
evidence?’ It is the very absence of evidence that is the most damning evidence of all. This conspiracy is real, it is present and it is completely and totally impossible to detect.”

Concerned murmurs filled the courtroom. Judge Gold nodded to himself. Satan put his head back in his hands.

Despite Sheriff’s Furlough’s enthusiastic approach to crowd control, the mob outside the courthouse had grown. Now that Satan had actually appeared, as well as Nero the one-time leader of the Roman Empire, people flocked to the courthouse like bugs to the zapper. Official estimates put the crowd that ringed it at over two hundred thousand strong. This massive mob, in turn, lured attention seekers: professional lunatics, street preachers, mail order philosophers and podunk politicians who all staked their claim to parts of the tent city that stretched from the courthouse grounds all the way over to the fields at the end of South Saliman Road.

Unable to cross this human moat, the people actually involved in the trial were forced to live inside the courthouse. Leaving was too dangerous, and what with every hotel room, sofa bed, and RV in Carson City booked solid, where were they going to go? Food was brought in by helicopter, rooms were assigned, the Sheriff’s Department showers were made available on a rotating schedule. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was safe.

Sitting in their assigned conference room, Satan and Nero waited. Neither Satan nor Nero actually required sleep, and so the room became a giant drift of papers and law books as Nero attempted to cram a four-year law school education into the moments he could snatch away from the case. Satan had a hard time focusing and so he read Nero’s Grisham novels. He had finished
The Firm
,
The Client
,
The Chamber
,
The Partner
,
The Brethren
,
The Broker
and
The Summons
and now he was almost finished with
The Appeal
. He was beginning to suspect that a lot of Nero’s legal strategy was based on things he had read in these books, but he didn’t want to say anything because criticism might throw Nero off his game and, right now, Nero was all he had.

Sheriff Furlough put his head around the door.

“Half hour delay, fellas. Ms. Babbit is crying in the bathroom again and her therapist is talking her down. Can I bring you boys a Mountain Dew?”

“No, thank you, Sheriff,” Nero said.

It was the big day, the day Frita Babbit was to testify, and already they were running behind. Satan finished
The Appeal
. With nothing left to read he began paging through the complaint against him. It was very long and he had mostly avoided reading it up until now. Reading the complaint had made him feel like a thousand people were shouting at him all at once and it had made his head hurt. Now he was so stressed and desperate for distraction that he found himself flipping through the back pages of the complaint. There was a section entitled “Remedy” that he had never really read before. If Nero could be so focused, he could be focused, too. He began to read “Remedy.”

After a few moments he stopped.

“Nero?” he said.

“I don’t have any more John Grisham novels,” Nero replied, not looking up from his papers.

“Have you read the
‘
Remedy’ section?”