How To Succeed in Evil

by Patrick E. McLean

  Excelsior tries to hold it in, but he cannot. A giggle slips out.

  “Do you mind?” Edwin asks. Excelsior just keeps laughing.

  “Hey! Body suit! Spandex. Yeah, Jazzercize. I’m talking to you,” Topper says. “Man’s trying to play a game here. Keep your yap shut.” Excelsior holds his sides. He bites his lips. He tries thinking of a thousand other things. But it is no use. The giggles just keep coming. Tears stream down his face. He makes slobbery, slurping noises in the corners of his mouth as he fights for control. The judge is about to reprimand him, but it’s so bad he asks, “Are you okay?”

  Excelsior nods and lies with his head. He is very far from okay. He is GREAT. The best he’s been in, well, forever really. He HAS CHEATED! It is the first time he has broken the rules and it feels GREAT!

  At the top of Edwin’s backswing, Excelsior had used his heat vision, for just an instant, to melt the shaft. And no one realizes. He is going to get away with it. He has gotten away with it! Twice. Now he just can’t stop giggling about it.

  As best they can, the golfing party ignores Excelsior’s breakdown.

  “Does that count as a stroke?” Edwin asks the judge.

  “Did you start on the downswing?”

  “No, but I intended to hit the ball.”

  “AHHHHHHH,” shrieks Topper, “AHHHHHH! You never answer more than you absolutely have to. Any defense lawyer can tell you that!”

  “He’s right son,” says the Judge

  “So I’m lying three?”

  “That is correct,” says the Judge, “Still your shot.”

  Edwin considers his next move very carefully. The situation is fluid, uncertain. Causes are unknown. Outcomes are unclear. And, for the first time, he reappraises how much is at stake. “Three iron.”

  “Edwin, please, I’m begging you. Please, please, please hit the driver. Just blast it,” says Topper. Edwin gets his own club and plays the hole. He finishes with a triple-bogey while Excelsior manages to hole a 30-foot putt for a double.

  The hero has won a hole.

  Chapter Fifty-Four. The Back Nine

  It’s driving Topper crazy. He knows Excelsior is cheating. Topper doesn’t know exactly how, but he knows that Excelsior has sabotaged Edwin’s clubs. What bothers Topper about this situation is not the cheating. It’s that it is unfair in an unfair way. Cheating is there so the little guy can level the playing field. It’s not supposed to make the strong guys stronger or the fast guys faster. Excelsior is clearly breaking all the rules of breaking the rules. It’s just wrong.

  The judge doesn’t care. The rules of golf weren’t written with superpowers in mind. There is nothing about improving the path of a ball in flight; nothing about blowing your opponent’s ball of course.

  The worst is that Edwin refuses to even notice, As his position in the match degenerates, Edwin speaks less and less. Surely that means that his powerful brain is working. But it doesn’t take a genius to see that there is no thinking your way out of this situation. Something has to be done. And that something is cheating back.

  As they walk to the next hole, Topper asks, “E, E, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Look, we gotta do something. What’s the play?”

  “Everything is fine.”

  “I know how we can get him.”

  “By having a lower score on each hole,” says Edwin, “I am aware of this already.”

  “Edwin,” says Topper, clawing at the tall man’s pant leg, “he’s moving things with his mind!”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “E, you gotta know that he’s cheating!”

  Edwin says, “Please Topper, I’m in the middle of the match.” Edwin lengthens his stride and leaves his little lawyer behind. That’s when Topper decides it’s his job to save the day.

  On the eleventh hole, in the middle of Excelsior’s backswing, Topper kicks Edwin’s golf bag out of the caddy’s hands. The bag crashes to the ground. This noise causes Excelsior to yank his drive high and way left.

  “Do you MIND!” Topper snaps at the caddy in mock horror, “Man’s’ trying to play a match here. You do that again and you’re fired.”

  Edwin raises an eyebrow. The judge says nothing, but surely he too must have his suspicions.

  Excelsior’s badly struck drive has sent his ball far out into a lake. It has come down behind a small island. Topper could not see the splash from where he was standing, but he knows there is no way the ball is dry. Excelsior confers with his caddy for a moment and then announces, “I’m just going to have a look.” He flies over to the island.

  “Sonofabitch!” Topper thinks “That ball is in the water. No way it’s on that island, but he’s going to go over there where no one can see. Pretend to look for a minute and—”

  Excelsior cries out, “Found it!”

  “That’s my trick,” thinks Topper. “He’s going to beat us with my own trick!” The little man is fit to burst. Rage is always a destructive emotion. Topper’s rage doubly so.

  As everyone else makes their way down the fairway, Topper lags behind with Excelsior’s weathered old caddy. “So,” Topper asks, a little out of breath from his struggle to keep up with the taller man’s, “You like this guy?”

  “He’s all right,” the Caddy says noncommittally

  “C’mon, all right. Get outta here, he’s like everybody’s hero. I mean the guy can fly.”

  “Noticed that. Not much of a golfer though.”

  “Yeah, yeah, so don’t you think it’s kind of strange that he’s winning?”

  “Seen a lotta strange things on the golf course,,” he says. He let’s his gaze linger on Topper.

  “Well sure, I mean, you. You seen it all right?”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d be coming to a point young sir. It’s my man’s swing.”

  Excelsior hacks at his ball. It’s an ugly swing for an ugly shot. But the ball leaps free of the swampy island and lands 20 yards short of the green. This island hop has shaved a great deal of length off the hole.

  Edwin, bereft of fairway woods, plays two irons and a pitch to reach the green. A brilliant putt brings him within three feet of the cup. Par seems within reach. And par should be good enough to win the hole. Sure, Excelsior has a putt for birdie, but it’s so far from the hole, there is no way he can make it. Is there?

  The man in spandex hunches his mighty frame over his tiny putter. In the midst of intense concentration, Excelsior looks quite absurd. But he strikes the ball well, and it rolls to the very edge of the cup. “Birdie!” he cries out even before the ball goes in. But, in one of those impossible, heartbreaking moments that golf always seems to deliver, the ball hangs on the edge of the cup.

  “A shame,” says Edwin, “a good putt.” He starts to knock the ball in with his putter. But Excelsior says, “Wait.” He squats down about ten yards behind the ball and looks at it. He blinks, and the ball jumps in.

  “Didn’t you see that!” screams Topper. Tell me somebody saw that!” He runs over to the judge and asks, “Did you see that?”

  “Yes. This hole to Excelsior. He’s up by one.”

  “That was amazing. That was fantastic. That was TOTALLY UNREASONABLE!” says Topper.

  On the next hole, Edwin, hits a long, low, knock down shot. It is away and over the hill before Excelsior can do anything about it. Topper’s heart soars. Edwin isn’t stupid. He can keep it up. He can win. Barring any high lobs over water, Edwin could be home free playing a bump-and-run kind of game. But on his second shot, right before Edwin makes contact with his ball, Topper sees a small whiff of smoke rise from the grass. Edwin’s ball flies funny and lands in the sand trap just short of the green.

  “Edwin,” Topper says.

  “If you won’t let me concentrate on my game, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Damn that man, thinks Topper. Why won’t he let himself be helped? Is Topper not good enough to help him?

  On the seventeenth hol
e, Excelsior gives Topper his chance. The hole is a 210 yard par 3. The back of the green closely guarded by heavy woods. Edwin hits a 4 iron, playing it to the short side. It’s safe, disciplined play, just like the rest of the round. But Topper doesn’t watch the ball. Topper watches Excelsior. He sees him puff up his cheeks and blow out a puff of air.

  This zephyr hits Edwin’s ball and knocks it over the back of the green. The ball makes a horrible sound as it crashes into the trees. It is hopelessly lost. Edwin hits a provisional, and Excelsior pulls the same trick AGAIN. Topper is so angry, he can barely stand still.

  “Well, I’ll find one of them,” Edwin says agreeably. He actually seems happy about being on the brink of absolute disaster.

  What is wrong with him? Is it mind control? As they make their way to the green Topper sneaks a ball from Edwin’s bag. As Edwin and the caddies searches deep in the woods, Topper stays close to the green. He finds a spot, flat, level and with a clear shot to the pin. And then, with the ease of a practiced master, he yells, Found it!”

  He conceals the ball in his hand, and bends over like he had just picked it up. Then he ‘replaces’ the ball on the ground. As Edwin walks over Topper says, “Must have gotten a good kick off one of those trees.”

  Seemingly unaware of Topper’s deception, Edwin chips it close and wins the hole with a par. The losing streak is broken, and the match is all tied going in to 18.

  Chapter Fifty-Five. The Last Hole

  As they approach the 18th tee, Topper has given his tall friend a chance. Now it is up to Edwin to see it through. But things do not look good. This final hole is the last par five on the course. Edwin has lost every par five today. But as Edwin takes the tee, Topper is heartened to hear his friend call for his driver.

  “Oh. Get outta my way.” Topper grabs the driver from his caddy and runs to his friend. “Knock the cover off the ball.”

  “I won’t be penalized for it, now will I?” Edwin says, looking to the judge.

  “Your honor,” says the Judge without even the hint of a smile.

  Here it comes thinks Topper. If he can just get through this swing, he’s got it. As Edwin tees his ball, Topper sidles around behind Excelsior. As Edwin takes a practice swing, Topper reaches up and pinches Excelsior’s right ass cheek as hard as he can.

  Excelsior whirls around with a look of utter disbelief. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “You’re a fine piece of man-meat.” Topper whispers. Excelsior looks at him as if he is considering stepping on him. Which he is. Topper doesn’t care. Topper winks at him.

  Wha-BOOM. While Excelsior is distracted, Edwin takes his shot. Edwin’s ball leaves the tee like a missile. It has that unique trajectory only found in a perfectly struck drive. The ball is spinning backwards so quickly that the dimples on the ball impart lift. The ball defies gravity. For a moment the little white dot seems to obey the laws of a more elegant world. When it finally returns to earth it is in the middle of the fairway, 376 yards from the tee box.

  Topper cheers unabashedly. Then he turns to Excelsior, “Nevermind big boy. It never would have worked out between us. You’re too goody two-shoes for me.”

  Excelsior swings hard, but only managed to move the ball 320 yards. He tops his next shot. Then puts his third on the green.

  As Edwin approaches his ball, Topper is at a loss for another distraction. There just never seemed to be strippers around when you really needed them, he thinks. But then Edwin does something remarkable.

  “Would you consider letting me borrow your three wood, in the interests of good sportsmanship?” Edwin asks Excelsior.

  Excelsior is caught flat on his feet. A bad man, say, a villain, would have refused such a request in the interest of winning the match. But Excelsior stands for fair play. He can’t do such a thing, at least not in front of other people. So Excelsior hands Edwin his club. But there is hate in his heart as he does it. “Of course. Good luck.”

  Edwin takes a practice swing. Then another. The tension builds within Topper. He can’t take it. Everything hangs on this swing.

  When Edwin connects with the ball Topper thinks he’s mis-hit it. But as the ball speeds away, he realizes the genius of the shot. It’s another low runner. The ball stays six inches off the ground all the way to the front of the green. It bounces on the fringe and then rolls up to the pin. Topper goes nuts. He throws his hat in the air. He kisses the caddy’s leg. He jumps up and down in front of Excelsior yelling, “Hunh? Hunh? How you like that?”

  In contrast, Edwin displays no emotion. He hands his club off and walks to the green as if no other outcome had been possible.

  Excelsior’s mouth hangs open in disbelief. The shot had been perfect. It simply hadn’t gotten high enough in the air for him to interfere with. After all this. After that tremendous cheating rally over the last eight holes, Excelsior is going to lose. As Excelsior’s caddy shoulders the clubs and heads to the green he says, “He’s still got to sink that putt.”

  But the old caddy knows it to be a formality. The rules will have to be observed, but Edwin is within three feet of the hole and now has a putt for two-under par. An Eagle. The old caddy knows his man has no chance. As he walks behind Edwin Windsor, he whispers, “Fine shot, sir.”

  Excelsior misses his 30 foot putt for Birdie, and taps in for a Par. Edwin puts his ball in to win the match. “Yeah,” screams Topper, “the good guys win one. I mean the bad guys, I mean, us. I mean we won. We beat Excelsior.”

  Excelsior stares into the turf as if something irreplaceable is leaking out of him. Gus, fading away in the hospital, and now this? He was supposed to beat the man. How could he have lost? After all, Windsor is just a man.

  The judge notices that Edwin is staring at his ball with a strange look on his face. He asks, “What is?”

  “It’s the wrong ball.”

  “What?”

  “I was playing a Penfold Heart. But it was a number three.” Edwin holds up the ball so that the Judge can clearly read the number four imprinted on its dimpled surface.

  “Mr. Windsor, that is a shame. But the rules are clear. Hole number 17 is forfeit. Hole and match to Excelsior.”

  Excelsior snaps out of it. He isn’t sure what has just happened, but since it has gone his way, he isn’t about to complain. Edwin walks over to him and extends his hand, “Good game.”

  “What? What are you doing? Have you lost your oversized mind?” screeches Topper.

  “There are some things more important than winning. Excelsior understands that, even if you do not, Topper.”

  “You’re completely insane. Your Honor, I’d like to declare this match void on grounds of insanity!”

  Edwin looks down and smiles a sad smile at his little friend, “Topper, right has prevailed. As it always will in the end. I realize that now.”

  “Who are you? No, seriously, who in the hell are you? And what have you done with EDWIN WINDSOR!”

  Edwin turns on his heel and walks from the green.

  “Don’t you walk away from me, beanpole! Where do you think you are going? I worked hard for that fix and you just threw it away.” Topper waddles after him as fast as his short legs will carry him “And now you’re going to get out of the business? How am I supposed to be your henchman?”

  “Get in the car.”

  “You’re clearly not in your right mind. I don’t think someone as looney as you should be operating heavy machinery.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six. Out of Business?

  Edwin eases the sedan out of the club’s parking lot. The car is understated, powerful, and well-suited to the large man’s size. Topper is barely able to see over the soft leather dash. They ride along in silence until Topper can stand it no longer.

  “Well, I guess you’re out of business,” says Topper with an air of finality.

  “Hmm,” says Edwin.

  “The bet. You said, if you lost, you’d stop advising villains.”

  “Hmm.”

  “So you’re gonna
Welsh right?”

  “No, I will honor my agreement.”

  “But he was cheating his tight little pants off. You know that right?”

  “Yes, I know he was cheating.”

  “Then why’d you do it?”

  “Golf? I enjoy golf.”

  “Okay,” says Topper, realizing that Edwin is toying with him, “Then why’d you throw the match?”

  “I didn’t. You threw the match for me. Rather brilliantly I thought.”

  “What! I got you back in the game. He was cheating! Cheating like crazy! Cheating like, like, like his head was on fire! I don’t know. And you didn’t do a thing about it. What? Was it some kind of mind control ray?” Edwin chuckles in that way Topper hates. The way that means that Topper has missed something big.

  “So that is the only thing you noticed? That I was acting under the influence of a ‘mind control’ ray?”

  “I noticed he was cheating.”

  “Anything else?”

  “But he’s a good guy. I mean he’s THE good guy. He’s not supposed to cheat. He can’t cheat. What else is there to notice? That you lost? I noticed that you lost.”

  “Perhaps in the short term. But where does it net out? What’s the final accounting, the bottom line?”

  “Okay, I give up. I can’t see how losing a bet — and I just lost $1000 to that battered old caddy because of you — I don’t see how it nets out for anybody other than the guy who wins. Please explain to me, Mr. Mastermind, how that nets out.”

  “Someone has their hooks into him very deeply. I don’t know what drives a man like him, but it’s very, very bad. He’s trying to atone for something. Something he believes to be awful. I would venture to say that he hasn’t broken the “rules” since he was a child. But today! Today he broke loose. He felt the freedom of action. What it means to be a moral agent, rather than someone’s puppet. Did you see the joy in his eyes?”