The Devil and Brian Kinney
Dancing With the Devil
Author's note: My heartfelt thanks are given to the gifted Cyprian
Gadjigan, who provided a suggested score for this crucial chapter of our
saga. After much research, (and no small amount of caffeine, in both liquid
and chocolate forms, I suspect), she hunted down the perfect accompaniment
for Mel and Brian's dance with the Devil. Thus, this chapter is dedicated
to BJFic's improved version of "Jenny from the block," the one and only Cyprian
Gadigan, who reminds you to cue your copy of "Atheist Anthem" by Leftover
Crack as Lucifer is called to the stand. Otherwise, you can call Cyprian
and she will hum it for you. In a creepy, scary way.
Setting: : The Devil's Courtroom where testimony is finally coming to an end. The defendant, Brian Kinney, has called the defendant, Lucifer De'Ville, to the stand, which has necessitated yet another jury recess as De'Ville, acting as his own counsel, has objected strongly to such manuever. The presiding judge's response to plaintiff's objection was not encouraging to De'Ville, to say the least.
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Judge Stonewall broke into yet another hearty round of laughter. De'Ville's ruddy complexion grew mottled with an even darker red color.
AYour Honor, this is most irregular, I must object most strenuously, the handsome plaintiff protested, barely keeping his tone civil.
"So also is it irregular when a witness' eyes grow red in the middle of her testimony as that last woman's did, Devil, but I let you slide on it as there was no remedy within the Court Rules that I could see. Now, at this late juncture, we have a similar situation; it may be unusual, but the problem wasn't created by me, it was created by you when you decided to represent yourself! Would you agree, Attorney Marcus? Stonewall looked at Mel, and Brian would swear the old curmudgeon actually winked at her.
Yes, Your Honor. Pursuant to the Pennsylvania Rules of Procedure, it is neither irregular nor impermissible for a party to call the other party as a witness in his case in chief. You are correct in that what makes this situation a bit unusual is that Mr. De'Ville has chosen to represent himself, but that fact does not deprive the defendant of the opportunity to call him as a witness. After all, there is a well known saying about the person who chooses to represent himself, one which, out of respect for opposing counsel, I will not complete. Mel then took the chance of winking back at Stonewall, who grinned at her, delighted with her for giving him the opportunity to have a little fun with the devil.
I know well the saying to which you refer, Counselor Marcus, I believe it was Mr. Lincoln, a fine trial lawyer, who said, "The man who represents himself has a fool for a client?" Stonewall was heartily enjoying himself. De'Ville, however, was not enjoying himself.
Watching, Brian had a sinking feeling in his gut that this mockery was going to bite them in the ass later. He knew Mel had to win points with the judge, but he feared that De'Ville would make her pay dearly for the judge's mirth. The dark haired demon stood there with a grim smile on his face as Stonewall continued, "I am sorry De'Ville. You've made a long practice of representing yourself in these proceedings. You are certainly well versed in the law, both theirs and ours; indeed, I've accorded you the titles of attorney and counselor throughout this trial as I believe that your background and ‘on the job training,' such as it has been over the many, many years worth of trials of this sort in which you have participated are easily the equivalent of a law school degree. I am also sure you would pass any state's bar examination, given your, shall we say, talents and resources? However, that being the case, you are not exempt from the rules that would govern any other lawyer representing himself in a proceeding of this nature. Where any other plaintiff, whether an attorney or a layperson, would be required to testify, you have to testify, including taking the oath to tell the truth; although in your case the threatened punishment does seem a bit redundant, doesn,t it? Stonewall cocked an eyebrow at the longtime resident of Hades and waited for a response.
De'Ville did not give him the satisfaction of a reply, but merely glared impotently back at Stonewall, who remained unperturbed. Mel smirked her amusement until Brian caught her eye and gave her an almost imperceptible head shake. She picked up on his cue and changed her expression to one of grave, polite, interest.
Stonewall finished, "Clearly, you cannot be condemned to Hell, as a punishment in this case. Therefore, the penalty for perjury for you will be forfeiture of the case, and as you know, the Ultimate Authority will determine if significant, substantive, perjury has taken place. As to anything short of such perjury, please take note that, as always is the case with any witness, the jury will be weighing and evaluating your testimony.
Brian was relieved. He knew that only the devil and he knew the truth of their dealings and since he was not going to testify, it was reassuring to know that there was some safeguard in place to ensure that the Prince of Lies was not allowed to outright lie about their contract. Mel and he had discussed that as one of the risks of putting De'Ville on the stand, but doing so was the only way to reveal to the jury, (and to Mel, for that matter), for what it was that he traded away his soul. He was still unclear himself on how it all happened. De'Ville twisted things from the day he met him, and Brian had no doubt he would do so again on the stand. No one was better at twisting the truth than this opponent, but Mel had done a great job thus far of staying one step ahead of him, and Brian was hoping she could keep going strong for just a little longer.
Brian knew she was worried about him holding up, but he knew he would be fine. He was afraid for her. He saw signs of over-confidence, as they grew closer to the end. He knew that bullies, guys like Chris Hobbs or Jack Kinney, and even the ultimate bully, the Devil, were people used to getting their own way. They were never more dangerous than when things looked like they were going well for the other guy, someone they saw as the weaker or inferior guy. Most of all, they hated to see someone else,s happiness or success. That's when they brought out their baseball bats. "Keep it short and sweet," he thought, "don't try anything fancy. Revel in a win, and the Devil won't rest until you are writhing on the ground. Best to take a victory and run.
Stonewall also looked troubled all of a sudden as with a flash of smoke and the sharp odor of brimstone, De'Ville turned with a growl away from the judge's bench, his teeth bared in more of a snarl than his customary smile. The small elderly judge held Mel back as the adversary stalked to his table to set down some papers before taking the stand. Watch yourself, he whispered to her. He looked as though he regretted his earlier moments of humor.
Brian sat expressionless as Lucifer De'Ville walked quietly forward to take the oath before the hushed jury, which had been recalled from the limbo in which it remained during the colloquy with the judge. A few of the jurors giggled nervously at the thought of the plaintiff being condemned to Hell for lying. Rather than glaring at the offending jurors, De'Ville smiled at them painfully, as though slightly embarrassed, his expression inviting them to share in his discomfort. The jurors were immediately charmed, and visibly calmed. Noting this, seeing the Devil's obvious sway over the humans in front of him, Brian couldn't help but recall his own first meeting with the man. It took place slightly more than seven years earlier, at a time when he wasn't sure whether he believed in heaven or hell, but with every wordless cry of his heart wished he knew the answer so he would know where to turn for help. Vic Grassi, the only man who had shown him what a father's love was like, was dying, and Brian didn't want to let him go.
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"Atheist Anthem" by Leftover Crack
From high up on yer crucifix
You preach about my triple 6
You spit about my this and that
And yank away yer welcome mat
With a coupon jesus christ will save
So don't you Christians misbehave
'cuz Santa makes the list himself
And it's rotting on the warehouse shelf
And all the boys in the straight-edge scene
are in the basement huffing gasoline, they're
Dead, dead, dead, dead
their god is dead to me!
And when the laws of God just make ya pissed
You better become an atheist Your
Dead, dead, dead, dead
Your god is dead to me!
The young man was sitting on the stone bench in the "tranquility garden" outside the chapel at the Allegheny County General Hospital, but he wasn't seeking tranquility so much as an undisturbed place to grab a cigarette. It was 1997, and it wasn't easy to find an indoor place anywhere public where one could light up, certainly not in any medical facility. And that sucked, the young man felt, because if there was one place where you really needed a cigarette, it was in a hospital. This was especially true when you were visiting one of the few people you had any use for in this whole fucking world and that person was dying. Dying of a horrible fucking disease, AIDS, the one truly god-damned fucking, fucking disease, and if the right-wing assholes were to be believed, it truly was the God-damned for fucking, fucking disease .... This was what happened if you smoked too many joints on your way to becoming "tranquil," the young man realized. Your mind found thoughts liked that irresistibly funny, and then next thing you knew, you found tears streaming down your face for no reason at all the very next second. Vic was dying, and there was nothing you could do about it. Vic was worth a dozen of you and had saved your life two dozen times; hell, if it weren't for Vic, you would have been in a bed like that with that disease years ago. You would give anything to trade places with him. You would give your soul to trade places with him.
"Do you mean it?"
"Huh? Who said that? Is someone else out here?" Brian turned, startled. He had been pretty sure he hadn't said anything out loud himself, but had only been thinking his thoughts; he was pretty high, however, so he could have been mistaken.
When the greed of man is not appeased
All will rot sick and diseased
Once again the fallen towers
The Tortured death of every hour
And at the toll of the final bell
You lead the righteous down to hell
When all the world is dead and gone
All I ask is bring me along!
And all the boys in the straight-edge scene
are in the basement huffing gasoline they're
Dead, dead, dead, dead
their god is dead to me!
And when the laws of God just make ya pissed
You better become an atheist Your
Dead, dead, dead, dead
Your god is dead to me!
The man in front of him was strikingly handsome, dressed in the kind of designer suit Brian wore, only better, the kind of suit few men in Pittsburgh could afford, and if they could, rarely had the kind of build to carry it off well enough to make it worth their while to wear it. This man did, and knew it. Even in his grief-stricken, and hashish impaired state, Brian was aroused by the stranger's raw sexual magnetism. He felt as though he was hit with a wave of male pheromone, but then the man smiled, and there was something so proprietary in that smile that it turned him completely off. He felt as though he were a trick in Babylon in that moment right before "Brian Kinney" slammed him face first into the wall. Oddly enough, it was that smile that reminding him of himself that served to wipe away any feeling of arousal for the man although he remained interested in him; the fact that it was not an attractive image also brought back his depression over Vic's imminent death. The stranger, reading his expression accurately, such a skill having been honed over the centuries, was quick to move in for the kill. He used Brian's sense of debt to Vic, his lack of self worth, and the recklessness induced by the pot, even his competitive business sense, to skillfully lead his prey to the negotiations. Ultimately, the three versus one wish aspect of the deal was not to his liking but he was pleased with his capture. The man was an attractive one and the Devil had his appetites. After De'Ville left, Brian stayed and wept in the chapel.
Vic Grassi lived four more years, to his family's surprise and delight. And during a good part of those four years, he watched in sorrow as Brian became harder and colder, seemingly dedicated to the pursuit of money, sex and all that a selfish hedonistic lifestyle had to offer a handsome, talented, intelligent gay man. Brian stayed close to Mikey and his adopted family, but no one else really got beneath the barbed wire that encircled his heart. Vic feared that Brian would always be alone; until something, and someone, happened to change that, one night outside Babylon.
Nuclear pox spells your doom
like the t.v. in your living room
each bomb kills a million dead
it melts yer skin and implodes yer head
And now you get your judgment day
You think you'll float up then away
But yer guilty just like everyone
You turn to ash when the burning's done
And all the boys in the straight-edge scene
are in the basement huffing gasoline
Dead, dead, dead, dead
Your god is dead to me!
And when the laws of God just make ya pissed
You better become an atheist You
Dead, dead, dead, dead
Your god is dead to me!
There's a hunger within you
a tapeworm deep inside
or maybe it's just cancer
the doctors can't decide
but yer stomach keeps on growing
as yer body wastes away
and yer getting ill & weaker
every single fucking day
we are alone
we are alone
======================================================
The direct examination of the plaintiff commenced finally. A hush fell over the courtroom as Mel assumed a respectful, but no-nonsense, demeanor for her questioning of this crucial witness. She strode forward briskly, taking her stance near the far end of the jury box.
"Mr. De'Ville, did you enter into a contract with my client, Brian Kinney?"
"Yes, I did, and I met my..."
"Just answer the question posed, Mr. De'Ville; you are well aware of the rules and you know that you will get ample opportunity to offer any explanations that you wish to give after my direct examination is done. I believe your answer was yes, there was a contract. And when, sir, was that contract made?" Mel spoke pleasantly, but firmly, taking a page out of De'Ville's own book, using the tactics that he had used against Brian's friends and family in his direct examinations of them.
De'Ville's smile, kept on for the jury's sake, stretched thin as he answered tightly, "Seven years ago this week."
"And now the question we've all been waiting for, what exactly was it you agreed to do for Brian Kinney, as your part of this contract?"
"I agreed to grant him three wishes." De'Ville held up his hands, palms facing up, eyebrows raised, as though to say, "where was the big mystery?" The jurors, who, along with the court attendants, had been holding their breath and leaning forward in anticipation, sagged back into their seats, disgusted. Judge Stonewall simply sat, fingers templed; he knew this witness too well to expect him to give up information that easily. He smiled his thin smile; by now he also felt he knew this female attorney, Melanie Marcus well enough that he fully expected her to get all of the Devil's secrets out of him before she allowed him to leave the stand.
Mel was also smiling, which gave the Devil pause. She changed direction, taking him off guard.
"Was Brian permitted, by the terms of the contract, to tell anyone what those three wishes were?"
"No, he wasn't," the Devil looked uncomfortable as he saw a few of the older, more sophisticated jurors seemed to be picking up on the significance of this. Stonewall realized it at once and stared amazed at Mel. Marvin and Richert seemed to understand as well. Just in case, Mel hammered it home.
"That prohibition includes me, his lawyer, doesn't it?" .
"Well, yes," De'Ville smiled charmingly but Mel didn't return the smile this time. The unfairness of having such a prohibition to someone trying a case where his lawyer couldn't be told all the facts, was clear to even the most unsophisticated juror. Mel was ready to suggest another element of De'Ville's gross unfairness. She crossed her arms and moved forward to a point in front of the jury box, so that the jury could see both her and De'Ville comfortably at the same time.
"So, if no one else was permitted to know what it was you were supposed to be doing for Brian, or even that it was you who was supposed to be doing it, there would be no way he could check to see if you granted any of the wishes, now would there be?" Mel gave De'Ville her best "Kinney deadly stare."
De'Ville chuckled genially, as though explaining "new math" to a slow learner.
"But of course there would be, the wish would come true!" He laughed invitingly, glancing at the jury, then away, as he saw that none of them were joining in his humor. Mel added,
"Ah, but not necessarily by you, correct?"
"I don't understand, who else would have granted the wish?" De'Ville smiled again, baring those gleaming white teeth. Mel had to give him credit, that damn facade rarely wavered.
"Well, that depends on the wish, now, doesn't it?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand what you're getting at, Attorney Marcus. Is there a ‘good fairy' for ‘fairies' who goes around granting their wishes?" De'Ville laughed at his own joke; the fact that he even made it was a sign that he was indeed losing his temper, smile or no smile, Mel realized. Whatever the reason for it, the jury of "fairies" did not find it funny. De'Ville quickly made his face and tone more serious. "If that were true, that there were some other way to get his wish granted, Mr. Kinney wouldn't have needed me, now, would he?"
"Well, why don't we cut through all this innuendo and time wasting, then, and make it crystal clear for everyone, Mr. De'Ville? Why don't you tell us, since only two people in this room know what those wishes were, but only one can talk about it, and that person is you, right?"
De'Ville twisted his mouth in a semblance of his usual smooth smile. "Which one of those questions would you like me to answer, Attorney Marcus?"
Judge Stonewall answered before Mel could, speaking dryly. "Well, if that was an objection to the form of the question, it is overruled. I am sure I speak for all of us when I say that it is clear to me what the question was, what were the damn wishes?"
The bailiff hid a laugh behind his hand. Brian let out a long sigh. It would be a relief to have the matter out in the open finally. His sigh was echoed by Mel. Surprisingly, however, she asked another question instead of following up on the prior one, given the Judge's ruling on the presumed objection. She must have decided she wanted this very clear for the jury, Brian decided.
"When Brian Kinney first asked something of you, was it for himself or for someone else?" Brian looked oddly at Mel as she asked this question. He was pretty sure she had guessed what at least the first wish was by this point, if not all three. De'Ville seemed to have reached the same conclusion, but still looked accusingly at Brian as the cause of her knowledge.
"If he has told you, that would be a breach of the terms..." De'Ville began, before he was cut off by the judge.
"Attorney Marcus has not indicated that she was told anything by her client; on the contrary, from what I can see, she is using inductive reasoning and good lawyering. You didn't show that he used the wishes for himself, so he must have used the wishes for someone else. Stands to reason, De'Ville! The slowest member of my staff has figured that much out by now! Now stop stalling and tell this jury, and me, what was the first wish that got this whole thing going?"
Mel was careful to keep her face blank, yet on the inside she was jumping up and down in glee at De'Ville's chagrined expression as he listened to the judge's harsh reprimand. Brian was amazed at how well Mel had gauged De'Ville and Stonewall; she seemed to have known that one more fairly innocuous question would make the Devil push the judge too far.
There was a long pause before the silken voiced devil spoke again, in a smooth, mesmerizing voice to the fully engaged courtroom.
"Brian Kinney was sitting alone outside a county hospital, smoking a cigarette when he summoned me. He had been visiting a man who was the uncle of his boyhood friend, Michael Novotny who testified this morning, the man was also the brother of Debbie Novotny, another one of the witnesses from today. The patient, Vic Grassi was dying of AIDS, and wasn't expected to make it through the night; Kinney wanted to make a deal, his soul in exchange for Grassi's life. I told him I couldn't do that, it didn't work that way, but that I could give Grassi more time. That is when that fucker, excuse me," De'Ville smiled an insincere apology at Brian for his lapse in courtroom demeanor, "that is when the defendant argued that if I could not restore Grassi's normal life span, the least I could do was give him two more wishes similar in nature in exchange for his soul. In Grassi's case, he received four additional years. Due to the severity of his condition at the time the deal was struck, no more time could be given to him. However, the four years he received were four good years and I am happy to say he died peacefully and painlessly in his sleep, a death far unlike the one he had been facing four years earlier. He even experienced a new love during those final years. Therefore, that wish alone gave very good value."
"It certainly did, if indeed you were the grantor of those four years," Mel conceded, genially. "Now, a few other points before we get into that. May I ask, what was the defendant, Brian Kinney's condition at the time he struck this deal?"
"He was in perfect health, Counselor." De'Ville had perfected the slightly confused look by this time. Mel smiled slightly; it was almost as though De'Ville had been studying Michael's demeanor that morning and had adopted it for his own testimony.
"I'm sure he was, despite his deplorable cigarette habit. Oh, by the way, it was a nicotine cigarette he was smoking, now, wasn't it?" Mel cocked an eyebrow at the demonic witness, who glared back at her. By this point, De'Ville was wondering if she was psychic.
"Well, no, it was not," he grudgingly conceded. Brian smiled. Mel did know him well. For once, her tendency to assume the worst about him was rebounding to his benefit. He had sneaked away from Vic's hospital room to grab a joint that evening. The strain of supporting Mikey and Deb through the ordeal of Vic's impending death, while coping with his own feelings of loss had been getting to him. He remembered how quickly the buzz hit him that night, due to the combination of lack of sleep, lack of food, and high quality grass. He lit up right outside the hospital, in the "Tranquility Garden," deriving no small amount of amusement from his own increasing tranquility as he smoked. He had considered going inside the hospital chapel to light a candle, but instead, feeling depressed and angry that he didn't have any answers to all of the questions of life and death plaguing him. He wondered why the only truly good man he had ever known was dying so young. Brian remembered thinking that if God wouldn't answer, maybe the Devil would, and then how he would offer his useless soul, the one his mother said had been claimed by the devil years before, if only it would save Vic.
Brian had been high enough that when the handsome man actually appeared, he was satirically amused rather than frightened, and even entered into light-hearted negotiations with him when the stranger admitted to being unable to save Vic. Of course, until Vic suddenly got better, Brian had been sure it was the pot giving him hallucinations. Or that it had been a good-looking trick engaging in some really sick form of flirtation. It wasn't until the well-dressed stranger's second appearance that he began to realize that he may indeed have traded his soul to the devil. The devil knew this, of course, but did not feel it would be in his best interests to share this information with the jury, and certainly not with the sharp-eyed lawyer questioning him on Kinney's behalf. He knew that Pennsylvania had a requirement that there be a "true meeting of the minds" on contract terms. No doubt this was one of the issues Marcus was going to argue; he never should have allowed himself to get distracted when they discussed the terms of this trial. Damn Kinney for flashing his assets at him like that at the crucial moment! Some souls were really not worth the trouble he went to, to get them, he was beginning to think. And then to lose them! Jabez Stone certainly had been one such. Like this one, however, he had really gone up in value since he made a deal for his soul, farmer to State Senator. This Kinney, he made quite a redemption story, and it would really annoy the One upstairs if he could make this claim stick.
Yes, all in all, it would really be an excellent transaction. Daniel Webster may have beaten him, but he would be twice damned if he let a woman lawyer beat him in a jury trial, Satan thought, narrowing his eyes at the petite, dark haired woman confronting him with a small smile on her face.
"So, my client was not thinking clearly when he entered into negotiations with you seven years ago, for a deal to give up his soul to buy his friend's dying uncle more years on earth?" Mel asked.
"I cannot say that. He was an adult, he summoned me and he was thinking clearly enough, high on cannabis or not, to work out a better deal for himself than anyone has done in five thousand years! I am not in the habit of giving extras, I'll have you know." A few of the jurors laughed and looked at Brian proudly, this was their King of Liberty Avenue, after all. All past slights were forgotten by them in their desire to be associated with him, especially in light of the altruistic use of his wish, and his apparent success in "beating the devil". Some of them remembered Vic Grassi; most knew of the recent name change of Liberty House to the Vic Grassi House, also done at Brian's behest. They were proud of their "King."
"It is your contention then that Brian knew he was to give up his soul if you delivered on all three wishes. He was willing to do that for his friend Vic Grassi, and for what you were to do on two other occasions. Let me ask you something, Mr. De'Ville, was the amount of time you were getting for Mr. Grassi spelled out?"
"Well, no, it wasn't. I agreed that Mr. Grassi would have more time. How much more time he would live was not specified." Again, De'Ville tried to look urbane but his unease was showing. The specificity in these terms was crucial to the binding nature of the contract.
"Ah, so the exact span of time you were granting was not part of deal. How was Brian to know if he was getting anything concrete from you?"
"Well, we agreed that Mr. Grassi would pull through the immediate crisis, with my help, of course. After that, it would be up to, well, up to...," De'Ville paused, searching for the right word.
"Up to God?" Mel suggested, carefully keeping her face blank. There was a gasp, quickly muffled, from one of the jurors.
"What did you say?" De'Ville asked in a low, menacing voice.
"Well, if the length of extra time Vic Grassi lived beyond that fateful night was not up to you, by reputation one of the most powerful entities in the universe, then it seems only logical to conclude that it must have been up to an entity more powerful than you, namely God. Which causes the mind to leap naturally to the next question, Mr. De'Ville, how do we know that it was you who spared Mr. Grassi and not God, since it is safe to assume that prayers were being offered to your, for want of a better word, competitor, that Vic's life be spared, at the same time that Brian and you were entering into your deal? Since Brian could not reveal his wish, it wasn't like he could compare notes with anyone as to whether they were offering prayers at the exact moment he was making his deal with you, so how could he or anyone else be sure who to thank for Vic's miraculous recovery?" Mel chose her adjective carefully. It was not lost on the jury, each member of which seemed to be thinking carefully. She raised her left eyebrow in inquiry as she paused for De'Ville's answer. As she waited, Mel could not help but recall Ben's tale of how Debbie had slapped Brian in the face for saying that Vic was lucky to have had those four extra years. Mel willed herself not to cry as she thought about the price Brian had been willing to pay for those years, and how unfairly Debbie had treated her "adopted son" for his seemingly cavalier response to Vic's death. She had almost cut him out of her life for that off-hand comment, not knowing what she may have owed him. How often had all of them similarly misjudged Brian, she, Mel most of all?
"Well, I can only tell you what I did and ask that you believe me," De'Ville's lame response lacked conviction. Brian looked at him narrowly; until this moment he had not seriously doubted that De'Ville had at the very least done what he promised. He thought Mel was just playing lawyer games by making him prove it. Truthfully, until Satan had appeared before him in that garden, he would have sworn there was neither God nor Devil. God didn't seem to be around when he prayed for his friends Russell and Tim to be protected from Jack's bat all those years ago as a small boy of five. Or was He? They survived, and apparently recovered fully from their injuries and moved far away from the Kinneys, maybe to a better life, free of the homophobic neighborhood of their youth.
This entire experience was making him reconsider a good many things he once thought true. Could it be that the miracle of Vic's recovery that night was not due to his "sacrifice," but to Deb's prayers? Or even, a voice in his head came unbidden, to the "wordless prayers of his heart" as he sat in that garden, wishing that Vic would be spared, willing to lay down his own life for the man who had been more of a father to him than his own had ever been? The tears that Mel held at bay drifted down her client's tanned cheeks unchecked.
"What was the second wish?" Mel asked in a quiet but compelling voice that carried through the courtroom. No other sound could be heard as all eyes were riveted to the small dark haired woman and the tall, handsome man on the witness stand.
"Remember the young blond man, Justin Taylor? Kinney called upon me once again when Hobbs hit him with the baseball bat. He was afraid that the boy would not make it to the hospital and indeed, Taylor would have died on that concrete floor but for my intervention. The ambulance would not have gotten there in time so it was a wise use of Kinney's second wish for more time. In that case, more time was tantamount to saving his life." De'Ville leaned back in his seat with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Mel could see that Brian had a hand over his face; she didn't need to be over there to know that his other hand was undoubtedly clenched on the table's edge again. She noted that Ethan's hands also were clenched, where they rested on the edge of the jury box. He must have had more genuine feeling for Justin than his cheating ways would indicate.
"Well, a good many people were also praying for Justin Taylor's survival as well," Mel pointed out.
"Ah, but the crucial time was in the garage when the only people who knew he was injured were the attacker, Brian Kinney and myself," De'Ville replied triumphantly. "I believe even you would agree that the attacker was unlikely to be praying for Mr. Taylor, and Kinney was not a man given to praying to my competitor, and since he already had some wishes on credit with me, he naturally turned to a sure thing, Counselor."
"I am sure he may have turned to you, Mr. De'Ville, the question before you is whether you delivered or whether Someone else did."
"I did, Counselor, I did, on this wish and on the third one as well," De'Ville answered sharply.
"And we know this because?"
"You know it because the wishes came true and because I am telling you it was my will that made it so, Attorney Marcus."
Brian remembered that night as clearly as though it happened an hour ago. He knew he would retain to his dying day the memory of the smooth feel of the Louisville Slugger in his hands as he pulled it from Hobbs' grasp and swung it at the other man's legs, the satisfying crack as it connected before the coward could get away; the shock of seeing all the blood as he turned Justin over, and how his fingers kept slipping on his cell phone as he tried to dial 911. Then their was his own animalistic moaning of "no" over and over, as though by denying the event, he could make its result go away. Please, make it not have happened, please God, let Justin be okay, let him live, and if he is dying, take me instead. And then, there was Satan, at his shoulder,
"Do you mean it?"
The "no's" turned to "yes's" as Brian became aware of who was there and remembered the supposed deal he made. Fuck, yes, give Justin more time, his soul wasn't worth shit compared to Sunshine's; just make sure he survived and that fucking ambulance got there in time. So much blood. And then Satan was gone. And the ambulance arrived....
"Ah yes," Mel said pleasantly, "the man who told us that he was the one who made Brian Kinney handsome, successful and good in bed, now tells us he saved Justin Taylor, and gave Vic Grassi four more years of life; please, you may as well tell us what else you did for Brian Kinney in exchange for his soul." Again, Mel waited with a patient, but skeptical look on her face. Once again, several jurors snickered, but quickly schooled their expressions back to impassive interest when Satan looked over at them suspiciously.
"And what was the third wish, Mr. De'Ville?" Mel continued, unperturbed by his scowl. Brian, however, was growing increasingly tense, as the testimony was drawing to a close. He wished Mel would forego taunting their opponent. He was worried that Old Scratch would find some way to retaliate; the incident with his mother had left him unimpressed with Stonewall's ability to restrain the Devil when the need arose. He saw no way that he could protect Mel against De'Ville in such event. All their former enmity had dissolved in the course of this trial. Just as increased knowledge of him had brought her understanding of and respect for Brian as she learned more about his past; his admiration of her had grown as he watched her untiring work in his defense. He noticed the times she had fought back tears, and he appreciated it. He hated sympathy. The two of them had grown amazingly close over the course of the past several days preparing for this day. He found himself praying to the God he had not consciously turned to since Russell and Tim were taken from him, asking now that Mel be delivered from evil.
"Well, Mr. De'Ville?" There had been a long delay, Brian realized, as De'Ville sat staring Mel down. His anxiety increased, as the pause lengthened. He did not know why De'Ville was making such a production out of this last wish. It seemed pretty simple to Brian. The man finally answered, just when it looked like Stonewall was about to intervene and order him to respond.
"The third time Kinney summoned me, he was once again at Allegheny Hospital, and once again, he was there at the side of his friend Michael Novotny.. They were there for another man, Ben Bruckner, who was HIV positive and had been hospitalized with a case of pneumonia that had turned serious. Bruckner was very important to Novotny, which meant that he mattered to Kinney. Novotny came to Kinney and told him the doctors said that Bruckner was not going to make it. Kinney called on me. I made sure Bruckner made it, and indeed, he has been doing very well, despite his HIV status, ever since."
Brian suddenly realized what the problem was with the third wish, and why De'Ville hesitated to discuss it. Of all the incidents, this last one was the most questionable. Brian had never before looked back at that night objectively. At the time, Mikey's support following Justin's attack was still too fresh in his mind. He wanted to do all he could to return that support. Now he realized that his knowledge of Ben's medical condition had passed through his excitable best friend's drama queen filter. He mentally chastised himself for wasting a wish that could have better used the night of the Babylon bombing, but then had to smile at the irony. If Mel's arguments were correct, none of the three people owed their lives to the Devil, although she was going to contend Brian deserved points for being willing to give up his soul to save them. Here he was, wondering if he got the most out of his ill-gotten wishes, mere moments after praying that God would save them from the consequences of his original mistake in making a deal with the Devil in the first place!. Some people never learn, he thought wryly.
For her part, Mel was surprised by the revelation of the third recipient of the benefit of Brian's wishes. Vic and Justin she could understand, and indeed, she had already guessed; but that Brian had used his last wish, the one that he might logically be expected to hoard against his own unexpected need, on Ben, a man to whom he was not particularly close, was shocking. She actually thought he might have used it on Ted when he was in the coma. Ted's recovery had been nothing short of miraculous. Yet, further reflection revealed the flaw in that guess: Brian would never have sympathy for what he saw as self-inflicted injuries and he made no bones about lumping Ted's coma in that category. No, he would not have used one of his wishes on Ted, who overdosed on a drug given to him by a stranger. On the other hand, his love for Justin and Michael was unconditional, and extended to those they loved, such as Ben.
"Once again, Mr. De'Ville, isn't it true that Ben Bruckner may simply have pulled through on his own, due to his strong constitution, his will to live, or even the prayers of his friends?"
"You can't prove that," De'Ville countered.
"Fortunately, I don't have to, Mr. De'Ville, the burden of proof is yours," Mel responded coolly. "No further questions."
Stonewall looked over at De'Ville. "Do you have any testimony you wish to offer by way of explanation, Mr. De'Ville?"
"No, Your Honor. I believe I have explained myself sufficiently." De'Ville snapped back.
"Very well. Gentlemen of the jury, you will be reconvened tomorrow. Normally, you would be instructed not to discuss this matter during the recess, but I believe in this case that instruction may not be necessary, but just in case, please do not discuss this matter with your fellow jurors until the time for deliberations. We shall see you tomorrow, at which time you shall hear closing arguments, and then my instructions on the law, following which you will finally be permitted to deliberate on the verdict. Thank you and good night."
The jury disappeared from view. Stonewall turned to the parties.
"Counselors, we shall meet again promptly tomorrow morning for any motions you would like to make. Let me say now that I shall reserve judgment on any motions made, so please be prepared to make your closing arguments immediately upon arrival. After that, as noted, I shall instruct the jury and they will proceed to their deliberations. Any questions?" The diminutive judge looked at them over his glasses.
"No, Your Honor," Mel responded. De'Ville just waved a hand at the judge in a dismissive manner.
"Very well, have a pleasant evening." With that, the judge and his attendants puffed out of sight.
Brian watched De'Ville watch Mel as she packed up her notes and Rule books.
"Can I interest you in dinner, Melanie? There is no reason we cannot leave our adversarial status here in the courtroom, is there? Brian is welcome to join us, of course, to safeguard your honor, and your soul, although I assure you, I have designs on neither." De'Ville's smoothest smile was back in place. Mel looked at him, at a loss for words. Brian stood up and put his arm protectively around Mel's shoulder, surprising her, although she didn't show any reaction.
"That is quite sporting of you, Luc, but Mel and I already planned to have a quiet dinner together, in order to strategize. Otherwise, we would love to spend a little quality time with our favorite fallen angel, isn't that right, Mel?" He squeezed Mel's shoulder warningly as he gave De'Ville one of his sweetest smiles.
"Yes, of course, some time when we aren't so busy, thanks," Mel managed to say, forcing a smile at their enemy. She wasn't sure of Brian's motives but she trusted his instincts. They hadn't made any plans, and she would've been comfortable telling De'Ville what he could do with his dinner invitation, but Brian clearly felt the need to be polite to the creature. There was nothing even remotely sarcastic in his demeanor. Presumably, he would explain once they were alone.
As soon as the two of them had escaped the courtroom and by unspoken agreement were sitting opposite each other at a small table in the closest tavern they could find, Mel brought it up.
"There's a lot I want to ask you, but first, what was up in there? Why the hell were you being so nice to that bastard? Why didn't you just tell him what he could do with his dinner, or better yet, let me tell him?" Mel took a deep swallow from her beer.
Finally, the longest fucking trial day of her career was over. She leaned back in the booth and looked over at Brian. His handsome face showed no visible sign of the ordeal they had been through. How did he do it? She was sure she looked a wreak. He smiled at her; once again she was sure he was able to read her mind since he said, "Don't worry, in this dim light you look fine. Besides, they're all steel workers in this pub, not a muff diver in sight that you'd want to impress. Though, come to think of it, if there is a woman steel worker in here, she probably does play for your team," he smirked.
"Fuck you, Kinney," she growled, more from force of habit than from any true annoyance.
"I'm grateful for your help today, Mel, but not that grateful," Brian screwed up his face in distaste, again more from force of habit that any real feeling.
"Very funny, but I plan on taking my fee in cash, thank you very much. When we win, which we will, the fee will take care of a nice summer home, not to mention all the kids' college expenses, maybe a car or two ... aren't you going to stop me yet?" She grinned at him impishly.
"Nope, your work has been worth every penny ... win or lose." Brian looked somberly into the amber fluid in his own glass. He glanced up at her. "I want you safe, Mel, both tomorrow to finish this, and in the years ahead to see the kids go to college. Don't keep taunting De'Ville. It's easy to forget who you're dealing with, and see him as just another sharp lawyer to beat. You and I are practical people. Lindsay and Justin, they're the more spiritual type; but we're the ones who've been sitting in a room where people have been puffing in and out of sight all day, including people we know are dead. If you anger him, I'm not convinced that our honorable jurist can protect you. You saw what happened with my dear mother. Her eyes were glowing fucking red, Mel. The sainted Joan was pretty fucked up during my hellish childhood, but I never saw her with literally demonic eyes before today. De'Ville did that, Mel, and it scared the shit out of Stonewall when he did it. Now someone who can scare someone who's been dead for as long as Stonewall, a fucker who was as mean as that bastard was when he was alive, I see no reason to piss off unnecessarily over a dinner invitation, and knowing you, I was afraid you may have done just that. So, I saved your face and pride by declining the invitation for us. Hopefully, by this time tomorrow this will be over, he will accept defeat graciously and turn his attention to his next victim."
Mel looked at Brian in surprise. She absent-mindedly dipped one of the complimentary chips the waiter had brought into the cheese dip that also had been brought to the table, and after liberally filling the chip with dip, ate it as she considered Brian's words. His maturity amazed her. She should have been the one to make that call. Suddenly, she felt the familiar symptoms of her throat tightening and her eyes burning. Panic gripped her as she tried to speak to Brian through the spasms of a coughing fit that shook her body.
"Mel? Mel, what is it?" He moved quickly to her side of the booth. She tried to speak but due to her rapidly closing throat and the violent coughing, she was unable to do so. Within seconds, even the coughing stopped as she could no longer draw breath through her closing windpipe.
"Crab," was all she managed to gasp before it was too late. Brian quickly picked her up and ran, carrying her in his arms, out of the tavern, ignoring the startled cries of the waiter and other patrons. He stopped at his car in the parking lot. In his glove compartment was an epinephrine pack. He quickly loaded the needle and injected Melanie, who was unable to breathe at all by that point. Within seconds, her throat opened enough for her to be able to cough again, which she did, violently for several long minutes as Brian held her tight against his chest on the front passenger seat of his car. The manager of the tavern came walking up.
"Sir, is everything okay? We noticed that you left without paying, but perhaps the food was not to your liking...?"
"Perhaps not when your fucking dip almost killed my friend here? Since when do you serve people crab dip without warning customers, especially when it is described as being a cheese dip?"
"What crab dip are you talking about, sir? We don't offer a crab dip on our menu," The man looked at Brian cautiously. His dilemma was clear; on one hand he had a customer walking out without paying, on the other, the customer's companion clearly had eaten something in his establishment that didn't agree with her; moreover, the customer did not look like the type of man to skip out on a ten dollar tab. He was wearing a suit that probably cost more than the manager's monthly salary, and his car probably cost more than he made in a year. He made a quick decision.
"Sir, what can we do to help remedy this unfortunate situation? Shall I summon medical personnel? I am sorry we have none on staff, but perhaps an ambulance?"
Brian looked at the man who was twisting his hands nervously. Mel was still coughing weakly. He pressed his forehead with his hand as he tried to think. There was something fishy about the "crab" dip suddenly appearing on their table in a place that didn't sell it. The manager seemed honest to Brian. He too reached a quick decision; he pulled out a twenty and one of his cards, and handed both to the flustered manager.
"Listen, there must have been some misunderstanding about the dips. Fortunately, I had some of the right medicine in the car, but there was no time to explain to the waiter. I'm glad you came out to us as I didn't want to leave her to go back in to pay for our beers. Please tell the server to keep the change and cancel the rest of our order, we need to be on our way. I think you're right, she should be seen at the hospital, so would you do me a favor? Please call an ambulance now and tell them you have a patron who's had a severe allergic reaction to some food item who needs transport to Allegheny General. She's had one shot of epinephrine but will need more treatment probably and soon. Here's my card with my cell phone if they need it. You can probably give the address for this place better than I can. Thanks." Brian flashed the man one of his best smiles and was gratified to see it had its usual effect. The man smiled back shyly, then hurried away to do Brian's bidding.
Brian decided to drive the short distance to the end of the parking lot to be able to meet the ambulance there as it approached. The manager had already come back out to confirm it would be there in a few minutes and to offer his assistant manager to help in any way. Brian enlisted him to drive the ‘Vette to the hospital so he could ride with Mel and had turned over his keys already. He wasn't letting her out of his sight until this matter was over. Once he reached a satisfactory spot at the parking lot's entrance, he unhooked his seatbelt and turned sideways in the seat in order to be able to keep an eye on Mel while still able to watch the road for the ambulance's approach. As he anxiously waited for the ambulance to arrive, Brian could hear "Antihistamine" from The Crow: Salvation soundtrack playing from the open window of a nearby apartment building. He twisted his mouth sourly; any doubts he had that the devil was behind this mishap disappeared. Satan was nothing if not a demon with a sense of humor. He looked over at Mel and she nodded her head weakly back at him to signify that she was doing better; the coughs were coming only sporadically now. Brian began talking, in a conversational tone.
"So, I don't know about you, but I remember there being a dip on the table and while I didn't taste it, too much fat, you know, I'm willing to take your word for it that it was crab. That whole ‘can't breathe, almost dying' thing looked pretty convincing to me. And while that manager guy may have doubted me, you know I never skip out without paying a check, despite anything Deb may have told you to the contrary. Fuck, I've even been known to pay the college tuition of waiters I've taken a shine to..." Brian would have continued in this vein to lighten the mood but laughing started Mel's coughing up again, which did not seem to be a good idea, so he stopped. He pulled her into a hug instead, noting only, "If Lindsay could see this, she would be sure the Devil made me do it, either that or one of us is dying." Feeling Mel's shoulders shake again with suppressed coughs, he grinned and squeezed her, mouthing "Sorry."
Mel pointed to the used needle and raised an eyebrow in silent question. Brian laughed, mirthlessly this time .
"Justin's allergies always scared the shit out of me. So, I got his mom to get me prescriptions for those kits from his allergist and I keep them all around, in my office, the loft, my car. He doesn't know about it, but I figure if he ever gets a bad reaction by accident, I'll be ready. Neurotic, huh?"
Mel shook her head. Then she started to cry, shoulders again shaking silently, as she thought of the love that precipitated such precautions. Brian sighed, then with a soft, self deprecating laugh, pulled her onto his lap and cuddled her against his shoulder, saying, "Come here, killer, go ahead and let it out, you deserve a good cry. That was a close call. If I weren't determined to be all macho, I'd be having a good cry myself. If you get into trouble again before the ambulance gets here, I'll just give you another dose, but I think it should be getting here soon."
Even as he said it, they heard the faint wail of the ambulance siren.
"Well, there we go, you're safe, so you really can let loose with a few tears. Or are you afraid of letting the ambulance guys see you cry? Mel?" Brian shook her a little as she continued to be completely silent.
"Mel, you don't have to be so quiet, I gave you permission to make a little noise. I promise not to tell the Lesbian League that you cried on a gay man's shoulder. You know, this is taking the stoic thing a little too far, isn't it?" He took her chin in his hand and gently tipped her face up. Wide, horrified brown eyes met his hazel gaze.
Mel put her hands to her throat and shook her head frantically. She mouthed the words to Brian to make the bad news clear, "I lost my voice .... I... so sorry .... He got us." More tears fell as Brian looked at her in disbelief. He quickly masked his concern for himself and showed only relief.
"Was that all that was keeping you quiet? For fuck's sake, Mel, you had me scared there for a minute. Come on, the ambulance is pulling in, we'll get you check out at the hospital. Lindz and Gus will be glad to see you. Worst comes to worst, you'll give me your notes and teach me tonight through handwritten notes and hand gestures how to do a closing. How hard could it be?" He gave her his tongue in cheek smile then pressed her head down on his shoulder when she moaned, a weird, almost soundless cry.
After the EMTs checked Mel out and they confirmed where the assistant manager was to leave the ‘Vette, accompanied by another one of the helpful restaurant workers following in another car to drive them both back, they left for the hospital. As Brian rode next to Mel, holding onto the strap with one arm, his other arm clenched tight by her thin hand as she stared fixedly at the passing lights of the other cars, he was conscious of feeling overwhelming relief over more than the passing of the immediate danger. De'Ville had just taken Mel out of the game, but Brian's worst fear was now over. She had survived, barely, perhaps, but survived all the same.
All he had to worry about now was losing his soul to the devil on the morrow. How hard could it be to give a winning closing argument?
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