COOP HAD SPENT THE NIGHT ON AN INFLATABLE MATTRESS in Morty’s spare room. He didn’t like the idea of sleeping on a balloon, but after he lay down he found it was kind of comfortable. It was certainly better than the prison beds, which always seemed to be designed by aliens shaped like pretzels for other aliens that liked waking up with pudding for a backbone.
Morty had gone out earlier and Coop was in the living room flipping through TV channels. Nothing held his interest. There was something about an earthquake up north that destroyed a restaurant and straightened part of a river. Typical disaster porn stuff, he thought.
Everything normal people thought was funny, dramatic, poignant, or important seemed so . . . pointless? Stupid? Insane? He couldn’t find the right word for it. He wondered if the last stretch inside had wrecked him for regular life. He felt twitchy and restless. He took a sip of his ninth cup of coffee and thought about it. One of his eyelids twitched. His right foot, against his wishes, was beating out the drum solo from “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.” He set the coffee down. Maybe it was time to take a break. He got up to have a smoke outside when the front door opened and Morty came in with bags. They smelled good.
“I was in Burbank checking out some stuff, so I got us lunch,” he said, setting down two bags from Bob’s Big Boy on the kitchen table. Coop went over to where he was laying out the food. Morty held up a paper cup. “Coffee?” he said.
“I’ll pass, thanks,” said Coop, trying to keep from vibrating.
“More for me,” said Morty. He laid out burgers, fries, and fistfuls of ketchup packs. “What have you been up to while I was gone?”
Coop glanced at the TV. He’d left it on a game show. A guy spun a wheel, shouting and shaking like if he lost the host was going to take away his heart medicine, and for a brief moment he was interested until he remembered that wasn’t how the games worked. “Nothing,” he said. “Attempting to reintegrate into society and finding myself somewhat unmotivated to do so.”
“That sounds like something a warden would say.”
“That’s who said it to me. Something like that, anyway.”
Morty peeled the paper off his burger and took a bite, talking out the side of his mouth while he chewed. “Prison is all about routine. You don’t have a routine anymore. That’s why you need to get back to work.”
“I need something,” Coop said. “Work. Or a lobotomy.”
“Don’t talk like that. Did you look over those plans and things Babylon gave us?”
Coop went to the coffee table and brought over a pile of blueprints and computer printouts. Some were simple spreadsheets with names and office assignments. Other sheets looked like complex astrological charts by way of NASA eggheads. Coop dropped them on the table.
“I was going over these last night.”
“And what do you think? Can we do the job?”
“No.”
“What?” said Morty. He choked on a mouthful of burger and grabbed a cup of coffee to keep from passing out, only to end up burning his tongue. “Whuh doo ya min we cand doo id?”
Coop smacked him on the back.
“What do you mean we can’t do it? We told Mr. Babylon we would. I don’t want to go back there with bad news and have him shoot me with one of those heat ray guns.”
“Don’t worry. It was a liquefaction curse. There wasn’t any heat involved.”
“Oh. That makes me feel better. You can remind me of that when housekeeping is sponging me off the floor.”
“Relax,” said Coop. “I said we couldn’t do it. I didn’t say it couldn’t be done. It’s just that I was hoping to keep the job between us. Split the money two ways. With the bonus, we’d have made a hundred and fifty K each.”
“But we need more people.”
Coop nodded. He tore open a burger and took a bite. It was good. The best thing he’d eaten in eighteen months.
“How many more people?” said Morty.
“That’s what I’ve been thinking about. If these blueprints are accurate, there’s serious corporate security all through the building. Curses. Labyrinths. That kind of thing. Then there’s pass codes on all the locks, plus video surveillance and armed guards.”
“Sound like we’re going to need a small army.”
“That would be helpful.”
Morty set down his burger. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Don’t be like that,” said Coop. “I’ve been going over this all night. I think maybe we can pull this off with four people. The right four people.”
Morty sat back up in his chair. “Four’s not so bad. How much is three hundred thousand divided by four?”
“Seventy-five thousand dollars each.”
Morty picked up his burger and took a bite. “As far as bad news goes, that ain’t bad.”
“You’re right. It could be a lot worse.” Coop worked on his burger and fries, pushing the pages around on the table for something like the fiftieth time that day.
“So, who are the other two people we need?”
Coop finished his burger, wadded up the paper and tossed it overhand at the kitchen trash. It bounced off the rim, skittered across a counter, bounced off a sugar bowl back toward the trash. And missed it by an inch. Story of my life, he thought as he walked into the kitchen to throw the paper away.
He said, “We’re off to an okay start. You can flash and I can crack, so we have the locks and the safe taken care of. What we need is a good eyeball person to look out for traps and a getaway person to get us out of there.”
“Just a Handyman and a Marilyn? That’s all?”
“No. We can get the box with us and those other two, but there’s the small matter of getting away at the end,” said Coop.
“Yeah. I vote we get away. Any dissents? No? The motion is carried.”
Coop opened one of the ketchup containers, dipped some of his fries, and ate them. He chewed slowly and thoroughly.
“You still chewing your cud over there?” said Morty. “I’m not going to have to milk you later, am I?”
Coop shook his head. “Sorry. Tell me something. Who’s the biggest rat bastard you know?”
“Like someone I don’t particularly like or someone who should get run down by a bus?”
“A bus.”
Morty’s face went blank. Coop was starting to think that maybe he’d given the poor guy a stroke when Morty smiled. “Fast Eddie Lansdale,” he said.
“Fast Eddie. The Flasher from Detroit? He’s the guy who stole a couple of your jobs out from under you, isn’t he?”
“And left me holding the bag when one of his people ran off with the goods.”
“How much did that cost you?” said Coop.
“A lot,” said Morty. “Among other things, my Mercedes. It wasn’t even hot. I bought that thing with real money like a regular person.”
“And he took that from you.”
“Yeah. He did.”
“Good. I want you to picture your missing Mercedes when I tell you the next part,” said Coop.
“I’m listening.”
“See, the only way I can figure this working out is if we can get Babylon to pull two jobs at the same time.”
Morty squinted at Coop. “You lost me around that last curve. Two jobs?”
Coop held up two fingers. “It doesn’t have to be a real job. But the other team has to think it’s a real job. They’d have to go in looking for one thing and then a little while later we go looking for the real thing.”
“Why?”
“Cause there’s a slight, and I mean really minuscule, chance they’re going to get caught.”
“What?” said Morty, his eyes opening wider.
Coop held out his hands hoping to calm Morty down. “Not caught caught. Not if they’re any good, but they have to screw up enough to set off a lot of alarms and get the guards’ attention.”
“We can’t throw someone to the wolves like that,” said Morty.
“Sure we can,” said Coop. “We get Babylon to hire Fast Eddie.”
Morty rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”
“Do you know anyone who deserves it more? Who would everybody in town like to see sweat?”
“I get it,” said Morty. “But it’s unethical, setting up another crew like that.”
“It’s not like we’re talking about people. We’re talking about Fast Eddie and his crew of creeps,” said Coop. “And we’re not doing it so they get caught. Just noticed. Then, while the guards are dealing with Eddie, we slip in the back and do the Babylon job.”
Morty drank his coffee. “Still,” he said.
Coop leaned on the table. “Do you think Eddie would hesitate for one second setting you up if it would help him out?”
Morty considered it and said, “Eddie is a dark person.”
“The worst,” said Coop. “While I was inside I heard he dropped a dime on Lazlo the Mole.”
“The old guy with the droopy eye?”
“That’s him.”
“He was a sweet old cuss,” said Morty.
“He’s a sweet old cuss doing ten to twenty out at Surf City.”
Morty set down his cup. “Droopy Lazlo? Fuck Eddie. Let’s set him up. But how do we know he’ll get the guards’ attention?”
“’Cause Babylon is going to give him the wrong plans,” said Coop. “The way in and the way out will be real. But in the middle, he’s going to be as subtle as a rhinoceros at a bris.”
Morty gave Coop a funny look. Sort of a frown and a smile at the same time. “You’re a diabolical person,” he said.
“Only to those who deserve it.”
“And we’re going to set it up so there’s a way for Fast Eddie to escape.”
“As long as he has a brain and two feet.”
Morty rubbed his hands together. “Okay. So what else do we need?”
“Well, Eddie might not be distracting enough. If things go wrong I’d like to be able take down the whole security system. Maybe even clear out the building.”
“How do we do that?”
“Think Babylon can get us some Jiminys?”
Morty made a face. “Those little cricket things?”
“Yeah. They’ll eat plastic, metal, walls—”
“And everything else they can get their greedy chompers on—including people.”
“Yes, there is that. But they love electricity more. They’ll go for the building’s wiring. Turn it right off.”
“I hate those things,” said Morty.
“Everybody hates them. That’s the point.”
Morty considered it. “I guess. But I hope we don’t have to use them.”
“Me, too,” said Coop.
“Okay. So, we need a Marilyn. Did you have anyone in mind?”
Coop thought for a minute. “What about Chitale up in Portland? He could do some pretty good brain magic.”
Morty shook his head. “Forget it. He got conked on the head while he was clouding some rubes’ minds and now he can’t turn it off. He’s been invisible for over a year.”
“That’s a lousy way to go.”
“Could be worse. These days he does a ghost bit with a crooked medium. It means he has to talk in a lot of funny voices, but he doesn’t travel much, so he gets to go home and see his kids at night.”
“Only they don’t get to see him,” said Coop.
“Funny, isn’t it?”
“Hysterical.” Coop took the top off his coffee. It was lukewarm, but he sipped it anyway. “Do you know anyone else?”
“What about Sally Gifford? She’s good to work with.”
“She’s not invisible, is she?”
“Only when she wants to be,” said Morty.
“Perfect. Now we just need a Handyman.”
“How about Phil Spectre? You guys worked okay together, right?”
“No. No Phil,” said Coop. “I do not want him back in my head. Besides, I want someone flesh and blood. Preferably with a little muscle, too.”
“What do we need muscle for?” said Morty.
“Because I don’t necessarily trust Babylon a hundred percent. If things get peculiar, I’d like to know we have someone who can move heavy objects and people out of our way. Maybe Johnny Ringo?”
Morty frowned. “You’re batting zero today. He’s out of the business, too.”
“What, did he lift something and now he’s got a hernia?”
“Worse,” said Morty, gathering up the remains of his lunch and putting them back in the paper bag. “He got Jesus.”
“How did that happen?”
“He was carrying some copper pipes off a construction site downtown and got hit by lightning.”
“Lightning? When do we get lightning in L.A.?”
Morty pointed at Coop. “That’s the thing. It was a freak storm. Came out of nowhere. After he got hit, he talked about seeing angels and choirs and his dead aunt Ada.”
“Sounds more like he was high.”
“Oh yeah, he was also that at the time,” said Morty. “We probably don’t need him for that reason alone.”
“So who else do you know?”
Morty leaned back with his hands behind his head. “How about Tintin?”
“I don’t know him.”
“He’s from San Francisco. Put himself through community college doing a strongman act at Fisherman’s Wharf during the day and spotting curses for crooks at night. He’s our guy.”
“Why does someone who went to school want to do this kind of work?” said Coop.
Morty shrugged. “’Cause he’s a crook.”
“Fair enough.”
“Are we going to need any gear from Babylon?”
Coop took a piece of paper from his pocket. “Yeah. I made a list while you were gone. A lot of it’s the equipment I lost after the Bellicose Mansion job.”
Morty gave Coop a wounded look. “I’m so sorry about that.”
“Stop apologizing. It happened. It’s over.”
“Thanks.”
Coop handed Morty the list. “Don’t think this means you’re off the hook. I just don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“Right. Later.”
“Later. Right now, call Babylon.”
“Then you want to see a movie?”
“A movie?” said Coop.
“Yeah, a movie. You know. We’re in Hollywood. The entertainment capital of the planet,” said Morty. “I thought you might like to be entertained.”
Coop nodded. “Yeah. Okay. A movie. But nothing with subtitles,” he said. “If I want to read a book, I’ll stay home and read a book.”
“When’s the last time you read a book?”
“In prison. I read a lot of books. There wasn’t much else to do.”
Morty threw the remains of their lunch away. “I’m so sorry.”
“Stop it.”