The Wrong Dead Guy

  “More or less,” said Coop. “It’s all about mass conversion and molecular something. You’ll see.”

  A haze formed around the library and grew thicker by the second. Soon the building disappeared completely.

  “A fog machine. We’re at a KISS concert. And I didn’t even bring my lighter.”

  “Relax.” Coop kept turning the wheels and adjusting the toggle. “I read the manual this afternoon,” he said.

  Sally tapped her foot impatiently. “I’m filled with confidence,” she said, followed a moment later with “Holy shit.”

  The haze around the library was beginning the shrink. The building’s four wings withdrew from the edges of the moat and moved in on the round central chamber.

  “It’s getting smaller,” said Sally.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” said Coop.

  He cranked a wheel at the top of the controller all the way to the right, as far as it would go. The fog became denser and the building continued to shrink. By Coop’s thumb, an LED went from white to green and the controller shut down.

  Sally clapped his shoulder and laughed. “What the hell did you just do?”

  “I quantumed the something and tweaked the molecules. Squeezed it down so we can take the bastard with us and open it at our leisure.”

  “You are a goddamn genius.”

  “Be sure to tell Giselle that part.”

  “I’ll send her an ice cream cake with that on top,” Sally said. “Can we go and get it?”

  “Why not?’ said Coop.

  As they went forward the fog began to dissipate. A large shape loomed at the center of the mist.

  “It still looks pretty big,” said Sally.

  “Maybe it’s just the fog,” said Coop. “Let’s wait a minute.”

  As the fog dissipated, something trumpeted loud and long from the center of the library island.

  “It’s the goddam marching band again,” said Sally.

  “No, it’s not,” said Coop.

  The dark shape trumpeted again and moved across the drawbridge.

  “It’s an elephant,” he said.

  Sally walked away. “I’m going back and letting the Goth girls eat me,” she said.

  Coop put the controller back into the lunch box. “I guess that’s as small as it could make something as big as a library,” he said. “But look, it’s coming to us. It transports itself.”

  “Oh, fuck,” said Sally.

  Coop went to the elephant. “All we have to do is walk it out, turn it back into the library, and take our time with it. I’m telling you, everything is fine.”

  Flashlights came on around the house. They moved in Coop and Sally’s direction.

  “I assume you can Marilyn both us and the elephant, right?”

  “Probably. But what are we going to do with it? We can’t walk an elephant across L.A.”

  “We have the truck. I know where we can stash it.”

  The elephant came over to them and put out its trunk. Coop petted it. “See? It’s friendly.”

  Sally shook her head. “Let’s just get Jumbo out of here so we can get our loot.”

  The three of them started back for the front gate as the guards rushed past them yelling and pointing to the empty island. When Coop and the others got to the front gates, Sally held up a hand in disgust.

  “Great. You can use your other box to turn on the power, but unless a car comes through the gates, they won’t open. We’re stuck.”

  “You’re never stuck when you have an elephant,” said Coop. He walked it forward and put its trunk on the gate bars. It wrapped around them and Coop started walking it backward. The gates squealed and scraped across the ground. The metal bars bent. A moment later, the lock popped and the gates swung open.

  “You are a strange crook, Coop,” said Sally as they walked the elephant to the truck.

  It took some coaxing, but in a few minutes Coop managed to get the elephant onto the flatbed. Both he and Sally were relieved when the suspension held. Coop tossed Sally the keys.

  “You drive. I’m staying in the back with Tiny here.”

  “Where are we going, Tarzan?” said Sally.

  “The San Fernando Valley. There’s a car dealer there named Sherriff Wayne Jr. He loves weird animals. He won’t mind us stashing the beast for a night or two.”

  “Is he the guy with the crazy commercials?”

  “That’s him. Maybe I’ll let him use it in an ad so we can pay the rent for a couple of nights.”

  “And then we turn it back into a library and get our goods,” said Sally.

  “Exactly.”

  Sally went to the cab of the truck. “It’s not easy doing business with you, Coop, but it’s never boring.”

  “Just remember to stop for red lights and don’t go over the speed limit.”

  “Fuck you. You’re acting like I never drove a magic elephant across town before.”

  “I forgot. You’re an experienced girl, Sally. See you in the Valley.”

  “You’re going to owe me so many drinks before this is over.”

  I’m going to owe a lot of people, thought Coop as he climbed into the back of the truck. As they drove away, he hit the button to turn the power back on at the Fitzgeralds’. He could just make out people running back and forth across the perfect green lawn.

  “I wonder if we’ll make the news?” he said to the elephant. It stuck its trunk across his shoulders. They drove all the way to the Valley that way.

  33

  Minerva held an armful of herbs like a demonic Mother Nature while Kellar cradled a book the size of a Great Dane on his lap. He shifted it this way and that trying to keep his legs from falling asleep.

  People had been coming by Minerva’s parlor all afternoon. Tourists in shorts and Hawaiian shirts. The idiot redhead who wanted to know about her ex. A supermodel and her junkie friends, as skinny as a herd of praying mantises. Minerva’s blood was up just like that time she and the Amazing Criswell got high with Jim Morrison and drove mopeds naked to a Samhain party on Venice Beach.

  Those were the days . . .

  Kellar had arrived in the afternoon, a bit flustered and with bruised knuckles. He wouldn’t say what he had to do to get the grimoire, but if the old ex-biker didn’t want to talk about it, Minerva decided she probably didn’t want to know.

  “Are you sure that’s what the book says?” said Minerva, looking over Kellar’s shoulder.

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s what the books says. My Latin is excellent. It wants henbane, hemlock, belladonna, and euphorbia.”

  She set each ingredient aside and said, “What’s the other thing?”

  “Tanna leaves,” said Kellar. “But we toss those in last.”

  Minerva put the useful herbs on the table and tossed the others onto the floor. She and Kellar were crouched on pillows in her reading parlor.

  “We just burn the herbs and it sends up a smoke signal to King Tut?” she said.

  Kellar nodded, staring at the book. “Did you cut them up with the athame?”

  “As per your instructions.”

  “Then, apparently, I just have to do a little recitation and we’re in business.”

  Minerva shook Kellar. “Are you excited? I’m excited.”

  Kellar took a deep breath. “My heart is doing a fandango.”

  “You want some ice for those knuckles?”

  “Later. All cracked like this, it makes me feel young again.”

  Minerva rubbed her hands together. “Then let’s not fuck around. Get to it, maestro.”

  “Where’s the brazier?” said Kellar.

  “Right here.” Minerva put what looked more like a battered chafing dish on the table and lit the little can of Sterno underneath. The temperature rose quickly. When it gave off enough heat to make the parlor uncomfortable, Kellar put down the book.

  “Are you ready?” he said. “And please don’t say you were born ready.”

  “I’m ready, Freddy,” said Minerv
a.

  “Then toss in the salad.”

  Minerva dropped a handful of each herb into the chafing brazier. They immediately began to smoke. Kellar closed his eyes and began a low chant. Minerva had never heard anything like it before. It started as simple Latin, but changed into something stranger, with sharp consonants and a lot of glottal stops. In other circumstances, she would have held Kellar down and shoved a wallet between his teeth, but as the old fatty spoke he gave off waves of dark power. Minerva hadn’t seen anything like it since the time Jayne Mansfield started speaking in tongues when some friends had gotten together to raise Errol Flynn’s ghost. No one was sure if Errol had really appeared, but after the séance Jayne was sporting a mysterious hickey.

  Smoke began to fill the parlor. Kellar reached over and tossed in the tanna leaves. The smoke grew thicker and more acrid. As it rose to the ceiling, he took a doll from a paper bag and laid it on top of the burning plants.

  “What the fuck is that?” Minerva said.

  “It’s Coop,” said Kellar.

  “It’s a fucking Ken doll.”

  “It’s an effigy. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

  Minerva waved away the smoke. “Whatever. It’s stinking up my home.”

  “Greatness requires sacrifice. Now let me get back to business.”

  Kellar went back to chanting. However, it wasn’t long before the doll started smoking like a brush fire. Kellar coughed and choked mid-intonation.

  “Goddammit,” he croaked.

  “Did we fuck it up?” said Minerva.

  Before Kellar could answer, the dense smoke became a small whirlwind in the middle of the room. It condensed into a long upright oval. Within the oval, figures formed. Animals. Water. Plants.

  “It’s a cartouche,” Kellar whispered.

  “What does it say?”

  “Do I look like the UN?”

  The cartouche drifted lower until it hovered in the air between them. Soon it collapsed into a ball. The ball grew eyes and teeth.

  “Is that a skull?” said Minerva.

  “Uh-huh.”

  The skull hung there for a moment. When Minerva reached out, it snapped at her fingers. Then it shot up to the ceiling and burst into a white mist.

  Mineva tried to say something, but both she and Kellar broke down into coughing spasms. She found the top of the chafing dish and slammed it down on the dish. The smoke in the room began to dissipate.

  “My God,” gasped Kellar. “I think it worked.”

  “Was the flying skull your first clue or the part where I just about peed myself?”

  Kellar looked at her, a little green around the gills. “Minerva? What did we just do?”

  “We hooked us a mummy.”

  “It tried to bite you.”

  “Rule one in magic: never try to touch mysterious floating skulls. I got excited and forgot.”

  Kellar flexed his injured knuckles. “I’m not so sure about this anymore,” he said.

  “There’s no backing out now. We’re in this together.”

  Minerva got up, took the chafing dish into the kitchen, and ran water in it to kill the last of the smoke.

  “When does it get here, do you think?” said Kellar.

  “It’s a mummy,” said Minerva, coming back into the parlor. “It gets here when it gets here.”

  Kellar wiped sweat off his brow. “We just wait, then?”

  “I’ll put up a sign that says we’re closed for a private event,” said Minerva.

  “I’m scared.”

  “Think of your talk show. Think of your groupies. Think of Oprah.”

  “Oprah,” said Kellar dreamily. Then, “Do you have any food in the house?”

  “Just some brown rice and peanut M&M’s.”

  Kellar looked down his nose at her. “Because they’re healthier than regular M&M’s?”

  “Naturally.”

  “That’s what I told myself and now I have three heart stents.”

  “My heart is just fine, thanks,” said Minerva.

  “I could go out and get something.”

  Minerva sat down across from him. “No one leaves until Omar Sharif shows his ugly face.”

  “I guess it’s delivery, then. Time to break out the emergency credit card.”

  “You prick. You’ve had a credit card all this time?”

  “Emergency card,” Kellar said, drawing out each syllable. “Emergency. If we’re going to end up insufferable billionaires, it seems like a good time to use it. Now the question is what should we get?”

  “I have a drawer full of takeout menus in the kitchen. Should we play menu roulette?”

  “Go for it, girl.”

  Minerva went into the kitchen and opened a drawer. Without looking inside, she reached in and pulled out a cardboard doorknob hanger. She called into the parlor, “How’s Indian?”

  “Do they have lamb samosas?” Kellar yelled back.

  “Wait,” she said. “Yes.”

  “Then it sounds divine.”

  She went into the parlor. “Give me your card, big shot.”

  Frowning slightly, Kellar handed it to her. Minerva ordered and gave Kellar back his card.

  “What do we do until the food gets here?” he said.

  Minerva thought it over. “Do you have any coke left?”

  Kellar shook his head. “We snarfed it up.”

  “Want some weed?”

  “I’ll fall asleep.”

  Minerva looked around like she was hoping the drug fairy might appear. In fact, it sort of did. She held up a pile of herbs. “There’s some belladonna left.”

  “Be still, my heart,” said Kellar.

  Minerva got some rolling papers and laid out the leaves on the table. Kellar handed her the athame.

  “What if the mummy shows up while we’re high?” he said.

  “If we can deal with its bony ass, it can deal with us a little wasted.”

  Kellar looked into the air vaguely. “Are we really doing this?”

  “We’ve already done it. Real, high-level magic. I haven’t been this jazzed in years. It’s like losing my virginity all over again.”

  Kellar began rolling a joint. “You always did like older men.”

  A half-dozen animal rights protesters stood on the curb by Sheriff Wayne Jr.’s dealership. They waved to passing cars, trying to get them to honk in solidarity. Every now and then one would, but mostly people gave them the finger or tossed soda cups at them. Coop felt kind of sorry for them. A bunch of young do-gooders taking a stand where no one needed or wanted them. There was something admirable about it, he thought. It was the kind of thing that would have melted Giselle’s heart. He’d tell her about it when he got home. She’d probably send them some money. Why not? They looked like they needed it. Except for a couple at the end of the line. They were trying to dress down like their pals, but Coop had ripped off enough Beverly Hills mansions in his time to recognize a twelve-hundred-dollar jean jacket when he saw one. None of this really bothered him, though. What did was the fact that with the picketers there, it wasn’t safe for him to get near the elephant.

  Coop took out his phone and dialed an old number.

  “Sheriff Wayne Jr.’s Motors, blowing away high prices in the sunny San Fernando Valley. How can I help you?” said a woman’s voice.

  “Hi. Is this Donna?”

  “Who’s this?” she said, her voice going suspicious.

  “It’s Coop.”

  “Coop? Charlie Cooper? I thought you were in jail.”

  “No. I got out a while ago. How are you and the Sheriff?”

  He could hear her take a breath. “Same as always. My darling has his schemes and I try to hold things together. What are you up to?”

  “That’s what I’m calling about. I don’t suppose you noticed an elephant in your parking lot this morning.”

  “That was you?” she said pleasantly. “Wayne’ll be so relieved to hear it. He thought it was those idiot animal rights people try
ing to set him up. What the hell are you doing with an elephant?”

  “It’s a long story. I’m sorry to have to dump it on you without warning, but don’t worry. There’s a payout for everyone when I get things set up.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Donna purred. “So, how long are we supposed to let Mr. Peanuts shit up our lot?”

  “I’ll come by and get it tonight. It will take me a day or two to get things set up, but then I’ll call and tell you where to meet me for the payout.”

  “Are we talking about cash?”

  “Antiques. Books. Paintings. Furniture.”

  “Oh,” she said, clearly disappointed. “But no money?”

  “There might be, for all I know. All I want is one specific book. After that, you and Sally Gifford can split the rest.”

  “Sally! I love that girl. She never took shit from any man that I can recall.”

  “Are things okay with you and the Sheriff?”

  “We’re just fine, and don’t take this as me criticizing the dear, but as a fellow crook, how do you lose money on hot cars?”

  Coop considered the question. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

  “Me neither. Maybe this payout of yours is what we need to get over the hump.”

  “Trust me. This is big-money stuff.”

  “I wouldn’t normally trust a setup like this—having someone dump something on us and we have to wait for payment—but we go back, you and me. Please don’t screw me, Coop.”

  “Never you, Donna. Besides, your boyfriend has more guns than the Marines.”

  “He polishes them more often than he does me,” she said, then, “Oh, my goodness. Did I say that? What a slip of the tongue.”

  “I have to go. Tell the Sheriff hi for me and that I’ll pick up the puppy tonight.”

  “Can you take a few of those asshole picketers with you?”

  “Sorry. I’m strictly animal transport.”

  “I’m about to turn the hose on those animals.”

  “I’ll call you about the meet-up. You be good. Talk to you later.”

  “Later, sugar.”

  Donna put her phone down and chewed her lower lip. For a fleeting moment, she thought about not telling the Sheriff about the call. A big payout? How big and how far would it take her? she wondered. She looked at the invoices and the hot cars still in the garage and let the feeling pass.