Trump Story #11.

President Trump yawns and gazes blankly out at the White House pool and cabana, bloodless moon reflecting light off the water onto the faces of the eunuchs, who tend the greenery with the silent efficiency of worker drones. He scratches his left buttock idly.

There is a quiet rustling. The President turns to investigate. Mephistopheles stands behind him, cloaked in the dress of a travelling scholar, but too tall, too bent, hidden wings stretching the roughly woven cashmere. His hands are clasped, and he looks up at Trump with ancient, yellow eyes.

"I've come for my claim," rasps the demon.

"What?" The President makes a face. "Who are you? I've never met you. If you've got a problem with me, I think maybe you should take it up with -- go and see my girl about it. She's hot, she's a real beauty, she knows -- I mean, she doesn't know as much as me, but that's why I'm in here and she's out there. Who let you in here?"

"We cannot choose the day of our reckoning, and today is yours, Mr. President."

"I don't know you from -- from Adam. And I know a lot of people."

"A lie is no-"

"-I know more people than you know. What did you want? Money? I've got three words for you: GET. A. JOB. I did it! I've gotten a huge number of jobs, I made a lot, a LOT of money."

"No money, Mr. President, but your eternal soul."

"Do you just go around asking everybody for their soul? Did your mommy, did your daddy not give you enough souls as a baby little -- frog? Let me tell you about souls, I have a lot of souls, I've got more souls than pretty much anybody I know, and it's not just because I was lucky, okay? I might have invented souls, I don't know. Do you?"

"What?" Mephistopheles frowns, his wings rearranging themselves unsurely beneath his cloak.

"Sure, I've invented lots of things. Souls, hotels... I probably did -- I probably had something to do with that cloak. I don't want to say for sure, but I probably did, I probably invented that. I probably invented your cloak."

"I do not understand," says the demon. "...but it does not matter. I have come for my harvest, and you will not deny me."

"Deny you? Deny you what? Look bud, I've never seen you before a day in my life. You know what I owe you? Nothing at all. You owe me, that's -- how about I take your soul, how about -- I've made tougher deals than that, a lot tougher, believe me."

Mephistopheles blinks his yellow eyes slowly. "I... I have to go discuss this with my master."

"Jesus Christ, you're not even the boss? You know, you owe me your soul now just for wasting my time. My time's pretty important, I'm the President of the United States, if you didn't know that. You know what, I hope I didn't invent your cloak. That's a pretty crummy cloak. It makes you look like a -- you look like a Russian grandmother. And that's not a good look."

"I will return, uh, soon."

"Bring a coffee tray, okay? My assistants are too important to get me coffee any more, that's how important you are: less important than them."

The demon disappears. President Trump shakes his head and looks back out over the White House pool. A cloud has passed over the moon, which annoys him. He decides to call the Pentagon, and get them to use one of their big-boy toys to disperse it.