A/N: Many thanks to L.M. Lewis for the idea and the editing. It was probably the very devil of a job!

GIVE THE DEVIL HIS DUE

by

Owlcroft

Hardcastle studied the surface of his desk moodily. "I dunno. Sometimes it seems like we take one step forward and two back. There are just too many bad guys in the world today."

"I know what you mean, Judge. But you're not just gonna give up, are you?" McCormick walked over to the coffee table and turned off the evening news. "I mean, every little bit helps, right?"

The judge sighed and rested his elbows on the desk, then his chin on his palms. "There's gotta be a way to . . . catch up or something. To give us a chance to hold things in check, at least."

"Well, how, Masked Man?" Mark perched on the edge of the desk. "Pass out do-good pills or something?

"That's it!" Hardcastle snapped his fingers. "We'll go straight to the source of it all. The root of all evil."

McCormick squinted at him, puzzled. "Money?"

"Nah, the devil! Satan, Beelzebub, whatever you wanta call him. We'll get him squared away and then all the other evildoers will run outta ideas and quit, see?" The judge nodded emphatically. "Yeah, that'll work. We got a plan, kiddo!"

Mark looked at him, shaking his head. "And how do we get in touch, huh? Chant 'Hail, hail, fire and snow. Call the angel; we will go'"?

"Where'd you get that?" asked the older man, looking puzzled.

"I dunno." McCormick shrugged. "Some old TV show, I think. There was a lawyer involved, I remember that much."

Hardcastle pondered briefly. "Maybe all we hafta do is speak of the devil."

They both turned, startled, at the sound of a soft cough from the door to the hallway. A stranger stood there, dark and saturnine.

"Pleased to meet you; hope you guess my name," he said with a twinkle in his dark, vaguely almond-shaped eyes. He extended a hand to McCormick, a hand with beautifully manicured talons, filed to perfection and buffed to a glossy finish.

Mark took a look at that hand, swallowed convulsively and stepped back hastily.

"Oh, of course. I beg your pardon." The Old Gentleman retracted his hand and smiled apologetically. "I'd failed to notice the medals. Saints Christopher and Jude, I believe." He turned to the judge and nodded suavely. "Judge Hardcastle, pleased to make your acquaintance at last. They call me," he paused for emphasis, "Mister Scratch."

Two blank faces looked back at him.

"Oh, dear, not Poitier fans, I see."

The judge looked at him sternly. "How'd you do that, just appearing out of thin air? And don't you know you're trespassing?"

The dark stranger waved a deprecating hand. "Such a small infraction, don't you agree? Let's talk about larger . . . ah, sins."

"Yeah, okay, let's!" Hardcastle rose to face the Adversary, a stern look on his face. "Let's talk about all the pain and fear, all the harm and the just plain wickedness that you've caused."

"I?" Old Nick put a hand on his chest and exquisitely-arched eyebrows rose in surprise and protest. "Are you seriously blaming me for all the evil that men do in this world? My good sir, I must protest. It is emphatically not so. I leave it strictly up to those involved. They do have free will, you know." He spread his hands apart, looking positively angelic. "All I do is point out their other options."

Mark edged cautiously over to the desk. "But, you're . . . you know. Lucifer, Prince of Darkness. Mephistopheles--"

"Please," the archfiend held up a palm. "Don't bother to list them all. It would take quite a while, and I have heard them all before. Besides, I have something more important to discuss with you both."

The two humans looked at each other apprehensively.

"Have you ever," the elegant figure before them said, "considered switching your allegiance? Coming over to the, ah . . . the other side?"

"You gotta be kidding," was the disgusted reply from Hardcastle. "You know us better than that!"

"But my good sir, consider my arguments before you dismiss them." Apollyon held up a hand and counted on his gleaming talons. "Ease of accomplishment, fulfillment of desires, safety in numbers --"

The judge shook his head decisively. "That's just more of that 'do as thou wilt shall be the whole of the law' hooha."

Mark shot him a questioning glance, not recognizing the quotation.

"Aleister Crowley," growled the judge.

"Ah, one of my favorites," purred Asmodeus. "He still amuses me at times."

McCormick took his courage in both hands and stepped forward. "No!" He flinched as the Prince of Darkness turned toward him. "No," he continued in a quieter tone. "We're both happy just as we are, thank you, and won't take up any more of your time."

Abbadon smiled at him, revealing teeth of astonishing whiteness and sharpness. "What a polite young man. So charming in so many ways. Are you quite sure, dear sir? Have you never wanted to dance with me in the pale moonlight?"

"I'm positive," said Mark firmly. He looked directly at Diabolus with added significance, "And you know I'm not lying."

With the sudden pop of a vacuum being formed in the air, the dapper demon vanished.

"Shouldn't we have seen flames or something?" McCormick turned to the judge.

Hardcastle shrugged. "Or smelled sulfur at the very least. I dunno." He re-seated himself behind the desk. "What'd you do to get him outta here?"

Mark edged a hip back onto the desk. "Well, my mom always told me to 'tell the truth and shame the devil', so I did."

"Huh!" The judge leaned back in his chair and raised his brows. "I guess it's true that the devil you know is better than the devil you don't know."

McCormick grinned at him, "The devil you say!"

finis