The Everything Box

by Richard Kadrey

  All three of them were wearing silver around their necks and enough DOPS holy water on their clothes to make them feel like they’d run through lawn sprinklers on a sunny day. But this wasn’t a sunny day. It was an underground day, possibly the last day the world would exist, he reminded himself.

  “Everyone know what to do?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Bayliss.

  “Affirmative, sir,” said Sally, saluting him. Coop gave her one second of a half smile.

  “Okay. Fan out and let’s put up the party decorations.”

  Coop knelt and started taking things out of his bag.

  “Do you really think this is going to work?” said Bayliss.

  “It doesn’t seem like one of your more top-of-the-line plans,” said Sally.

  Coop handed gear around. “It only has to work long enough to get everyone out of here alive,” he said.

  “You’re an inspiration. Will you be my life coach?” said Sally.

  The three of them fanned out, laying down surprises for their guests. A few Jinx Town denizens watched the odd mortals work. Then a few more. By eight, they’d attracted a curious crowd of assorted creatures and ghouls.

  Then the guests arrived, one by one. Mr. Lemmy and his crew were first. The short man stood in the center as they stepped off the escalator like a pack of wolves in suits. Baker had already been wearing garlic around his neck when they’d arrived, and he was carrying a big bag of the stuff with him. By the time they made it up to the dark floor, the whole crew of six were wearing garlands, even Mr. Lemmy. Morty was with them, gagged and with his hands held together with zip ties. He gave Coop a little wave. Coop nodded back.

  Steve and the Caleximus congregation were next. Their black boar, the size of a small horse with a double set of tusks and red coal eyes, wouldn’t fit on the escalator, so they came out of an elevator by the fountain. Jerry was holding Giselle’s arm, looking as guilty as a kid shoplifting his first Hustler. As the group came over to Coop and the mobsters, there came a little laughter and murmurs from the crowd.

  “Hiya, Coop,” said Giselle. She had gauze and tape sloppily wrapped around her head. “I got bonked a little. I can’t do my mind thing right now. Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Everything is going to be fine,” he said, hoping it wasn’t a lie.

  “What the hell is this?” said Steve, holding the boar by an enormous chain and collar. “Who are these people?” he said, pointing to Mr. Lemmy’s gang.

  Coop held up a finger. “I’ll answer that question in one minute,” he said.

  Seven robotlike armored things clanked up the same escalator Mr. Lemmy had used a couple of minutes earlier. The crowd gasped at the sight. A smiling Salzman and a frowning Zavulon followed.

  “What kind place is this?” said the Russian.

  “For fuck sake. You can drop the accent,” said Salzman. “We’re here for serious business.”

  Zavulon stared at him. “You think my voice is faking?”

  “Very much.”

  “I’m hurt,” mumbled the Russian. “But yeah, it was getting old, wasn’t it?” he said in a light voice with a slight English accent.

  “American exchange student at Oxford?” said Salzman.

  “Cambridge,” said Zavulon.

  Salzman gave him a sympathetic look. “Better luck next time.”

  “I’m still curious what this is all about,” he said.

  “And who all these muppets are,” said Salzman, eyeing the other groups. He didn’t like the hungry looks of the Jinx Town crowd either. For the first time in years, he was happy he was dead.

  “Thanks for coming,” said Coop. “And right on time. It means you can take orders and instructions. That’s going to be important tonight.”

  “What is this freak show?” said Mr. Lemmy. “I want my box.”

  “Your box?” said Steve. “Fuck you. We’ve been waiting for that box since the dawn of time. It’s ours.”

  “Guess again, pig farmer. But I like your girlfriend. You make a lovely couple,” said Mr. Lemmy, pointing at the boar.

  “Excuse me,” said Salzman. “The little man—”

  “Fuck you, too!” yelled Mr. Lemmy.

  “—asked the pertinent question. What is this freak show?”

  “It’s a contest,” said Coop. “Like an Easter-egg hunt, only more fun. You see, there’s only one box and three assholes who want it. So, you get to race for it. I’m going to text each of you a clue to where the box is. The first one who finds it wins.”

  “Hold on a second,” said Mr. Lemmy. He pulled a .357 magnum from under his jacket and pointed it at Morty’s head. “Stop this bullshit right now and give me my fucking box.”

  Steve pulled a gun and pointed it at Giselle.

  “Dad. What are you doing?” said Jerry.

  “Serving the Lord, son,” said Steve. “Like the midget said. Give me my box.”

  The armored Russian guards and Zavulon leveled their guns at Coop.

  “I forgot to mention one more thing,” Coop said. He help up his hand so that everyone could see the small silver box he was holding. “The lovely Ms. Bayliss brought along something that goes boom. If anyone gets shot—and I mean anyone—I blow up the box.”

  “You wouldn’t fucking dare,” said Mr. Lemmy.

  “You’re threatening to kill my friends. I don’t have a lot of friends. So yeah—boom,” said Coop. “Any other questions?” Sally took a few steps off to the side, disappearing by one of the shops.

  “I have one,” said Salzman. “What’s to stop all of us from shooting you when this is over?”

  Coop smiled. “I guess I can’t count on your goodwill?” he said.

  “Probably not,” said Salzman.

  “The bomb stays put until we’re gone and clear. When we are, I’ll text the winner the code to remove it from the box.”

  “There’s a special kind of Hell Caleximus has for assholes like you,” yelled Steve. He put his gun away. So did Mr. Lemmy.

  “Put them down for now,” Salzman told Zavulon.

  “I agree.” He signaled for his men to lower their weapons.

  Coop’s heart slowed down a little. A whole two minutes into the plan and no one was dead yet. “Now, is everyone ready to get started?”

  “Where’s the broad?” said Mr. Lemmy, craning his head around.

  Coop nodded to Bayliss. “She’s right here.”

  “Not her. The other broad.”

  “Oh, her. I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Morty?”

  Mr. Lemmy looked to his side. Stepped back, turning his head this way and that. “What the fuck? Where is he?” It took Mr. Lemmy’s men a few seconds to understand what he was talking about.

  Morty was gone.

  “Where is he?” Mr. Lemmy howled, pulling his gun again.

  Coop held up the silver box. “Away is where he is,” said Coop. “But he’s not your problem right now. The box is.” Mr. Lemmy put his gun away.

  From the side of the store, Sally walked back over to Coop and Bayliss.

  “How did you do that?” Mr. Lemmy yelled to her.

  “What?” said Sally. “I was just freshening my makeup.”

  Mr. Lemmy jabbed a finger at the circle. “You’re all dead. Every one of you is dead,” he said.

  “Big talker,” said Steve.

  Mr. Lemmy threw him a look. “You’re right after him, Porky.”

  Steve let the boar out a few links and Mr. Lemmy backed off.

  “If everyone is ready, the three of us are going to text each group one clue to where the box is hidden,” said Coop. “After that, it’s up to you. Look. Don’t look. Just don’t forget the magic word.”

  “Boom,” said Sally.

  “Boom,” said Bayliss.

  Coop and the others got out their phones. “On three we send the texts. You might want to get your phones out, boys.”

  Salzman, Steve, and Mr. Lemmy all took out their phones.

  “One. Two.
Three.” Coop and the others hit send. The three group leaders stared at their phones. Then at each other.

  “Remember. It’s a race,” said Coop. “You might consider running.”

  “Come on, boys!” yelled Mr. Lemmy. He and his men took off running to the fountain in the distance.

  Salzman glanced at Coop, with enough venom in his gaze to bring down a rhino. “This way,” he said, and the Russians followed him.

  The Caleximus congregation looked around, trying to get oriented.

  “Where the hell are we?” said Steve.

  The Jinx Town crowd laughed.

  “What’s it say?” said Jorge.

  “Look for the butcher shop. It’s behind that.”

  “There,” said Jerry, pointing into the distance. He took a step, stumbled, and was yanked through the air the other way. Giselle had disappeared.

  Jerry’s hands looked like they were holding on to empty air. “Dad! Dad! She’s gone, but I can feel her.”

  “Hold on, son,” said Steve.

  “She’s invisible,” said Jerry.

  Steve looked around. “It’s that other woman,” he yelled. “She’s doing something with mirrors again.”

  “I don’t think it’s mirrors,” said Jerry. He fell on his side and was dragged across the polished tile floor. The crowd hooted and laughed.

  “Let up on the girl and my son,” yelled Steve, “or I’ll set my boar on you!”

  With Sally clouding their minds, she and Giselle dragged Jerry a few more feet.

  “One last chance,” said Steve, letting the boar’s leash out a few more links.

  “Heretics!” yelled an old man from the top of the escalator.

  Coop turned and saw a dozen robed figures pouring into the crowd.

  “Who’s that?” said Bayliss.

  “I have no idea,” said Coop.

  “Should we tell Sally to stop before he lets the boar go?”

  “I don’t think we have to,” said Coop.

  Steve turned his demon boar around toward the robed mob running toward him. They pulled up short at the sight of the animal, but the old man wasn’t intimidated. He had his own beast: a six-foot-tall, iridescent pink puffer fish, with sharp, bony spikes and white steak-knife teeth. A gasp went up from the crowd. A few people applauded.

  “How did you get here, you Abaddonian assholes?” said Steve.

  “Marvin Hamlisch banana sandwich!” screamed Tommy. He sprinted, slipping, falling, and getting up again, across the mall to the Magister. “Marvin Hamlisch banana sandwich!”

  “Tommy!” yelled Steve. “You traitorous asshat.”

  Salzman and the Russians were ripping apart the façade of a vampire bar. When Salzman heard the commotion, he stopped searching for a minute. “This looks interesting,” he said.

  “Who cares? Keep looking,” said Zavulon.

  “I’m not so sure. Coop is up to something. I’m going to check it out,” Salzman said.

  “Fine. Go. We’ll do the real work back here, shall we?”

  “Tommy?” yelled Jerry, still being dragged around the floor by invisible forces. “Is it true?”

  Tommy reached the Abaddonians and cowered behind them.

  “Carol?” said the Magister, squinting at Tommy. “You’re not a girl.”

  “I tried to tell you that,” Tommy said.

  The Magister glared at him. “What have you done with Carol?” he said.

  Tommy yelled, “I’m Carol!”

  “Hold him. We’ll figure this nonsense out later,” said the Magister. He turned back to Steve. “As for you, feel the wrath of Lord Abaddon!” he bellowed. The Magister thrust his arms forward and Fluffy growled, glowing with incandescent fury. He began to roll, picking up speed every second, ripping up the marble floor as he headed straight for the Caleximus congregation.

  “Fuck you and your guppy!” yelled Steve as he let go of the boar’s chain. It took half a dozen steps forward and stopped. Fluffy glowed a hotter red with each revolution.

  Salzman crept up on the spectacle, quietly laughing at the scene.

  The black boar skittered on its hooves, turned, and ran in the opposite direction from Fluffy.

  “No!” yelled Steve.

  “Dad!” yelled Jerry.

  “Shit,” said Salzman as the fleeing boar thundered straight at him. He turned and ran back to the Russians. “Shoot it,” he yelled. “Shoot it!”

  As Fluffy bore down on the congregation, Jerry became aware that all of a sudden no one was pulling his arm. He turned back to the demon fish bearing down on him, knowing that the invisible women were gone and that all of his father’s shouts and prayers weren’t going to save him.

  Mr. Lemmy and his men splashed around the black fountain, making a formidable amount of noise, enough that they didn’t hear any of the fight going on at the other end of the floor.

  “Boss, I don’t think this is red water we’re in,” said Baker. “I think it’s—”

  “Shut up and keep looking,” screamed Mr. Lemmy.

  A crowd stood around them, laughing as they crawled around in the liquid, feeling the bottom and sides of the fountain. In fact, Mr. Lemmy and his men were concentrating so hard, they didn’t notice when invisible hands cut the garlic garlands off their necks and tossed them into the dark.

  When all the garlic was gone, the crowd’s laughter went with it. They moved in closer, forming a tight circle around the fountain. Mr. Lemmy looked up and slipped onto his ass. He’d never seen that many fangs outside of a Gothic whorehouse he’d once visited in New Orleans. It wasn’t a very convincing Dracula scenario—none of the girls could get the accent right—but it had been a fine way to spend an evening. This crowd, though . . . well, this crowd was different.

  “Boss,” said Baker.

  “What?” yelled Mr. Lemmy, keeping an eye on the fanged weirdos.

  “I lost my garlic.”

  Mr. Lemmy felt around his neck. The rest of his men did the same.

  “Hey. I think I found the box,” said one of his men. “Oh, nope. It’s one of those little treasure chests from an aquarium.”

  Mr. Lemmy started to call him something. He got as far as “ass—” before six little girls in gingham dresses pulled him from the fountain. His last thought was, I would have switched to glitter.

  Salzman looked back over his shoulder. To his surprise, the boar wasn’t behind him anymore. It was the puffer fish. The boar was running as fast as it could the other way.

  “Shoot it!” he yelled and dove to the side of the vampire bar.

  The Russians aimed their rifles and Zavulon pulled out a Tokarev pistol the size of a small dog. They all began firing at the same time.

  Not that it did them much good.

  The Russian thaumaturgic armor was designed to withstand bullets and magic, not a red-hot, one-ton spiked ball smashing into them like an infuriated bulldozer at thirty miles an hour. They were tossed around not so much like bowling pins as like Barbie dolls in a cement mixer. When it was over, Fluffy lay on his side, slowly deflating, his iridescent glow fading. If any of the Russians had been able to glow, their glows would have been fading, too.

  A minute later, when he was sure he was safe, Salzman crept from his hiding place, stepped over the Russians’ bodies, and went back to searching for the box.

  The boar continued its swift and gallant retreat from Fluffy, running straight past the Caleximus congregation, trying to get back to the elevator. As it neared the Abaddonians, they began to fall back to the escalator. Tommy didn’t fall back. He just ran.

  “Uh, Dark High One?” said Adept Six. “Perhaps we should think about, and please don’t take this as a lack of faith, retreating just a bit?”

  “Hold fast, everyone,” said the Magister. “Lord Abaddon will protect us.”

  He threw out his arms and growled deep in his chest, intoning an eldritch undersea spell that hadn’t been heard on land for thousands of years. It was a bubbling sound mixed with strange harmoni
c overtones, like bees in a bubble bath. The air around the Magister darkened. A pool of brackish water formed at his feet, smoking and boiling. The adepts and acolytes cheered their Magister—for most of them, it was the only time they’d ever seen him do anything even vaguely mystical (for Adept Six, it was the first time he’d seen the Magister do magic that might actually accomplish something). The Magister reached into the seething pool and drew out a handful of superheated seawater, a boiling ball of white-hot liquid plasma. Noting their master’s seemingly awesome magic, the adepts and acolytes crept back up the escalator, fanning out behind him.

  “Behold the wrath of Abaddon,” the Magister yelled. He reared back to throw the plasma, waiting for the boar to get close enough to see its demon eyes.

  And his back went out.

  He crumpled over and dropped the plasma on his foot. “Shit. Shit. Shit,” he yelled, hopping and cursing as the air around him lightened and the water at his feet dried up.

  “Adept Six,” he yelled. “Hold me, so I can smite this son of a bitch with a new spell. Adept Six?”

  The Magister turned in time to see his loyal followers sprinting down the escalator and out of sight, Adept Six in the lead.

  When the boar hit the Magister, the collision was so hard, he didn’t really feel it. In fact, the only real sensation he had was when a certain vertebra slipped back into place beneath another vertebra. For that split second, the Magister’s back felt great, and he crashed into the wall with a smile on his face.

  The boar didn’t think anything at the end, but if it could have, it would have been something along the lines of, Well, damn. Here I am, a demon of the first order, with mighty tusks and hooves the size of porch swings, and it’s all ending because some twerp decided to wax the floors, just before it smashed headfirst into the balcony wall.

  “No,” yelled Steve as he rushed to the fallen boar, dropping to his knees beside the crumpled giant. Jerry ran to his father.

  “Dad? Dad? Maybe you shouldn’t sit there,” he said. He and Jorge grabbed Steve’s shoulders, trying to pull him away from the fallen beast.

  “It’s over,” said Steve. “It’s all over.”

  “Damn right,” said Jorge, giving the boar a kick. “Caleximus fucked us. Let’s get out of here.”

  “I don’t get it. What did we do wrong?”