"How could you be sure that Gus would bring Excelsior back? or that Excelsior wouldn't be dead?"
"C'mon, you know how these things go. What else is Gus going to do? And it's like an unwritten law: you can't kill a hero off. You can make it look like he's dead. You can put him into suspended animation, but you can't kill him off. Didn't you learn anything from comic books?"
"Sounds sloppy to me."
"Hey, it worked," said Topper.
"It backfired."
"It worked and then it backfired," said Topper, "but first it worked. So I get credit for that. Besides, the story ain't over. You'll never believe what Edwin did next.
"He called them in. All of them. The bad men. By taking down Excelsior, Edwin had gotten this ultimate rep as a fixer."
"By all of them, you mean organized crime?"
"Nah, they're too small. No, these are guys with money. Guys who steal diamond mines by starting revolutions. Guys who run all the opium processing in Central Asia. Guys who use terrorist organizations to blow up oil fields and tankers so they can profit by speculating in the futures market. Not bad guys with a little b. Evil guys with a capital E.
"So he calls them all in to have an auction. And when they say, 'Whattaya sellin'?' Edwin says, 'Force Majeure.'"
"What is Force Majeure?"
"Exactly, who the hell knows what that is? It's an obscure insurance industry term. So you can see how far his mind was gone with this work thing. It basically means 'Act of God.' As in, there's nothing you can do to stop it. As in, all bets are off. The baseball season is canceled, Godzilla wrecks Tokyo, what can anybody do about it? He tells them that he's selling the most powerful, most unstoppable force on Earth. Which of course he is."
"Excelsior."
"Yuh-hunh. He starts pimping Excelsior. Of course, he changes the costume. All black, no cape, no style." Topper gestures at the remnants of his own costume. "Style is important. Even in defeat, style is important."
"So Excelsior wanted to be a villain and Edwin gave him a job?" asked the interrogator.
"Exactly. So what to do you think my next play was?"
The interrogator was silent.
"Eh, heh, heh, you're gonna love this one."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was Friday, the high holy day of working stiffs. The day that can't come soon enough. The great sigh of relief in the seemingly endless workweek of life.
This week, Billy had been busy. He had circled the globe more times than he could remember. He had been to the depths of the ocean retrieving discarded submarines. He had been to the fringes of space, replacing parts on spy satellites. He had literally moved a mountain in Afghanistan at the behest of an incredibly rich opium dealer. He had not killed anyone, yet, but he was exhausted. Deeply exhausted.
He told himself he was weak was because he had spent so much time trapped underground and hadn't fully recovered. But Edwin Windsor was working him at a pace that would kill anyone else.
When he protested, Edwin had said that they were making money. He showed Billy numbers on a piece of paper. But Billy couldn't see how that changed anything. If anything, it made him feel that he had traded a bad master for a worse one. He had no time to spend the money. And no friends to spend it with. He couldn't have been more lonely if he had constructed a secret fortress at the North Pole.
He wanted to sleep. But more than that, he wanted to have... what was the word... fun? Yes, fun. Billy remembered it from long, long ago. From before he had powers. From before he had the guilt and the shame. The carefree existence of a young boy, whose only desire was to have a bike to ride.
Like a falcon returning to his master, Billy returned to Edwin with some pieces of an undersea listening station he had just destroyed. Edwin barely looked up from his desk. He checked the clipboard and said, "Very good, that's all for today."
"Ah-hem," Billy said, standing there.
"Yes? You are still here?" asked Edwin.
"I'd like to take tomorrow off," Billy asked in a way that didn't sound like a request.
"Oh," said Edwin as if the idea of a day off for anyone was a strange new thought that had escaped into the world to wreak havoc. He checked the clipboard once again, flipping through Excelsior's schedule. "Hm. Un-hunh. Un-hunh. Move that here..." He looked up and said, "I'm sorry, it's just not possible. Maybe next month."
"But, I'm exhausted."
"Ah yes, a good night's sleep. Early to rise, you'll feel like a whole new man."
"I don't want to work tomorrow!" said Billy, feeling inexplicably nervous for saying such a thing to Edwin Windsor.
Edwin stared at him for a moment. "I see." He stood up and buttoned his coat. Then he walked around to the other side of the desk and put his arm around Billy in a grotesque approximation of a fatherly hug. He ushered him towards the door on the far side of his empty office while he talked, "I appreciate that you are working hard. I appreciate that you need a break. But we have made commitments. You, have made commitments. Upon which serious men—"
"Bad men, you mean," said Billy.
"Yes, exactly, seriously bad men. You have made commitments upon which seriously bad men have laid their plans. We must come through or our entire enterprise is ruined."
Billy tried to think of something he could say to Edwin that would counteract this perfectly reasonable line of thought. He wasn't a guy who had ever been good with his words. Not like Edwin. Not like Gus. Even though Gus was crude, he was always good at giving those cowboy speeches whenever Billy had felt like giving up. But Edwin Windsor? His words were like oil on water. They smoothed out the waves, they calmed things and most of all, they encountered no resistance.
Billy opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Edwin directed him to the door with a gentle pressure, saying, "I'm very sorry, but the team is just going to have to work the weekend. And we just can't do it without you."
Excelsior turned in the doorway. A half-formed protest died on Billy's lips.
"Get some rest," Edwin said, mimicking the tones of true concern. "You've had a long week, and there is much left to do."
Billy walked to the elevator and pushed the button just like a normal, non-flying man would. The doors opened and he stepped in, thinking that it was empty.
From beneath him came a strange, screeching warble, "Hiya Flyboy, how's it hanging?" Billy looked down and saw Topper dressed in a double-breasted suit with a loud tie that was already undone.
"Do I know you?" Billy asked, not in the mood to deal with Topper.
"Oh, you remember me! I'm the guy who dragged your ass into court. Don’tcha remember? The girl on the bridge with that adorable little child. Excelsior! SAVE ME! SAVE ME!"
"I'm just Billy now," he said, as he stared at the elevator numbers.
"Oh, I gotcha," Topper said with a wink. "Billy." An awkward silence
When the elevator doors opened, Billy was off like a shot. His long legs left Topper far behind him on the expanse of marble.
"It's not gonna do any good. You can run from me, but you're not gonna be able to run from him." Topper called after him. Billy stopped and turned around.
Topper walked over to him and said, "I know."
"What do you know?" Billy asked with a laugh. This imp, this jester, this dwarf, what could he possibly know?
"I know," said Topper in a way that sent a shiver down Billy's spine. He hated this little guy. Why was he letting this guy get to him?
"What do you know?"
"I know," Topper said with an understanding that seemed to come from far, far beyond himself. "He's got me too."
"What?"
"C'mon, I'll buy you a drink."
"I don't drink."
"Jesus Christ, you don't drink? How do you expect to be preserved for posterity?"
Billy gave him an impatient look. "Superpowers, remember? I'm not even sure I can die," he said despondently.
"Not feeling the weight of the years, youthful good looks staying with you, remaini
ng strong and fit while you age gracefully?" Topper said, each phrase growing in frantic intensity.
"Yeah, something like that."
"See, you haven't tried drinking."
In spite of himself, Billy cracked and gave just the tiniest bit of a smile.
"C'mon, I'll introduce you to a bad habit," promised Topper, "You'll like it. It will turn down the volume knob on your life."
"Where are we going, someplace around here?"
"Oh, hell no, we're getting out of the suburbs as fast as possible." As they set out into the evening, Topper thought to himself: Flyboy, you're held together with baling wire. I made ya pop once, I can do it again.
Topper had once heard a saying, "If you set out on the path to revenge, first dig two graves." But things worked a little differently in the savage dwarf's head. So, he had remembered it like this, "If you set out on the path to revenge, first pour two glasses." And that's exactly what he did.
They started out in a rooftop bar where the drinks were as expensive as the crowd was pretentious. It was the kind of a place where even the ferns had an excuse to look down on you. But Topper walked in like he owned the joint. For all Billy knew, he did.
Billy didn't have any experience with this floating world, so he didn't know that, for all the displays of status and class, this was a place where everyone would be your friend if you had money. Especially if you were willing to spread it around. And Topper was. He walked right up to the biggest bouncer in the place and slapped him on the ass. When the bouncer turned around looking for a fight, Topper handed him $20. Laughter, Smiles, Money! Add alcohol and shake.
They settled in at the bar and watched the women drift by like brightly colored tropical fish. They passed in schools so endless that it made Billy's head go light. Some stopping at this reef, others passing onward to other, unknown bars and nightclubs in the depths of the city. Billy couldn't imagine any danger in this floating world. There was no meteor crashing towards Earth. No horde of flesh-eating mutants or creatures from another world. Here, perhaps, he could finally lay down the cape and relax.
As he sipped his drink the vodka in it ate into his liver, releasing sedatives into his bloodstream. For the first time that he could remember, things seemed ok. This was a warm ocean, and he decided it was okay to lay back and float a while.
"What kind of car do you drive?" One of the painted, tropical fish asked Billy.
"Car? I don't need a car. I can fly." She sneered at him and started to walk away. But Billy grabbed her shoulder insistently. "No, really, watch." And without a second thought, he ran across the bar, and out onto the balcony. A few frozen smokers huddled under the heaters eyed him dubiously. Without a second thought, Billy jumped up on the icy railing and shouted, "I can FLY!" He wandered back and forth on the railing, flapping his arms in a ridiculous imitation of a bird. "C'mon, we'll fly back to my place."
The girl had stopped sneering and was now pleading with Billy to come down. "Please, we'll go anyplace you want, just come down from there."
"C'mon Buddy, listen to the girl," said the Bouncer, worried about his job.
"Not until she says she loves me."
"I love you. I love you. Please come down."
Billy threw his hands wide and announced to the horrified bar, "She LOVES ME!" And then he fell backwards. For an impossibly long instant he waved his arms frantically, teetering on the edge. The woman screamed. The bouncer made a lunge for Billy. But he was gone. Sucked away by gravity.
The woman screamed and fainted.
Topper had managed to hold his laughter in throughout Billy's masterful performance, but when the woman's head bounced off the floor, he lost it. He was still laughing when he rejoined Billy on the sidewalk.
"Did you see her face as I went over the edge?"
"See her face? I saw her face slam into the floor when she fainted!" Topper jumped up to slap him on the back. "There's hope for you yet."
"I haven't laughed like this since, since, I can't remember."
"I haven't laughed like this since last night," said Topper. And the fell into hysterics again. Topper looked around for the Town Car. "Where the hell is he? This isn't like Stevie," Topper said as he held the phone to his ear. "Stevie! Where are you?" Topper listened to the response and then told Billy, "We got a problem."
A block and a half away, they found Stevie standing in front of his limo with a cup of coffee. The right front wheel was covered by an orange wheel lock. Stevie shrugged his shoulders in a long-suffering way and said, "I just went for a cup of coffee. And there she is. Must have been those tickets. I thought you were going to take care of them…?"
"I did!" said Topper. It was a blatant lie. "Those bastards have made a mistake, I'll tell you that."
"Well, I'm out a ride, for the whole weekend maybe. Looks like you fellas are gonna have to cab it."
"Nonsense, Stevie. I wouldn't let that happen to you. Would I?"
Stevie smiled behind his cup of coffee. "Only if you thought it was funny."
"Hey, you're a good fella. And more importantly, you know how to keep your mouth shut."
"So you've got a connection? Somebody who can unlock this thing?" Stevie asked hopefully.
"Yeah, Billy here can do it."
"What?"
"Billy, c'mon, the man's got a problem. Are you going to help him out or what?"
"But that would be illegal," Billy protested.
"Are you a lawyer?"
"No."
"Then why don't you leave the law stuff to the professionals. Hey, I don't argue with you about, uh, whatever it is you do, right?"
"Officially, I don't have a job."
"See, no qualifications whatsoever. So no more argument out of you, just take care of the wheel lock."
"I'm not sure about this."
"This is killing our night. Look, the city made a mistake. I took care of the tickets and they wheel-locked Stevie's ride improperly. So I can file this in court, and we'll get the lock taken off. But by the time that happens, it will be weeks. He's gonna get in all kinds of trouble at work. Maybe get fired. He's got twin daughters in college. Do you want them to starve?"
"Actually, two boys, 10 and 7," said Stevie.
"Whatever, they eat don't they?"
"Oh, yeah."
"So stop quibbling. My point is," continued Topper, not missing a beat, "do you want his twin boys, 10 and 7, to starve?"
Billy almost asked how they could be twins of a different age. Instead he reached down and put both hands on the hunk of orange metal. Very slowly, so as not to damage the car, he pulled the jaws of it apart.
"Woah," Stevie said under his breath. "Your boy is strong."
"Yes, he is. Do you even have kids?"
"Hell, no," said Stevie. "Did you really take care of those tickets you said you were going to fix for me?"
"Hey, I took care of the problem."
Billy held the mangled wheel lock in his hands and asked, "What do you want me to do with it?"
"Get rid of it."
"Well, where?"
"What do I care?" said Topper. "Just lose it."
Billy leaned back and threw the wheel lock deep into orbit. Stevie pretended not to notice. A good chauffeur can ignore just about anything.
But as soon as they were rolling again, Billy yawned. This was no good. Topper had a sinister plan that hadn't even started yet. Time to get the boy back in the game. "What's with the yawning?"
"It's late."
"What are you talking about, it's only 12, 12:30 tops. We haven't even gotten to the party yet. And then after the party, we have the after party."
"The after party? What's an after party?"
"That's where the real fun happens."
Billy yawned again, "I'm sorry, I'm just tired."
"Okay, I was gonna keep this a surprise, but seeing as you need a little lift… I called these two stewardesses I know. They've got that thing for dwarves. They love me. And I just don't have the heart to tell th
em that, technically, I'm a half an inch over the line. Legally, not a dwarf, or Little Person, or whatever those little freaks insist on calling themselves these days. Actually, you want to know the truth, Little People scare the piss out of me.
"Anyway, the stewardesses know about this thing downtown. Real wild. So I said we'll go. I told them about you. They want to meet you. They're so hot. They'll just blow your little boy scout mind."
"I appreciate it, but really, I think I'm going to go home. Stevie, can you—"
"No, he can't,” Topper said, as he jammed his finger on a button and rolled up the divider. "He can't because he loves you and he wants you to have a good time. Look, maybe you just need a bump."
"What?"
"You know, just a little lift.” Topper pulled out a small vial containing a white powder.
"COCAINE? I, I could never do that!"
"Why not?" Topper asked, as he tapped some out on the fold-down armrest.
"Do you have any idea how many times I've told kids to stay off drugs?"
"Ah, but you're not a kid."
"But still, drugs are bad for you."
"OK, yes, that's the general rule. But if you check the rule book you'll see that it actually says, 'Drugs are bad for uptight people.'"
"But I'd be going back on my word."
"Look, big strong superhero like you, it probably won't even have any effect."
"Then there's no reason for me to do it."
"Okay," shrugged Topper, "I was just trying to help you out." He put the vial back in his coat. "But, no hard feelings. I tell you what, you change your mind later, I'll have it right here. In the meantime, how about another cocktail?"
"So long as it's legal."
"Ah, it's perfectly legal."
"Are you having one?"
"What, mixed drinks? I never touch 'em," Topper said as he did a line of coke. "Bad for the stomach lining. All those juices and sodas. Just terrible. I'll take my booze straight." He made a drink from the recently reinstalled minibar and watched as Billy took the first sip. He gave a strange little giggle.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, just fine." Topper said hurriedly. "It's just the rush." And then he giggled again. Billy took at deeper drink. It tasted a little funny, but it wasn't bad. He wasn't at all sure about drugs, but for the first time in a long time he was enjoying himself. Topper was making sure of that. He had been spiking Billy's drinks with a powerful designer drug, similar to, but not exactly like Ketamine. The way Topper saw things, when life doesn't work, you medicate until you get the desired effect.
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