“Get it back. Buy it. Steal it. Get it back.”
“It’s not that simple. Listen, I’m not even sure where it is. It’ll take some time to find it.”
“You have forty-eight hours,” said Mr. Lemmy.
“That might not be enough.”
The blond man punched a number on his phone and held it out to Coop.
“Then take this opportunity to say good-bye to poor Morty,” said Mr. Lemmy.
“Forget it,” said Coop. He looked around the car at all the faces of Mr. Lemmy’s giants. He’d be lucky to get out alive himself right now. No way guys like this let guys like Morty and me walk away, even if we give them what they want. But that’s not what he said. What he said was, “I’ll find the box.”
“Forty-eight hours.”
“Forty-eight.”
Mr. Lemmy took out a pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper. “That’s the number you can call when you get the box. Don’t bother giving it to the cops or anyone because it’s a drop phone that’s going in the furnace the moment this nonsense is wrapped up.”
In the furnace, and us with it, thought Coop. He took the paper and put it in his pocket. The car pulled over to the curb and the blond man opened the door. Coop stepped out. He was in front of the Beverly Center mall.
“Babylon told me how much he paid you schmucks for stealing the box. Go buy yourself some decent clothes. You dress like a bum,” said Mr. Lemmy.
“I had some decent clothes, but people keep fucking them up.”
“Then you’re a loser.”
“That crossed my mind.”
Mr. Lemmy punched the armrest button and “Ace of Spades” blasted from the limo speakers. The car sped away. Coop got out his phone and dialed Giselle.
“Where are you?” she said. “You’re late—Mr. Woolrich is waiting.”
“That’s what I was calling to tell you. That I was going to be late.”
“No. You are late. Already.”
“Really? It didn’t seem like that long.”
“What didn’t?”
“My sort of kidnapping.”
“You were sort of kidnapped?”
“Yeah. But the shitty part is that Morty was officially kidnapped.”
“By who?”
“Mobsters. Bad guys. Thumb breakers.”
“Did they give you a reason?”
“Same as everybody else. They want the box.”
“Oh, Coop. Get here as soon as you can. We’ll figure this out.”
“Before he left, my sort of kidnapper told me I dress like a bum. Isn’t that just a riot?”
“No, dear. You don’t dress like a bum. You look like a bum. You don’t take care of your clothes.”
“That’s because I keep getting kidnapped.”
“Get in here when you can.”
“Nothing better happen to Morty. Besides you, he’s the closest thing to a friend I have left.”
“Nothing’s going to happen. You’ll see.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
It took almost twenty minutes to get a cab to stop. The driver made Coop show him the cash before he would drive away. It took another thirty minutes to get across town.
Coop had the cab drop him a few blocks from DOPS headquarters and walked the rest of the way. It’s what they did in spy movies, right? Get out early so the cabbie wouldn’t have a record of his real destination? A sudden surge of panic hit him and he wondered if he should have changed cabs a couple of times on the way over. No. That would probably have been exaggerating the situation. Plus, it was hard enough to get one cab to stop. Getting two would make it the luckiest day of his life, and it was definitely not that. Still, getting out and walking the last few blocks felt like the right thing to do.
Until the paranoia set in. Two kidnappings in just a few days. A gun in his face last night. It was reasonable to be a little extra cautious, right? Coop side-eyed every car passing him at every corner. Every car that slowed on every block. Every van, delivery truck, and car large enough to hold a body in the trunk. Then he started wondering about all the people on the street. What if he should have changed cabs? What if someone had followed him? He tried to walk normally, but constantly looking over his shoulder was making his neck sore. He stopped in front of store windows to check the reflection and see if anyone else stopped. The only thing that kept him from completely losing his mind on the walk to the DOPS building was that a woman walked up behind him by an antiques shop and tapped him on the shoulder. Coop whirled around, tensing his body, ready to run or punch or, more likely, fall on his face when the enemy agent Tasered him.
The woman, wearing heavy eye makeup and a Bauhaus T-shirt, said, “You know where there’s a grocery store or bodega around here?”
“I don’t want any trouble,” he said, still ready to bolt.
The woman gave him a puzzled look. “A store. My dog’s got to take a dump and I need some plastic bags to get it.”
Coop looked from the woman down to the pavement. She was holding a leash and on the end of it was a panting corgi. He kept looking, trying to figure out if this was another ruse. What if it was an attack corgi? That didn’t really make sense. Even with a jetpack, the best the dog could do would be to nip at his knees. Coop looked back at the woman, realizing he was breathing too fast and sweating.
“You okay, man? You look kind of pale,” she said.
“I’m fine. Yeah, there’s a drugstore a block down at the corner. They probably have plastic bags.”
“Thanks,” she said. Then, in a slightly higher-pitched voice, she said to the dog, “Come on, Peter.”
They went down the street and Coop leaned against the antiques shop, catching his breath. Great, he thought. Very James Bond. You can’t even walk to work without being terrorized by supervillain minidogs. He shook his head, more than a little annoyed with himself, and walked the rest of the way to the DOPS building determined to act like an actual adult human being.
Coop got there in one piece. No one intercepted him with a helicopter. No one with a blowgun tranqed him. In fact, the weirdest thing that had happened was the realization that he was going to be coming here, punching a clock, day after day. The idea of going to an office every day was a strange one, though. The only routine he’d had in the past was meeting people at a few bars or coffee shops to plan heists. That and jail. This was going to take some getting used to. But so did prison, and he’d managed that. And there was no Giselle in prison. Or pizza. Or Forbidden Planet. Or Morty, for that matter. He got a visitor badge in the lobby and went upstairs to the floor where Giselle worked.
“Hey, hero. I hear you’re coming to work here after all,” said someone behind him. Coop recognized Nelson’s voice. He ignored him and walked in the direction of Giselle’s desk. “My face still hurts. Thanks for asking,” Nelson said. He sped up and sidled around in front of Coop. “I just want you to know that when you get your credentials, I’m putting in a request to have you on my team. We’re going to have a blast together, convict.”
“Have you seen Giselle?” said Coop coolly.
“No.”
Coop looked past him. “Good eyes, Mannix. She’s right behind you.”
When Nelson turned, Coop went the other way, down a corridor and back to Giselle’s desk the long way.
“Hey there,” he said when he saw her.
“Hey yourself,” she said. Then, “I’d hug you, but it’s the office, so, you know.”
“Sure. I understand. I wouldn’t hug me right now anyway. I’m kind of sweaty.”
“Yes, you are. Did you run here?”
“No. Just waiting for ninjas and predators the whole way over.”
“Yeah,” said Giselle. She gave him a sympathetic smile. “It takes a while to get over that. You’ll feel better when we get you a cover story.”
“A cover story? What’s yours?”
“I work in receivables at an import company. We specialize in Persian and Indian rugs. If you ne
ed anything for when you get your own apartment, I can set you up.”
“Do you have bath mats? I’ll need one of those.”
“There’s a mysterious land called Target where you can find that kind of thing. I’ll show you sometime.”
“That sounds all right.” Coop looked around the busy office, wondering what kind of world domination you could plan while checking your bids on eBay. “Again, sorry I’m late. This thing with Morty is getting to me. Am I supposed to meet Woolrich?”
“You don’t need to,” said Giselle. She pulled a folder full of forms from her desk and set it in front of Coop. More goddamn folders. He opened the cover and looked at the papers underneath. They looked like ordinary employment forms. He’d filled out plenty of fake ones over the years so he could get inside buildings and case them. Now, he was about to fill out the forms for real.
“This feels pretty weird,” he said.
“I had to do it, too. Remember, I can help you through this.”
“Okay. So where do I sign my life away?”
“I’ll take you to an empty office where you can have some privacy.”
“Thanks. Oh, and by the way, I’ve already seen three ways I can get in here and steal some of your laptops. Should I mention that on the form?”
Giselle shook her head. “Let’s just stick to your name and social security number for now.” She stopped and looked at him. “You do have a social security number, right?”
“Don’t worry. My mom was enough of a straight arrow to get me one. But are they going to check my taxes or anything? Because I didn’t always pay them on time.”
“When’s the last time you paid?”
“Let me think for a minute. Never.”
Giselle looked around in case anybody had heard him. “Let’s just cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we? Follow me.”
She led him to a bare, dark office at the end of a row of identical glass-front cubicles. She flipped on the light and Coop sat behind the desk.
“Do you have a pen?” she said.
“No.”
“Check the drawers. Sometimes people leave a few.”
He opened the middle drawer and there were two blue pens inside. He held them up so Giselle could see. “Golly. Looks like my luck’s changing already.”
She smiled. “Listen, I have some things to do. If you have any trouble with the forms, just come and get me.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll try not to bug you.”
“Bug away. It’ll be nice to have some distractions around here.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Giselle came around the desk and stood close to him, pretending she was showing him the forms. Coop touched her leg under the desk.
“Knock knock,” said someone at the door.
Both of them jumped in opposite directions, and Giselle came quickly around the desk, smoothing her dress. Bayliss stood in the doorway of the office.
“You look busy,” Bayliss said, grinning. “Mind if I come in?”
“Of course,” said Giselle. “I was just getting Coop set up with his ninety-four sixes.” Coop smiled and held up his pens.
Bayliss came in and closed the office door. “Can you two keep a secret?” she said.
They both nodded. “Sure,” said Coop.
Bayliss took a quick glance over her shoulder. “It’s the Salzman thing. I think—I don’t know—but I think I might know where the box is.”
“That’s great,” said Giselle.
Coop set down the pens and crossed his arms. “But there’s a problem. Otherwise you wouldn’t be talking to us. You’d just go and get it.”
Bayliss nodded. “Salzman had a secret safe in the office. One no one was supposed to know about, only I saw him using it once. I bet he has the box there.”
“Why wouldn’t he just take it with him?” said Giselle.
“Because if anyone noticed it missing before he got away, he’s the first one they’d come after,” said Coop.
“Exactly,” said Bayliss. “That’s why I don’t want to go to anyone else in the DOPS. First off, if I’m wrong, Nelson is never going to let me hear the end of it. But I’m also afraid that if Salzman did leave the box, it means he might be working with someone in the building. And it could be anyone.”
“Okay. I can buy that,” said Giselle. “What do you want to do about it?”
Coop sighed. Every. Single. Person. “She wants me to steal it for her.”
Bayliss hesitated for a minute, then nodded. “Actually, I’d like to do it with you. It could really be a good thing for you starting here. And it could be good for getting me promoted away from Nelson.”
Coop did some calculations in his head. Mr. Lemmy wants the box. The angel wants the box. The glee club and their wacko cult friends want the box. But no one knows where the box is. Except now, Bayliss says she does. If she’s right and the box is there, it might be my only chance to get it and save Morty. But if I gave it to Mr. Lemmy I’d be screwing over Bayliss, and Giselle would never forgive me for that. That’s as far as he could figure right then. All that mattered at the moment was getting the box. He could figure out the rest later.
“I’m in,” he said.
Bayliss beamed at him. “Thanks.”
“Me, too,” said Giselle. “You’re not going to have fun like this without me. Besides, while Coop goes on his crime spree, I can cloud people’s minds so they won’t see what we’re up to.”
“Where’s the safe?” said Coop.
“I think it’s in the break room,” said Bayliss.
“Where in the break room?”
“The microwave oven.”
Coop gave her a puzzled look. “There’s a safe behind the microwave?”
She shook her head. “The safe is the microwave. From what I saw, I think it’s a transdimensional portal.”
Nothing is ever normal with these people.
“The thing is, I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with portals to other dimensions. Dragons, yeah. Spiders, God help me, yeah. Regular safes, no problem. But this stuff . . .”
“It’s transdimensional, but it still works like a safe. All we need to do is figure out the combination on the microwave pad.”
Coop thought a minute. Giselle and Bayliss looked at him. “Okay. I might be able to do it. But no guarantees. And if it all falls apart . . .”
Bayliss held up her hands. “I’ll take the blame. You’re a rookie and I talked you into it.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll figure out some way to make it look like Nelson did it,” he said. “When do we do it?”
“How about ten tonight? The office is mostly empty, but I can come up with busy work to stay until then.”
“All right, let’s get it,” said Coop. “I’m going to need some things, so I’ll go home and meet you here.”
“Great,” she said.
“I’m going home too,” said Giselle. “I need to change out of this walk of shame ensemble.”
Coop shook his head. “This job isn’t off to so bad a start after all. I’m signing up for a regular salary and my first job is to rip off my new bosses. Good first day.”
“Let’s not talk about it anymore. I’ll see you both at ten.”
There was a knock on the door and Nelson came in. “Hi, kids.” He looked at the papers on the desk. “Seriously? You need two agents to waste time helping you fill those things out?”
“All the big words scare me,” said Coop. “Hold my hand while I finish it?”
“I’ll hold your head underwater until the bubbles stop.”
“So the big words scare you, too.”
Nelson turned to Bayliss. “Leave this creep and his moll. We have work to do.”
They went out together and Giselle turned to Coop. “Am I really a moll now?”
“You’re an accomplice to at least grand larceny, so yeah, I think you are,” he said.
“Isn’t a moll supposed to be partnered up with a gangster? Like th
e girl on his arm?”
“That part is entirely up to you,” said Coop. “But I wouldn’t mind trying it on for size.”
“We’ll see,” she said. “Right now I have to get back to work. See you later, working man.”
She closed the door and Coop’s heart sank a little. He was really going to be a salary grunt. Another jerk with a job, even if it was with Giselle, and even if he did still get to steal. He’d be doing it for the government. That didn’t sound like fun at all. But first things first. Get the box. Get Morty. Don’t destroy the world. And duck the IRS.
“How much longer are we going to sit here?” said Tommy.
“Until the target arrives,” said Steve.
Jerry chuckled. “You sound totally CIA, Dad.”
“Thank you, son.”
Jerry looked at Tommy and gave him a can-you-believe-I-got-away-with-that smile. Tommy just frowned and shifted his weight. They were sitting in a truck from the construction site, waiting for the woman Jerry said he’d seen with Coop. Jerry had been, to his mind at least, artfully vague about how he’d run across them. He just kept talking about the woman, and that’s what stuck in everyone’s head, especially his dad’s, and he was the one who really mattered. It was dark out and they’d been in the truck for over two hours and it was way past boring.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” said Tommy.
“You shouldn’t have drunk all those Diet Cokes you brought,” said Steve. “That stuff runs through you faster than Mexican beer on the Fourth of July.”
“Or Cinco de Mayo,” said Jorge.
“Pretty much any holiday where getting shitfaced is inevitable.”
“Hey, don’t be a beer racist. Plenty of gringo beers do that too. Bud goes through me like NASCAR.”
Steve nodded sagely. “I think all your non-premium-priced ales are basically piss rockets. It’s how they get you to buy more.”
“I still have to pee,” said Tommy.
“You have the bladder of a termite,” said Steve.
“A girl termite,” added Jorge.
Steve adjusted the rearview so he could look the boy in the eyes. “Go to that Arby’s around the corner and do it there.”
“I suppose I’ll have to buy something,” Tommy said glumly.
The Everything Box Page 29