"And this is my attorney, Topper Haggleblat," said Edwin.
"How ya doing?" Topper asked, absent-mindedly. He was so preoccupied with the model he missed the unhappy look Edwin shot him.
"Would you gentleman care for anything to drink?" asked DeTsavo, his finger hovering over a button that would summon a person to take care of anything he wanted.
Before Edwin could cut him off, Topper blurted, "Scotch."
"Scotch?"
"Yeah, whiskey, brown stuff. Comes in a glass. Before that it's usually in a bottle."
"It's 8:15 in the morning."
"Okay, Bloody Mary? Mimosa? Anything!” Topper said with glee.
DeTsavo looked to Edwin for some kind of context. Wasn't this a business meeting?
Edwin shook his head slightly, as if to say, just ignore the little man.
Bored already, Topper walked to the horrid model.
Trying to salvage the small-talk portion of the meeting, DeTsavo asked, "You are an admirer of models, Mr. Haggleblat?"
"Nah, I just like blue things," answered Topper. Screw this guy, thought Topper, anybody who thinks this thing is beautiful deserves what he gets. Why is Edwin wasting time like this? Just extort the bastard and get on with it.
What had happened to the tall guy? When had he turned respectable? Or soft, or, or—Topper didn't even know. Topper stared at the model and hoped that the meeting would be over soon.
In the background, Edwin and DeTsavo carried on while some drone brought coffee and/or tea. Topper and Edwin had done at least a hundred of these meetings. The set up was always the same. And the best part was, most of it was legal.
It worked like this: about 50 years ago, a few people developed superpowers. Call it mutation, government experimentation, the next stage of evolution, whatever—everybody had a theory. Topper didn't care about the how, what he cared about was the law.
Superpowered people had introduced a giant loophole in insurance law. While a villain would be held liable for the damage he or she caused, a hero wouldn’t. And between the two of them, heroes and villains managed to bust up a lot of real estate. They were like human natural disasters. After one insurance company had gone bankrupt from a battle between a superhero and a supervillain, no other company would offer that kind of coverage again. The risk was just too high. All policies were amended so such battles were deemed uninsurable risks as “Force Majeure”—acts of God and superpowered persons.
That had given Edwin the loophole.
When Topper felt the floor shake he realized that DeTsavo had struggled out from behind his desk and was waddling towards his model as gracefully as he could manage.
"It's a marvel," Leo DeTsavo said, “85% automation. In fact we run two of our shifts with nothing more than a team of engineers and a few security guards. Far cry from when I started with the company."
"Ah, you started in manufacturing then?" Edwin said, feigning interest to smooth the deal.
"Oh, no, no, no. Finance. But we've had terrible trouble with our pension liabilities. Unions and such. Actual people are difficult to deal with. Machines for me. Machines and robots. When you're done you just switch them off. And you get to amortize the cost of them. You can't amortize a person, you know."
Amortize, a legal term from Latin, meaning literally, to kill off over time. When Edwin said, "Oh, I don't know. Not in the traditional sense, surely..." Topper had to give a wry smile, even as unhappy as he was. Amortization was exactly the kind of thing Edwin did with people. And had done it more often and with greater enthusiasm since Agnes had passed.
"Machines don't file workers compensation," DeTsavo continued, "Machines don't sue for age discrimination or sexual harassment. Yes, machines for me."
Edwin nodded at the logic. "Total capitalization of the facility?"
"Still putting the finishing touches on it. Something on the order of $3.2 billion."
"That's quite a lot of money."
"It's nothing compared to the ROI."
"It is a marvelous facility. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to it," Edwin said, as he threw the hook in the water. "But, I'm sure you have plenty of coverage."
DeTsavo heaved his bulk to face Edwin. "Are you trying to sell me insurance? Is that what you and your little monkey came here for?"
Topper felt his jaw quiver as the old anger flooded into him. That fat bastard was calling him short. Oh, now he really didn't like him. Before, it had just been business. Now, it was something else. What was that word he was looking for?
"That is precisely what I am selling," continued Edwin, "My company, Omdemnity Insurance, is prepared to indemnify you against all acts of persons of a superpowered nature."
This was Topper's big moment. He was supposed to take the contract out from the briefcase and lay it on the table. It was a tiny little part. And Topper was sick to death of his tiny parts. The way he saw it, it you don't give a little part to a guy with a big soul. And if you do, you deserve what you get.
Topper heaved his briefcase up onto the model table. It wiped out some lovely landscape miniatures near a depressingly functional looking parking lot.
"CareFUL!" rumbled DeTsavo.
Topper plunged his hand into his case and came out with the contract.
"Standard package, indemnifying you against all acts of superpowered people or animals of all known and yet to be discovered powers," said Topper in bored monotone. "Sign, here, here and here." Topper indicated the little sticky tabs that highlighted the important parts of the contract. All business, no pleasure.
PLEASURE! That was it. That was the word he had been searching for. The joy had gone out of Topper's life. How long had he just been going through the motions? As he watched DeTsavo smear his fat hand across the pages of the contract, Topper remembered—knew down the pit of his black little soul—that this wasn't the kind of fun that he had signed on for.
In fact, none of this was what he'd had in mind when convinced Edwin to stop advising villains and become one. Topper had been hoping for car chases, shootouts, maniacal schemes, pretty girls who liked bad boys and most of all, getting to do whatever the hell he wanted. What the hell happened? He didn't get to do ANYthing. Now it was all this briefcase, that form contract, and meetings like this.
DeTsavo was red in the face. Even before he spoke, Topper knew he wasn't going to go for it. The fat CEO bellowed at Edwin "No, insurance company in the world will provide this kind of coverage. Windsor, what's your racket?"
"It is no racket. As you will see from the policy we are more than adequately capitalized to carry this kind of risk. Per our calculations..."
And here it started again, the droning business talk. Topper was so bored with it. How many times had he sat through the same meeting with Edwin? How many times had he listened to him use his cold, geometric intellect to bludgeon someone into submission, hammering them and hammering them with logic until they had no choice but to sign.
As the two bigger men went back and forth and back and forth, Topper's attention strayed to the model once again.
Maybe it was because Topper was smaller than actual size that he imagined he could see inside the square blue and off-white building. Inside that featureless utilitarian box, he could imagine, were other featureless, utilitarian boxes. Row upon row of cubes, which would house row upon row of featureless, utilitarian workers, performing featureless utilitarian tasks before they returned to their featureless, utilitarian little lives at the end of each day.
"Hey, Bob, I put in a pool!"
"That's great, Steve; I'm doing that next month."
"Gee, Bob, then we'll be completely the same."
Topper realized that his sad, silly imagining was far too close to what his life had become. Where had the passion gone? Where was the fun? He could restrain himself no longer and raised his voice in song—
"Hey, asshole. Ya need insurance!"
DeTsavo, the Chief Executive Officer of one of the largest computer companies in the w
orld, was not accustomed to being spoken to in this way. His brain could find no adequate response for an angry little dwarf, so it dispensed with a number of non-crucial functions. Like keeping his jaw shut.
Edwin also stared at Topper, not so much in shock as in knowing exasperation.
Since Topper had the floor, he continued, "Okay, since you're a busy man, and my tall friend seems to be through dicking around, I’m gonna tell you how this works," he warbled in his high, New York-accented falsetto. "This is your building."
Topper climbed up on the table. As he held his foot over the northeast corner of the model, he said, "I am a fucking giant!" Then Topper slammed his foot down on the corner of the building sending splinters and shards of it everywhere.
A tiny cry of distress issued forth from between DeTsavo's wide open teeth. Let's call it an “eep!” Edwin just buried his face in his hand.
"If that happens and you're not covered, ya screwed. You know, screwed like an ordinary person who has to pay taxes and obey the law and stuff like that?"
"Topper, that's quite enough," Edwin said, trying to salvage the situation while some dignity remained. But Topper was having none of it.
Screw it, thought Topper, if this is a shakedown operation, then let's shake 'em down. "So here's the deal, Fat Money, you buy an," and here Topper made large air quotes with his fingers, "'Insurance Policy’ from us or," Topper stomped his foot and destroyed more painstakingly arranged balsa wood and poster-board, "we're actually going to send a giant," CRUNCH, "like me, but to scale, and crush your entire magic robot factory." CRUNCH, CRUNCH. "And then you're gonna see what it's like to get screwed by the little guy for a change." CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH. "Ahhhh? Ahhhh?"
"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, ef
ficient, 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.
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