The Dirty Streets of Heaven: Volume One of Bobby Dollar Read Online Free

old-school kind of way but rigorously fair. Sam wouldn’t get cheated, but he wasn’t going to get any surprise breaks either.
    I put myself between Clarence and Howlingfell—the kid looked as if he was going to wet himself if he had to stand next to the demon. Mrs. Martino joined us, eyes dry now and face solemn, making an audience of four for the proceedings, but I could tell she was fighting hard for composure. I couldn’t help admiring her again. I hoped we could help her.
    “How come there’s so many of you holy-rollers here?” Howlingfell snarled in my ear. “That ain’t right.”
    “We heard a rumor you were going to sing ‘Ave Maria.’”
    “A rumor I was gonna eat your face, you mean.” Usually Hell has the best writers—but not always, obviously.
    “What’s going to happen now?” our rookie whispered in my other ear.
    “What do you think? Prosecutor Grasswax is going to try to convincethe judge that Mrs. Martino here should go straight to Hell, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Our boy Sam is going to argue that she should be gathered unto the bosom of the Highest instead.” I glanced toward the frightened, quiet soul in question. “That’s how it works. Didn’t they give you any prep at all?”
    “I didn’t get much warning.” Clarence stared with the kind of sickened fascination secret Christians must have felt watching their exposed fellows being gobbled by Roman lions. “They just…sent me.”
    Sent him to fill what was supposedly Heaven’s most important job—protecting human souls from the Opposition—without much of any training. Odd, you say? No kidding. I filed this bit of weirdness away for later.
    Grasswax was already in full swing, pacing along the dock before the coruscating judge like a goblin dancing in front of a fireplace, jabbing his long, pointy fingers as he described in lurid detail what seemed like every petty thought, unkind word, or social misdemeanor poor old Mrs. Martino had ever made. The prosecutor didn’t seem to have much in the way of ammunition, but he did mention that she had been arrested for driving while intoxicated.
    “Her husband left her at a party and took off somewhere,” Sam said. “Probably with a broad, Your Honor. Come on, that’s clearly just a mistake in judgement on her part.”
    “Ah, yes. Mistakes in judgement.” Grasswax offered a significant glance to the nearly featureless gleam of Xathanatron. “We’ll talk more about such things.”
    “This could go on for hours,” I said quietly to Clarence. “Are you sure you want to be here? We could go get a cup of coffee.” I saw him looking at Mrs. Martino. “Not her, stupid. She’s dead. She’s not getting coffee with us.”
    He shook his head stubbornly. “I want to see.”
    I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
    It did in fact go on for hours. You’d want it to if it was
your
judgement, wouldn’t you? Your entire life being summed up, your eternal fate settled on the coin-flip of guilty or not guilty?
    “It seems like a pretty basic system…” the kid said as he watched Sam work. Grasswax had begun to pull out his bigger ammunition, things like cruel words, religious hypocrisy, even petty theft. (She’dstolen twenty dollars from her church fundraiser once, because she didn’t have the cash to get home otherwise.) Grasswax then added a string of petty sins going back to her childhood. Sam took each allegation as it came and made it clear with a shake of the head or a snort of disgust that he didn’t think much of such small beer. My pal’s always been a bit of a country lawyer, unhurried and deliberate. I honestly think it’s the best approach with a prosecutor like Grasswax, who has been known to overplay his hand.
    “Yeah, it’s basic,” I agreed. “Because the problem is pretty basic.” I tugged him a couple of paces away from the deceased. “Only two choices, see? You’re going one way or the other—even Purgatory is a win for our side,