The Wrong Dead Guy

  “Well, now my feelings are hurt.”

  “Good,” said Giselle and Morty.

  “Okay. Woolrich can have the amulet,” said Coop. “But I’m keeping everything else. Maybe something in that junk has power to keep the mummy off me.”

  “Now you’re thinking,” said Morty.

  “Giselle, do you know anyone at the DOPS who can get rid of curses?”

  “No, but I can ask around.”

  Coop started the van, hit the siren, and burned rubber out of the lot. The other police cars just watched them roll by.

  As they turned out of the lot Coop said, “I just want you to know, Phil, that this is it. We’re never working together again.”

  “Oh, stop whining,” said Phil. “It’s a mummy. Bones and beef jerky wrapped in tissue paper. What’s it going to do? Stagger at you menacingly? Morty does that when he’s had too many beers.”

  “I’m never menacing,” said Morty.

  “You are sometimes,” said Coop.

  “Yeah. You are,” said Giselle.

  “Huh. I never knew,” Morty said. “That’s upsetting.”

  “Well, you’re not a hundred percent menacing,” Coop said.

  “Maybe more like distressing,” said Giselle.

  “Like a two-hundred-pound-baby-bear-looking-for-its-mom distressing.”

  “That’s better?”

  “Don’t worry. You couldn’t menace a kitten in those floppy shoes,” Giselle said.

  “Yeah. Can we take these damned costumes off?” said Morty.

  “I forgot you were wearing one,” said Phil. “You look so natural that way.”

  “Shut up, Phil. You don’t get to be smart tonight,” said Giselle.

  “Fine. I’m leaving.”

  “So leave. Just be around tomorrow when we meet with Woolrich.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll be right there,” said Phil, and popped out of everyone’s mind.

  Dr. Lupinsky’s cat lay down.

  I don’t think he’s going to be there.

  “Not a chance in hell,” said Coop.

  19

  As predicted, there was no sign of Phil at the morning meeting.

  “I can’t help but notice that one of your team is missing,” said Woolrich.

  “Phil is probably halfway to Fiji by now. Maybe Uranus,” said Coop.

  Morty giggled.

  “Traumatized, was he?” said Woolrich.

  “I’m the traumatized one,” said Coop, pointing to himself. “He told a three-thousand-year-old dead guy my name.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get to that.”

  Coop sank down a few inches. “I don’t know if I need therapy or an exorcist.”

  “I can recommend good ones of each,” said Woolrich.

  “A DOPS shrink? No thanks. I’d rather face the mummy.”

  “So would we.”

  “What does that mean?” said Giselle.

  “We’ll get to that.”

  Coop looked at Giselle and Morty, who now looked as uneasy as him. Dr. Lupinsky’s cat lurked right at the edge of his screen, ready to skitter off at a moment’s notice.

  Woolrich glanced at some papers on his desk. “I’d like to congratulate you all on a job well done,” he said.

  “Thanks,” muttered Coop.

  “I’d like to congratulate you . . . but I can’t, in all good conscience.”

  Coop sat up. The cat disappeared.

  “Why? We got you the amulet,” he said.

  “Yes, but the ruckus. We’re a secret organization. You practically drove a tank through the front door with ‘robbers’ painted on it in Day-Glo pink.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” said Morty.

  Giselle nodded. “No one would be expecting it.”

  “We didn’t have a lot of time to be delicate,” said Coop.

  Woolrich picked up the amulet. “At least your bacchanalia worked. All the police reports are the same. The guards—the ones who can remember anything—swear that the museum was invaded by a small army of jesters and War of the Worlds Martian machines.”

  Morty perked up. “Yeah? I really liked that movie.”

  Coop looked at the heads on the wall and wondered what it felt like to be stuffed and mounted.

  “What about Harkhuf?” he said. “He knows me. I need protection.”

  Woolrich stacked his papers. “I wouldn’t worry about it. We have the amulet now. Plus, we sent in a recovery team with the police last night.”

  “So you have him?” said Coop hopefully.

  “Not at all. Harkhuf was gone by the time we got there.”

  “Then I should be worried,” said Coop. “Worried is exactly what I should be.”

  “Look for a guard named Froehlich,” said Giselle.

  “We know about him, but he’s also missing. Too bad for him, too. He’s a bit of a hero, having single-handedly chased the Bozo brigade out the front door.”

  Coop put his head in his hands. “But he’s the one working with the mummy. Find him, find Harkhuf.”

  Woolrich steepled his fingers. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?” He unlaced his fingers and scribbled a note on a piece of paper. “With luck, we’ll have him in a day or two.”

  “With luck? That’s very comforting,” said Coop, his head still in his hands. Giselle reached over and patted him on the back. “I brought you the amulet. Why can’t you use it to get Harkhuf’s ass over here?” he said.

  “We don’t know how it works yet, do we?” said Woolrich.

  “Isn’t there someone on staff who knows how to break mummy curses?” Giselle said.

  “I take it that Dr. Lupinsky hasn’t been any help there?”

  Everyone looked, but the cat didn’t come back.

  Sorry, appeared at the bottom of the screen.

  “As are we all, Doctor,” said Woolrich. “But have no fear. I’ve sent for the heads of thaumaturgic antiquities. If anyone knows about mummy curses, it will be them. They’ll be here in just a moment.”

  They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a minute. The little brain in the bowl swam a few silent laps. Woolrich pushed a dish of hard candies forward on his desk. Coop and the others shook their heads. Everybody looked around so they didn’t have to look at each other. Dr. Lupinsky’s cat crept back onto the screen and lay down with its back to the room. Morty cleared his throat.

  “So, Mr. Woolrich. What’s with the monster museum on your walls?”

  Coop and Giselle looked at him. Morty shrugged. “Silence creeps me out,” he said.

  “Oh, you know,” said Woolrich airily. “Some people have snapshots and vacation slides. I have heads.”

  “No one has vacation slides,” said Coop.

  “Really? Since when?”

  “Since humans gained the power of speech and could say ‘I don’t want to see your vacation slides.’”

  “Hmm. We used to love them when I was a lad,” he said.

  “We invented the wheel since then. People can go places and see things for themselves.”

  “Not a bunch of heads like that,” said Morty, craning around to get a look at all of them. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  “Thank you.”

  Morty stopped abruptly and frowned. “That’s not a person up there, is it?”

  Woolrich glanced over his shoulder. “No. That’s a windigo. They can mimic all sorts of species.”

  “What was it mimicking there? It’s pretty horrible.”

  “My wife, actually,” said Woolrich.

  “Oh,” said Morty.

  “And that’s what happens when you talk about heads on walls,” said Coop.

  Woolrich turned in his seat to look at the windigo. “She’s my ex-wife, actually. She didn’t look like that all the time, of course. Just during the full moon.”

  “She was a werewolf?” said Giselle.

  “No. Just moody. I keep the windigo around to remind me of why we’re not together anymore.”

  ??
?Where’s your wife now?”

  “She’s hanging in a museum in Vienna.”

  Coop sat up. Giselle and Morty gasped. The cat left again.

  “She’s not mounted,” said Woolrich irritably. “She hangs paintings. Really, I think you’re a lot more obsessed with my heads than I am.”

  Coop looked around the room. “Trust me, we’re not. The only thing I ever obsessed over on my wall was Miss July when I was fifteen.”

  “I thought you were obsessed with your hamster,” said Giselle.

  “Leave Shamu out of this.”

  “Shamu?”

  Coop held up his hands. “Let’s just have a moment of reflective silence until the antiquities people get here.”

  That sat quietly.

  “Hamster freak,” whispered Morty.

  There was a light knock on the door.

  “Come in,” said Woolrich.

  The door opened a few inches and a plump woman stuck her head into the room. She was wearing a white lab coat and cat glasses on a chain around her neck.

  “Cooper, this is Dr. Buehlman. One of the heads of thaumaturgic antiquities,” said Woolrich. “Isn’t Dr. Carter with you?”

  “Hello,” said Dr. Buehlman with a slight German accent. Then, “Dr. Carter couldn’t make it.”

  “A work issue?”

  “Um . . . yes . . .”

  “Why aren’t you coming in?” said Coop.

  “No reason,” said Dr. Buehlman with a charming smile.

  “It’s the curse, isn’t it? That’s why Carter isn’t here. You don’t want to get near me.”

  “Of course not,” she said “I just don’t like . . . rooms . . . ?”

  “Is there anything you can do about the curse?” said Giselle.

  “Harkhuf is using an ancient spell system we’re not entirely, that is at all, familiar with.”

  “In other words, I’m stuck with a homicidal corpse who wants me as dead as him,” said Coop.

  “We don’t know that it’s homicidal,” said Woolrich.

  “You think it wants to buy us lunch?”

  “There is some good news,” said Dr. Buehlman, ignoring the question. “Old Egyptian curses tend to follow patterns. You might only get boils.”

  “Boils?”

  “Or ravaged by jackals.”

  “You’re safe there, Coop. There aren’t any jackals in L.A.,” said Giselle.

  “These would be the magic kind of jackals, so, yes, they could be here.”

  “Oh.”

  “There’s also locusts. Or your soul could be sucked out through your eyes.”

  “Mom always said it was the drinking that would get me. She never mentioned jackals,” said Coop.

  “Or locusts,” Morty added.

  “But consider this,” said Dr. Buehlman, smiling. “None of these things is irrefutably fatal, so there’s a slight chance you’ll live.”

  “I’ll just be half-eaten, covered in boils, bugs, and minus my soul. That is good news.”

  “Of course not. The good news is that it’s usually only one or two of those things.”

  “Do I get to choose?”

  She slowly shook her head. “Not really.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” said Woolrich.

  Half of Dr. Buehlman’s head had disappeared behind the door when she stopped.

  “Are you a religious man?” she said.

  “You’re kidding, right?” said Coop.

  “Maybe you should consider it,” said Dr. Buehlman. “Prayer can be such a comfort.”

  “So’s bourbon.”

  “Good luck,” she said, and slammed the door closed.

  Coop looked at Woolrich. “That was fun. Who else is out there? Vlad the Impaler? Because I’d rather see him right now than any more of your doctors.”

  Woolrich brushed the comment aside. “Don’t exaggerate, Cooper. Clearly the curse hasn’t manifested itself yet, so you have plenty of time.”

  “For what?”

  “To start with, do you have a will?”

  Coop sat back, exhausted. Then something occurred to him. “Why was Frau Blücher so afraid and you’re not?”

  Woolrich leaned back and opened his hands. “I don’t let trifles like curses bother me.”

  Coop lay down on the floor and looked under Woolrich’s desk. “Ha!” he said, and popped back up on his knees, pointing to a powdery white circle around Woolrich’s chair.

  “What is that?”

  “Salt,” said Woolrich.

  Coop got back on the floor.

  “Please don’t break the circle,” said Woolrich through gritted teeth.

  Coop got up and went back to his chair, wiping salt off his hands. “I have a funny feeling about his whole setup,” he said. “You don’t want to use me as mummy bait, do you?”

  “That’s absurd,” said Woolrich. “But maybe you should take a few days off. Stay away from the office until this whole thing blows over.”

  “I was right. You’re not even looking for him, are you? You want him to come to me.”

  “Of course, your time off will be with pay. And it won’t count toward your vacation days.”

  “He’s not even listening to me,” Coop said to his friends. He dropped his hands in his lap. “I’m like one of those hams they hang up to dry.”

  “We’ll have you under twenty-four-hour-a-day surveillance.”

  Coop got up. “I’m getting out of town.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that will help,” said Woolrich drily. “This is a curse after you, not your neighbor’s Schnauzer.”

  Dr. Lupinsky’s cat prowled the screen.

  He’s right. You can’t run from something like this.

  “I’m not running. I’m fleeing. And I’m really good at it,” said Coop.

  “Sit down, Coop,” said Giselle.

  “Yeah,” said Morty. “Listen to the man.”

  “And you, getting chatty with the heads,” said Coop, pointing to Morty. “You think I want to end up there?”

  “Really, Cooper, you’re in good hands. We can’t afford any more employee homicides until the next fiscal quarter,” said Woolrich.

  “If you try just a little harder, I think you can be even less reassuring.”

  “Think about it. Where would you go?” said Giselle.

  “Yes. And with Harkhuf on your trail, your friends are in as much danger as you,” said Woolrich.

  Coop looked at the others, wondering what kind of danger he’d leave Giselle and Morty in if he ran. Finally, he took a breath and dropped into his chair. “Okay. I’ll be your bait,” he said. “But the cavalry better come charging in or I’m haunting your office.”

  Woolrich took a bag of salt from his desk drawer and closed the circle again. “What makes you think it’s not already haunted?” he said.

  Coop turned his eyes up at the heads.

  “If you want to haunt me, you’re going to have to get in line,” said Woolrich. “I tell you what, I’ll even put you down for hazard pay. Time and a half.”

  “Great. I can buy some boil cream,” said Coop.

  Woolrich took a pinch of salt and tossed it over his shoulder, then put the bag back in the desk. “I think that’s all for now. Thank you again for the amulet. I’ll be forwarding it to our bewitching and allurements boys. When something develops, we’ll be in touch.”

  Coop and the others started out. Coop stopped by a set of old weapons Woolrich had on display in a corner of the room.

  “Is that a bear trap?” he said.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I want time and a half and that.”

  Woolrich looked at him. “What for?” he said dubiously.

  Coop picked up the bear trap. “We have a squirrel problem.”

  “If it’s for Harkhuf, I doubt it will help.”

  “But I’ll sleep better.”

  Woolrich waved a hand at him. “Be my guest.”

  Coop took the trap and they left the office.

  In the h
all, Morty said, “You’re really just going home?”

  “Hell no.”

  “What are we going to do?” said Giselle.

  “If Harkhuf is using magic, I’ll use magic, too.”

  Dr. Lupinsky’s cat jumped up.

  Wonderful. What kind?

  Coop shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  Gisele took his hand. “You always come up with something.”

  “Maybe a disguise,” said Morty.

  “Like I should dress up like a pirate?”

  Morty crossed his arms. “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “I’ll give that all the serious consideration it deserves.”

  “Come on. I’ll take you home,” said Giselle.

  “No. It might be dangerous. I’ll take the bus.”

  Won’t that be just as dangerous?

  “Yeah, but it’s an L.A. bus. Everyone sort of wants to die anyway.”

  “It’s true,” said Giselle.

  “It is,” said Morty.

  Coop stepped away from Giselle. “Maybe you should stay in a hotel for a while.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I’ll see you at home.”

  What’s the trap for?

  “I’ll tell you if it works,” said Coop. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around the vicious metal jaws.

  “I’ll see you guys later,” Coop said to Morty and Dr. Lupinsky. He nodded at Giselle. “Want to go hunting?”

  20

  Bayliss was at her desk writing a report about Irvine Laing, the chancellor of a popular technical online university. Ostensibly, the university specialized in computer science and engineering degrees, but in reality it was a front for a sect of ancient demon worshipers. The homework projects each student was assigned—while appearing to be ordinary design and programming work—were, in reality, all parts of one monstrously intricate summoning spell for Amduscias, the lord of the Seven Extremely Unpleasant Legions. The group had been working on the spell constantly since well before the fall of Rome, with no end in sight. That’s when Laing came up with the idea to outsource the spell work to the best and brightest minds he could find that were, one, good enough for MIT, but didn’t have the money, and, two, had just enough money to steal.

  What Laing hadn’t revealed to his fellow Amduscias worshipers was that sometime during the two thousand years they’d been working on the summoning spell, Amduscias had retired to wherever it was that hoary beasts of the netherworld went to spend their golden years. Maybe Miami. Maybe Antarctica. Laing had spent the last ten or so years skimming millions from both the group and the minor demons they employed on a contract basis.