Tolkien meets Sparks
The latest adventure of that council-kickin’, commission-chewin’ Reno attorney Stephen Mollath, presented here in quasi-Tolkienated form. (Mollath, by the way, rhymes with falleth, as in “the leaves falleth.”)
It was well past midnight when Darth Harvey’s trusted sycophant, Igor, slowly and timidly slunk into the main office. He had news for the master, news that he knew would be most displeasing. “Well?” said Harvey. “Not good,” said Igor. “They voted 3 to 2 against your most gracious and benevolent project.”
The Darth Lord scowled and placed his hands together, fingertip upon fingertip, in front of his face. “So they rejected the Lazy 8? Those simpering, sniveling, Ascuaginian fools!” After another moment he said to Igor, “You know what this means?” The loathsome humpback smiled. “Mollath, master?”
An hour later, the pair stood in front of a large boulder that blocked a gaping cave on the cold northern side of Peavine Mountain. Darth Harvey pulled out the ancient parchment upon which were written the words he now read aloud with forceful projection. “Mollath. Oh Mollath, your slumber must pass. It is time once again to kick Council Ass!” The chant properly spoken, the boulder began to move slowly, pushed aside with great, grunting effort by something in the cave. Finally, a 15-foot-tall troll emerged, picking spiders and centipedes off his scraggly, hairy form. He looked at the two who had summoned him and said, in a most frightening rumble, “You rang?”
“Yes, indeed we have, your monstrousness,” said Harvey. “The Sparks City Council has just hoseth me, and hoseth me bad. It is therefore time for your special talent to be unleashed, oh crusher of local governments.” Igor gazed upon Mollath with both awe and fear. “Great Griffins of Grgax,” he thought, “this dude is stone nasty!”
“The Sparks Council, eh?” mused the troll. “Excellent. I do believe I’m somewhat hungry after my post-Ballardini nap. I accept your challenge, Darth Harvey.” With that, Mollath unleashed a most fearsome and blood-curdling scream, an unholy sound that somehow awoke all five members of the Sparks City Council simultaneously. Darth Harvey looked at Igor. “I do believe the momentum in this caper may have changed in our favor,” he said with a sly grin. As if in agreement, Mollath launched another horrific shriek—followed soon after by a very thick nine-digit lawsuit.
And lo, in less than a week, the Council announced that Darth Harvey could indeed build his casino project, as long as he promised to call off Mollath. D.H. assured the Council that was doable, and within hours, a truckload of fat goats was delivered to the cave. As he herded the doomed beasts into his dank lair, Mollath said, to no one in particular, “Do call again.” And then, with a hideous, gurgling chuckle, he rolled the barrier boulder back into place.