Patrick McLean - How To Succeed in Evil

“Money? Money? What makes you think I want money? I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. I don’t need money. What I need is the Empire of Lower Alabama before me on bended knee. Show me how I can take over Alabama, Louisiana and West Florida.”

Edwin is very careful that his emotions do not register on his face. “Madame, I have labored for more days than I care to remember. I have presented you with a scheme that can easily make you the wealthiest woman in the world.”

“I told you, I don’t want money. I want control!”

“The easiest way to control something is to own it. And what’s the point in fighting for something, when you can simply buy it?”

“Silly boy, one cannot buy the hearts and minds of the people.” Edwin has no idea what Iphagenia is talking about. In his experience the sad truth of human nature is not that people can be bought, but that they can bought for so little. Iphagenia charges on, “One must conquer them! One must defend one’s territory with cunning and force and might. Glorious battle that offers the chance of gallantry and heroics!”

Later, Edwin will realize that it was the word gallantry that tore it for him. Now he just says, “Madame, if you are too stupid to recognize your own advantage, I simply cannot help you.”

Iphagenia presses her desiccated lips together and squints. “Mr. Windsor, I have shared my dream with you.” She blinks back tears of the purest distilled crazy. “And you sir, you have shat upon it. That is rude. Just very simply rude. And I am now upset.” Iphagenia waves her hand and a great number of slave boys surround Edwin.

“I am thankful that you have come to the soon-to-be Empire of Lower Alabama. For that has given us the chance to teach you some manners. Alabaster, we order that he be confined with the pigs. Let us see how he enjoys being shat upon.”

As they drag him away, Edwin asks Daniel, “You do realize that this is completely insane?”

“I see your lips moving,” says Daniel, “but all I hear is Harvard and Yale. Harvard and Yale.”

Edwin breathes out and lets himself be dragged.

As a deeply theoretical man, Edwin has thought long and hard about hostage situations. Not only does he have clients to advise, but in his profession being taken hostage is bound to happen sooner or later. Key to Edwin’s thinking is the idea that negotiation is overrated. Anyone who thinks that kidnapping is a good idea is irrational. And, with an irrational person, a rational process, like negotiation, is chancy at best.

The way Edwin sees it, taking a person, or anything else, to eventually get money, is inefficient. If you want money, you should take money. But then if you want money, why steal? There are any number of ways to borrow money. Money can also be earned. Money can be obtained through fraud. As a general rule one should not steal money when in need of money. One should only steal when it is overwhelmingly convenient.

In fact, theft in itself is crude. A remnant of the time when barbarous populations rode across windswept plains to sack entire civilizations. Why go to the trouble of taking something when, with a little imagination and planning, you can convince your victim to give it to you? And the theft of a person is worst of all. People are difficult to transport. Difficult to keep in good condition. And, worst of all, when people are taken, irrational value is attached to them.

“Consider,” Edwin might say when explaining this to a client, “the most obnoxious child you have ever known. Perhaps you have been forced to endure the presence of such a creature at the lawn club luncheon or at a museum benefit. In the midst of your sorbet, you have surely thought, ‘I would pay handsomely to have that brat’s vocal chords removed, table-side, before the desert course.’

“And let us further posit that this is not merely a bad day for this child, but, in fact, he will undoubtedly grow to become the kind of unrestrained boor who laughs too hard at tasteless jokes and will one day beat his wife to death with a nine iron.

“All in all, this person is a benefit only to lawyers, and the apple of only his mother’s well-medicated eye. But if you kidnap this monster, at any point in his obnoxious life-cycle, the sympathy of untold millions will flow towards him. Even though society will be measurably better off without him. For this reason, kidnapping simply isn’t worth the feelings of righteous indignation it evokes among the herd.”

There are so very few truly workable criminal schemes. Edwin views all crimes as recipes. The right amount of this, the correct amount of that and, at the end, money. For all of his clients, Edwin tries to make sure that the amount of money at the end is far, far greater than the cost of the ingredients.

The costliest ingredient in kidnapping is secrecy. Not only do all of the conspirators have to keep quiet about the affair — a virtual impossibility, with more than two people involved — but they also have to maintain the secrecy of the hostage’s location. The entire scheme depends on it as a lever depends on its fulcrum.

So as he sits, shackled in the middle of a pig sty, Edwin has fewer worries than most people in his situation. He is being held at his last known location. And he knows that Agnes will call upon considerable resources to come to his aid. Not that she will have to. In this case, even a call to the local police might sort it out. Edwin smiles when he thinks of the logic of fighting incompetence with incompetence. So in this unusual circumstance, Edwin’s greatest worry is for his suit.

As Edwin was dragged away, he had hoped to have a chance to remove his jacket. But none came. He had been thrown into the sty. And while his landing had been soft, it was also incredibly filthy. Even as Edwin struggled to regain his feet, they had swarmed him and crushed him once again to the liquid filth. Edwin had pleaded with them, “Please. Please, spare the jacket.” But the mob did not listen. Even though he did not resist, several people had sat on him while they chained his feet.

After the initial violence Edwin had been left alone. The pigs, who had wisely retreated from the human foolishness, now inspect the newest member of their sty. They snort and nudge Edwin. They quickly deem him harmless and inedible and return to wallowing in the mud. Filthy animals, some would say, but Edwin recognizes the native intelligence of these beasts. Pigs do not have sweat glands. Edwin’s is not exactly sure how he knows this, but this odd bit of trivium explains a great deal. The cesspool where he finds himself confined is the pig’s air conditioning system. They cover themselves in mud to cool themselves, and protect their skin from sunburn.

Edwin squints at the sun. Sunburn will be a problem. As well as dehydration. Another, more survivally-minded man, would be covering his own delicate skin with mud right now. But Edwin does not descend to such behavior. He does not revert to the level of the savage. Better to die first, he thinks, than to give up what little dignity he has left. Edwin produces a spotless handkerchief from inside his jacket — a minor miracle, considering recent events — and cleans what filth he can from his face, hands and hair.

Edwin stands for as long as he is able, but eventually gravity pulls him down into the mud. The pigs wallow. Edwin broods. The sun moves across the sky. Edwin dozes as best he can while sitting up.

* * * *

“Oh my heavens. Mr. Windsor, bless your heart, you are a sight.”

Edwin opens his eyes and sees Iphagenia holding an absurd parasol over her head. Around her a retinue of slave boys fan their taffeta-wrapped queen. Edwin stands and straightens his ruined apparel as best he can, “Your hospitality, madam, leaves much to be desired.”