Lie Detecting for Satan

Satan had planned to sell some plasma today but changed his mind when the FBI contacted him and asked if he would help test a new lie-detection model. He approached the counter and was greeted by a frumpy, nasty, overweight female receptionist.

“What do you want?” Susan asked. Her name was printed on her name badge, which hung around her neck.

Satan tossed the letter asking him to show up today and replied, “I have an appointment.”

“Name?” Susan asked.

Satan pointed to his two forward-facing horns and didn’t say a word.

“I need two forms of identification.”

Satan pulled out his wallet, removed his driver’s license and a Costco membership card, and held them up for Susan to read.

“Can I get the last four of your social?”

“7483,” Satan replied.

“Ok, come with me,” Susan replied, leading Satan through a door and down a hall to a room with the words, Interrogation Room Six. She opened the door and gestured to Satan to sit at one of the three chairs provided.

Satan took a seat and noticed how bleak the room looked. Dingy grey walls, one light directly above, and a two-way mirror right in front of him. On the table was a machine he assumed was a lie detector.

“Lieutenant Jasper will be with you in a minute,” Susan added and left the room.

Satan looked for a camera and spotted two. One on each side of the room, and a microphone set at the center of the table on a short stand.

The door opened, and two men entered. One was dressed in a grey suit and black tie; the other wore a white lab coat.

“Thank you for coming in today,” the man in the suit said. “My name is Todd Jasper, and this is Dr. Tastebud.”

Satan nodded his head and waited for the two men to take their seats.

“I’m sure you are curious as to why we asked you here today.”

“Not really, your letter said I’d be paid one hundred and fifty dollars if I came down.”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Am I under arrest?” Satan asked.

“No, of course not. We asked you here to test our new lie detector.”

“Will this take long? I need the money to buy groceries.”

“An hour at the most. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Diet root beer,” Satan replied.

Jasper spoke into a microphone clipped to his tie, asking for a diet root beer. A response came back through his earpiece. “We don’t keep diet root beer in our vending machine. She will have to go downtown and get one at the supermarket.”

“Forget it,” Satan replied, annoyed.

“We have water,” Jasper offered.

“Alright, water is fine.”

Jasper called for the water and addressed Satan. “The reason we asked you here, as I said before, is that we want to test our new lie detector, and since you are the king of lies, who better than you to test it on?”

“That’s racist,” Satan replied.

“At best it’s profiling; I don’t think you belong to a race, unless demon is a race.”

“Get on with it.”

“Ok, we need to do a baseline test. The first question I want you to tell the truth so we can mark a starting point.”

Satan sat there frowning.

“Are you responsible for the Kennedy assassination?”

“No,” Satan replied, and the lie detector beeped, indicating a lie.

“Seriously?” Jasper asked. “You killed Kennedy?”

“No,” Satan replied, and the machine beeped again.

“You were supposed to tell the truth, for our baseline. Let’s try this again. Are you the Zodiac killer?”

“Yes,” Satan replied, and the machine was silent.

“Holy crap,” Jasper said and then called on his microphone for officer assistance and for them to wait outside the door. “While I have you here, I want to ask a few more questions,” Jasper said. “By any chance, are you Jack the Ripper?”

“I plead the fifth,” Satan replied.

“You’re not under arrest.”

“Yet, I heard you call for backup. Unless they are delivering my Diet Root Beer, I think I should end this test. Plus, you never read me my rights.”

“If you don’t mind, I think I will.”

“Too late, dipshit. I want out of here.”

“You have the right to remain silent,” Jasper said, reading from a card.

“And you have the right to shut the fuck up, officer,” Satan replied, pulling his chair away from the table. “I’m not answering questions anymore. Where is my money?”

“We will give you the money in the form of a debit card. It will be mailed on Friday.”

“Friday? What the hell? I need to get cat food, and a stack of TV dinners. They won’t buy themselves, and my cat gets very angry when I don’t feed her.”

“Sorry, I don’t make the rules,” Jasper replied.

“Son of a bitches,” Satan replied and shoved the new lie detector machine onto the floor.

“That, mister, is destruction of public property!”

“So the fuck what? I am a demon. Your human laws don’t apply to me anyway.”

“Sure they do,” Jasper replied smugly.

“Google it,” Satan said defiantly.

Jasper pulled out his phone and looked up whether demons were covered by human law. His jaw dropped to the floor when he found the answer. The screen clearly displayed a federal legal precedent confirming that non-human, supernatural entities lacking biological personhood were completely exempt from civil property damage claims.

“This is insane!” Jasper muttered.

Dr. Tastebud finally spoke up, his voice trembling as he looked at the shattered casing on the linoleum. “Lieutenant... the sensor arrays. They didn’t break from the fall. They melted from the inside out when he said he didn’t kill Kennedy.”

Satan scoffed, adjusting his coat over his horns. “Yeah, because I didn’t kill him. But I’m the Prince of Darkness, Jasper. Every time a human acts with true malice, a little piece of my influence is attached to the deed. Your machine couldn’t handle the nuance of spiritual liability. It’s a garbage model.”

“Wait,” Jasper stammered, scrambling over the table as Satan walked toward the door. “If you didn’t kill Kennedy, then why did you say yes to the Zodiac killer?”

Satan paused at the door handle, looking back with an expression of pure boredom. “Because that one was just a hobby. I liked the ciphers. Tedious, but rewarding.”

He turned the knob. Outside, three FBI tactical officers stood ready, their faces pale. Susan the receptionist was standing right behind them, holding a sweating plastic bottle of water and looking intensely annoyed.

“He’s leaving! Stop him!” Jasper yelled from inside the room.

The lead officer looked at Satan, then looked at the two massive horns protruding from the visitor’s forehead. Finally, he glanced at the legal brief Jasper was still clutching through the open doorway.

“Sir,” the officer called back, lowering his rifle slightly. “The union contract says we don’t get hazard pay for supernatural elements. If he walks, we can’t touch him without a special waiver from headquarters.”

“I told you,” Satan sighed, casually taking the water bottle out of Susan’s hand. “Human laws are strange. Oh, and Susan? Your posture is terrible. You’re going to have severe lower back pain by October. That’s not a curse, by the way, just a medical observation.”

He took a sip of the water, grimaced at the lack of carbonation, and began walking down the corridor toward the exit.

“We’re still mailing that debit card on Friday!” Jasper screamed down the hallway, his voice cracking with rage. “Minus the cost for the machine! You’re getting an empty card!”

Satan didn’t turn around, but he flipped Jasper off over his shoulder, his middle finger raised high and steady as the automatic exit doors slid open. His cat was going to be furious about the cheap kibble, but at least he had his membership card and a couple of hours left before the plasma center closed.