How To Succeed in Evil (4 page)

“Yes, the same thing always happens. They never listen. They never listen to me.”

“I get that a lot as well. But, I figure, so long as they got the money to pay me, they must be doing something right.”

Edwin shakes his head slightly, “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

Topper heads off into the woods in search of his ball. When he returns, countless strokes later, Edwin asks, “Do you like your clients?”

“Aw big fella, are you sweet on me,” says Topper. Edwin winces a little, anticipating the headache that surely must be close at hand.

“Not me, I mean in general, do you like your clients?”

“I like it when my clients pay,” says Topper. “What else is there?”

“I just…”

“Ah, you’re just having a bad day. It will all blow over by Monday. You’ll go back to work and everything will be fine.”

“What if I don’t want to go back to work on Monday.”

“Then don’t,” says Topper with a violent shrug, “it’s not like they can take your birthday away.”

“I’m not sure this is the life I wanted,” says Edwin. Topper has never had such a glimpse into his tall friend’s inner workings. He is stunned by this admission. He is at a loss for words for nearly .03 seconds. For Topper, this is an eternity.

“What is this bullshit? I’m sorry my friend, but it’s bullshit. You got no time to be second-guessing yourself. You gotta be like a shark. You gotta be like me. You want something? You go take a bite out of it. You don’t like it?” Topper’s face goes eerily blank as he pantomimes a dead-eyed shark spitting out a bit of chum.” You go find something else to take a bite out of. And seriously, how bad can your life be? When you get upset, you get to go play golf.”

“It’s worse than you can possibly imagine. This morning, as I’m going over the financials of Dr. Loeb’s operation, I point out that not only has he lost money, year-over-year, but even if all his nefarious evildoings and schemes work, he will only make a 5% return on his capital investment.”

“Oooh.”

“It’s awful.”

“Horrible.”

“He didn’t get it, and when I told him he could be making an 8-10% return in the market, his expression never changed. He just kept smiling. Do you have any idea how much money he wants to waste on a secret lair?”

“Hey, a man’s got to have a nice pad. Place to call home, to bring the ladies back to.”

Edwin ignores this. “That’s not even my point. I just can’t take it anymore. They’re all so inefficient and dangerously irrational. Stupid, that’s the word I’m looking for, stupid.”

Topper asks the obvious question. “If they’re so stupid, why don’t you just become a villain and force them all out of business.”

“Me,” Edwin laughs, “I’m no supervillain.”

“Edwin, you are the smartest, unhappiest person I know. If that’s not a breeding ground for villainy, I don’t know what is. Did you have an unhappy childhood?”

“My childhood was wonderful,” Edwin answers in a way that does not invite questions.

“Bullshit, bullshit. You must have gotten picked on because of your height.”

“No Topper, they don’t really pick on the big kids.”

“A cheap shot? From you? Edwin, I expected more. Look, seriously, I think you should try it. Part-time at first. It could be fun. I tell you what, I’ll even be your sidekick.”

“Villains don’t have sidekicks,” Edwin says, “they have henchmen.”

“Hmm, henchman feels a little small, what about Executive Vice President of Henchmenry?”

“Topper, I don’t want henchmen.”

“Oh, it’ll be great. I’ll carry a big friggin’ gun. Bigger than me even.”

Now Edwin wishes he was playing golf by himself. “No guns. There’s nothing smart or subtle about guns.”

“But we can do it, right?”

“Topper, I don’t want to be a villain.”

“Well, you don’t want to a consultant anymore either. You’re gonna have to come up with some options.”

Edwin stops his pre-swing routine. “Topper, I’m not going to become a villain, I’m far too smart for that.” He re-addresses the ball. Edwin cocks his head and sights the club down his left eye. His lips compress. The pause seemed to last an eternity. And then club starts back.

When the club reaches the very top of Edwin’s backswing, his phone rings.

Edwin tries to check his swing, but it is too late. Everything falls apart and the unthinkable happens. Edwin hits three inches behind the ball. His ball pops up in the air and comes to rest a mere 15 yards from the tee. This is the first time Topper has ever seen Edwin totally blow a swing. He’s so shocked, he can’t even think of anything to say.

Edwin frowns at his ball and then answers the phone. On the other end Agnes says, “Enjoying the serenity of the golf course?”

“I was. What is it?”

“I am vindicated.”

“What?”

“Edwin, the good Doctor Loeb...”

“Is he still there? Has he soiled the carpet?”

“Nothing of the sort. We had a very enjoyable tea. A nice chat. Edwin, his real name is Eustace Eugene Rielly the 3rd. So I did a little checking, and the short of it is, he’s loaded.”

“Ah. Exactly how loaded?” Agnes tells him. The strange little man has access to such wealth, it takes several minutes for her to adequately convey how much money is involved. When she is done, Edwin has no response.

“So shall I set another appointment for you?”

“Yes you shall. Send what details you have and a car. I need to think this through.”

Topper bristles. “What? You’re not going to finish the round? I’m just starting to make my move! C’mon, you at least gotta finish this hole? I’ll give you a mulligan.”

“No Topper, there’s money to be made.”

Chapter Six 

There's Money and Then There is MONEY

Now Topper carries his double scotch (neat) from the bar and climbs up into the waiting Town Car. Inside, Edwin scans a dossier on Dr. Loeb. Edwin is looking for handles. Anything he can use as leverage. It’s a very, very old game. Edwin is very, very good at it.

Topper is bored. He searches the backseat. He finds no television, no mini-bar, no heavily medicated women of questionable virtue. These are just a few of the reasons why he prefers to travel by limousine. But Edwin is a point A to point B kind of guy. All Topper cares about is the ride. And now his drink is empty. Great, Topper thinks, what a barren form of amusement this is going to be.

And then something remarkable happens. Edwin laughs. This laugh is not the rich laughter of strong men drinking lemonade and playing horseshoes on a summer afternoon. Nor is it the sharp, clear laughter of children on a playground. This is laugh that managed to be sinister, sane and free from irony. It scares Topper.

“E, what is it?” Topper asks, not sure that he wants to know the answer.

“Do you know the problem with money?” Edwin asks.

“I know my problem with money. I don’t have enough of it.”

“The problem with money isn’t making it. The real problem is keeping it.”

“Yeah, well...”

“Let’s say you amass a sum of money.”

“Say it? Let’s do it. Let’s amass a large sum of money. A couple million dollars.”

“No, no,” Edwin says with an air of disappointment, “Not a dentist’s retirement fund. I mean Money. Several billion.”

“Okay. Okay. I like the way you think.”

“What would be the first thing you would do?”

“I’d get a proper limousine so I could freshen up this drink.”

“You would buy a limousine?”

“And a driver. No, wait, I’d buy the limo and rent the driver. You know, slavery’s against the law and all that.”

“There’s more than one way to own a person,” Edwin observes coldly. “But after the limo, a house or two? Few parties?”

“And a yacht. A great big one.”

“And so on, and so on. Now people imagine it takes a great deal of time to fritter away a great fortune, but, in fact, it usually happens within two generations of the fortune being made. Because, the qualities and characteristics of people who make a great deal of money are rarely passed on to their children.”

“I gotcha, rich kids ain’t hungry. But I’m not a rich kid. I’ve got nothing but appetites.”

“That’s the point. The human condition actually.” Edwin says ‘human condition’ as if it applies to someone else, “For all but a very disciplined few, no matter how much you have, there’s always something else that would make you happier.”

“A bigger yacht?”

“And after that an island. And after that a bigger island. And a bigger island.”

“And then Australia, I get it.”

At the mention of Australia, Edwin winces. He never wants to hear Australia mentioned in a scheme again. “The thing about wealth is it only stays wealth if you continue to make money. Resources have a way of migrating to the people who are most productive.”

“Hunh?”

“The people who do something with them. In a free, or free(ish) country this happens because the children of the people who built the fortune spend all the money on yachts and islands.”

“And parties. Don’t forget the wild parties.”

Again, Edwin’s patience is tested. At least Topper wasn’t talking about a wild party in Australia. “Yes, well, my point is made.”

“Point? What point? What are we even talking about here?”

Edwin removes a picture of Dr. Loeb from the folder. One of the “doctor’s” eyes is half-closed. His shaven head and prominent ears complete the general theme of lost and confused. “This is Eustace Eugene Rielly the Third. aka Dr. Loeb.”

“Is that a Neru jacket?” Topper asks.

“I believe so.”

“Wow, I thought those were extinct.”

“Yes, his horrible taste in suits nonwithstanding — ”

“What? It’s the first thing I noticed,” says Topper.

Edwin wonders if Topper’s ability to derail a train of thought is somehow instinctual, or perhaps glandular. Edwin shakes it off and presses on. “These are the pictures you should be looking at.” Edwin holds up two more portraits. “Eustace’s father and grandfather. Seems the great-great grandfather founded the LAP.”

“Lap. So, big deal. If he had founded the lap dance, that would be something.”

“Lower Alabama Power.”

“They have power in Lower Alabama?”

Topper has done it again. He has managed to irritate Edwin. Edwin is not aware that Topper lives for this. That Topper believes he is loosening up his overworked friend. “Please Topper, this isn’t a cross-country trip. If you keep interrupting me…”

“I gotcha, I gotcha, the family made a lot of money in power.”

Edwin flips to the last page of the file. “Take the idea of a lot of money and then double it.”

“I bet their car has a minibar,” says Topper.

Still Edwin bravely soldiers on, “The father continued to build on the fortune—”

“Edwin, my liver is shrinking. You can’t imagine how painful it is.”

“—Father deceased, mother, and only son surviving—”

“A sad tale,” says Topper, as he eyes his dry glass mournfully.

“And within two generations, this fortune will be gone. A large portion will be absorbed in taxes. The rest will have found its way into the hands of people who use money as a tool. A tool to make more money.”

“Yeah, yeah. So why were you laughing?”

“I was laughing because I realized, that we don’t have to wait. We can liberate that useful money right now. No reason not to make an efficient process, more efficient.”

“You’ve got a strange sense of humor, E. So how are we gonna do it? We gonna steal the money?” Topper is genuinely excited by the prospect of some action.

“You mean like a smash and grab job?”

“Yeah, yeah! Smash and grab. Squealing tires. Mini-bar in the getaway car.”

“No Topper, no smash and grab job. No squealing tires. How do you get something you want from someone?”

“Take it!”

“That’s usually difficult, expensive—”

“And FUN!” Topper jumps up on the seat, unable to contain his excitement.

“And there is always a chance, usually a good chance that a robbery will fail. It’s much easier to figure out what someone wants — really wants, deep down in those places people don’t talk about — and then sell it to them.”

“What if they want the money?”

“Rich children only want the money when it’s gone.”

“Well, how do you figure out what they want?”

“You ask them.” Edwin laughs again. This one is scarier than the first. For all the chit-chat, Topper still doesn’t understand what’s going on. But he knows Edwin well enough to know that somebody is in trouble.

And with that the conversation is finished and the sound of the car rolling over the road fills the space between the two men. In the silence, Topper wonders what it is Edwin really wants, deep down in those places people don’t talk about.

Chapter Seven 

Excelsior on the Beach

“Ah shit, where is he?” Gus asks one of the men who is guarding the dark, empty beach.

“Over there, sir.”

Gus spits on the general principle of it, and trudges into the soft sand. Gus hates beaches. A beach is a place that Marines charge onto to die. Active duty Marines. Gus is retired. He’s got no business charging anywhere. And at this point in his life, he shouldn’t have to put up with things he doesn’t like. Especially beaches.

Gus is so old that most of his friends are dead. But the ones who aren’t, they just sit around. They get to be grumpy all in one spot. They get to complain about whatever they like. In fact, they’re so old, they get away with saying anything they want. Not Gus. He’s still in the harness. Still in the service of his country. He’s linked by history and affection to the world’s most powerful man, Excelsior.

Excelsior. Big friggin’ baby. And Gus is too old to be dealing with babies. He’s too old to measure his words. He’s just too old. But he’s one of the few people Excelsior listens to. Maybe the only one he trusts. So it falls to Gus. Gus is saddled with handling the big dope. But who will take over when Gus is gone? What will happen when Gus dies? Gus doesn’t like to think about dying. Especially not on a beach. So he spits again.

The light leaks onto the sand from the small beach town above. Gus makes out the silhouette of a man sitting, hunched over himself in the dunes. Gus can see that the man is shaking. Jesus Christ. Gus hopes he isn’t crying again. Gus can’t stand it when Excelsior cries.