Ghostbusters

by Nancy Holder

  He did. Erin gaped at his lovely butt, unable to move her feet.

  Abby said, “Erin!”

  * * *

  The Mercado.

  It was his world headquarters, in the short term.

  What far grander establishment would he commandeer once the barrier had been completely torn asunder? The White House? The Kremlin? Tokyo Disneyland?

  They all had their merits.

  He didn’t yet know why the device in the tunnel had exploded. It was difficult to determine without recovering most of the pieces, and when he went back for them a good deal were mysteriously missing, perhaps gathered up by rats—who knew. But he did know the device was working perfectly before it blew up. Ask him how he knew.

  He smiled to himself. It was good to have secrets. Powerful secrets. It made him feel he had absolute control, delighted to go about his day among the mindless rabble knowing they had no idea that he alone held their fate in his hands. He could barely contain his glee while unblocking toilets and clearing kitchen sink P-traps. His day job consisted primarily of getting rid of waste created by wastrels too lazy or stupid to deal with it on their own. The simplest way to stop the endless flow of crap, cutting to the chase per Occam’s Razor, was to lay waste to the wastrels.

  He stepped out of the elevator, toolbox in hand, with his favorite song earworming. You should be dancin’, yeah … He cut a nifty 360 pirouette, paused on the upbeat, and then continued on.

  * * *

  Love among the crab Rangoons … Erin was so smitten.

  She, Abby, and Holtzmann sat on one side of the rectangular table in the center of the restaurant with Abby. Kevin, who was there to be interviewed for their receptionist position, had the other side of the booth all to himself. Abby had a notebook open in front of her. Even in the restaurant’s dim “mood” lighting, which was in part due to burned-out bulbs, Erin could see the vast numbers of question marks written on the page. The earth was still moving under her feet, but Abby seemed all business, oblivious to Kevin’s charms.

  But there was one question Erin wanted to ask first. She smiled into those dreamy eyes and said, “So, Kevin, are you seeing anyone?”

  He smiled. “Yeah. I’m seeing all of you sitting right there.” Oh god, that Australian accent. It was so sexy.

  “No, um, anyone … special,” Holtzmann said in her occasionally madly dangerous-sounding drawl.

  “You’re all special.” He smiled. He was so not getting this.

  “Like … are you in a thing? A relationship?”

  “Erin?” Abby queried, looking bewildered.

  “Okay, sorry.” Erin flashed Holtzmann a look. They were on the same wavelength. This hunky man would be incredibly distracting and they had serious work to do.

  “First off, congratulations.” Abby said, beaming at their prospective employee. “Your walking through this door already tells me that you have a daring and curious mind.”

  Kevin’s brow furrowed; he looked momentarily bewildered by both the compliment and the conclusion. Recovering, he smiled and said pleasantly, “Sure.”

  “Everyone has an unyielding passion to answer the unanswered questions. A lifelong dedication. Well, most of us.” She nodded at Erin. “She’s in and out. But for the most part, everyone here is fiercely dedicated—”

  “Okay, he doesn’t need our history,” Erin said, not loving the fact that Abby was dissing her in front of him.

  “Well,” Abby said, affronted.

  “So you must be curious about what we do,” Erin said, abruptly changing the subject.

  “Definitely.” He gave her an earnest look. “Do you work Wednesdays?”

  That took Erin by surprise, but she managed a reply. “Uh, yes. Yes, we work Wednesdays.”

  The frown that passed over his face wrinkled the bridge of his very handsome nose. “Shoot. That’s tough for me.”

  Holtzmann chimed in. “What’s your background, Kevin? What were you doing before this?”

  That seemed to stump him, like she had asked for the solution to a complex problem in calculus. As if doing the math in his head, he was quiet for a long moment and then he said, “This and that.”

  Abby nodded and wrote that down. As she did so she murmured, “‘This and that’? Great. Multitasker.”

  Ooh, she likes him, too, Erin thought. How will we get any work done if we’re all swooning over Heavenly Kevin? Maybe we won’t care.

  “This comes with room and board, right?” Kevin asked, his Australian accent so sexy in the lilt given to the last word. “I need a place to crash. With my hat.”

  What? No, Erin thought. We’re not paying for that.

  “Yes it does,” Abby assured him. She paused. “Your hat?”

  “Mike Cat,” he corrected.

  “Oh, you have a cat named Mike.”

  “Actually, it’s a dog named Michael Cat.”

  Abby wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry, but you can’t bring a dog in here.”

  “Hmm, okay. I can’t get here before ten,” Kevin informed them in a matter-of-fact tone. “And I’ll need some flexibility. I’ll have auditions here and there. Improv rehearsal. And saxophone lessons.”

  “Oh, you play?” Erin asked. Saxophone meant great breath control, which translated into stamina. And of course, strong lips.

  “My uncle does. I just watch.”

  But he must do other stuff, Erin thought. It looked like his six-pack had a six-pack. And his arms, they looked like—

  Abby tapped her finger on her notebook to reclaim control of the interview. “Well, let’s get to it. Big question. Do you believe in ghosts?”

  Erin laughed, Holtzmann laughed, and Abby laughed, too: of course he must.

  Kevin gave his head a shake. “Um, not really,” he admitted.

  Abby’s eyes widened. “Oh? Oh.” She quickly flipped through the rest of the pages of her notebook; when she got to the last one she slowly closed it. “All these follow-up questions were based on a yes…”

  The implication was clear: the interview was over. Kevin would have to crash elsewhere.

  But he was bright enough to realize how badly he’d blown it. Clearing his throat, he said, “Well … you mean like Casper?”

  Abby leapt on his feeble attempt to salvage the interview. “Yes! Like Casper.” She beamed triumphantly. “Okay, he gets it.”

  Erin remained skeptical. “Does he, though?”

  Abby ignored her. “Kevin also dabbles in Web design, so I asked him to try a couple of logos out for us. Show us what you’ve got, Kevin.”

  Erin’s heart fluttered a little. Not only gorgeous, but he was an artist, too. That explained so much—his apparent distraction, his discomfort with a conventional interview process, his odd responses to Abby’s questions. They were lucky that he had applied. Why someone like him would even consider such a lowly job raised a flock of other questions … But back to the logo. Of course they would need one for their company. Something professional would help them advertise their business online. And that way they could show up at their clients’ locations instead of having them enter this den of crawling bacteria.

  Kevin eagerly opened his laptop. The three leaned in. The image was of a ridiculous cartoon ghostette with enormous boobs. Erin wasn’t the only one whose smile drooped.

  But Abby was not going down without a fight. “Well, look at all that effort,” she said. Her cheeks were flaming red. “Sometimes it’s not about the end product but the journey.”

  Erin was not about to sugarcoat something so important to their company’s public image. “Kevin, you do see how that makes us look bad, right?”

  When he cocked his head and appeared to consider that question, Erin dared to hope. Then he said, “If your problem is with the boobs, I can totally make them bigger. Here’s another option.”

  The next sketch was of a man staring down at a gravestone, his upwelling of grief at that instant evident in both facial expression and body language. It was actually pretty good.<
br />
  “You know, that’s not half bad,” Holtzmann said. “It does make me real sad, though.”

  “Yeah, that’s a bummer,” Abby concurred.

  “Don’t be sad,” Kevin countered. “The grave belongs to a murderer.”

  Yikes. So not where I was going in my head, Erin thought. Or where we should be going.

  They all looked at him. Kevin shrugged, and with a tap on his keyboard opened door number 3: a picture of a bunless hot dog floating over a house.

  Now Erin was massively confused. “Is that supposed to be for us?” she asked.

  Kevin gestured to Abby. “She said on the phone ‘a ghost or miscellaneous.’”

  Abby was quick to cover for him. “Oh no, actually I said ‘a ghost but nothing extraneous.’ Okay, so just a misunderstanding.”

  Abby, you can’t be serious. Erin felt sorry for her. The desperation behind her maneuvering was painful to witness.

  Holtzmann looked bemused. “I still have so many questions about this choice.” She pointed at the hot dog.

  Enough, Erin decided. She smiled sweetly at the job candidate. “Um, Kevin, could you excuse us for a moment?”

  He nodded, slid out of the booth, and walked a short distance away. He seemed fascinated by a large brownish stain on the wall, something that was revealed by the peeling wallpaper. Holtzmann thought it looked like Switzerland, but she kind of had CERN on the brain.

  Erin murmured to the others, “As much as I like to look at him—”

  “What?” Abby said, aghast.

  “You don’t find him attractive?” Erin asked.

  Abby gave her “the look,” which brought back a flood of memories. “Kevin?” she said. “Ugh.”

  Erin tried another tack. “We can’t do this. We are scientists. We are trying to do something real.”

  “He’s the only applicant,” Abby declared.

  Erin’s brows shot up. “Really?”

  Abby became deadly serious. “Erin, he chose us. That means something. And we of all people should know better than to judge others. We don’t know what’s in there. I see a natural curiosity in him.”

  I’m surprised you can see anything, Erin thought. My best guess is there’s a perfect vacuum in there.

  They turned to look at him. “He’s trying to get through the glass,” Erin said.

  Indeed, his focus had shifted from the wall stain. Now he was bumping his head against the aquarium, a place where doomed crustaceans had twitched antennae and scuttled to and fro. There were still some fish. Kevin was trying to get at the broken phone that had been dropped inside. Perplexed, he said, “How am I supposed to answer the phone in there?”

  Case made, Erin thought triumphantly.

  “Look, Erin, everyone has something to offer,” Abby reiterated. “This is not a place of judgment. You walk into this laboratory/Chinese restaurant and you will be welcome. I’m telling you, there’s something in there.”

  Kevin hit the dust-coated Chinese gong.

  Abby’s cheeks colored again but she kept going. “I am never wrong about a person.”

  Holtzmann half raised her hand. “What about the Nigerian prince—”

  “We might still hear from him!” Abby insisted. She looked over at the applicant. “Kevin? You got the job!”

  Erin gave him a thumbs-up instead and forced a smile.

  “Welcome aboard!” she said cheerily.

  “Cool.” He seemed far less excited at the prospect than she was upset. “Can I bring my suitcases up?”

  “Yes, you may,” Abby declared grandly.

  Kevin headed out the door. As Abby watched him go, she did a double-take. Erin stepped forward to see what had startled her. A very tall dark-skinned woman in a uniform was sitting on a chair outside the door at the top of the stairwell. She was calmly reading a magazine.

  “Ma’am,” Abby said, “if you’re picking up takeout, wait downstairs.”

  The woman looked surprised. “Oh, I saw this magazine and thought this was your waiting room.”

  She put the magazine back on the floor and walked through the doorway. After giving the room a cursory once-over, she said, “You know this building is built in the same spot as the first Chinese gambling den in New York?”

  Erin and the others stared at her as if to say, “The point being?”

  “Also,” she went on, “I was just chased by a ghost.”

  11

  The tall woman’s name was Patty Tolan, and she worked in an MTA ticket booth. In an even voice Patty told them about the weird guy who had stopped by her window to tell her that the Fourth Cataclysm was coming, and then about the graffiti artist she chased off, the sparks in the tunnel, the device that exploded, and then she finally got around to the ghost. The latter sent Abby and Holtzmann into a frenzy of activity. While Erin and Patty stood idly by, they ran around the dining room gathering equipment and other gear seemingly at random, and squabbling over which piece of junk was most appropriate under the circumstances.

  When they had what they needed they all hurried out of their “office”—Erin had to use that term lightly or lose heart; it was just temporary, she told herself. They had pluck on their side, and “pluck” was “luck” that had peed on itself, or so her uncle used to say. Which, now that she thought about it, made absolutely no sense. Anyway, as they went down the stairs out of the Chinese restaurant onto the street, she realized what a pleasure it had been to listen to Patty talk; she was a voracious reader, thoughtful and well spoken, and that made Erin think fondly on the good old days at Columbia where she was surrounded by articulate, bright, nonchaotic people.

  Not that Holtzmann and Abby weren’t intellectually curious. It was the expression of that curiosity and their lack of traditional boundaries that left something to be desired. As they accompanied Patty to the scene of the incident, Erin found herself walking beside a collection of gear that looked like it had been ripped straight out of a low-budget science-fiction movie. Holtzmann was wheeling a large metal cart piled with equipment as well as their silver duffel bag with its HIGH VOLTAGE shoulder strap, modded with an array of decals patches: a cute skull and crossbones; a biohazard warning; an embroidered toxic waste circle. There were various probes and remote sensors that looked like electronic harpoons and prods meant to herd Paul Bunyan’s ox.

  As they clattered along, New Yorkers, being New Yorkers, pretty much ignored them, but a couple of young women in ripped jeans and stylish padded jackets—one black, one charcoal gray—trailed right on their heels, murmuring to each other and giggling.

  Erin hung back a little, allowing the girls to catch up to her. Ahead, Holtzmann and Abby were peppering Patty with questions, and although Erin knew she probably should be listening, she recognized what could be a teachable moment for her and a learning moment for the two young women. They were smacking gum and wore tons of heavy sparkly eye makeup and enormous matching earrings that spelled out Fuck You in rhinestones, but still …

  “That is extremely precise, very cutting-edge scientific equipment,” Erin informed them, gesturing at Holtzmann’s cart. “We are all high-level researchers. Breaking new ground. Big ideas.”

  The girls pulled in their chins and raised their brows. The shorter one’s mouth twitched. Erin could read their expressions: they were skeptics. Doubting that a team of women scientists could be so empowered.

  “Girls can be scientists, too, you know,” she insisted. “Do you know what STEM is? Science, technology, engineering, and mathematics. Women are underrepresented in these fields in part because they lack sufficient numbers of role models. I’m from Columbia and we have a program to encourage…” She felt a little sick to her stomach as she heard herself talk. She was not at Columbia. Not anymore. There was no “we” there.

  “It’s cool,” the taller girl said. “Whatevah.” She had a thick Jersey accent. She slid a glance at her friend. “Actually, we was just wonderin’ if you lost a bet or something.”

  Erin blinked, caught off
guard. “Lost a bet?”

  “Yeah, and that’s why you’re dressed like that,” the short one said, and they both cracked up.

  Why is everyone always dissing my clothes? Erin plucked at the sleeve of her blazer. “See, that’s the problem,” she said. “We women focus so much on appearance when really—”

  “Well, you sure don’t,” the tall one cut in, and the short one said, “Woo!” in approval. The tall one head-bobbed in recognition of the compliment.

  “Well, at least I’m not dressed like a hooker,” Erin snapped.

  The two young women stopped laughing. They glared at Erin, faces hard, eyes narrowing.

  “What did you say?” the taller one bit off.

  Erin’s synapses began firing. Her brain was giving her mixed messages: flee, fight, mouth off some more, shut the hell up. She started to reply, but before she could get a word out, Abby broke into the conversation.

  “Sorry, ladies,” she said to the girls, “what we are doing is highly classified and we must ask you to move away.”

  “This is our street, bitch,” the short one informed her.

  The tall one slipped her hand into her jacket pocket. Oh god, she’s going to pull out a switchblade or even a gun. Adrenaline zipped through Erin’s body as she looked for someplace to run.

  But instead of a knife or a gun, the girl pulled out a top-of-the-line smartphone and checked the screen. “Our Uber is almost here,” she announced to her friend.

  “Good. ’Cause I am not letting Anderson exercise my proxy at that meeting,” the short one said. She rolled her Cleopatra eyes. “Selling short. What a dirtbag.”

  Abby took Erin’s arm and urged her backward. Erin came along willingly. “Hey, are you guys investors?” Abby said as they retreated. “Because you can get in on the ground floor of something enormous here.” She bobbed her head, oh yeah. “We are changing all the rules. What you see isn’t what you get.” She nodded at Erin and Holtzmann. Holtzmann nodded back, her curls of blond hair bouncing like springs.

  “Abby, no,” Erin hissed. “We can’t involve strangers. We don’t even know what we know yet.”

  “Oh yes, we do. We do know what we know,” Abby insisted. “We know that ghosts are re—”