Patrick McLean - How To Succeed in Evil

“Oooh.”

“It’s awful.”

“Horrible.”

“He didn’t get it, and when I told him he could be making an 8-10% return in the market, his expression never changed. He just kept smiling. Do you have any idea how much money he wants to waste on a secret lair?”

“Hey, a man’s got to have a nice pad. Place to call home, to bring the ladies back to.”

Edwin ignores this. “That’s not even my point. I just can’t take it anymore. They’re all so inefficient and dangerously irrational. Stupid, that’s the word I’m looking for, stupid.”

Topper asks the obvious question. “If they’re so stupid, why don’t you just become a villain and force them all out of business.”

“Me,” Edwin laughs, “I’m no supervillain.”

“Edwin, you are the smartest, unhappiest person I know. If that’s not a breeding ground for villainy, I don’t know what is. Did you have an unhappy childhood?”

“My childhood was wonderful,” Edwin answers in a way that does not invite questions.

“Bullshit, bullshit. You must have gotten picked on because of your height.”

“No Topper, they don’t really pick on the big kids.”

“A cheap shot? From you? Edwin, I expected more. Look, seriously, I think you should try it. Part-time at first. It could be fun. I tell you what, I’ll even be your sidekick.”

“Villains don’t have sidekicks,” Edwin says, “they have henchmen.”

“Hmm, henchman feels a little small, what about Executive Vice President of Henchmenry?”

“Topper, I don’t want henchmen.”

“Oh, it’ll be great. I’ll carry a big friggin’ gun. Bigger than me even.”

Now Edwin wishes he was playing golf by himself. “No guns. There’s nothing smart or subtle about guns.”

“But we can do it, right?”

“Topper, I don’t want to be a villain.”

“Well, you don’t want to a consultant anymore either. You’re gonna have to come up with some options.”

Edwin stops his pre-swing routine. “Topper, I’m not going to become a villain, I’m far too smart for that.” He re-addresses the ball. Edwin cocks his head and sights the club down his left eye. His lips compress. The pause seemed to last an eternity. And then club starts back.

When the club reaches the very top of Edwin’s backswing, his phone rings.

Edwin tries to check his swing, but it is too late. Everything falls apart and the unthinkable happens. Edwin hits three inches behind the ball. His ball pops up in the air and comes to rest a mere 15 yards from the tee. This is the first time Topper has ever seen Edwin totally blow a swing. He’s so shocked, he can’t even think of anything to say.

Edwin frowns at his ball and then answers the phone. On the other end Agnes says, “Enjoying the serenity of the golf course?”

“I was. What is it?”

“I am vindicated.”

“What?”

“Edwin, the good Doctor Loeb...”

“Is he still there? Has he soiled the carpet?”

“Nothing of the sort. We had a very enjoyable tea. A nice chat. Edwin, his real name is Eustace Eugene Rielly the 3rd. So I did a little checking, and the short of it is, he’s loaded.”

“Ah. Exactly how loaded?” Agnes tells him. The strange little man has access to such wealth, it takes several minutes for her to adequately convey how much money is involved. When she is done, Edwin has no response.

“So shall I set another appointment for you?”

“Yes you shall. Send what details you have and a car. I need to think this through.”

Topper bristles. “What? You’re not going to finish the round? I’m just starting to make my move! C’mon, you at least gotta finish this hole? I’ll give you a mulligan.”

“No Topper, there’s money to be made.”

Now Topper carries his double scotch (neat) from the bar and climbs up into the waiting Town Car. Inside, Edwin scans a dossier on Dr. Loeb. Edwin is looking for handles. Anything he can use as leverage. It’s a very, very old game. Edwin is very, very good at it.

Topper is bored. He searches the backseat. He finds no television, no mini-bar, no heavily medicated women of questionable virtue. These are just a few of the reasons why he prefers to travel by limousine. But Edwin is a point A to point B kind of guy. All Topper cares about is the ride. And now his drink is empty. Great, Topper thinks, what a barren form of amusement this is going to be.

And then something remarkable happens. Edwin laughs. This laugh is not the rich laughter of strong men drinking lemonade and playing horseshoes on a summer afternoon. Nor is it the sharp, clear laughter of children on a playground. This is laugh that managed to be sinister, sane and free from irony. It scares Topper.

“E, what is it?” Topper asks, not sure that he wants to know the answer.

“Do you know the problem with money?” Edwin asks.

“I know my problem with money. I don’t have enough of it.”

“The problem with money isn’t making it. The real problem is keeping it.”

“Yeah, well...”

“Let’s say you amass a sum of money.”

“Say it? Let’s do it. Let’s amass a large sum of money. A couple million dollars.”

“No, no,” Edwin says with an air of disappointment, “Not a dentist’s retirement fund. I mean Money. Several billion.”

“Okay. Okay. I like the way you think.”

“What would be the first thing you would do?”

“I’d get a proper limousine so I could freshen up this drink.”

“You would buy a limousine?”

“And a driver. No, wait, I’d buy the limo and rent the driver. You know, slavery’s against the law and all that.”

“There’s more than one way to own a person,” Edwin observes coldly. “But after the limo, a house or two? Few parties?”

“And a yacht. A great big one.”

“And so on, and so on. Now people imagine it takes a great deal of time to fritter away a great fortune, but, in fact, it usually happens within two generations of the fortune being made. Because, the qualities and characteristics of people who make a great deal of money are rarely passed on to their children.”

“I gotcha, rich kids ain’t hungry. But I’m not a rich kid. I’ve got nothing but appetites.”

“That’s the point. The human condition actually.” Edwin says ‘human condition’ as if it applies to someone else, “For all but a very disciplined few, no matter how much you have, there’s always something else that would make you happier.”

“A bigger yacht?”

“And after that an island. And after that a bigger island. And a bigger island.”

“And then Australia, I get it.”

At the mention of Australia, Edwin winces. He never wants to hear Australia mentioned in a scheme again. “The thing about wealth is it only stays wealth if you continue to make money. Resources have a way of migrating to the people who are most productive.”

“Hunh?”

“The people who do something with them. In a free, or free(ish) country this happens because the children of the people who built the fortune spend all the money on yachts and islands.”

“And parties. Don’t forget the wild parties.”

Again, Edwin’s patience is tested. At least Topper wasn’t talking about a wild party in Australia. “Yes, well, my point is made.”

“Point? What point? What are we even talking about here?”

Edwin removes a picture of Dr. Loeb from the folder. One of the “doctor’s” eyes is half-closed. His shaven head and prominent ears complete the general theme of lost and confused. “This is Eustace Eugene Rielly the Third. aka Dr. Loeb.”

“Is that a Neru jacket?” Topper asks.