How To Succeed in Evil (27 page)

Edwin splashes water on his face, and searches for his soul as plainly and practically as one might look for a spot that he has missed shaving. Edwin finds nothing.

In the next room he dons a broadcloth shirt and closes it with platinum cufflinks. He selects a black silk tie and turns to the new suit laid out on the bed. Mr. Giles has brought it himself. Carried in his hands all the way from England. This time, not at Agnes’ request, but for her funeral. When Edwin had asked him if it needed further work, Mr. Giles had shook his head no. With great emotion, he said, “It is perfect.”

The fabric of the suit is black. So black, it seems to suck light from the room. The line of the shoulders is so soft and alive, it moves like water deep underground on a moonless night. As Edwin slides the jacket over his shoulders it is as if darkness has been poured over his frame. He bends to tie a pair of shoes that have been hand-made for him by a wrinkled Italian cobbler who speaks no English.

Finally, he tucks a handkerchief into his breast pocket. Not a gaudy pocket square, but a full handkerchief of Egyptian white cotton. There will be tears, but Edwin will cry no more. His grief is absorbed by purpose. He adjusts his tie, tugs his cuffs into place, and goes to Agnes’ funeral.

Chapter Forty-Four 

A Eulogy for Agnes

“Who can find a virtuous woman? For her worth is far above rubies,” Edwin says. It is from Proverbs, 31:10. As Edwin says it he can feel the dust of dry pages rolling around in his mouth. “I like to think that Agnes would have enjoyed those words, but I can not know. All I know is that I have lost.” Edwin pauses, trying to find the words. But there is no adequate vocabulary of loss.

“I have lost,” he says, attempting the sentence again. The words on the paper in front of him seem meaningless now. He cannot bring himself to say them. Everything feels heavy. His elegant frame sags. The strongest will might never bend, but even the hardest heart will surely break in the end.

And then, even though he knows it’s not possible, he hears her voice. It swells within him. Filling, for the moment, the empty place in Edwin’s soul.

“It was never supposed to be like this,” he hears Agnes say. And then he feels his lips move, and the words come from his mouth.

“It was never supposed to be like this,” says Edwin.

Now he says her words as she does. “The brave men and strong women of generations past did not sacrifice for this.” Now he knows the rest. He leaves Agnes behind, as he must. As is right and proper for a funeral, and speaks on his own.

“She, in particular, deserved better. She saw the best in all of us, even when the best wasn’t there. I am sad to say that in many ways, her life must have been a terrible disappointment. But she never gave up. She never flagged in her defense of what was sensible. She believed that, to the best and brightest among us, falls the duty of keeping the Grand Synthesis. 

“In the end, the world did not come to her rescue. She was taken from us. She was taken from me. And we are all the poorer for it.

“When I was twelve, I lost my parents in a tragic accident that was beyond anyone’s power to prevent. An unfair twist of an unfair universe. And I, being young, intelligent and privileged, could not comprehend it. And not comprehending, I gave up.

“It was Agnes, then, who came to my rescue. She did not coddle or comfort in the expected way. She gave me a question, ‘Young Master Windsor,’ she asked me, ‘What will you do with your life?’ I told her that there was nothing worth doing. That there was no point to any of it. Against the overwhelming forces of cruel fate and relentless time, a man could do nothing. We were all powerless. All else was comfortable illusion.

“And she told me that there is always a way to oppose, if not the instance, then the principle of a thing. And that it is in principle that true strength is found. The strength of character that can transform ordinary people into something more.

“At the time, I thought I knew what she meant. I was mistaken. And, at the time, I am certain I did not fool her. But finally, I have learned her lesson. I know what it means to oppose a thing. I know what it means to rise to meet a principle, however cruel and demanding it may be. No matter what it might require. I know what it means to become something more than you are in the service of an idea.

“It is small consolation. She is gone. And once again we are left behind to make what sense we can from the world.”

Edwin steps down, but does not return to his seat. He walks to the back of the church and stands in the shadows. He observes the ritual, but derives no comfort from it. There is no belief or fantasy that can prevent him from seeing things as they are. Edwin knows his complicity. He knows he is an accomplice in the murder of Agnes Plantagenet. One of many. He does not want his guilt removed. He does not want his sin expiated. One does not expiate the truth.

When the service is over, the priest approaches Edwin. “Those were very kind words for a very special woman. I have always found Proverbs to be my solace in times of trial. Are you familiar with chapter two, verse ten? ‘The way of the LORD is strength to the upright: destruction shall be to the workers of iniquity. The righteous shall never be removed: the wicked shall not inhabit the earth.’”

Edwin looks at the priest. “Unfortunately, my work does not leave me time to read popular fiction.” The priest straightens up as if he has been slapped. He does a double-take. There is nothing humorous about Edwin’s manner, yet there is no tone of insult. The priest walks away with his confusion, saying nothing else.

“Those sure were nice words,” says Topper, “I’m not sure I know what they meant, but those sure were nice words there E.”

“Thank you Topper.”

“So, we gonna get him?”

“Yes,” says Edwin. “We’re going to get him.”

“Really?” says Topper. Unable to believe that Edwin is agreeing to revenge. “That’s great. ‘Cause I know you’re hurting. And there is nothing like a big old dish of comforting revenge, to make you right with the world.”

“Perhaps,” says Edwin, “But the real question is, which him?”

“Whattya mean?”

“Who are we going to revenge ourselves upon?”

“Excelsior! Who else?”

“They are both at fault. It is only because Lifto resisted that there was a fight. It is only because of the pointless struggle that Agnes was harmed. We could just as well blame Lifto, or the Cromoglodon, or any of a host of villains or heroes.”

“Yeah, but I still say we get Excelsior. Lifto’s one of the good guys. I mean, one of the bad guys. I mean, he’s on our side. Besides, Lifto’s in prison. Not much point.”

Edwin smiles. Topper doesn’t get it. There are no good guys. There are no bad guys. There’s just Edwin and everybody else. And the way Edwin feels right now, they don’t stand a chance. Edwin doesn’t explain this to Topper. Instead he says, “That’s okay Topper, we can get Excelsior. But I say we get them all, just to be safe.”

“Oh Edwin, I like the sound of that. This new you is, is — I don’t know, but I like it. Does this mean I get to have a gun? A big friggin gun? Bigger than me even?”

“No Topper.”

“No?” asks Topper, obviously disappointed. “But we’re supposed to be the bad guys!”

“No, Topper. You can have a gun. I’m saying that I don’t think they make a gun big enough for what I need you to do.”

Chapter Forty-Five 

Negatively Buoyant

The Cromoglodon wakes early and hungry after a hard night’s work. It was cold last night, so he knocked a small apartment building over on himself to keep warm. He shrugs off the rubble with a tremendous yawn. His clothing is displaying an advertisement for orange juice. Definitely time for breakfast. He sets out in search of a diner or a grocery store to eat.

As he stumbles out into the empty street he is almost aware that something isn’t right. He is accustomed to waking up to sirens, or, at the very least, people screaming and running away from him. Today, there is none of that. The Cromoglodon spends most of his time being confused, so he figures that everything is normal.

The first rocket catches him in the ear.

“Take that you son-of-a-bitch,” Topper yells. He balances the smoking rocket launcher on his shoulder and hustles around the corner as fast as his short legs will carry him.

The Cromoglodon isn’t hurt. The Cromoglodon isn’t really even annoyed. After all, it’s only a rocket. But Topper’s got his attention. So he follows. When he turns the corner, a second volley of rockets take him off his feet.

“Ahahahahahahahahahahahah! You block-headed bastard!” Topper yells at him from the next corner.

Still mostly curious, the Cromoglodon picks himself up and lumbers on. He follows the shrieking midget into a park. That’s where he steps on the land mines. For all his toughness, the Cromoglodon has very sensitive feet. The land mines get to him. He bellows in pain. Now he’s pissed. 

“Oh shit,” says Topper. Around the corner is a red MG. Topper leaps into the car and speeds away. The car is fast, but not quite fast enough. As the Cromoglodon gives chase, he’s able to get a hand on the bumper. He pulls half of the trunk free. Topper gives it all he’s got. He drives like an inspired madman — heedless of red lights, medians, newspaper boxes.

With the Cromoglodon close behind him, Topper barrels down a pier. When he reaches the decrepit warehouse at the end, Topper’s foot never leaves the accelerator. He crashes through the back wall of the warehouse and sails into the harbor beyond. The car quickly sinks.

The Cromoglodon skids to a stop in the middle of the warehouse. The Cromoglodon can not swim. It is not a matter of knowing how. His incredibly tough structure is simply too dense to permit any buoyancy.

Edwin triggers the detonator.

The warehouse and the Cromoglodon explode and sink to the bottom of the harbor. The Cromoglodon does not sink like a stone. Stones don’t struggle. Stones don’t have lungs that burn for air. As stupid as he is, even the Cromoglodon is smart enough to realize that he is going to die. Fear, the true gut-wrenching, bowel-loosening fear of death is something that the invulnerable Cromoglodon has never been forced to consider. As he claws in vain against the dark water the certainty of death sinks it’s reptilian teeth into the Cromoglodon’s brain stem.

From the deck of a powerful motor yacht far out in the harbor, Edwin allows himself a brief smile and turns his attention to the radio. As the first dive team comes alongside in a zodiac raft with a soaked and shivering Topper, Edwin keys the mic. “Bravo team report.”

“Bravo Actual. I think we’ve got him. If not I’d hate to know what else is stirring up all this muck. We’re moving in.”

“Negative B-team, wait until favorable visibility conditions. Stay calm, safe and smart.”

“Sir, whatever else he is, he is drowning and soon to die.”

“Bravo Actual, whatever else he is, he deserves to die several times over. The medical team tells me that they will be able to revive him. The cold water will preserve him for several hours at least.”

“Roger that. Holding.”

“Holy Jesus, that was fun,” says Topper. Edwin does not understand Topper’s thrill-seeking behavior, but he is glad to see him happy.

“I’m glad you enjoyed your role,” says Edwin.

“If I had know being a villain was this much fun, I never would have gone to law school. So now what?”

“We’re going to wait until he is good and dead and then give him to the surgeon. And then, and only then will we warm the brute and see if we can bring him back to life.”

“I think you should just let the bastard suck water and drown,” says Topper.

“Yes, I will take your blood thirst under advisement. You did beautifully by the way.”

“Do you really think so? My aim was a little off with some of the rockets. I’ll get it better next time.”

Edwin doesn’t bother to explain that there will be no next time. A plan that relies on extraordinary acts with less than a 100% chance of success is not a good plan. Edwin is a little disappointed in himself that he couldn’t have come up with a better scheme. He longs for all his machinations to be inexorable rather than spectacular. Edwin does not mean to seize glory, but rather to crush it out of circumstance as an Anaconda kills it’s prey.

Eighteen hours later, the Cromoglodon is thawing on a slab. His head is now circumnavigated by a crown of fresh stitches and attached to high tension power lines. From Edwin’s viewpoint, the stitches make his head look like a grisly baseball. Of course there are neater ways to place implants into a person’s brain, but Edwin hadn’t captured the beast for his looks. He had little trouble convincing the surgeon that speed was more important than aesthetics.

On the panel in front of Edwin are two switches. One switch will activate an automatic defibrillator, which will tickle the Cromoglodon’s heart and bring him back to life. The other switch, will shunt half the city’s power directly into the Cromoglodon’s brain — probably killing him.

This kill switch is to be used only if the electrodes implanted in the Cromoglodon’s brain prove to be ineffective. But for a moment Edwin’s hand wavers between them. Of course, it would be wasteful to destroy such a powerful creature, but all of Edwin’s purposes are cruel. His hand wavers as his demons wrestles with his better angels. The demons win. Edwin closes the switch that restarts the beast’s heart.

As the Cromoglodon’s eyes flutter and his vital signs gain strength, Topper climbs up onto his chest and slaps him across the face. “Rise and Shine!” The Cromoglodon awakes and instantly lunges for Topper. Edwin triggers the implants.

The surgeon who had installed the implants argued that they should be placed in the pain center of the Cromoglodon’s brain, but Edwin had disagreed. He had feared that, brute that he was, the Cromoglodon would be inured to pain. But fear, fear is something unknown to him; something the Cromoglodon was unequipped to deal with. The electricity triggers impossible and unknowable terrors within the Cromoglodon. Tears pour down his face. He attempts to curl up under a table that is half his size.

Edwin leaves the electrodes on for longer than he needs to. As he watches the Cromoglodon writhe on the floor, Edwin has an epiphany. He has been treating people as free and equal beings. Of course these creatures that surround him have the capacity to choose, but all their choices are bad. Edwin had believed that he could teach them, advise them, lead them to a truer path. Tip the scales of the world back to balance with a merest touch. Edwin realizes now that he had been mistaken. He can see now that he has been blinded by a sympathetic conceit. Now his thinking is clear and free from illusion. He quickly reaches the only possible conclusion.