The Devil’s Interrogation

It was the summer of eighteen forty seven, and I’d just sold a row of Fifth Avenue Mansions to Ms. Wilcox, one of the wealthiest women in New York City.

Or so I’d told her. The deeds weren’t real, but at her great age of nintey three, she’d never figure it out. She was incredibly senile.

And if she passed the deeds to her children or grandchildren, all they’d find is the name of a company that didn’t really exist, Punchline Properties, Inc, 1523 Wisecrack Ave.

I even signed my name as Stephen J. Astor. She recognized my last name and that was enough to fully gain her trust.

I’d made a few shady business deals in my time, underpaid for products and overcharged my customers. And sure, I’d paid a few murderous gangs for protection and knowingly hidden an internationally wanted pirate and convicted murderer in my attic. It was nothing to be ashamed of, I was just an American following his dream of being rich.

It was nothing I thought would get me a meeting with the devil.

But yet, here I was, face to face with Lucifer himself.

I tried to run out the door, but the devil snapped his fingers, a small flame bursted out of the tips, and the doors slammed shut and locked.

No matter how much I jiggled the knob, the door wouldn’t open.

“You’ll find you can’t escape, Mr. Cooper. Why don’t you have a seat,” Lucifer said in a deep, Eldritch voice that made my spine tingle.

Crap, he knew my real name.

He snapped his fingers again and a mahogany chair appeared behind me. I sat down.

“Ho…. How… how can I help you, Mr. Lucifer, sir?” I said, voice fluctuating.

“Please, call me Lucy,” Lucifer said and smiled, his lips glowing a bright shade of orange and his eyes bright as freshly lit embers.

“Ok, Lucy. What… what can I do for you?” I asked tremulously.

“That depends,” Lucy said.

“On what?” I asked.

“On how you answer my questions,” he said and smiled his glowing orange smile again.

I didn’t speak. I was almost to scared to talk, and anything that came out of my mouth at this point would be jibberish.

“First, breathe. I’m not hear to hurt you,” Lucy said. I inhaled.

“First question. Do you like making deals?” Lucy asked, much to my dismay.

“Yes, yes I do,” I answered honestly, figuring that as an all powerful, all knowing entity from another dimension, he already knew the truth. There was no point in lying.

“Second question. Would you mind working for someone else? Like, say, me?” Lucy asked.

“That depends. What would the pay be?”

“Eternal life, unlimited wealth, and a spouse who will never leave your side,” Lucy said.

“Would she live forever too?” I asked.

“Ha…. Ha ha ha. Hell no. But don’t worry, she’d be replaced,” Lucy said and smiled crookedly.

I took a deep breath before Lucifer spoke again.

“Third, would you mind moving to California?” Lucy asked.

“I hear it’s nice out there. I’d give it a shot. Why?” I asked.

“There’s a large gold deposit about to be discovered. There’s going to be a rush of people clamoring to get their grubby little hands on it. When they do, offer to buy the gold from them. Have them sign one of my contracts, which also includes a deal to give me their soul for all eternity, and in exchange they’ll get double their share in cash. And don’t worry, once the contract is signed, the cash will appear in your hand. And that’s it. Oh, and for every soul you get me, you’ll be rewarded with ten more years to live and all provisions provided for,” Lucy said and smiled his glowing orange smile.

“Can I buy other things from them just to get them to sign the contract,” I asked.

“Of course, a signatures a signature,” Lucy said, his crooked orange smile never fading.

“Why don’t you do this yourself?” I asked.

“I have a soul quota I need to meet, and not enough time to make deals with everyone, everywhere all at once. I could really use the help. What do you say?” Lucy ask.

“You have a deal,” I said and shook on it. His smile was now more crooked and evil looking than ever.

I went to California, changed my accent, told everyone I was a German immigrant with a failed business but a great American dream, and changed my name to John Sutter.

When California ran out of gold for me to buy, I sold it all, hid the money in a Swiss account and moved to Washington D.C. and told them I needed to be reimbursed for my losses.

The truth was, I had unlimited wealth thanks to Lucifer and my secret Swiss bank accounts. I’d eventually faked my death, changed my name to James A. Garfield, and even forged the documents to prove it. Then I ran a successful campaign for president. When I got bored with that after one hundred nintey nine days, I hired an assassin to shoot me. I even made him sign one of Lucifer’s contracts for the money.

Man, I could buy or sell any sort of hokum balderdash garbage in Washington, D.C. and the people here always bought it.

Every once in a while, I’d change my identity and run for president again, and always get elected thanks to my art of the deal, and Lucifer.

I just got elected president recently, in fact. It was my second term. All I had to do was claim election fraud after I lost the first campaign and tell my not so well educated followers to stop the steal.

I love the non-educated. They hung on everything I said and believed every word.

And I can’t believe they’d re-elect me after I let millions of people die by ignoring the spread of a deadly pandemic during my first term. Then again, I was the best scam artist… I mean, deal maker this country has ever seen.

Washington D.C. was the best.

I loved this city.