“Get some fries for everybody. And no more goddamn Coke,” said Jorge.
When Tommy opened his door, Jerry said, “I’ll go with you.”
“No, you won’t,” said Steve. “You know what the target looks like. You stay.”
Jerry settled back down on his seat.
Tommy got out and headed down the street to the Arby’s, a little hunched over, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
“What’s up with Tommy?” said Steve. “He needs to get his head in the game.”
“He’s okay. Just a little depressed. You know. About the bake sale,” said Jerry.
Steve pointed at his son in the rearview. He said, “You need to kick his ass into gear or I will. And don’t worry about the bake sale. That was the last good time those Abaddonian fuck monkeys are ever going to have on this Earth.”
“I’ll talk to Tommy when we get back.”
“Good. Caleximus does not abide slackers.”
Jerry started to say something in Tommy’s defense, but stopped as a white Honda Civic slowed by a parking space across the street. “Hey, I think that might be her.”
Steve raised and dropped his hands in frustration. “Of course she shows up while Tommy’s gone. I wanted four on this job for a reason. If she’s a criminal, she’ll be a fighter. I wanted more than enough to lasso her. Goddammit.”
They watched the Honda slowly angle its way into the parking spot. It was a bit narrow and took a couple of tries.
“Fuck it,” said Jorge. “She’s in that little foreign Cracker Jack box and we’re in a truck. Ram her.”
Steve put the truck into gear and checked the traffic. The moment the road was clear, he sped across the street, rear-ending the Honda. Jorge and Jerry ran out and pulled the unconscious woman from her car. Steve waited behind the wheel as the others loaded her into the back of the truck with them.
“Go go go,” shouted Jorge. Steve hit the accelerator.
Jerry looked out the back window. “What about Tommy?”
“He can take the bus,” said Steve.
Jerry got out his phone. “I’m going to call him.”
“No, you’re not,” Steve said. “If she wakes up, your job is to make sure she doesn’t get frisky.”
“She’s out cold,” Jerry said. “I’ve got to call Tommy and let him know we didn’t just ditch him.”
They sped along through traffic and made it to the freeway. “Fine. Call your girlfriend. And you tell him we’re going to have a serious talk when all this is over.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Serious.”
Steve steered the truck over to the fast lane.
“You know,” said Jorge. “Now I kind of have to go to the bathroom.”
“Me, too,” said Steve. He looked at Jerry in the rearview. “But don’t you dare tell Tommy.”
Coop was putting his tools into the duffel, for once feeling pretty good about the world. When his phone rang, the screen said GISELLE. He thumbed it on.
“Hey you. I was just about to head over. How are you doing?”
“Is this Coop?” said a man’s voice.
“Who’s this?” Coop said, the good feelings evaporating, as they usually did for him.
“We picked up something of yours tonight. Your lady friend. Giselle Petersen, according to her driver’s license.”
Coop spoke very coolly and precisely, trying to keep all emotion out of his voice. “I’d like to speak to her.”
“You can talk all you like. After you give us back what’s rightfully ours.”
Not this again.
“You’re the glee club, aren’t you?”
“The who?”
“The screw-ups who broke into the Blackmoore Building the other night.”
“Yeah. We’re also the screw-ups that have your girl. You know what we want.”
“The box.”
“The box.”
“I don’t have it.”
Coop didn’t hear anything for a minute. “Hello? You still there?”
“Well, where is it?” The voice sounded almost as frustrated as he felt.
“Someone else has it. I can get it back, but it’ll take some time.”
“How long?”
Coop thought for a second, calculating how much bullshit he could shovel in the voice’s direction. “Seventy-two hours.”
“Are you kidding? Why not take the rest of the month off? Go to Mexico. Get a tan.”
“Listen. The box is locked up tight. But I can do it in maybe forty-eight hours.”
The line seemed to go dead again. Coop waited, hoping asking for seventy-two hours would get him the forty-eight he wanted.
“I don’t know,” said the voice reluctantly. “Forty-eight is a long time.”
“It’s not like they’re selling these things at Ikea. If you want the box, it’s going to take forty-eight hours.”
The voice took another second. Coop wished he was at the DOPS building. They probably had all kinds of ways to trace the call.
“Okay,” said the man’s voice. “You have forty-eight hours. And don’t even dream about trying anything cute. Or you know what.”
“Yeah. You’re going to do something even dumber than the other night.”
“No, we won’t.”
“Right. How could you be dumber than that?”
“I mean we’re going to kill her, tough guy.”
“No, you won’t, because if you hurt her you’re never going to see the box.”
The man’s voice suddenly sounded far away, like he had his hand over the phone. “What? The keys to the bathroom are in my desk drawer,” he said. Then his voice went back to normal. “Did you say something?”
“I’ll call you when I get it.”
The voice went strange again. “No. The other drawer, dammit.”
Coop hung up. First me, then Morty, and now Giselle. Is there anyone I know who hasn’t been kidnapped yet? At least Mr. Lemmy was a pro. Whoever had Giselle, he hoped they took better care of her than the bathroom keys.
At the construction site, Steve looked at the woman’s phone. That Coop asshole actually hung up on him. Steve put him on his mental list, the one for when Caleximus returned. Put him right up there with the Abaddonians. We’ll see who’s a tough guy then, he thought. After the bathroom pit stop, they drove Giselle to a different work site, across town from the main one. Steve pulled the battery out of her phone.
“What are you doing? How can he call you now?” said Jerry.
“I don’t want them tracing the phone. And I can put the battery in every few hours to check for messages. Don’t worry, son. I’ve got this figured out.”
“All right,” he said and looked at the still unconscious Giselle. “Is she going to be all right?”
“She just got a little bump on the head. I had plenty of those when I was your age. She’ll be fine.”
“I hope so. I feel kind of bad about what we’re doing.”
“Don’t. These nonbelievers, tough guys, heretics, and thieves don’t matter dick compared to our holy work. And don’t tell your mother I said ‘dick’ in front of you.”
Oh, great. He’s really in Crusade mode tonight. “I guess you’re right.”
“That’s my boy. Hey, I had an idea on the way over here. We need a minion.”
“Who?”
“One of Caleximus’s minions. A demon boar.”
Jorge looked at Steve. “Do you even know how to control one of those things?”
“I’ve read the books. Haven’t you?”
“Sure, but the books never tell the whole story. I mean, a demon boar . . . that’s heavy stuff.”
“That’s why we’re going to need to take it for a test drive. I figure this Coop guy would make for a good one. How about you?”
Jorge grinned. Steve looked at Jerry. He smiled, too, but it was a little more forced and a lot more terrified.
“I’m going to need the silver blade for the ceremony,” said Steve. ?
??Which one of you has it?”
“I thought Jerry still had it,” said Jorge.
“Funny,” said Steve, an annoyed edge in his voice. “He said you did. Jerry? Do you have any thoughts on the matter?”
Jerry looked at the floor. Even though he’d gone to the bathroom five minutes earlier, he felt like he could go again. “I lost it,” he said.
“You lost it?” Steve barked. Jorge said something fast in Spanish that didn’t sound even remotely like “Yay. We get to get a new knife.”
Steve put a hand to his forehead. “Where did you lose it?” he said.
“I didn’t exactly lose it,” Jerry said. “I had to give it to some vampires.”
Steve sat down on his desk. Jorge shook his head.
“Son, there’s no such things as vampires.”
Jerry went over to where his father sat. “You weren’t there. They sure seemed like vampires.”
Steve crossed his arms like when Jerry was six and trying to explain how broccoli was poisonous. “Really? What do vampires seem like?”
“They had fangs. And there were a bunch of them.”
“These are big vampires, I’m guessing?”
“Not exactly.”
“Medium? Were they medium-size vampires?”
“Sort of little. Like Girl Scouts, but with fangs.”
Jorge laughed.
Steve looked into Jerry’s eyes. “Are you on drugs? It’s okay. You can tell me the truth. I love you and we’ll find you a doctor.”
Jerry took a step back. “No, Dad. I’m not on drugs. You weren’t there. They were vampires. It’s where I saw Coop and that Giselle lady. In that magic place I told you about. Jinx Town.”
Jorge went over to Steve. Jerry heard him whisper, “We don’t have time for this shit.” Steve nodded.
“Jerry. I’m not mad. But I’m very disappointed. That was a sacred object I entrusted to you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“We still need a silver dagger for the ceremony.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Do you know what this is going to call for?”
Jerry looked at his father. Visions of human sacrifice swam in his head. “No. What does it call for?”
“It means I’m going to have to call your mother and have her get Grandma’s good silver out of storage. There’s a carving knife in there that might work all right. But this is demonic blood we’re talking about. If it won’t clean off the silver, you’re the one who has to explain to your mom. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Standing there, head down, Jerry wasn’t sure what scared him more: a one-ton tusked and red-eyed monster from another world or the silent treatment from his mom if he messed up Grandma’s silver. For the first time in a long time, Jerry crossed his fingers that everything was going to work out and the world would end soon. At least a boar would kill him quick. Mom could draw out being mad for a long, long time.
The guard on late-night duty in the lobby of the DOPS building didn’t seem the least interested in who Coop was, where he was going, or what he had with him. Coop’s bag wasn’t big enough to hold a tactical nuclear missile, but Coop had the feeling that if it had been, he could have claimed it was a party sub for a birthday bash upstairs and the guard would not have cared less. It made him a little wistful. These moments at the beginnings of a job, when you were just getting the feel of a place. Checking the layout. The security. The personnel. He’d still be doing it, he knew, but now for a bunch of button-down suits and people who were as crooked as him, but got a pass for it because they had an office upstairs and a mug with their name on it by the coffeemaker.
Coop got his pass from the guard and just for good measure shook the guy’s hand. Then he went upstairs to meet Bayliss, still not sure how much to tell her. She’d need to know the truth about the situation at some point, but he didn’t want to hit her with it too soon and take a chance on spooking her. He needed to get the box in his hands. In the end, he decided to feel things out as they went along.
He found Bayliss at her desk with enough papers and folders around her to make a desk igloo. “What’s all that?” Coop said.
“Absolutely nothing,” said Bayliss, sounding more than a little satisfied with herself. “I just pulled some old files from one of the storage rooms and sat here playing with them until everybody left.”
“Good cover,” said Coop, impressed. “Very boring looking. I wouldn’t want to talk to you.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Where’s Giselle?”
He felt like a jerk lying, but there was nothing else he could do. “She got stuck and won’t be along till later. But we can still get started now.”
“How? Without a Marilyn, people might see us in the break room.”
“Not if no one comes in,” said Coop. He reached into his bag and pulled out a sign with biohazard symbols on the sides and POSSIBLE CONTAMINATION AREA in large red letters in the middle. “Think people will buy it?”
Bayliss nodded. “With the kind of stuff we work with around here? No problem.”
“Then let’s get going.”
“What do you need me to bring?”
“I just need you to remember what you saw before.”
“Trust me. I’ll never forget it.”
They made a circuit of the office and saw only a few rookie agents doing grunt work at a handful of workstations scattered across the floor. Coop nodded to Bayliss and they headed straight for the break room.
After putting the sign on the door, they went inside and Coop jammed a chair under the doorknob so no one could get in without him letting them.
“So, this is the door to Narnia?” said Coop.
Bayliss went and stood by the not terribly clean-looking microwave, the kind Coop had seen in a hundred offices on a hundred jobs. The models were always out of date and probably leaked enough radiation to make his contamination sign not so much a lie as a helpful hint.
“How did it work?” said Coop.
Bayliss mimed the movements as she talked. “All I saw was Salzman punching in a code on the keypad and then opening the microwave door the wrong way.”
Coop shook his head. “What does that mean? The wrong way?”
“Well, you know how microwave doors open from the right to the left? He opened it from the left to the right.”
“And you’re sure that makes it a portal to another dimension?”
She shrugged. “I’ve seen other portals and this one didn’t look so different. Of course, you couldn’t heat soup in the others,” Bayliss said, laughing nervously.
Coop set his bag on the break room table and unzipped it.
“How are you going to do it?” Bayliss said. “There are twenty buttons on the keypad. That’s millions of possible combinations.”
“I’m not even going to try,” said Coop. “They are.” He held up a small metal box.
Bayliss’s forehead furrowed. “Are those the binary ants we gave you for the Babylon case? You were supposed to give those back.”
He looked at her. “I’m a crook, remember? I kept some. I just hope it’s enough.”
Bayliss watched closely as he took the ants to the microwave.
“You might want to go over by the door. If I get this wrong, who knows what kind of transdimensional shit storm I’m going to start.”
“You think it might explode?” said Bayliss.
“As long as it doesn’t explode spiders, I can deal with it.” He stopped for a second and looked at her. “You know this is probably going to ruin your machine, right?”
“Good. We’ve needed a new one for years.”
“Okay,” said Coop. “Here we go.”
Here we go. Please don’t kill us.
He upended the container of ants onto the microwave’s keypad. They disappeared inside and the machine began to whir. Numbers and cook settings flashed on and off. The microwave started and shut down. Over and over. The carousel inside would move for a half turn and stop. Move a
whole turn and stop. The keypad kept beeping.
“You think it’s working?” said Bayliss.
“Yes. I’m definitely ruining your machine.”
The whirring went on for several more minutes, like hornets in a washing machine. Then a gentle glow began around the edges of the microwave’s door. Coop thought it looked like dawn. Or maybe an atomic bomb. It went from yellow to blue, shimmering and strobing like some kind of underwater fish disco. A small trail of smoke rose from the microwave’s back.
“Oh, crap,” said Bayliss. “Should we stop it? I don’t want to start a fire.”
“Leave it. Let’s see what happens,” said Coop.
A few seconds later, the whirring stopped. The keypad lit up. The overhead lights flickered and went out. The room was illuminated only by the microwave itself. It looked like someone was toasting a small star inside.
“What now?” said Coop.
“I’m not sure.”
“Someone has to open it.”
“I suppose I should.”
“You have my vote.”
Bayliss paused. “Do you think it’s safe?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
They went to the microwave and Bayliss touched the door handle. “If I die and you live, punch Nelson in the nose again for me, okay?”
“I promise.”
She took the handle and slowly dragged it across the front of the microwave, from the right side of the door all the way to the left. The face of the microwave stretched and warped like taffy as the handle moved, but nothing exploded, which to Coop was a plus.
Finally, when the handle wouldn’t move any farther, Bayliss pulled the handle . . . and the door opened. The light from the oven blinded them for a second. Then they saw a small metal chamber containing some papers, a pistol . . . and the box. Coop reached in and took everything, then tossed the pistol back inside. Who knows what that’s been used for? He nodded to Bayliss and she closed the door, sliding the handle back into place on the right. The microwave stopped glowing and the break-room lights flickered back on. The unmistakable smell of burned wires filled the air, and the back of the oven was scorched black.
“You’re definitely going to need a new one.”
“But we’re not dead.”
“Nice job,” said Coop.