“Sit down and I’ll try to explain.”
Coop sat in the truck down the block from the address on Vieux Carré Lane all night. The lawn was as perfect and emerald green as the one at Fitzgerald’s place, though it was considerably smaller. While Fitzgerald was obscenely rich, it was clear that Dylan Barker’s family was just annoyingly rich. Which didn’t bother Coop in the least. He was quite fond of the rich. Who else was he going to steal from? It’s like what Willy Sutton said when someone asked him why he robbed banks: “It’s where the money is.” He felt a pang of regret that due to his current employment situation, he couldn’t pay the residents of Vieux Carré Lane a visit sometime in the future. Still, he could live vicariously through his friends. He made a mental note to pass on the layout of the neighborhood to Sally.
Around ten in the morning, a handsome young man with a three-hundred-dollar haircut and five-hundred-dollar jeans came out of 2206, got into a pristine Land Rover, and drove away. Coop started the truck and followed him at what he hoped was a discreet distance. It was hard to be sure. He’d never followed anybody in a battleship before.
The drive didn’t take long. In perhaps a quarter of a mile and just a couple of turns, the Land Rover drove into the parking lot of the massive Carrwood community recreational center. There was another truck already in the parking lot. It said SWEENEY BROTHERS LANDSCAPING on the side. Probably the people who kept the trees trimmed and the lawns so nice, Coop thought. But what caught his eye were two other matters. The first was that there was a large Closed for Remodeling sign in front of the rec center, but there were no painters or carpenters in sight. The second point was even more interesting than the first. While a normal person might expect a crew like the Sweeney Brothers to haul their lawn trimmings out of Carrwood to a landfill or recycling center, they seemed instead to be carrying large bags of grass into the rec center.
Rich people might be different, even a little crazy, Coop knew, but there was no way they were using lawn trimmings in a remodeling project. It wasn’t much of a leap to figure that there was definitely something in the rec center that would appreciate a few hundred pounds of fresh grass.
One of Carrwood’s finest drove past the truck slowly, giving it the once-over. Coop had seen similar cars all night and had been forced to move the truck twice before dawn. He knew there was no way he could confront a bunch of grass-toting do-gooders, get the elephant, and load it into the truck without attracting the attention of local security. As much as he hated the idea, he was going to need help with a job like this. Coop started the truck and headed out of Carrwood, admiring its clean streets, quiet ambience, and sense of order. Somehow he was going to have to get around all of them if he was going to get back the elephant.
By the time he hit the freeway, he had a plan. He called Woolrich and told him everything that had happened since he saw Harkhuf outside the apartment.
When Coop was done talking, Woolrich said, “You can’t keep it, you know.”
“The cookbook? Even if it means my skin?”
“We can protect you.”
“Bang-up job so far. How soon before you can put together a team to get the elephant?”
“We won’t be getting it,” Woolrich said. “We’ll report its whereabouts to the Department of Fish and Wildlife. Play up how neglected it is and how much danger it’s in. Then, once they have it tucked away somewhere safe and warm, we’ll take it from them.”
“That way no one can trace the elephant back to the DOPS,” said Coop.
“See? You’re getting the hang of it here.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
“As for you, continue to see this as an extended vacation,” said Woolrich. “When we have the creature in hand, we’ll be in touch. Oh, and if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, you should probably return the Twonker. The boffins downstairs have been beside themselves.”
“You mean the Tweak box?”
“Is that what it’s called? No wonder they were all looking at me like that.”
“I’ll give it to Giselle.”
“Excellent. We’ll call you when things settle down.”
Like hell you will.
“Thanks, Mr. Woolrich. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Take care, Cooper.”
After exiting the freeway, Coop decided to do some shopping. Woolrich was going to screw him again, of course, but that was the beauty of the plan. This time, Coop didn’t just see it coming.
He was counting on it.
36
Carlson was by the door when the delivery arrived, so he was the one who signed for it.
“What is it?” he asked the delivery driver.
“A crate.”
“Where’s it from?”
The driver looked at the readout on his digital pad and the shipping paperwork on the box. “Toys ‘R’ Us,” he said.
“Funny guy,” said Carlson. “How about I report you to your bosses?”
“Look for yourself. It says Toys ‘R’ Us.”
Carlson tore the paperwork off the crate and looked it over. Sure enough, in the return address field, it said Toys ‘R’ Us. “Are you sure you’re at the right address?”
“Once more, I must direct you to the paperwork,” the driver said.
Carlson checked. The museum was the correct address. “If this is someone’s idea of a joke, they’re in big trouble,” he said.
“I’m delighted to know that. Just sign here and I’ll leave you to your toys.”
“The museum doesn’t display toys.”
“You sure?” said the driver. “From what the news says, Raggedy Anns and Furbys is all anyone is going to trust you with from now on.”
Carlson signed for the crate and shoved the digital pad back at the driver a little harder than he had to. “Your job is a joke and you’re a joke, do you know that?”
“You ever heard of Pavlov’s dog?” said the driver.
“Who’s that?”
“It was a dog a scientist trained to come running whenever he rang a bell.”
“So what?”
The driver pointed to the buzzer by the museum door. “I might be a joke, but I ring the bell and you come running. What does that make you?”
The driver got in his delivery truck and drove off. Carlson was still trying to think of an excuse to shoot out his tires and tase him when Klein came up behind him.
“What’s that?” Klein said.
“I don’t know, sir,” said Carlson. “It says it’s from Toys ‘R’ Us.”
Klein made a face. “Very funny. You’re not having another psychotic break, are you? The museum can overlook one tension-related clucking incident, but it better not become a habit.”
Carlson held out the paperwork where Klein could read it. He looked it over and crumpled the pages in his hands.
“Very funny,” he said. “It’s probably from those shits at the Getty Museum. They think they’re so smart. We should carry this thing straight to the Dumpster.”
“Shouldn’t we at least open it first?” Carlson said.
“Hoping for some windup chickens for your barnyard, are you?”
Carlson didn’t say a word, but he seriously didn’t need this kind of shit from delivery drones and paper pushers like Klein. He’d been in the Corps. He’d worked security in Iraq and Afghanistan. This Klein prick has no idea how many ways I know to kill him. Carlson ran over a few of his favorites while Klein looked over the crate’s paperwork.
“Fine,” he said finally. “Let’s open it.”
The straps that secured the crate closed were plastic heat-sealed together. Pulling them apart wasn’t any harder than opening an envelope. By now, a crowd of guards and museum workers had gathered by the door. Carlson tore open the last strap and unlatched the crate.
Inside, it was tightly packed wads of excelsior. On top of it all was an envelope. Carlson took it out and Klein snatched it from his hands.
Carlson forgot about the list o
f his favorite homicide methods and switched to the ones that looked like accidents.
Falling down a flight of stairs. A few too many drinks and drowning in the tub. Eaten by Clydesdales in a carrot suit during Halloween.
Klein opened the envelope and read the message to the crowd. “‘We thought you might like this back. Just needed it for a kegger. Sorry for all the trouble. No hard feelings?’” At the bottom was the seal of a college fraternity that had once rejected Froehlich. Since he was on a roll ruining lives, he figured what was one more or a dozen?
Klein pocketed the note and began pulling at the excelsior. He stopped at the third handful, looked, and began frantically scooping out as much of the stuff as he could as quickly as he could.
“Help me, you idiot,” he shouted. Carlson got beside him and threw excelsior back at the museum door. A few more handfuls and Klein put a hand across Carlson’s body to stop him.
Spontaneous human combustion. Poisoned by cut-rate fugu. Stomped to death in a tragic clog-dancing incident.
Klein stepped back. The crowd at the door was hushed.
“Call that idiot Rockford,” he said. “Call the police. Call the museum directors. And get one of the trucks around here. I’m not leaving Harkhuf with you pinheads ever again. We’re moving him to our secure warehouse in Pasadena.”
“Yes, sir,” said Carlson. “We’re on it.”
Plague. Stung to death by bees. Exploded while cleaning a cannon.
That evening, Sarah and Tyler were on shit-shoveling duty. As each bag of lawn clippings emptied, they used it to hold the elephant’s copious droppings. In their excitement of liberating the poor downtrodden animal, the fact that material came out of the elephant almost as it quickly as it went it in hadn’t crossed their minds. They were paying a heavy price for it now. But no one complained. It might be seen as shirking, and shirking could get you a time-out. If the Cultural Revolution had reeducation camps, the Animal Human Love Society had time-outs. It came with a hefty load of pamphlets, books, broadsides, and online screeds, some of them dry, some hysterical, and all tedious, so they would do anything to avoid having to read them. Even if it meant shoveling enough shit to fill an Olympic swimming pool.
Sarah looked at the elephant. “Do you think it looks sick? I think it looks sick.”
Heather was sweeping up lawn clippings across the room. “I don’t know what a sick elephant looks like.”
“That’s a good point,” said Tyler. “We should have thought of that before we stole it.”
“Friendmancipated it,” said Linda.
“Whatever,” said Sarah, exhausted.
“Who wants to do some elephant health research?” Tyler said.
Heather’s hand shot up. Everyone looked at her.
“You don’t have to raise your hand,” Tyler said. “You can just say you want to do it.”
“Right. I want to do it.”
“Great. Thank you.”
Heather’s heart swelled. As always, it was her idiot brother who ruined the moment.
“How long is it going to stay?” said Dylan. “If anyone finds it here, we’re going to be in big trouble.”
“Now you know how I feel,” said Brad.
“How are the mice, Brad?” said Linda.
“Do you want them?”
“No.”
“Then don’t ask.”
Tyler finished his bag, tied it off, and carried it to the considerable pile of other droppings in the corner of the rec center. “How much is it costing us to buy lawn clippings from those guys?” he asked.
“The clippings are free,” said Heather. “It’s getting them to keep their mouths shut that’s costing us.”
“I think the group should share the expense. It’s only fair,” said Dylan.
There was a general groaning around the room.
“Everyone here with a fifty-thousand-dollar Land Rover and a trust fund raise their hands,” said Brad. He looked around the room. “Oh. I guess it’s just you two.”
“That’s not a very collectivist attitude,” said Sarah.
A door slammed at the far end of the rec center, causing everyone to jump. It was Warren. He came running to the rest of them. “The T-shirts are here,” he said enthusiastically.
“What T-shirts?” said Tyler.
“They’re a surprise,” said Warren, handing out shirts to everyone. “I thought that since the group really put itself on the map with our recent operation, we should make it official. I Photoshopped the logo myself.”
Above the group’s name was the silhouette of a man with the silhouette of a dog clinging to his back in what, from a certain vantage point, could be considered an amorous position. A few of the group members looked at each other uncomfortably.
“It’s a little suggestive, don’t you think?” said Sarah.
“Sure it’s suggestive. Suggestive of solidarity,” shouted Warren, pulling on his shirt.
Tyler went over to him. “I think what Sarah is saying is that while we appreciate this heartfelt contribution, maybe artwork isn’t your strongest—”
This time a different door slammed open. “Everybody on the floor!” shouted a man in riot gear and balaclava. “Do it now!” He pointed a rifle at the group. Three more armed officers stormed in after him. They spread out across the room, pushing members of the group to the ground. As each kid went down, the officers secured their wrists behind their backs with zip ties.
“What is this?” said Tyler. “Who are you people?”
The first officer stood over him and pointed to a logo on his riot gear. “We’re with the federal Department of Fish and Wildlife. You’re all under arrest for putting in peril the life and welfare of an endangered species.”
“Fuck,” said Brad.
Linda began to cry.
Sarah and Tyler stared mutely at the officers.
Dylan shook his head. “When Mom and Dad hear, we’re dead.”
“So dead,” said Heather.
Warren rolled over. “Tell me the truth, Officer. What do you think of my shirt?”
“Shut up, Warren,” said everybody else.
The Fish and Wildlife officers pulled the group members to their feet one by one and marched them out to an unmarked van. “Watch your head,” said another officer as he pushed each kid into the van. When they were all secured, he locked them in and went back inside the rec center.
Through tiny slits in the blacked-out glass, the group watched the SWAT team gently walk the elephant outside and coax it into the back of a waiting truck. They worked with a minimum of words and practiced efficiency.
Two of the officers got into the truck with the elephant while the two others went to the van with the kids. A crowd of Carrwood residents was crowded around the rec center. By now, a security car drove up. One of the riot-geared officers went over, shook the cops’ hands, and flashed his Fish and Wildlife ID. He explained the situation with the stolen elephant and the deluded group that had absconded with it. After a few minutes, Carrwood security cleared the street so the van and truck could drive away.
Officer Darrel Pratchett held up his arms trying to get everybody’s attention. “Excuse me, folks. Can you all quiet down for a minute? Thank you. We want you to know that everything is fine now. You’re all safe. What appears to have been a band of ecoterrorists was operating within our community, but they’re being dealt with by the government. Please return to your homes. I’m sure we’ll know more tomorrow. All of it will be reported in the community newsletter.”
The residents all turned their heads in the direction of an approaching siren. A moment later, three vans screeched into the rec-center parking lot and men in riot gear and balaclavas leaped out, fanning around the building. Officer Pratchett approached them warily.
“Who the hell are you people?” he said.
A tall man at the center of the group flashed his credentials at him. “Department of Fish and Wildlife. We’ve been given information about an abducted animal on t
he premises.”
“But you just took it,” said Officer Pratchett.
“Who?”
“You. Department of Fish and Wildlife. You were just here.”
The tall man leaned close to Officer Pratchett and sniffed. “I’m sure you civilian officers are doing your best to protect your community, but just between you and me, have you been drinking?”
Morty was shouting gleefully at Coop over the phone from the truck with the elephant. “I swear to God, Coop, if you’d made that thing step on my hand, I was going to sue.”
“Who? Who are you going to sue?” said Coop.
“The elephant. Who else?”
“Hush,” said Giselle. “Those kids can hear you.”
“Fuck ’em,” said Sally, shouting through Morty’s phone. “I say we dump them in the ocean and let them swim home.”
“Remind me why I’m here again,” said Phil Spectre in their heads.
“Because you deserted us when we could have used you back with Woolrich,” said Coop. “Now, if we going down, you’re going with us.”
“I’m sad to see that after all these years of loyalty and, dare I say it, love, it’s come to this.”
“You’re breaking my heart,” said Coop.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re some pretty weird cops,” said Heather.
“What was the part about dumping us in the ocean?” said Tyler.
“Do it. Do it soon,” said Dylan. “Before our parents get home.”
They drove for an hour before pulling off onto a rural two-lane feeder road. Coop and Giselle pulled the kids out of the van and into the parking lot of an abandoned shopping center. Morty and Sally got out of the truck and came back to the group. Sally went through everyone’s pocket, collecting their cell phones.
“Oh my God,” said Linda. “They’re going to execute us!”
“Calm down. No one is executing anyone,” said Giselle.
Coop walked down the line and pulled out the saddest-looking kid.
“Oh God,” said Brad.
“Hush,” said Coop as he cut off Brad’s zip tie. When he was done, he handed the little knife to Brad. “Once we’re gone, you can do the others.”