Patrick McLean - How To Succeed in Evil

Topper cheers unabashedly. Then he turns to Excelsior, “Nevermind big boy. It never would have worked out between us. You’re too goody two-shoes for me.”

Excelsior swings hard, but only managed to move the ball 320 yards. He tops his next shot. Then puts his third on the green.

As Edwin approaches his ball, Topper is at a loss for another distraction. There just never seemed to be strippers around when you really needed them, he thinks. But then Edwin does something remarkable.

“Would you consider letting me borrow your three wood, in the interests of good sportsmanship?” Edwin asks Excelsior.

Excelsior is caught flat on his feet. A bad man, say, a villain, would have refused such a request in the interest of winning the match. But Excelsior stands for fair play. He can’t do such a thing, at least not in front of other people. So Excelsior hands Edwin his club. But there is hate in his heart as he does it. “Of course. Good luck.”

Edwin takes a practice swing. Then another. The tension builds within Topper. He can’t take it. Everything hangs on this swing.

When Edwin connects with the ball Topper thinks he’s mis-hit it. But as the ball speeds away, he realizes the genius of the shot. It’s another low runner. The ball stays six inches off the ground all the way to the front of the green. It bounces on the fringe and then rolls up to the pin. Topper goes nuts. He throws his hat in the air. He kisses the caddy’s leg. He jumps up and down in front of Excelsior yelling, “Hunh? Hunh? How you like that?”

In contrast, Edwin displays no emotion. He hands his club off and walks to the green as if no other outcome had been possible.

Excelsior’s mouth hangs open in disbelief. The shot had been perfect. It simply hadn’t gotten high enough in the air for him to interfere with. After all this. After that tremendous cheating rally over the last eight holes, Excelsior is going to lose. As Excelsior’s caddy shoulders the clubs and heads to the green he says, “He’s still got to sink that putt.”

But the old caddy knows it to be a formality. The rules will have to be observed, but Edwin is within three feet of the hole and now has a putt for two-under par. An Eagle. The old caddy knows his man has no chance. As he walks behind Edwin Windsor, he whispers, “Fine shot, sir.”

Excelsior misses his 30 foot putt for Birdie, and taps in for a Par. Edwin puts his ball in to win the match. “Yeah,” screams Topper, “the good guys win one. I mean the bad guys, I mean, us. I mean we won. We beat Excelsior.”

Excelsior stares into the turf as if something irreplaceable is leaking out of him. Gus, fading away in the hospital, and now this? He was supposed to beat the man. How could he have lost? After all, Windsor is just a man.

The judge notices that Edwin is staring at his ball with a strange look on his face. He asks, “What is?”

“It’s the wrong ball.”

“What?”

“I was playing a Penfold Heart. But it was a number three.” Edwin holds up the ball so that the Judge can clearly read the number four imprinted on its dimpled surface.

“Mr. Windsor, that is a shame. But the rules are clear. Hole number 17 is forfeit. Hole and match to Excelsior.”

Excelsior snaps out of it. He isn’t sure what has just happened, but since it has gone his way, he isn’t about to complain. Edwin walks over to him and extends his hand, “Good game.”

“What? What are you doing? Have you lost your oversized mind?” screeches Topper.

“There are some things more important than winning. Excelsior understands that, even if you do not, Topper.”

“You’re completely insane. Your Honor, I’d like to declare this match void on grounds of insanity!”

Edwin looks down and smiles a sad smile at his little friend, “Topper, right has prevailed. As it always will in the end. I realize that now.”

“Who are you? No, seriously, who in the hell are you? And what have you done with EDWIN WINDSOR!”

Edwin turns on his heel and walks from the green.

“Don’t you walk away from me, beanpole! Where do you think you are going? I worked hard for that fix and you just threw it away.” Topper waddles after him as fast as his short legs will carry him “And now you’re going to get out of the business? How am I supposed to be your henchman?”

“Get in the car.”

“You’re clearly not in your right mind. I don’t think someone as looney as you should be operating heavy machinery.”

Edwin eases the sedan out of the club’s parking lot. The car is understated, powerful, and well-suited to the large man’s size. Topper is barely able to see over the soft leather dash. They ride along in silence until Topper can stand it no longer.

“Well, I guess you’re out of business,” says Topper with an air of finality.

“Hmm,” says Edwin.

“The bet. You said, if you lost, you’d stop advising villains.”

“Hmm.”

“So you’re gonna Welsh right?”

“No, I will honor my agreement.”

“But he was cheating his tight little pants off. You know that right?”

“Yes, I know he was cheating.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“Golf? I enjoy golf.”

“Okay,” says Topper, realizing that Edwin is toying with him, “Then why’d you throw the match?”

“I didn’t. You threw the match for me. Rather brilliantly I thought.”

“What! I got you back in the game. He was cheating! Cheating like crazy! Cheating like, like, like his head was on fire! I don’t know. And you didn’t do a thing about it. What? Was it some kind of mind control ray?” Edwin chuckles in that way Topper hates. The way that means that Topper has missed something big.

“So that is the only thing you noticed? That I was acting under the influence of a ‘mind control’ ray?”

“I noticed he was cheating.”

“Anything else?”

“But he’s a good guy. I mean he’s THE good guy. He’s not supposed to cheat. He can’t cheat. What else is there to notice? That you lost? I noticed that you lost.”

“Perhaps in the short term. But where does it net out? What’s the final accounting, the bottom line?”

“Okay, I give up. I can’t see how losing a bet — and I just lost $1000 to that battered old caddy because of you — I don’t see how it nets out for anybody other than the guy who wins. Please explain to me, Mr. Mastermind, how that nets out.”

“Someone has their hooks into him very deeply. I don’t know what drives a man like him, but it’s very, very bad. He’s trying to atone for something. Something he believes to be awful. I would venture to say that he hasn’t broken the “rules” since he was a child. But today! Today he broke loose. He felt the freedom of action. What it means to be a moral agent, rather than someone’s puppet. Did you see the joy in his eyes?”

“And here I thought that just came from beating you?”

“After both clubs melted? There is no such thing as coincidence Topper. It is always, always your enemies conspiring against you.”

“Okay, so what?”

“The man just lost his moral center. He’s now adrift in a world of complex choices. He has just remembered he has a soul. But he threw away the owner’s manual years ago. It is a fascinating predicament. He will need someone to turn to for guidance.”

“Hoooo boy, that’s rich. And it sounds like loser’s limp to me. You’re trying to tell me that if you zapped me with a ray that suddenly made me into Mother Friggin Teresa – repenting my evil defense lawyer ways — no longer defending drug dealers, embezzlers, wealthy pederasts — all the high paying scum of the earth — gave up the whores and the cocaine, devoting myself to patient, non-profit work and girls who are as tall as they are wide — that I would have some kind of gratitude for you? And then I would come to you for a little fatherly advice?”