“They are both at fault. It is only because Lifto resisted that there was a fight. It is only because of the pointless struggle that Agnes was harmed. We could just as well blame Lifto, or the Cromoglodon, or any of a host of villains or heroes.”
“Yeah, but I still say we get Excelsior. Lifto’s one of the good guys. I mean, one of the bad guys. I mean, he’s on our side. Besides, Lifto’s in prison. Not much point.”
Edwin smiles. Topper doesn’t get it. There are no good guys. There are no bad guys. There’s just Edwin and everybody else. And the way Edwin feels right now, they don’t stand a chance. Edwin doesn’t explain this to Topper. Instead he says, “That’s okay Topper, we can get Excelsior. But I say we get them all, just to be safe.”
“Oh Edwin, I like the sound of that. This new you is, is — I don’t know, but I like it. Does this mean I get to have a gun? A big friggin gun? Bigger than me even?”
“No Topper.”
“No?” asks Topper, obviously disappointed. “But we’re supposed to be the bad guys!”
“No, Topper. You can have a gun. I’m saying that I don’t think they make a gun big enough for what I need you to do.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Negatively Buoyant
The Cromoglodon wakes early and hungry after a hard night’s work. It was cold last night, so he knocked a small apartment building over on himself to keep warm. He shrugs off the rubble with a tremendous yawn. His clothing is displaying an advertisement for orange juice. Definitely time for breakfast. He sets out in search of a diner or a grocery store to eat.
As he stumbles out into the empty street he is almost aware that something isn’t right. He is accustomed to waking up to sirens, or, at the very least, people screaming and running away from him. Today, there is none of that. The Cromoglodon spends most of his time being confused, so he figures that everything is normal.
The first rocket catches him in the ear.
“Take that you son-of-a-bitch,” Topper yells. He balances the smoking rocket launcher on his shoulder and hustles around the corner as fast as his short legs will carry him.
The Cromoglodon isn’t hurt. The Cromoglodon isn’t really even annoyed. After all, it’s only a rocket. But Topper’s got his attention. So he follows. When he turns the corner, a second volley of rockets take him off his feet.
“Ahahahahahahahahahahahah! You block-headed bastard!” Topper yells at him from the next corner.
Still mostly curious, the Cromoglodon picks himself up and lumbers on. He follows the shrieking midget into a park. That’s where he steps on the land mines. For all his toughness, the Cromoglodon has very sensitive feet. The land mines get to him. He bellows in pain. Now he’s pissed.
“Oh shit,” says Topper. Around the corner is a red MG. Topper leaps into the car and speeds away. The car is fast, but not quite fast enough. As the Cromoglodon gives chase, he’s able to get a hand on the bumper. He pulls half of the trunk free. Topper gives it all he’s got. He drives like an inspired madman — heedless of red lights, medians, newspaper boxes.
With the Cromoglodon close behind him, Topper barrels down a pier. When he reaches the decrepit warehouse at the end, Topper’s foot never leaves the accelerator. He crashes through the back wall of the warehouse and sails into the harbor beyond. The car quickly sinks.
The Cromoglodon skids to a stop in the middle of the warehouse. The Cromoglodon can not swim. It is not a matter of knowing how. His incredibly tough structure is simply too dense to permit any buoyancy.
Edwin triggers the detonator.
The warehouse and the Cromoglodon explode and sink to the bottom of the harbor. The Cromoglodon does not sink like a stone. Stones don’t struggle. Stones don’t have lungs that burn for air. As stupid as he is, even the Cromoglodon is smart enough to realize that he is going to die. Fear, the true gut-wrenching, bowel-loosening fear of death is something that the invulnerable Cromoglodon has never been forced to consider. As he claws in vain against the dark water the certainty of death sinks it’s reptilian teeth into the Cromoglodon’s brain stem.
From the deck of a powerful motor yacht far out in the harbor, Edwin allows himself a brief smile and turns his attention to the radio. As the first dive team comes alongside in a zodiac raft with a soaked and shivering Topper, Edwin keys the mic. “Bravo team report.”
“Bravo Actual. I think we’ve got him. If not I’d hate to know what else is stirring up all this muck. We’re moving in.”
“Negative B-team, wait until favorable visibility conditions. Stay calm, safe and smart.”
“Sir, whatever else he is, he is drowning and soon to die.”
“Bravo Actual, whatever else he is, he deserves to die several times over. The medical team tells me that they will be able to revive him. The cold water will preserve him for several hours at least.”
“Roger that. Holding.”
“Holy Jesus, that was fun,” says Topper. Edwin does not understand Topper’s thrill-seeking behavior, but he is glad to see him happy.
“I’m glad you enjoyed your role,” says Edwin.
“If I had know being a villain was this much fun, I never would have gone to law school. So now what?”
“We’re going to wait until he is good and dead and then give him to the surgeon. And then, and only then will we warm the brute and see if we can bring him back to life.”
“I think you should just let the bastard suck water and drown,” says Topper.
“Yes, I will take your blood thirst under advisement. You did beautifully by the way.”
“Do you really think so? My aim was a little off with some of the rockets. I’ll get it better next time.”
Edwin doesn’t bother to explain that there will be no next time. A plan that relies on extraordinary acts with less than a 100% chance of success is not a good plan. Edwin is a little disappointed in himself that he couldn’t have come up with a better scheme. He longs for all his machinations to be inexorable rather than spectacular. Edwin does not mean to seize glory, but rather to crush it out of circumstance as an Anaconda kills it’s prey.
Eighteen hours later, the Cromoglodon is thawing on a slab. His head is now circumnavigated by a crown of fresh stitches and attached to high tension power lines. From Edwin’s viewpoint, the stitches make his head look like a grisly baseball. Of course there are neater ways to place implants into a person’s brain, but Edwin hadn’t captured the beast for his looks. He had little trouble convincing the surgeon that speed was more important than aesthetics.
On the panel in front of Edwin are two switches. One switch will activate an automatic defibrillator, which will tickle the Cromoglodon’s heart and bring him back to life. The other switch, will shunt half the city’s power directly into the Cromoglodon’s brain — probably killing him.
This kill switch is to be used only if the electrodes implanted in the Cromoglodon’s brain prove to be ineffective. But for a moment Edwin’s hand wavers between them. Of course, it would be wasteful to destroy such a powerful creature, but all of Edwin’s purposes are cruel. His hand wavers as his demons wrestles with his better angels. The demons win. Edwin closes the switch that restarts the beast’s heart.
As the Cromoglodon’s eyes flutter and his vital signs gain strength, Topper climbs up onto his chest and slaps him across the face. “Rise and Shine!” The Cromoglodon awakes and instantly lunges for Topper. Edwin triggers the implants.
The surgeon who had installed the implants argued that they should be placed in the pain center of the Cromoglodon’s brain, but Edwin had disagreed. He had feared that, brute that he was, the Cromoglodon would be inured to pain. But fear, fear is something unknown to him; something the Cromoglodon was unequipped to deal with. The electricity triggers impossible and unknowable terrors within the Cromoglodon. Tears pour down his face.
