“I am afraid that is the smell of pig.”
“Oh my God.”
Edwin holds up the jacket. It is utterly destroyed. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to find something off-the-rack at this late hour,” says Agnes. Edwin shudders at the thought of trying to make do with something cut for the lowest common denominator that is the mass.
Survivors of every shape and kind emerge from the house. Some flee immediately. Others wander the grounds in mute amazement. Seeming to wonder, did the plane crash? How am I still alive? And hey, I wasn’t in a plane. I was in a house. Houses don’t fall out of the sky?
The sheriff recovers what little dignity remains of his office and asks the obvious question, “Where’d all these slippery faggots come from?”
Dr. Loeb emerges from the shadows to answer the Sheriff, “They haff been brought here and held against their vill. As haff I. I am afraid mine mater has quite lost her mind.” He points to a figure wandering about on what is left of the front lawn.
The Sheriff turns and he sees Iphagenia Rielly staggering around her lawn like a cross between a Can-Can girl and Mardi Gras float that came in third in a demolition derby. All he wants to do is go home and sleep it off. So he calls in the State Police. He calculates that his cousin, a good, dull, churchgoing man, has been sleeping for at least eight hours. Let him worry about it for a while.
“What are we going to do now?” asks Agnes.
Edwin puts an arm around Dr. Loeb’s shoulders. “We are going to build a giant laser. In space.” Edwin does not smile.
Alabaster, who is really Daniel, has not bothered to run. He knows it is over. He knew it had been too good to be true. He sits on what was left of the front steps and waits for the hammer to fall. Every time he closes his eyes he sees visions of his sons working at Dairy Queen. Every time he opens them he realizes he is going to jail. Edwin walks over to him. Alabaster does not plead. He does not try to bargain. He just sits there and waits for the tall man to exact his revenge.
Edwin considers him for a moment. Then he says, “Daniel, you are an intelligent man and entirely without scruple. A totally self-interested agent who seems to care only about money.” With a flick Edwin presents his card. “If you find yourself in need of work, contact me. I can use a man like you.”
Daniel takes the card, not entirely sure of what has just happened. Perhaps he’s not going to jail. But why won’t this feeling of dread desert him?
Clarence decides that he’s done with the entire state of Alabama. When the truck had hit the house, he had been tossed into the sleeper cab. Now that he’s crawled out, he’s decided he doesn’t care about any of this. And why should he? He and his crew are due in Virginia day after next to tear apart a WWII-era generator factory for the Department of Defense. The DoD should have more than enough juice to get him out of whatever ridiculous jam this is. This bullshit is clearly somebody else’s problem. So he fires up the truck and drives away. That night he leaves frilly bits of house scattered across three states.
Chapter Twenty-Two
23 Seconds
When Iphagenia is admitted to the emergency room she is diagnosed with dehydration and extreme sexual exhaustion. But by the time she is discharged, she is no longer in control of her fate. Topper works quickly. As it turns out, the judge with jurisdiction over Hims Chapel, Alabama is yet another of the Sheriff’s cousins. And he thought that Topper was even funnier than the sheriff did.
Normally the argument required to deprive someone of their Power of Attorney and commit them, involuntarily, to a mental institution, takes months. And in cases where staggeringly large amounts of money are involved, years can pass with no resolution. It is necessary to prove, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the person in question is a danger to themselves or others.
This usually takes days of expert testimony, a careful presentation of meticulously prepared evidence, and, quite often, the deliberation of a jury. But as Topper sips a glass of the Judge’s fine bourbon, he make his case with a handful of photographs and one sentence. “She’s friggin’ crazy.” The judge laughs and signs the paper that transfers control of the entire Rielly estate to Eustace Eugene Rielly. The generous bribe also helps.
Then comes the obligatory stack of legal forms for Dr. Loeb to sign. Topper rattles through them quickly. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Happy Mother’s Day. Sign here. Initial here. Sign here, here and here.” Somewhere in the middle of the thick stack of forms that Dr. Loeb signs to commit his mother, is a very special contract. It looks like all the others. Across the top it says, Power of Attorney. There are a lot of “Powers of” going on in this case. But this one is different. This form grants Edwin Windsor a complete Power of Attorney for all of Eustace Rielly’s (dba Dr. Loeb) affairs.
Of course, these legal machinations will not hold up to a concerted assault. But Iphagenia has gone around the bend, so she can initiate no legal action. Edwin’s special genius will save him trouble with Dr. Loeb. Restraint. Edwin isn’t going to seize the money all at once. This isn’t a smash-and-grab job. He will bleed it off slowly. Imperceptibly. Imperceptible to Dr. Loeb at least. And along the way he will make certain that Dr. Loeb gets good value for his money. Edwin is going see that Dr. Loeb fully realizes the fantasy of being a powerful and successful supervillain. In Edwin’s eyes it is a fair bargain. And he is certain that, if he could spare the several years it would take to explain the matter to Dr. Loeb, he would see it that way as well.
So it is that Dr. Loeb betrays his own mother, gains control over her and, for 23 seconds, is heir to one of the largest fortunes in the United States. But before he can squander a penny of it, Edwin snatches it from his grasp.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A New Suit
Bone-weary, Edwin enters the private aviation terminal in Mobile, Alabama. As the automatic doors slide open, a wall of cool, processed air envelopes his body. Tendrils of vapor coalesce and spin through the thickened atmosphere outside. As the doors close, Edwin is almost able to forget the world outside the airport.
That is the point of the modern airport, isn’t it? Featureless monotonic travelspace providing uniformly grim comfort to the weary traveler. England, New England, New Delhi and Detroit all the same. Where you might be going and where you might be delayed are indistinguishable until you exit the airport. And no matter how awful your locale, the mediocre plastic womb of the airport is always there for you.
For this and many other reasons, Edwin loathes airports. In fact, in this state of distress and undress, Edwin loathes everything. In a dirty undershirt, tattered and ruined pants, shoes still full of filth, he is a stark contrast to the uniformed plastic of the airport terminal. Edwin recognizes that fatigue and distress color his emotions and distort his thinking, but at this point, there is little he can do about it. The only thing for it is a hot shower and a proper change of clothes. Such necessities seem, at best, hours away; and what would be the point of cleaning up now? He can think of nothing more depressing than putting a clean body back into filthy attire.
On the far side of the terminal, Agnes is making arrangements with the flight crew. Edwin can hear that there has been some mixup with refueling. In her very polite way, Agnes is raking an airport official back and forth over the coals of her proper and righteous indignation. Edwin is confident that she will have it sorted out soon enough. Or, at the very least, she will have a roasted civil servant for her trophy case.
Nearby, Topper has passed out in an uncomfortable seat. There is a misleading innocence that gathers
