Hunkered over his third coffee, Coop became acutely aware of her standing behind him.
“No,” he said.
“It might not be anything,” said Giselle. “Maybe he’s inviting us to tea. Maybe it’s a promotion. Maybe he’s finally giving you your own desk.”
“I don’t want a desk. I’m a crook. Crooks don’t have desks. We have tools and cars and six ways out of town.”
“And molls. Don’t forget molls,” said Giselle, ruffling his hair from behind. Coop quickly brushed it back into place.
“Nothing good ever comes from talking to bosses.”
“You were the boss of your little gang and look how nice you are.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“I don’t have heads mounted on the walls.”
Giselle gave him a dismissive wave of her hand. “They’re not people heads.”
“Yet. I swear, every time I see him it’s like he’s measuring my neck to see how big a plaque he’ll need.”
Giselle went into the bedroom and came out with three ties in her hands. “Pick one,” she said.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“If I’m going to die, I’m going to be comfortable. And I’m not going out pretty. In fact, I’m not changing at all. If Woolrich wants to see me, I’m going in my pajamas.”
Giselle held out the ties. “Don’t be an idiot.”
He looked at her, then at the ties, and selected a skinny black one, which he tied around the collar of his pajama top.
Giselle looked her watch. “I’m leaving in ten minutes. I don’t care if you’re dressed, naked, or wearing a tutu, you’re coming with me.”
“You’re going to put the whammy on me and trick me into going, aren’t you?” he said.
“Fogging minds, making little boys see or not see what I want, is what I do best. And you’re right. In”—she glanced at her watch—“nine minutes, we’re out the door.”
Coop took off the tie. “Fine. But if Woolrich turns me into a mook or a windup toy, you’re going to miss me.”
He went into the bedroom and grudgingly got dressed. At the last minute, he took a jacket from the closet. It was dark blue and had a little gold crest on the breast pocket. He hated it. In fact, he’d always hated it and wasn’t sure how he’d ended up with it in the first place. It was one of those mystery garments that everybody seemed to have one of in their closet. A gift or a drunken purchase on New Year’s. Wherever it had come from, Coop hated it and if he was going to get shot or fed to one of the various horrors on the DOPS payroll, he wanted to make sure that the jacket suffered with him.
As he was finishing dressing, Giselle called from the other room. “And don’t bring your passport. There’s a chip in it and they’ll know you have it. It won’t look good.”
Coop frowned, bent down, and took the passport out from where he’d tucked it into his sock.
When he came into the living room, Giselle smiled and gave him a kiss, wiping lipstick off his mouth with her thumb. As she straightened his tie, Coop said, “What if Woolrich knows about the office supplies?”
Giselle got her shoulder bag. “Then he’d just want to see you—the crook—and not one of his loyal operatives.”
Coop thought for a minute. “That kind of makes sense.”
“Of course it makes sense. If Woolrich was up to something, he’d have a dozen unmarked vans outside and goons knocking down the door. Relax. This is nothing,” Giselle said.
As they walked to the car Coop said, “But what if it is something?”
Giselle tossed her bag into the backseat of the car. “Then you’re on your own, sailor. I keep my passport duct-taped under the dashboard.”
Coop stared at her.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I have one for you, too. But you’ll have to learn Portuguese and wear three-inch lifts. Also, a dress, Angélica.”
“Oh, good. For a second there I thought you were going to make it hard on me.”
The walk to Woolrich’s office was through a maze of nearly identical corridors on one of the upper floors of the DOPS building. Giselle knew the way by heart, but Coop always imagined having to track down Woolrich’s office on his own and getting lost. He’d never find his way out. He’d wander the halls like a ghost, growing thinner and crazier from lack of food and water. He’d wind up a DOPS legend, a cautionary tale for new recruits. Always stick to the buddy system in the management wing, they’d tell them. And if you happen to stumble across a dazed man in rags eating the stuffing from the hall chairs or swinging from the overhead lights, well, just pretend you don’t see him. He’s been out in the wild for too long. There’s no bringing him back.
When they reached Woolrich’s office, Giselle knocked, but didn’t wait for a response. She opened the door and pulled Coop inside with her. Woolrich was at his desk, signing a large pile of papers with a gold-tipped Montblanc fountain pen. He didn’t look up as they came in, but gestured vaguely to a couple of nearby seats. Coop and Giselle sat and waited. No one said anything. The only sound in the room was the scratching of Woolrich’s pen. He signed each sheet importantly, with a flourish, like if he kept going long enough he’d win a prize, thought Coop. He looked at Giselle, but she just shrugged. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Don’t they have machines for that?” he said.
“What?” grunted Woolrich.
“Signature machines. For people who have to sign a lot of papers. Don’t they have machines for that?”
Woolrich stopped writing for a second, tilted his head fractionally upward, and looked at Coop. “Of course, why do you ask?”
“It just seems like a lot of papers. Wouldn’t a machine be just as good?”
“For some things. Not for others. And not specifically for this.”
Woolrich went back to signing the papers. Coop started to say something else, but Giselle put a hand on his arm and shook her head. Coop mouthed, What the hell is going on?
Giselle mouthed, I don’t know.
One more minute, mouthed Coop.
“One more minute and what?” said Woolrich, putting one last sheet of paper atop the pile on his desk. Capping his gold pen, he took a breath and said, “Well, that’s enough dead people for one day, don’t you think?”
Coop’s brow furrowed. “Those are all people you’re going to bump off?”
“Well, it’s the end of the quarter. Can’t have a lot of loose ends running around, can we?” Woolrich said matter-of-factly. “And I won’t be bumping off any of them.”
Coop felt cold. “I hope you don’t think we’re . . .”
Woolrich leaned back in his chair. “You? Either of you? Don’t be ridiculous. Neither of you is suited for it, especially you. I’m not even sure we should let you have sharp pencils.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” Coop said. “Can we go now?”
Woolrich shook a finger in the air. “Not quite yet.”
The left side of his face twitched slightly. It was a leftover from when he’d been possessed earlier in the year by some ghosts during a labor dispute. Since then, he’d grown a mustache in an attempt to hide the affliction, but it just made it worse. Whenever Woolrich’s lip jerked upward, it looked like he’d taught a caterpillar to rhumba. It was a mesmerizing sight and Coop had a hard time not staring. Instead, he focused on the fishbowl on the edge of the desk where a small brain with fins swam gentle laps.
There was a knock at the office door and Morty stuck his head in. “Hi. Is it okay to come in?”
Woolrich waved him in and pointed to a chair near where Giselle and Coop sat. Seeing Morty, Coop relaxed a little. They were old friends and criminal partners. Morty was a Flasher. He could open any lock ever made just by looking at it, a useful skill for a couple of thieves. Sure, Morty was responsible for Coop going to jail a couple of years back, but Coop forgave him. Pretty much. Mostly.
He was still thinking it over.
Morty
sat down next to Coop and waved to Giselle. She gave him a little wave back.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. “I got lost coming from the elevator. It all looks the same out there. Shouldn’t there be room numbers or a map or something?”
“That would defeat the purpose,” said Woolrich.
“Of what?” said Coop.
“Of it all looking the same.”
“Some kind of security thing, is it?” said Morty.
“Exactly.”
“It’s a good one. I was debating whether to eat my arms or legs first if I got lost.”
“Legs,” said Coop. “More meat. If you got lucky, you’d only have to eat one before you found the way out.”
“You’ve thought about this, have you?” said Woolrich.
“Every time I come up here to Narnia.”
Giselle cleared her throat. “So, now that we’re all here, I’m guessing that you have a job for us?”
“Yes,” Woolrich said. “A fairly straightforward one, but one which I thought you’d be particularly suited for.”
Woolrich pulled a large folder from a drawer and dropped it on his desk. Coop didn’t like the look of it. And he didn’t like the word particularly so close to the words suited for. He thought about swinging blades and death curses and a lot of other unpleasant things designed to hurt and/or kill him.
“What kind of job is it?” he asked.
“A simple theft,” said Woolrich. “A local museum has a mummy on display. We’d like to have it instead of them.”
Woolrich opened the folder and spread its contents across his desk. There were blueprints, photos of the interior and exterior of the museum, a list of employees with their schedules, and other useful information. Giselle picked up the papers and went through them. Coop stood next to her, trying to see while also trying to stay as far as possible from the murder forms. It’s not that he was superstitious. It was more that around the DOPS, death seemed like something you could catch, like a cold or a bullet.
“Get in closer, Coop,” said Giselle. “Don’t you want to see?”
“I’m fine right here.”
Morty held up the blueprints, checking for locks in and out of the museum. Giselle looked over the personnel information. Coop poked a fingertip at the photos, trying to ignore the death warrants and all the trophy heads on Woolrich’s walls.
After pretending to study things for a minute, he said, “How soon do you want us to do it?”
“Sunday night makes the most sense. The museum is closed on Monday, so you’ll have plenty of time to work.”
“Which mummy do you want?”
“There’s more than one?” said Woolrich.
“A whole roomful,” said Coop.
Woolrich took the photo Coop had been studying and looked it over. He made a face.
“Well, that complicates things. Still, not a problem. I have a special consultant who’ll be going in with you. An expert on Egyptian art and artifacts.”
“In others words, an amateur,” said Coop. “Goody.”
Woolrich ignored him and set the photo down on the desk. “You can requisition any equipment you want, within reason. As I said, it’s the end of the fiscal quarter, so we need to mind our budgets.”
“Of course,” said Morty. “An amateur going in with us and a tight budget sounds like the perfect crime.”
“It looks like a fairly simple job to me,” said Woolrich. “And I’m sure you’ll find Dr. Lupinsky a great help when you’re inside.”
“I’m sure he will be, isn’t that right, Coop?” said Giselle. She gathered up the papers from the desk and put them in her bag.
Coop sat quietly for a minute, thinking. “So, what’s wrong with it?” he said.
“Nothing,” said Woolrich. “It’s a mummy.”
“Why do you want it?”
“The thaumaturgic antiquities department requisitioned it. I’m sure they have their reasons.”
Coop shook his head. “I’ve been down there. They have dead bodies stacked to the ceiling.”
“It’s true,” said Morty. “Someone really ought to clean up the place.”
“They don’t want any dead body, they want a specific mummy,” said Woolrich. “This mummy.”
“They have plenty of those, too,” said Coop.
Woolrich leaned his elbows on his desk. “Why are you being such a pest about things?”
“I’m just curious. Why are you giving us this assignment? Like you said, it looks straightforward. Someone could have covered it in an email. You only hand out the really big jobs.”
“Not always,” said Woolrich.
“Always,” said Coop.
Woolrich sat back up and opened his hands. “Like you, I’m a humble servant of the DOPS. We go where we’re told even if we don’t necessarily know why.”
“Don’t mind Coop,” said Giselle. “He didn’t get to finish his breakfast. It makes him grouchy.”
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” said Woolrich.
Coop got up. “Great. I’m going out for waffles,” he said. “Who’s with me?”
“Not so fast, Cooper,” said Woolrich.
“Don’t worry. You’re invited. You look like a muffin man. Bran, am I right? It helps with the digestion.”
“Let me rephrase. Sit down and calm down,” said Woolrich. “This is an ordinary assignment of an ordinary theft. The reason I’m giving it to you is that I wanted to be here to personally introduce you all to Dr. Lupinsky.”
Coop sat back down. Giselle gave him a look that practically left a bruise.
“Whatever you say. None of us knows much about Egyptian stuff, so maybe we could use some help. When do we meet him?”
“Right now,” said Woolrich. He shouted at the office door. “Dr. Lupinsky. Are you out there yet?”
Oh, great, he’s deaf, thought Coop. “I hope he has a monocle,” he mumbled.
“And a pith helmet,” said Morty.
Giselle said, “Shh.”
The door to the hall opened and a five-foot-tall octopus walked into the room. That’s what Coop saw at first. He glanced at Giselle and Morty. By the looks on their faces, it was clear that they were seeing it, too. Coop looked back at the octopus. This time, it looked to him more like a cat. A cat on top of an octopus. Coop closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the knot of fear in his throat loosened a bit. Just a bit. He realized that the thing wasn’t an octopus or a cat. It was a robot with a black-and-white television perched on top, and on the television screen, a thin, young cat paced back and forth. Even though it was obvious that the cat was a video image, Coop got the distinct impression that it was looking at him.
“What a cute kitty,” said Giselle. “What is it? Abyssinian?”
“No,” said Woolrich. “It’s Dr. Lupinsky.”
The robot glided into the room on its metallic tentacles. It used one to close the door behind it and held out the other to Morty. Morty looked pale, but eventually he put out his hand to the tentacle and shook it.
Giselle leaned across Coop and said, “Hi. I’m Giselle. Nice to meet you, Doctor.”
The robot extended a tentacle to her and the cat sat up. A subtitle appeared across the bottom of the screen.
Purrrrrrr.
The tinny sound of a happy cat came from the television’s small speakers.
“And this is Coop,” Giselle said.
The octo-cat held out a tentacle to Coop. A subtitle appeared on the screen.
Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.
Coop shook Dr. Lupinsky’s tentacle. “I haven’t heard nearly enough about you, doc.” He looked at Woolrich. “Why is there a cat on the television?”
A subtitle appeared.
I used to be a cat.
“Of course. It all makes sense now.”
Woolrich twitched. “While studying some arcane magic texts, the good doctor transformed himself into a cat. When he died, his ghost entered the neares
t viable object. The television. It’s all very simple.”
“No, it’s not,” said Coop. “It’s all very weird. Why was he a cat? Some kind of mouse fetish?”
Woolrich shook his head. “He was studying Bast at the time, the Egyptian cat deity. The transformation was a mistake.”
“Like the television was a mistake?”
“Exactly.”
“And this is who you want us to partner with?”
The cat paced excitedly back and forth across the screen. There were more subtitles.
I understand that my appearance can take some time getting used to.
“Good call,” said Coop. “No offense, doc, but I don’t work with amateur crooks, robots, cats, or televisions. There’s no percentage in it.”
“That was yesterday,” said Woolrich. “For this assignment, not only will you be working with Dr. Lupinsky, I’m putting you personally in charge of his well-being.”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” said Coop.
“What was that?”
Giselle looked at the octopus. “He said, ‘I’m looking forward to the job and working closely with Dr. Lupinsky.’”
Woolrich nodded. “Yes. That’s what I thought he said.”
Coop didn’t feel so much like a drowning man as a drowning man wearing a chum tuxedo in a school of sharks. Sharks with tommy guns.
“Okay,” said Coop, pulling himself back together. “Let’s forget Robocat for a minute. The plans and everything you gave us are fine, but they’re not the same as being there. I want to go to the museum and walk the layout.”
“Naturally,” said Woolrich. “Dr. Lupinsky can come with you.”
“No, he can’t.”
“Of course he can. We spent a lot of money on his legs.”