Evelyn and her church did a good job of keeping them all going. Finding the things, and sometimes people, that bound them and then doing their best to preserve them. As Evelyn had put it, they remembered them, kept their memory alive.
Problem was, so far as he could tell his anchor was with his bones, and his bones were encased in concrete - and that concrete was presumably in the basement of one of Danton’s casinos. Not that it was likely Danton knew that. This was one of his acquisitions after a hostile takeover. Clint’s remains had been there since the late fifties when the Strip had been run by the Mob.
It was difficult to be clear about what happened, exactly. Why had he been at the building site in the first place? Was he making it difficult for the owner? Were they building the place without all the proper permissions? Or was he protecting it? Maybe it had just been a good place for a secluded meeting. Perhaps the whole thing had nothing to with organised crime.
All he could be sure of was being struck on the back of the head, then coming too as he sank into the grey sludge, the desperate struggle to escape as his limbs were trapped in the hardening slurry. He could have banged his head and fallen into the pit coming round moments too late. No matter how hard he tried, it just didn’t get clearer than that. He’d spent the last fifty years or so trying to recall anything more and it remained a complete blank. If Kat found out where his body was she might be able to help.
Kat was a good kid caught up in a world she had no business being in. She was so green it made Clint want to slap some sense into her. But she had a talent for cards. Something he could appreciate. Taking a life was one thing, but taking a person’s soul, their heart, that was sick and cruel. He may have run with the Mob, but they had a sense of honour, there was a way in which things were done. This young Scotswoman had tried to do the best she could to keep her head above water. She’d not gone against the system. She’d not harmed anyone. Making an example of a tourist just hurt them all in the end. If anyone was going to be made an example of it was Danton.
11
Seeing racks of brightly coloured tops and jeans ripped in just the right way used to get something racing inside, aroused a hunting instinct. It filled a need. Slapping down some plastic and walking out with bags emblazoned with logos like superheroes. The memory of that feeling was just out of reach. Standing next to a rack of jeans, each of which cost her monthly take-home pay - before sales tax - it just didn’t matter.
It lit a tiny spark inside her, a small spark that managed to make it to a little flame. She wanted to get her heart back more than anything. She was prepared to do whatever it took. But the flame quickly guttered and died. Better to go home, go to work like normal and forget the silly idea of doing this any other way.
She walked out the store without picking up a single thing. Got on the bus and watched the world go by. But this wasn’t the way home. There were no neighbourhoods like this where Kat lived. “Where are we going?” she asked the woman across the aisle. “Downtown, Lady. Where do you think?” came the reply. Kat had gotten the bus she’d meant to take instead of the one home. Before long there was the Church of the Holy Spirit. Since she was here, she might as well get off and see Evelyn.
The pews and aisles were empty. Once Kat would have been creeped out believing the place was haunted. Now it was more eerie with its revenants gone. Guess they only came out at night, mostly, or for services.
“Hello?” Kat called. It was one thing to come here unplanned, it was quite another for it to be a wasted trip. She felt the weight of the day settle on her, push her down into a pew. She hadn’t done anything, hadn’t even bought anything. What was she doing here? Was going back to the tables, even with some help, really worth it?
Someone was shaking her. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Evelyn said.
Kat smiled. “You shouldn’t have such comfy seating,” she said, dreamily. “Get rid of these cushions, they’re like clouds of velvet.”
“I didn’t have the heart to tell you before, but they’re for kneeling on.”
“I met The Velvet Fog a few times,” said Clint from behind Evelyn. “His singin’ could put me to sleep too.” Clint laughed. “He was almost as fast a draw as me though.”
Kat sat upright. “How long was I asleep for?” She was going to miss work if she didn’t hurry.
“Depends when you got here,” said Evelyn. “It’s coming up on five.”
What did Kat want? One night at the tables or a lifetime cleaning them? “Clint, I’m in.”
“You’re in?” said Evelyn. “In what? Or don’t I want to know?”
“I didn’t get to tell you what my proposition was, sweetheart,” Clint said. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not your sweetheart. I guessed you wanted to help me win my money back at the tables. You and Jack and Fingers could help me know what the other players hold in their hands.”
Clint smiled. “Actually, I had a different plan, but we could try yours if you really want to play again. Which casino should we go too?” He had a glint in his eye.
“I’m sure we can narrow it down,” said Kat, smiling back.
“Have you not learned anything?” said Evelyn. “This won’t help you. You’ll just get deeper in trouble.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Clint. “Sounds like the lady has a good plan. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before.”
“Because whatever it is, it’s a damn fool idea.”
“It’s alright, Evelyn,” said Kat. “It’s just one last night. I only need enough to get my heart back. Anything left over is yours.”
“I don’t need your money,” said Evelyn. “And I’d ask that you don’t discuss this further under this roof.”
“Okay. I’m sorry Evelyn. Didn’t mean to upset you,” said Kat. Whatever they were going to do, it wasn’t going to happen tonight. She looked at Clint. “Please let the others know.”
“Sure thing, honey,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”
When everyone had gone, Evelyn took out the key from around her neck. She was actually surprised that Clint or one of the others hadn’t thought of something like this before. The truth was though, they were dead. They had memories and like anyone could use those experiences, but typically they weren’t what you’d call original thinkers. Now they’d gotten themselves into some weird situation where they wanted to help the poor lost girl, like tattered knights riding to her rescue. And Kat, who’d been turning over a new leaf, was feeding off their enthusiasm. It was giving her ideas, giving her some kind of hope.
The key felt heavy in her hand, but was still warm from being close to her body. Evelyn went into her bedroom. At the back she opened a closet. The door was heavy and always a little stiff. On the inside of the door thick bands of metal, painted black, ran down from top to bottom. Similarly, the closet was panelled with wood and banded with iron. She peeked out into her room before shutting the door behind her.
She always felt claustrophobic in here. Sometimes when the drones were swarming round her bed at night she longed to crawl in and shut the door, but within a few minutes she knew she would be gasping for air.
On the floor was a heavy wooden trunk, also banded with iron. A large padlock hung through the hasp. The key opened the lock with a deep click. Evelyn laid the padlock to one side and opened the trunk. She breathed in deep. The smell of the wood always tickled her nose, but the hints of tobacco and sandalwood also reminded her of time spent with her grandfather.
Inside were wooden trays stacked on top of each other. The bottom of each tray was lined with red cloth. Sitting in each one were an assortment of items. An ivory comb, a Patek Phillipe watch with a cracked crystal, a pair of round lensed spectacles, a flick knife with a mother of pearl inlay, two translucent red dice with white spots, a cylindrical lighter made from brass with an SS death’s head stamped into it, chips from casinos long closed, and not always local, a white feather with flecks of something rusty brown on it…
; Anchors, all of them. The Church was very good at keeping track of its parishioners. Sometimes they needed to be remembered since it was easy for them to forget, or even for them to resolve what kept them here. If the Church had at least one thing that anchored them it could be used to help the ghosts, or to keep them in line.
Evelyn picked up a few items, turning them in her hands, feeling the fine links that led to their former owners. Now their possessions owned them. And if this casino nonsense went too far she could give the right tugs and get things back to normal.
12
“This is too easy, it’s a trap,” said Jack, perched like a bird of prey on the headboard of Kat’s bed. “The Commissars are watching for people like us, trying something like this.”
“Who are the Commissars?” said Kat, thinking they sounded more like an 80s band than the ghost police.
“The Commissars stop the dead from interfering with the living,” said Jack.
“They’ve not come knocking on my door,” Kat said.
“Ignore him,” said Clint. “He’s just paranoid.”
“We don’t need to do anything but stand behind the other players. Nobody’s going to see or hear us. We don’t need any elaborate codes or anything,” said Fingers, standing by the window and looking too much in silhouette like the drone that had stalked Kat here. “It’s not a plan legends are made of, but it might improve our reputation.”
“The last thing I need is a reputation,” Jack said showing his teeth. “I’m trying to go straight, not commit more crimes.”
“I thought you were trying to atone,” said Fingers.
“Two wrongs don’t make a right,” Jack shot back.
“Gentlemen, and lady,” said Clint. “All we have to do is pick our mark.” He sat in the chair that Kat avoided, the stains brown and of unknown origin. Even with something clean thrown over it she still felt her skin crawl. “I think we can take it as read that it should be one of Danton’s.”
“Should we be concerned about them recognising me?” said Kat. “What if I’m on a watch list or something?” Danton was likely more cunning than the boys were giving him credit for.
“If it comes to that, sweetheart, we just move along the Strip until we find somewhere they’ll let you in,” said Clint. “What you need to do is practice not seeing us again. If anyone thinks you’re gettin' help it’s game over. You can look in our direction, but don’t focus on us. You get a faraway look in your eye and someone might think you’re listenin’ to instructions. You will be, but you can’t show it.”
“He’s right,” said Fingers. “No one’s going to be looking for us. All eyes will be on you.”
“I wish we could practice a couple of hands,” Kat said. “It would be even better if you could see through the table and look at the cards directly, or see what’s left in the pack.”
“You’ve got what you see in front of you, lady. You always want more,” said Jack. “Someone with that skill, that’s real specialised. We’d need to bring someone in and that increases the number of people involved. That means someone we don’t know, don’t trust, someone who can snitch.”
“I was just joking,” said Kat. “I’d no idea it could even be done.” Specialised? Ghosts out there could actually see through the table? They had particular abilities? Jack had cause all that static back at the church, getting angry with Clint. “When are we going to do it?”
“When the clubs come out,” said Fingers. “Three a.m. Lots of drunk guys, tourists, looking to let off some steam, they won’t notice their losses so much and most of them will be more interested in you.”
It had been a while since anyone had taken an interest in her – welcome, or not – if you discounted the dead. Even Tony only really wanted her for her card skills in the end. Fingers might be right if she could scrub the smell of old frying oil off of her. She could feel something, it was the start of that itchy feeling, excitement. She wanted to play right now, to stack up those chips in front of her, to turn over the cards and see the look of delight in the crowd and despair in the eyes of the other gamers. No one gambled in this town, they just played games.
“I’ll have to take another night off,” said Kat. This is how she got here. That her heart wasn’t beating fast in her chest should be all the reminder she needed. Her memory of how it felt to play was a surprise; she hadn’t found a way to get stimulation from anything else. It was hard to admit, but necessary. She was an addict. Probably always had been, just hadn’t found her poison before. Did she really want to do this in order to win back what she’d lost playing games? “I think I can swing it.”
It was like the plot of a comedy skit; two of the least fashion-conscious women in the world out amongst the stark glitter and calculated emptiness of the Strip’s boutiques.
Kat couldn’t feel bad how things had been left with Evelyn, and how she and the guys were working behind her back, but she still had some sense of right and wrong. Her moral compass still worked, she just didn’t get caught up in the emotional consequences of her decisions. Had she become a sociopath?
Taking Evelyn out shopping was an olive branch. She had done nothing but help and Kat thought she owed her. Although Kat hardly knew Evelyn, she didn’t seem to have any friends or do anything outside the church. It would do her good to get out for a while.
They had worked their way through browsing and laughing at some of the more outlandish outfits; albino snakeskin jackets and jeans, anyone? Evelyn had even bought a dress of her own, which left Kat still trying to decide what to go for. Did it really matter? Couldn’t she just get a new pair of jeans liked she’d planned?
“How long have you been a priest?” said Kat, looking through a rack, but not really seeing the clothes.
“I’m just a pastor,” said Evelyn, looking at the price tag on the blouse she’d picked out, her eyes widening. “Priest makes it sound so formal, so Catholic.” She carefully put it back on the rack.
“Guess it shows how little I know about it all.” Kat clicked some hangers out of the way.
“What did you do? Before you came here?”
“Nothing much. I was an office temp,” said Kat. Evelyn frowned. “You know someone who fills in when people are sick. Secretarial, clerical work, that sort of thing. Banks, solicitors, insurance companies. Plenty of them to go round in Glasgow. Sometimes telesales when work was scarce. Not too much responsibility. Nothing tying me to any particular job.”
“Did you go to college?”
“You mean university?”
Evelyn shrugged. “Something after high school.”
Kat smiled. “I did something after high school. Thought I could be an engineer, or rather my Dad did. I really wanted to be an artist. My Dad kept telling me there was no money in art. Who ever heard of a rich artist while they were still alive? I should get a proper job to make ends meet.”
Evelyn laughed. “My parents hoped I’d be an engineer too. I was called elsewhere. At least you were being practical.”
“True, but I dropped out after the second year. My heart wasn’t in it,” Kat said. “I’ve been temping ever since.”
“I’ve only ever been a pastor or training to be one. Once my grandfather accepted he would be succeeded by a woman – that it was what the Holy Spirit wanted – he got over himself. Showed me the basics. My grandmother filled in any gaps. I think she missed her true calling.”
“But what did you want to be, before that?” Kat moved to another rack.
“I dunno, an astronaut or something like that. I’ve been involved with the church so long I haven’t had time to think about being anything else.” Evelyn found another top, this time she checked the price before even considering it. “How did you meet what’s his name, Tony?”
“Not the most romantic story you’ll ever hear,” said Kat. “I was drunk in a bar one Friday after work. He seemed nice enough, handsome enough. And he was still that way in the cold light of the morning after. We talked all weekend, ate take out we go
t delivered, drank his flat dry, shouted at the telly together. And after that we were kinda stuck to one another. Two years ago. I’d expected to be properly organising my wedding by now. What about you? Anyone in your life?”
“No. Never.”
Evelyn’s look was hard to read. Was she upset by this or did she not care? “Never ever?” said Kat. Evelyn nodded. “So, you’re still…” Evelyn nodded again. “Shit, really? We need to take you out, meet some people.”
“It would make a change from the dead,” said Evelyn.
“You know what you’re looking for?” Kat watched her closely, trying to figure this out gently.
Evelyn looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Man or woman? Tall, large, brunette, blonde, winning smile. Anyone you’ve seen on TV?”
“Oh. No. I guess I just don’t think about it at all really. It’s like I’ve put all that in a box somewhere and thrown away the key.”
“Are you looking for someone with a pulse?” said Kat, realising there might be a different story here.
“Yeah, of course,” said Evelyn, carefully reading a label. “Are you looking for anyone, you know, now Tony’s out the picture?”
Ghosts didn’t change much, they weren’t going to get older, get sick or die. But they couldn’t kiss you or keep you warm at night. Which one of them did Evelyn like? Clint, the gentleman rogue? Fingers, the slippery English thief? Or was it Jack, the lean muscle with an edge? Perhaps it was someone she’d not met yet, but she was sure Evelyn wasn’t so keen on the quick.
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