Dr. Loeb is wrong about a lot of things. For example, Dr. Loeb believes that he sounds like an Austrian mastermind. He believes that, through hard work, he has eradicated all trace of the Lower Alabama Cracker he was born with. He believes the long hours he has spent watching Arnold Schwarzenegger movies has paid off. Dr. Loeb is wrong about a lot of things.
Right now, Dr. Loeb is meeting Topper. When he says “I ham pleased to meet you,” his accent wanders back and forth in the linguistic no man’s land that lies along the Alabamo-Austrian border.
As always, Topper says what’s on his mind, “What gives? What’s with the accent?”
Edwin’s not comfortable with this exchange. People either love Topper or hate him. There is no middle of the road. This could go badly.
“Vaht do you mean?” Dr. Loeb asks, losing control of his accent in his misguided attempt to cross the deep chasms of the vowel sounds.
Topper juts his chin out aggressively. This is not a good sign. “Why are you talking like that? Aren’t you just some kind of Lowland Alabama Redneck?” Edwin holds his breath.
“Aw sheet man, I ain’t gonna skeer nobody talkin like dis. Least-wise not trying to take over the world. Like, man, when you’re dropping a guy in a shark tank, you cain’t say, ‘Hey man, feed ‘at bitch ‘em sharks over ere.’ You gotta say something cool like -- Difpose off him.” Dr. Loeb looks to Edwin for confirmation. “Right man?”
“Yes-s-s-s,” says Edwin. “Topper if you’ll excuse us? “
Topper does not move. He stares at Dr. Loeb. Dr. Loeb is not sure why, but he is uncomfortable under the little man’s gaze.
“Dispose of him?” Topper asks. “Dispose of him?”
“Yeah man. Y’know. ‘Dispos hof hem! Ziss infstant!’”
Topper’s face broadens into a smile. “Yeah,” he says, “Yeah. You’re gonna be alright.” He slaps Dr. Loeb on the arm and heads for the door.
“Thank you Topper. We have plans to make,” Edwin says, as he feels some of the tension leave his shoulders.
Dr. Loeb perks right up. “Awww man! A plottin’ and schemin’!”
Now both Edwin and Topper stare at Dr. Loeb as if a plant is growing out of his head. As Topper leaves the room he mutters under his breath, “Holy crap, he’s as crazy as fruit bat in a badminton net.”
“Would it be okay if’n I talked in the evil accent some more?” Dr. Loeb asks.
Edwin forces a smile. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”
“So, you haf come to realize ze vizdom of my plank?”
“Yes, your, p-lan. The giant laser in space. There are difficulties, but the idea is not completely without merit.” Edwin struggles to get it out. He detests lying in all forms.
“Vat? You just put ze lazar into space?”
“Yes, yes, right there. You’ve touched on an interesting point. For the moment, we’ll ignore the expense, and near impossibility of constructing a laser in the megawatt range and focus on the transport issues. How, exactly, would you put it into space?”
“Vee vould put it on ze rocket.”
“It’s very expensive to put something on a rocket. And something as heavy as your death laser – you were planning on calling it a death laser or something like that? Weren’t you?”
“Lazeradicator.”
“Ah yes, much more colorful. Something as heavy and substantial as a Laseradicator,” Edwin says this last word as if it is something awful that he can neither spit out or nor swallow, “would assuredly require more than one rocket. That’s multiple rockets, plus assembly once the parts are in space.”
“So, se Space Shuttle,” says Dr. Loeb, feeling like he is catching on.
“I think it is unlikely that NASA would be keen on helping you with your laser project.”
“Lazeradicator.”
“Yes, it’s a fine name, but that's not the problem. No matter what you call it, you can't sneak it past NASA. And even if you could, it would cost you $10,000 per pound just to get your unbuildable laser into space. How much does it weigh?”
“I don’t know.”
Edwin is encouraged by this response. It suggests that Dr. Loeb has not lost contact, entirely, with reality. “That’s because it can’t be built. Now, I’m all for vision and daring. Especially when these qualities are combined with patience and intelligence – but, really, it’s like this – You can find a solution to one impossible problem. But two impossible problems? The complexities don't add. They multiply.”
Dr. Loeb gives him a blank look. Edwin wonders if this is because Dr. Loeb has never heard of multiplication.
“I’m saying that it can’t be done.”
“But I have a lot of money,” says Dr. Loeb.
“And you should keep it. Someday, you will have a good idea. That money will be used to finance it.” Someday, thinks Edwin, is the day that never comes. “Let’s try it another way. What would you do with your laser?”
“I vould destroy Vashington!”
“Why?”
”Vhat do you mean, it’s Vashington?”
“Yes, and since the British burned it in 1814, it has remained inviolate. And increasingly picturesque.”
“So?”
“How do you plan to make money from destroying the capital of the United States of America?”
“Vell, then I vould be feared.”
“Then you would be broke. Having spent all your money on a laser, and getting it into space, you would then destroy a perfectly good city and get nothing in return.”
“But, but, but”
All the motorboat noises in the world aren’t going to get Dr. Loeb out of this one. Edwin folds his hands and pronounces his stern judgement. “Your business model is deeply flawed. I cannot see the benefit of, much less the possibility for, a giant laser in space.”
For the first time during the whole session, Dr. Loeb does not have a ready and horribly ill-informed reply. He cocks his head. The accent falls away completely, “So what am I gonna do?”
“You’re going to make me a small promise,” says Edwin, “Can you do that?”
Dr. Loeb nods
“You must promise me that, from now on, if we can’t think of a good reason for you to do something, you won’t do it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, let’s try it another way. Why do you want to take over the world?”
“That’s what I’m supposed to do. I am a villain.” Dr. Loeb says this like it is the most natural and obvious thing in the world. “I have a secret lair. I have ziss jacket. Ze right haircut. I am ze evil mastermind.”
“Okay. Okay. Right there. Let’s say you took over the world.”
“Yes. Ja, I like ziss,” says Dr. Loeb, clapping his fat hands together.
“You are lord and master of all creation,” says Edwin.
“Domination!,” he says, nodding so vigorously his jowls seem in danger of breaking free and rolling down his neck.
“What then?”
Dr. Loeb’s mouth hangs open. He has no answer.
“What good would it do, to control the whole world?”
“But, that’s what I’m zupposed to do!”
“Why?”
“Because, well, everybody knows ziss. Ze supervillain iz to take over the world.”
“Of course. But why?”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems like a prudent question. You’re about to devote a considerable amount of your time and effort to reach a goal. Is this goal worthwhile?”
“I didn’t not become ze villain, ze super-villain I am, to be prudent.”
“That’s good. That’s the kind of thing that helps me. Now,” Edwin leans in to emphasize his question, “Why did you become a villain?”
Dr. Loeb has no idea. Edwin lets him struggle with the question for a while. Of course, Edwin knows the answer. He knew long before Dr. Loeb sat down. The only question in Edwin’s mind is – can he get Dr. Loeb to recognize the answer? It’s a long shot, but if Dr. Loeb can have a moment of clarity, then a world of possibilities will be created for both of them.
You see, Dr. Loeb (by birth, Eustace Eugene Rielly the Third) is but a dilettante in the world of evil. A tourist, if you will. Or more precisely, a spoiled child who, by virtue of a sizable trust fund, has grown to become a very spoiled adult. He has no sense of accomplishment. There are not many obstacles for the super-rich. There are precious few things for the young scion of wealthy family to test his mettle upon. Eustace does not care for polo or sailing. He is bad at business. Charity work does not suit him. But he has managed to find something to call his own. That it is ridiculous, absurd and counter-productive, is no detriment for Eustace. In fact, that is what makes being an Evil Genius all the more attractive to him.
This is because Eustace’s mother, Iphagenia Rielly, is controlling, shrewd and manipulative. The widow Rielly sees to it that her son has what the rich refer to as “a little money,” but has denied him any substantial funds. Of course, Iphagenia will tell you that she loves her son unconditionally. This means that anything other than her love comes with conditions. If Iphagenia was given to introspection, she might realize that she would have been much happier with a child that was genetically modified to remain an infant. Since Eustace hit puberty, she has consoled herself with a series of small furry dogs.
Eustace has been driven to more and more bizarre forms of rebellion in his efforts to get his mother’s attention. But until this moment he has not dared to utter his most secret hope. A hope which Edwin means to twist to his purpose.
All of Eustace’s defenses and fantasies are stripped away. He speaks softly. “I became a villain to get back at my mother.”
Edwin smiles. Now he is getting somewhere. Edwin doesn’t believe in revenge. There’s rarely a profit in it. But Iphagenia Rielly possesses a mind-boggling amount of money. For the first time in the interview, Edwin uses Dr. Loeb’s real name. “Now, Eustace, what would it be like when you have your revenge?”
“She, she, she’d have to do what I told her.” Eustace looks around nervously, expecting his mother to catch him in the middle of this confession.
“Control. You would have control.”
“Yes,” he says , “domination.”
“Domination,” says Edwin. Tears of gratitude well up in Eustace’s eyes. Then the fear comes over him again.
“Can we really do it?”
Edwin is going to explain that if Eustace will listen to him, and hire the right kind of lawyer, that they have a very good chance of success. But he is interrupted by an explosion at the back of the room.
“MOTHER!” cries Eustace in terror.
The dust settles. At the other end of the room is a figure clad in spandex. “It is I, Superlative Man!”
“He iz come to do battle with me!” Eustace cries with joy in his voice. “I am ze villain, ze sinister Dr. Loeb and he must stop me. You take your life in your hands when you tangle ze fearsome intellect of ZE LOEB!”
Edwin tries. “Uh, Superlative Man, is it? It’s not clear that my client is guilty of breaking any laws.”
“Superlative Man doesn’t buy it. “What are you trying to say? He's evil. Just look at him. No self-respecting or law-abiding citizen would dare dress like that.”
Insanely, Dr. Loeb agrees with him. “I am EVIL! He must stop me before I strike again! Manful COMBAT!”
Edwin tries again. “Eustace, that is, Dr. Loeb, you might want to rethink this. He’s got a good 40 pounds on you and he just shouldered his way through a wall.”
But it is no use. The high redoubts of Fort Reason are overwhelmed when the man clad in spandex yells, “Superlative Man, into the fray!”
Edwin pushes his chair back from the table. As the two men brawl, Edwin uses the intercom. “Agnes. Things are winding down in here. I’ll need a full contract package – ”
Superlative Man holds Dr. Loeb over his head and slams into the conference room table.
“What was that? Yes, yes, absolutely an accidental death and dismemberment waiver. And I believe Dr. Loeb will require prompt medical attention. Thank you.”
For all his posturing, things aren’t going well for Dr. Loeb. He is pinned under Superlative man’s knee. In pain he gives up on all pretense and distress. An uninterrupted stream of Lower Alabama profanity pours forth from Eustace’s slobbering gob-hole. Such filth, thinks Edwin. Such a remarkable knowledge of the anatomy of farm animals.
Superlative Man wrenches Dr. Loeb’s arm hard against its socket. “Yield villain, Yield!” Dr. Loeb’s shoulder lets go with a sickening crunch. The profanity drops off to a whimper.
Ah, that’s nice, thinks Edwin. And then he produces a small nickel-plated pistol from his desk drawer and shoots Superlative Man in the leg. Superlative Man, cries out in shock and surprise. The blood drains from his face and he collapses on the floor.
“You shot me!?!” he says, in firm command of the obvious.
Dr. Loeb looks at Edwin through a haze of pain. His arm sticks out from behind his back from an absurd angle. Before he loses consciousness he says, “Thank you.”
Edwin replaces the gun in the drawer. “No thanks required. It will be added to your bill.”
“You have been busy,” says Agnes as she stands in the doorway and surveys the carnage. “Is that the tang of cordite in the air? Destructive meeting I trust?”
“No, no. An excellent meeting. However, it has left Dr. Loeb in need of medical attention...”
“And what shall we do with this other poor unfortunate?” Agnes dials 911 as she speaks.
Edwin looks down at the man in the costume. Superlative Man. Of course, he was no superhero. There is nothing superlative about him whatsoever. He is an out-of-work actor trying to earn some extra cash. Edwin feels a stirring of some unidentifiable emotion for him. Not pity. Of course not pity. Whatever it is, he puts it from his mind.
“He should be handled with some discretion,” says Edwin. No doubt when the actor returns to consciousness, he will be terribly upset about being shot. It is not Edwin’s fault that the actor did not thoroughly read the death and dismemberment rider.
Edwin does not approve of violence. It is too unpredictable, too hard to control. But he had needed a way to earn Dr. Loeb’s trust beyond all question. He doesn’t think that this farce was a bad solution, but he feels that he has somehow fallen short. He feels that, if he had a little more time, he would have been able to develop a more elegant solution.
“He has bled rather a lot,” Edwin observes.
Agnes covers the phone with her hand and says, “Yes dear, that is my next phone call. Unfortunately, 911 does not dispatch carpet cleaning services.” Agnes pauses thoughtfully. “But when you think of it. Excuse me, do you —” an outraged squawking comes through the phone. “Well then, we’ll just have the ambulance.”
Agnes hangs up the phone. “You see, this is precisely what happens when you do not take the time to enforce and develop a quality serving class. That woman was unapologetically rude. I will never understand why such a bright, sensitive man such as yourself has chosen to make this savage country your home.”
“It’s where the work is,” Edwin says, “and now it seems I must go to Alabama.”
“Heaven’s no! Edwin I forbid you to go.”
Edwin looks at her.
“Of course, what I mean to say is.”
“I know what you mean to say. It will be fine, Agnes.”
“I predict disaster. I predict disaster.”
“Yes, my dear, but you always predict disaster. You have long called for the downfall of Western Civilization.”
“No, no, Edwin. Not calling for. Bemoaning. Bewailing. Cassandra crying out in the savage wilderness of America.”