The Everything Box (31 page)

“A cover story? What's yours?”

“I work in receivables at an import company. We specialize in Persian and Indian rugs. If you need anything for when you get your own apartment, I can set you up.”

“Do you have bath mats? I'll need one of those.”

“There's a mysterious land called Target where you can find that kind of thing. I'll show you sometime.”

“That sounds all right.” Coop looked around the busy office, wondering what kind of world domination you could plan while checking your bids on eBay. “Again, sorry I'm late. This thing with Morty is getting to me. Am I supposed to meet Woolrich?”

“You don't need to,” said Giselle. She pulled a folder full of forms from her desk and set it in front of Coop.
More goddamn folders
. He opened the cover and looked at the papers underneath. They looked like ordinary employment forms. He'd filled out plenty of fake ones over the years so he could get inside buildings and case them. Now, he was about to fill out the forms for real.

“This feels pretty weird,” he said.

“I had to do it, too. Remember, I can help you through this.”

“Okay. So where do I sign my life away?”

“I'll take you to an empty office where you can have some privacy.”

“Thanks. Oh, and by the way, I've already seen three ways I can get in here and steal some of your laptops. Should I mention that on the form?”

Giselle shook her head. “Let's just stick to your name and social security number for now.” She stopped and looked at him. “You do have a social security number, right?”

“Don't worry. My mom was enough of a straight arrow to get me one. But are they going to check my taxes or anything? Because I didn't always pay them on time.”

“When's the last time you paid?”

“Let me think for a minute. Never.”

Giselle looked around in case anybody had heard him. “Let's just cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we? Follow me.”

She led him to a bare, dark office at the end of a row of identical glass-front cubicles. She flipped on the light and Coop sat behind the desk.

“Do you have a pen?” she said.

“No.”

“Check the drawers. Sometimes people leave a few.”

He opened the middle drawer and there were two blue pens inside. He held them up so Giselle could see. “Golly. Looks like my luck's changing already.”

She smiled. “Listen, I have some things to do. If you have any trouble with the forms, just come and get me.”

“Okay,” he said. “I'll try not to bug you.”

“Bug away. It'll be nice to have some distractions around here.”

“I'll do my best.”

Giselle came around the desk and stood close to him, pretending she was showing him the forms. Coop touched her leg under the desk.

“Knock knock,” said someone at the door.

Both of them jumped in opposite directions, and Giselle came quickly around the desk, smoothing her dress. Bayliss stood in the doorway of the office.

“You look busy,” Bayliss said, grinning. “Mind if I come in?”

“Of course,” said Giselle. “I was just getting Coop set up with his ninety-four sixes.” Coop smiled and held up his pens.

Bayliss came in and closed the office door. “Can you two keep a secret?” she said.

They both nodded. “Sure,” said Coop.

Bayliss took a quick glance over her shoulder. “It's the Salzman thing. I think—I don't know—but I think I might know where the box is.”

“That's great,” said Giselle.

Coop set down the pens and crossed his arms. “But there's a problem. Otherwise you wouldn't be talking to us. You'd just go and get it.”

Bayliss nodded. “Salzman had a secret safe in the office. One no one was supposed to know about, only I saw him using it once. I bet he has the box there.”

“Why wouldn't he just take it with him?” said Giselle.

“Because if anyone noticed it missing before he got away, he's the first one they'd come after,” said Coop.

“Exactly,” said Bayliss. “That's why I don't want to go to anyone else in the DOPS. First off, if I'm wrong, Nelson is never going to let me hear the end of it. But I'm also afraid that if Salzman did leave the box, it means he might be working with someone in the building. And it could be anyone.”

“Okay. I can buy that,” said Giselle. “What do you want to do about it?”

Coop sighed.
Every. Single. Person.
“She wants me to steal it for her.”

Bayliss hesitated for a minute, then nodded. “Actually, I'd like to
do it with you. It could really be a good thing for you starting here. And it could be good for getting me promoted away from Nelson.”

Coop did some calculations in his head.
Mr. Lemmy wants the box. The angel wants the box. The glee club and their wacko cult friends want the box. But no one knows where the box is. Except now, Bayliss says she does. If she's right and the box is there, it might be my only chance to get it and save Morty. But if I gave it to Mr. Lemmy I'd be screwing over Bayliss, and Giselle would never forgive me for that.
That's as far as he could figure right then. All that mattered at the moment was getting the box. He could figure out the rest later.

“I'm in,” he said.

Bayliss beamed at him. “Thanks.”

“Me, too,” said Giselle. “You're not going to have fun like this without me. Besides, while Coop goes on his crime spree, I can cloud people's minds so they won't see what we're up to.”

“Where's the safe?” said Coop.

“I think it's in the break room,” said Bayliss.

“Where in the break room?”

“The microwave oven.”

Coop gave her a puzzled look. “There's a safe behind the microwave?”

She shook her head. “The safe
is
the microwave. From what I saw, I think it's a transdimensional portal.”

Nothing is ever normal with these people.

“The thing is, I don't exactly have a lot of experience with portals to other dimensions. Dragons, yeah. Spiders, God help me, yeah. Regular safes, no problem. But this stuff . . .”

“It's transdimensional, but it still works like a safe. All we need to do is figure out the combination on the microwave pad.”

Coop thought a minute. Giselle and Bayliss looked at him. “Okay. I might be able to do it. But no guarantees. And if it all falls apart . . .”

Bayliss held up her hands. “I'll take the blame. You're a rookie and I talked you into it.”

“Don't worry. I'll figure out some way to make it look like Nelson did it,” he said. “When do we do it?”

“How about ten tonight? The office is mostly empty, but I can come up with busy work to stay until then.”

“All right, let's get it,” said Coop. “I'm going to need some things, so I'll go home and meet you here.”

“Great,” she said.

“I'm going home too,” said Giselle. “I need to change out of this walk of shame ensemble.”

Coop shook his head. “This job isn't off to so bad a start after all. I'm signing up for a regular salary
and
my first job is to rip off my new bosses. Good first day.”

“Let's not talk about it anymore. I'll see you both at ten.”

There was a knock on the door and Nelson came in. “Hi, kids.” He looked at the papers on the desk. “Seriously? You need two agents to waste time helping you fill those things out?”

“All the big words scare me,” said Coop. “Hold my hand while I finish it?”

“I'll hold your head underwater until the bubbles stop.”

“So the big words scare you, too.”

Nelson turned to Bayliss. “Leave this creep and his moll. We have work to do.”

They went out together and Giselle turned to Coop. “Am I really a moll now?”

“You're an accomplice to at least grand larceny, so yeah, I think you are,” he said.

“Isn't a moll supposed to be partnered up with a gangster? Like the girl on his arm?”

“That part is entirely up to you,” said Coop. “But I wouldn't mind trying it on for size.”

“We'll see,” she said. “Right now I have to get back to work. See you later, working man.”

She closed the door and Coop's heart sank a little. He was really going to be a salary grunt. Another jerk with a job, even if it was with Giselle, and even if he did still get to steal. He'd be doing it for the government. That didn't sound like fun at all. But first things first. Get the box. Get Morty. Don't destroy the world. And duck the IRS.

“How much longer are we going to sit here?” said Tommy.

“Until the target arrives,” said Steve.

Jerry chuckled. “You sound totally CIA, Dad.”

“Thank you, son.”

Jerry looked at Tommy and gave him a can-you-believe-I-got-away-with-that smile. Tommy just frowned and shifted his weight. They were sitting in a truck from the construction site, waiting for the woman Jerry said he'd seen with Coop. Jerry had been, to his mind at least, artfully vague about how he'd run across them. He just kept talking about the woman, and that's what stuck in everyone's head, especially his dad's, and he was the one who really mattered. It was dark out and they'd been in the truck for over two hours and it was way past boring.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” said Tommy.

“You shouldn't have drunk all those Diet Cokes you brought,” said Steve. “That stuff runs through you faster than Mexican beer on the Fourth of July.”

“Or Cinco de Mayo,” said Jorge.

“Pretty much any holiday where getting shitfaced is inevitable.”

“Hey, don't be a beer racist. Plenty of gringo beers do that too. Bud goes through me like NASCAR.”

Steve nodded sagely. “I think all your non-premium-priced ales are basically piss rockets. It's how they get you to buy more.”

“I still have to pee,” said Tommy.

“You have the bladder of a termite,” said Steve.

“A girl termite,” added Jorge.

Steve adjusted the rearview so he could look the boy in the eyes. “Go to that Arby's around the corner and do it there.”

“I suppose I'll have to buy something,” Tommy said glumly.

“Get some fries for everybody. And no more goddamn Coke,” said Jorge.

When Tommy opened his door, Jerry said, “I'll go with you.”

“No, you won't,” said Steve. “You know what the target looks like. You stay.”

Jerry settled back down on his seat.

Tommy got out and headed down the street to the Arby's, a little hunched over, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“What's up with Tommy?” said Steve. “He needs to get his head in the game.”

“He's okay. Just a little depressed. You know. About the bake sale,” said Jerry.

Steve pointed at his son in the rearview. He said, “You need to kick his ass into gear or I will. And don't worry about the bake sale. That was the last good time those Abaddonian fuck monkeys are ever going to have on this Earth.”

“I'll talk to Tommy when we get back.”

“Good. Caleximus does not abide slackers.”

Jerry started to say something in Tommy's defense, but stopped as a white Honda Civic slowed by a parking space across the street. “Hey, I think that might be her.”

Steve raised and dropped his hands in frustration. “Of course she shows up while Tommy's gone. I wanted four on this job for a reason. If she's a criminal, she'll be a fighter. I wanted more than enough to lasso her. Goddammit.”

They watched the Honda slowly angle its way into the parking spot. It was a bit narrow and took a couple of tries.

“Fuck it,” said Jorge. “She's in that little foreign Cracker Jack box and we're in a truck. Ram her.”

Steve put the truck into gear and checked the traffic. The moment the road was clear, he sped across the street, rear-ending the Honda. Jorge and Jerry ran out and pulled the unconscious woman from her car. Steve waited behind the wheel as the others loaded her into the back of the truck with them.

“Go go go,” shouted Jorge. Steve hit the accelerator.

Jerry looked out the back window. “What about Tommy?”

“He can take the bus,” said Steve.

Jerry got out his phone. “I'm going to call him.”

“No, you're not,” Steve said. “If she wakes up, your job is to make sure she doesn't get frisky.”

“She's out cold,” Jerry said. “I've got to call Tommy and let him know we didn't just ditch him.”

They sped along through traffic and made it to the freeway. “Fine. Call your girlfriend. And you tell him we're going to have a serious talk when all this is over.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Serious.”

Steve steered the truck over to the fast lane.

“You know,” said Jorge. “Now
I
kind of have to go to the bathroom.”

“Me, too,” said Steve. He looked at Jerry in the rearview. “But don't you dare tell Tommy.”

Coop was putting his tools into the duffel, for once feeling pretty good about the world. When his phone rang, the screen said
GISELLE
. He thumbed it on.

“Hey you. I was just about to head over. How are you doing?”

“Is this Coop?” said a man's voice.

“Who's this?” Coop said, the good feelings evaporating, as they usually did for him.

“We picked up something of yours tonight. Your lady friend. Giselle Petersen, according to her driver's license.”

Coop spoke very coolly and precisely, trying to keep all emotion out of his voice. “I'd like to speak to her.”

“You can talk all you like. After you give us back what's rightfully ours.”

Not this again.

“You're the glee club, aren't you?”

“The who?”

“The screw-ups who broke into the Blackmoore Building the other night.”