The justice of a sitting president

Chapter 37

The justice of a sitting president

While Krysa Litso's life fire played out its last few sparks, Nom decided to move his show onto the finale. With one idiot still writhing on the floor, Nom took center stage and faced the camera.

"Ladies and gentlemen; boys and girls; your lord and master—Death: is pleased to announce the final act of his extremely gory show: 'The Justice of the Sitting President.'"

"While it is obvious that the illustrious Führer of the Fourth Reich is but a symptom of the greater disease plaguing humanity, namely, conservatism, and its twin sister religion; the President is still the named face and leader of that tumor."

"As I said when I first took over this show, I am not here to negotiate. I admit that I was forced to arrange the proper audience, but that is not the same as negotiating the end of my war.

"In 1941, the Japanese effectively declared their intentions against the US by attacking Pearl Harbor. Caesar crossed the Rubicon; Alexander hurled his spear into Persia; the Confederates shelled Fort Sumter. On and on the list goes. Wars start not just with words, but with decisive action."

"I have followed tradition and form, by giving formal notice of our state of war, but it simply does not seem enough. When I am presented with so vile an example and a perfect specimen, of all that conservatism represents, and it is all in the body and character of our Nazi President? I am simply forced to not only proverbially toss down the gauntlet, but to find a way to do it literally."

Nom spun and faced the President.

"Mr. President, come out of your catatonia, stand, and follow me. Do not speak. I wish it all."

Nom put the ear piece he had removed back in for a moment. Only to find the Senator still babbling.

"Control Room, you can kill the feed from Washington. The Senator has played his part. Do it now."

Immediately the whining in his ear stopped.

"Good. Thank you, Control. Now, I assume that you have the ability to remotely switch camera feeds. It looks like the whole set is already covered, so I want you to follow me."

Nom walked across the set, followed by the President and the eyes of the world. When they reached the kitchen, Nom held up a hand for the President to stop.

"Mr. President, I stand here as the would be conqueror of Earth. You sir, stand before me as a vile war criminal. In this Nuremburg, I am jury; I am judge; and I am executioner. I find you guilty of war crimes, crimes against humanity, and crimes against logic and decency. I sentence you to die in a matter befitting tyrants from the days of yore. I will now carry out that sentence."

Nom felt a stirring in the hall.

"I told you swine that I am not to be interrupted!" He shouted.

"Fine, let's play a little game. Control! Switch to the wide angle camera in the back corner. The one that can see into the studio entrance."

Nom watch the monitor screen, and when he saw that they had complied he continued.

"Let's see, we have three gentlemen of the NYPD SWAT team, two ladies from the FBI, and one Secret Service agent on point. I think the concept of spontaneous human combustion has largely been found to be a myth. Too much water in the body means you need a large amount of external accelerant and fuel. First, you must dry the body before it will burn properly. But I'm not playing by the normal rules. You little Nazi stooges were warned of the consequences of defying my will. So, combust! Starting with your feet and in less than two minutes climbing up to your chests and roasting you alive in your own goose stomping juices!"

The flash of light from the hall was almost blinding; the screams were deafening. After a moment, it sounded as if the battle of Armageddon was being waged.

Nom turned to the camera.

"Don't worry my future subjects, that is simply the sound of all the ammunition they were carrying going off. Put a bullet in a fire, and it will detonate."

"Now. Mine Führer..." Nom said with a stiff formal wave of the hand.

"Your final moment has arrived. Please mount the counter, laying on your stomach, with your head down here at the end." He said gesturing.

Nom brought a step ladder over and assisted the President in mounting. The man then knelt and used his hands to help him lie flat. The next few moments were a struggle, as Nom and the President worked to adjust his bulk into the necessary position. Finally, when his neck rested in the jaws of the stocks, Nom fastened them shut. When his work was done, he reached into his Halliburton case and removed his bolt cutter again.

"In 1865, when John Wilks Booth assassinated Abraham Lincoln; he stole a line from Shakespeare's Caesar. That line was historically uttered when Caesar, a Roman tyrant, met a just end. Booth used it when he killed another tyrant. Albeit, given the times, Lincoln was the tyrant we needed to end slavery. The President on the other hand, is fighting not for good, but for evil. A regressive tax system that robs the poor to feed the rich. Immigration, fire arms, the international community, on and on the list goes. All issues where he is destroying all the things which actually did make America great, that is before he came and destroyed them.

Nom went behind the counter and pulled out a large stock pot he had seen earlier. He placed it below the President's head on the floor. Taking his bolt cutter, he set the jaws around the steel rope holding the guillotine blade aloft.

With a loud screaming cry he yelled: "SIC SEMPER TYRANNIS!"

With a surging clap, Nom slammed the jaws of the bolt cutter closed. The steel rope, free of its restraints, yielded the blade to gravity. Nom watched in stunned glory as the blade fell. It took barely a second. For a moment, the President's head hung there, his neck balanced on the outer lip of the stocks. Then it teetered, tipped, and finally fell. It seemed to take an eternity, but, in reality, only three seconds had elapsed.

The head fell into the pot, and a large pulsing jet of blood fired, landing ten feet away on the floor. Nom quickly rushed in to scoop up the head before the jet weakened enough to simply drain straight down in the pot.

"Mr. President, I see the legends are true. I can see by your life fire and face that you are still alive. You are fading quickly, but do me one solid. If you meet a god or devil on the other side, which I doubt you will, tell them I will take them on, anytime, anywhere."

The life fire in the President went out.

Nom took the final tools he needed from his case, starting with a large five gallon Ziploc bag. Nom intended to follow the tradition properly. He would mount the head on a spike. He wasn't sure where yet, but it would happen when he had the time. Nom poured in two bottles of Everclear Liquor that he had saved for the occasion. It would act as a preservative. An unexpected bonus was a returning flicker and spike of pain Nom saw in the President's life fire. That gaping neck wound and the eyes seemed did not appreciate their final libation. The flicker passed, and the embers finally went cold.

One for the road. Nom thought.

All around him, Nom could feel a swelling of life fires. Police, various authorities, even regular civilians, all interested in avenging their President. Nom knew that it was time to leave. He paused for only the briefest of moments to look around the studio a final time, to take in this the scene of his first battle.

Tollen may have gone to the dark side, but he had been right when he insisted Nom had a duty to use his gift to better humanity. This first blow would be the opening cry in his great war.

Nom left his tools where they lay on the floor, put the bagged head into his Halliburton case, closed it, and began wheeling it out the door.

It was then, that he noticed a strange thing. Krysa Litso was no longer lying on the floor. He was running out the door in front of Nom.

"What the hell!" Nom shouted.

He broke into a jog to catch the man. Krysa Litso was clearly still recovering from his trauma, and it only took a few yards for Nom to catch him. With his free hand Nom slammed him into the wall.

"I paralyzed your legs! I amputated your naughty bits! I choked you to death! I felt your life fire extinguish. How the fuck are you alive?!" Nom screamed into the man's face.

The insolent grin on Krysa Litso's face was a mile wide.

"Turns out, you're not the only show in town. I was brought back to give you a message." He said wiping his own blood and drool from his chin.

Nom let the Halliburton case stand and grabbed Krysa Litso by the throat, only letting the meanest trickle of air through.

"And what message might that be?" Nom sneered back.

"You are not alone, for if there is Death, there must first be Life. And life is not happy with you. They accept your challenge." Krysa Litso spat.

Nom nodded. The universe generally created all things in balancing pairs. Why not demi gods like himself?

"Well, let's hope for your sake, that Life does not bring you back again. 'I killed you too quickly the last time, a mistake I do not mean to duplicate now!' If you come back again, I will make it even worse each time. Life may be able to restore you, but I doubt it can do anything until you are dead."

"There are eels in your guts Krysa, small, nasty little things. They are going to slowly eat out your insides over the next few hours. Sorry, I can't be more creative, but I'm rushed for time."

Krysa Litso fell to the floor, curled into the fetal position, screaming in agony. Nom took his Halliburton case and made his way out.

He cast a simple wish. It called for all persons in New York to forget what he looked like. That they would lose the ability to match pictures to faces for the next few hours thanks to a small transient stroke. Shielded by this anonymity he melted into the chaos that boiled in the streets. The war was only just beginning.

To be continued.