"He doesn't mean to suggest any threat or..." Edwin's voice trailed off as he read the expression on DeTsavo's face.
"Threaten him?" countered Topper. "Oh, I'm done threatening, Sunshine. I've moved all the way up to wrecking his office," Topper shrieked, as he kicked the last piece of the model into oblivion.
At the end of his rampage, Topper stood triumphant in the wreckage of the once-beautiful model of an industrial building. DeTsavo's mouth hung open. He seemed incapable of speech or movement. This was exactly what Topper had been going for. Total shell shock. All according the plan Topper liked to call "wingin' it."
Sure, Edwin was a meticulous genius. But it took Edwin a long time to get to the point. He always took the roundabout, intellectual way. Topper was smart, sure. But he thought he was wise because he realized that smarts could only get you so far.
You needed smarts to be a good trial lawyer. But what made Topper a great lawyer was his killer instinct. He could smell weakness. After a thorough course in the School of Hard Knocks, Topper also knew that when you had a chance to kick (or, from his 4' 4.5" perspective, punch someone in the balls) you didn't waste time engaging him in a battle of wits. You bounced his testicles off your knuckles, kicked him a couple of times when he was down, and then headed off to the bar for the victory celebration.
So the only question in Topper's mind at this moment was this: Is this corporate fat cat smart enough to know when to stay down? As DeTsavo stumbled back towards his desk like a zombie, Topper whispered to Edwin, "See, that's how ya do it."
DeTsavo pressed the intercom button on his desk. Topper just knew that this was the moment. Edwin was finally going to see that they could take care of business and have fun at the same time. That he didn't have to be such a stuffed shirt all the time. Besides, this was crime wasn't it? It was supposed to have—well, not class—but a certain style, right?
When a voice on the other end answered, DeTsavo managed to utter one fragile word. "Security."
Edwin said, "No need, we'll show ourselves out."
As Edwin walked briskly through the lobby, Topper struggled to keep up. Edwin always seemed to run away like this when he was upset. It was almost enough to make Topper think the tall guy was passive-aggressive about the whole thing. But that was silly; Edwin's brain didn't work that way. Not that he wasn't sinister or cunning or sideways, he just wasn't petty. Everything was final, terminal and serious with Edwin. Which made him worry. Sure they had been friends a long time, but what if he had gone too far this time?
"C'mon, E! It's not like that guy was going to see reason. I just saved you an hour of your life that you were never going to get back again."
"That's not the point," Edwin said, not slowing his pace, "You need to learn some restraint."
"Restraint, that's your department. I'm a more of a get-it-done guy."
"And what did you just get done?"
"Okay, okay, so that didn't go so well. But, but… time management! I helped you free up your schedule for... Okay, okay," he said, panting while he jogged alongside Edwin, "style, panache, comic relief. That's what I am!"
"I don't need comic relief," Edwin said, not breaking his stride.
Topper scampered in front of him and blocked his path. "Whattaya nuts? Just hang on a minute. You are in more need of comic relief than any man I have ever known."
"Topper, what game are you playing now?" Edwin asked, in the tone of a tired father who was especially tired of dealing with an unruly child.
"I'm not playing any games. And more to the point, you're not playing any games. That's what's wrong with this whole thing, see. This is supposed to be fun."
"Fun? I'm not sure I can define that," Edwin said, taking a step to the right. But Topper bounced right as well, blocking the tall man's path. With his great height, Edwin could have easily stepped over the smaller man, but he did not.
"You know Edwin, fun? That tingly feeling when you don't really know what's going to happen next? When there are surprises around every corner that make you feel alive?"
"I hate surprises."
"To hate surprises is to hate life."
"However you want to define it, I do not care for surprises."
"Are you upset at me? I mean, with your lack of emotions and all, it's kinda hard to tell. But, are you really upset at me?"
"I am not upset. I am displeased."
"Okay, close enough, now why are you upset?"
"You've just destroyed a potential sale."
"Sale, is that what you are calling it? C'mon Edwin, we're using the Cromoglodon to run a protection racket, and you're worried about etiquette."
The tall man drew himself up to his full height and with great dignity said, "I am not running a protection racket. I am in Insurance." The effect was impressive. Edwin's immaculate bespoke-tailored suit, his air of propriety, even Topper almost fell for it. And he knew better.
"Oh, ho, ho, ho. And the tooth fairy pays extra for dentures. Look, if the shopkeeper doesn't pay you and you bust up his shop, it's a protection racket. Now, I have a lot of respect for the fact that WE, you and I, are running the world's largest and most audacious protection racket, but let's not lie to each other, Edwin, it's still a protection racket."
"I am attempting to provide a valuable service to profitable businesses. You are simply in the way." Edwin stepped around Topper and kept walking.
Topper chased after him. "Oh, come off it. You know the guy is going to pay. Of course he's gonna pay, what choice does he have? What's the harm in letting me have my fun?"
"Now I have to destroy a factory."
"You were gonna have to do that anyway."
When Edwin got to his Town Car, his assistant, Daniel, was holding the rear door open. Daniel was the only good thing to have come from Edwin's horrible misadventure in Lower Alabama. At the end, it had resulted in Edwin gaining control of a substantial fortune, but to do so he had been forced to humor a trust-fund child who longed to play dilettante in the world of Evil. And, worse fend off the affections of his controlling mother who longed to see the South rise again in a Jihad of Gracious Living. The whole affair had nearly cost Edwin his dignity, and that too high a price.
Of course, no one could ever replace Edwin’s beloved secretary Agnes, but Daniel was smart, efficient, hardworking and utterly ruthless. Edwin had also been able to use Daniel’s instruction as the prototype for the Omdemnity Adjustor training program.
"Daniel," Edwin began, but he was interrupted by Topper.
"RELEASE THE KRAKEN!!!"
"Hello, Topper," Daniel said, with the practiced calm of one accustomed to dealing with the insane.
"What, that's I all I get? Doesn't anybody have a sense of humor anymore?"
"That is not the agreed upon protocol for deploying asset 7-A against a properly approved and vetted target pursuant with Omdemnity Insurance policy and procedure manual appendix 7-A rider," said Daniel.
"7-A? 7-A?! Just because you keep the poor bastard locked in the basement doesn't mean you can steal his name. His name is the Cromoglodon." Even as Topper said it, he realized the irony of the statement. The monster's real name was Barry. Edwin had stolen his name when he had dubbed him the Cromoglodon. By whatever name he was called, the creature was a brutish hulk with unimaginable power and the mind of a child.
If Topper wasn't perennially occupied with feeling sorry for himself, he might have had more compassion for Barry. As it was, the closest Topper could manage was a vague recognition that his life was also controlled by Edwin Windsor.
Edwin said, "Sadly, Daniel, reason has failed us once again. Deploy asset 7-A against GBM target number one."
"Very good, sir." said Daniel.
Edwin bent and lowered himself into the back seat of the waiting car. When Topper started to climb up after Edwin, Daniel stopped him.
"Hey, what gives? We're not riding together? We gotta talk business."
Edwin shook his head, "You have your own car, Topper."
"C'mon, why can't I ride with you?" Topper protested as Daniel directed him back from the door.
"You reek of liquor," said Edwin, just as the door closed. It was exactly the kind of thing Agnes would have said to him.
"Come on, let's run some red lights!" Topper said to Stevie as he climbed into the back seat of the Town Car. He looked into the rearview mirror for Stevie's smile, but the chauffeur’s expression was blank.
"How can you not smile at that? C'mon, you gotta hate red lights, right? Bane of your existence? Stevie, I only got two settings. I'm a stubby little toggle switch with two settings. On one side it says "Funny" and on the other it says "Violent." I'm not smashing your face in with a briefcase, ergo, I'm being funny."
In spite of his attempt at self-control, Stevie had to smile a little bit at that.
"Aaah, aaah, there we go."
Stevie quickly snapped his expression back to neutral. "Please sir, don't make me laugh."
"’Sir’? What's with this ‘Sir’ nonsense? Stevie, it's ME. You know me. I'm not tall enough to be a ‘Sir.’ You know what they call somebody who walks around all day at the perfect height to smell everybody else's ass? Maybe ‘unlucky.’ Maybe ‘stunted.’ But definitely not ‘Sir.’”
Now Stevie really couldn't help himself. He let out a guilty little snicker and covered his face with this hand.
"What?" asked Topper, "What is it with the no laughing?"
"He fines us, sir. He fines us for smiling and laughing on the job," said the chauffeur.
Topper stared at the chauffeur in mute amazement. Then he broke into a smile, "Oooooh, that's a good one. You really had me going there. Fines you for smiling. Why that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever..." Topper trailed off when he realized that Stevie still wasn't smiling. When you spring a joke on somebody, you're supposed to smile, right? But Stevie was as serious as Topper had ever known him to be.
When Stevie spoke, Topper heard Edwin's words coming out of his mouth, "Omdemnity Insurance Policy Manual and Code of Conduct: 'All employees will refrain from unnecessary, energy-stealing displays of emotion in the performance of their duties. Wasted energy is not productive and displays of emotion can cause distress or contagion in other Omdemnity employees. In the case of repeat violations, fines will be instituted based on the rate schedule found in Appendix 37-C.’"
"Repeat violations?" Topper said, not believing what he had heard. "And they think I'm crazy."
"I used to be a happy man," the chauffeur said with a heavy sigh.
"This is outta hand," said Topper. "I gotta do something about this. I'm gonna talk to him."
"Oh, please don't, sir. He might think it was me."
"Hey! HEY!" Topper shrieked. "Remember the switch?!"
"Please, I don't care about your switch, I really need this job."
"It's either funny or violent. And you're outta your goddamned mind. You and Edwin. So snap out of it!" Topper flopped back in his seat and reached for the non-existent minibar. "GAHHH!" he cried in frustration.
After a while, Topper said, "Look, I'm sorry I got upset. But this is bullshit."
"Sir…"
"Stevie, we shouldn't have to live like this. None of us."
"Sir, I agree with you, but…" Stevie nodded towards the rearview mirror. Topper looked behind them and saw a security team pouring out of the lobby.
"Yeah, Stevie, we better vamoose."
"Did you make some new friends, sir?"
"Everywhere I go," answered Topper. "Wait a minute, was that a joke?"
"No, sir, of course not," said Stevie as he drove away. "That would be against company policy."
"Ennn-henh," said Topper.
As they wound their way out of General Business Machines' corporate campus, Topper could see an ornate security gate closing in front of them. "Aw YEAH! This is just what I need. RAMMING SPEED!"
Stevie let off the gas and began to slow down.
"What? What are you doing? They're coming with the guards and the guys and the—go faster! Faster!"
"That's not the procedure."
"What, the procedure is surrender? Gimmie your nine, Stevie, I'll hold them off."
Very slowly, Stevie rolled the front bumper of the car up to the now-closed gate. On the hill behind them, in front of the building, Topper could see a security team getting into three jeeps.
"What are you doing?"
"Saving the radiator, sir." Stevie pressed on the accelerator gently. The pressure built up in the gate until it gave way with a surprisingly gentle-sounding screech. Then gate fell over and out of their way.
"See?" asked Stevie.
"See what? That was boring."
"It's the approved procedure for transiting an intervening gate."
"Oh, Stevie, what have they done to us?" asked Topper. "When did they steal the BOOM! and the whaWHAAAAA, screeeeeeeeeeeeech!" said Topper imitating the sound of a car bashing though a security gate in a 1970's movie chase scene.
Stevie merged into traffic at a sane and reasonable pace.
"And then you go around the corner really fast and one of the hubcaps comes off and makes that sad whuh, whuh, whuh, whuh noise for a minute. And it's calm for a second. Then you're back to Steve McQueen slamming through the streets of San Francisco. Oh, Stevie, they stole our dreams, man. They stole our dreams."
Stevie focused on the road. Topper was quiet for a while, but when he noticed the route Stevie was taking, Topper said, "No, Stevie, not the office. That's not going to cheer me up."
"Then where are we going?" asked Stevie.
He had been known as the Cromoglodon, a name which had become synonymous with total, irresistible and irrevocable destruction. But as he stood next to General Business Machines' automated manufacturing facility, he did not look fearsome or powerful. He looked like a man who had forgotten his own name.
He blinked and raised a hand against the bright light of the sun. His home, or rather his pen, was now a cage in the basement of Omdemnity Insurance. They didn't let him out much.
He had been tamed (if that was a word one should apply to humans) when Edwin Windsor had placed an electrode deep within his cerebral cortex. Now, whenever he failed to comply with his handler's wishes, the electrode would be activated and his body would be wracked with fear and pain.
