A Warm Place in Hell

"There is. There has got to be. There's a special, warm place in hell for these guys." We were discussing tariffs, the stock market, the general economy, and naturally, all things Trump. There was a multitude of names being tossed about - all ranking members of the Republican Party, both at the state and federal level - and it was suggested that the devil needed to take them as soon as possible. And find that "warm place" for them to spend eternity in.

"I'm serious." David was always serious. We almost lost him during the first Trump administration. Transcendental meditation and a generous Xanax prescription got him through it. This second term might do him in. We shouldn't have met for lunch at our favorite Irish bar. Day drinking in the Trump years is a dangerous proposition. "These guys are objectively EVIL," he hissed. "Satan should just come and fetch these bastards now!"

"Can we finish our sandwiches before we summon the Anti-Christ?" I was becoming exhausted by the fact that every social interaction involved politics and the holy terror that is the Trump administration. And yes, I'm a hypocrite, because I'm the one that often brings it up. "I guess if the devil was here, he could give us hell's own guest list. So let's get him up here!"

"Hey man," it was Robert on the other side of Dave. "It's Lent. This is sort of Satan's season, it's his claim to fame. Don't even fuck around - calling him out." I'd forgotten that Robert was Catholic. A lapsed Catholic to be sure, but that old guilt runs pretty deep.

I rolled my eyes."Yeah, he's pretty busy, Rob. Probably doesn't have a lot of time for lunch with a trio of old white guys cursing Greg Abbott and J.D. Vance. And Elon Musk, and Dan Patrick, and..."
Rob cut me off. "Yeah, those guys are evil enough without tempting the Devil."
"I think it's the other way around, dude. Doesn't the Devil tempt us at Lent?" That even got a chuckle out of David. The bartender dropped 3 more brews. I raised a glass and remembered the old Irish toast: "May your glass be ever full. May the roof over your head be always strong. And may you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows you're dead."

With that, I got up to hit the restroom. Shouldn't have ordered a third round, I thought. The Trump fire didn't need any more fuel. I passed by the two pinball machines, bells ringing, red lights flashing. I went ahead and slid a bill into the old Wurlitzer juke box - I thought some music might soothe the savage beasts. Some old Rolling Stones, a Grateful Dead tune... and that old Band favorite, "The Weight."

I came out of the restroom and some kind of acrid smell hit me, like burning PCB. The air was hazy and sulphuric. I peeked into the kitchen and didn't see any smoke, but I didn't see the cook, either. Maybe he was out burning one in the alley. The smell followed me though, and as I turned the corner, I was surprised to see that the guys were gone. Just - gone. Sonuvabitch, I thought, they stuck me with the damn check. Stranger still, was that a stranger was sitting where David had been. I couldn't exactly choose somewhere else to sit, I'd left my phone and keys down on the bar. Stranger was dressed well. Dark, tailored suit, tapered legs, shiny-assed shoes. Dude could pass for J.D. Vance... trim beard, piercing eyes, and eyebrows like Vance, maybe with a higher, pointier peak in the middle of each one. Also like JD he had an almost smirking smile, unlike JD, no eyeliner. I decided to sit where I had been, pay the check, and get going. Then I noticed, Sean, the bartender was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the place was empty. The unmistakable opening chord to "The Weight" played over the jukebox.

As I sat, dude turned to me and addressed me like we had known each other all of our lives, "Their best, right? Never get tired of it. Those harmonies, man...You know, Robertson said that the song was inspired after he'd watched a few of Luis Buñuel's films. You know Luis Buñuel, right, the Spanish director? The surrealist? Loved to explore the conventions of morality, exposing the contradictions and limitations of societal notions of good and evil. He often used violence or cruelty in a provocative way to explore sin and guilt."
Dude was tapping his feet, he started to sing along:

I picked up my bag
I went looking for a place to hide
When I saw Carmen and the Devil
Walking side-by-side
I said, "Hey Carmen
Come on, let's go downtown"
She said, "I gotta go
But my friend can stick around...
Take a load off, Fanny...

He had a smooth, slick way about him. A good salesman, the kind that you knew was working you to make the sale. I had a sense of unease, a lack of balance that I'd felt ever since I walked out of the restroom.
"It's Chris, right?"
My mouth had dropped open. "I'm sorry, have we met?"
Dude gave me a slight grin. His eyes narrowed very slightly. "Oh yeah. I been around."
I tried to relax a bit. "So, you got a name?"

Of course, The next tune on the jukebox fired right up. The timing was comical.

"Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
I've been around for a long, long year
Stole many a man's soul and faith..."

Dude just smiled at me. I froze.

"Well, you DID summon me. Hate to disappoint my fans when they call!"
Great, it turns out that Satan fancies himself a standup.
"Chris, you know I can read your thoughts, right?"
Oh shit. "Right, right. And a funny standup at that. But... but... You're just a dude. You look like a McKinsey consultant. Or some Wall St. rando."
He laughed. Hard. "Wall St. I mean, a huge client base for me, that's for sure!"

"David put you up to this, right? And Robert? Are they outside, or did they just stick me with the bill?"

Dude clipped his laugh right off. Stared at his drink, (I think it was Absinthe or some other exotic liqueur.) He looked straight ahead, shook his head and sighed. He turned to me and then it happened. Instantly, the room seemed to spin, out of control. It was a horrible film montage, except that I was in it and "it" was real. A cyclone of satanic imagery... images that seemed to be alive: hideous people, satanic creatures, symbols of all things evil, murderers, serial killers, fictional horror characters, classic representations of Satan... all of this screamed around me. I was trapped inside this vortex of damnation and it seemed to go on for days. And then is stopped. I was on a barstool, dizzy. It was as silent as a winter's night. But I was sweating and panting like I'd run a marathon.

"But what's puzzlin' you
Is the nature of my game..."

The dude was sipping his drink.
"So you're... "
"Well, yes. Duh! What is it that you wanted, anyway?"

I was just speechless, this was too much.
"C'mon. you had questions? Requests? Money? Everyone wants someone to go to hell, though I get tired of being addressed like some sinister Santa Clause."

"Uh, I guess... well my friends were wondering, we were wondering... a LOT of people were wondering if these people were truly evil. Did they make a deal with you or something... for power or money or whatever?"
"'These people', you're gonna have to be more specific than that." The bartender appeared from nowhere and brought him a fresh drink. He disappeared again. "Love this place. So nice and cool in here." Lucifer, it seems, appreciates good AC.
"Trump," I said, stating the obvious. "His administration. The senators and House members and that creep J.D. Vance who started out a poor, humble hillbilly and now uses his power to disparage women and families without children and Chinese 'peasants.' The ruling elite in Texas are equally terrible. They are stripping the poor of food support, quality education, healthcare... Some of them are indicted criminals, many have had mistresses paid for on the public dime. Multiple marriages are the rule, not the exception - that's not so bad I guess, yet they condemn similar behavior in others..." I was finally picking up steam.
Dude interrupted. "Ah. And your political party? They're all as innocent as little lambs?"
"I don't have a preferred party. I swear! I refuse to commit to a political group. I haven't voted for a Republican in years, but I don't 'identify' as it were, with the Democrats. Their extremists are just as wacky as the ultra-conservatives."

Dude rolled his eyes. "But you somehow excuse bad behavior on the side of the 'opposition,' yes? Seems very convenient. The Civil Rights president, LBJ, was a serial philanderer, lied your country into war, then boosted the war, sending thousands of American boys and hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese to their deaths. Clinton had multiple affairs. Kennedy - JFK not worm-brain Kennedy - was an adulterer. So was Martin Luther King for that matter. And you're OK with that?"

It's hard to know how far to go when you want to challenge Mephistopheles. "With all due respect..." Dude laughed, it caught me off guard. I was defensive, "OK, look, I know I'm full of confirmation bias and a visceral hatred of these Nazis... but isn't there a weighted average? A sliding scale? Does an extramarital affair equal cutting millions of the poor and aged from life-saving medicine? Is an exaggerated campaign promise equivalent to eliminating funding for nutrition programs for children and seniors?"

"You're asking me to grade on a curve? I see..."
"No. Well. Maybe? Look. I mean, does 'intent' count? You have these people professing some kind of deep, religious faith who go against every tenet of said faith... not that they know what those values are. Public 'servants' who rail against the evil that is Trump, only to sell their souls to YOU to join him! It's Lent, for heaven's sake, uh, if you'll excuse the phrase, but you're in the business of temptation!"

To say I got the evil eye would be an understatement. There was a long silence, and... those eyes. My spine was turning into ice. Devil Dude tossed back the rest of his drink and took a long breath. Breath that reeked of licorice and ruin.

"You know, they say one shouldn't talk politics and religion. And frankly, it's not worth my time. Lent... I guess you think I'm supposed to be in the desert, tempting all the saints in the world? No one asked me for my side of that old story when it got written up. But no matter...
"You know, Chris. I thought maybe we could be friends. But apparently, you find my line of work... distasteful. Not that you're some kind of saint." (He offered me a smirk, and I returned a pretty crooked, nervous smile.) The room had somehow grown even darker.

"Listen to me. I don't HAVE to run around, "tempting" people with - whatever - riches, power, sex... I don't cruise the earth in spirit form with a book of trading slips, looking for souls to buy, or steal. No matter what that country-ass-bumpkin Charlie Daniels says, (and btw, I HATE fiddle music!) You humans are perfectly capable (and very willing) to sell out on your own. Temptation? Look around. Your country is the most materialistic, self-centered, status-driven place on earth. It's a black hole. You hold up Trump and Vance and Paxton as my star proteges. But Stormy Daniels wasn't a victim, you know. She gave it all away for celebrity. Elon Musk is some kind of rich, the kind of rich who doesn't care whose life he ruins on his way to the top... but his investors demand that he make them wealthy, too, at whatever cost. Abbott and Patrick are stripping away education and Medicaid from the poor, but they have backers that demand they do so.
Evil is everywhere, pal. People run toward it when they want something. I'm always here for them." He made a show of looking at his watch. (What's the concept of time in eternity?) "I gotta get going. Those fires don't stoke themselves. Do you know how many souls need to get tortured before I get some sleep? And these days? There's a line out' the door of newcomers."

I still wasn't really satisfied. "But the serial killers, the Hitlers, the abusers of children... the Trump White House! Is there...?"

"Is there what?"

"A warmer place in hell?"

He allowed no expression. He just looked at me. "Sure, man. Sure. If it helps get you through this, there's a warm place in hell for those guys."

And he was gone. Just not there. Sean, the bartender was suddenly back, clearing off lunch dishes. "Look, the guys paid your tab, but they got tired of waiting for you in the bathroom or whatever. You OK?"

I mumbled that I was OK and had to get going. Threw down a few extra bills to make sure the tip was covered.

I opened the door to leave and the daylight was blinding. That last tune I'd punched on the jukebox popped on just as I walked out into the sun.

Set out runnin' but I take my time
A friend of the devil is a friend of mine
If I get home before daylight
Just might get some sleep tonight...