The Everything Box (24 page)

“How did you find this place?” she said. “Are you a fan of the dark floors?”

Babylon looked over at the gaming tables, then back at the women. “I've always enjoyed them. Much more peaceful than the wet or dry ones, and away from the hustle and bustle of the light floors.”

“Unless you're looking for shoes. Then I love the light floors,” said Bayliss. Giselle had briefed her on the layout of Jinx Town, but now wished she'd do a little shutting up about it. No more drinks for her.

“Don't discount the dark floors for shopping,” said Babylon. “There are some exceptional places nearby. I get most of my suits here.”

“Thank you. Maybe I'll take a stroll later.”

“Just take a clove or two of garlic with you,” said Babylon. “The exsanguinator riffraff can be a bit annoying.”

“Don't worry. I've worked with vampires before,” Bayliss said.

Reel it in, thought Giselle. She kicked Bayliss lightly under the table.

“Really? Where?” said Babylon.

“Oh, here and there,” Bayliss said. “You know how it is. Business takes you all sorts of places with all sorts of people.”

“Indeed,” said Babylon.

“Would you mind telling us a bit more about the box?” said Giselle before Bayliss could cram her foot in her mouth again. “Is it everything I've heard it is?”

Babylon finished his drink and held up his glass for another. A waiter nodded in his direction. “It depends on what you've heard. There are a lot of rumors and tall tales.”

“Since we're the buyers, if you don't mind, we'd like to hear it from you,” said Giselle.

“The box, to put it simply, is an edge,” Babylon said. “Nothing less than luck incarnate. It's what every entrepreneur needs. A constant and reliable edge on the competition.”

“There are stories floating around that it's something else, too,” said Bayliss.

Babylon shrugged. “Stories about the box are as numerous as Scheherazade's thousand and one tales. Recently, an associate of mine plucked it away just as a couple of low-rent doomsday cults tried for it. Each thought they could use it to set off their rival Armageddons. Have you ever heard of something so silly?”

“Lucky you found it before they had a chance to test it out. Then we might not have had the pleasure of meeting you.”

“To Apocalypse averted,” said Babylon. He held up his glass in a toast.

“And new business ventures,” said Bayliss.

“Always that.”

Gisele smiled. While she concentrated on clouding the room, she was giving special attention to Babylon. There wasn't any liquor in his drinks, so she was loosening him up a little herself. Not too much. A couple of Scotches' worth.
Just want him friendly and happy. Not stupid and horny.

She sipped her drink slowly and fantasized about cutting through the crap and beating Babylon on the head with a bottle of grenadine until he just gave them the damned box. Coop better be on the job, she thought. I don't want to spend the whole night entertaining this bloated Scrooge McDuck.

Her phone rang. She excused herself and glanced at the number, quickly pressing the button to send the call to voice mail. The moment she did, Very Important People jumped into action doing Very Important Things.

Two floors below Týden Divu, Salzman sat in the mook bar and watched his call go to voice mail. That was the signal. He dialed another number and it only rang once before someone picked it up.

“Babylon's distraction is in place. Are you ready?” he said.

“No,” said Coop.

“Let me ask that another way. Are you prepared to keep your part of our bargain?”

“As much as I'll ever be.”

“You have your team with you? Including what's-his-name?”

“Yes. Morty is here.”

“What about Phil Spectre? Safely ensconced in your noggin, is he?”

“Yeah. He's already whining to get out of my head. He doesn't like the idea of playing earthworm,” Coop said.

“Tell him to shut up and do his job.”

“That's pretty much every conversation I've ever had with him.”

Salzman cleared his throat. “Once again, I have to remind you that the DOPS makes no guarantees for your safety. If you or the team gets caught or killed, it's on you.”

“I never thought it would be any other way,” Coop said.

“Are you comfortable in the crawler?”

“I'm not so wild about being an earthworm, either. But I've been worse places for smaller payoffs.”

“Good luck,” said Salzman. “Don't disappoint me.”

“Actually, you're somewhere near the bottom of the top hundred things I'm worried about right now.”

“Call me the moment you're clear.”

“You just make sure you take care of Giselle and Bayliss.”

“They're doing fine. Just bring me the box.”

“And I'll get you a Kewpie doll for your collection.”

Salzman turned off the phone and put it back in his pocket. He
sipped his martini and thought about the things he'd do to Coop if he failed. No jail for that boy. There were more interesting and surgical things he could arrange for a fuckup that big.

Salzman looked around the bar, hating the other mooks, but himself most of all. Everything he'd done and everything he wanted was in the hands of a jackass, a civilian, and a paranoid ghost. Or, to be more accurate, a jackass, a jackass civilian, and a jackass paranoid ghost. If he weren't already dead, he'd be worried. As it was, what he felt wasn't dread, but more a dire fear of sameness. That tomorrow would be no different from today. He couldn't even get drunk. His physiology wouldn't let him. Maybe he'd go out and kill somebody. That was always fun. A random stranger. Maybe at a highway rest stop. Toss the body in a Dumpster. Blow off a little steam and get back to the office in time for Coop's report. He checked his watch and got up. He'd have to get going if he wanted to beat the traffic.

At Týden Divu, Babylon was looking a little more drunk and restless than Giselle liked. Time to move, she thought.

“So, Mr. Babylon. How much money are we actually talking about for the box?”

“One hundred million,” he said without missing a beat.

Bayliss sat back in her seat. Giselle gave her a light rap on the foot with her shoe.

“Considering everything you've told us about it, that sounds like a reasonable price,” she said. “But, unless you're ready to accept a personal check, it will take us a day or so to put together that much cash.”

He smiled. “As lovely as you ladies are, yes, I'm strictly a cash man. When can you get your finances together?”

“How's Friday?” said Bayliss.

Babylon gazed at his disgusting drink like he was trying to channel Jesus, not to turn his water to wine, but his Roy Rogers to gin. “That's reasonable,” he said. “Let's say ten o'clock in the evening at the Bonaventure Hotel? I have a room on perpetual reserve.”

“Perfect,” said Giselle. “Now, I noticed you eyeing the gaming tables earlier. Fancy a game of something? Our treat, of course.”

“Do you play roulette?” he said.

“No. Maybe you could teach us.”

“I'd be delighted.”

“I'll settle up our drinks and meet you over there,” said Bayliss.

When Babylon was on his feet, Giselle offered him her arm. He took it and they headed for the roulette wheel. She prayed that Coop was already on the move. Even with all the risks, she was a little jealous of him. He got to play Indiana Jones while the DOPS had her on a budget. If Babylon sucked at roulette, she might have to dip into discretionary funds, and the paperwork on that was murder. Better to be digging through Laurel Canyon's sewers with a ghost in your head than worrying about this particular kind of crap.

THE ROAD CREW DIGGING UP THE STREET A HUNDRED
yards from Babylon's hilltop mansion was making a hell of a mess. At least the locals thought so. What with all the bulldozers, backhoes, dump trucks, and things with claws that no one had ever seen before but people were sure that, like the road, had been paid for with their precious tax dollars, the workers should really obey their commands, starting with “Get the hell out of the way.”

The crew had the road down to a single lane, and whoever was directing traffic didn't seem to know or care what he was doing. Plus the hole they'd dug, you could lose a Hummer, an Escalade, and one of those demented stretch limos made from Mini Coopers down there and no one would ever know. None of the drivers suspected that that was exactly the idea.

Nelson hated this evening with a furious passion. Standing on the road in a stupid orange vest wearing a stupid hard hat, directing stupid people around the stupid goddamn hole the crew had dug for Coop. He was sure the whole thing was a put-up job. That Coop's plan was either a crooked gambit to escape or part of his conspir
acy with Giselle and Bayliss to waste the DOPS's time, and his in particular.

They'd been working on the road since six, getting the hole into the local sewer system wide enough to hold the Stink Missile. That part at least delighted Nelson. Coop sailing through a tidal wave of shit and hopefully meeting a colorful and agonizingly awful fate at the other end. When traffic let up for a minute, Nelson pulled out his flask and had a drink. That part also delighted Nelson. It was almost time. The hole was wide enough and the flatbed with the Missile was ready to go. Nelson signaled for other DOPS agents disguised as road workers to hold traffic below the crest of the hills in both directions.

“You're up, hotshot,” said Nelson into his vest mic.

“I just got a pep talk from Salzman. I don't need another from you.”

“But I've got a load of sweet nothings to whisper in your ear.”

“Did I tell you you look great in that vest? Orange is really your color,” said Coop.

One of the men on the flatbed truck made a circular motion in the air and Nelson nodded.

“Get ready to get flushed, genius. Oh yeah, did anyone mention that there's a bomb on board the Stink Missile? If you're not back in two hours, chunks of you are going to be flowing to the Pacific with the organic lentils these canyon fruit bats flush down their solid-gold toilets.”

“Nelson, if I can't finish the job in two hours, I'm tunneling right under your ass and you can join me in shit Valhalla.”

“Keep dreaming, sunshine. They're getting ready to insert you. That pal of yours know how to run the Stink Missile yet?”

“You ready?” asked Coop.

“Yeah,” Morty's voice said. “It's just like driving a big truck. I've done it a million times.”

“We're ready.”

“Strap in, smart-ass,” said Nelson. He signaled to the flatbed, and it began to tilt upward. It took a good thirty seconds to get the bed at a high enough angle that the Stink Missile slid off the back into the canyon sewer system. There wasn't another vehicle in the world like
the Missile. It moved at a staggering two miles an hour and resembled a matte-black stealth lobster with a titanium drill at the front and little pushing feet at the back.

All with three trapped rats in the middle.

Once it settled, Morty hit the power and the Missile ground forward. He bounced off the tunnel walls a few times before he got the hang of the controls, but then they smoothed out and crept along at a steady clip.

“How are we doing, Morty?” said Coop.

“Piece of cake,” he said. “Now that we're moving, all I need to do is watch the screens. Most of it's running on GPS autopilot.”

“Where do we start tunneling?”

“Here,” said Morty, pointing to a sewer map. “The pipe narrows as it gets near Babylon's place. We punch through the sewer wall and dig our way straight through to his basement. Good plan, Coop. Simple as apple pie.”

“Of course, it sounds simple,” said Phil Spectre in their heads. “All plans sound simple at first, then shit hits the fan. Or in this case, us.”

“Hey, Phil,” said Morty. “I didn't know the ride came with in-flight entertainment.”

“Don't get him started,” said Coop.

“I've got one for you,” said Phil. “Knock knock.”

“Who's there?” said Morty.

“Stephen Hawking.”

“Stephen Hawking who?”

“Stephen Hawking who, if he was here, would be smart enough to steer us away from those DOPS cocks to somewhere safe and warm.”

Morty looked at Coop. “You're right. He's a riot.”

“You heard the man, Phil,” said Coop. “We've got a bomb on board. We can't run very far underground in two hours.”

“Are you happy with yourself right now? Proud of your life choices?” said Phil. “You know what they call this thing we're in?”

“Nelson said Stink Missile,” said Morty.

“That's the nice name. It's usually Turd in a Tube. The Brown Bullet. Mocha Express. I can go on if you like.”

“No, thanks,” said Morty.

“Ignore him,” said Coop. “He probably made up most of those himself.”

“Supersonic Suppository. The Flying Nun.”

“Okay. You definitely made up that last one,” said Morty.

“But it's a good one. Admit it.”

“It's all right. I might have gone with Roto-Rooter Rocket.”

“Not too awful. You're more fun at this than Coop.”

“Pipe down, both of you,” said Coop. “How much farther to go?”

Morty looked at the GPS. “We'll be at the cutoff point in another minute. You might want to strap yourself in. We'll be digging through rock soon. It might get a little rough.”

Morty was right about most of those things.

The Missile turned on its own when the GPS indicated that it had reached the end of the usable tunnel. From its front end, the Missile extended a plasma cutter and activated its massive drill bit to begin cutting through the pipe and into the earth. When they'd made a large enough hole in the sewer pipe wall, insectlike scooping arms extended from the Missile's front end, moving away the dirt the drill loosened. The Missile shook, gyrated, and shuddered. It was like riding a carousel made of jackhammers. For the first time in his life, Coop wondered if Phil was right and they should be tunneling away from here.

“This is nice. I'm glad you brought me along, Coop,” said Phil. “Anyone fancy a sing-along?”

Morty looked at Coop. “Is he serious?”

Coop nodded. “It's what he does when he gets nervous, but he'd never admit it in front of you.”

“Like hell I won't. Of course, I'm nervous,” said Phil. “I'm as stuck down here as you meat sticks. If you both die, without somewhere to jump to, I get to haunt this tuna can for the next few centuries. How does that sound to you? Scaring earthworms and prairie dogs? That is not what I aspire to. I'm a professional.”

“How did you end up with the DOPS?” said Coop, hoping to distract Phil.

“Like all the rest of you clowns. I got picked up on a job that didn't go, let's just say, exactly as planned.”

“No one sold you out, did they?” said Coop.

“No.”

“So who were you working with, Phil?”

“Fast Eddie Lansdale. You know him?”

Morty looked at Coop. “Yeah. We're acquainted. But why were you working with Eddie? He already has a crew.”

“Why do you think? He was stepping out on them. We had what looked like an easy bank job, so the two of us were going to do it together.”

“An easy bank job,” said Coop. “Meaning it was a setup.”

“Give that man a rubber cigar,” said Phil. “Those DOPS creeps knew we were coming before I got to enjoy Eddie's symphony of morning farts. He's not a pleasant person to spend time with.”

“So I hear,” said Coop.

“But we just saw Eddie,” said Morty. “How did he get away?”

“He didn't. We both got caught and the prick traded me to get himself cut loose. The DOPS didn't need any trained baboons on the payroll, so they took the deal and here we are all together. The three amigos.”

The Missile shook and ground against something hard. Coop's spine felt like it had grown teeth and was digging its way out of his doomed body. He was glad he was strapped in.

“So who wants to play Truth or Dare?” said Phil.

“Shut up, Phil,” said Coop.

“You're very chatty for a ghost,” said Morty.

“I'm just a people person. Let's talk about you, Morty.”

“No, thanks.”

“How much longer?” said Coop.

Morty looked at the GPS. “Another five minutes.”

“Do you have intimacy issues, Morty? Coop has massive ones.”

“I don't think that's true,” said Morty. “You should have seen him and Giselle at work. You'd never think she broke his heart and stomped all over it.”

“Morty . . .” said Coop.

“Giselle?” said Phil. “Dish, girlfriend.”

“Not another word.”

“Sorry,” said Morty.

“Don't listen, Morty. I'm his therapist. Tell me everything.”

“Phil talks big now, but wait until we get inside,” said Coop. “He's not bad at his job, but you're going to see another side of him.”

“Really? He gets worse?”

“I'll let you be the judge.”

“I'm right here, you know,” said Phil. “I can hear every word.”

“How much longer?” said Coop.

The Missile trembled. The grinding din from outside grew louder. They had to cover their ears. Then there was what sounded like a minor explosion. The Missile lurched forward and stopped. The drill on the front wound down. The digging arms retracted. Morty hit the outside lights. They were in a dark, open room, full of old furniture, paintings, and crates.

“Holy crap,” said Morty. “I think we're here.” He checked the GPS. “We are. We're in Babylon's cellar.”

“I knew he wouldn't bother with a lot of curses down here. Now we just have to get to his safe and get out. Everyone know what they're doing?”

“I get you out of the basement and stay here, keep the Missile warmed up till you come back,” said Morty.

“Right.”

“And I make sure you don't screw everything up,” said Phil.

“You sure you don't want me to come along?” Morty said. “There might be more locks.”

“Not according to the blueprints,” said Coop. “Coming from the bottom of the house, we're bypassing most of the worst traps. All we have to worry about is the room with the safe.”

“I'm not so sure about that, Coop,” said Phil. “The more the merrier, I say. Let's bring ol' Morty along. Nothing personal, but you can be a grumpopotamus.”

Morty said, “That's not what Giselle says. She says—”

“Shut up. That's what she says. Morty stays,” said Coop firmly.

“If you say so,” Morty said. “I'll be ready to go the moment you get back.”

“That's what I want to hear. Phil, you ready to go to work?”

“Before we go, consider this: there's probably an antique box down here with all this junk. Why don't we just take it instead of hopping on the Haunted Mansion ride? What are they going to know at headquarters?”

“There's no way I'm going to go back to jail because you got cold feet. Just stay alert and look for traps. We'll be back double-quick time.”

“Hey, Morty,” said Phil. “If we croak here tonight, be sure to give Nelson a kick in the balls for me.”

“You got it.”

“And give Giselle a kiss. A big one. You know the kind I mean.”

“I'll take a pass on that, Phil. Coop is the one on kissing terms with Giselle.”

“As a matter of fact, I'm not,” said Coop.

“You're not? What the hell is wrong with you? You could die out there.”

“I know.”

“You're an idiot,” said Morty.

“I know.”

“Good. Admitting you have a problem is the first step toward your recovery.”

“Coop, listen to the man,” said Phil. “You could catch a terminal case of dead. Let's just stay here in the basement and not die together.”

But Coop climbed out of the Missile and Morty followed. He went up the stairs ahead of Coop until he reached the door. Then he gently laid his hand over the lock and closed his eyes. A moment later, there was a click and the door swung open a few inches.

“Good luck,” he said.

“Thanks,” said Coop.

“Avenge me, Morty,” said Phil. “If this ignoramus gets me killed, avenge me.”

Morty got back into the Missile. “Shut up, Phil.”

Coop entered Babylon's mansion wearing the same skintight suit he'd worn during the Bellicose Manor job. It hid his body heat from
any biodetectors. Around his waist, he wore his utility sack of tools, and for this job he'd brought along a small backpack stuffed with expensive DOPS gear, most of which he had no idea what to do with, but it seemed smart to take everything they offered. The overall effect made him look like a hunchbacked hobo scuba diver. He hoped there were no cameras around to snap his picture. If future clients ever saw how silly he looked on the job, it would definitely hurt his work prospects. Of course, worrying about future work felt ridiculously optimistic considering everything that lay between him and the box. Still, it was better to concentrate on not losing his life or any body parts unlikely to grow back than to obsess over the dangers lurking on his journey to the heart of Babylon's fun house.

Phil was already scratching around in Coop's skull, looking for traps, illusions, and dead drops. So far, so good on that front. The first hard curse hit him as he passed a broom closet near the base of the staircase. A second hit as soon as he rounded the corner that led to the stairs. A third curse meant to rattle his bones until they cracked hit him at the bottom of the first step. They all passed right through him, evaporating or leaving scorch marks on the floor and walls.