How to Succeed in Evil - 02

by Patrick E. McLean

  “I am a hero. I am THE hero.”

  “And who has convinced you of that?”

  “What are you talking about? It’s true!”

  “Truth,” Edwin says with disdain, “is easily manufactured. Let me ask another way. Are there any choices you make that are your own?”

  “Yeah, I — ” and here Excelsior is interrupted by a strange feeling.

  “I cannot sympathize with you, because you are not a person. You are a thing. An instrument. A tool driven around by ideas not your own.”

  “You don’t know,” Excelsior says in something very like the voice of a five year old child. But he can think of nothing else to say. How does Edwin know?

  “Who sent you here? Who is your controller?” As soon as he says it, Edwin realizes this is the wrong question to ask. It cannot be a singular person. It has to be a committee. Only a committee, bought and paid for by powerful people, could be this stupid.

  Before Excelsior can respond there is a flash of light and the house behind them explodes. As debris rains down around them, Edwin calmly steps into the lee of the blockhouse and waits for the ringing in his ears to subside. Excelsior follows him and kept talking. Edwin understands none of it.

  When his hearing returns, the first thing Edwin hears is Dr. Loeb. “MY LAZERADICATOR is a SUCCESS! My lovely all-powerful satellite in the sky!” Dr. Loeb stands with his hands on his hips and gloats over the destruction he believes his satellite-mounted laser had wrought.

  Excelsior says, “I see your game Windsor. A Giant Laser in Space, eh? We’ll see about that.” There is a rush of air and a tremendous boom. Excelsior is gone.

  He’s back in an instant. He’s holds a cylindrical satellite that has TELSAR IX painted on the side. “Now I’ve stopped you Windsor. Just like I’m going to stop The Cromoglodon.” Excelsior crushes the satellite with his palms until it is no larger than a softball.

  “NOOOOOOOO!” howls Dr. Loeb. He collapses upon the earth and works dirt into his scalp.

  Confident in his victory, Excelsior flies off at a leisurely pace.

  Edwin taps the hunk of aluminum with his foot. Undoubtedly, some meth addict in Nebraska is now bemoaning the loss of his satellite television signal, but Edwin fails to see how that harms him in any way. Edwin can think of no better way to cement the illusion of a non-existent satellite in Dr. Loeb’s mind than the absurd farce that has just played out. Edwin steps back as the little man rushes over and clutches the destroyed satellite to his chest and sobs.

  “Don’t worry, Herr Doctor. We will rebuild. We will make it better,” Edwin says. And this time, Edwin thinks, I will charge you more.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Somewhere Over Kansas

  As Excelsior flies east he is enveloped in high cumulonimbus clouds making their way across the prairie. Below him there might be rain showers or hail or tornadoes, but at this altitude there is only beauty. He checks his speed so he can enjoy his progress between the towering columns of water and the magnificent pillars of light that seem to hold up the sky. If this were a movie, music would be playing.

  The lack of a film score does not trouble Excelsior. The song of victory thunders in his heart and the wind applauds in his ears. He feels at home. He is on an equal footing with the elements, and need not disguise his power. He isn’t going to accidentally tear a layer off the atmosphere. Even if he flies through a cloud, the hole will repair itself. Here in the sky, everything is right with Excelsior.

  Then the whispers start. At first, they’re so soft he can’t understand them. The rolling tympani and soaring strings in his heart are not overpowered, but they are tainted. Tainted by words. Somewhere over Kansas, he begins to question his victory. The whispers of doubt grow louder and louder.

  “Puppet.”

  “Moral agent.”

  “Hero.”

  “Control.”

  Excelsior stops. He realizes that the words haunting him are in Edwin’s voice. He pieces them into the conversation he has just had. He doesn’t like the things that Edwin said. Edwin made him feel stupid. Excelsior knows he’s not the brightest guy. That’s okay. But he doesn’t like feeling stupid. And he doesn’t like feeling that Edwin is right.

  And Edwin is right.

  Excelsior can’t remember the last time he took matters into his own hands. The last time he’d made a decision that really mattered. And he certainly can’t remember making a decision against Gus’s wishes. He loves the old man. Exceslior doesn’t want to think about the day Gus will going to die, but when he hears that cough rattling through the old man’s chest like a pile of dead leaves blowing across concrete…

  Excelsior looks at the clouds for a long time. He tries to come up with a name for what he’s feeling. Eventually, he gives up and keeps flying. He decides he will ask Gus about it. Gus is sure to be in a good mood. Not only has Excelsior delivered the message to Edwin, but he has managed to take out a dangerous space-based laser weapon at the same time. Pretty good day’s work, thinks Excelsior.

  He arcs high over the city and searches for the staging area. There it is, a parking lot filled with vans and trailers. They are ready to handle anything he might bring back. But this time, all he’s bringing back is success.

  Gus struggles down the steps of a modular trailer. “Jesus H. Tapdancing Christ! How come every time there’s a shitstorm, you’re smack in the middle of it?”

  “What?”

  “I gave you one job. One job, shit-for-brains, and you screwed it up.”

  “What?! I told him. I told him just like you told me!” Excelsior says. He’s not sure what’s going on.

  “I am too old for this shit, you understand? Too OLD. Why did you destroy that satellite?”

  “You mean the giant laser in space?”

  “Laser? What laser? There was no space laser. I’ve got ThromCast on my ass because you tore something called GeoSynchronous Relay #7 out of the sky. Do you have any idea how much that satellite cost?”

  “No.”

  “Of course you don’t. But it’s a lot. Tell me you just set it down somewhere. Gave it to somebody as a lawn ornament?”

  “Uh, I crushed it into a small ball.”

  “You did WHAT? Why?”

  “They blew up a house with it. The little man with the shaved head and the — ”

  “Just shut up. You just shut up.”

  “But Gus — "

  “Shut up. You don’t do anything. You don’t say anything. I’ll take care of it. You understand?”

  “Look, it was — ”

  “That’s talking. I don’t want you to do that.”

  “But...”

  Gus looks at him hard. Excelsior thinks about telling him off once and for all. Flying away and never coming back. Gus’s hard guy act is interrupted by a coughing fit. He hacks and hacks and hacks. The color drains out of his face. His lips turn blue. Gus staggers. Excelsior catches him before he reaches the ground. “Help!” cries the most powerful man in the world.

  EMTs rush over with equipment. After a few minutes with the oxygen mask, color returns to Gus’s face.

  “Gus, I’m sorry,” says Excelsior.

  Through the mask Gus says, “Just don’t do anything. Just don’t do anything until I tell you. Or until they figure out if I’m dead or not.” An EMT reaches for the pack of cigarettes in Gus’ breast pocket. “GODDAMN IT! Get your hands off of those. Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “You shouldn’t smoke,” says the EMT.

  “Yeah, but I do. So deal with it.”

  Excelsior watches them wheel Gus away. None of it makes sense. Why is Gus angry? Why can’t he explain it to him? He was there. He saw the laser. He had seen the house explode. He had gone straight up and there was the satellite. Could he have gotten the wrong one? Maybe he should go back and check? No, that would just upset Gus more. Why does Gus get to do what he wants even though it’s killing him?

  Excelsior feels like he can’t do anything right. Worst
of all, can’t do anything without permission. He doesn’t understand any of it. But right then and there, he decides that it is Edwin Windsor’s fault. Excelsior isn’t going to do anything to upset his sick friend. He's not going to break the rules. But, he decides, when he gets a chance, he’s going to get Edwin Windsor. The tall man has to pay. Excelsior just knows Edwin is behind it all.

  Chapter Forty

  Mr. The Magnificent

  Edwin has been doing well for himself. It shows in his office. The room has retained its essential clarity, but Edwin has adorned it with trophies of civilization. On one wall is a large bas relief sculpture of a man fighting a centaur. It is one of a handful of pieces looted from the Acropolis by Thomas Bruce, the 7th Earl of Elgin. Unlike the others, this particular frieze didn’t quite make it into the British Museum. If it was recognized for what it was, art historians and museum curators would be quick to pronounce it priceless. But Edwin and his exceptionally discreet art dealer know otherwise. Everything has its price. Like the lesser piece by Rodin that occupies a pedestal by the west window. Or the medieval tapestry that depicts the Mongol sack of Baghdad in 1258.

  In many ways, the tapestry is Edwin’s favorite piece. It is both cautionary and inspiring. The Mongols tore across the surface of the earth like a pitiless force of nature. Ruthless and efficient, they used a practical code of laws and the barest handful of people to control the largest empire the world has ever known. And they did this by sparing valuable people and rewarding talent rather than tribal affiliation.

  As Agnes passes the wall hanging, she doesn’t think about any of this. She’s surprised that Edwin has seen fit to obtain and display such a musty old rag. She approaches his desk and waits for Edwin to finish writing.

  Edwin does not look up. “Yes?”

  “Your 3 o’clock appointment is here.”

  “My 3 o’clock? I was not aware that I had any appointments today. ”

  “Well, yes, you did not have any appointments and now you have one.”

  Edwin looks up sharply.

  “That’s the thing with appointments,” says Agnes, “You start off with none, and then, despite one’s best efforts, they pop up like mushrooms.”

  “Agnes — ”

  “Edwin, please, I need you to meet with this man. He is the grand nephew of one of the women I play whist with. And, whist players being in short supply in this benighted country, it seemed a good idea to curry favor by — ”

  “Agnes, there are hundreds, if not thousands of people trying to waste my time. It is your job to keep them from doing it.”

  “Yes, but I was hoping — ”

  “Hope,” says Edwin, “is a dangerous emotion.”

  “I was hoping — ”

  “Send the man away. I have no time for this foolishness,” says Edwin.

  “He calls himself Lifto.”

  “Agnes, please, I’ve already had my fill of nonsense from Dr. Loeb and his outrageous demands for a secret lair.”

  “That is your own fault. Build the child a playpen and have done with him.”

  “I will not. It serves no purpose.”

  “It will serve to remove him from your misery. Now let me give you a quick precis of your 3 o’clock appointment.”

  “You are a disappointment to me, Agnes,” says Edwin. He regrets it as soon as he says it.

  “Very well,” says Agnes, stiffening with emotion. “I will show him out.”

  As Edwin watches her go he changes his mind. “Agnes. All right, I will see him.”

  “No, no, you are too right, I should not impose upon your precious time.” Now she’s sticking the dagger in. This aggravates Edwin even further. She’s getting what she wants, but now she wants more? Emotions are so difficult and confusing. Edwin rises from his desk.

  “Agnes, you are dismissed for the rest of the day.” Edwin puts on his suit jacket and walks to the door of his office. Agnes blocks the way.

  “Edwin, I am — ”

  Edwin is cold and formal. “You are in my way.” Agnes says nothing. She steps out of Edwin’s path and looks down at the floor.

  As Edwin walks to the lobby, he smooths the lapel of his suit jacket and buttons the middle button. In the lobby a man stands and says, “I am Lifto the Magnificent!”

  Lifto the Magnificent is not, in any conventional sense of the word, Magnificent. He is squat, hairy and wearing a purple unitard. He is excited. He’s meeting Edwin Windsor. This must mean his career is finally taking off. He knows he has talent, what he needs is someone to help him reach the next level. He believes that Edwin is that man. This is very, very exciting.

  When Lifto becomes excited, his complexion turns a deep shade of red that can only be described as purple’s mortal enemy.

  Edwin lies, “I am pleased to meet you Mr. Lifto.”

  “The Magnificent!” says Lifto.

  “My mistake. Mr. The Magnificent.”

  Out of a sense of professionalism, Edwin takes Lifto into his office and goes through the motions. He discovers that Lifto’s sole power is the ability to lift about 10,000 pounds. Lifto is inordinately proud of his ability. He also likes lifting cars so that pretty woman can have a place to park. It is his disturbed idea of chivalry. Lifto does not tell Edwin that after such feats he swells with pride, turns purple and fails miserably in his attempt to woo the freshly parked women.

  Edwin quickly discovers that Lifto is a man with something to prove. He craves attention. This is unfortunate, because Edwin believes Lifto’s real value is his anonymity.

  Edwin has a way that Lifto can become a wildly successful. But it requires that he never, ever be famous. For the moment that Lifto became famous he would be an easy target for even the most minor of superheroes. Lifto can make a killing, but it will have to be a quiet killing. How to convince Lifto of this? Because not only does Lifto want to be famous, he thinks he already is.

  Lifto tries to impress Edwin with a scheme of his own devising. His plan is to go on a car-throwing spree during which he will heave cars through the front windows of banks in a three-state area. He follows this rudimentary description of his plan with, “And rob them of course.”

  “I’m not sure that — ” Edwin starts

  “I rip the door off safe, take all money and leave. Maybe throw police car, maybe not. You know, uhh, details. What you think?” Although Edwin doesn’t understand how it is possible, Lifto’s broken, heavily accented English makes his plan sound even dumber than it actually is.

  “I don’t think it’s a very good idea.”

  “No rob bank? But that where money is!” Lifto protests. He laughs as if he has said one of the most original things in the long-winded history of saying things. Lifto is disappointed when, instead of joining in the hearty guffaw, Edwin searches for a non-existent speck of dirt under his perfectly manicured fingernails.

  “I just lift up safe and SMASH it on ground!”

  Edwin sighs. This is probably as good a time as any. He says, “The problem is not the safe. Or police cars. Or lifting of any kind.”

  “No lifting?” Lifto asks.

  “No. And no bank robbing either.”

  “No banks? But...” Lifto draws a deep breath. He’s getting ready to tell his joke again. To make sure it is funny, this time he is going to tell it very loud. Edwin cuts him off.

  “Yes, yes, that’s where they keep the money. But if you rob banks, you lose money.”

  “That is no sense making.”

  “I’ll try to explain. You see, if there was money in robbing banks, everyone would rob banks.”

  “But is all profit!”

  Edwin presses a panel on the wall and a hidden whiteboard is revealed. He uncaps a marker and asks, “So how much cash do you expect to take in your average bank robbery?”

  “$1,000,000?”

  “Ah, ambition. Large numbers. I like that line of thought, but unfortunately the average bank robbery grosses only $5,000.”

  “5,000?”

 
“Yes, only $5,000. Hardly worth it.”

  “But $5,000 is lot of money.”

  “$5,000 wouldn’t even pay for my suit. But let us assume,” (wildly, thinks Edwin), “that you are above average and you are able to gross $10,000 for each bank robbery.”

  Edwin writes $10,000 on the board.

  “But I to rob many, many bank!”

  “Of course, that is your plan. And it is my point. Just stay with the numbers, Lifto. So, $10,000 is your benefit from robbing an individual bank. Now, what does it cost for you to rob a bank?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing! Lifto strong like bull. Easy for me to throw cars.”

  “Of course it is easy for you to throw cars. But while you are throwing cars and robbing banks you can’t do anything else. It costs you time at the very least. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m concerned with what it would cost you if you were caught.” Edwin waits for it. He does not have to wait long.

  “NO ONE CAN CATCH LIFTO THE MAGNIFICENT!”

  “No, of course not. How silly of me. But let’s just say it was possible. Not in the real world. But in the numbers. These are just numbers, Lifto. Like make-believe. So stay with me. Stay with the numbers.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, hypothetically, how many years do you think — ”

  “But NO ONE CAN CATCH LIFTO!”

  “The sentence for armed robbery, first offense, is usually 7 years.”

  “But I am to rob many banks!”

  “Of course you are. So the sentence would be longer. Let’s call it 20 years.”

  “That’s better.”

  “Now, let’s assume that instead of going to prison for those 20 years, you hold down a job.” Lifto shakes his mane of hair indignantly. Lifto does not work for other men. He is a ruler of men. A mighty, hairy, lion. Edwin can see that he is losing him again. “A normal job. Say construction.”