Patrick McLean - How To Succeed in Evil

As horrible as the press had been, Excelsior had hoped it meant they would no longer trot him out and parade him around for public relations events. But it was a false hope. And now, here he is, speaking to HoBWEC. He steps to the podium and pauses.

He squints against the lights and looks lost before the crowd. The audience doesn’t see it. They haven’t come all this way and spent all this money to bear witness to a fallible creature. They have come to see a god who walks amongst them. A man who they believe can impose his will upon the wrongs of the world and make them right. These powerful men have been seduced by a greater power. And this is possible because Excelsior is cloaked in virtue.

Excelsior leans in to the mic and says, “So, I just flew in from Cleveland. And boy are my arms tired.”

The room erupts in laughter. The crowd loves it. See, he’s just a regular guy. But it’s all a carefully created illusion. A public speaking coach had spent three days trying to explain the joke to Excelsior. Finally he gave up.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Excelsior says as he waits for the laughter to die down. “It’s wonderful to see all of you in good spirits today. As you know, I’m not a comedian. Which is good, because I’m not here to be funny.”

“Yeah, but could you ever beat up a heckler!” Laughter ripples through the crowd. Now Excelsior is confused. They aren’t supposed to laugh here. The teleprompter doesn’t say to wait for laughter.

Excelsior pauses a little longer than he should. Off-stage Gus is motioning frantically for him to continue. Better just to get it over with, Excelsior thinks.

“There are some who call me a hero. I’m not completely comfortable with that. I’m just a guy who was blessed with some talent. And I feel that means I should help out where I can. In fact, I think we should all help out where we can, don’t you?

“And I’ll tell you something else, and it might be the most important thing I have to say. I can’t do as much as you think I can. You. You guys have the power to be the real heroes. No, no, I’m serious.

“Sure I can knock an asteroid out of space. Sure I’ve combated all manner of threats to our American Way of Life. Combatted and overcome. But I can only be in one place at a time. And, when you get right down to it, they don’t let me stay in one place for very long these days. The world is a dangerous place, so I have to stay hoppin’.

“But what I want to tell you is you guys, the little guys, you’re in there, y’know wherever it is that you’re in, day in and day out. And there’s millions of you. There’s only one of me. Think about that. There’s only one of me. So not only do you guys,” he tries for a dramatic pause, but it suffocates in cheese, “outnumber me. You guys, are my heroes.”

The applause is polite, but not heartfelt. He is the hero. Who was he to take their heroes away? As Excelsior leaves the stage, he hears the Master of Ceremonies say, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please a big round of applause for the one, the only, the UNDEFEATED EXCELSIOR!”

Arrgh. Undefeated. Excelsior hates the word. Gus slaps him on the shoulder. “Good speech. Good speech. Now let’s go shake some hands.”

Excelsior’s hatred for handshakes and small talk, distracts him from self-loathing. Which is good, because they’re on him in a flash — the VIPs of the VIPs. They are all men of importance and accomplishment. They are all rich and envied.

Excelsior doesn’t envy them. He doesn’t want to work in the business world, so they mean nothing to him. He shakes hands, gently and carefully, steeling himself against any possible flinch reflex. “Thanks, thanks for coming out. Thanks for all you do. No, I mean it, you guy are the real heroes.”

It goes well, until Rick Apedis. Excelsior shakes his hand like all the others. He mutters a few empty phrases before he realizes that the man isn’t making small talk. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I said my company’s image is being wrecked by the Cromoglodon.”

Gus says, “Well, you got your logo all over him like he was a goddamned stock car. What do you expect if people are upset with you sponsoring a menace like that?”

“I’ve noticed that you haven’t stopped him,” says Apedis.

Excelsior’s face freezes. The man is right. Excelsior looks to Gus. Gus says something about security and priority and proportional response.

“That’s bullshit,” Apedis says. He points to Excelsior, “I think he hasn’t stopped the Cromoglodon because he can’t.” The group of powerful men fall silent as they wait for Excelsior’s response. The question hangs in the air. Is it possible to defeat the world’s most powerful Superhero?

Gus breaks the spell with his aw-shucks, West Texas drawl turned up to 11. “Of course he can stop that beast. But jes’ how much of this city do you want to lose in the process? I mean, me? Hell I don’t care. I’m a rancher’s son. Let our boy and that Cromogogomagomadon get a fussin’ and feudin’ — hammer this ol’ town flat as West Texas. Suits me just fine. I’ll move on in and raise cattle.”

Gus gets one, strained laugh.

“No sir, we’re waiting until we can get this brute out onto open ground where nobody’s gonna get hurt, exceptin’ of course the Gommagomacommadon hisself, then Excelsior here will batter him something fierce. But until sech time, Excelsior’s gonna do what he’s always done. Act in a way that protects the lives and the property of the citizens of the greatest country in the world. The United States of ‘Mercia. Let’s hear it for the big fella. Excelsior!” And Gus starts applauding. Such a cheap trick, but it works. Out of habit, everyone in the room joins in the applause.

Gus leans close to Rick Apedis and says, “Why don’t you step into the back and we’ll finish this conversation.” Before Rick can answer, he is flanked by two large men in suits.

In the back Rick is still angry. “Look, your little speech session doesn’t change anything. I still don’t think you can stop him.”

“I can too stop him,” says Excelsior, “if they’d let me.”

Rick looks at Excelsior. Then he turns to Gus. “It’s obvious I should be talking to you.”

“Hey,” says Excelsior.

“What do you want from us, Mr. Apedis? I told you, he’s not going after the Cromoglodon.”

“I think I have some say in that,” says Excelsior.

Gus whirls on Excelsior. “I told you, it’s not your job to think. That’s what we have smart people for. Now be quiet and let me handle this.”

“The problem is not the Cromoglodon,” says Apedis.

“What do you think the problem is?” says Gus.

“A man named Edwin Windsor.”

“Who’s he,” blurts Excelsior, “What’s his superpower?”

“He’s very, very smart. You see, he’s using the Cromoglodon to—”

“Blackmail you?” asks Gus.

“So to speak. He approached the head of Psyche and I for sponsorship rights to the Cromoglodon.”

“But you said you didn’t sponsor the Cromoglodon,” says Gus.

“I didn’t. Psyche did. Psyche sponsored the Cromoglodon with my logo.”

“Oh,” says Gus. “That is smart. And evil. Really, really evil.”

“It’s worse, it’s a monthly contract, to the highest bidder. So next month—”

“– the price is going to be bid even higher.”

“We can’t afford to have any more damage to our image, so we must outbid. Whatever it takes. And this will go back and forth until both companies are broke. And then he will move on to the next industry.”

Excelsior still doesn’t get it. “Gus, we have to stop the Cromoglodon! You have to give me another shot. You gotta.”

Gus shakes his head, “No. This rich bastard’s right. The Cromoglodon’s not our problem. Our problem is the guy who’s calling the shots.”