"Joseph Stoudt," I said. It wasn't a question. And it wasn't really a statement, either. I just enjoyed fucking with him, making him wonder what he was supposed to say.
He was a pretty big guy. Maybe a little extra body fat, but he looked like he could've played rugby. Of course, I knew from his file that he was actually not very athletic, but he just seemed like he'd look in place in a team photo of a beefy, sweaty, muddy rugby team.
"Yes?" he answered fearfully.
I'd been staring at the computer screen, but I suddenly whipped my head around to give him a narrow-eyed glare. "I wasn't talking to you," I snarled. And I calmly resumed reading through his file as he probably pissed himself.
Maybe this Devil gig had some perks.
"I see you've had a little embezzling problem," I said disapprovingly.
He swallowed. "I did, but the reason I--"
"Which was necessary to maintain your gambling problem," I continued, ignoring him.
"Who goes to Hell for gambling?" he blubbered hopelessly.
"Which, of course, you only started to fund your cocaine problem," I added.
"Sure, I did coke, but--"
"And you only started on the cocaine because the alcohol wasn't enough to make you forget your guilt over your little brother's death, which, by the way," I said with a meaningful gaze, "was entirely your fault."
He hung his head, and, instead of pissing himself, he sobbed. I'm not sure if that was out of guilt or fear. Either way, he seemed like a little too much of a loser for my purposes. Plus he was just plain weak.
"You're dismissed, Joseph," I announced with a wave of my hand. "Go back to the waiting room to await your sentencing."
He seemed grateful. He scurried out. I glanced at Gus, who was observing quietly in a corner. "Call the next one," I said.