“Are you giving me strokes on this hole?” Topper asks.
“If it will help, I won’t count those last three,” says Edwin.
“What? Those were practice swings! Practice swings!”
This illustrates the fundamental difference between Edwin and his lawyer. To Edwin’s way of thinking, if you are going to cheat at golf, why bother playing at all? The way Topper sees it, if you’re going to play a game, you should go the extra mile and cheat at it. Winning is way more fun than practice. And the best way to win without practicing is to cheat. Ergo…. This is the simple, irrefutable logic of Topper’s overcooked little brain.
Topper lines his left eye up on his ball and closes his right. He thinks he’s doing this to maintain alignment at the point of impact, but it reads as a bad Clint Eastwood impersonation. “Okay ball,” Topper says, “time to go for the big ride.” Somehow Topper connects with the ball. It squibs along the right side of the fairway and comes to rest within bounds. Barely.
Topper turns and holds up his club. “You know, I don’t think it’s me. Seriously, I think this club is warped.” Of course Topper is deluding himself, but that’s more fun than dealing with reality.
Edwin takes the tee. He always gives Topper the honor of going first on the first hole. For the rest of the round, the order is determined by who had the lowest score on the previous hole. And, for the rest of the round, that will be Edwin. As Edwin surveys the hole, the wrinkle in between his eyebrows disappears. Something inside him unclenches. Here, more than anywhere else, is where the tall man is at home. There are no low door frames, no undersized chairs. This is a game on his scale. It is not measured in feet and inches, but in yards. And every shot is accounted for. That is important to Edwin. Everything must be accounted for.
The tall man stays within himself as he swings. The hinges of his tall form all conspire to describe a perfect arc with the head of the golf club. As the club makes contact, Edwin can feel the ball compress against the face of the club. The ball climbs into the long light of the afternoon, seeming to defy physics.
Topper mutters, “Nice drive.” As they make their way down the fairway, Topper asks, “So what happened with your meeting?”
“Complete waste of time. He was an idiot.”
“Hey, hey,” says Topper, “complete idiots are some of my best clients. Excepting you of course.” There is no joke here. Edwin is so smart that sometimes Topper gets a headache just from standing next to him. Topper doesn’t want to think any more than he has to. Not anymore. He’s done with all that.
“He had no talent whatsoever.”
“No superpowers!” protested Topper, “Was he in the wrong office? How can somebody expect to be a villain if they don’t have superpowers? Was he an idiot?”
Topper is so Topper that sometimes Edwin gets a headache just from standing next to him. Mostly from Topper’s voice. Topper speaks a high, shrieking, Long Island patois that increases in pitch with his excitement. Topper is crude and uncouth and loud. Very, very loud. Edwin is not sure why he enjoys Topper’s company.
If you ask Edwin about this, he will tell you that he maintains his association with Topper because the little man is such a good lawyer. A man in Edwin’s profession certainly needs a good lawyer. But this is all rationalization. The smarter we are the more we trick ourselves.
The truth is, Topper has learned to suck every last drop of joy from the marrow of life. Edwin doesn’t even know he is supposed to crack open the bones. You and I might call this state of mind depression. Edwin thinks it protects the clarity of his analysis. But however it is described, Topper’s happiness, though often misguided and destructive, is infectious.
Edwin is silent for several holes. But then he says, as if it is a great unburdening, “It’s always the same.”
Topper is taken aback by this uncharacteristic display of emotion. “The same?”
“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?” asks 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 was going over the financials of Dr. Loeb’s operation, I pointed out that not only has he lost money, year-over-year, but even if all his nefarious schemes and evildoings 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 be a consultant anymore either. You’re gonna have to come u
p 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 lines up on the ball with his left eye. His lips compress. The pause seems to last an eternity. And then the 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 Reilly 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 he prefers to travel by limousine. 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 a laugh that manages 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? A 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 “lost and confused” theme. “This is Eustace Eugene Reilly the Third, aka, Dr. Loeb.”
“Is that a Nehru jacket?” Topper asks.
“I believe so.”
“Wow, I thought those were extinct.”
“Yes, his horrible taste in suits notwithstanding — ”
“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 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 already 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 gen
uinely 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 laugh 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, just on general principle, and trudges into the soft sand. Gus hates beaches. A beach is a place 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.
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