IT WAS TOO EARLY IN THE MORNING. THERE WAS COFFEE, but it was still too early. Plus, Nelson had a wide strip of surgical tape across his nose. But it was the lack of donuts that made Coop think there was a better than even chance that he was about to be arrested.
They were back in the same DOPS office they’d been using since the day he’d been thrown in a van and almost eaten by a hellhound. Nelson stood against the wall across from Coop smirking. Bayliss was over there, too, but keeping a cool distance from Nelson. Her sympathy for her partner’s medical condition appeared to Coop to border on the microscopic. At least that was nice, he thought. Giselle sat next to him on his side of the desk, which he didn’t mind either. Coop was the only one drinking. He had vivid memories of the coffee in Surf City. Prison coffee was like someone had shouted the word coffee into a bag of potting soil and strained the boiled sludge through a dirty T-shirt. If he was heading back to jail, Coop thought, he was going to float in on a wave of government coffee.
“How was your last night as a free man, dipshit?” said Nelson. “Salzman’s on his way down right now with the paperwork to put you away again.”
Coop leaned his elbows on the table. “I can’t say that going to prison for punching you sounds like fun, but if I have to go back, at least I’m going in for doing something I enjoyed.”
Bayliss looked even more uncomfortable than usual when she turned to Nelson and said, “You know, you don’t have to press charges.”
“Of course I do. This mad dog is a menace. The next thing you know he’ll be biting mailmen,” said Nelson.
Bayliss shook her head. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Excuse me? Who’s the injured party here?”
“You’ve done nothing but ride him—and Giselle—since he got here. Frankly, with your attitude, I’m surprised no one’s taken a poke at you before.”
“Thanks for standing up for me, partner. I won’t forget it,” said Nelson.
“Let it go, Bayliss,” said Coop. “I’m happy I punched him. In the same circumstances, I’d do it again. Hell, I’d like to punch him now.”
“Me, too,” said Giselle.
Nelson pointed at her. “You want trouble, too, sister? I have filing cabinets full of forms. I can write reports on all of you.”
“So can I,” said Bayliss. She looked at the floor for a minute before turning to Nelson. “When I think of all the times I kept my mouth shut when you showed up for work hammered . . .”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to take this jailbird’s side?”
“No, mine. If you file charges, so do I.”
Nelson smiled. “Well, it’s too late. The papers are all in. No matter what Goody Two-Shoes plan you have, Machine Gun Kelly here is going bye-bye.”
“This is good coffee,” said Coop. He was dog tired and just wanted everyone to shut up. He’d spent most of the previous night dreaming of spiders riding steel turds down an endless water slide. He’d almost called Giselle a couple of times, but chickened out. He looked at her now and she gave him a rueful smile. She squeezed his hand briefly before letting go and pulling away.
“Thanks for what you two did keeping Babylon out of the way last night. If he’d showed up, me, Phil, and Morty would have been double screwed.”
Bayliss and Giselle smiled at each other. Bayliss said, “I heard you left quite a mess for him when he got home.”
“Nothing a can of Raid and a bulldozer won’t fix.”
“He’ll know you did it, you know,” said Giselle.
“Good. He took a potshot at me once. I was just returning the favor.”
“Big talker,” said Nelson. “If he knows it was you, how long do you think you’re going to last in prison?”
“About as long as you out here if I tell everyone that you’re the one who forced me to pull the job.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“A bad boy like you with a drinking problem. Who knows who you owe favors to? You blackmailed me into doing your evil bidding. I begged and pleaded, but to no avail. A story like that wouldn’t be a hard sell.”
Nelson started to say something, but Salzman came in, a folder under one arm and the box in a clear plastic evidence bag in the other. He sat at the end of the table, placed the folder in front of him and the box next to it. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” He looked at Nelson. “That’s quite a shiner you have there, Nelson. Cut yourself shaving?”
“No, sir,” he said. “I made a report about it last night.”
Salzman waved a hand at him without looking up. He opened the folder and began thumbing through the pages. “We’ll get to that,” he said. “Why doesn’t everybody have a seat and we’ll begin?”
Salzman looked up at Coop and said, “What did you think of our crawler? We have high hopes for it, but it hasn’t had much field service yet.”
Coop sipped his coffee. “The Stink Missile got us there and back and didn’t kill us. I give it a gold star.”
“Wonderful. It was a good plan you came up with, and without much time to do it in. We’re all impressed upstairs. In fact, Mr. Woolrich sent me down here to offer you a permanent job here at the DOPS.”
Nelson cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but how can he work here if he’s in jail? Aren’t we going to deal with the fact this man assaulted me?”
“Of course. But first things first,” said Salzman. He looked at Coop. “Well, what do you think? Would you like to join us here at Peculiar Science?”
Coop turned to Giselle, who raised her eyebrows in a please-don’t-be-stupid expression. He drank more of his coffee.
“Excuse me,” said Salzman. “I forgot something.” He got out his phone, hit a number, and said, “Roderick, would you bring me my silver pen? Yes, the one by the requisition forms? Thanks.”
“Sir, I have to protest here,” said Nelson. “This man is a professional criminal. All his friends are professional criminals. All of his interests revolve around crime, and he just about broke my nose last night.”
“As I understand it, most of the crew that pulled off last night’s box retrieval were, at one time or other, professional criminals. My goodness, half of the mook and Fractal DNA departments are under indictment somewhere in the world. Are you saying we should clear out some of our most valuable agents?”
“No. Just the ones who punch me.”
“Really? Are you going to make this big a deal out of a little scratch? It’s my understanding that most of your department has wanted to punch you at one time or other. Why do you think there’s so much spit and other nastiness in your coffee?” said Salzman.
“What?” said Nelson.
“Let me put it this way, I wouldn’t go leaving my beverages sitting around on my desk unattended if I were you. My guess is the only reason you’ve survived this long is that all that alcohol you swill has rendered most of your organs inert. And God knows what’s going into any food you leave in the break room refrigerator.”
Nelson sat quietly with his hands on the table. Coop was pretty sure he was trying to calculate how much vulnerable coffee he’d left out on his desk over the years he’d been with the agency. Judging by the color his face was turning, it was more than he was capable of dealing with at the moment.
“So, Coop, back to you,” Salzman said, turning back to him. “Would you like to join our little family?”
Coop and Giselle looked at each other again. He thought he saw the million-dollar smile he’d spotted the other day at Týden Divu. He liked seeing it pointed in his direction for once.
There was a brief knock on the door. It opened and something flew in. It was sort of like a large bat or a small flying manta ray with a slit mouth and fleshy wings. It flapped around the room a couple of times before hovering over Salzman and dropping a pen in his lap. “Thanks, Roderick. Tell Lillian to push back my noon meeting to one, will you? Thanks.”
The manta bat circled the room again and went out the door, somehow pulling the thing closed behind it. Salzman clicked his pen and set it on his papers. “Coop, I think the floor is yours.”
Coop stared at the door for a few seconds more and turned to Salzman. “What was that?”
“That was Roderick. One of my assistants upstairs.”
“One of your Peculiar Science projects?”
“Yes. What do you think?”
Coop sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but any job offer that starts with a kidnapping and ends with a delivery bat, it’s one I have to respectfully decline. We had a deal before, and that’s the one I want to stick to.”
Salzman frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. And yes, for what it’s worth, I think we could have approached you better at the beginning, but there it is. Even we can’t go back in time and fix things. Well, we can, but people tend to return without bones or veins or some damned thing. I don’t remember.”
“So, we’re okay? The original deal stands? I can just walk away?” said Coop.
“Of course. We’re men and women of our word around here,” said Salzman, stacking the papers in his folder. “I assume you turned in your company equipment from last night’s escapade?”
“Yes. Last night before I left.”
“Very good.”
“I have a couple more quick questions. Will I get back any of the money I used to get Giselle and me out of that bar in Squid City?”
“Do you have a receipt?” said Salzman.
“No.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“Okay. How about getting reimbursed for the clothes Dick Tracy over there threw out of the van on the way over here?”
“Again, do you have a receipt?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well then, we can probably do something about that. Would one of you get him the forms to fill out?”
Giselle got up, went to a file cabinet in a corner of the room, and came back with some papers. She dropped them on the table in front of Coop without a word.
Nelson looked around. “So, that’s it? This guy does one little job and he gets to walk away scot-free after attacking me?” said Nelson.
“That is the way it looks,” said Salzman. He stood up, took the folder and the box under one arm, and held out his hand while Coop was filling out the form. “No chance of changing your mind?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Coop.
“Well, thanks for your good work. And a great personal thanks for the box.”
“Sure,” said Coop. “Glad to do it.”
Salzman walked out with Nelson trailing after him. Coop filled in as much of the form as he could, but was stumped by a question on the bottom. When he turned to ask Giselle a question, her chair was empty. She was gone. Bayliss shrugged when he looked at her.
“Sorry,” she said. “Come and find me when you’re done and I’ll make sure the form gets processed.”
She left and he filled in a few more lines. Then he wadded up the paper and tossed it in a trash can. He got up and left.
To anyone who didn’t recognize him as a hardworking angel with a malfunctioning Heavenly map of the world, Qaphsiel would have looked more than a little unstable. He wandered up and down North Gower Street staring at what to any mortal going by looked like a small tablecloth. He shook it. Folded and refolded it. Held it over his head. Turned it upside down. And occasionally whacked it against the trunk of one of the palm trees that dotted the street. Nothing seemed to make him or the map happy.
Qaphsiel spotted some shade ahead and stopped to sit on the front steps of an out-of-business deli. He was so close. The map had led him step by step to Gower Street, even flashing the face of the sandy-haired man, before turning to static again. He closed his eyes and pictured a man’s face. Qaphsiel knew he wasn’t far. Somewhere in walking distance, in fact. But Gower stretched dozens of blocks from the hills north of Hollywood down past Beverly. Thousands of people lived along the road. Was this a test from Heaven? Was he supposed to wander up and down Gower, knocking on every door, asking if they knew a blond man who held the fate of the planet in his hands? Qaphsiel shook the map again and rubbed his eyes. Evening was coming on, but the sun reflecting off the map all day had given him a headache. He heard a horn honk the moment he closed his eyes. When he opened them, an LAPD patrol car was idling at the curb. The cop on the passenger side waved Qaphsiel along. The angel got up, raised a hand in a weary greeting, and returned to his walk. The patrol car drove on. Everything felt like a test today.
He was studying a certain spot on the map as he stepped off the curb at Santa Monica Boulevard, right into the path of a car in the process of running a stop sign. It hit Qaphsiel broadside and he flew end over end a good fifty feet down the street. When he crawled to his feet, a little sore but basically intact, he limped back to the corner. The car that had hit him was demolished, the front end a pancake with a deep U shape in the front where it had made contact with the angel.
“Are you all right?” Qaphsiel asked the driver.
“Holy shit. How are you alive?” he replied. He was a young man in a UCLA T-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. “You flew like a fucking mile.”
Qaphsiel dusted himself off. He felt all right and didn’t want to waste any more time. Holding his hands straight out from his sides, he smiled broadly. “See? No damage done.”
The young man’s eyes went wide and he stumbled back into his pancaked car.
“It’s all right. Look. I’m fine,” said Qaphsiel.
“You,” said the young man. The young man pointed with a trembling hand. “You have wings.”
Qaphsiel looked over each shoulder. When he’d skidded on the asphalt he’d torn his Windbreaker to shreds. Now, his wings were sticking out straight from his back.
“Oh, crap.”
The young man got closer. “Are you like a mutant?” he said.
Qaphsiel cleared his throat. “What’s your name?”
“Hansen.”
“No, Hansen. I’m not . . . Well, I’m . . .”
“You’re an X-Man, aren’t you? I knew you were real. I read about it online.” He pointed at Qaphsiel, bouncing up and down excitedly around his wrecked car. “I found this site that proved that all the movies and comics were government propaganda, getting us ready for when they admitted you were real.”
Qaphsiel looked around nervously, worried about other witnesses.
He wanted to agree with Hansen, but that would be lying and against the rules. All he could think to say was “Whatever I am, can you keep my secret?”
Hansen already had his phone out and was snapping pictures of the angel’s exposed wings. “Keep it secret? Sure. No problem.”
Qaphsiel reached out and touched the phone. It emitted a single massive spark and the screen bubbled and melted.
“What did you do, man? My mom is going to kill me.”
“Never lie to an X-Man,” said Qaphsiel. “Especially when you run a stop sign.”
Hansen looked around. “Dude, I’m so sorry. Please don’t call the cops. What can I do to fix things?”
Qaphsiel shrugged out of his torn Windbreaker. Honestly, it felt good to be unfolding his wings, to look and feel like an angel again, even if it was only for a minute. “Do you have a jacket I could borrow?”
Hansen dragged a UCLA letter jacket from the crumpled front seat of his car. He brushed off some broken windshield glass from the front. “That’s my lucky jacket, man. A chick magnet.”
“A chick magnet. Exactly what I’ve been looking for,” said Qaphsiel.
“Keep it, man. It’s yours.”
The angel folded his wings against his back and put on the jacket. It was a little large and gave his wings more room to move around, so at least he got one thing out of the disaster.
“Oh, man,” said Hansen. “No one is going to believe me that I met an X-Man.”
“Remember our bargain. We’re keeping keep this to ourselves, right?”
Hansen looked at his ex-car. “What am I going to tell my insurance company?”
Qaphsiel thought. “Act of God, perhaps?”
“They won’t pay for that!”
“Then I can’t help, other than to suggest you get better insurance, Hansen. But thanks for the jacket.” Qaphsiel walked a few steps. When his knee started to ache he thought of something and went back. He grabbed the boy by the shirt and looked deep into his eyes. “Beelzebub. Is that you in there?”
Hansen didn’t move or try to squirm away, but he looked like if he could have slid out of his skin like a snake, he would have gladly run down the street, just a bunch of wet muscles and bones. “Dude, I don’t know any Beelzebub. Is he another X-Man?”
Qaphsiel gritted his teeth. “Leviathan?”
“Please, man. I just want to go home. Take my jacket. Just don’t Wolverine me.”
“Sorry,” said Qaphsiel. He let go of the boy and smoothed down his shirt. “I just had to check.”
It was dark now. A crowd was beginning to gather around the wreck. Qaphsiel limped back up Gower. He opened his map. The lines of force were there. The stars. Best of all, a spot on the map pulsed with light, and it was just a few blocks away. Qaphsiel laughed and waved. “Thank you, Hansen,” he yelled, holding up the map. “It’s working again.” No one in the crowd waved back. They were too busy posing by the wrecked car and puffing out their muscles like the Hulk.
Qaphsiel looked up toward Heaven, more sure than ever that today had been a test of his resolve. To get so close, then having a broken map and a traffic accident. If it was one of Lucifer’s little Job scenarios, someone in Heaven had been looking out for him. Raphael? Sure, maybe someone in the crowd had snapped a photo of his wings, but the world was full of crazy Photoshopped images. No, the accident and photos weren’t important. Not with a working map in his hand. Qaphsiel tried running to the glowing address, but his scraped leg refused to comply. Screw that. Patience might be a virtue, but he’d been virtuous for a long time. If he had to bunny-hop all the way to Fountain Avenue, he’d do it.
As he went he thought that after he destroyed the world, there were things he was going to miss. Sunsets. Pangolins. Spats (admittedly, he hadn’t seen any of those for a while, but he remembered them fondly). Continental drift and photosynthesis. Spaghetti and banana pudding (no, Qaphsiel didn’t eat, but he liked the smells). Muscle cars. The color plaid. He thought for a moment. Was plaid a color? Whatever it was, he liked it. Also, those fizzy mountains that made such pretty colors. Volcanoes.
Yes, he’d miss those.
As he limped to Fountain he wondered how he might be able to get one of those disposable cameras they sold in the shops along Hollywood Boulevard. It would be nice to have a few snapshots to take home with him. Maybe the sandy-haired man could help him with that. One more reason to hurry.
Morty was out with a DOPS agent named Zorya Vechernjaja, whom he described as a “crazy Russian babe who works the night shift and doesn’t go out during the day, but isn’t a vampire,” which to Coop sounded exactly like he was dating a vampire but didn’t want to admit it. Morty had met her the evening of the Babylon job. While Coop was busy bruising his knuckles on Nelson’s nose, Morty was chatting up a Slavic beauty, and Coop never even noticed. While she wasn’t quite human, Morty assured him that she didn’t have “hooves or fur or gills or anything.” How Morty was so intimate with her anatomy so quickly baffled Coop, but then most things that had to do with human interaction baffled him these days. Finding Giselle gone that morning had hit him hard. Hard enough that he was alone watching Forbidden Planet for the five hundredth time and waiting for a Meat Lover’s pizza, all on his own. No girls or boys or things that go bump in the night allowed.
At a little after eight, someone knocked. Coop took out a couple of twenties and went to answer the door. The disappointment he felt when he saw it wasn’t the pizza man was quickly replaced with a whirlwind of dizziness, confusion, and the mild vertigo he always experienced whenever his heart tripped over its own feet and banged its head into the furniture.
Standing in the doorway was Giselle.
He looked at her for a moment.
She looked at him.
Eventually, she raised her eyebrows. “You have to do something, Coop. Throw me out or let me in. There are mosquitoes and muggers out here.”
“We don’t have mosquitoes around here,” he said.
“All right. You caught me. I lied about the mosquitoes. Does that mean I have to go?”
“Nah. You can come in. But no more bug talk. I’m still having tarantula nightmares.”
“Tarantula Nightmare. You could start a band with that name.”
“No, thanks. Phil’s the singer around these parts.”
Coop stood aside and let her come in. She was still in conservative work clothes, but looked like a million bucks in heels.
“Morty’s place hasn’t changed much,” she said, making a circle of the room.
“Yeah. I’ve been a little busy working to find my own place.”
She shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Kind of seventies retro. I like it.”
“I’m not sure it’s retro so much as it’s what came with the place and Morty’s taken good care of it.”
“Smart boy,” said Giselle. “Not every crook is so good at taking care of his things.”
“Is that a shot at me? Can you at least wait for my pizza to get here? I don’t like to be insulted on an empty stomach.”
“Ooo, pizza. What kind? Can I have some?”
Coop paused Forbidden Planet. An invisible creature was busy stomping the spaceship crew to death. “You’re staying that long? I thought you’d be off with your DOPS pals stealing the Scarecrow’s brain.”
She sat on the couch and shook her head. “No, we don’t invade Oz until next week. The Munchkins are going on strike and we want to hit ’em while they’re down.”
Coop sat on the other end of the couch. “So, why are you really here?” he said.
“When you handed in your DOPS gear, you forgot the American Express card I gave you.”
“Oh, right,” he said. He went to his room, looked through his keys and wallet, found the card, and brought it back to her. “There you go.”
“Did you end up getting any new clothes?” she said.
He shook his head. “No. I didn’t like anything they had, but I charged a cab ride back here. Think Nelson is going get me for larceny?”
“I’m good at fiddling expenses,” Giselle said. “He won’t know a thing.”
“Great,” said Coop. “I guess now that you got what you came for you’ll be disappearing again. So . . . have a nice time saving the world. Say hi to Bayliss for me. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a movie to watch.”
“What’s the movie?”
“Forbidden Planet.”
She looked around him at the screen. “We watched that together once. You liked Anne Francis. I liked Robby the Robot.”
“Yeah? I don’t remember,” he lied. He remembered practically everything they’d done together. He went back to the beanbag chair and sat down. “Be sure to close the door on your way out. I hear there’s mosquitoes.”
Giselle stayed on the couch. “Goddammit, Coop. You don’t make anything easy, do you?”
He swiveled around awkwardly in the chair. “Easy? You know what’s easy? You disappearing. If you count this morning, it will make two times. Add tonight and it’ll be three. It’s like you get a star every time you walk out on me and if you do it enough times you’ll get a free sandwich.”
She played with a bit of frayed fabric on a sofa cushion. “I didn’t walk out on you today. I just went back to my office. I was right there if you wanted to find me.”
“Right. Just like old times. You disappear while I’m not looking and it’s my fault. Some people actually say things. You know? Like ‘Good-bye,’ or ‘See you later,’ or ‘Sorry I’m ripping your heart out, but have a nice day.’ Stuff like that.”
Giselle shook her head. She opened her hands to take in the apartment. “Why didn’t you take the job today? So you could come back to this? So you could go back to jail?”
“I don’t like being kidnapped and I don’t like ultimatums. And I don’t like Nelson or Salzman.”
“Hello? What about me? It’s like I told you right at the DOPS. You don’t have to do everything on your own. I can help.”
“Until I do something you don’t like. Then you’re the Road Runner. A dot on the horizon.”
Giselle shook her head and stood up. “It was stupid coming here. I’m sorry I hurt you, Coop. I was hoping we could try and maybe get past it, but I guess it’s too late for that.”
There was a knock at the door. “Dinner,” said Coop. “And just in time.”
“Are you at least going to invite me to have some pizza?”
Coop shook his head. “Not tonight.”
“All right. I tried,” she said. “Remember that when Anne Francis flies off with the spaceship captain and you’re all alone. Remember I’m the one who gave it a shot.”
Coop got out his money and Giselle trailed him to the door. When he opened it, he took a step back from the gun leveled at his face.
I’ve got to stop just opening doors for people.
Giselle bumped into him and gasped. Coop took a slight step over, getting between her and the grizzly with the gun.
“Hey, Coop,” said Fast Eddie. “Who’s your friend?”
“The cleaning lady. She just finished the drapes. Why don’t you let her go and we’ll talk things over in private?”
Eddie, who towered over Coop, looked past him. “She doesn’t look like a cleaning lady. She all dressed up and stuff.”
“It’s a special service. Formal maids. Costs a little more, but it makes Morty and me feel like Fred Astaire.”
Eddie pushed his way into the apartment. Coop stayed in front of Giselle as they took a step back. “Where is Morty?” said Eddie.
“Out. He had a date. You probably haven’t heard of those. They’re something people do.”
Eddie shut the door behind him. “Sit,” he said and motioned with the gun barrel for them to sit on the couch. Coop and Giselle went over. This time, instead of heading to other ends, they sat pressed up against each other.
“Don’t I know you, lady?” said Fast Eddie.
“Nope,” said Giselle.
“Yeah. You were there that night. You’re a Marilyn, aren’t you?”
“Leave her alone, Eddie,” said Coop.
Eddie stepped forward and put his boot down on Coop’s foot so he couldn’t move. “You try to fog my mind, sister, and I start shooting. Got it?”
“Got it,” said Giselle.
Eddie sighed. “Before I kill you—and you, too, cleaning lady—I’m going to ask you some questions.”
“Why should I tell you anything if you’re going to kill us anyway?”
“’Cause I’ll kill your cleaning lady first.”
Coop put up a hand. “Don’t get all hasty. Why don’t we take a moment and be friends. You want to know about the other night at the Blackmoore Building.”
“Yeah. How was it you and me and a whole goddamn glee club were all pulling jobs at the same time at the same place?”
“The glee club, I don’t know anything about,” said Coop. “About you and me being in the same building at the same time, well, I set you up.”
“You what?” Fast Eddie growled. He sounded like a wolf chewing glass.
“I set you up. I needed a distraction for my job, so I arranged a job for you.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because you’re an asshole, Eddie. And you deserved it.”
“Maybe you ought to calm down a little,” Giselle said to Coop.
“Yeah. Maybe you ought to calm down and remember you’re talking to a very big man with a very big gun.”
Coop leaned back on the couch. “Go fuck yourself, Eddie,” he said. “You’re going to shoot us no matter what I say, so in case you didn’t hear me the first time, take your gun and go fuck yourself on the teacup ride at Disneyland. I hear it’s two for one tomorrow, so you might not have to buy an extra ticket for that gut of yours.”
“Thank you, Coop,” said Eddie. “I haven’t shot anybody in a while. I was even considering swearing off it, but you’re making this easy. One last blast for the road.” Fast Eddie straightened his arm and took aim between Coop’s eyes. He cocked the trigger.
Just as Giselle said, “Fuck it,” and turned herself and Coop invisible, Fast Eddie exploded. Not his gun. Fast Eddie. It was loud. And messy. And more than a little unexpected.
Coop and Giselle lay sprawled on the couch watching bits and pieces of Eddie peel off the ceiling and flop onto the floor.
“You okay?” said Coop.
“Yeah. You?” said Giselle.
“Okay, I think. You see that guy by the door?”
“Yeah.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s not DOPS?”
“I don’t think so,” said Giselle.
Coop reached and pushed Eddie’s pistol—and what appeared to be a couple of fingers—under the sofa, away from the disheveled man in the dirty pants and the clean UCLA letter jacket.
“I’m so glad I got here in time,” said the disheveled man.
“Me, too,” said Coop. “Who the hell are you? And what did you do to Eddie?”
“Was that his full name?” said the mystery man.
“Fast Eddie.”
“Unusual. I’ll say a prayer for him later, but I don’t have time right now.”
“Why’s that?” said Giselle.
“I need to talk to this man next to you. My name is Qaphsiel. What’s yours?”
“Barney Rubble. And what was it you said you did to Eddie? I didn’t see a gun or anything.”
Qaphsiel shook his head. “No, I don’t carry weapons, Barney. And I don’t have all of my old powers, so I just discorporated him.”
“You blew him up.”
Qaphsiel looked around the room. “It was a bit messy, wasn’t it? Sorry. Maybe this will help with the cleanup.” He bent over and dropped a handful of gold coins onto a dry spot on the coffee table.
Coop and Giselle looked at each other. Coop said, “Hold still,” plucked something red from her hair, made a face, and tossed it away.
“What was that?” she said.
“Don’t ask.”
Coop looked at the gold and then Qaphsiel. “That real?”
“Of course. I’m sure it’s more than enough to cover the damages.”
“I would have taken a check.”
Qaphsiel put his hands together. “I know this is a lot to take in at once, Barney.”
Coop realized that he and Giselle were holding hands. He let go and picked up a couple of the gold coins. He gave one to her and turned one over in his hand. “What’s to take in? You bust in, blow a guy up, and now you dump a load of gold on me? It’s just another night in Hollywood, right?”
Qaphsiel glanced over his shoulder and closed the front door. “I didn’t actually break in, you see. The door wasn’t closed all the way. When I tried to knock, it swung open, and I saw what was about to happen.”
“Why would you want to get involved?” said Giselle. “Most people would have run away.”
“Yes. Well. That. You see, I’m not most people,” said Qaphsiel. “I’m an angel.”
Coop sighed. “You know, in the last few days, I’ve taken orders from a dead man, hung out with poltergeists, vampires, werewolves, people with tentacles, people with gills, and seen the inside of a turd submarine. After all that, I shouldn’t be surprised when someone tells me they’re an angel, but you know what? I am.”
Qaphsiel brushed some Eddie off the beanbag chair and wiped down the seat with the sleeve of his letter jacket. He pulled the chair over to where Coop and Giselle sat.
“There’s something you need to know, Barney.”
“My name isn’t Barney. It’s Coop.”
“You lied? I envy you that. Angels aren’t supposed to lie. It would make my life here a lot easier if I could.”
“I’m having a very strange moment here, Coop,” Giselle muttered.
“Me, too,” he said. He looked at Qaphsiel. “Let’s back up a minute. You’re an angel who just happened to stumble into this apartment—”
“I didn’t stumble in. As I said, the door was open, so I—”
“I mean, you were just strolling by and decided to come up?”
“No. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Why?”
“The box.”
Coop and Giselle looked at each other again.
“Coop is right,” she said. “We’ve seen a lot of funny things recently. How do we know you’re an angel?”
Qaphsiel thought for a moment. He’d forgotten about how hard it was for modern mortals to accept the concept of celestial creatures walking among them. The extent of their imaginations seemed limited to the certainty that cats were the best animals, extraterrestrials actually existed, Jim Morrison and Amelia Earhart were still alive and an item in Paris, and reptile people from the center of the Earth controlled all world governments. Only one of those things was true, but try explaining that to mortals. It didn’t help, Qaphsiel knew, that he was trying to prove his divinity in cheap plastic sandals and a used college jacket, all while sinking slowly into a beanbag chair. “Well, I just blew up someone,” he said. “That was a pretty good trick.”
Coop shook his head. “Not good enough.”
“All right,” said Qaphsiel. He stood and took off his jacket, letting his wings unfurl from his sides. In a voice that shook the whole house he said, “How’s this?”
“Pretty good. Especially the voice. Please don’t do it again,” said Coop. “I’m not saying I buy the angel thing, but you saved our asses and that makes you okay for the time being. Why don’t you put your jacket back on? You’re getting some Eddie on your wings.”
Qaphsiel looked and, sure enough, there were red smudges on the tops and ends of his wings. “I don’t suppose you have a shower?” he said.
“Can we do this somewhere else?” said Giselle, rubbing her nose. “The smell is a little strong in here.”
“I can make the remains go away, if you’d like,” said Qaphsiel. “Would that help?”
“If you can make Eddie go away, why did you give us cleanup money?” said Coop.
The angel shrugged. “Mortals like gold. And you’re a thief. It seemed logical.”
Coop held up his hands. “If you can fix this, wiggle your nose or blink or whatever and do it.”
“Of course.” A second later, the mess was gone. The room looked exactly the same as it had before Qaphsiel came in. Except for the smell. A subtle eau d’Eddie hung in the air. Coop went around the living room opening windows.
“How’s that?” said Qaphsiel.
“It’ll do for now,” said Coop.
Giselle was feeling in her hair, and seemed pleased not to come away with anything anatomical.
“So . . . about the box.”
“The box,” said Qaphsiel. “The box. I’ve been looking for it for four thousand years. I must have it back.”
“What do you want with the box?” said Coop.
Qaphsiel looked uncomfortable. “Do we really have to talk about that? You might not like it.”
“Oh,” said Giselle, “then we absolutely want to hear what you want with the box.”
“Here’s the thing,” said Qaphsiel. “Inside the box is, well, what you would call the Apocalypse.”
“What does that mean?” said Coop.
Qaphsiel looked around, raised a hand, dropped it. “You know. The Apocalypse. Armageddon. The Four Horsemen. The end of all things.”
“Wait a minute. The DOPS said it was just some kind of techno bomb,” said Coop.
“And Babylon said it was full of luck,” said Giselle.
Coop looked from Giselle back to Qaphsiel. “That’s three stories about the damned thing. There any more we should know about?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” said Qaphsiel. “There are two groups right here in Los Angeles—cults, you’d call them—who believe the box will summon their dark, demonic gods back to Earth to destroy it and enslave mankind.”
“I guess that explains the glee club at the Blackmoore Building. They must have been looking for the box, too.”
“And if anyone opens the box, the world will be destroyed?” said Giselle.
“Yes.”
“Then why should I help you get it?” said Coop. “You’re probably the one who brought it here to destroy us in the first place, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What happened? Why is the Earth still here?” said Giselle.
Qaphsiel looked at the floor. “I lost it.”
“Lucky us.”
Qaphsiel looked back up. “Unlucky me. I’ve been exiled on Earth all these years and can’t get back into Heaven unless I find the box and destroy the Earth.”
Coop nodded, before finally saying, “Yeah . . . we’re going to have to take a pass on that.”
“What?”
“Forget it. Thanks for taking out Eddie and all, but I’ll tell you what I told him: go fuck yourself on the teacups.”
Qaphsiel thought for a minute. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you help me find the box, I won’t use it. Not right away. Let’s say, I wait another hundred years? I’m sure I can talk to someone in Heaven. With another hundred years, maybe mankind can redeem itself and the Earth can be saved.”
“You know, it’s weird. I hate almost every single person on this planet at the moment, but I still wouldn’t want the whole thing wiped out, even in a hundred years.”
“Two hundred?”
“Promise whatever you like—it doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have the box,” said Coop. “The DOPS has it and there’s no way of getting it back.”
“There must be. You’re a master thief.” Qaphsiel looked at Giselle. “You’re one, too, right? Surely between the two of you, you can think of something.”
Giselle shook her head. “Coop’s right. Even if we knew where it was, there’s no way to get it out of the DOPS.”
“You heard the lady,” said Coop. “Besides, it’s safe there. They think it’s a bomb. No one is going to open it.”
“But what if they do?” said Qaphsiel.
Giselle put a hand on Coop’s shoulder. “You know, they just might. They really want to know what’s inside the box, and if they think they can defuse the bomb . . .”
“Hold on just one minute,” said Coop. “You claim you’re an angel. You’ve been on Earth for four thousand years. You blew a guy up and then you made him disappear. Why don’t you just magic your way into the DOPS and take the damned box yourself?”
“Because I’m an angel,” said Qaphsiel. “I’m not allowed to steal.”
“But why come to me?” said Coop. “There are a thousand thieves in L.A.”
Qaphsiel stood and said, again in the voice that shook the house, “Because you’re the Chosen One. The Savior of Mankind.”
“What? Really?” said Coop.
Qaphsiel sat down. “No. That was my little joke. Sorry. I don’t get to talk to people that much,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“You’re just a person, but not just any person. You’re someone at a party who bumps into someone, who bumps into someone, who bumps into someone who spills a drink on the host. See? You’re part of a chain reaction that’s been running for thousands of years. Plus, you’re the only thief I know. And you seem relatively honest.”
“Relatively,” said Giselle.
“You still have my stone,” said Coop.
She ignored him. “None of this matters. The DOPS probably already has the box in a vault. It’s over and done with.”
Qaphsiel slumped in the beanbag chair. “After all these years,” he said.
“Sorry. Is there anything we can do for you?”
The angel looked around the apartment. “I sleep in the park most of the time, but I don’t really want to go back there tonight. If I leave you the gold, can I sleep on your sofa?”
“I suppose. You did save us from Eddie,” said Coop. “Yeah, you can stay. But keep your gold. The sofa isn’t that comfortable.”
“See? An honest thief,” said Qaphsiel.
Someone knocked at the door. Coop walked over quietly and peered through the glass peephole. He looked disgusted and pulled the door open. It was a kid holding a pizza box in his hands.
“Hi. That’s twenty-two fifty,” he said.
Coop pulled two twenties from his pocket and handed them to the kid. “Keep the change,” he said.
Qaphsiel leaned, resting his elbows on his knees.
Coop motioned for Giselle to come with him across the room.
“What do you think? Is he really an angel?” she said.
Coop shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’m a little past being surprised by anything right now.”
“Me, too.” Giselle opened the pizza box an inch and sniffed it. “Smells good,” she said.
“Yeah. It does.”
She got a little closer to Coop and spoke softly. “You know, that was almost gallant what you did back there. Getting between me and Eddie.”
“I just didn’t want him to see you and think I’m dating a cop.”
Giselle cocked her head. “Dating? Are we dating now?”
“You know what I mean.”
She glanced over at Qaphsiel, who seemed lost in his own celestial misery. “So, one last time, are you going to send me home? I’d like to remind you that there’s something out there that can destroy the world.”
“If we believe that guy,” said Coop.
“And even if no one opens the box, they might bump it wrong or x-ray it, and set it off without meaning to.”
Coop nodded and looked at her, holding the pizza box between them. “That would be a bad thing.”
“It would be worse if you threw me out.”
“Yeah, if I did that, you’d probably forget all that gallant stuff.”
“You can bet your ass on that. Gone like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.
“Tough choice for me,” said Coop. “If I let you stay I have to share my pizza.”
Giselle pinched his arm hard.
“Ow.”
“The world could literally end tonight. You’re seriously going to send me home alone?”
Coop looked at the pizza. At Qaphsiel. At Giselle. “You want to finish Forbidden Planet and eat pizza in my room?”
She smiled. “You know how robots turn me on.”
Coop looked back at the angel. “Hey, Qaphsiel. There’s blankets in the hall closet. Feel free not to knock on my door. If Morty comes in, don’t blow him up. And don’t tell him you’re an angel. Tell him you’re someone I knew in jail.”
“I can’t lie,” said Qaphsiel.
“Then tell him you’re an angel and that we’ll explain things in the morning,” said Giselle.
“Thank you.”
“Good night,” she said. She was going to say something else, but Coop was already pulling her into his room. She closed and locked the door.