Read The Everything Box Online
Authors: Richard Kadrey
“Not anymore,” said Raphael, sitting down next to the other angel. “People, animals, plants, they're all going to straighten up now that I'm in charge. And no more of this continental drift nonsense. The continents are fine where they are.”
“You simply can't make these arbitrary decisions,” said Qaphsiel, exasperated by the whole discussion.
“Yes, I can. I can be every bit as arbitrary as I like. It's mine.”
“Raphael is kind of a dick,” said Sally.
“That's being cruel to dicks,” said Giselle.
“Sorry. You like them more than I do.”
“That's true.”
Coop crawled away from the angels. Giselle and Sally pulled him to his feet. “Someone cloud someone's mind and let's get out of here,” he said.
“I can't leave Nelson,” said Bayliss.
“Fine,” said Coop. “But you drag his sorry ass. I'm not helping.”
They left as quietly and invisibly as they could. If either of the angels had looked around, he would have noticed them missing and the twin trails of blood leading to the escalator. But neither did.
Beelzebub and Leviathan looked around at the carnage and the bickering angels, feeling as frustrated and disgusted with the planet as two salaried demons could.
“Those two aren't going to stop, are they?” said Leviathan.
“Doesn't look like it,” said Beelzebub.
“Still. It doesn't sound like the world's going to end right away.”
“True. Lucifer will be pleased.”
“Pleased enough to let us off this shit assignment and come home?” said Leviathan.
Beelzebub looked at his friend. “There's only one way to find out.”
Arm in arm, they disappeared in a puff of sulfurous smoke.
The other angels, Heaven's good angels, just kept on arguing into the night.
THE WELCOME-HOME PARTY TOOK PLACE AT MORTY'S
apartment exactly one week later, when Coop was released from the DOPS special clinic. To his surprise, they'd actually done a pretty good job on him. Under his bandages they'd attached several extraterrestrial parasites to his shoulder. The parasites ate skin flakes and injected a carefully controlled combination of bone and muscle into his bullet wound. It was only creepy when he thought about it, so Coop went to great effort not to think about it. It wasn't all that hard with so much going on.
Morty had come through his first kidnapping with only a minor twitch whenever anyone stood behind him. He spent most of the party positioning himself with his back to hard surfacesâwalls, doors, the refrigeratorâanything where he had a clear view of the room and its exits.
“How are you doing?” said Coop.
“Coming along. Coming along,” said Morty. “Tell me, as someone who's been kidnapped more than me, how long does it take to get over one of these things?”
“I'll let you know when I do.”
“You're useless,” said Morty, and he and Coop clinked their bottles of beer together.
Giselle popped into sight with her own beer. “See? I told you my head's back on straight. I can cloud minds with the best of them.”
“You always could,” said Coop. He looked across the room and saw Sally and Tintin in an intense conversation. Over the last week, Coop had grown used to the idea that he'd taken the DOPS job and that it would keep him close to Giselle. Still, he was going to miss clandestine meetings with Sally and Tintin. Now when he planned a job they'd want him to fill out forms in triplicate. Not that that was ever going to happen.
“I know how you feel,” said Giselle.
“You reading my mind?” Coop said.
“With you it isn't that hard. You'll get used to the straight life. I did. And not looking over your shoulder all the time isn't such a bad feeling.”
“I like being paranoid. It makes even the most boring things interesting. I was once convinced I was being followed by a whole Yakuza army while doing my laundry. It made the spin cycle fly by.”
“Why the Yakuza?”
“It's a long story.”
“I guess I'll have to stick around if I want to hear it.”
“Only if you want to hear it.”
“I'll think about it,” she said.
There was a knock at the door. Morty opened it and Bayliss came in with a package wrapped in a bow. She walked over, kissed Coop on the cheek, and gave Giselle a big hug.
“Looks like the promotion's perked you up,” said Coop.
“Yep. I officially got Nelson's old job. And I got a new partner.”
“Who's that?”
“Guess,” said a voice in Coop's head.
“Phil? They gave you Phil?” he said. “Who hates you that much?”
“Hey, I resent that. Tell him,” Phil said.
Bayliss nodded. “It's not bad having a partner who can do his surveillance right in people's minds. Plus, he doesn't eat, so no more of
Nelson's ptomaine tacos.” She held out the package. “Which brings me to this. Consider it an early Christmas present. Open it.”
Coop held up his injured shoulder. “I'm not sure I can yet.”
“I'll do it for you,” Bayliss said, even as Giselle and Morty said, “You big baby.” She untied the ribbon and took the top of the box off. Inside was a framed photo of a pale man in an ill-fitting suit that was clearly cut for someone else.
“Who is that?” said Giselle. “He looks familiar.”
“It's Nelson,” said Coop.
Bayliss nodded. “Say hello to the newest mailroom mook.”
Coop took the picture out of the box and put it on Morty's mantel. “I'll cherish it always,” he said.
The manta bats flashed by overhead, margarita glasses dangling from their slit mouths. One flew low and handed a drink to Bayliss before flying out the back door.
“I've been so out of it these past few days, I never found out what you told Woolrich about the box,” he said.
Bayliss sipped her margarita. “I told him that it broke when Salzman was killed. I got a few pieces of the fake box that broke when the angels were fighting.”
“And Woolrich brought that story?”
“I think he was just happy to have the box gone and not his responsibility anymore,” she said. “On the other hand, he hated paying for all the damages at Jinx Town.”
“Boo-hoo,” said Coop. “If they want the story covered up, they get to pay for it.”
Giselle sipped her beer and said, “What no one can figure out is what happened to the big fish thing and the boar.”
“That's easy,” said Coop. “Go back and check out that dark-floor butcher shop. I guarantee you they're still having specials on sushi and ribs.”
“That's a pretty picture. Thanks for putting that in my head,” said Phil.
“You don't have a head, Phil,” said Bayliss.
“And thank you, boss, for that pep talk. I'm going now.”
One of the DOPS tentacle twins waddled over and said, “Someone's at the door for you, Coop.”
“Thanks, Jimmy,” Coop said. He and Giselle went to see who it was. They left Bayliss chatting with a scientist whose head was a large ladybug in a bell jar.
Coop wasn't exactly shocked by what was waiting for him at the door. He was momentarily terrified of divine retribution, but then resigned himself to whatever fate waited for him.
At the door was Qaphsiel, smiling, dressed in a tailored gray suit.
“Look at you,” said Coop. “You look like you're doing all right for yourself.”
“It's better than a green Windbreaker,” Qaphsiel said.
“Are you here for any, uh, particular reason?” said Coop a little nervously. “I mean if you want to come in, there's beer out back and the manta bats are mixing margaritas.”
Qaphsiel shook his head. “No, thanks. I just thought that you might like to know that a certain box is back in Heaven, safe and sound.”
“Really?” said Coop. “And what if someone gets a bug up their ass about destroying the world again?”
“I said it was safe and sound,” said Qaphsiel. “I didn't say where it was. In fact, no one knows where it is.” He shrugged. “Somehow it got misplaced.”
“And it's going to stay lost?”
“We, that is Heaven, don't own the world anymore. Which brings me to the other reason I came by. You don't know where the deed went, do you? It wasn't in Raphael's pocket when we were called home.”
Coop looked at Giselle and back at Qaphsiel. “I guess it got misplaced.”
“Oh, well. These things happen,” said the angel. “Well, I'll leave you to your friends. Have a nice party.”
“Thanks,” said Coop.
“Have a good trip home,” said Giselle. She closed the door. “And stay there. Please. No more angels.”
“I need an aspirin,” said Coop. “I think they're in the bedroom.”
“I'm done with beer. I'll get us a couple of margaritas,” Giselle said.
“Great.”
Coop went into the bedroom and rooted around his duffel bag one-handed. Eventually, he came up with a bottle of aspirin. Which he realized he couldn't open. He tried using his teeth and pushing on the cap with his thumb. It wouldn't budge and his thumb slipped, skinning it all the way down. He set the bottle on top of the dresser.
“You might want to wait for your lady friend,” said Phil, back in his head.
“I don't suppose you have any extra fingers lying around,” said Coop.
“I've got a great big one pointed at you right now. Can't you see it?”
“That's not in good taste. I'm an ill man.”
“I'm dead. I long to be an ill man.”
“You and Salzman. Always going on about being dead. Being alive isn't always all it's cracked up to be.”
“Say that when Giselle's around,” said Phil. “I dare you.”
“You dare him what?” said Giselle, coming into the bedroom. She had a drink in each hand.
“He's daring me to tell you to tell me I'm not stupid for trying to open the aspirin by myself,” said Coop, holding up his injured thumb.
Giselle leaned over and kissed it. “You twit,” she said. She popped the top of the aspirin bottle and handed Coop a couple of pills. He washed them down with some margarita.
“So, I just heard from Dr. Ladybug Head that Woolrich has your first assignment all picked out.”
“Shop talk, tonight?” said Phil.
“What's the job?” said Coop.
“Apparently, Woolrich heard a rumor about a deed to the world floating around. He wants to get it before the Russians or Chinese do. Or the CIA. Or FBI. You get the idea.”
“Can you imagine?” said Phil. “The things you could do with that.”
“Just imagine,” said Coop.
“Okay. Shop talk is exactly the last thing I want to hear. You're both boring. Bye,” Phil said and popped out of their heads.
“I wonder what a person would do with something like that?” said Coop.
Giselle looked around the room. “Maybe it's time to get your own place.”
“Like a palace or something?”
“How about just an apartment?”
“As long as it has a huge TV and a huge bed.”
“You can put this on the mantel,” she said and handed him the Contego stone. He looked at her. She kissed him and they stayed that way for a while. Until Phil popped back into their heads.
“The tentacle twins are in the backyard playing Twister,” he said excitedly. “You've got to see this.”
“We'll be out in a minute,” said Coop, and Phil was gone again. Coop went to a dresser drawer and pulled out a green folder.
“You're a pretty good pickpocket for an old guy,” said Giselle.
“Lucky is more like it,” said Coop. “The blood and all the dead people were a good distraction.”
The two of them looked over the deed to the world. The first few words read, “The bearer of this document . . .”
Giselle pointed. “You see that? That's not just for an angel. That's you, Coop. You're the bearer,” said Giselle.
“So I am.”
“The whole world. That would be a hard thing to give up.”
“Not so hard,” he said. He took out a cigarette lighter and touched the flame to the bottom of the document. The two of them walked into the little half bath and dropped it into the sink, watching it burn down to ashes.
“Come on, assholes. You're missing it,” said Phil, popping in and out of their brains.
“He's right. Let's go back to the party. It's a nice night out,” said Giselle.
“Yeah,” said Coop. “It's a nice night.”
THANKS TO MY AGENT, GINGER CLARK, AND MY EDITOR,
David Pomerico. Thanks also to Pamela Spengler-Jaffe, Jennifer Brehl, Kelly O'Connor, Caroline Perny, Shawn Nicholls, Dana Trombley, Jessie Edwards, Rebecca Lucash, and the rest of the team at Harper Voyager. Thanks also to Jonathan Lyons, Sarah Perillo, and Holly Frederick. As always, thanks to Nicola for everything else.
NEW YORK TIMES
BESTSELLING AUTHOR RICHARD KADREY
has published eleven novels:
Sandman Slim, Kill the Dead, Aloha from Hell, Devil Said Bang, Kill City Blues, The Getaway God, Killing Pretty, Dead Set, Butcher Bird, Metrophage
, and
The Everything Box,
as well as more than fifty short stories. He has been immortalized as an action figure, his short story “Goodbye Houston Street, Goodbye” was nominated for a British Science Fiction Association Award, and his novel
Butcher Bird
was nominated for the Prix Elbakin in France. The acclaimed writer and photographer lives in San Francisco, California.
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