Chapter Eighteen
Nothing Right for Agnes
Agnes isn’t having a good day. She’s holding it together, but the fact that Edwin is in trouble is wearing on her more than her stiff upper lip will allow her to reveal.
To add to her strain, Topper has insisted upon coming along. “To the rescue!” he cried as he boarded the private jet. That was the first and last useful statement he had to offer. As soon as his little feet touched the lush carpet, an unending stream of bad ideas had rolled out of him.
“A stampede, that will do it.”
“Wait, wait, a stampede of, not of cattle, but of guys dressed as Mexican wrestlers. That’ll confuse the shit out of them.”
“Ah, never mind, too complicated. Did you remember to pack a rocket launcher? No, flamethrower? What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Agnes knows that Edwin relies on Topper from time to time. And that, after his own fashion, Topper is loyal and trustworthy. But she does not approve of him. To Agnes, Topper is an undersized Barbarian with a law degree. She is certain that the little man’s growth has been stunted by nothing other than his own debauchery. Yes, Topper is a good lawyer. But he is not the only good lawyer.
Restraint and perseverance are called for here. There are steps they can take — a great many steps — before it is time to call in the commandos. The important thing is not to increase the risk to Edwin. It is also important not to take action until they know, for certain, what the situation is.
From the plane, she attempts to call the Rielly Residence several times. The phone rings and rings and rings. Agnes is beset by a maddening lack of information.
As the wheels touch down in Alabama, the protocol dictates that she make an appeal to the local authorities. Make the matter seem innocuous. An ordinary missing person case. She does not have a high estimation of local sheriffs, but it is a place to start. Agnes shares this idea with Topper. It is a logical, reasonable first step.
Topper says “Yer outta your old, wrinkly head. These rednecks aren’t going to help you. They’re probably all related. Haven’t you seen any movies?”
“Well, what would you have us do?” asks Agnes, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“You go back home. I’ll find some tanks, roll in there, blow the whole joint up and get him out.”
“NO! You know very well how Edwin feels about senseless destruction.”
“Yeah, but that’s because he’s an egghead. He’s not a get-it-done kind of guy like me.”
Topper cannot not persuade Agnes to see things his way. So with the midget in tow, she marches into the Hims Chapel County Seat, through a door that reads Sheriff’s Department and in a loud voice, asks “Is this the local constabulary?”
Earl, or more formally, Deputy Sheriff Earl Trotter, looks up at Agnes in a way that suggests he has no idea what a constable is, much less a constabulary, but is willing to adopt a shoot-first-ask=questions-later policy towards whatever it might be. His ears are set a little too high and his eyes are set a little too close together. When he asks, “Whut?” his features seem to jump off the top of his head.
“Law enforcement,” says Agnes, “I am seeking the local authorities.”
“That’d be sheriff Jessup.”
“Is he about? I should like to file a complaint.”
“Oh no, ma’am he don’t like complainers.”
“Very well then, a missing persons report. I have reason to believe that my associate is being held to the North of here by –”
“Now just wait a minute Ma’am. Iffn you know where he is, he ain’t exactly missing now is he?” Earl looks at Topper realizing for the first time that there is a midget in the room. None of this makes sense to Earl.
“Deputy, a man is being held against his will!”
Earl’s eyes flash back and forth between Topper and Agnes. “Well, ma’am, we in the profession would call that kidnapping.”
“I care not what you call it.”
“Well, it’s important, cause we’ve got different forms for different things, see if you had lost some livestock –”
“No, no, no. you dolt. A person, a man, has been kidnapped. And I need you to –”
Earl holds up his hand. Feeling that he is exercising his finely tuned powers of observation, Deputy Earl asks, “Ma’am, are you aware you are being tailed by a midget?”
“Painfully,” says Agnes, wringing every bit of emotion out of the word.
“Screw this noise,” says Topper, “This shitkicker’s getting us nowhere.” As Topper walks out, the last thing he hears is Earl saying, “Now ma’am, about how long do you reckon that rude little fella has been surveilling you?”
Agnes tries to explain, once again, about Edwin Windsor being held against his will. Earl wants none of it. “Ma’am, are you sure you don’t want to file a complaint against that rude little fella.”
“No,” says Agnes, “Remarkably, that annoying little man is the least of my troubles today. Now about this kidnapping.”
“Oh Ma’am, I can’t do nothing about that. You’re just gonna have to talk to the sheriff.”
“And where is he?”
“He’s out ma’am.”
“When do you expect him to return?”
“Can’t say. He comes and goes a lot. O-fficial business and all.”
Agnes is not the kind of woman who can be dissuaded by a weak-chinned man. “Very well,” she says, “I shall wait.” And she plants herself in a chair as if she has every intention of growing roots.
The hours pass. The deputy is not comfortable with the strange English woman in his workspace. He had thought she would grow tired and bored and leave. But she does not. With each passing moment, Agnes is more at home in her environment. First, she flips through a magazine. Then she gathers all of the magazines in the sitting area, removes the subscription cards, and piles them alphabetically by subject. Next, she organizes the furniture. Wherever she steps, order follows.
The Deputy protests, “Hey, look, now just look, you can’t –”
Agnes counters, “But it is such a frightful mess.”
“But this is important po-lice business.”
“All the more reason that it should not be shoddy.”
Of course, Agnes knows exactly what she is doing. A little more time and she will have broken him completely. As she thinks this, she hears the rumble of heavy equipment. With her innate English instinct for tragedy, she knows Topper is about to ruin everything.
A blast of an air horn rattles the windows in the Hims Chapel Sheriff’s office. Agnes hears the grinding of gears and an unmistakeable high-pitched cackle. The midget is afoot!
“Whut in the hell is that?” asks the deputy as he reaches for his gun belt.
Agnes does not answer. She drops a stack of files and bustles out the door as fast as her proper old feet will carry her.
Outside she sees a flatbed truck with a bulldozer on it accelerating hard towards the north end of town. As the truck roars past her, Topper throws her a little wave. He appears to be standing high above the wheel on a naked woman’s lap.
“Oh my God,” says Agnes. She is certain that she has just seen the first Harbinger of the Apocalypse.
At the far end of main street, Topper flattens a few parking meters and a defenseless shrub. Squeezed onto the bench seat next to Topper, are the Sheriff and a man named Clarence Johnson. The Sheriff is laughing so hard
