He pulled out an overstuffed wallet filled with cash. To Coop it looked less like something a normal person carried money in and more like a calfskin phone book. Mr. Babylon peeled off ten one-hundred-dollar bills and handed them over.

Coop tried to look cool when he put the money in his pocket, like letting strange men take potshots at him in upscale hotels was what he did whenever there wasn’t anything good on TV. He said, “Now that you’re done playing Annie Oakley, do you want to tell us what the job is?”

“Indeed I do. Sit down, please.”

Coop and Morty sat on the sofa as Mr. Babylon went to the desk phone and ordered another steak.

When he was done he said, “Would either of you like another drink?”

“I haven’t finished this one,” said Coop.

“Of course. Of course.”

Mr. Babylon dropped down onto the sofa across from them.

Morty said, “I hope no one is going to be shooting at us on the job, Mr. Babylon. I’m not quite as bulletproof as Coop here.”

“If things go well, no one should even know you were there.”

“Where is ‘there’?” said Coop.

“The Blackmoore Building. On display in a glass case in the office of a competitor. He has something of mine and I want it back. It’s been in the family for a long time and I consider it a personal insult that he acquired it by criminal means.”

“Which is why you’re hiring a couple of crooks to take it back,” said Coop.

“Exactly.”

“What is it?” said Morty.

“A box.”

“A big box?” said Coop.

“Not especially.”

“What’s in it?”

Mr. Babylon sat back. “I don’t think there’s any reason for you to know that.”

“I mean, is it dynamite and it’s going to blow us up? Is it gold and we’re going to need a crane to move it?”

“No, nothing like that. It doesn’t weigh more than a pound or two.”

“And it’s not going to explode?”

“In all its long life it hasn’t once.”

“That’s good enough for us,” said Morty.

“Not quite,” said Coop. “What kind of curses are on the box? I have to think that a man like you could buy anything from anybody or bribe someone in your competitor’s organization to steal it for you. What’s wrong with the box?”

Mr. Babylon shook his head.

“There’s no curse, spell, or plague on the box at all. But there is just one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Mr. Babylon jammed a chubby finger into his leg as he talked.

“Under no circumstances are you to open it. It’s closed with a wax seal. If it’s broken, the deal is off.”

Coop and Morty frowned.

“What? Is it radioactive?” said Morty.

“Yeah. I’m not too keen on shoving a brick of plutonium in my pocket,” said Coop.