Chapter Fifty-One. Excelsior Throws the Gauntlet
Excelsior takes the stand with surprising dignity for a man wearing a cape and tights.
“Hold up your right hand and solemnly swear, I promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”
Excelsior says nothing. The Bailiff starts to repeat the oath. Excelsior says, “This is bullshit.”
Judge Perkins is so startled that he says, “excuse me?”
“I said it’s bullshit. That’s the truth. That’s what you wanted, right?”
“Son, I’ve never charged a man in tights with contempt before. But don’t think that means I won’t.”
Excelsior holds up a small black box. “You know what this is? Of course you don’t. This is a pager. A very special kind of pager. And when it goes off, it means that something bad is happening somewhere in the world. Very bad. The kind of bad only I can handle.”
Judge Perkins pounds his gavel. “Mr. Excelsior, you will sit down! Or you WILL be held in contempt!” Excelsior reaches over and takes the gavel out of the judge’s hand.
“I have a headACHE,” Excelsior says as he crushes the gavel into dust. He turns back to the courtroom, “This pager has gone off three times since this bullshit trial started. I have never had to put up with this kind of nonsense before. He’s a bad man. A very, very bad man,” he says, pointing directly at Edwin Windsor.
“Objection!” Topper says. “The only bad man here is you. We have evidence, sworn affidavits!” Topper waves a pile of papers in the air. Excelsior squints and the papers are on fire. Topper drops the documents and stomps them out.
Edwin watches all of this as if it is happening on a television screen.
Excelsior continues, “Because I’m here at this farce of a trial, people are dying.” He reads from the pager. “A bridge collapsed in Oregon. There’s been a cave-in in Pennsylvania. And 134 brave souls are trapped on an experimental submarine at the bottom of the North Sea. These are all people I could be helping. But am I?
“No, I’m sitting here listening to this criminal. And just because he hasn’t been convicted doesn’t mean he hasn’t committed crimes.”
“I have committed no crimes,” says Edwin.
“He’s an accessory to every major villain I’ve faced in the last five years. This man is the brains behind the bad guys. The guy, behind the guy, behind the guy. Now I have to listen to him insult me? Bullshit. This costing people’s lives. I am out of here.”
Topper shrieks, “As you can see, he’s dangerous and unbalanced. Prone to fits of rage. He has an irrational hatred of my client. This man recognizes no law but his own.” Excelsior’s eyes flash again. Now the back of Topper’s suit is on fire. He runs around in a circle trying to put it out.
Excelsior steps from the witness stand and walks to Edwin. “And you. If you’ve got a problem with me. Be a man. Don’t try and let the courts do your work. You want a piece of me? You chickenshit suit. You can have a piece of me. Any time. Any place. Anyway you want to go. We’ll do it.”
Edwin looks at him with infinite calm. Excelsior turns on his heel and walks towards the door. He thinks that the matter is concluded. But the sound of a chair scraping against the hardwood floor tells him he is mistaken. When he turns around, Edwin stands in the middle of the courtroom.
“Fine,” says Edwin.
“Fine?” asks Excelsior. Unable to believe what he is hearing.
“Your terms are acceptable.”
“Oh you don’t know when to quit.”
“If the time for quitting presents itself,” says Edwin, “I will quit promptly and well. Let’s settle this.”
“So what’s it going to be Windsor?”
Topper looks at Edwin. The judge comes out from behind his bench. The reporters lean in. The sketch artist scribbles furiously, attempting to complete a drawing of Topper chasing his own flaming ass.
“Clubs,” says Edwin.
“Clubs? You got to be kidding, you want to fight me with a club? You’ll get killed. Besides, it’s not your style.”
“Golf Clubs. Tomorrow, 8:15, Belvedere Country Club. If you win, the case is dropped and I no longer advise villains. If I win, you leave me, and my clients, in peace.”
“Fine, I’ll be there,” says Excelsior.
Chapter Fifty-Two . The Front Nine
Edwin, Topper, Edwin’s caddy and Judge Perkins have assembled on the first tee. The only way the Judge would agree to such an unusual form of arbitration was if he presided over it. And now the Judge is faced with this first ruling. Excelsior is late. As the Judge kicks one of the tee box markers he considers how long he should wait before declaring a forfeit.
The next time he looks up, his problem is solved. There, in the sky, is a wondrous sight. A man flying in cape and costume, but this time, his silhouette includes a bag of golf clubs. As Excelsior flies closer he calls out, “Is this Belvedere?”
“It is sir,” answers the Judge, “and you are late.”
“Sorry,” Excelsior says, “All these damn golf courses look alike from the air.” As Excelsior descends, a gust of wind buffets him. He twists and loses control of the golf bag. Clubs rain down on the first tee and everyone runs for cover.
“Oh Jeeze,” says Excelsior. His comment about finding the golf course is a lie. He had no idea that it would be so difficult to handle the golf clubs in flight. He has dropped them several times on the flight over.
“You know,” says the Judge as he emerges from behind a golf cart, “if you kill me, you forfeit the match. I want that to be clear. Now, we will proceed with match play on a hole-over-hole basis. A hole that is tied is halved and does not push to the next hole. USGA rules will govern play. If you need a ruling, don’t hesitate to ask. Good luck.”
“Yeah,” says Topper, “Touch both clubs and come out swinging.” The Judge gives Topper a stern look. Topper asks, “What, you gonna hold me in contempt of golf course?” Judge Perkins considers it.
Edwin ignores this exchange as he surveys the first hole. Par four, 421 yards. Not difficult, but at about 270 yards the fairway narrows dramatically. On any other day, he would be tempted to hit a long drive and push for a birdie. But not today.
Topper takes the driver from the caddy and hands it to Edwin. “Just belt the crap out if it.”
“Three wood,” says Edwin, not taking his eyes off the hole.
“Three wood?”
“Yes, please.”
“I don’t know if I can let you do that. He’s gonna hit it a mile. You know he’s gonna hit it a mile. You can’t have this punk out-driving you.”
“Topper, the only thing I care about is him outscoring me.”
“All right, but don’t come crying to me when you don’t respect yourself in the morning.”
Edwin steps up to his ball. He takes a quick practice swing. Then he very plainly, very simply hits the ball 230 yards down the middle of the fairway. It kicks high in the air and come to rest.
“Nice pitch,” says Topper. “I like it. Reminds me of myself. Very short.”
“Yes, I get it already,” says Edwin.
As Excelsior takes the tee box, there’s no way he could look more out of place. Even in an environment
