“We can change our bodies a little, but the only thing real we can show are our teeth bits. Because they scare mortals so much,” said Beelzebub. She grinned, showing hideous gray choppers.
“Wars. Murder. Famine. Cancer. And your contribution to Lucifer’s cause is shaking down hobos?” said the stranger.
“And tourists,” said Leviathan.
“And priests,” said Beelzebub. “And librarians. And bus drivers. And that rude counterman at the tapas place on Fairfax. What was it called?”
“Oh, it’s on the tip of my tongue,” said Leviathan.
“Hush,” said the stranger, and they both hushed very quickly.
Beelzebub looked at the ground, dragging her gorgeous white shoes through the debris on the trail. “We do diseases, too, sometimes. Leviathan has tuberculosis.”
“And I cough a lot in crowds.” He put a hand to his mouth and coughed violently a few times. When he was done he looked at the stranger like a mutt that had just learned to fetch.
“Do you really have tuberculosis?” said the stranger.
Leviathan shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.” An old couple went past them on the trail, heading up the hill. The stranger stopped talking to let them pass. The old woman smiled to him as they went by. He smiled back, curious where they were going.
The stranger turned his attention back to the miscreants. “The real question I have is ‘What am I going to do with you?’ Let you go to continue with your pathetic attempts at mayhem—”
“Yes. You should do that,” said Leviathan.
“Or do I drop the whole park into a fault line? Or just you two? I don’t imagine those bodies you’re stuck in would react well to magma.”
“Please don’t,” said Beelzebub. “We’ll be in so much trouble.”
“Plus, it would hurt a lot,” said Leviathan.
“Help me and I’ll let you go,” said the stranger. “You know what I want.”
Leviathan and Beelzebub pointed in different directions and talked at the same time.
“We just saw him . . .”
“The other day . . .”
“He didn’t look so good . . .”
“But Qaphsiel was closing in on the box.”
“Stop,” said the stranger. “The box?”
“Yes,” said Beelzebub. “He knew sort of where it was.”
“Sort of?”
“Yes. He was still looking, but was certain he was going to find it.”
“Finally,” said Leviathan, chuckling. “What a boob, right?” When the stranger didn’t chuckle back he stopped abruptly.
“Did he say this to you directly?”
Leviathan and Beelzebub looked away.
“No,” said Beelzebub. “We more or less inferred.”
“Body language and all that,” said Leviathan.
“Psychology.”
“But he didn’t actually tell you that he knew where the box was?”
“No,” said Leviathan. “But he had the map and was studying some buildings on it.”
“And he was more manic than usual,” said Beelzebub. “Believe me. We’ve been keeping an eye on him and he was excited about something.”
“Where is he now?”
“Um . . .” said Leviathan.
“Yeah,” said Beelzebub. “As the mortals say, we kind of dropped the ball on that.”
The stranger put his hand on Leviathan’s shoulder and squeezed. Bones cracked. “You lost him?”
Leviathan spoke through very large, pointed, gritted teeth. “There was a Christian publishing convention in town. So many souls to tempt and corrupt.”
“What he’s saying is that we got a little distracted,” said Beelzebub.
The stranger let go. Leviathan grimaced and shook the broken bones in his shoulder back into place. “Ow.”
“All right. Listen to me,” said the stranger. “You find Qaphsiel. If he has the box, let me know. If he’s close to the box, let me know. But don’t get involved with getting the box yourselves. That’s his task. Let him do it.”
“Of course,” said Leviathan.
“We’d be delighted,” said Beelzebub.
“Now get out of my sight,” said the stranger.
Leviathan and Beelzebub transformed back into their attractive human forms and walked quickly down the hill.
“Thank you,” said Beelzebub.
“Yes. Thanks,” said Leviathan.
“We’re ever so grateful.”
“Really. We really appreciate—”
“Go!” bellowed the stranger.
The fallen angels ran down the hill, slipping and sliding in their expensive shoes, grabbing each other to keep themselves from falling. The stranger couldn’t deal with them anymore. With the stupidity of this world. He walked up the hill in the direction the old couple had taken.
Eventually, he reached a picnic area crowded with families. Parents. Children. Pets. The noise, smells, and messy clamor of humanity. The stranger stood off to the side, taking in the spectacle. Husbands staring at other men’s wives. Wives staring daggers at their husbands. Children screaming, running wild. The stranger was delighted. He counted the sins, ran them through a mental calculator and shook his head.
Redecoration.
Of course, it wasn’t entirely their fault, he thought. They were mortals. Simpletons. But after his encounter with Leviathan and Beelzebub, the place was becoming all a bit much. His mood and expression curdled. He imagined fault lines. Wildfires. Freak tornadoes.
A young girl in a blue dress, about five, ran by chasing balloons. Her eyes were red and her face was streaked where tears had mingled with dirt. She picked up her balloons from the bushes where they’d blown and cried even harder. The stranger could see that they were knotted together, a rubbery tangle of colors and shapes. The little girl saw him staring and dragged her balloons to him.
The stranger heard a man’s voice calling to the girl. “Carly. Come away from the strange man, honey.” The stranger looked over and saw a short man with thinning hair. Sure. Let your children run wild, he thought. Run right to a stranger who could make it rain brimstone and ice down on all of you.
The young girl held up her balloons.
“It popped,” she said. “See? Right in the middle.”
He knelt and looked at the knotted mess. The balloons were wound around each other to resemble some sort of dog, but the dog’s torso had a hole in the side. The stranger looked at the father. The father started over.
“Carly. Come to Daddy, honey.”
The stranger took the balloons from the girl and held them up to his lips. Then he blew across them. The dog’s body slowly inflated. The girl’s red eyes grew wide. The stranger put the dog on the ground just as the father reached them. Before he could grab the child, the stranger let go of the balloon dog. It ran a few steps, turned, and barked at the little girl. When she went over to it, the dog jumped into her arms, barking excitedly.
“Thank you! Thank you!” the little girl shouted and waved to him.
The stranger nodded. “You’re welcome.”
The girl set the dog on the ground. It bounded away and she laughed as she chased after it. When the stranger looked up, the father was standing a few feet away, his hands balled into fists. But he didn’t look the least bit dangerous. He watched his daughter running after her new pet.
“How did you do that?” said the father.
“Your daughter is very polite,” said the stranger. “But you don’t spend enough time with her.”
The father turned to him. “Excuse me?”
“I can tell these things. Time flies. People grow old. Worlds end.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
The stranger went to the father and spoke very quietly. “It’s not too late to stop being an asshole. Almost. But you have a little time left.”
The father stepped back and took out his phone. “If you don’t leave
right now I’m going to call a cop.”
“Time management. It’s the key to the universe,” said the stranger. He laughed and went back down the hill listening to the happy sounds of the girl and her new dog.
At about ten in the morning, Coop awoke from weird dreams. The spiders were still there. Dozens of them. But now, some of them looked like Salzman and some like Nelson, Woolrich, and Mr. Lemmy. Others resembled the prison warden at Surf City, Mr. Babylon, the tentacled twins from the DOPS, the gill people from Jinx Town, the fanged Vin Mariani girl, and all the werewolves that had chased him and Giselle out of the bar. The spider people all had on little top hats and tap shoes, and carried tiny canes. They did a complicated dance routine on their web to the tune of “Singin’ in the Rain.” The worst part was that they were pretty good. Yes, the spiders’ voices were a little high and grating, but it was a lavish production number, with a band and lights and cannons shooting confetti at the end. In his dream, Coop couldn’t help but applaud, and he woke up in bed clapping. So much for sleep. He got up and put on coffee.
There was a knock on the front door exactly at noon. When Coop opened it, Bayliss stood there, her expression a bit happy, a bit surprised, and a bit puzzled. “You’re here,” she said.
“I said I would be.”
“I know. I just wasn’t sure.”
Coop stepped out of the way so she could come in. “You want anything?” he said. “Coffee? A drink?”
Coop motioned to the sofa and she sat down. “I’m fine, thanks.” She looked around the apartment like she was a paleontologist trying to put a mammoth together from teeth and a couple of toe bones.
“Did you hear about the big earthquake?”
“Here?”
“No. San Francisco.”
“Fuck San Francisco. L.A. is where the world is going to end. Not up in kale country.”
“I guess you’re right.”
When Coop looked over, he saw her examining the place with her eyes. “It’s not my place. It’s Morty’s,” he said.
“That makes more sense. It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting your place to look like.”
Coop poured himself a cup of coffee. “And what would my place look like?”
“I’m not sure,” said Bayliss, a look of distress creeping across her face. “A little . . . darker?”
“Why do people keep saying stuff like that? I’m a cheerful guy. Look, this mug says ‘World’s Best Crook.’ That’s fun, right?”
Bayliss looked at the mug and shook her head. She said, “I think it’s a little bit sad in a way.”
Coop held up his free hand. “Okay. I’m not happy-go-lucky. But trust me, I’m goddamn delightful to be around when I’m not being thrown into vans and strange men aren’t going to make my friends into cat food.”
“I understand entirely. Actually, I don’t. No one’s ever kidnapped any of my friends. Not that I know of. No one’s ever brought it up.”
“Then probably no one’s kidnapped them.”
“Probably not,” said Bayliss. She clapped her hands on her knees. “So, what are we doing? How is all this going to work?”
Coop leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee. “Here’s the situation: a whole lot of people want the box, but we only have one, so we’re going to have to be smart. At least smarter than them, which, considering some of this crowd, isn’t going to be that hard.”
“How many is a whole lot of people?”
Coop thought for a second. “Three principal people that I know of. Plus, of course, their backup goons. Then there’s various other clowns who may or may not know about us yet. Basically, a lot of people.”
Bayliss frowned. The scenario didn’t seem to go down well with her. “What are we going to do?”
Coop set down his coffee and said, “Lie to all of them and hope we get away with it.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”
“It isn’t. That’s why it has a chance of working. With this many people involved, you don’t want to overcomplicate it. Come on, you must do this stuff all the time at the DOPS.”
Bayliss shook her head. “I mostly do surveillance. Data gathering. That sort of thing.”
“Now you get to do something else. You’ll love it.”
Bayliss brightened. “You think so?”
“No,” said Coop. “It’s terrifying. You’re going to hate it. So am I. We’re going to have to be fast on our feet, but if you listen to me, we have a better than fifty percent chance of getting out alive.”
“That much?” said Bayliss. She frowned again.“I should have worn flats.”
“You sure you don’t want a drink?” said Coop.
“I’m fine.”
“You relax. I’m going to make some calls.”
“May I see the box?” said Bayliss.
Coop pointed. “It’s right on the kitchen counter.”
“You didn’t think to hide it?”
“It’s next to the whiskey. There is no safer place in the apartment.”
Bayliss went over and picked the box up. “I wonder what’s really inside?”
“On the bright side it’s full of jelly beans, but probably it’s full of spiders.”
“Not everything is full of spiders.”
“Enough are, so why take chances?”
Bayliss set the box down. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
“I’ve got to make some calls to get things going,” said Coop.
“I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
Coop picked up his phone and dialed. “Mr. Lemmy?” he said.
“Speaking.”
“This is Coop. Morty’s friend. You know, the bum.”
“I know who it is, shit pile,” said Mr. Lemmy. “You’re the only one with this number. What do you want? You have my box?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Fast,” said Mr. Lemmy. He actually sounded less furious for a second. “See what happens when you’re motivated? Okay. Bring it by my place. Here’s the address—”
“I don’t want your address. If you want the box you’ll meet me at my address.”
“Don’t fuck with me, ball sac,” said Mr. Lemmy, his voice sliding back to barely controlled rage.
“I’m not meeting you someplace you can bump us both off,” said Coop. “We’re going someplace public and then everyone’s going home happy. If you want the box, that’s the only way it’s going to happen.”
He could hear Mr. Lemmy’s breath on the line. He sounded like a tiger with heartburn. Coop waited, worried. Everything depended on the players saying yes.
“Okay, smart-ass,” said Mr. Lemmy. “But remember that I’ve got your friend. You fuck with me and being in public isn’t going to save you or your schmuck friend.”
“We’re meeting tomorrow at eight. Here’s how to get there. It’s a little tricky, so you’re going to want to write it down. People call it Jinx Town. Ever hear of it?”
“Oh, God. This isn’t some fruit bar, is it?” said Mr. Lemmy.
“Don’t worry. Your virtue will be safe. You have a pen? Here are the directions,” said Coop. He told Mr. Lemmy about the star on the Walk of Fame. There wasn’t any real reply. Just a dry laugh on the other end of the phone before the line went dead.
“How’d it go?” said Bayliss.
“Like if the phone was any bigger he would have reached through and ripped out my heart.”
“Nelson sounds like that when he calls me sometimes.”
“He’s a little ray of sunshine, your partner.”
“I look at him as my last training test. Can I work with him long enough without shooting him to get a promotion?”
Coop went and poured more coffee. “Why, Agent Bayliss, I’m shocked to hear you harbor such hostile intentions toward a fellow agent.”
“Not intentions. Just something I think about when blowing out my birthday candles,” said Bayliss. She gave him an embarrassed smile. “Who’s next?”
“Did you get Sal
zman’s number?”
Bayliss took a slip of paper from her shoulder bag and handed it to Coop. He dialed. Someone answered but didn’t say anything. “Hi, Salzman. It’s Coop. Remember me?”
“How did you get this number?” Salzman said. His voice was cold enough to give an iceberg pneumonia.
“From Bayliss. She’s with me right now. Want to say hi?”
Bayliss shot him a panicked look. Coop waved to her that it was all right.
“What do you want?”
“I have your box,” said Coop.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. And by the way, you owe the DOPS a new microwave.”
There was a long pause before Salzman said, “How did you find it?”
“I was heating up a Hot Pocket and out it came.”
“You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“No. I’m sure of you. You want the box.”
“Which brings us back to the original question: What do you want?”
“A million dollars.”
Coop heard him chuckle. “Naturally. And I bet you’d like a pony for your birthday. I don’t have a million dollars.”
“You have all kinds of shady connections. Get it. By tomorrow.”
“Where and when?”
“Eight o’clock. Jinx Town. The top dark floor.”
“I think I’ve changed my mind. Put Bayliss on.”
“Sorry. She went out for ice cream. I like pistachio. What kind do mooks eat?”
“Put Bayliss on or kiss your million dollars good-bye.”
Shit.
“Hold on.” Coop held out the phone to Bayliss. “He wants to talk to you.”
She took the phone and spoke softly. “Hello? Yes. We really have it. Yes. I’m the one who gave it to him.” Bayliss didn’t say anything more. She just listened and turned very pale. In a minute, she handed the phone back to Coop.
“You okay?” he said.
“Fine. Can I have a glass of water?”
“What did he say?”
“I’d rather not go into it.”
“Okay.”
Bayliss sat at the kitchen counter. “What exactly is a Tijuana necktie?”
Coop went to the kitchen to get her water. “It’s something you wear when you buy a piñata,” he said.