How To Succeed in Evil (10 page)

“You got a light?”

“No, it’s a filthy habit,” Director Smiles says dismissively, “Now, let’s talk about what we need from the asset.”

“The asset?”

“Bishop Six.”

“He has a name.”

“Ah, Excelsior. We gave him that name. So we can give him another. And he is the most replaceable of us all.” 

Gus snorts. “Then why won’t you bastards just let me go home.” Gus is getting riled. It’s good. Make him feel, not young, but less old.

“Duty,” says the Director in a way that Gus finds especially maddening, “You must do your duty. And as for Bishop Six, of course he has certain powers, that is a fact. But without all of this,” his gesture encompasses the field team rushing around them, “it would be to no avail. He cannot be in two places at once. The disasters he so loves to avert happen so fast, that by the time he learns of them, the tragedies would be complete. He cannot reverse time.”

“Sounds like a load of bullshit to me. There ain’t nobody like him.”

“Tensor, the Flamer, Cirrus – any of these could serve as our field operatives.”

“They’re weaker than he is.”

“As Bishop Six is weaker than we are. How can one man contend with the compact mass of humanity? Thousands of operatives connected by the speed of light through broadband communications networks,” he unclips some foul gadget from his belt and holds it up with pride. “Surely, Bishop Six can capture any one man. But which man? With this, I can take a picture and transmit it to the far side of the globe. Only then can our flying delivery boy capture the criminal and deliver him to our justice. Not his justice. Ours. The justice of ordinary, mediocre people.” 

Gus is tired of listening to this soft-handed man’s talk. “Yeah, whatever.” 

Director Smiles flips open a binder. “Now, we’ll just take a moment to go over the details one more time.”

“He’s not a details kind of guy.”

“All the more reason for you to memorize the procedure—”

“Haw, haw, haw,” Gus cuts him off. “Even if my memory was good enough to remember all that shit, I wouldn’t do it. If you think it’s so goddamned important, you talk to him about it.”

“But you must. He listens to you.”

“Probably because I don’t waste his time with this bullshit,” Gus says, blowing smoke in the fat little man’s face. 

“I am going to note your attitude in my report.”

“You shouldn’t threaten me like that. I’m an old man and I’m not sure that my heart can handle the strain. But you go ahead and tell him anything you like.”

“Me, oh, I could never. I mean, that’s your job,” Smiles said, flattening out his chins against his neck as he shook his head in a vigorous No.

“Well, I’m not going to be around forever. Whattya scared or something?”

“Scared? Of Bishop Six? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Gus levers himself up off the car and advances on the small man. “Yeah, damn right you’re scared. You’re so used to snapping at people to get what you want, you forgot how to talk to them. Only you can’t bully the strongest man in the world. Especially ‘cause you’re afraid of him.”

“I am not. I am a rational man, and I understand that there are risks, of course, but I…”

“Bullshit. Back about a thousand years ago, I got to see a Hydrogen bomb. The boys called it ‘Shrimp.’ This bomb was being staged to the South Pacific and by coincidence Shrimp and I happened to be on the same base, at the same time. So the guy in charge of it asks me if I want to have a look. ‘Sure,’ I say, not wanting to look scared. They had it all alone in a hangar. And it didn’t look all that threatening. All alone in a big, cold hanger. Just another piece of technology. 

“Like your phone right there. But bigger, maybe like this trailer. There was no hum. There was no smell. There weren’t even any lights. But I was scared anyway. ‘Cause I thought that I knew what it could do.” 

“Yes, of course –” says Director Smiles, impatient with the story already.

“But after they set it off, that’s when I really got scared. You see all those guys in lab coats – all those guys with their binders and their big brains. They didn’t know what it would do. Not for certain. Some said it might light the atmosphere on fire. And when they set it off, it was three times more powerful than they had calculated. I mean, when you say that a tree is going to grow a hundred apples and it grows a 103, well, that’s a mistake. You’re just a little off. But when it grows 300? Well sir, that means you don’t know shit about apple trees. And when the smartest guys don’t know shit? That scares me.

“After that they stopped making bombs bigger. They were afraid they might crack the planet’s crust. And even as I think back on it, it makes my palms sweat.”

“But it didn’t destroy the planet,” says Director Smiles, thinking that he has a point.

“Scares me all the same. And Excelsior, The Big Guy, Bishop Six, the asset, whatever you want to call him. I know he can crack the planet. And so do you. So I know you’re scared.” 

“But you’re scared as well.”

“Hell, son,” says Gus, “I know I’m done. All I’m afraid of now are arthritis, constipation and not dying with my boots on.”

“Your story is very colorful. But I assure you, as a rational man, doing his duty, I am not afraid.”

A young man leans out of the telemetry trailer and yells, “Bishop Six 500 meters.” 

The director throws his binder at Gus and scurries off like a mouse. As he flees he yells, “Just see that he gets it done.” 

Gus tucks a fresh cigarette into his mouth and squints at the sky. High above him a bird moves through the air. No, not a bird. It’s hard to get used to it. Even after all these years, Gus still can’t make sense of it. Up in the sky, a man. Re-damn-diculous.

 Excelsior settles to earth next to him.

“You look old, sir,” says Excelsior.

“That’s got nothing on how I feel,” Gus replies.

There is the tiniest flash of light from Excelsior’s eyes. Now Gus’ cigarette is lit. Gus doesn’t jump, at least he doesn’t think he jumps. A man’s not supposed to be able to light things with his eyes. He just isn’t.

“What is it this time?” asks Excelsior.

Gus takes a long drag and exhales the word. “Hurricane.”

“What?” asks Excelsior.

“Big son-of-a-bitch. Headed right for Miami.”

“Why don’t they evacuate?”

Gus flips through the binder. “I don’t know. It’s gotta be in here somewhere.”

“Let me see that,” says Excelsior. Instead of giving it to him, Gus throws it over this shoulder. He doesn’t want Excelsior to see himself referred to as ‘the asset.’

“Ah, it’s all bullshit anyway,” Gus says, bluffing his way through. “There’s only two things it could be. One, they screwed up and didn’t get the evacuation warning out in time. Or two, they’re so used to counting on you, they didn’t even bother to issue a warning. Either way. There’s two and half million people who are depending you.”

“Two and a half million,” Excelsior says, trying to get a handle on a number that large.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Gus, you know, I’ve never…”

“Ain’t no time to be bashful son. This is the time to get going. Those people need you.”

“But what if? I mean, what if…” Excelsior says, thinking back to flight 209.

Gus gives Excelsior a look. “You’re not going to let that happen.” Excelsior drops his head to his chest. Jesus Christ, thinks Gus, not again. “You HEAR me? You’re NOT going to let that happen.”

Excelsior picks his head up. “No. I’m not.”

Gus drops his cigarette on the ground and stubs it out. “Well, that’s it then. Get to it.”

Excelsior is gone in an instant.

Chapter Sixteen 

Edwin Makes His Pitch

Edwin breathes in. He breathes out and tries to release the tension from his shoulders. It doesn’t work very well. The moment is upon him. Alabaster, who is Daniel, opens the large set of French doors that lead to the back of the property. The heat and humidity hit Edwin like a wet, sloppy fist.

In the distance Edwin sees that a pavilion of sorts had been erected. He hears the blare of a trumpet followed by cheering. Edwin looks to Alabaster/Daniel for some kind of context. Daniel just shakes his head. Edwin assumes that, once again, bad has gone to worse.

As they draw closer, Edwin sees that three teams of oiled boys are engaged in a pony race around a makeshift track. Iphagenia claps madly and squeals with delight as the young men jockey for position heading into the final corner. The number three team, commands the lead on the inside. But at a crucial moment, one of the contestants loses his footing. The resulting crash takes out all of the contestants before they reach the finish line. An unjudgeable heap of bodies lies in the middle of the track. At least one broken limb protrudes from the mass.

Ah, thinks Edwin, Disaster. The theme of his trip.

This catastrophe in no way diminishes Iphagenia’s enjoyment. She screams at the top of her leathery lungs and collapses onto her throne in a fit of hysterical laughter. She beckons a nearby slave-boy for something to drink. Edwin realizes that the figure seated next to her in a jester’s outfit is her son Eustace. As Edwin approaches he can see that Eustace is chained to his mother’s chair.

“Why Mister Windsor, how nice of you to join our little derby. Would you like me to run them for you again?”

Edwin looks at the boys picking themselves up off the ground. Several are bleeding. All of them have some kind of injury. They look exhausted. This dismal spectacle has surely gone on long enough.

“I don’t care for sporting events. I don’t enjoy leaving things to chance.”

Iphagenia laughs. “You are such a serious, serious man, Mr. Windsor. You should inject some levity into your existence. Enjoy each breath instead of merely sucking them in and out between your teeth.”

“I enjoy my work.”

“And how goes your work? Have you schemed a scheme for us?” The use of the royal pronoun is not lost on Edwin.

“I have.”

“Well, then by all means. The floor is yours to display our latest entertainment.”

Edwin coughs and motions to Daniel. “Daniel, my papers.”

“Daniel? Who ever are you talking to? Why Alabaster! Have you been speaking nonsense in this man’s presence.”

“No ma’am,” Alabaster says.

“Are you lying to me boy?” Daniel stiffens at the use of the word boy. He closes his eyes and sees a house high on a hill in Aruba and his anger subsides. “For that I shall have your paycheck flogged.”

Edwin clears his throat and speaks, “Madame, when I asked you if you had any powers or abilities you mentioned a lack of scruples—”

“Oh how true,” Iphagenia says, caressing a perfectly formed young boy who is holding her flagon of wine.

“—a considerable fortune, and boredom. But I have found that you have lied to me.”

“Did I really? Why, I’m sure I didn’t mean to.”

“Fear not. I shall not flog your paycheck over it. But a lie of omission is a lie all the same.” Edwin unfurls his map of power generating facilities in North America. “It would appear that you have effective control over 24 electric power facilities throughout Alabama, is that not so?”

“Yes, well, that’s just where the money comes from. The business is so dull.”

“13 million gigawatts are at your command. Madame, you have considerably more at your disposal than mere financial assets.”

“Well, perhaps I do. What do you propose? That I turn off the lights? Throughout Alabama?”

“No madame,” Edwin scans the pointless decadence that surrounds him, “From what I have seen there is more than enough darkness in Alabama.”

“What do you mean by that!”

“I mean simply that there is no profit to be made in turning the lights off in Alabama.”

“Well any fool knows that. Why should I pay you to tell me that?” Iphagenia demands. In her mind she has become the very picture of royal wrath. She slobbers as she yells. Edwin is repulsed by the slobber, but unaffected by the wrath.

“Allow me to beg a bit more of your limited patience,” and also limited intelligence and imagination, he thinks Edwin. “Since you are not inclined towards the family business, I will point out that these thin lines represent the transmission network or power grid.”

“I know that. I said it was boring, I did not say I was completely ignorant of it.”

“Yes, and, you know that if you turned off all of your power plants, electricity from the neighboring plants would flow through the grid and pick up the slack. There might be an area of increased dimness towards the middle of the state, but there are so few street lights and reading lamps in that region anyway,” Edwin trails off with a wave of his hand.

“But,” Edwin continues, with an air of growing excitement, “If you turned them off, rotated the phase of the power 180 degrees and then turned them back on again very quickly…”

Iphagenia does not understand. “What?”

“Yes, exactly. What?”

“What? I don’t understand what would happen.”

“Yes, that’s the thing, I’m not sure anyone fully comprehends what would happen. But let me paint you a picture. On the beaches of Southern California, the blenders in smoothie stands would come to a halt. In New York, the lights would go out on Broadway. And everywhere in between, provided that it was night, darkness would fall across the land.”

Iphagenia’s eyes grow wide. Her lust for power, for evil, for wrongdoing is now a raging inferno. She staggers to her feet, which are now unaccustomed to walking due to the fact that she has been carried around on a palanquin for many days. She brings her swaying form under control and screams, “I can shut off the ENTIRE DAMN COUNTRY!”

Eustace is also caught up in the excitement. He leaps to his feet and shouts, “World DOMINATION! DOMINATION! DOMINATION!” Iphagenia breaks a serving plate over his head. Eustace falls silent as he and his new concussion collapse in a heap on the floor.

“So, Mr. Windsor, you are going to Washington to deliver my demands?”

The ground spins a little for Edwin. Why does this always happen to him? Why are they always so misguided? So foolish? He focuses his disappointment and contempt into a single word. “No.”

“What do you mean no? You’ve dreamt up this wonderful scheme, you wonderfully, fantastically evil man. Now we’ll hold them to ransom. I could just kiss you. “