The Wrong Dead Guy

  Like the man said, “Buy the ticket, take the ride.”

  She looked out the window into the parking lot. The Sheriff was pouring on the charm to a couple of out-of-town suckers. Donna could never resist him like that. She wrote down everything Coop had told her. Her one concession to her fantasies of Mexico and New York was to toss the note into a desk drawer. She could decide later whether or not to share it. But she knew she’d give in. She always did.

  While Donna debated the possibility of not going down with the Sheriff’s ship, Coop got a text from Woolrich telling him to come and see him right away. He wondered if Buehlman and Carter had ratted him out for sneaking in where he wasn’t wanted. Coop was sure that Morty was a good enough thief that no one would have figured out that he’d taken the Tweak box. But if any of his worst-case scenarios were true, he should probably pretend that his phone battery ran out. The only non-awful possibility he could come up with, and it went entirely against every shred of instinct he had, was that it might be good news. Maybe the Bobbsey Twins had figured out some way around the curse after all. Or maybe they’d grabbed Harkhuf and were currently grinding him into a powder to help salt Alaskan roads in the winter. Coop knew it was a long shot, but how many ways could there be left for Woolrich to screw with him? A lot actually. But until he could move Jumbo somewhere safe and get into the damned library, what choice did he have? And if Woolrich really wants me, he’ll just send a load of blacked-out vans to the apartment. The neighbors would love that. First I’m a nudist and now I’m a terrorist. That would be fun for everyone.

  He got back on the Hollywood Freeway and headed for the DOPS.

  34

  When the elevator doors opened, the Auditors were waiting in all their pale and somewhat larval glory. Coop tried to step round them, but each time they stepped with him.

  “Hello, Mister . . .” said Night.

  “. . . Cooper,” said Knight.

  “Hi, guys. I’d love to chat, but I’m supposed to meet someone,” said Coop.

  “Yes. We . . .”

  “. . . know.”

  “Crap. It wasn’t Woolrich who texted me. It was you.”

  “Yes,” said Night.

  “Indeed. You should come with us.”

  “Don’t worry. Everything is going to . . .”

  “. . . be just . . .”

  “. . . fine. Mr. Woolrich is well aware . . .”

  “. . . of the situation,” said Knight.

  “Nice try, but Woolrich wants you gone as much as me. This is just you having fun, isn’t it?”

  “No matter. You are a miscreant.”

  “Worse even.”

  “Worse.”

  They know about the Tweak box. I wonder if sea slugs understand begging?

  “Look, if this is about the box—”

  “It is indeed about . . .”

  “. . . the box,” said Night.

  “I can explain,” said Coop. “I just needed it for a while.”

  “To blackmail?” asked Knight.

  “For a while? That’s your . . .”

  “. . . excuse?”

  “Wait. What box are you talking about?”

  “We have evidence of . . .”

  “. . . your criminal . . .”

  “. . . activities. Theft,” said Knight.

  “I am a thief. That’s why you people hired me,” said Coop.

  “Extortion.”

  “No. That’s not me.”

  “The camera . . .”

  “. . . says otherwise.”

  “What camera?”

  “Yes. What . . .”

  “. . . camera indeed.”

  “You should come with us,” said Night.

  “Don’t worry,” said Knight. “Everything is going to . . .”

  “. . . be just . . .”

  “Fine,” said Coop. “I know.”

  Morty came up in the elevator across the hall. When he saw Coop he waved and came over. “Hi. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” said Coop. “It’s fine. Walk away.”

  “Look, if there’s a problem . . .” Morty closed in on the group. The Auditors spun around and he stopped in his tracks. “Oh. Hi, guys.”

  They smiled identical smiles at him.

  “And your name . . .” said Night.

  “. . . is?” said Knight.

  “Never mind. Sorry, Coop,” said Morty.

  “Leave now,” said Coop.

  The Auditors stood on either side of him. “Come, Mr. Cooper. There . . .”

  “. . . is much to discuss.”

  They pushed him back into the elevator and took him to a room in a secret subbasement. The fact that there was a secret subbasement left Coop wondering if he was more scared or more consumed with a sense of irrevocable doom. Before that moment, he wasn’t sure there was a difference. He had some time to debate the issue on the walk from the elevator. It took them down a dank corridor to a room with no name or number on the door.

  “Doom,” he said.

  “What?” said Night.

  “What?” said Knight.

  “I just came to a conclusion. A couple of fun guys like you. A playpen that looks like Ed Gein’s root cellar. I’m doomed.”

  “Only time . . .”

  “. . . will tell.”

  They ushered him into a wreck of a room that looked like the place where the Inquisition stored its equipment in the off-season. The majority of the DOPS was tidy to the point of inertia, so seeing anything out of place in the building was disturbing. Here, half of the ceiling lights didn’t work. Broken furniture had been tossed in piles with junked equipment all over the room. The one thing that Coop had going for him was that while he’d been in jail, he’d spent some time in solitary and even more time with prison shrinks in their “calming” offices painted in “restful” colors. He knew a good psych-out when he saw one. But none of that made him any less freaked out, especially since the copious amounts of darkness were the perfect place for a mummy to kick back, relax, and peel a guy’s skin off at his leisure.

  “You know I’m cursed, right?” Coop said. “Technically, I’m not even supposed to be in the building.”

  “We know about your . . .”

  “. . . ‘alleged’ situation,” said Night.

  “Alleged? All right, asshole. Hang around me long enough and you’ll see what’s alleged. If Harkhuf takes my skin for pajamas, I hope he takes yours for slippers.”

  Night and Knight looked at each other.

  “Do you think he’s deluded or . . .”

  “. . . pretending? He’s slippery and . . .”

  “. . . devious.”

  “And deviant,” said Night.

  “Yes,” said Knight.

  They took a simultaneous step toward Coop. Night, or maybe it was Knight, pointed across the room. “Look over there.”

  Coop craned his neck trying to see into the dark. As the needle went into his neck he felt like a complete idiot for falling for such an obvious trick. But he didn’t feel bad for long. He was too dizzy to feel much of anything. Night pushed a gurney toward him and Knight shoved him down on top of it. Together, they secured straps across his body.

  Knight, or maybe it was Night, pointed to a clock on the wall.

  “We’ll begin . . .”

  “. . . soon. Rest until . . .”

  “. . . then.”

  Coop wanted to say something, but all he did was gurgle.

  And then he was asleep.

  When he woke up, the first thing Coop saw was the clock. He’d been strapped to the gurney for nearly four hours. It was close to the time when he should be rounding up a truck to move the elephant, but there was nothing he could do about it now. And I’m too stoned to drive anyway.

  “I’ll just have to ride it out,” Coop said out loud, startling himself.

  “Indeed you . . .” said Night.

  “. . . will, Mr. Cooper,” said Knight.

  The Auditors stood over
him. They looked happier than he’d ever seen them. One was holding a straight razor. The other held a power drill.

  “What the hell is that for?” he said, nodding at the drill. “Did you use that on Bayliss, you pricks?”

  “Of course not,” said Night.

  “She was merely naughty,” said Knight.

  “Not a criminal like . . .”

  “. . . you. Criminals require special . . .”

  “. . . handling.”

  One of them took an official-looking certificate out of his breast pocket and held it up where Coop could see it.

  “As members of the federal . . .”

  “. . . government, we have the right to mandate your welfare . . .”

  “. . . by law. We will take good . . .”

  “. . . care of you. There will be no permanent . . .”

  “. . . damage, but . . .”

  “. . . it will . . .”

  “. . . hurt,” said Night.

  “A lot,” said Knight.

  The certificate disappeared into Night’s pocket.

  Coop tried to hold up his head. “Are you boys open to bribes? Because I’m very comfortable with offering you a bribe right now.”

  The Auditors looked at each other.

  “A born . . .”

  “. . . criminal. Let’s see what . . .”

  “. . . else we can find.”

  Night, or maybe it was Knight, used the razor to shave a patch of hair behind Coop’s left ear. When he was done he stepped away. Knight, or maybe it was Night, stepped forward and brought the drill level with the shaved spot on Coop’s head. He started the drill.

  There was a strange pounding sound. The Auditor with the drill stopped it, listened, and hearing nothing, started it again. The pounding came back. This time, when he stopped the drill, the pounding continued. It was coming from the door.

  “Who can that . . .”

  “. . . be? You should go . . .”

  “. . . and see.”

  “I’ll go. You stay . . .” said Night.

  “. . . here,” said Knight.

  Night walked off into the darkness, leaving Coop alone with Knight. It was strange. He knew he should feel better only having one lunatic hovering over him, but staring up into a single hairless, snow-cone face was actually worse. As Knight looked into the dark for his partner he idly flicked the drill on and off. Coop watched the drill bit the way a mongoose watches a cobra with a switchblade.

  “So, do you like sports?” he said. “Movies? I’m a movie fan myself. Let’s get to know each other. Did you have any pets? I had a hamster. Actually, it was my brother’s hamster . . .”

  Knight put a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

  The drill went on and off.

  “Did the other kids pick on you in school or did the feds grow you two in a jar like sea monkeys?”

  Knight reached out and petted Coop’s head.

  “I’m guessing jar. You and Thing One have all the personality and animal magnetism of a couple of talking lobsters. I’d ask you about your parents, but I’m guessing they were boiled and served with butter.”

  Knight stopped playing with the drill. He stared off into the dark, looking annoyed.

  “What is keeping him?” he said. Soon he looked down at Coop. “I think we should get started. Don’t you?”

  “Hey, you can say whole sentences. That’s great. I mean, I wouldn’t want to be tortured by a weirdo.”

  Knight touched the drill to the bare spot by Coop’s left ear. The motor whined as the drill spun up. Night, or maybe it had been Knight, had been right about one thing. It hurt a lot. Coop’s body tensed. He closed his eyes.

  A few seconds later, the drilling stopped. Coop went limp, but managed to open his eyes.

  Night was off whispering with Knight. They passed an official-looking form rapidly between them.

  “Are you sure? We’ve . . .” said Knight.

  “. . . already begun the . . .” said Night.

  “. . . procedure. Nevertheless it . . .”

  “. . . looks as if he’s summoned . . .”

  “. . . elsewhere.”

  Reluctanly, Knight set down the drill. He and Night unbuckled the straps that held Coop to the gurney.

  Night gave him a small bow. “Mr. Cooper, you may go . . .”

  “. . . now. But we will be . . .”

  “. . . in touch. To continue our session.”

  “You will not be forgotten,” said Knight.

  Coop pushed himself upright and slid off the gurney limply.

  “Thanks, boys,” he said. He leaned into Night and spoke in a stage whisper. “By the way, you really should hear the shit Thing Two talks about you behind your back.” He headed for the door. Before leaving, he called back over his shoulder. “See you later, guys. Remember, softball on Sunday.”

  Coop stumbled out of the room and into the corridor, where he collapsed against the wall. He looked up at the massive shape above him.

  “Dr. Lupinsky? What are you doing here?”

  Lupinsky’s cat paced nervously across the screen.

  Come with me.

  Coop tried to stand, but didn’t make it. Lupinsky reached down and pulled him to his feet. Together, they walked to the elevator. Lupinsky pushed a button. While they waited, he handed Coop a bottle with a couple of pills inside.

  Take these. You’ll feel better.

  Coop dry-swallowed both. In just a few seconds, his head began to clear. He patted one of Lupinsky’s metal tentacles.

  “Thanks, doc. How did you know about me?”

  Morty told me. He was concerned.

  Coop touched a hand to the shaved patch behind his ear. He was still bleeding, but it was just a trickle. “Do you know why Johnny and Edgar Winter grabbed me?”

  Apparently, the Auditors received incriminating evidence with your fingerprints. I suspect someone in the DOPS doesn’t like you.

  “That’s a lot of people.”

  Enough to want someone to drill holes in your head?

  “Nelson,” said Coop. “But there’s nothing I can do about him now.”

  Lupinsky’s cat hissed.

  “Thanks a lot,” said Coop. “I owe you.”

  The cat rubbed itself against the screen.

  You made my life more interesting and I’m grateful. Now you should go. The form said you were helping me with a dissection, but it didn’t specify when I was to dissect you.

  “Thanks. I have to see a man about an elephant.”

  An elephant?

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  The elevator arrived and Coop stepped into it. He leaned against the wall and pointed a still slightly trembling finger at Lupinsky. “We’re going to have a party when this is over. You and your kitty cat are invited.”

  The cat arched its back and purred.

  Thank you. We’ll be happy to attend.

  “See you later,” said Coop, and he punched the button for the garage.

  35

  It was dark out when someone rapped on Minerva’s door. She and Kellar were still tripping lightly on the belladonna. The guy outside didn’t look like a tourist. In fact, he didn’t look like much of anything. He was one of those doughy guys who might have been anywhere from his midthirties to his early fifties. From his rumpled uniform, Minerva immediately pegged him for a loser. The kind of guy whose highest career aspiration was to drive the kiddie train at the zoo.

  He said, “It’s Match.com. Your dream date is here,” while tapping a knuckle on the glass.

  Minerva pointed to the Closed sign and waved him away angrily. “Can’t you read?”

  “No,” he said. “I navigated here by the stars.”

  “Listen,” she shouted, pointing in one direction and then the other. “The bars are that way. The hookers are that way. Now fuck off.”

  The loser scratched his head in mock puzzlement. “Are you sure you didn’t send a message to a certain special gentleman? About this tall. Charm
ing personality. Just spent the last three thousand years in a box and doesn’t like crank calls?”

  Minerva shot Kellar a nervous look. “What should I do?”

  “Open it,” he said excitedly.

  Minerva unlocked the door cautiously. The loser went to a dirty Toyota hatchback and popped the rear door. He slid something large and heavy from the back and pushed it upright. Whatever or whoever he had his hands on needed help getting over the curb. Minerva stepped into the street, but all she could see was a figure shambling toward her wrapped in a dirty trench coat, his face blocked by a blue trilby.

  Just my luck. It’s just a couple of crazies, Minerva thought. She stepped angrily back into her parlor and started to slam the door. It closed about six inches before a hand in dirty bandages caught it and pushed it open again with almost no effort. The shambler came inside while the loser closed and locked the door. Still swimming on the belladonna, Minerva and Kellar cowered in a corner of the room.

  “I’m Froehlich,” said the loser. He pulled the hat and coat off the bandaged figure. Minerva managed to stifle a gasp. Kellar didn’t. Froehlich tossed the hat and coat onto a pile of cushions.

  Froehlich waved them forward. “Don’t be shy, folks. Say hello to the hardest-working man in show business, Harkhuf. He doesn’t seem to have a last name, sort of like Cher or Madonna.”

  “Silence, thrall,” said the mummy.

  Kellar dug his fingers into Minerva’s arm. She patted his hand.

  Harkhuf turned slowly, taking in the room. “You summoned me. I came. For what purpose did you make contact? And beware. A wrong answer invites eternal torment.”

  Froehlich leaned against the wall. “My master gets this way when he hasn’t had a nap. Also, he means it.”

  “Your master?” said Kellar.

  “As in master and slave,” said Froehlich. “I didn’t get this job through craigslist.”

  “Speak, fools. I grow weary of this pointless chatter,” Harkhuf said.

  Minerva pushed Kellar’s hand off her arm and came forward. “I’m Minerva Soleil. I know that you want someone. A man named Coop. I can help you find him.”

  Harkhuf took a step toward her. “Then you have summoned me for nothing and have doomed yourselves.”