To prove his point, Lucifer held up the case of Snapple. As always, he was well dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, the color of which went perfectly with the Lemon Iced Tea he cradled in his arms.
“Before you take another step, I want you to know that I am pissed off and need to have a word with you,” I informed him somberly from my seat on the couch.
It took a lot of guts to be so cold and stern with The Prince of Darkness, but it had to be done. My world had been thrust into turmoil, and I was pretty sure it was his fault.
Satan could sense my mood and immediately came to a halt in the middle of the room.
“Whatever it is you think I’ve done, I’m sure I can explained,” The Devil assured me as a charming grin spread across his handsome face.
I took a long sip of my Snapple before continuing down this slippery, confrontational path.
“Are you responsible for Aaron Judge’s injury?” I asked quite accusingly as I braced myself for his backlash and a probable pitchfork attack.
Instead, Lucifer offered his most devilish grin. “Why would you think that?”
“Come on,” I spat back at him. “The Yanks and Red Sox are locked in a heated battle for the division, and my team’s best player gets injured less a week before the two teams face off in Fenway? No coincidence there. My money says a Sox fan traded his or her eternal soul in return for Judge’s being unable to play.”
The Prince of Darkness placed the Snapple on the floor, but did not move from his position in the center of the room.
“Even if that were the case, you know I’m bound by Satan/client privilege from divulging the details of any legal agreement concerning the transfer of a soul to my care,” The Devil reminded me.
So what he was really saying, was that I was right, but he wasn’t talking. He sounded just like a lawyer, which made perfect sense, since Hell was filled with them.
“I hope the soul was worth it,” I grumbled as I downed the rest of my Snapple in anger.
How dare he put Aaron Judge’s career and the Yankees’ season in jeopardy for the sake of one measly soul! Where do Red Sox fans draw the line?
“One way you could look at it, of course, is that it is only a minor injury,” The Devil tried to spin this one in his favor. “Such a trade could have come with a season ending, or worse yet, a career threatening injury. With this, your favorite player will only miss three weeks.”
“I’m willing to overlook most of what you do, but if you ever involve yourself in the Yankees/Red Sox rivalry again, you will be banned from The House on the Hill. Am I making myself clear?”
I shot him a look that would make most mortals flinch. Lucifer, however, just sighed and acted like I was wasting his time.
“What if I choose to intercede on the Yankees’ behalf?” he asked with a smirk.
“You’d still be banned!” I yelled without hesitation. “Let the teams settle it themselves on the field. No more outside assistance from the underworld.”
The Prince of Darkness saluted and then picked up his case of Snapple.
I returned the salute and motioned that it was okay for him and my favorite beverage to approach the couch.
I really can’t believe the nonsense I have to deal with sometimes…