“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?”
“And here I thought that just came from beating you?”
“After both clubs melted? There is no such thing as coincidence Topper. It is always, always your enemies conspiring against you.”
“Okay, so what?”
“He’s cheated. He just lost his moral center. Now he’s adrift in a world of complex choices. He has rediscovered his soul, so to speak. But he threw away the owner’s manual for it years ago. It is a fascinating predicament. He will need someone to turn to for guidance.”
“Hoooo boy, that’s rich. And it sounds like loser’s limp to me. You’re trying to tell me that if you zapped me with a ray that suddenly made me into Mother Friggin’ Teresa — repenting my evil defense-lawyer ways — no longer defending drug dealers, embezzlers, wealthy pederasts — all the high-paying scum of the earth — giving up the whores and the cocaine, devoting myself to patient, non-profit work and girls who are as tall as they are wide — that I would have some kind of gratitude for you? And then I would come to you for a little fatherly advice?”
“The only way to overcome such a man is to break him down inch by inch. Excelsior is a man with no character. He has no real integrity, just a blind lust for victory. Now that he has cheated, now that he has realized the full range of his options, I expect him to fall apart under the weight of his own power.”
“Seriously, I think you’re cracked. Terribly strained from your ordeal and defeat. I advise you not to sign any contracts or make any big life decisions, because you are — ”
“Topper — ”
“Edwin, if you messed with my head like that, you’d be lucky if I didn’t dress up in a fairy costume and pipe bomb your house. Seriously. If the most powerful man in the world comes unglued, GOD HELP US! God help us all.”
Edwin smiles at his friend, “I would have thought you might have made that appeal a little farther south.”
“What are you talking about? Sure, the devil is the patron saint of all defense lawyers, but God loves me. I’m meek.” Topper leans out the window and yells at a nondescript white van driving slowly in the left lane. “Outta the way urinal puck! We’re not getting any younger!” Then he pulls his head back in the car and continues as if nothing had happened, “That’s why I’m going to inherit the earth.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
The Trap is Baited
He doesn’t trust me, thinks Director Smiles. He doesn’t respect me. I have nothing he needs. I have no leverage. None of this is good for Smiles. He has bootlicked, backstabbed and connived his way to the top of the bureaucratic pile so that people would be forced to do what he said. And now Excelsior isn’t playing along. When the others find out that Smiles can’t control Excelsior, they will laugh. It will not be the knowing laugher of loving parents as they watch their children struggle to take their first steps. No, it will be the laughter of jackals who realize that one of their own will not survive his wounds and, for today at least, the feast will come without the effort of a hunt.
They will turn on him. And after he is gone, they will rename a section of the South Dakota state highway after him. If Smiles had to choose between bureaucratic death and real death, he’d take real death. Except he is pretty sure he doesn’t have the guts it would take to kill himself.
So, mostly, he feels sorry for himself. Smiles is good at feeling sorry for himself. And it helps that the situation isn’t fair. Why did Excelsior have to do what Gus said and not what Smiles said? After all, Smiles is Gus’s boss. Maybe Excelsior doesn’t understand that. Maybe Smiles should try telling him that. But every time he sees the hero, Smiles just locks up. He can’t say what he wants to say. Everything just comes out wrong.
It isn’t fair. And the way Smiles looks at it, it is his job, the government’s job, to make sure everything is fair for everybody. If Smiles had stopped to think about it, he might have realized that this was the surest, shortest recipe for human misery ever invented. But he doesn’t think about it. He’s not in this game for the greater good. He’s in it for power.
Yesterday, he received a request from a Senator from California. An oil rig was falling off its platform. It could have easily become an ecological disaster. And, of course, the oil company would have to shut down production. Which would have been a financial disaster as well. The only way to repair the platform was to use a gigantic crane ship. There are only two in the world, the Gargantua and the Pantagruel. And both of them are inconveniently in Dubai being used to construct islands shaped like Disney characters. It would have taken many months and many millions to bring one of them to repair the senator’s oil rig.
But, as the Senator explained, Excelsior could save the day. He did not need a place to stand to lift that much weight. Wouldn’t take him but a second. So if Director Smiles could find a free moment in the big guy’s schedule, the favor would not be forgotten.
The thing is, this Senator is a member of the appropriations committee. He has direct influence on the disbursement of trillions of dollars. Smiles is no fool. If he can get this taken care of, he’ll have a chip he can play in the big game. And you can never have too many of those chips. Besides, it would be easy for Excelsior. So Smiles messaged him with, “Ecological disaster, come quick!”
When Excelsior arrives, he explains the matter to him. Not in the chip-in-the-big-game way, but in the hero-providing-a-great-service-to-his-country way. Sure Smiles stutters a little bit, but all in all he doesn’t do that bad of a job.
“I hate oil,” Excelsior says, “It takes forever to get it out of my suit. There’s got to be another way.”
“Not for nearly a year,”
“No.” says Excelsior. Then he flies away.
Thinking Excelsior was well out of earshot, Smiles shrieks, “You come back here!” In an instant, Excelsior returns. He floats an inch in front of Smiles’ face. “I said NO.” Smiles quivers with terror. Excelsior disappears in an instant, but Smiles shakes for many minutes afterwords.
When the terror wears off, the self-pity sets in. But it doesn’t last long. Smiles is spineless and contemptible, but he isn’t weak. He isn’t completely powerless. He walks to his office with a scowl on his face. He needs to get something on Excelsior. Or give him something he wants. But what could it be? What do you get the man who can do anything? What do you get on the man that nothing can hurt? For all his big talk and pain-in-the-ass, tough-guy attitude, Gus has something on Excelsior. He thinks he’s so much better than Smiles. But Smiles now realizes that Gus has been playing the game just like everybody else. Everything is politics.
Smiles knows he can play politics better than Gus. Because he’s smarter than Gus. Isn’t he? He’ll get something on Excelsior, and then he’ll have the biggest chip in the biggest game around. Oh yeah, nobody will tell him what to do. Even the president will be nice to him. Nobody will ever play Smiles again. He’ll be above the game.
He sits at his desk. On it is an envelope with the words “The solution to your problem” p
rinted in black magic marker. Smiles can’t believe what he finds inside.
It is a brief detailing how Edwin Windsor poisoned Gus. There are pictures of the device, a chemical description of the poison, and several 8x10s of Edwin patting Gus on the back. Edwin’s hand is circled in red. Oh, this is good. This is exactly what he needs to get into Excelsior’s good graces. Not enough to control him, but certainly enough to open up detanté.
Smiles almost considers that this might be a set up. He almost wonders who would benefit from Edwin Windsor being the target of the most powerful man in the world. He almost checks to make sure that having Edwin out of the way will be to his advantage. Almost.
If he was smarter, or more cunning, he might consider blackmailing Edwin with this evidence, getting as much money out of him as he can, and then still unleashing Excelsior upon him. Director Smiles thinks of none of this. He allows himself to be played. What does he care? He’s getting what he wants out of the deal. What would he think if he knew that Edwin Windsor had prepared that envelope especially for him?
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The Reckoning
Edwin stands in the ruins of his building. After the extensive damage done by the conflict between Lifto and Excelsior, the entire building was deemed more expensive to repair than to simply rebuild. So, the structure is totaled — dead as it stands. As Edwin shuffles through the dust and the debris, he is philosophical about waste, destruction and loss.
Everything has its natural and unavoidable consequence. He can see that now. He can see something of the whole pattern, inevitable and inexorable. All of this destruction is a consequence of what came before.
Edwin is surprised to find that he is not afraid. Ever since Agnes’s death, long-forgotten feelings and emotions have coursed through him. Most of these spasms have been unpleasant. He has struggled, not only to keep control of his thoughts, but to remember the words that are used to describe emotions. It has been so long since he felt anger, greed, hope, fear, sadness, joy — any of them. But now, Edwin is calm, resolved, resigned to his fate.
“Jesus, you can’t go home again can ya?” says Topper, as he emerges from the darkness. “Just look what they have done with the place.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for you, you morose bastard. I was worried I would find you here. This is no good for you. Lingering in the past.”
Now Edwin feels a little fear. But not for himself. “You should go. It’s not safe.”
“Well if it’s not safe for me, then it’s certainly not safe for you. You’re not as resourceful as I am.”
“Excelsior is coming for me.”
“Then what are you doing here? You gotta run. You gotta hide.”
Edwin smiles at his little friend. “No, Topper, the time for running and hiding — the time for playing it small — has passed. This is the reckoning.”
There is a beeping. It is the sound of a large truck backing up. Men in white jumpsuits throw open the doors. Inside is The Cromoglodon. He senses a chance at freedom and roars, rattling the panels of the truck that contains him.
Edwin reaches into his pocket and triggers the fear. The Cromoglodon moves to the back of the truck and cowers. Edwin reaches out to the beast. “It’s all right,” he says, even as his hand stays firm on the trigger. The Cromoglodon moves towards him. Edwin lowers the intensity of the fear. When The Cromoglodon touches him, Edwin deactivates the electrodes. Relief floods through The Cromoglodon, and he holds Edwin’s hand, weeping with joy.
“You see,” Edwin says, “he is not completely lost. He is trainable. All that is needed is the proper reinforcement mechanism. We may yet civilize him.” Edwin gives The Cromoglodon a pat on the head, as one might pat a dog, and walks away. The Cromoglodon shuffles after him on his knees, unwilling to leave his master’s side.
“Oh,” says Topper, “okay, you’re gonna get revenge for what Excelsior did to Agnes. I like to see that passion in you Edwin. Revenge is what keeps me young.”
“Revenge isn’t the point Topper. There is work to be done here. My work. And even if I find pleasure in it, it must be done all the same.”
“But what if The Cromoglodon can’t kill Excelsior. What if Excelsior can’t be killed?”
Edwin sets his jaw. A slight tension ripples across his brow. “Then we are doomed.”
There is a sonic boom and Excelsior appears before them.
“Windsor, I’m going to enjoy this,” says Excelsior.
Edwin gives The Cromoglodon a little pat on the shoulder, “Go on. Get him.” The Cromoglodon looks unsure.
“Look at me, Windsor,” says Excelsior.
But Edwin is still coaxing The Cromoglodon. “It’s okay. You go ahead.”
Excelsior lunges for Edwin. His fingers stop mere millimeters from Edwin’s throat. No one is more surprised at this than Edwin. He and Excelsior look down. The Cromoglodon has grabbed Excelsior. For a moment, all is still. Then The Cromoglodon lifts Excelsior into the air and slams him into the ground. The concussion knocks Edwin and Topper from their feet.
Excelsior is hurt, but he’s not stunned. He’s been thinking about the last time this happened. And he’s got a few more things to try. The last time, he had tried to match brute strength with brute strength. He won’t make that mistake again. Even as he feels his ribs compress as they contact the ground, beams of energy leap out from his eyes. The smell of burning flesh fills his nostrils. He laughs. The Cromoglodon’s face is burning.
The Cromoglodon bellows in pain. He takes his other hand and smashes the palm of it into Excelsior’s face. His fingers find Excelsior’s eyeballs and press. Excelsior blinks. It’s an involuntary reflex. The back of Excelsior’s eyeballs get hot and he lets the beams drop. Using his legs, he kicks The Cromoglodon high into the air. As the beast recedes into the sky, Excelsior realizes that The Cromoglodon’s shirt is displaying an advertisement for painkillers.
As they watch the struggle, Topper turns to Edwin and says, “Let’s make it interesting. I’ll put twenty dollars on Excelsior.”
Edwin does not look away from the fight. “If Excelsior wins, he’s going to kill me.”
“Yeah, right, so you’re clearly betting on the other guy,” says Topper, still cheery.
“And he’ll probably kill you as well.”
“Ah, whatever. At least I’ll die twenty dollars richer. And that way I'll be less upset about getting killed," Topper says with a smile.
The Cromoglodon literally hits the ground running. As he lumbers towards Excelsior, the caped hero fills his lungs with air. The Cromoglodon bellows with rage and braces for impact, but he never gets there. Hurricane force winds hold him back as Excelsior breathes out. The Cromoglodon fights against the current of air. His fingers clench and unclench in frustration. He’s dying to get a hold on Excelsior.
Edwin says to Topper, “You see, one-dimensional thinking. If The Cromoglodon would only step to the side.”
“Yeah. I think you should just pay up now,” says Topper.
Excelsior grows red in the face and starts to sputter. He has run out of air, but The Cromoglodon has not run out of anger. He crashes into Excelsior. Using his forearms like an ape, he bludgeons Excelsior to the ground. Excelsior rolls out from underneath the blows and soars into the sky. The Cromoglodon stands there, trying to figure out what’s going on. Now he’s all worked up. He wants something to smash. But the something he was smashing just flew away.
“I can’t believe it!” says Topper. “The BUM! He ran away. What a cowar — ” Before Topper can finish his sentence, Excelsior comes streaking out of the sky and hits The Cromoglodon at a terrific speed. The Cromoglodon is pushed backwards. His feet leave large furrows in the earth, but he does not fall. He whirls to face his attacker, but Excelsior is already gone.
Excelsior swoops down and hits him again. This time The Cromoglodon slumps to a knee. He coughs up some blood.
“I got some bad news,” says Topper. “I think I�
�m winnin’ twenty bucks.”
This time, Excelsior is really cooking. He means to break The Cromoglodon’s spine. No more holding back. He gets in the slot and pours it on. It feels good. But just as he is about to hit The Cromoglodon, something happens. His target disappears. Then earth leaps up and hits him in the face. Then it does it again. And again. Things go black.
The Cromoglodon has grabbed Excelsior by the cape. He’s beating Excelsior against the ground like a rug. A very dirty rug that The Cromoglodon is very, very angry with.
Topper tries to hand Edwin a $20 bill. Edwin ignores him.
Now Excelsior is unconscious on the ground. The Cromoglodon stands over him and gives a triumphant roar. As he bends to deliver the coup de grace, Edwin triggers the fear.
The Cromoglodon scurries to Edwin’s side. In The Cromoglodon’s mind, Edwin does not cause the pain. Edwin is the one who stops the pain. Edwin has worked hard to cultivate this illusion. “That’s enough,” he says.
Edwin reaches into his pocket for a walkie-talkie. He keys the mike and says, “We’re a go.” Men in jumpsuits emerge from the truck. They rush to Excelsior, put him on a stretcher and bring him to Edwin. “Is he dead?” Edwin asks.
As if in response, Excelsior stirs slightly. From a long way away he asks, “What are you going to do to me?”
“I’m going to reason with you," answers Edwin.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Hero or Villain?
When Excelsior wakes up, the first thing he sees is Edwin Windsor. Edwin sits in a plush leather chair on a wooden platform raised off the crude floor. Next to the chair there is a small side table with a pot of tea and a video projector. Edwin sips the tea and asks. “How are you feeling?” His concern almost sounds genuine.
“A little woozy,” says Excelsior. The room smells musty to him. He sees worklights strung on the ceiling. When he tries to move he realizes that he cannot. This has never happened before. Excelsior is not happy. He struggles vigorously, but gets nowhere.
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