The Everything Box (22 page)

IT WAS A PERFECT LOS ANGELES MORNING IN THE PARK
ING
lot by the Brown Star Organic Co-op stall in the Farmers Market. Bright, but not hot, and with a slight breeze. The market was bustling with customers from all over L.A. and the San Fernando Valley. Tourists crowded the stalls, looking for a late breakfast and local delicacies. Some of the more charitably minded stopped by the bake sale table of a new environmental group most of them weren't quite sure they'd heard of.

Marian White of Enid, Oklahoma, stood by the bake sale table and cocked her head. “‘Scourge the Earth.' That's an unusual name for an environmental group. Can you tell me about it?”

Susie smiled at her. “We're a fairly new group. Local mainly, but we hope to be going global soon.”

“How nice. And what are you working on these days?”

Tommy said, “Our ultimate goal is to poison the seas, scorch the land, and bring the end of days to all vile human life.”

“Excuse me?”

“Save the trees,” said Susie. “We want to save the trees.”

“And the baby seals,” said Janet from over her shoulder.

“Oh, I love them,” said Marian.

“Would you like to try a sample?” said Susie.

Marian looked over the long spread of pies and cakes. “What's that one?”

“That's a hate-in-a-blistering-inferno-of-agony bar.”

“That's an unusual name.”

“Thank you.”

“What flavor is it?” said Marian.

“Lemon.”

“Could I try one of those?”

“Certainly.” Susie cut off a small piece of the bar and handed it to her on a paper napkin. “Here you go.”

Marian popped it in her mouth and chewed. “It's delicious. I'll take two, please.”

“Wonderful. Lord Caleximus will smile upon you and devour your soul quickly and mercifully. There will be little pain.”

“Are you sure you're an environmental group?”

“Save the whales,” said Susie.

“Of course,” said Marian. She narrowed her eyes. “It's just that I get the feeling you have some other agenda, too.”

“No nukes,” said Janet.

Susie wiped her hands on her apron. “If you think we're raising money to summon our unholy death god from a black well of eternal suffering to ravage mankind, you couldn't be more wrong.”

“Well, all right then. What's that?” said Marian, pointing.

“Carrot cake. With a frosting of cream cheese, chopped pecans, and bottomless horror.”

Marian frowned. “I'm not sure I like the sound of that. Do you have anything with little to no horror? My daughter-in-law is trying to lose some weight.”

Susie picked up a plate. “We have some gluten-free chocolate chip venomous rage Toll House cookies.”

Marian shook a finger at Susie. “See, that's why I think you might have another agenda.”

“Butterscotch brownies. Do you like butterscotch?”

“I'm not sure. May I try one?”

Susie handed her a sliver of brownie. “I think you'll like it.”

Marian took a bite and nodded. “How much rage is in this one?”

“Hardly any. And they're on sale. Three for five dollars.”

“Lovely. I'll take three.”

Susie used a spatula to scoop up the brownies and slip them into a paper bag. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” said Marian.

“Have a nice day. Hail Caleximus.”

“What was that?”

“Save the whales.”

“You said that earlier,” said Marian.

“Don't you like whales? Why do you hate whales?”

“I don't hate whales.”

“Good, because we love them,” said Susie. “Their blubber will serve to light our lord's way as he wipes clean all life and hope from the surface of this accursed world.”

“Well, as long as the baby seals will be all right.”

“The seals are fine. Everybody likes seals.”

Marian took her brownies and put them in a Brown Star woven tote bag. “Thank you. Have a nice day. Good luck with the scourging.”

“Thank you. Be sure to tell your friends. We'll be here all weekend.”

As Marian went back into the Farmers Market, Steve came over. He was wearing a white apron and a chef's hat with
DELICIOUS DESTRUCTION
on it in a light green cursive font.

“How are things going, hon?”

“Just terrific. Making money hand over fist. Though, you know, that last woman, I don't know if she believed we're one of those tree-hugging groups.”

“Just remember that we have deep concern for the environment. We want to destroy it. Burn it to ashes and salt the Earth with mortal tears. It might not be the kind of environmental plan Greenpeace has, but they'll be screaming in boiling bile soon, so all we need to do is keep going until we can get back the summoning box.”

“I'm sure you're right. Anyway, she liked my lemon bars and the butterscotch brownies.”

Steve put an arm around her. “You're a terrific saleswoman.”

“How are the others doing?” Susie asked.

“Real well. I'm glad you talked me into having one last sale. We're pulling in cash and everyone is having a good time.”

“And isn't that what Armageddon is all about?”

“That's the way I learned it,” said Steve. “Say, have you seen Caleximus's silver blade? We want to cut up some accursed fudge bars and I thought it might be fun to make a little ceremony out of it.”

“I think Jerry has it,” said Susie.

“Great. Thanks.”

“Talk to you later.”

Steve walked over to where Jerry was putting a couple of virulently blighted blueberry scones into a plastic container for a little girl in a Smurfette T-shirt. The girl ran to her parents and waved at Jerry. He waved back as the family took their infernal pastries to one of the outdoor tables for a snack.

“Hey, son,” said Steve. “Your mom said you might have Caleximus's dagger.”

Jerry rearranged the scones on his tray, not looking at his father. “No. I haven't seen it. Maybe Jorge has it.”

Steve sighed. “Well, damn. I sent him for more paper plates. Oh well. We'll just have to make do with a regular old kitchen knife.” Steve looked over his son's shoulder at the almost empty scone tray. “Looks like you're doing a good job there.”

“Thanks.”

“How are your ribs feeling?”

“Just fine. Really good.”

“Great. Okay. I have some fudge bars to get back to. Keep up the good work.”

“Thanks, Dad. I will.”

A plump man in sunglasses and a Mickey Mouse jean jacket walked over to where Susie was working. “Hi. Can you tell me what this is?”

“It's peach cobbler. My own recipe. Would you like to try a little?”

“Yes, please.”

Susie put a dollop on a napkin for him and gave him a plastic fork. He tasted it and smiled. “That's terrific.”

“Thank you. The special ingredient is love. And the burning desire to see all of humanity savaged by giant fire-breathing wasps. But mostly love.”

The plump man threw the napkin in a nearby trash can and said, “I'll take the whole thing.”

Susie beamed at him. “Wonderful,” she said. “Would you like me to wrap that up for you?”

The man picked up the cobbler and said, “No thanks. I'll have it here.” He raised the dish over his head and smashed it down on the table. It exploded, sending peach cobbler in all directions and knocking other cakes and pies onto the ground.

Behind the man, a van screeched to a stop. The side door slid open and a group of men and women in monster masks piled out.

“Acolytes and adepts to work!” shouted the plump man.

The crowd from the van attacked the tables, smashing pastries, throwing them at the Caleximus congregation and people browsing in the market. They overturned tables and smashed display cases. Jerry tried to grab one of them, but got an elbow in the ribs that sent him to the pavement in agony. Steve managed to get one of the attackers in a headlock, but two more jumped on him and pulled them apart. Another smeared whipped cream in his eyes and he tripped over Leonard, who was already on his back, trying to climb out of a slippery trail of jelly donuts. Janet threw a Bundt cake at one of the masked women. She ducked and hit Janet with a tray of macaroons.

As a couple of security cops ran over, the man in the Mickey Mouse jacket shouted, “Acolytes and adepts! Withdraw!” The cake- and pie-smeared vandals piled back into the van and it burned rubber across the parking lot, scattering shoppers out of the way, and disappeared into traffic.

Steve ran over and helped Susie to her feet. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Where's Jerry?”

Steve found him still doubled over and sat him upright. “Is everyone else all right?”

The group nodded and mumbled yes miserably, wiping cake, jam, and fruit from their faces and clothes.

“Who was that?” said Tommy.

“It could have only been one bunch: those Cladis Abaddonis bastards,” said Steve.

“Why go after us?” said Tommy.

“And how did they know where we'd be?” said Susie.

“They came after us because they're heathen assholes, that's why,” said Steve. “And I bet I know how they found us. It was that Coop guy. He probably saw one of our pendants the other night and sent the Abaddonians after us.”

“Maybe he's been with them all along,” said Susie.

“Son of a bitch,” said Steve. “I'm going to kick that private eye's ass until he finds him.”

Leonard pulled Jerry to his feet. “Dad,” he said. “I might be able to help.”

THEY'D STARTED WORK AT NINE THIRTY IN THE MORNING.
It was now past two. No one had eaten lunch. The coffee was gone and so were the donuts someone had stolen from the break room. Basically, it was an office full of frustrated, caffeine-deprived, sugar-crashing psychopaths. Bayliss had an energy bar hidden in her jacket pocket, but there was no way she was letting anybody know that. Especially Nelson. Locked in the room all day, he hadn't been able to get at his flask. Bayliss tried not to take such delight in watching him sweat and get shaky, but if she could have read Coop and Giselle's minds, she might have been able to take some comfort in knowing they felt the same way.

They were in the same office where they'd taken Coop on his first day at the DOPS. Now the big table was covered in blueprints, thaumaturgic scans, Kirlian satellite photos, and spectral charts of Mr. Babylon's Laurel Canyon mansion.

Coop held up an overhead photo showing the residence's aura. It was black, and spikes around the edges looked like angry crab claws.

“I hate these damned spook mansions. The last time I did a job in one I landed in jail,” Coop said.

“That's because someone gave you up to the cops,” said Giselle. “That's not going to happen this time. Remember that we're in this with you.”

“Cops saving me from cops. It's a little surreal.”

“At least it's one less thing to worry about,” said Bayliss.

“Still. The whole thing feels cursed. I was hoping the box would be in a nice bank vault or nuclear missile silo. Those I could handle. This place is a mess.”

“Why?” said Bayliss. “Talk us through it.”

Coop tossed the photo onto the table and stretched his back. “Everything I can see, it's all designed so you might be able to get in, but you won't be able to get out. Or there's a way out, but there's no way in without setting off fifty alarms.”

Earlier, Nelson had found a drawer full of pencils in a nearby table. He'd spent most of the past hour flipping them overhead at the ceiling. He'd gotten pretty good at it. The acoustic tiles bristled with skinny yellow stalactites. “I told you this guy was a bum,” he said. He continued in a squeaky mocking voice. “Look at me. I'm magic. I'm Tinkerbell. I can get in anywhere.”

“Like you're any help,” said Bayliss. “Let him work this out.” She looked at Coop. “Can we get you inside with a disguise? You can be there to repair the kitchen sink or deliver a package.”

Coop shook his head. “That still leaves the problem of getting out. The room where Babylon has the box is a complete clusterfuck. There's no way I can sneak in and out of there without somebody noticing.” He picked up his empty coffee cup for the twentieth time and set it down in disgust. “And even if it's possible to get in, we're only assuming he's keeping the box in his vault. What if he has it in his bedroom? Or he's using it to store paper clips in his office?”

“He hasn't opened it. Trust me. We'd know. Every lightbulb and computer in the world would be down,” said Bayliss.

“How exactly do we know it's in the vault?”

“Our psychics department told us,” said Nelson.

“The DOPS psychics? The bunch who couldn't figure out when I was stealing the box? Bang-up job. Very reassuring.”

“Bitch. Whine. Bitch.”

“Fine,” Coop said to Nelson. “What's your plan, Keyser Söze?”

Nelson tossed a pencil at the ceiling, then turned to Coop. “I say we go in guns blazing. A total D-Day operation. We can tell the press we found the real bin Laden.”

“That's original, I'll give you that,” said Giselle. “Dumb, but original.”

Coop pointed to a spot on the blueprints. “You send a bunch of agents in through the front door, all you'll end up with is a lot of dust, bones, and teeth. Maybe someone's pinky, but that's being optimistic.”

“So you say, Gandalf,” said Nelson.

“Look at the plans yourself.”

Nelson picked up his pencils and leaned back in his chair. “I'm a supervisor. I'm your supervisor. I'm not here to do your job for you.” He tossed a pencil. It missed and hit him on the head. “Goddammit.”

Bayliss went over to where Coop was looking over the spectral charts, showing the strength of the curses in different parts of the house. “What my partner means is he doesn't know how to read blueprints or any of the rest of this.”

“And you do?” said Nelson.

“Of course. It's part of basic training.”

Nelson said, “It's part of basic training,” in the same squeaky voice he'd used on Coop.

“How did you not learn any of this?”

Nelson considered the question. “Wait a minute. Maybe I did and can't remember.” He looked at Giselle. “Are you messing with my mind? Are you in on something with him?” he said, pointing to Coop.

“Right. I love sitting in this room with your gin sweat and no coffee.”

“It's whiskey sweat, kitten.”

“Just because you can't do your job, suddenly it's my fault. Why don't you get your toy crucifix and go eat a burrito?”

Nelson pointed at her. “How do you know I like burritos?”

“Unknot your diapers. Everybody likes burritos,” said Coop.

“Personally, I like the plantain chips more,” said Giselle.

“You've been following me,” said Nelson. “What are you up to?”

“I just like watching you gobble down an ebola and black beans grande with a side of dizzy juice.”

“Are you two in this together? Is this a conspiracy?”

“Leave me out of this. I'm a McDonald's man, myself,” said Coop.

“Relax,” said Bayliss. “She just came by one time so we could talk.”

“I don't remember that. When was it?”

Bayliss looked at Giselle. “Um . . .”

“It was just the other day. You weren't there,” said Giselle.

“Aha! But you've never been there without me. Have you?”

Bayliss looked away.

“No. You're too honest to lie about it. So, you two
are
in on something,” said Nelson, pointing to Bayliss and Giselle. Then he turned to Coop. “And you most of all. You're all in on it together.”

“We're trying to steal the Constitution,” said Giselle. “Haven't you seen the movie? There's a treasure map on the back.”

Nelson looked back and forth between Giselle and Coop.

Coop said, “Calm down, kids. We're all just doing our jobs. All I want is a way this heist doesn't get me killed or arrested.”

Nelson aimed a pencil at Giselle. “Why can't the Scarlet Witch just turn invisible and walk you in and out the front door?”

“Wow, Dr. Who. You just saved the day,” said Coop.

“What Coop means is that a Marilyn is the first thing Babylon would have thought of,” said Giselle.

“They have wards and hexes everywhere,” said Coop. “No one clouds anyone's mind in there.”

“Lucky them,” said Nelson. He looked at Giselle. “If she's a third wheel around here, then why is she still around?”

“Unlike you, I'm trying to help figure out how to make this plan work,” Giselle said.

“What about the roof?” said Bayliss. “Or here. The pipes to the Roman pools. Those are big enough for you to swim through.”

Coop ran his hand over the top of the blueprints. “The roof is loaded with pressure sensors. And even if you could get through, there's the piranhas.”

“There's a pool up there?”

“No. An aviary.”

“Babylon has flying piranhas?”

“Babylon has flying piranhas,” said Coop. “And I can't get in through the pipes because—”

“Let me guess,” said Nelson. “Fire-breathing underwater spider monkeys.”

“No. Explosives around the intake.”

“Damn. So close.”

Coop glanced in his coffee cup again. “I wish we had some fire-breathing monkeys. They could torch the place.”

“How would that help?” said Giselle. “Do you want to go in and die of smoke inhalation?”

“No. I just think it would be fun to burn it down.”

There was a light knock at the door and Salzman came in. “Good afternoon, everyone. I don't want to interrupt anything, but I wanted to come by and see how you were all doing.”

Coop picked up a spectral chart and dropped it on the desk. “We're not. Doing, that is. From what I've seen on these papers, the job can't be done. It's impossible.”

Salzman pushed the papers away from the end of the desk and sat down. “It's not your job to tell me it's impossible. It's your job to tell me how you're going to do it.”

“How come every time I point out that this job won't work, one of you helpful schoolmarms says ‘try harder'?”

“Because you're a—”

“Do not say it.”

“Fuddy-duddy.”

“That's it. I quit.”

“Fine,” said Salzman. “The prison van will be by for you in an hour. In the meantime, Nelson, why don't you cuff him?”

“Wait,” said Giselle. “I take it back. He's not a fuddy-duddy. And he's telling the truth about the job.”

Coop pushed away some of the plans on the table. “According to this crap, everything is going to get us killed. And by ‘us' I mean ‘me.'”

“Then do something else,” said Salzman through gritted teeth. “Every building has a weak spot. You just haven't found this one's yet.”

“We're going to need more time,” said Coop.

Nelson came around the table with his cuffs out. Salzman held up a hand to stop him. “Oh, man,” Nelson said.

“How much more time?”

“A week. At least.”

“You have two days.” Coop started to say something, but Salzman pointed to Nelson and Coop shut up. “After I leave here I'm going upstairs to Mr. Woolrich's office to tell him that you're well on your way to forming a solid plan of attack. Do not make me a liar.” He turned to Nelson. “Put the cuffs away. For now.”

Nelson remained on Salzman's side of the room and pointed at the others. “These three are up to something. I don't know what, but they're all in on it together.”

Salzman looked them over with his milky eyes. “Excellent. A conspiracy demonstrates real teamwork and initiative. Congratulations. It sounds like you're off and running.”

“Just one more thing,” said Coop. He drummed his fingers on the table a couple of times. “We need to be absolutely clear on one thing. If I get you the box and come out of this alive, that's it. I'm free and clear to go.”

Salzman nodded. “That is the agreement. Get us the box and you're as free as—”

“A fire-breathing spider monkey?” said Giselle.

Salzman stood up, straightened his jacket. “Do we have those? I'd love to see one.”

“Me, too.”

“Go check with the lab boys and get back to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Salzman started to leave when Nelson said, “Sir. What about the conspiracy?”

Salzman turned to him. “Go have a burrito and a drink. It's all you're good for these days.” He turned and left.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” Nelson got up and followed.

Coop went back to the schematics. Bayliss excused herself to use the restroom and ate her energy bar. Giselle took one of Nelson's pencils and tossed it into the ceiling.

“Bull's-eye,” she said.