“You sure you don’t want a glass of milk?” asks the bartender.
“No,” says Edwin, not paying enough attention to him to register the attempted joke.
Topper slugs back half his drink at one go. “Look, and this is just me talking off the top of my head here, but this scheme doesn’t seem like you. Seems too small.”
“Small?”
“Yeah, there’s no angle. Really, just straight ahead? Knock a building over? I mean, they pay you to come up with that?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, nothing. I mean, it’s not that there’s anything wrong with it. It’s just not...”
“Ambitious?”
“That’s it. Ambitious. It’s not ambitious enough. I’m worried that you are losing your edge. I mean, Alabama was weird. It affected you. You’re not as hungry as you used to be.”
Edwin sips his soda water. “It has very little to do with hunger. I am being somewhat more careful. But that is because I am not in a position where I need to take aggressive risks. This is a simple plan. And simplicity is genius. This plan should generate plentiful, regular cash for my firm and my client. What could possibly be wrong with that?”
“Ah, safe, regular. All that bullshit again. It’s like working for a living. Like all those stiffs out there.” Topper gestures contemptuously with his drink and sloshes some Scotch across the bar. “Ah crap. This one has sprung a leak. Bartender, bring me another.”
“Topper, you must understand. I enjoy my work.”
“You enjoy your work? ENJOY your work. I’m calling bullshit. You’re excited about this new client. But I predict you’ll be just as miserable as you were. And the only reason you’re excited is conditioning. Conditioned thinking, you gotta see through it. Be your own man. See you’re only saying that because you can’t see your way through to the world being any different. But you gotta throw off your conditioning. You gottta — ” As Topper says this, a beautiful woman walks through the door. He stops talking and watches her sway her way through the high-topped tables and barstools.
When she has passed, Edwin asks, “You were saying?”
“Okay, okay whatever. I’m just saying I think we can do a little better.”
“You have an idea?”
“Ideas, I got millions of them. But it’s not just the idea. It’s the vision.” He slams his wallet down on the bar. “And I have a vision of money.”
“Money?” Edwin asks, deciding to give Topper his head for the simple enjoyment of seeing where he would run.
“Yeah, money. Makes the world go around, right?”
“I believe the Earth spins because of the conservation of angular momentum, but keep going.”
“Okay, even if angular what-ever-it-is makes the world go round, I’m pretty sure that money greases the wheels. So, you got this guy who can knock buildings over, right?”
“That is correct.”
“I mean he can knock any building over. And you want him to knock over old buildings with nothing in them.”
“For a price.”
“Yeah, for a price. And for finding you one of those deals, I want a cut of it. You understand?”
“Of course.”
“But what I really want is a bigger cut of a bigger deal.”
“What exactly are you getting at?”
“You see last night, I get home about three in the morning — ”
“Topper, please.”
“ — and Goldfinger is playing on some channel. You know, the James Bond movie.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“NEVER SEEN IT!”
“I don’t really care for movies.”
“Oh, Edwin, how can you advise villains if you don’t understand the style and panache of one of the greatest villains of all time? Auric Goldfinger!”
“You are referring to a fictional character, are you not?”
“Yeah, but so what? I mean, Jesus was a fictional character and look at the effect he had. And c’mon: the laser? The solid gold car? The ‘No, Mr. Bond I expect you to die’?” Topper notices that the bartender is smiling. “See, see, this guy knows what I’m talking about.”
Edwin decides it would be best to try silence again. But it is to no avail.
“So in the movie, you think Goldfinger is gonna rob Fort Knox.”
“Rob Fort Knox? Rob it of its gold?”
“Yeah, because his heart is cold and loves only gold and his name is friggin’ Goldfinger, right? But see, he’s already got his own gold. So the theft is just a ruse. What he’s really going to do is take over Fort Knox and detonate a dirty bomb inside. Irradiating the ENTIRE United States gold reserve.”
“Hmmm,” says Edwin.
“Hmmm? How about hell yeah? Isn’t it a great idea?”
“Hmmm,” says Edwin again.
“So there’s one problem with his scheme. He gets caught.”
“And what was the flaw in his plan?”
“Well, you could say it was Pussy Galore. She fell in love with Bond and switched sides. Which is how I would have done it in Bond’s place. Used my legendary powers of seduction to save the free world. You know, if I was one of the good guys. Which I am not. I’m too much of a free agent.”
Edwin rubs his temples.
“But the problem wasn’t the hot broad. The problem was too many people. If it wasn’t her it was going to be somebody else. See the more people you involve, the more likely it is that somebody screws it up.”
Edwin freezes. Wisdom? From Topper? Could it be?
“So what would you do?” asks Edwin.
“So, you take this guy, Barry or whatever, strap a dirty bomb to him — some Polonius, Plutarchium, whatever. You wind him up. Tell him to go for the gold. He smashes through the wall, wham bam, and then when he gets to the gold — BEEP BEEP, ‘Hey what’s that funny noise?’ And KaBLOOEY! That’s it for Barry.”
“Leaving no link to me.”
“Exactly. And if you really want to make it good, all you have to do is put him in a turban. Everybody will think he’s part of some jihad against the denser elements or something equally incomprehensible. Who knows what those Korons are thinking anyway?”
“Korons?”
“Morons with Korans. Korons. Towel-heads, camel jockeys. Taxi drivers. Assholes! You know who I’m talking about.”
Explosions, senseless killing, widespread destruction, vile prejudice, it certainly is Topper’s kind of plan. But Edwin is impressed to find a hint of subtlety in the operation. Subtlety is not something Edwin thought Topper was capable of. He makes a note to consider Topper more carefully in the future.
“So, before you do any of this, you buy a shitload of gold. Then, when the dollar tanks and the entire financial system collapses, the value of your gold skyrockets. Then you sell and buy up half the country for like $20 bucks. It’s genius. It just needed me to inject a little realism. Y’know, verisimilitude.”
“Hmmm.”
“C’mon, you’ve got to admit, I’ve taken a good idea and made it better. And it’s ambitious. It’s audacious. Make a fortune by destroying the United States Dollar.”
“I will grant you that it’s not entirely a bad idea.” Topper beams with pride. Finally Edwin has approved of one of his schemes. Topper feels like he’s getting somewhere with the big egghead. At this rate, he might even be able to get Edwin to loosen up and have a good time. “But Topper,” Edwin says, “it’s already been done.”
“WHAT? Nah. No way. I would have read about it.”
“So, how much do you think this scheme of yours would devalue the dollar?”
“Oh, at least by half.”
“Half?” Edwin snorts. “Half? That would scarcely get you on the board. Since its creation, the U.S. Dollar has lost 98% of its value. It’s worth 2% of what it was. Sorry Topper, someone beat you to it.”
“But how? Why didn’t it make the news? When was the explosion?”
“There was no explosion, just a slo
w leak.”
“So irradiating Fort Knox wouldn’t throw the United States into turmoil?”
“Other than the fact that people might be disturbed by glowing racehorses, business would continue as usual.”
“But the gold standard!”
“Oh Topper,” Edwin laughs, “The dollar isn’t backed by gold.”
“What? Then these things are just pieces of paper,” he cries, brandishing a fistful of notes.
“Yes.”
“They’re worthless?”
“Not exactly. You can exchange them for things like food and drink. So they are worth something.”
“But what keeps people from realizing they’re worthless? That you can’t get anything for them unless the next guy takes it from you?”
“Nothing.”
“Oooooh, that’s evil.”
“Yes, it is. One has to admire the ruthless professionalism of it. Only if you control a government can you get away with this magnitude of a crime. For the rest of us, we will simply have to content ourselves with lesser ambitions.”
“This is all very complicated. I better stock up on a few things in case money doesn’t work tomorrow. Wait. Wait. Gold. Gold will still be worth something. We should STILL knock over Fort Knox!”
“Ah, yes. But if you are going to steal gold, why go all the way to Kentucky? There’s over 10,000 tons of the stuff in an underground depository twelve blocks away.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“And even if it wasn’t very, very secure, there is always the problem of how you move it.”
“I’d carry it in my greedy little paws.”
“I’m sure you would try Topper. But each bar of gold weighs 27 pounds. Which makes moving gold a slow proposition. Especially when you consider that the vault is constructed in such a way that it is very time consuming to get gold in or out. It requires, at this point, rather a lot of people. And as you pointed out, the more people, the more problem.”
“But if you had a guy with superpowers. A really strong guy.”
Edwin looks directly into Topper’s avaricous soul, “That thought never leaves my mind. For a client of mine to gain control of 40% of the world’s gold — ”
“A CLIENT! Edwin, when are you going to start thinking about yourself? Lookin’ after #1 like any good, red-blooded American should.”
“Topper, I am not a criminal.”
“You’re a friggin’ mastermind, that’s what you are. All those facts crammed in that pointy head of yours.”
Edwin sighs. This conversation is pointless. “Just accept that I do not break the law. I do not break the social contract. I do not break contracts of any kind. It’s bad for business. But I advise those who choose to do so.”
“You are a very, very strange man.”
“Perhaps. But please, help me with this small thing. Help me with Barry. And we’ll work up to currency manipulation eventually.”
“Can we steal gold? Can we?”
“When the right set of powers come along, I will advise someone to steal the gold.”
“Okay then. I’ll help you,” Topper downs the rest of his drink. “Now I got to go see a man about blowing up a building.” Topper waddles out the door, sticking Edwin with the check.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Reasoning with Barry
Topper sets up a meeting for Edwin with R. Earl Lemahi. He is a half-Texan, half-Pakistani real estate magnate who has developed a number of sites around the city. But none bigger or more impressive than the Spackster project.
The Spackster building is one of the city’s original skyscrapers. Only 20 stories tall, in its day it had been a marvel of engineering, but now its glory has faded. It’s just another pile of dirty bricks with a cleverly disguised water tower on the roof.
Lemahi has surrounded the Spackster building on three sides with featureless boxes of expensive per-square-foot office space. These buildings are state of the art, and remarkable only in their soullessness. Edwin meets with Lemahi at the top of one of his prized buildings.
“Windsor,” Lemahi says as he gestures towards the Spackster building, “I need this old pile of bricks taken down carefully and well. But I ain’t never heard of you. Which makes me a mite nervous.”
“And the fact that I’m offering to demolish the building for half the cost of anyone else? What does that do to your nerves?” Edwin says, cool as can be. It’s not like this is his first negotiation.
“Makes them a damn sight steadier. I just wanted to come down here and look in your eye, boy. Make sure you were a serious man.”
Edwin meets his gaze without flinching. These silly “men-of-business” games mean nothing to him. “And now that you have looked in my eyes?”
“Oh you’re serious a’right. But I don’t see no bond. And if you ain’t bonded, you ain’t doing this job.” R. Earl leans back in his chair, pleased to think that he has put this smug bastard back on his heels.
Edwin’s expression does not change. Edwin opens his briefcase and removes some documents. “You are right, I do not have a bond. My affairs are such that I am loathe to explain them to insurance inspectors. But I have placed $55 million in escrow. Far more than the decrepit Spackster building is worth. I hope you will agree that it is more than enough for you to indemnify yourself for any demolition related accidents.”
R. Earl’s eyes widen. He’s obviously impressed with a man who can conjure up $55 million. “Yeah,” says the gruff old man, biting off the word as if it was something he didn’t want to swallow. “Now just don’t screw it up. I’ve got a lot riding on this.” The old man turns his back on Edwin, indicating that the meeting is over and that Edwin is dismissed. This annoys Edwin, but he leaves quietly.
Barry is in the high, bright room once again. Outside he can hear the wind blow. Inside he can feel the building move. He doesn’t like tall places. He’s clumsy and he falls down a lot. Right now he really is trying to pay attention to the words the Tall One is using, but it’s hard. All those sounds. And what do they mean?
“So you see,” Edwin says, speaking very slowly, “my associate will guide you on this new, and potentially very lucrative, path.”
All Barry hears is “Bl you bla, my, blahblahb blah blahb you bl blah new, and blahblahbla, blah blahblahb blah.” Barry squirms and blinks non-comprehension as if it is morse code.
The small one walks up to him. He smells funny. Like Dad. Barry doesn’t know that Topper has steadied his nerves with quite a lot of scotch before this meeting. Not that Topper is worried, but any excuse to steady the nerves, you understand. “You didn’t understand a word of that did you?” asks Topper. Barry doesn’t get anything out of that sentence either, but he nods and smiles. The little one is smiling at him. Barry thinks it’s funny.
“Yeah,” Topper says to Edwin, “you got yourself a regular old rocket scientist here.” Barry coughs again. Topper brings him a glass of water.
“Oh, I think I’ve gotten through to him,” says Edwin. He hands Barry a picture of the Spackster building. Then he holds up a duplicate picture. He waits until Barry is looking at the picture he’s holding. Then he tears it in half very slowly. He says “Demolish.”
Barry drinks his glass of water and then crushes the glass.
Topper laughs. “Oh yeah, you got a real rapport going there.” Topper laughs some more. His shrill notes put Edwin on edge. “Oh ho ho, big boy, you’ve got no clue do you?” Barry smiles and laughs along with Topper.
“I don’t know about that,” says Edwin.
Still chuckling, Topper winks at Edwin as he hands Barry a phone book. Topper takes a piece of the photo Edwin has torn in half and tears it again. Barry tears the phone book in half. Topper squeals with delight. “Oh, you are a strong boy!” As Barry nods Topper shoves a piece of candy in his open mouth. “Good boy.”
Barry blinks twice and closes his mouth. He almost becomes angry, but when the sweet taste fills his mouth, he is happy.
“That doesn
’t mean he understood you,” says Edwin
“What, you want me to get him to cut you a deck of cards?” says Topper.
Edwin shakes his head.
“So we can try it my way?”
Topper opens a cabinet and produces two identical cardboard models of the Spackster Building. “Bar-REE,” Topper says with a sharply rising tone. At the high-pitched word, Barry perks up like a dog. Topper sets one of the models on the table in front of Barry. He places the other model on the floor in front of him.
Topper takes two steps backwards. He claps his hands together dramatically then he jumps into the air and screams “GENTRIFICATION!” When he lands, he slams both feet down on the cardboard model.
Barry giggles hysterically and brings his hand down on the other model, palm open. Not only is the model flattened, but the table beneath it splinters violently and cracks in half. Topper runs over to Barry’s large, misshapen head and kisses it. “I love this boy!” Barry giggles some more.
Topper turns to Edwin, “I say we’re ready.” Topper scratches Barry behind the ear. “Good boy. Good boy.”
Watching them, Edwin experiences a moment of doubt. But he dismisses it. After all, Barry is supposed to destroy a building. What is the worst that could happen? The building would remain standing? It wasn’t like he could screw it up so badly that he would accidentally create another building.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wrecking a Building
The day has come. Permits have been obtained. Streets have been cordoned. A crowd has gathered to watch the demolition of an historic building. In its day the Spackster building had been home to a full-service department store. Eight floors of glorious commerce named after its founder Hubert Spackster. When Hubert was in charge he liked to boast that there were only two things you couldn’t get at Spackster’s. Mothers and coffins. For everything else Hubert Spackster offered a layaway plan.
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