How To Succeed in Evil Read Online Free Page B

swings. The hinges of his tall form all conspire to describe a perfect arc with the head of the golf club. As the club makes contact, Edwin can feel the ball compress against the face of the club. The ball climbs into the long light of the afternoon, seeming to defy physics.
    Topper mutters, “Nice drive.” As they make their way down the fairway, Topper asks, “So what happened with your meeting?”
    “Complete waste of time. He was an idiot.”
    “Hey, hey,” says Topper, “complete idiots are some of my best clients. Excepting you of course.” There is no joke here. Edwin is so smart that sometimes Topper gets a headache just from standing next to him. Topper doesn’t want to think anymore than he has to. Not anymore. He’s done with all that.”
    “He had no talent whatsoever.”
    “No superpowers!” protested Topper, “Was he in the wrong office? How can somebody expect to be a villain if they don’t have superpowers? Was he an idiot?”
    Topper is so Topper that sometimes Edwin gets a headache just from standing next to him. Mostly from Topper’s voice. It is a high, shrieking, Long Island patois that increases in pitch with Topper’s excitement. Topper is crude and uncouth and loud. Very, very loud. Edwin is not sure why he enjoys Topper’s company.
    If you asks Edwin about this, he will tell you that he maintains his association with Topper because the little man is such a good lawyer. A man in Edwin’s profession certainly needs a good lawyer. But Topper is very emotional. Edwin does not want to snub him in any way. Topper’s destructive potential is enormous, and Edwin wants to be sure that Topper is harnessed for his purposes. But this is all rationalization. The smarter we are the more we trick ourselves.
    The truth is, Topper has learned to suck every last drop of joy from the marrow of life. Edwin doesn’t even know he is supposed to crack open the bones. You and I would call it depression. Edwin thinks it protects the clarity of his analysis. But however it is described, Topper’s happiness, though often misguided and destructive, is infectious.
    Edwin is silent for several holes. But then he says, as if it is a great unburdening, “It’s always the same.”
    Topper is taken aback by this uncharacteristic display of emotion. “The same?”
    “Yes, the same thing always happens. They never listen. They never listen to me.”
    “I get that a lot as well. But, I figure, so long as they got the money to pay me, they must be doing something right.”
    Edwin shakes his head slightly, “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”
    Topper heads off into the woods in search of his ball. When he returns, countless strokes later, Edwin asks, “Do you like your clients?”
    “Aw big fella, are you sweet on me,” says Topper. Edwin winces a little, anticipating the headache that surely must be close at hand.
    “Not me, I mean in general, do you like your clients?”
    “I like it when my clients pay,” says Topper. “What else is there?”
    “I just…”
    “Ah, you’re just having a bad day. It will all blow over by Monday. You’ll go back to work and everything will be fine.”
    “What if I don’t want to go back to work on Monday.”
    “Then don’t,” says Topper with a violent shrug, “it’s not like they can take your birthday away.”
    “I’m not sure this is the life I wanted,” says Edwin. Topper has never had such a glimpse into his tall friend’s inner workings. He is stunned by this admission. He is at a loss for words for nearly .03 seconds. For Topper, this is an eternity.
    “What is this bullshit? I’m sorry my friend, but it’s bullshit. You got no time to be second-guessing yourself. You gotta be like a shark. You gotta be like me. You want something? You go take a bite out of it. You don’t like it?” Topper’s face goes eerily blank as he pantomimes a dead-eyed shark spitting out a bit of chum.” You go find something else to take a bite out of. And