The street was clear when they went out the employee door. A few Jiminys followed them out, flapping happily into the road. The rest clustered around a streetlamp and began eating their way in. The light blinked a couple of times and went out. Coop and the rest went down Fifth Street and helped Tintin into the van.

“You did good tonight,” Coop told him. “I never would have seen that wire in the office if you hadn’t called it.”

“Just doing my job.”

Morty had already slid into the driver’s seat. Sally sat with Tintin in the back of the van.

“All of you get out of here,” Coop said.

“You going to be all right?” said Morty. He started the engine.

“Just got to make a delivery.” He leaned in through the window and said, “See you two tomorrow at the Grande Old Tyme.”

“You’re buying the drinks,” said Tintin.

“Yeah, you are,” said Sally. “But at another bar. A place where humans go.”

“It’s a deal,” said Coop. He stepped away from the van and watched Morty drive to the on-ramp for the 110 freeway. Coop checked his watch. It was eleven ten. Plenty of time. The job had gone a little sideways at the end, but they’d gotten the goods and they’d gotten away and that’s all that mattered.

But who the hell were Robin Hood and his idiot mob? Another crew sent by Babylon to take them out? No. They were morons. Not pros. Even if Babylon wanted to double-cross them, he would never hire such idiots. So, who had?

Coop shook it off and crossed Flower Street to the Bonaventure Hotel. He went through the lobby and stepped into one of the big glass elevators. As it rose to the penthouse floor he looked out the windows at the city laid out, shining and winking, below him. His face did the funny thing again. It smiled.

He thought, I’m back.

SIXTEEN

THE STRANGER SAT ON TOP OF THE BIG RIG EATING A sandwich and watching the highway burn. Of course, it wasn’t the highway itself that was on fire, merely a hundred or so cars and trucks piled on top of each other like a king-size game of Jenga.

Only with a lot more dead people and insurance headaches.

He’d heard the term pileup many times, but he’d never seen one with his own eyes and he wondered if it would meet his demanding tastes in both the fantastic and the disastrous. As the black smoke from the burning engines and tire fires curled into the sky, the stranger finished his sandwich and applauded. For a brief moment, he thought about an encore, maybe a meteor strike or an attack of killer bees on the survivors, but finally decided against it since it would have been, as they said, gilding the lily.