The Everything Box by Richard Kadrey

Petersen,” the woman said. She held out her hand and Bayliss shook it. “I work for DOPS, too. Up on fifteen. We’re kind of a whoever-needs-us-the-most-right-now department.”
    Bayliss picked up a plastic fork from the table and stabbed the side of Nelson’s burrito. He kept on eating, the fork protruding from the side like a diving board for the vermin Bayliss was certain lurked everywhere in the restaurant just out of sight. Then something occurred to her and she turned to Giselle. “Wait. The fifteenth floor?” she said and then whispered, “Are you a Marilyn?”
    â€œBorn and raised,” said Giselle. “And you don’t have to whisper. No one can hear us.”
    â€œWow. I’ve never met a Marilyn before,” Bayliss said.
    â€œYeah, well, you kind of have. Me. But I was fogging your brain most of the time. It’s nothing personal. We just sometimes shadow new people in the department. Check them out for the big brains on the top floor.”
    â€œUh. Okay.”
    â€œDon’t worry. I told them you were aces.”
    Bayliss didn’t say anything. She knew she should be pissed at someone who had just admitted to screwing with her senses, andmaybe even her memory, but all she could do was smile. “Thanks,” she said. Then, “So we’re invisible to everyone in here right now?”
    â€œYou got it,” said Giselle. She pulled up a plastic seat from the next table and sat down.
    Bayliss looked around the restaurant and yelled, “The food here sucks!” at the top of her lungs, then turned quickly back to the table and ducked her head, trying to make herself small and inconspicuous.
    After a moment, Giselle said, “You okay over there?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œGood. Because scrunched down like that, you look like a turtle having a nervous breakdown.”
    When no one looked her way, Bayliss reached across the table and moved Nelson’s cup of horchata to her side. He reached for where it had been, cupped empty air, and brought it to his mouth, drinking nothing.
    â€œThis is wild,” said Bayliss. “I could do this all day.”
    â€œApparently,” said Giselle.
    â€œRight. Sorry. Wait. How did you know where we’d be? Did you follow us here?”
    â€œSort of,” she said, taking the horchata and sliding it across the table to where Nelson could get it. “I was in the backseat of Nelson’s car on the ride over.”
    â€œYou’ve been here this whole time? Why?”
    Giselle looked around and took a paper tray of fried plantain chips off a table occupied by a dreadlocked skate punk. He didn’t bat an eye. “I like to get to know who I might be working with.”
    Bayliss nodded. “You wanted a look at Sir Pukesalot over there. I don’t blame you. He must have some kind of rep in the department by now.”
    â€œNelson I know,” said Giselle. “I was spying on you .”
    â€œWait. I thought you said you already checked me out.”
    Giselle bit into a plantain chip, holding up a finger until she’d crunched the thing up enough to swallow. “I’d seen enough of you to know you weren’t Mata Hari. But I wanted to see how you were in a partner situation.”
    Bayliss crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. “Yeah? So, how did I do?”
    Giselle pushed the chips forward until Bayliss could reach them. She said, “You haven’t shot Nelson yet, so I’d say you were doing fine.”
    Bayliss took a chip, stopped, and dropped her hand on the table. “But I think about it every day. Does that count?”
    â€œOnly if you kill him. A leg or an arm wound, I think everyone would understand.”
    Bayliss wanted a drink. She picked up Nelson’s horchata and took a sip, setting it down in front of her. Again, Giselle moved it back across the table to where it had been.
    â€œIt might be better if he