"BORING!" Topper yelled at the top his lungs. Stevie burst into the office.
"Do you need something, sir?" With Topper's ascension up the ranks, Stevie had been promoted from chauffeur to personal assistant.
"Yeah, Stevie. I need action."
"I'm sorry? I don't understand."
Topper stood up from behind the desk. "Action, danger, juice, you know what I'm talking about, Stevie? This place feels like a tomb."
"Well, the company is in mourning for Mr. Windsor."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's the problem. He's gone, but he's still here. Get me an interior decorator, we gotta liven this place up." As soon as he said it, Topper realized that the office wasn't the problem. It was the building. The corporate campus, the suburbs. The whole thing. He had captured the company, but he didn't want it.
Sure, he had all the power, it seemed like he couldn’t do anything with it. At least nothing that he wanted to do. Every second he sat there he could feel more responsibility settling into place on top him. Topper had never wanted a job, but now he was trapped by one? This was terrible.
And beneath all of his worries were the questions. What was that call with Edwin all about? Why did he try to tell Topper where he was going? Where was he? What was he up to? Did Topper know already? If he didn't he would certainly find out. Daniel's words from the jail hung over him. If Daniel was right, then as long as Edwin survived, Topper was living on borrowed time.
Style to which Doctor Loeb was accustomed? It was like a riddle. Didn't Edwin know how little patience Topper had for riddles? Is that what he was counting on? Why couldn't Topper figure it out? Style? Doctor Loeb was a trust-fund kid from Alabama who shaved his head and wore Nehru jackets in an attempt to be an Evil Genius. Nehru? Did that mean Edwin had gone to India? Or Jawaharlal, Nebraska? Topper couldn’t make any sense of it.
"Ehhh, this is agony," he said to the grey, empty room. "I wish something would happen."
As if something had been listening, something happened.
The eastern windows exploded with a rush of cold wet air. Topper was knocked off his feet, bounced off the wall and deposited in a heap behind the desk. "Son of a bitch," Topper muttered as he struggled to regain his feet, "I thought those windows were supposed to be bulletproof." When looked up he saw Billy standing in the middle of the grey office. "Oh, that explains it."
Billy said, "You lied to me."
"And you take it out on my storm windows?"
"There was no gold."
"Whattaya mean, it's Fort Knox! It's full of gold, everybody knows that."
"I tore the door off. The vault was empty."
"Okay, okay, calm down. We can figure this out. Let's just take it one step at a time. Let's say you've got a shit-ton of gold. You want to keep it safe."
"But I don't have any gold. I told you," Billy said.
Topper held up the short, stubby finger of frustration and said "Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh. If you had gold, you'd want to keep your gold safe from people who want to steal it, right?"
"Well, yeah."
"Okay, so here's what you might do. You might build a giant building. And then you might make it really strong. So strong and impregnable that it would make the world believe it's the ONLY place you would keep your gold. So that anybody who wanted to steal it would go there and try to get through your impossible security."
"But there was no gooold," Billy whined.
Topper sighed deeply and dramatically, putting his hand to his furrowed brow. This Evil consultant crap didn't come easy to him. Topper was beginning to see where Edwin got his attitude. "Right. That's the point. You'd put your gold someplace else. Someplace nobody knows about. Because if nobody knows where it is, it's really hard for anybody to find it." Topper nodded, "Right?"
"So where's the gold?"
"I don't know. That's the point."
"Oh, man, being evil is hard," said Billy as he slumped in defeat. "Wait a minute, you knew there was no gold in Fort Knox and you let me go there anyway?" Billy asked, anger putting the steel back in his spine.
"No. I thought there was gold there, honest. I'm just not surprised that there wasn't. I mean, you gotta admit, there's a logic to it. And..."
"And what?"
Logic to it. Logic. Style to which Dr. Loeb was accustomed! Of course, it made perfect sense. Not only did Topper have the answer to the riddle, he had the answer to his problems.
"And what?" asked Excelsior, growing impatient.
Topper came back from a long way away. He held up his index finger and said, "See this is why you need me."
"What do you know?"
"I know my cut of this is going to have to be 30%."
"30%! But…"
"No buts, flyboy. I am privy to confidential information. I know where the double-secret gold repository is hidden."
"Yeah, how would you know that?"
"'Cause I listened when Edwin Windsor told me."
"Okay. 30%."
"Okay then, one second." Topper removed his cellphone from inside his jacket pocket and said, "Gotta check on something." He punched in a number and, while the phone was ringing, he walked over the edge of the open window and looked down. Billy followed him like a puppy, "Do you mind, ya crowding me here!" said Topper.
"You know I have super hearing?" asked Billy.
"Then go stand over there and listen to a Bon Jovi tribute band playing at a nightclub in South Korea or something"
"What?"
"Over there!"
Billy shuffled off to the far side of the office.
"Hello?" lied the voice on the other end of phone.
"Did you kill him yet?" Topper asked Director Smiles.
"Unfortunately, he has eluded capture," said Smiles.
"What about that old bastard, Dusty Springfield, Gus, whatever—is he gonna do it or not?"
"Ah, yes, Gus is no longer with the agency, so I am afraid you are on your own."
"We had a DEAL!"
"I'm not empowered to make deals that break the laws of this great nation of ours."
"Jesus, have you listened to yourself? I mean, are you running for office, or did you get kicked by a donkey or an elephant or something?"
"I am sure that a criminal of your resourcefulness will find a way to survive."
"Enh-henh, that deal we made says I'm absolved of all wrongdoing. As pure as a Catholic girl after confession."
"Perhaps you can show it to your associate, Mr. Windsor."
"Heh, heh, heh." Topper laughed bitterly as he rolled his eyes, "I tell you what, I’ll cover my ass. You just worry about yourself. 'Cause you're in this too."
"Best of luck."
Topper snapped his phone shut. "Predictable." He turned to Billy. "Okay, Flyboy, you ready to be rich?"
"Yes. Where is the gold?"
Topper pulled his chin into his neck and looked from side to side like it was the dumbest question anybody had ever asked. "It's stashed in a mini-storage unit in East Jersey. Where else would it be?"
As Topper watched Billy disappear into the sky, tears welled up in his eyes. Now that his part was played, now that he was at the end of himself, his facade just fell away. He wept. He wept for himself. He wept for Edwin. He wept because he could see no other way.
