American Law

He turned on the camera, pushed it back and forth a little on the tripod until he could see himself in the center of the frame on the viewfinder, which he had flipped and facing him.

He took a drag off his cigarette and swished the ice cubes in his hefty drink. He looked down at the drink, not moving his face at all, so his eyes rolled way down and back up to the viewer. He swished the cubes, tinkly-chink, and said, “Now, I know the kind of image you expect from a Lawyer.”

He pointed to a TV behind him, where you could see two respectable specimens posing on the steps of a 1930s courthouse. “These guys aren’t what you need. I know what you need.”

“The wildly violent vengeance of the just. The sweet ire that can only be quenched by the gushing fountains of the blood of your bitterest enemies.”

We see extra bold type fill the screen over his face, saying “BOSSMAN BOB!”

“Own your enemies,” he said, in a voiceover. “Destroy them utterly, and sow their fields with salt and ashes, so that even their children’s children will know only want and desperation.”

The 800 number flashed bleakly over a screen of flames and explosions.