Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(61)

I’m so hot that I have to take off my coat and tie it around my waist so that I don’t drench my fancy shirt in sweat. The cold air feels good on my body, cooling me down, drying my skin.

We’re jogging by a graffiti-tagged dumpster when Coop reaches into his pants pocket and takes out his phone.

“Text from Matt,” he says, slowing down to a walk so he can read it. “Evelyn loves the idea of surprising you.” He’s huffing and puffing and trying to catch his breath. “She’s got him imprisoned in the changing room right now trying on a whole whack of shirts.” Coop snaps his phone shut and slides it back into his coat pocket. “What’d I tell you? We’re golden, dawg.”

For the first time, I start to believe that this crazy plan just might work. “How close are we to DeLuca’s?” I ask.

“Not sure,” he says, starting to jog again. “Let’s duck in the next set of doors.”

I break into a trot right behind him, my feet lifting from the pavement in a rhythmic ease. Your Jedi Master is on his way, Princess Leyna!

As we pass the loading docks and round the corner, I see the SOUTH ENTRANCE sign up ahead.

“There,” Coop says. “Let’s go.”

We pick up our pace, making a beeline toward the doors. I can almost make out the writing on the glass when I hear a loud feathery fluttering overhead followed immediately by a heavy, wet, rain-patter sound on the sidewalk all around me.

In the same instant, I feel a splatter of something warm and gloppy on my head.

And shoulders.

And all over my torso.

I skid to a halt, my stunned brain struggling to compute the meaning of the thick gobs of white and purple that spackle the pavement in front of me. It’s not until the shitty-sweet smell assaults my nose that I am struck with the full realization of what’s just happened.

“Coop!” I shout, holding my drenched arms out to the sides, not wanting to look down at myself.

“Dude,” he calls out over his shoulder, “come on! Stop screwing around.”

“Oh, God.” I stand there stiff as a scarecrow, feeling the wet leaching through my clothes. Trying not to breathe in the thick bird-crappy stench that envelopes me. “We have a problem here!”

Coop whips around. “Would you stop your —? Oh, Jesus!” He starts walking toward me in slow motion, his horrified expression almost more than I can bear.

“Is it that bad? Please tell me it’s not that bad.”

He bursts out laughing. “Christ, dawg! What the hell is that?”

“It’s shit, Coop. A bird shat on me.” My splattered clothes feel heavy and clammy against my skin.

“Bird? More like a pterodactyl.” Coop snorts. He cups his hand over his nose. “Fuuuck me. It reeks!”

“Does it, Coop? Does it really? I hadn’t noticed.” Tiny globs of guano fly off me as I shake with rage. “We need to wash it off. Like, now.”

“Dude, you’re head to foot,” he says, cracking up. “There’s no washing this off.”

“But . . . I have to meet Leyna. You said so yourself! If I stand her up, she’ll never forgive me.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not gonna be too pleased if you show up smelling like ostrich anus, either.” He busts up once again.

“So then what? What are we gonna do about it? There has to be something. Think. You’re the guy with all the plans.”

“Dude,” Coop says, trying to compose himself. He sniffles and wipes the tears from the corners of his eyes. “I don’t think you understand the severity of the sitch here. Not even the Coopster can work the kind of miracle you’d need. I’m sorry, but this mission is over and out.”





“NO,” I SAY, LOWERING MY ARMS slowly as my muscles quit on me at last. “I refuse to accept that. You got me into this. You need to help figure something out.”

“Okay, okay, just hold on a sec. Let me think.” Coop studies the heavens as though praying for inspiration. “All right,” he says at last. “Take off your clothes.”

“What? No. Why?”

“Look, dawg, you wanted a plan. Here is a plan. Your current togs are totally tainted, unsalvageable. I’m gonna pool our resources and get you some new threads. But in the meantime, you need to shuck off the shit-shirt before that bird crap soaks into your skin and completely contaminates you. If that happens, it won’t matter what new duds I scrounge up because the stink will leak right through them.”

I glance down at myself for the first time, surveying the damage. It’s even worse than I thought. My entire shirt, most of my jacket, and even my pants are saturated. But I shake my head. “I don’t care. There’s no way I’m taking my clothes off out here.”

Coop swivels his head. “Look, we’ll head back to that dumpster,” he says, nodding toward the Wal-Mart. “You can hide behind it till I’m back. It’ll be three minutes, tops.”

“My hair’s completely covered in crap too, so what’s it matter if I take off my clothes?”

“It matters. We can wash your hair in the bathroom sink. We can’t give you a full sponge bath. We’re wasting time here, boss. Leyna’s not going to wait for you forever. I’d say we’ve got around fifteen minutes before ‘casually late’ becomes a big F-you.”