When Topper had finally seen the shape of the plot against them, he said, "Wow, E, these guys are organized, well-capitalized and smart."
As Edwin shook his head, several of the Adjustors laughed at Topper. "No, Topper," Edwin said, with that voice that indicated the smaller man had said something particularly tiresome, "Not smart. If they were smart, they wouldn't have left the obvious weakness."
"Enh-henh. Okay, well, I don't want to say that this hasn't been a barrel of laughs, so I'll sing it. THIS HASN'T BEEN A BARREL OF LAUGHS!" Topper's singing voice approximated the sound that Ethel Merman might have made while being crushed to death in a cement mixer. "Good luck fellas, your President of Vice is taking a break." With the mocking laughter of the Adjustors ringing in his ears, Topper left the room, the floor, the building and the suburbs. He had had quite enough of this work bullshit, thank you very much.
Edwin and the Adjustors continued to work long into the night. This was the meticulous work of planning and execution that Topper hated. For Topper, the 80% solution was good enough. Pull the pin and throw the damn thing already. The rest was balls and improvisation. That was the spirit that made this country great. The way Edwin could work and rework a plan just drove him nuts.
To Edwin's way of thinking, it was never wise to undertake a course of action until you were sure you could squeeze every bit of advantage out of it possible. That included making sure you had the maximum chance of success. As Edwin worked, the Adjustors, those hollow men with empty eyes and calculating brains, attended Edwin in an almost religious rite. They knew what Edwin had tried to explain to Topper—the hallmark of superior technique was efficiency in multiple dimensions. When Edwin finally allowed himself to sleep, that's exactly what he had achieved.
As he drifted off to sleep, he recognized the flaw in their unknown opposition's plan. To bankrupt Edwin, there were only a limited number of sites they could attack. And while Omdemnity could not defend them all, it was only a matter of time before the man who fired lightning from his hands attempted to destroy the wrong one.
If the roles had been reversed, Edwin would have adopted a random pattern of attack. So random that he himself would not have known the location of the next strike and therefore would not be able to give it away. Even something as crude as putting locations on slips of paper and choosing one out of a hat would have sufficed.
Edwin's counter for this strategy was simple. He staged two-man teams with specialized equipment at a third of the locations he insured. He thought he might have to pay out on another claim (a painful thought) but he was mathematically likely to capture the offending hero/villain by his third attempt.
Edwin felt some disappointment when the man with the PB on his chest attacked the next closest factory. It was all too obvious.
When the first bolts of electricity hit the building, the blanket of snow surrounding the facility turned brilliant white, like the filament of some planet-sized light bulb. Every non-hardened electrical circuit in the facility went dead. The wall of glass that had protected the executive suites from the real world shattered spectacularly on the lawn. It was so impressive that the man in spandex with the PB on his chest did not hear the net gun fire. He also did not see the fine mesh net descending though the night towards him.
The net was large, about 300 square feet, but made of a very light, highly conductive material. When its gossamer strands settled upon him as lightly as a spider web, he was confused. What was this? This was no attack. This was some kind of a joke.
He grabbed the mesh and, with a bulging of encased sinews, tried to tear it apart. But the strands did not break. Even when he pulled so hard that the wire cut into his hands.
Two men in black suits, wearing heavy black rubber gloves and boots, came walking towards him through the snow.
Yeah right, thought PowerBoy, like those insulators will save them. Just the electrical field I can generate is enough to stop their hearts and scramble their brains.
He stretched out his hand in a dramatic gesture and smiled underneath his mask when he felt the tingle begin in his fingertips. The charge stored in his body built and built and built until it could no longer be contained. It released with an industrial-sized snapping noise. His pupils dilated in response to the bright blue flash he had come to know and love.
When his pupils re-adjusted to the night, he realized that men were still walking towards him. What had happened? Why had his powers failed him? Why hadn't they been reduced to greasy, burnt spots on the lawn? He tried again. And again. Each time, he created less of a spark. The third bolt was so weak, he could see that his charge was being grounded out by the net.
Then PowerBoy panicked. He struggled against the fine mesh that enclosed him. But it was no use. The net did not break, and he only tangled himself tighter and tighter. He twisted and fell to the ground.
The men in black suits advanced, their lack of expression and large rubber gloves making them seem something monstrous, something not even remotely human.
Well, thought PowerBoy, I might not be able to throw lighting, but the net will protect me when I electrify it. He reached out to the mighty electrical transmission line he could feel pulsing through the factory. Oh, yes, he would melt those silly boots and gloves right into their flesh. But just as he began to suck the coulombs of energy into his body, the power line went dead. Then he knew fear.
"You can't do this to me! Do you know who I AM?"
The cold-faced men said nothing. They simply rolled up the net, trapping PowerBoy even more securely in its fine wire mesh.
As they picked him up, PowerBoy tried one more time. When his finger brushed one of their wrists, he discharged everything he had left.
The man grunted and said, "Quit it, that tickles." He raised a rubberized fist and brought it down across PowerBoy's jaw. The world faded and came back.
"You can't do this to me," he protested again, "I'm PowerBoy. I'm a hero."
The man who had hit him said, "Heroes don't blow up factories." Then he heaved his neatly trussed human package into the back of a white nondescript panel van. Mummified in wire, PowerBoy was unable to protect himself. His head bounced off the unfinished metal of the van's cargo space and he saw stars.
As the rear doors of the white panel van were slammed shut, he had just enough time to cry, "But you can't do th—"
The van disappeared into the night.
If someone had made a nature documentary about Topper, it would start off with a wide shot of the Peppermint Hippo. It wasn't the nicest, or best-named, strip club in world, but for Topper, it was a comfortable place. He knew the dancers. He knew the bartenders. He knew the bouncers. And everybody there thought he was just a hell of a guy. Primarily because he tipped well. They even put in a special chair for him, so his legs wouldn't hurt. It might have been the only midget-fitted reclining leather chair in a strip club in the entire world. That would be the way to bet, anyway.
And in this perverse nature documentary, or, more accurately, this documentary of a perverse nature, the camera would follow a scantily clad cocktail waitress as she made her way through the darkened room (darkened as a kindness to dancers and patrons alike) and delivered a full glass of scotch to the table next to Topper's chair. The camera would frame the table and the edge of the chair, allowing the flashing lights to reveal Topper's small hand to reaching out to pick up the glass. Then the narrator would say, "A Topper in his natural habitat."
Topper sipped his overpriced scotch and waved to a dancer. She waved back. She was excited by the prospect of a large tip, but, in keeping with the inalterable feeding habits of her species, she disappeared into the back to do a bump of cocaine first. On other nights, Topper would have enjoyed this warm, comforting womb of sleaze and flesh that made him forget how truly alone in the world he was. But tonight, something was wrong.
Topper took another belt and watched a different girl with long dark hair writhing and twisting on the stage. She was new. He didn't know her name. But
he was going to. Bah, it was no good. Even that didn't make him excited.
If he hadn't been interrupted, he might have seen right through the facade of the Peppermint Hippo. Seen that it wasn't fun, that it was just the illusion of fun wrapped in money. But before his brain could ruin things for him, a man wearing a suit as black as the night tapped him on the shoulder.
"Jeeze, Daniel, I thought you guys never stopped working!" Topper said to the Chief Adjustor. Daniel's expressionless face did not change. "I wasn't even sure you guys were human anymore. C'mon lemme buy you a drink and a whore," Topper said, happy to have someone to perform for.
"He needs you."
He could only mean Edwin. Topper was glad to be wanted, but had a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Is Edwin okay?" he said, struggling to climb out of his special chair.
"We captured PB."
"The plumber? You got the plumber! Hey, EVERYBODY, we got the PLUMBER!" The darkened ecosystem gave a weak cheer. Not because they cared, but Topper was always shouting crazy shit at the top of his lungs, after which he usually bought a round of drinks.
Daniel said, "Edwin has requested your presence as he deals with the... plumber."
Topper inhaled the rest of his drink and slapped Daniel on the ass. "C'mon, Colorado, let's make some noise." The man in the black suit followed the dwarf out of the bar and watched him make his sad, fake farewells to pouting dancers who really didn't care.
As Daniel drove, Topper stood in the front seat. He was eager, and more than a little afraid, to see what would come next. The ride was just long enough for the little man to sober up. Topper had been operating on such a well-established cycle of hangover and binge that his tiny system became cranky when it didn't get its medicine. He knew better than to ask the silent man driving the car if there was a minibar. When he asked him to stop at a liquor store, Daniel did not respond.
Eventually, Topper lay down in the back and took a nap. But when he felt the car leave the pavement and wallow along a snow-covered gravel road, he jumped back into the front seat.
"You're not taking me out here to whack me, are ya?" Topper asked the Adjustor, putting as much of a laugh into his voice as he could. Daniel kept his eyes on the road and did not answer.
They rounded a bend in the road and Topper was relieved to see a number of cars parked around a concrete facade built into the side of a hill. The structure was massive, without windows, and had only one small door in the bottom. The door was open and light poured out into the night. Daniel exited the car without saying a word and walked to the door. Topper scrambled on his little legs to keep up.
"What is this place?" Topper asked.
"Part of an abandoned nuclear power plant. They started construction and never finished. The idiot in spandex attacked the coal plant we insure on the other side of the hill."
"So what are we doing here?" Topper asked.
"You'll see."
Inside, many Adjustors and a team of men in jumpsuits formed a semi-circle around something Topper couldn't see. There were a lot of men in black suits. This had to be every Adjustor that Omdemnity had. Topper has no idea there were so many. Above them all he spied Edwin's head.
"Edwin! Ed-WIN!" Topper cried, his words making a cloud of white steam in the cold air. He shoved his way through the crowd. "Make way, PRESIDENT of VICE coming through!" When he broke through to the center he saw PowerBoy still wrapped the wire mesh. Topper walked over to him and said, "Looks like you picked the wrong day to be a plumber, hunh?" Then he turned to Edwin. "Hiya, E. I'd ask you how's tricks, but I can see from this that they are effective."
"Who are you?" PowerBoy demanded of Edwin. "What is this? What are you going to do to me?"
Topper kicked PowerBoy across the mouth. "Do you MIND? I'm trying to talk to my friend here. Gag 'im boys!" No one moved to comply with Topper's command. A vague air of embarrassment seemed to hang over the crowd. "So E, what's the play?"
"We're going to send a message, Topper."
"A message? What do you mean?"
"Yeah," asked PowerBoy, "what do you mean?"
“We're going to kill you," Edwin said to PowerBoy.
"Jeeze, E, don't you think that's a little harsh? I mean, and you know how I hate to be the guy on the side of reason, but that's a little much. Why don't we just take some compromising pictures of him with farm animals or something."
"No, Topper, that would be silly."
"What's wrong with silly?" Topper asked, "That's the problem with all you guys. You're never silly!"
"It is a serious business we have undertaken, Topper." Edwin said. "And once begun, we must see it through to the end."
"But killing, I mean, E, it lacks style," Topper pressed, not at all comfortable with the look in Edwin's eye.
PowerBoy took this dissent in the ranks as his cue to chime in, "You can't kill me. That would make you just a murderer."
Edwin frowned at PowerBoy. "Actually, no. That would make me a competent and thorough executive."
"What?"
"That would make me the man who hired the best person for the job and then supervised the job for quality control," explained Edwin. The crowd of men in black suits opened and Jerry was pushed to the front. His suit was torn and Topper could see that Jerry had been crying.
"Jer? Are you okay?" Topper asked. He whirled on PowerBoy. "Did you hurt my friend Jerry? You shouldn't have done that plumbah! Jerry is a nice MAN!" Topper punctuated his sentence with a kick.
Daniel walked over to Jerry and unshipped a large semi-automatic pistol from underneath his left armpit. He cocked it and handed it to Jerry. "Shoot him," was all he said.
Jerry looked at Edwin, then back at Topper.
"Edwin, what's going on here?" Topper asked.
"Penance, Topper. This man abandoned his duties when the company needed him most."
"What do you mean? You mean Christmas Eve? Edwin, I let him go. Me. It's my fault."
Edwin looked at Jerry. "Shoot him."
PowerBoy pleaded with Jerry, "Please don't. You don't have to do this."
Very quietly, Daniel said, "Yes, you do. You have children."
Jerry looked back with wide-eyed horror and comprehension. Then he looked to Edwin. "Mr. Windsor, please, I had no idea I would offend you so—"
Edwin smiled a cold smile, "It's all right Jerry. Do this and all is forgiven."
Jerry raised his hand. The gun shook wildly as he struggled to point it in the general direction of PowerBoy. Topper waddled away from the immobilized hero with surprising speed.
PowerBoy pleaded, "Please, no. Think about what you are doing." Jerry couldn't bring himself to look directly the man he was going to shoot. He turned his head away.
A thrill of anticipation, an echo of sacrificial rites from darker times, coursed through the crowd of men in black suits.
BANG.
The first shot went wide and ricocheted in the confined space. There was a wet thock as the bullet came to rest in one of the men wearing jumpsuits. "Aw, crap," he said as he collapsed to the floor.
Daniel walked forward and guided Jerry's hand to the correct aim. Jerry said, "No. Please."
PowerBoy said, "Don't!"
Daniel said, "Squeeze."
BANG.
The gun jumped and PowerBoy flopped dead on the floor.
There was a collective sigh… of relief? Of satisfaction? Of vengeance? Whatever it was, it rippled through the hollow men assembled in that cold concrete building. Topper didn't like it.
In a daze, Jerry stumbled over to where PowerBoy lay dead in the net. In shock, he stared down at the body. "I... I killed him?"
Edwin said, "You did, and well done." Edwin nodded to Daniel. The man removed the gun from Jerry's shaking hand and gave it to Topper. Topper was surprised at its warmth.
"Henh? What do you want me to do with this?"
Shoot him," said Edwin.
"Okay," said Topper. BANG. The gun barked fire and jumped in Topper's hand. A bullet tore int
o the already lifeless corpse of PowerBoy. "That was pointless, but kinda fun."
"Wrong ‘him.’"
At the same time, Topper and Jerry realized what Edwin meant. Topper could see the horror flood Jerry's face as the same horror filled his heart. Edwin had to be kidding. But he had never known Edwin to joke around about anything.
"BUT YOU SAID!" shrieked Jerry.
"Calm down, Jerry," said Topper, "I'm not gonna shoot you. Seriously, Edwin, you gotta be kidding, right?"
"I am not," said Edwin. The men in black suits pressed in closer around him. The smell of old concrete filled his nostrils as the room seemed to fold inward. Topper could feel the hunger of the crowd. The savage anticipation of blood. A demand that the rite be completed.
"So, what, I shoot him and the next guy shoots me? And the guy after him and the guy after him?" Topper joked with a bravado he didn't feel. "You brought a lotta guys, E, but sooner or later somebody's gonna catch on."
"No, Topper, you shoot him and that's the end of it."
"Look, he was just doing what he was told. What I told him to do. Your problem is with me, Edwin."
"No, Topper, it's not your fault. He was the one who made the mistake of listening to you."
"What's this mistake bullshit? I'm the President of Vice, I outrank him."
"I expect more from my Adjustors than I would from a normal employee." Topper looked around the room and was stunned to find that all of the remaining Adjustors were okay with this. Some were nodding even. There was no pity for Jerry. In their savage world he had been tested and found wanting. "And your title is more honorary than anything else."
"Honorary? Honorary? Sounds like you are forgetting a couple of things, Mr. Paralysis of Analysis. You wouldn't even be in a position to give out titles if it wasn't for me. Who risked his ass to bag the Cromoglodon? Hunh? Who's the guy who put the fear of God and crushed testicles in the first twenty guys you shook down?
"And you bastards!" Topper said, whirling on the Adjustors. "Sure, you think you're bad men, but you gotta check the policy manual before you get to do any of those bad things. Observing protocols. Playing by the rules. Well, I don't have any rules. You want to see a bad man, do ya? You're all a bunch of sheep."
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