The Devil is not a bad guy. I know because I dealt with him once. I had this run-in with him on my way home from work. It was one of those sweltering hot summer days with the sun beating down on you like a physical force. It really was a day made for the Devil.

Contrary to popular belief, the Devil does not hate God. For once, God's creation made the Devil possible. Without the world he would be nothing, just this pathetic demigod with a lot of power but nowhere to use them. Unlike God, the Devil has no creative powers you know. He couldn't make life if his own existance depended on it. But I digress.

In this rediculous heat, naturally, the AC in the car broke down. It was just right in the circumstances and I barely gave it a second thought. It can't really break down in the autumn, when the temperature outside is just right because during those months you don't use it. It never really gets cold enough to use the heater either, so logic suggests that if the AC is going to break down in your car it will do so during a very hot day, when you are using it to its maximum capacity.

But what pissed me off, and which to this day I believe was in fact the doing of the devil himself, is that the car starts to boil as well. So there I am, in the middle of 5 o'clock traffic on the freeway, motor spluttering and dying, with sweat on my face and pouring down my torso under my shirt, which is now starting to stink, trying to make my way to the rightmost lane and the freeway shoulder where maybe I could turn off the engine, find some water somehow, cool the engine down and get going again.

Of course, I didn't quite make it and had to push my car out of the way, much to the shagrin of the other trafficants, none of which were bothered enough by the whole experience to actually get out of their cars and help me. They, instead, much more usefully stayed inside their well temperated vehicles, honking every 5 seconds to make me aware that they were there. During this physical assertion I, of course, tore open my old back injury and sweated, if possible, even more.

Landing my car on the shoulder, I turned on the warning blinkers, put out the warning triangle, at least 5 feet behind the car, and waited. I enjoyed the short warm puffs of exhaust-air from cars passing me by in 5 miles an hour, since the traffic now had almost come to a stand still, and tried to catch my breath. But not too hard since breathing hurt my back.

After this ordeal, starting to become aware of how much of the ordeal was still ahead of me, I formulated a deal in my head. A deal that would get me, something cold to drink, a new car with working AC wich would faultlessly carry me home and a beautiful young thing to massage my back all the way there. In return, whomever helped me in this manner would receive my eternal soul.

You might think that under the circumstances this was a pretty lucid wish, and one without any obvious faults. Though maybe my soul would be a tad cheap, considering that it could be claimed immediately upon arrival at my homestead. Well, that was/is how my mind works. Short term solutions, but even deals with the devil I try to include all my problems and some provisions for which the deal can be broken.

For example, in this dream, the car must be a black limousine and the girl would have to be asian. No particular reason for either, but I prided myself in having some sort of loophole. Not that I thought that the Devil, had I at the time even thought for a second that he existed, would not have the power to produce any kind of car filled with any sort of women. However, I thought that he might forget a detail or two, my notion of gods and devils being that they're not so perfect as people would like you to believe.

By pure chance, at that exact moment, a black limousine pulls up right behind my broken down car, steam still streaming from the hood. I had not even really caught by breath and the deal with the devil had hardly even been finished in my head. The limousine ran over my warning triangle and the front door on the driver side opened enough to let the driver get one leg out and stand up. His head just appearing above the car door like some feverish mirage in the quivering air.

"Hey! Mr. D wants to talk wit' you!" said the driver, strangely enough with a New York accent, this being L.A. and all.

With somewhat of a crippled walk I limped my way over to the passenger side back window, which lowered all the way to reveal behind it a smiling face. I couldn't tell you much about the Devil's visage, other than that it filled me with warmth. It was a charming man's face with a charming smile on it. This was such a face that you could believe whatever the man wearing it would tell you, because it would be the truth. Or at least so entertaining that the truth hardly mattered.

The man inside told me to get in and shifted sideways two steps to make room for me. I had to open the door myself, but I guess I had to show some kind of initiative in the matter for the deal to be sealed.

"Here, my good friend." he said as I sat down in the tanned leather seats inside the cool interior of the stretched vehicle. He was holding out a glass of some kind of dark bubbly drink with ice cubes in it, which I can only describe as tasting heavenly. Though describing it thusly is probably grossly inappropriate in this setting.

He had now almost magically moved from the seat next to me to the seat opposite of me, with his back in the direction of the traffic. He punded once on the window to the driver, without leaving a smudge with his hand, and the vehicle started moving.

"Mr Tangiers." the Devil said, for now there was no doubt in my mind that it was he. "I feel that I know you already. You have been so helpful in the past to bring people into my fold."

This just had to have something to do with my old job as a croupier in Las Vegas. I spent some years there cheating people out of their money. If the public knew what was going on in those places all casinos would be shut down. But there it is, a shining beacon of addiction and corruption.

"But never mind, I am here now because you made a deal with me."

"No I didn't."

"Hey" he responded, with a serious but assuring look on his face. He produced from inside his perfectly pressed suit a piece of parchment with large black gothic letters on it, the heading of which said: "Soul Contract". Beside him in the seat in front of me was a small, lovely, asian girl with a tight body, wearing just a skimpy dress which hinted more than it kept hidden, who now was starting to look impatient. "Is this not your signature here at the bottom?" he continued, and I had to force my eyes away from the lovely lady and look at the boring contract in front of me. It was indeed my signature.

"You forged it! I signed no deal with you."

"Physically, no, of course not. That's not how it works. If I had to have your physical signature, I wouldn't get anywhere. No, I conclude my work inside your mind, my good man, when you have enough desire for something that I can provide."

Part two