How To Succeed in Evil (28 page)

In a time gone mad the only sane thing to do is to take over the world.

With the Cromoglodon cowering in fear, Topper returns to the room. “So, we’re going to use him to get Excelsior. Is that the plan?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then how are we going to get Excelsior? As much as I love that rocket launcher, I don’t think it’s going to be enough. What are we going to use on Excelsior?”

“The law.”

“What?”

Edwin does not take his eyes off the Cromoglodon. “We’re going to sue him.”

“You’re going to sue Excelsior. The Excelsior?”

“Yes. You don’t like the idea?”

“Well, sure, I like the idea. It just doesn’t seem like enough.”

Edwin turns away. “It’s not. But it’s a start.”

Chapter Forty-Six 

Serving the Process

So how do you find out that you are being sued? It’s pretty easy to know if you are suing someone. But if you’ve never been sued before, you might not be familiar with what happens. Legally a representative of the court, usually the plaintiff’s attorney, has to present you with a special set of papers called a process. And despite what television drama might have you believe, this is usually a pretty mundane affair. Someone walks up and hands the defendant (or sue-ee if you are not fond of legal jargon) a stack of papers. Usually they say something like, “You’re being sued,” and then they walk off. After that, the person serving the process does not, as a general rule, say anything like, “this is for what you did to Billy,” “I told you we’d get you, you bastard,” or even “Have a nice day.”

But the standard process does not apply when it comes to someone like Excelsior. First of all, how do you find such a man? He does not keep regular office hours. And even if you do manage to locate him at the scene of a disaster or happening, chances are he will fly off before you can get to him. Sure, there is the occasional public speaking event, but security is tight, and there is still the flying off problem. Topper had considered all of these things.

Oh Topper is devil-may-care about a lot of things, but he is a meticulous and exacting lawyer. Because he hates to lose. Worse than anything you have ever hated in your life, he hates to lose. And if he is to stand any chance at all, he must first get Excelsior in the courtroom. So he schemes a scheme. Topper thinks it is marvelous and subtle and on par with Edwin’s best work. It isn’t. But it is good. It is very good.

Excelsior has moved to a hotel on the West Side while a new apartment is being found for him. He spends his time, much as he always does, lazing about and waiting for something to happen. And nothing has happened for several days. Absolutely nothing. He finds it hard to believe, but there has been no world-ending emergency, no alien attack, no earthquake, no sinister plot that required foiling. Another person might be glad, or thankful, or at least remembered that he had recently been upset by not having any time off. But not Excelsior. He’s bored.

He turns on the television. Looking for something. Anything. Anyone to save. He doesn’t have to watch long. A local television channel has pre-empted regular programming with breaking news. Excelsior has no idea how long this emergency has been going on, but they’ve already created a name and a logo. “Bridge to Disaster!” That  has to take a news channel at least 10 minutes, right. Undoubtedly there is someone in a corner of the station frantically composing a theme song.

The screen shows helicopter footage of the Turnbuckle bridge. There, in the very middle, an accident has forced a red minivan through the guardrail. The vehicle teeters precipitously on the edge. The only thing holding the car back from an eight hundred foot drop into the water is a badly damaged guy wire.

Excelsior doesn’t think too much of it. C’mon, it’s just one car. He can see several fire trucks and police cars in the background. That’s fine, Excelsior thinks, let the little people handle the light work. But then, just as he is about to change the channel, he sees the driver stick her head out the window. She is beautiful. As she screams hysterically, her blonde hair flies in all directions. The car lurches closer to the edge of the bridge. As the woman points frantically at the back seat of the car Excelsior notices that she’s not wearing a wedding ring. The shot changes to a helicopter camera. There, on extreme zoom, Excelsior can see a child in a car seat.

Hmm, thinks Excelsior. Hot mom, with child, in danger. He should probably go check that out. In the back of his head, he hears Gus saying, “Just don’t do ANYTHING!” He decides he doesn’t care. He wants to save them. He wants the easy win and the gratitude of a beautiful woman. The adoration of the public. So he’s going to do it. What were they going to do, punish him for saving a mother and child? He didn’t think so. It’s not much of a rebellion, but it’s a start.

Excelsior flies low and fast along the surface of the water. It’s more fun that way. When he reaches the bridge, he arcs high into the air so that everybody can get a good chance to see him. A cheer goes up. That’s right, he thinks, Excelsior, is here to save the day. As if there is all the time in the world, he floats down and grabs the front of the car.

“My child! Save my child,” the beautiful blond screams. She’s even better looking in person.

“Don’t worry ma’am, Excelsior is here.” He lifts the car and puts it back on to the bridge. The crowd roars its approval. Excelsior laps it up. The adoration is deafening. He is the hero. It feels good. It is a pure win.

The woman struggles to open the back door and remove her baby from the car seat. Excelsior steps forward. “Allow me ma’am.” There is a screech of twisting metal as he effortlessly rips the door from the frame. Without looking, he tosses it off the bridge.

“Hey there little fella, your mother is worried sick about you,” Excelsior says as he leans into the car. But as he’s leaning across the seat, the child leaps up and shoves a handful of papers into his face.

“Surprise, you’re being sued!” says Topper.

“What? What is this? What’s going on here?”

“It’s all in the papers. Don’t try and figure it out for yourself. Take it to a professional.”

“What about the woman?” Excelsior asks.

“Oh her?” Topper looks as his watch. “She’s paid up for another hour and a half. Have a ball.”

“What? I don’t understand any of this.”

“That’s why you need a professional,” Topper says, “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Topper steps down from the car and sees the crowd. This is a moment Topper cannot waste. “Hey Everybody, let’s have a big hand for Excelsior. He SAVED ME!” The crowd erupts into cheering again. Excelsior is still trying to make sense of the strange little man. But before he can ask any questions Topper scurries off into the crowd.

“I’m dismissing your case,” says the Judge.

“Dismissing my case!” says Topper, “but it hasn’t even started. Besides, the defendant didn’t even send counsel. It’s over, we win.”

“This travesty isn’t even getting started. You don’t have proof of service.”

“Proof of service! Your honor, please,” Topper holds up a picture of himself waving to the crowd on the bridge. In the background of the picture, Excelsior is holding a stack of papers. He has a confused look on his face. “Not only do I have proof of service. Service was covered on NBC, CBS, ABC, CNN and CNBC. How much more proof does the court require?”

“Yes, but whom did you serve papers to? The court will agree that you presented documents to a man in a costume. But this court does not recognize that you have correctly identified the party you wish to sue.”

“What are you talking about? He’s Excelsior. Everybody knows Excelsior.”

“And everyone knows Mickey Mouse as well. And if you want to sue a man who wears a Mickey Mouse costume, you don’t file suit against Mickey Mouse. You find out the man’s name and file the proper legal papers in the proper legal manner. Your case is dismissed.”

“This is a travesty! A friggin tra-ves-ty. I don’t have to put up with this kind of runaround.”

“Yes, in fact you do,” says the judge. He drops the gavel.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Topper grumbles as he storms from the courtroom. “I need an angle.”

Twenty minutes later Topper has related the whole story to Edwin. “We’re sunk. We’re sunk before we even get out of the harbor.”

“I am shocked,” says Edwin, not shocked in the least.

“I know, right, you at least think they would play by their own rules?”

“No, I am shocked that you managed to leave the courtroom without being held in contempt.”

“What? Let my passion interfere with my work? Sir, I am a professional. But I don’t know what to do with this. I’m stymied. We could try getting the case heard in another court, but, if this is going to be their defense…”

Edwin smiles at his little friend. “Topper, don’t worry. This is a simple problem. Easy to solve.”

“Easy to solve? We can’t even appeal because we never even got to trial! This is a complete failure of the legal system! What can we do?”

“Clearly they have forced our hand. We have no choice but to reveal Excelsior’s secret identity,” Edwin says as he picks up the phone.

Topper recoils in shock and amazement. “You know Excelsior’s secret identity? You mean you’ve known all along?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea who he is.”

“But then how?”

“Shh, Topper, shhh.”

The next day a two-page advertisement appears in the paper claiming that Excelsior is really Ron Koch, a city garbage man and known pederast. Shortly after publication a completely nondescript lawyer arrives at Edwin’s office and serves him with the papers for a defamation of character lawsuit. Somehow, the case is moved to the top of the docket, and Topper and Edwin stand in court two days later.

“Your honor, this man has falsely accused one of America’s great heroes of being a child molester. Decency itself has been wounded. And cries for redress in the amount of 1.3 million” says the counsel for Excelsior.

When the judge looks to the defense table, he is surprised to see Edwin Windsor was writing a check.

“Does the defense have anything to say?” the Judge asks Topper.

“As much as it pains me to say it your honor, we have no argument,” says Topper. 

Edwin rises and carries the check to the prosecution. He says, “You win.”

The attorney looks at it and says, “It’s too much. You made it out for 1.4 million? Why would you do that?”

“Call it a tip,” says Edwin as he leaves the courtroom.

“Well, I don’t know what just happened, but this very strange case is closed,” says the Judge as he bangs his gavel.

“Why would you do that?” the government attorney asks Topper.

“‘Cause now, my walleyed friend, we have precedent. If Excelsior doesn’t need to reveal his true identity to sue us, then we don’t need to know his true identity to sue him.”

The attorney blinks twice, then realizes that Topper is right. “Oh my God. What have we done?”

“Bingo Walleye, ya screwed up.” Topper looks towards Edwin. “He’s not a trial lawyer. But he’s very, very smart.”

“Call the judge back,” the attorney yells, “We’ve got to reopen the case.”

“Here’s a copy of the papers I already served your client. I’ll see you in court. You’ll see me in your nightmares.”

Chapter Forty-Seven 

Backrooms

There are those who think that the business of the law is conducted in the open air of the courtroom. That every discussion and decision is held in the hallowed halls of justice amid august assembly with wise fathers in togas chiseling words in stone so that Justice might be preserved through the ages. But it is not so. That’s the nickel tour. That’s civics class. That’s the “Babies-come-from-Storks” explanation. And just like the miracle of birth, the reality of the manufacture of justice is much, much messier.

The trial is just the tip of the iceberg. Here’s a peek below the waterline.

R. Lee McEllroy, representing Excelsior, comes from a long line of silver-tongued devils. He is well respected as a defense attorney, and highly regarded as a fixer. Topper knows him well, and has, at various times, carried a marker on him for debts he has acquired from him in a regular card game run by the Clerk of Court. McEllroy is an ideal choice as local counsel for the government’s defense of Excelsior.

At first, R. Lee is a little in awe of Excelsior. After all, this is the man who had stopped the Sprawl invasion almost single-handedly. But as soon as the great man opens his mouth, McEllroy realizes that he is a client just like any other. Maybe more so. 

“It’s bullshit that I even have to be here,” Excelsior says, “What good are you if you can’t even get me out of this bullshit court case?”

“Mr. Uh, Excelsior, uh, we’ve passed the point in the process where the case can be dismissed by the judge. Since you’re not willing to settle –"

“It’s not me, it’s him. Them, the government.” With a jerk of a gauntleted hand, he indicates Gus sitting the corner. Gus hooks a lung rocket in the corner of his ragged mouth.

“Uh, there’s no smoking in my office,” says McEllroy.

“Of course, we could settle,” Gus says as he lights up anyway. He takes a long draw, then rolls the cigarette around between his thumb and forefinger. “But then we’ll just have to keep paying. And paying. And paying. No, if we are going to fight this fight, we’re going to fight it and win it so it stays won. So nobody else ever thinks to come looking for money.”

“I’m not going to do it,” says Excelsior.

“What do you mean you’re not going to do it?” asks Gus. “You don’t have to do anything. You just show up in a nice— I mean, your suit and sit there. It’s got to be the easiest thing I’ve ever asked you to do.”

“It’s a sham. What are you going to do if I don’t? Are you going to lock up me? With what? Where? I’m tired of this bullshit. That Cromoglodon thing destroys buildings and kills people and you leave him alone. Why? Because he’s powerful. He gets to do whatever he wants because he’s powerful. And I don’t get to do anything I want? It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.”

“It’s not fair,” Gus says, mocking Excelsior. “You sound just like a three-year old girl. Pull it together. Pretend like you’re a man.”