1800 hours 17 January 2025
Central offices of Hell, Inc.
"Mr. Newhart, do you have any idea why you are being recruited for this mission?"
"Nnoo... I... I thought this was just another call back for The Big Bang Theory."
"Ha-ha! That's cute. No, I'm afraid this is a little more complicated than that. We're, ah... looking upon the experience of some of your earlier endeavors."
"You...you want me to go back to stand up?"
"Not that far back, Mr. Newhart. We need you to infiltrate the Hyland Hotel in Monticello."
"Indiana?"
"No. Utah."
"U...Utah?"
"Yes. That's what I said."
"You want me to...infiltrate. The Hyland Hotel."
"That's what the mission entails."
"Y-y-you do know that I was not an actual innkeeper, right? I was an actor..."
"And that is all you'll be doing here. Simply playing a part."
"I see. W-won't the guests be suspicious? Seeing as I'm.... well, dead?"
"Shouldn't be a problem. Our research shows that most people up topside thought you were dead before you were actually dead."
"Ouch."
"I know, right? Don't sweat it, Bob. You're new here. Hell has an eternity's worth of opportunities for you. We wanted Thompson for this job, but we couldn't find enough mescaline to close the deal. Here in Hell. Can you believe it?"
"Well, I am new here, so... I, don't know?"
"No matter. Pack light, this shouldn't take long."
"Oh... one thing. Will there be Darrells?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe one?"
"Good. I always hated those assholes."
1600 hours MDT, 18 January 2025
Hyland Hotel, Monticello, Utah
Temperature -6F, wind chill -34F
The head of the once-and-future President's security detail returned to the limo. The blinding reflection off the sunlit snow was captured in the lenses of his dark sunglasses, like a pair of fiery orbs glowing in his large, jar-shaped head.
" It checks out, sir. The place is empty. There is only one guy working and he checks out. Since they're so understaffed we'll bring in the luggage."
"That won't be necessary. We won't be here that long."
The President pulled a Detroit Lions skull cap down over his ears, leaving the tell tale blond tufts of his iconic do peeking out. The reflective safety vest was cinched awkwardly over his heavy overcoat and barely closed across his girth. He trudged determinedly across the crisp snow and hopped briskly up the steps to the entrance, where he was greeted warmly by Mr. Newhart. Mr. Newhart was, of course, operating under the assumed identity of one Darrell Cruikshank.
"Welcome to the Hyland, Mr. President. I must apologize in advance... we are hard pressed to be as accommodating as would be our standard. I'm, uh... I'm the only one that showed up today."
"Gee. Oh, that's tough, huh? What's your name?"
"Oh! I'm...uh... I'm Darrell. I'll be your concierge during your visit."
"Well let's get inside, huh? It's colder than Pelosi's cooch out here!" The President fished inside of his coat and pulled out two c notes, stuffing them inside of Darrell's breast pocket. "So. Is he here yet?"
"We expect his arrival at any moment, Mr. President. There's a... a bit of a lag with that interdimensional thing."
"I know that. I watch Rick and Morty."
Once inside Darrell/Newhart seated the President next to the roaring hearth and then attended him with a steaming tea service. The President very graciously thanked him and then noted something.
"Say Darrell... you look like, very familiar by the way, you look like you've been doing this a while. How'd you like a job at one of my hotels?"
"Sir, I... uh..."
"You worked at the Four Seasons! That's where I've seen you before!"
"No sir, I never was at the Four Seasons."
"Really? Well, I suppose everyone has a twin somewhere, right?"
"Yes, I suppose. Some people say I look like Bob Newhart."
"Do they? Huh! I don't see it."
Suddenly at the other end of the hearth there came a crackling sound with sudden sparks that appeared out of thin air. The room was filled with the strong scent of ozone, followed by a peculiar popping sound like the seal breaking on vacuumed packaging. In the next instant the Devil appeared in that space.
"Ah, Donald! You came!"
"Hello Reggie. Good to see you again. How are things in the underworld these days?"
"Still bursting at the seams. Nice vest! Will you be wearing that to the inauguration?"
"Maybe. We'll see. So... Reggie. Don't want to waste your time...."
"I appreciate that. We both have more pressing matters to attend to. Where are we on this whole Utah thing?"
"Ah-ah-ah...we'll come to that in a moment, Reggie. We've got something else on the table now....that big, yuuge table... really beautiful table, I can tell you... pretty sure you're going to like it. Anyway... there's this other thing I want to address first. Norm Eisen. One of yours?"
"Why yes, he is. What about him?"
"Okay. I thought so. Any chance you want to take him back?"
The Devil's brow furrowed at this. He pondered for only a moment, then he was certain that he did not. Hell, Inc. was striving to cull the herd of lawyers already in their charge.
"No, Donald. I'm afraid we don't have any use for him. Surely this is something you could, uh... take care of?"
"Well, we could, but... it's bad optics."
"Ah. I see. Well, I might be able to do something for you. One moment...". The Devil took out his smart phone and deftly tapped out a number with the tip of one talon. He put the phone to his ear and awaited a response, which did not take long. "Ah! Hemingway! Good, you're in. Need you to take care of something for me, if you would be so kind. Please reach out to our disposal contractors in the Northern Virginia chapter, would you? Yes, that's right. Yes, he's here. Mm-hmm.... okay. Tell them we have a priority assignment. Norm Eisen. No, not the dentist. The other one. That's right. Very good! Thank you Hemingway! Yes. Yes. Tell them I'll be back in time for the Bills game. Alright then. Goodbye!"
The Devil concluded his call and turned to the President. "Done! Very professional, reliable team. They are most thorough and never leave a trace."
"Really? Are they available for... other work?"
"Why of course! You know them. The Hell's Angels?"
"Those are your guys... huh."
"Well, most of them are. There are a few posers out there, but yes. I thought you knew."
"Well... I'm pretty sure most of them voted for me, so..."
"Indeed. Now. What about Utah?"
"Yeeahh...so, Utah's good, but... think a little bigger, Reggie. Remember I said we had something..."
"Yeah, yeah... big beautiful table, I got that. What are we talking here? Don't jerk me around..."
"No jerk! No jerk... nobody is jerking around. Listen...what about an area ten times the space, more remote... you're really going to love it. It's a big, big spa... it's really yuge, this space is... you really won't believe how big this place is..."
"Try me."
"Greenland, Reggie! Think about it, huh? You can't drive there... it's only plane or ship. And most of it is under ice."
"Is this supposed to be some kind of Hell freezing over joke? I don't think it's funny, Donald. Don't insult me!"
"Would I do that, Reggie? Huh? It's no joke. It's way more room and... look, who is going to go snooping around up there? It's cold as Hell, pardon the expression. It's even colder than here!"
The Devil curbed his ire and took a moment to consider this offer. In truth it did make more sense. It wasn't as though the Danes had done anything useful with it. And, to be sure, there was quite limited access. He was warming to the idea by the second.
"So we'd have the entire island?"
"Well... how about 70%?"
"80."
"75%, final offer."
The Devil knew he was dealing with one of the best negotiators ever. At 75% he would still have an area eight times larger than what they had budgeted for. He could have done much worse. There seemed little point to carrying on this charade any longer.
"I can live with that. We have a deal then?"
"We have a deal! It's an art form, you know. I wrote a book about it... very, very popular book, by the way..."
"I know. I still have your signed copy."
"Great! Okay, you got anything else?"
"No, Mr. President. I think we're done here. Oh...there is one more thing. What should we do with the, uh... phantom voters?"
"Whatever you want Reggie. Really... I don't care. We have a lot of work to do and I've only got four more years, right? I gotta get all these things done and make sure Lukey Numbnuts doesn't fuck it all up after I've gone."
"Consider it done! Always a pleasure doing business with you, Donald."
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