But Coop was a jailbird and had done enough time to stroll through other people’s loathing without giving much of a shit. And it gave him pure pleasure to watch salespeople’s attitudes do a 180 when he pulled out a pile of the cash payoff he’d received from Mr. Babylon.

In the end, even with security guards following him around every store and salespeople giving him the side eye, he walked out of the Beverly Center with two suits, a couple of extra shirts, and a pair of Italian shoes. He didn’t quite have the heart to wear either of the suits yet, but after some encouragement from a pretty saleswoman, he’d put on the shoes, a pair of new slacks, and one of the extra shirts. Coop felt like a million bucks as he stood on Beverly Boulevard looking for a cab. He felt slightly less so when a black windowless van pulled up and a man with a gun motioned for him to get inside. Coop was a sensible crook and knew that if he made a break for it in brand-new leather-soled shoes on pavement he was probably going to end up flat on his ass. And maybe with a bullet in the back. So, he did what any sensible crook would do. He got in the van.

Inside, the man with the gun slammed the van door closed and knocked the packages out of Coop’s hands.

“Turn around,” he said.

Coop did it and felt a blindfold going over his eyes. Then the gunman turned Coop back around and pushed him into a seat across from him. Before the lights had gone out, Coop had seen a young woman in sensible office attire. She didn’t look like quite as big a creep as the guy with the gun. When she finally spoke she said, “Would you state your name for the record?”

“Wait,” Coop said. “You kidnapped me and you don’t know who I am?”

“I just need to verify your identity.”

“In that case, I’m Benjamin Harrison, twenty-third president of the United States.”

“Please be serious. It will make things easier for everyone, including you.”

“Is this a gag?” Coop said, starting to get angry. Then his guts went cold. “Are you working for Eddie?”

“Who’s Eddie?” said someone Coop assumed was the gunman.

“Never mind. My poodle groomer. Who are you?”

“Your new best friends.

“If that’s the case, why don’t you take this blindfold off and we can all have a group hug?”

“Not a chance, sugar pants.”

Coop took a deep breath. He hated being this freaked out, but he knew not to show it. He tried to think of something brave to say, but instead all he could croak was, “You sure you’re not with Eddie?”

“Is your name Charles Cooper, no middle name?” said the woman.

“No middle name. That’s me.”