How To Succeed in Evil (8 page)

With a deft hand Edwin throws a full Windsor knot into the silk tie. Two tugs and the knot is perfected. He folds the collar, double folds his shirt cuffs and inserts cufflinks. The links are nothing ostentatious or outrageous, just delicate circles, complete in themselves. Socks, pants, shoes, belt. Then he slides into the jacket and tugs his shirt cuffs free. Edwin takes a moment to admire the cut of the suit in the mirror. How diminished the suit had been without the wearer. But now, it is complete. And Edwin is completed by it. The art of the tailor is in the intersection, in the dance of fabric and occupant.

There is something terribly appropriate in dressing for dinner, Edwin reflects. Composing one’s self in order to be with others. For whatever faults Iphagenia Rielly might have (and misplaced lust is surely one of them) she did retain a sense of propriety. Of gracious living, if that were a phrase Edwin could use. And as long as a sense of this, a vestige of style and sensibility remained in the world, all hope could not be lost. Progress could be made.

Edwin leaves the room with a spring in his step.

Chapter Twelve 

Empress Josephine?

For years Edwin has guarded himself against the weakness of optimism. He has often seen false confidence punished in others by the relentless and unforgiving world. He has often heard cries of, “I’m invincible!” quickly followed by smaller, less forceful statements like “please, stop, don’t, I have a family.” But if you could ask him, as he descends Iphagenia’s ostentatious antebellum staircase, he might admit a certain — well not hope, you understand, but let’s just say, Edwin is prepared to believe that a glass exists. And further, that this glass holds liquid.

A servant directs Edwin towards the dining room. As Edwin walks he tugs a shirt cuff back into place. He has no real hopes for the cuisine, but he is hungry. At least his lower nature will be gratified.

The doors to the dining room swing open. And once again, Edwin realizes what an absurd emotion hope really is. As a younger man Edwin had often wondered why the progress of the human race was so slow, inconsistent and easily reversed. Why did the great minds not make the obvious leaps sooner? And why, when these leaps were made, did the great mass of men refuse to accept them? How, in any god’s name, was the library at Alexandria allowed to burn?

Before him is the answer to these questions. In the center of the room, on a raised dais, being fed fruit and fanned by well-oiled young men in loincloths is Iphagenia Rielly. She is dressed, as Edwin can only assume, as the Empress Josephine. A different man would be surprised, would break stride, gasp or perhaps even be struck blind from the sheer absurdity of it all. Edwin grinds his molars together and presses on.

“Why Edwin dearest, how nice of you to come throw yourself at my feet. I’ve even saved you a cushion. Isn’t that thoughtful of me?”

Edwin does not throw himself anywhere. Instead, he walks to the table and seats himself with great care. His size makes the low surface and delicate Louis XIII chair awkward and uncomfortable. But it is no matter. This is obviously a room in which dignity does not stand a chance.

“Where,” Edwin asks, “is the boy?”

Iphagenia’s laughter echoes in the high-ceilinged room. “I thought we could find some time to be alone together. To share our thoughts and speak of our feelings. Our feelings as adults.”

“I appreciate that. But I am here in a business capacity.”

“Oh Mr. Windsor, never mind about the boy, I’m the REAL villain in the family.”

Edwin says nothing. He even tries to think nothing. He merely looks at Iphagenia, and uses silence as a weapon of discomfort.

“Mr. Windsor, do you know what it is to be a woman in the South. In Lower Alabama. Raised and reared through the times I have known?”

Edwin doesn’t even move.

“Of course you do not. But mine is the sex which born to suffer. And the very blood that flows in my veins is born to misfortune. Is it so unreasonable that I would resist my fate? Would you not do the same in my shoes?”

In spite of his best efforts, Edwin blinks.

“Mr. Windsor, my husband was a dim, oafish creature. And I poisoned him myself. Does that surprise you? That evil should have such a beautiful and deceptive countenance?”

This does not surprise Edwin. In fact, it rather bores him. This is now a colossal time suck. Edwin is short on money. Which, of course, means that he is short on time. Better to cut his losses now.

Edwin removes the napkin from his lap, folds it and places it on the empty plate in front of him. “I take this monologue to mean that dinner is not forthcoming.” He stands and buttons his jacket. “Madame, I will require your car to take me to the airport.”

Iphagenia laughs so loudly she startles one of the well-oiled men who is fanning her. “Really Mr. Windsor, you surprise me in your naiveté. It is one thing to reject my sweet tea, it is entirely another to reject my hospitality.”

“I have neither talents nor time to waste.”

“Really now. And what else would you waste your time and talents on?”

“Something, anything that would show a profit.”

“I do not lack money. Do you think I have any scruples?”

Edwin considers carefully. “No.”

“Then scheme a scheme for me Mr. Windsor. That is what you do isn’t it? Scheming schemes, never taking action.” She looks lasciviously at one of the young men fanning her. “Seems terribly, what’s the word I’m looking for, impotent?”

“Do you have any special gifts or talents I should be made aware of?”

“Other than my feminine wiles?” She bats her eyes at Edwin in a hideous fashion, “I have no scruples. But I do have tremendous amount of money. Surely that is as thorough an ingredient list as you need for evil. And I am bored Mr. Windsor. Terribly bored.” She holds up her hands. “These are far too idle. Be the devil for my playthings won’t you?”

Edwin can’t help himself. Distaste wells into his face like a bruise. Iphagenia does not react well to this.

“Alabaster! See that he has what he needs.” The large black man moves to Edwin’s side. “And relieve him of his cellphone. We wouldn’t want him to have any distractions.”

Edwin unbuttons his coat and produces his cellphone. “I have never cared for the devices,” he says, as if all is right with the world.

As Iphagenia watches Edwin leave the room, there is no question in her mind that she has done the right thing. If her idiot son can be a villain, then she can be ten times the villain. This Edwin Windsor will merely be the tool, a technician in her employ. Besides, she does so enjoy making him uncomfortable.

Chapter Thirteen 

Following the Protocol

Topper is missing his tall friend. Perhaps, friend is not the exact word we are looking for here. Edwin doesn’t seem to have friends in the usual sense of the word, but Topper likes him all the same. There is no denying that Edwin is a source of fascinating clients.

What Topper can’t understand about Edwin is how a guy who is surrounded by such interesting people and opportunities can be so dull? Edwin never lets himself go. Never lets it all hang out. Surely Edwin must have urges? Topper has urges. And if there is one thing that Topper believes – one firm principle amid the shifting quicksand of the little lawyer’s moral life – it’s that you have to enjoy yourself. Topper believes that repression causes thin lips, sexless women and cancer.

Topper doesn’t think it’s wrong that Edwin pours so much of himself into his work. It’s good to like your work. In fact, Topper is having a great day at work. As a negotiation tactic, he has just thrown a chair through the side of a 500 gallon reef tank. Clearly, Topper enjoys his work. But at the end of the day, when the work is done, a man needs something else. A man needs vices.

The way Topper sees it, that’s how the whole system works. If you don’t have vices, then you save money. And a man who saves money – who doesn’t gamble or drink or do drugs or spend money on professional female companionship – well, in Topper’s mind this is a man who will always be less creative and productive than a man who is profligate in his ways.

Why would a Puritan need to work hard? Early to bed, early to rise. Whatever. But get yourself on the wrong side of a loanshark or develop a serious jones for real high-quality, first-class expensive bender these are the urges that inspire a man to greater efforts. You work hard to have the expensive extras. And you work even harder to pay them off before your legs are broken. This is the spirit that has made America great. This and the time-honored principle of sticking it to the other guy.

As Topper enters the lobby he says to Agnes, “Hey toots, how’s tricks?”

Agnes does not look up from what she is reading. “Deceptive, I should think. And no substitute for a sound strategy.”

“Work, work, work. That’s all it ever is up here. C’mon, what say you and me take a break? Hit the strip club for lunch?”

“I am afraid I will have to politely decline your revolting invitation.”

“So, is he back yet?”

“No,” says Agnes, she still hasn’t looked at Topper.

“When is he coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Topper asks. “You know everything about him.”

“He hasn’t called,” Agnes says with an air of great boredom.

“He hasn’t called?”

“Ah, there is an echo in here,” she says, looking into the high corners of the room. 

“What do you mean he hasn’t called?”

“Perhaps a rug would dampen it.”

“He hasn’t called? Is he in trouble?”

“Or some tapestries.”

“He’s in trouble. He’s got to be in trouble.”

“Ah, but I fear Edwin would not care for tapestries. Perhaps one of those newfangled white noise generators?”

“YOU CRAZY BROAD EDWIN’S IN TROUBLE! ANSWER MY QUESTION!”

Agnes pauses to let Topper complete a twitching and cursing fit. Once again she has reduced him to a state of apoplexy. Mission accomplished, she thinks to herself. But she cannot not resist one last dig. “Quite enough noise in here already.”

Topper sucks air into his lungs in preparation for a full-on tantrum. Agnes decides it best to cut him off, “I have not attempted to call him because we have a protocol.”

“Protocol? What’s this protocol?” asks Topper.

“It’s a set of rules that we have agreed to use when facing such situations.”

“Arrrrrrrrrrrgh! I know that. You don’t think I could pass the bar without knowing what a protocol is?”

“Pass the bar? Why I always assumed you had merely walked underneath it.”

“Ah, cheap shot you old bat. Tell me what’s what or I’ll let everybody know you’re the reanimated mummy of Mary Poppin’s grandma.”

“If Edwin does not make contact in 36 hours, there are a series of steps that I take to resolve any untoward situation and recover him.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“There are still five minutes remaining in the waiting period.”

“Five minutes. FIVE MINUTES! You’ve got to be shitting me. We gotta go. We gotta go right now.”

“Go whither and do which?”

Topper paced the wide marble floor furiously as he tried to piece a plan together. “We gotta go get him. We gotta get a shitload of guys. C’mon, this has to be in the plan, the protocol, whatever. Edwin’s good at this. Guys, guns, some dynamite. A bulldozer to knock in some walls. Hell, an armored bulldozer. Yeah, yeah. And a Cadillac. A big friggin’ Caddy to use as a getaway car. And make it a convertible ‘cause Edwin’s so tall.”

“Truly, you think of everything,” Agnes says as she calmly picks up the phone.

“Yeah, yeah. So that’s in the plan. Right?”

Agnes shakes her head.

“Then who are you calling? Somebody with a crapload of Ninjas in black body armor or something? Oh, oh, it’s gotta be somebody badass. Like a guy who farts laser beams out of his ears. A guy who can blow the side of a house in just by thinking about PEACHES!”

“No,” says Agnes, “This is far more important.”

“Who? Who is it?”

“I am calling Edwin’s tailor.”

Chapter Fourteen 

Just a Consultant

Edwin is taken to a large room with good light. Once upon a time, an attempt had been made to make this room into a kind of conservatory for the musical edification for young Eustace. When Eustace had shown no interest or aptitude for music, the attempt had been abandoned. All that remained was a grand piano. 

A guard is placed on his door, but to everyone’s surprise, Edwin makes no attempt to escape. He hangs his jacket over a chair, rolls up his shirt sleeves and goes to work.

From Edwin’s point of view, escape attempts are pointless. To begin with, he’s not exactly sure where he is. And when you don’t know where point A is, it’s almost always impossible to get to point B. That makes any “heroic” effort a foolish risk to one’s person and one’s health.

Besides, Edwin has a problem to work on. Edwin is never so happy as when he is faced with an intricate and potentially lucrative problem to solve. He thinks it unlikely that this entire escapade will wind up being anything other than a waste. But, for the moment, this is out of his hands. So Edwin ignores everything that is beyond his control and does what he does best. He thinks.

For the first two days, Edwin’s requests keep a team of assistants working around the clock. They gather information, collate data and print documents. Edwin is computer illiterate. Of course, that’s not the way he says it. He will tell you that he is not easily fooled by computers; or seduced by any of the attendant fetishes of the cult of data. Data, in itself, is meaningless. For data to be of any use at all it requires a mind. A mind that, working from a coherent theoretical framework, can draw inferences, see patterns, use logic, overcome the narrow-minded thinking that infects a world of specialists.

Computer screens are too small for non-specialized thoughts. Edwin prefers to organize information in physical space. Tables, floors, walls. He has all the furniture removed from the room except for several large tables and a grand piano. While he thinks he constantly rearranges papers, books, pictures. He often changes where he stands or sits. Even the sweep of sunlight across the room indicates new connections. Edwin literally erects the structure of the challenge around him so that he can immerse himself in the problem.