The Everything Box

by Richard Kadrey

  He brought out the water and handed it to her. “I think you’re lying,” said Bayliss.

  “Maybe I’ll get you a real drink. Just a little one,” said Coop.

  “Maybe that’s a good idea. How many more calls are there?”

  “Just two. You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be.”

  “No,” said Bayliss. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not be alone for a while.”

  “I can order us a pizza.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “It’s not very good pizza.”

  “Then I’ll have another drink with it to kill the taste.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Coop called and ordered an extra large with pepperoni and mushrooms. Then he dialed the number he’d been given by the jackass who said he had Giselle. He waited to make this call so he had a chance to get his thoughts and temper under control before making it. The phone rang and went straight to voice mail. Giselle’s voice telling him to leave a message was a queasy noise in his ear. When the line clicked he said, “This is Coop. I have the box. I’ll give it back to you in Jinx Town. Eight o’clock tomorrow. Top dark floor. Giselle knows how to get there. Don’t be late.”

  He hung up and sat down. “Now I need a drink,” he said.

  Coop poured bourbon into his lukewarm coffee and reheated it. He and Bayliss drank in silence for a few minutes. Coop put Singin’ in the Rain in the DVD player and turned the sound off. Bayliss watched, sipping her drink. The pizza arrived and Coop brought in plates for them.

  “You feeling better?” he said.

  Bayliss nodded. “I’m fine. I was just caught a little off guard. More than ever, I’m looking forward to seeing this through.”

  “Me, too.”

  Bayliss looked past Coop to the TV. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were a fan of musicals.”

  “I’m not,” he said.

  “Then why . . . ?”

  “Don’t ask or I’ll tell you and spoil your pizza.”

  “I might need another drink before I go.”

  “Me, too.”

  Coop picked up his phone and dialed another number. Sally Gifford picked up.

  “Hey, Coop. What’s shaking? You ever get laid?”

  “Hi, Sally. As a matter of fact I did, but what I’m really calling about is a job.”

  “What a busy beaver you are these days. Tell me about it. How much are we going to get?”

  “Here’s the good news,” he said brightly. “There’s absolutely no money in it.”

  “Huh,” said Sally. “It sounds like you said no money. What aren’t you telling me, Coop?”

  “I need your help. Someone took Morty and Giselle, and won’t give them back.”

  “Wait. That chick who dumped you? Who would kidnap Morty?”

  “Very bad people who’ll get even worse if you don’t help me.”

  He heard Sally sigh. “I don’t know, Coop. It sounds like maybe you’re talking about a gun situation. I like you and I like Morty, but I like my body, too, and I try to avoid things that are going to put holes in it.”

  “It’s not just about Morty,” said Coop. “The truth is, if this doesn’t work, we’re all going down. You, me, Morty, Giselle, Tintin, and even that little cat of yours.”

  “My cat?” said Sally.

  “I’m afraid so. But now here’s the good news. If we do this job, even if there’s no money, we get to fuck over a lot of rich and important people.”

  There was a second of silence on the line, then “Cool,” said Sally. “I’m in,” an edge creeping into her voice. “Nobody threatens Purr J. Harvey.”

  “Great. Come by around five and I’ll tell you the whole weird story.”

  “Not at that shitty bar you like.”

  “No. Come by Morty’s place.”

  “See you then.”

  “Was that one of your criminal friends?” said Bayliss.

  “Yeah. You’ll like her,” said Coop. “She shot her partner once, too.”

  Bayliss coughed, choking on her pizza. “She shot someone?”

  “Don’t worry. She didn’t kill him. He got a little handsy with her, so she put a forty-four pistol to his balls and pulled the trigger.”

  Bayliss swallowed. “What happened to him?”

  “The gun just went click. Sally’s a polite person and always keeps the first chamber empty for moments like that,” said Coop. “I’m not saying you should do anything like that to Nelson, but I’m just putting it out there as food for thought.”

  Bayliss set down her pizza. “Trust me. If I ever pull my gun on Nelson, it’s going to do more than click.”

  “You’re going to do just fine tomorrow. You’ve got more crook in you than you know.”

  Bayliss smiled. “Thanks.”

  “To be fair, I feel that about every cop.”

  “I assumed.”

  After Mr. Lemmy hung up, he looked at his men lounging around his office, drinking his booze and coffee. They really pissed him off right then. He shouldn’t have to be dealing with this shit. That’s these monkeys’ job, he thought. But then, they didn’t know what the job was. Still. All he did was feed them, give them money, and listen to them belch and brag about girls. It wasn’t dignified. He wondered if he should have listened to his father and gone into the family snow globe business. He remembered how the biggest decision his father ever had to make was whether to stick to traditional plastic snow in his globes or switch to glitter. Mr. Lemmy sighed. I’d like to stick this bunch in a big goddamn snow globe and shake some sense into them, he thought.

  “Here’s the thing,” said Mr. Lemmy to his men. “This Coop creep wants to meet someplace called Jinx Town. Anybody ever heard of it?”

  “I have,” said Baker. His father had been a butcher. That always amused Mr. Lemmy. A butcher named Baker. It wasn’t much of a joke, but at shitty times like this you had to appreciate the little things.

  Baker went on. “It’s supposed to be a bad place, boss. Full of crazy people and weird things.”

  “What does that even mean, ‘crazy people and weird things’? Speak fucking English.” It’s like pulling teeth with these morons.

  Baker blushed a little and looked at Mr. Lemmy’s other heavies. “People into all kind of dark stuff. Magic. Voodoo. And there’s supposed to be, I guess the only word for it is monsters.”

  “Monsters.”

  “You know. Vampires and shit.”

  The men laughed and Mr. Lemmy stared at him. “You really believe that shit?”

  “Lots of people have talked about it,” said Baker. “Even my grandma. And she heard about it from her grandma.”

  Mr. Lemmy closed his eyes for a minute, picturing bloody snow globes. “It’s a fucking fairy tale. The bogeyman,” he said. “Something to keep you in line. Guess that didn’t work out so well, you crooked prick?”

  The men laughed and shook their heads.

  “If it’s okay with you I’m going to bring some garlic,” said Baker.

  Mr. Lemmy dropped his hands to his sides. “Bring a whole fucking salad for all I care. Just bring your gun, too. Because Coop and the guy in the other room? Both of those Mouseketeers are going to die.”

  Steve checked Giselle’s voice mail and his blood pressure shot up like a Saturn V, but he didn’t want to let the rest of the congregation see. Still, it wasn’t the kind of thing he could let pass entirely. “That Coop jerked called,” he said. “And he hung up again.”

  “Of course he hung up,” said Susie.

  “No. I mean aggressively. Like he doesn’t take any of this seriously.”

  He turned to Jorge. “How’s the boar coming?”

  “Real good. He’ll be ready later tonight.”

  “Good. Because Coop wants to meet tomorrow night.”

  “How late? Cause I have jury duty in the morning,” said Janet.

  “And I have to take my mom to the airport,” said someone from the back. Others muttered.


  “Fine,” said Steve. “You don’t get to be there for this final battle. In fact, the only people going are me, Jorge, Jerry, and Tommy.”

  “Me? Why me? You ditched me the other night,” said Tommy.

  “And now we’ll make up for it,” said Steve. “You get to be our point man.”

  “What’s a point man?” said Tommy.

  “It’s a basketball thing,” said Janet.

  “That’s a point guard, I think,” said Susie.

  “They’re playing basketball for the summoning box?” said someone in the back.

  “I’ll come. I played varsity in high school. Until I blew my knee out,” said Freddy, one of Steve’s plaster men.

  “We’re not playing basketball. Tommy is going to lead the charge,” said Steve.

  “I feel sick,” said Tommy.

  “Just make sure you don’t have to pee tomorrow. We’re going somewhere called ‘the dark floor’ in a place called Jinx Town.”

  “See! I told you it was real,” said Jerry.

  “We’ll see.”

  “Should we bring flashlights?” said Jorge.

  “We’ll have the boar. The boar won’t need a flashlight. Tomorrow is zero day, people. We’re going to get the box and bring our lord back to Earth,” said Steve. “Hail Caleximus.”

  “Hail Caleximus!” shouted the congregation.

  Tommy made a sound like someone stepping on a puppy’s tail and bolted out of the trailer.

  “Will someone go and get that idiot?” said Steve.

  A few hours later, when he was home safe in his bedroom, Tommy dialed a number. He barely spoke above a whisper. “Hello?”

  “Hello. Who is this?” said the Magister.

  “It’s me.”

  “Speak up. You sound like you’re talking through a goose’s ass.”

  “It’s me, High Dark One.”

  “Dark High One.”

  “Sorry. It’s me. Carol,” said Tommy.

  “Carol. Do you have news for me?”

  “Yeah. It happens tomorrow night at a place called Jinx Town.”

  “Junk Town? What is that? Like Walmart?”

  “Jinx. Jinx Town.”

  “Ah, yes. I’ve heard of it. Lord Abaddon will smile on you for this, Carol.”

  “You’ve got to get me out of here,” said Tommy, his voice cracking.

  “Of course. Listen. When I give the signal, you forget everything and run to us.”

  “What’s the signal?”

  “‘Marvin Hamlisch banana sandwich.’ You might want to write that down so you don’t forget.”

  “No. I’m pretty sure I can remember that.”

  “Good girl. We’ll see you tomorrow night. Soon, Lord Abaddon will drown the world, saving only us, his true believers.”

  “And me, too.”

  “Of course, Carol dear,” said the Magister.

  “Okay,” said Tommy, “I’ve got to go. Good night, Dark High One.”

  “It’s High Dark One. No, wait. You got it right. How about that?” No one replied. Tommy was gone. The Magister dialed Adept Six.

  “How is Fluffy doing?” he said.

  “He’s hungry,” said the adept.

  “Good. Keep him that way. His first meal will be the Caleximus traitor.”

  “Yes, Dark High One.”

  The Magister’s stomach rumbled. “Do we have any shrimp left?”

  Adept Six shouted something, then came back to the phone. “I’m afraid they went bad and we had to throw them out.”

  “Damn. I can’t wait to be done with this awful planet.”

  “Should I send up some cod?”

  “No,” said the Magister. “My show is coming on.”

  “Show, Dark High One?”

  Crap, thought the Magister. “Shoes. I’m putting my shoes on.”

  “Of course.”

  “Send some cod up in an hour,” the Magister said. “Then I’ll come down and pay my respects to Fluffy.”

  “Be sure to wash your hands well. Fluffy likes cod.”

  “Are you saying I’m unhygienic?”

  “No, Dark High One. My apologies. It’s just that being this hungry, Fluffy has a tendency to bite.”

  The Magister went across the room and uncovered the TV. His back twinged when he bent over.

  “Now I’m annoyed,” said the Magister. “Send up the cod now, but leave it outside the door.” He hung up, not waiting for Adept Six to say good-bye.

  He tuned in to The Price Is Right and even turned up the volume a little. It was a special occasion. This might be the last showcase I ever see, he thought. It better be a good one.

  “Privyet.”

  “It’s me,” said Salzman. “There’s been a complication.”

  “What kind of complicated?” said Zavulon.

  Salzman had to take a second. The Russian’s dubious accent was really starting to get to him. “The box has fallen into criminal hands. I’m going to need some help to get it back.”

  “What kind of help you need?”

  “How about some of those armored troglodytes of yours?” Salzman said.

  “No problem. I will come, too.”

  “That’s not necessary. It might be dangerous.”

  “Good. I’m too long away from dangerous,” said Zavulon.

  “All right. The rendezvous is at eight tomorrow night. I’ll come by your hotel at six thirty. Be ready.”

  “We’ll be armored to the mouth.”

  “Teeth. Armed to the teeth,” said Salzman.

  “Spasibo.”

  “Until tomorrow.”

  Salzman poured himself a drink and wondered which one he should murder first. Eventually, he concluded that it should be the Russian. Coop was a nuisance, but that goddamn accent, he thought. If he wasn’t dead already, he might have to kill himself rather than ever hear Zavulon again.

  Qaphsiel slept, despondent, on the top of the Griffith Park Observatory, his keen ears hearing the voices of people passing in the city below and hobos having sex in the bushes. Another perfect night, he thought. How many had there been in four thousand years? He started to add them up, but all the zeroes just made him even more depressed.

  The box had seemed so close earlier, but Coop didn’t have it and wouldn’t look for it. Worse even than that, the map had stopped working again. And here he was, with nowhere to go and nothing to do but wander the city like all the lost screenwriters, failed directors, and stoned guitarists who’d come to L.A. with high hopes, only to be crushed under its giant, Technicolor, open-toe boots.

  To cheer himself up, Qaphsiel tried to remember even worse times. There was that incident during the Inquisition when a Spanish priest tried burning him at the stake. Of course, angels don’t burn and neither do angelic maps. Unfortunately, his mortal clothes did, and it was quite embarrassing at a church in the thirteenth century. Qaphsiel had to wrap himself in the map like a sarong until he could find suitable attire again.

  And there was that time on the Titanic. He had felt he was very close to the box then. In fact, he was certain that one of the well-heeled families on board had it. Then there was the iceberg and he wasn’t able to make it into any of the lifeboats. Qaphsiel sank to the bottom of the Atlantic with fifteen hundred other people. The difference between him and the others was that he didn’t drown. However, by the time he hit bottom, he was so waterlogged he wouldn’t float. He was forced to walk across the bottom of the ocean to land, trying not to think bad thoughts about you-know-who, God’s show-off son. That guy could have roller-skated the whole way to England. But no, Qaphsiel had to trudge through the silt the whole way, fighting off giant squid, confused sharks, and amorous merpeople. It took him weeks, and when he made it back to land and checked the map, he found that he’d been wrong the whole time. The box was back in America. For a fleeting moment, Qaphsiel considered walking back across the ocean bottom, but he’d had quite enough of that.

  When he looked back on it, he wondered if it was
the freezing ocean stroll that caused the map to malfunction in the first place. It took Qaphsiel weeks to make it back to America, a stowaway in the belly of a tramp steamer, the map stuttering and sizzling the whole way. He gave up and slept most of the way across the Atlantic. Once in New York, the map behaved for a while, and he started west, sometimes buying his passage with gold and sometimes riding the rails. He was very lonely. By the time Qaphsiel reached California, things seemed to be looking up. That was over a hundred years ago. And now that he was so close . . . of course the map had gone completely dark. Really, it was too much. He might spend the next hundred years on top of the observatory, refusing to get down and hunt for the stupid thing. How would Heaven like those apples? But he wasn’t going to do that. Qaphsiel was a good angel and not programmed for long-term tantrums. He’d start looking again in the morning. Maybe he’d get hit by another car. His leg still hurt from the last one, but the map had worked for a while. Maybe getting hit by a bus would make it work longer. That felt like the first good idea he’d had in a century. Tomorrow, he’d let a bus run him down and then check the map. In his sleepy state, the logic seemed flawless.

  At that happy thought, Qaphsiel felt a small vibration in his pocket. He rolled over and took out the map. The stars and the landscape of the world were laid out before him, glowing and streaking with life and power. The map was working again. He wondered if someone upstairs had heard his misery and was throwing him a bone.

  Qaphsiel studied the map and saw, dead center, something that pulsed and glowed. It was like a sun, but wasn’t. It was his prize. It moved slowly, a shooting star that hadn’t quite made it to its destination. All Qaphsiel had to do was watch and wait. This was it. This was the sign. Tomorrow, the box would be his. He clutched the map to his chest and lay back down, falling into a deep and happy sleep. He was finally going home.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  COOP, SALLY, AND BAYLISS GOT TO JINX TOWN AT seven, a good hour before the others were set to arrive. Sally and Bayliss had oohed and ahhed like kids on Christmas morning when they’d arrived, but Coop didn’t give them much sightseeing time. He steered them up the escalators to the top dark level. Coop kept on a serious expression. A little darker than “How’s it going?” but not quite as off-putting as “We’re all going to die tonight.”