Patrick McLean - How To Succeed in Evil

“And she told me that there is always a way to oppose, if not the instance, then the principle of a thing. And that it is in principle that true strength is found. The strength of character that can transform ordinary people into something more.

“At the time, I thought I knew what she meant. I was mistaken. And, at the time, I am certain I did not fool her. But finally, I have learned her lesson. I know what it means to oppose a thing. I know what it means to rise to meet a principle, however cruel and demanding it may be. No matter what it might require. I know what it means to become something more than you are in the service of an idea.

“It is small consolation. She is gone. And once again we are left behind to make what sense we can from the world.”

Edwin steps down, but does not return to his seat. He walks to the back of the church and stands in the shadows. He observes the ritual, but derives no comfort from it. There is no belief or fantasy that can prevent him from seeing things as they are. Edwin knows his complicity. He knows he is an accomplice in the murder of Agnes Plantagenet. One of many. He does not want his guilt removed. He does not want his sin expiated. One does not expiate the truth.

When the service is over, the priest approaches Edwin. “Those were very kind words for a very special woman. I have always found Proverbs to be my solace in times of trial. Are you familiar with chapter two, verse ten? ‘The way of the LORD is strength to the upright: destruction shall be to the workers of iniquity. The righteous shall never be removed: the wicked shall not inhabit the earth.’”

Edwin looks at the priest. “Unfortunately, my work does not leave me time to read popular fiction.” The priest straightens up as if he has been slapped. He does a double-take. There is nothing humorous about Edwin’s manner, yet there is no tone of insult. The priest walks away with his confusion, saying nothing else.

“Those sure were nice words,” says Topper, “I’m not sure I know what they meant, but those sure were nice words there E.”

“Thank you Topper.”

“So, we gonna get him?”

“Yes,” says Edwin. “We’re going to get him.”

“Really?” says Topper. Unable to believe that Edwin is agreeing to revenge. “That’s great. ‘Cause I know you’re hurting. And there is nothing like a big old dish of comforting revenge, to make you right with the world.”

“Perhaps,” says Edwin, “But the real question is, which him?”

“Whattya mean?”

“Who are we going to revenge ourselves upon?”

“Excelsior! Who else?”

“They are both at fault. It is only because Lifto resisted that there was a fight. It is only because of the pointless struggle that Agnes was harmed. We could just as well blame Lifto, or the Cromoglodon, or any of a host of villains or heroes.”

“Yeah, but I still say we get Excelsior. Lifto’s one of the good guys. I mean, one of the bad guys. I mean, he’s on our side. Besides, Lifto’s in prison. Not much point.”

Edwin smiles. Topper doesn’t get it. There are no good guys. There are no bad guys. There’s just Edwin and everybody else. And the way Edwin feels right now, they don’t stand a chance. Edwin doesn’t explain this to Topper. Instead he says, “That’s okay Topper, we can get Excelsior. But I say we get them all, just to be safe.”

“Oh Edwin, I like the sound of that. This new you is, is — I don’t know, but I like it. Does this mean I get to have a gun? A big friggin gun? Bigger than me even?”

“No Topper.”

“No?” asks Topper, obviously disappointed. “But we’re supposed to be the bad guys!”

“No, Topper. You can have a gun. I’m saying that I don’t think they make a gun big enough for what I need you to do.”

The Cromoglodon wakes early and hungry after a hard night’s work. It was cold last night, so he knocked a small apartment building over on himself to keep warm. He shrugs off the rubble with a tremendous yawn. His clothing is displaying an advertisement for orange juice. Definitely time for breakfast. He sets out in search of a diner or a grocery store to eat.

As he stumbles out into the empty street he is almost aware that something isn’t right. He is accustomed to waking up to sirens, or, at the very least, people screaming and running away from him. Today, there is none of that. The Cromoglodon spends most of his time being confused, so he figures that everything is normal.

The first rocket catches him in the ear.

“Take that you son-of-a-bitch,” Topper yells. He balances the smoking rocket launcher on his shoulder and hustles around the corner as fast as his short legs will carry him.

The Cromoglodon isn’t hurt. The Cromoglodon isn’t really even annoyed. After all, it’s only a rocket. But Topper’s got his attention. So he follows. When he turns the corner, a second volley of rockets take him off his feet.

“Ahahahahahahahahahahahah! You block-headed bastard!” Topper yells at him from the next corner.

Still mostly curious, the Cromoglodon picks himself up and lumbers on. He follows the shrieking midget into a park. That’s where he steps on the land mines. For all his toughness, the Cromoglodon has very sensitive feet. The land mines get to him. He bellows in pain. Now he’s pissed.

“Oh shit,” says Topper. Around the corner is a red MG. Topper leaps into the car and speeds away. The car is fast, but not quite fast enough. As the Cromoglodon gives chase, he’s able to get a hand on the bumper. He pulls half of the trunk free. Topper gives it all he’s got. He drives like an inspired madman — heedless of red lights, medians, newspaper boxes.

With the Cromoglodon close behind him, Topper barrels down a pier. When he reaches the decrepit warehouse at the end, Topper’s foot never leaves the accelerator. He crashes through the back wall of the warehouse and sails into the harbor beyond. The car quickly sinks.

The Cromoglodon skids to a stop in the middle of the warehouse. The Cromoglodon can not swim. It is not a matter of knowing how. His incredibly tough structure is simply too dense to permit any buoyancy.

Edwin triggers the detonator.

The warehouse and the Cromoglodon explode and sink to the bottom of the harbor. The Cromoglodon does not sink like a stone. Stones don’t struggle. Stones don’t have lungs that burn for air. As stupid as he is, even the Cromoglodon is smart enough to realize that he is going to die. Fear, the true gut-wrenching, bowel-loosening fear of death is something that the invulnerable Cromoglodon has never been forced to consider. As he claws in vain against the dark water the certainty of death sinks it’s reptilian teeth into the Cromoglodon’s brain stem.

From the deck of a powerful motor yacht far out in the harbor, Edwin allows himself a brief smile and turns his attention to the radio. As the first dive team comes alongside in a zodiac raft with a soaked and shivering Topper, Edwin keys the mic. “Bravo team report.”

“Bravo Actual. I think we’ve got him. If not I’d hate to know what else is stirring up all this muck. We’re moving in.”

“Negative B-team, wait until favorable visibility conditions. Stay calm, safe and smart.”

“Sir, whatever else he is, he is drowning and soon to die.”

“Bravo Actual, whatever else he is, he deserves to die several times over. The medical team tells me that they will be able to revive him. The cold water will preserve him for several hours at least.”

“Roger that. Holding.”

“Holy Jesus, that was fun,” says Topper. Edwin does not understand Topper’s thrill-seeking behavior, but he is glad to see him happy.