The Fourth and Fifth circles
‘I thought Pluto was an exoplanet’, the Founder said. ‘This guy looks like the town judge in Romulus.’ The guy did, in fact, look like the Romulus town judge. He was sixty years old, as wide as he was tall, with no neck and IT tech glasses. The difference was that this guy was big as the statue in the Lincoln Memorial and said ‘Papa Satán, Papa Satán, aleppy’, as he stood in the middle of the staircase to the next level and shot fire out of his eyes. I should have corrected him on the status of manufactured homes last time I stood before him, the Founder thought. They are personal property, not real property. The dumbass thought the Statute of Frauds applied to them.
‘I’ll handle this’, Vergil said. To Pluto, he flashed a badge and said, ‘We have clearance from the big guy. Don’t handle shit above your pay-grade.’ Pluto stood aside, swept his hand down and across in welcome, and smiled.
‘So, he is the cartoon character instead of the exoplanet’, the Founder asked. ‘The judge he looks like is a dumbass.’
‘That’s Bluto, you mean’, Vergil said, ‘Not Pluto.’
‘I mean Pluto. The dog, not the sailor.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘Yes, I do.’
.
The level they were now on seemed abbreviated and non-descript. A minute after they started walking, they saw a large hand-roller of the type used to level asphalt or newly-mown grass filled with water to weigh it down. Two guys were strapped to it like oxen strapped to a cart, but they were harnessed with their backs to each other, instead of parallel to each other. One pulled the roller toward Pluto. The other pulled the roller away from Pluto, toward the river in the distance. Both wore blinders of the type worn by horses when they are raced. A small monkey – a Macaque, the Founder thought – wearing jockey silks sat of the back of each of the men. Each monkey held a racing whip, which he lifted above his head and brought down on the back and hindquarters of the man he was riding as he shouted AAA! AAA! AAA! EEE! EEE! EEE! Sometimes one of the men would get the upper hand and the roller would slide a few meters in his direction. Then, the other man would get a second wind and pull the roller back in the other direction. At regular intervals, the monkeys would turn around, look at each other and exchange high fives.
‘What section is this’, Vergil asked.
‘It used to be called Hoarders and Wasters’, Vergil said. ‘Management instituted a re-branding initiative a few decades ago. Since then, we have called it Greed.’
‘I know that guy’, the Founder said, as he pointed toward the guy straining to pull the roller toward the river. ‘That greedy bastard charged me six grand to fill a few potholes with cold patch. I could have done it myself. And those were 2016 dollars.’
‘You’re not the only one who complained about him.’
‘Who’s the other guy?’
‘Oh, he’s a landscaper who was based in Missouri. He ripped off Frank Rolfe one time too many.’
The path neared a river that was wide, flat and mud-colored. Whatever the fish were that lived in that water, the founder thought, he did not want to eat them. ‘Anything special about that river’, he asked Vergil.
‘When you drink from it, you forget.’
‘Like the Saint Lawrence?’
‘That’s worse. That makes you Canadian.’
To their left, they saw an octagonal fighting cage. A scrum of men stood in it, punching, kicking and grappling. Some of the men stood and faced their opponents and banged their chests like gorillas or just stood and screamed. ‘I know that guy’, the Founder said. ‘The guy in the baby blue trunks. Fucken asshole lived in my park in northern New York. He used to drive donuts in his truck over the leach field when he was angry. Do you mind if I bait him?’
‘Go right ahead’, Vergil said. ‘You’re the guest.’
‘Hey, Junior’, the Founder said. He had walked up to the edge of the octagon and could feel the sweat falling off of the fighters. Junior stood in a corner, trying to catch his breath. ‘I’ve bought your note, Junior’, the Founder said. ‘Payments you used to make to Bud go to me now.’
When Junior heard his name, he looked up, around and across the octagon. Finally, he looked down at the Founder.
‘You make your note payments to me now, Junior’, the Founder said. ‘I’ve bought your fucking note. The note you made out to Bud to borrow money from him when you bought your home from him. It’s mine now.’
Junior bared his teeth and flared his eyes. ‘You caint do that’, he said. ‘That’s illegal!’
‘Oh, yes, it is, Junior. People do it all the time. I have written articles about it.’
‘I’m going to call my lawyer!’
‘Call your fucken lawyer. She’ll tell you what I’m telling you. Who is she?’
‘I aint tellin you!’
Junior screamed and began to bang against the wall of the octagon. He grabbed a few chain links and tried to pull himself up to climb out but a nebbishy accountant-looking guy grabbed him and body-slammed him. Junior stood up, ignored the accountant and screamed You’re screwin me! Aaaaaaiiiiiii. The rest of the guys in the octagon ignored him as he banged his head against the chain links.
‘You want to hang around and bait him some more’, Vergil asked the Founder. ‘You’re the guest. Take your time, if you’re having fun.’
‘I’m good. What do you call this section?’
‘It used to be The Wrathful and The Sullen, but now it is Anger.’
‘What’s next?’
‘Simony, baby. But the seculars call it corruption.’