“It keeps us in business,” the young detective said with a nod. “So unless they have another gig that sets fire to your boney ass, maybe we can shop around.”
“Yeah…” His partner took another drag and stared him in the eye. “I know I was probably somewhat irate during all this. But thanks, kid. You did me a solid letting me finish that rotter off.”
“No worries, Vic,” the young man replied, finished his cigarette, and stamped it out on half of a broken ashtray. “It wasn’t like there was anything more interesting. I still have to get through what I owe you.”
“Heh. It’s less than you think.” He rapped the bar with his skeletal knuckles and put his hands in his pockets as he continued to take drags of his cigarette. “All right, are we heading to the clerks?”
“Tomorrow,” Johnny said as he slid off the stool. “All that diving around got my chest bruised and this ringing in my ears won’t stop.”
“You might wanna get used to that,” the ghost advised as he floated next to him. “I’ve already told you that it will be a thing.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled. “Either way, I want a nap before we head to the clerks.”
They walked out into the darkened night still illuminated by The Wicked Easy sign. The young man opened the driver’s door, sat, and drew a deep breath before he rolled his neck and turned the car on. A heavy roar came from the engine. “Speaking of loud…”
“It always fires me up!” Vic declared as he appeared in the passenger seat. “Much better than those mewling electric shavers you have nowadays.”
Johnny adjusted his mirror and could barely make out red-and-blue lights in the distance. “It isn’t great for sneaking away.”
“That doesn’t mean it isn’t great for getaways.” The shade reached his arm through the glass window and dropped his finished cigarette. “Floor it.”
He complied and they roared out of the parking lot and into the dark night. Behind them, the police finally reached the now still and silent bar. They would doubtless see only the shattered remains and perhaps a couple of people who had begun to regain consciousness in the cellar, all of them looking like they had lost their bonuses.
Chapter Four
The next morning, the two partners entered a swamp near the city of Breaux Bridge, Louisiana. Johnny trekked through the muddy terrain and grimaced when he noticed the bottom of his long jacket getting soggy.
“Why do these places always seem to be in the sticks?” he muttered as he stepped cautiously around a patch of mushy grass. “Can’t we ever cross to a place that’s located in a hotel or something convenient?”
“Don’t you remember our third case?” Vic asked and floated casually at his side. “That took place in a hotel.”
“Oh, right.” He recalled the spectral blood bath that had turned into. “Those geists haunting the thirteenth floor. You’d think breathers would have learned to adhere to superstition sometime in the last couple of hundred years.”
“No kidding.” The ghost chuckled, took their shared pack of cigarettes out, and lit one. “Although these places aren’t exactly controlled by us either. They simply pop up when they feel like it.” He retrieved a compass attached to a chain on one of his belt loops, clicked it open, and looked at the arrow. “We only have about another forty minutes. That’s enough time but let’s not dawdle at the clerk’s. We might end up teleported to another city.”
“How much farther then?” Johnny asked as he took another step and his boot sank into a pit of mud. “Dammit.”
Vic chuckled, closed the compass, and pointed at two trees. “Over there. Do you have the door?”
“I’ll simply use my jacket,” he stated, pulled his leg out of the muck, and shook it. “That works, yeah?”
His partner nodded. “But make sure to swap it quickly. All that matters is that we cross correctly.” As they approached trees, he nodded to the young man and handed him his cigarette before he drifted closer to layer himself over his body and disappear.
Johnny removed his eye patch as a chill ran through his body like his blood had been replaced by ice. He removed his jacket quickly when he saw an orb of white light and smaller wisps surrounding it between the trees. With the jacket raised in front of him, he held it taut as he took a long drag of the cigarette, spat it out with the smoke, and stepped forward. He flipped the jacket hastily behind him as he closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he was no longer in the swamp but stood in front of a large wooden building and watched in silence as a few ghosts dressed in both modern and older southern-style garb walked in.
Vic popped out of his body and now stood normally on the ground. “Let’s see if Angie is in. She won’t talk our ear off.”
The young man rubbed his arms against the feeling of cold now outside his body before he donned his jacket again. He looked at a dark sky with white lines streaked through, similar to the northern lights of the living world. A line of buildings stretched from the clerk’s office, older in style from the 1920s to maybe the early ’50s until more modern buildings began to appear farther up the road.
He checked his smartphone. It wouldn’t turn on, which was typical of live electronics coming into the ghost realm. The street wasn’t too busy at the moment, although he noticed a handful of ghosts gawking at him. Real flesh was rather exotic there after all.
Ignoring them, he popped the collar of his jacket and walked toward the building. Big Papa’s Gigs and Deals was one of the more shady businesses they got their work from, but they were consistent and paid well, at least.
Johnny opened the door and a small bell rang as he entered. The security guard—a darkened skeleton with a long beard and white, glowing eyes—seated a few feet away looked up from his newspaper. He nodded to them and pointed down the hall, where another ghost with long, coiled red hair and blue bones wearing a pin-striped dress was talking on a rotary phone.
“I appreciate it, Saul,” Vic said with a nod as they wandered to the clerk.
“We ain’t paying for information,” she stated to the person on the other end in an irate New Jersey accent. “We’re paying for the job getting done. So get it done or stop bothering me.”
She slammed the phone down and tapped her temples in annoyance for a moment before she opened a small black purse, removed a small bottle, and poured the contents into the mug on her desk emblazoned with Dead and loving it.
“Hey there, Angie,” the shade greeted her as Johnny sat in one of the two seats in front of her desk. “Are you having a rough day?”
“And it is only getting started,” she muttered and sipped from the mug. “I wondered when you two would get back. Do you have good news for me?”
Vic sat next to his partner, nudged him with his elbow, and nodded. The living man retrieved the watch he had taken from Ciro’s office and placed it on the table. Angie took it and studied the clock face. “This is that old bastard’s memento, no doubt about it.” She tapped the device. “It isn’t running anymore either. Is he gone?”
“Dusted,” Vic said contentedly. “His buddies should have been sent here some hours ago.”
“Yeah, I heard we had a load of missing spirits forced back into Limbo at gate Forty-four. All former mafia goons.” She took a box out and placed the watch inside it. “I assumed you’d come by after they appeared. I’m surprised it took you so long.”
“The kid needed to get some sleep.” The ghost snickered and nudged Johnny again, who merely sighed and rolled his eyes.
“The disadvantages of being alive,” he said and leaned back in the chair. “Ah, well. At least I can taste real food and I still have my jewels.”
This time, Vic rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You gotta hit below the belt like that?”
He shrugged and looked at Angie. “So are we good?”
She nodded, motioned a guard forward as she jotted something on a piece of paper, handed it to him, and shooed him off. “Everything looks in order. Thanks for taking it on such short
notice.”
“No problem,” the shade assured her and rested an arm on the back of his chair. “I wanted to finish it anyway.”
“It’s more convenient sending us rather than having to clear all the paperwork to send a ghost troop in, huh?” Johnny commented.
“No kidding. The amount of stygia needed to make that happen would be a pain. And our living associates are a little reluctant to give us bodies to possess.”
Vic laughed. “I wonder why after that blunder in Chicago.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Angie grimaced as she looked at the monitor of her Data-Dasher. “Do you need another job while you’re here or do you simply wanna keep razzing me?”
“Can’t we do both?” the ghost asked.
Johnny slid his hand into his jacket pocket and felt the envelope he had forgotten to take out the night before. “Angie, is anything going on in New Orleans right now?”
She turned slightly away from her monitor and gave him a look that asked, “Did you seriously ask that?”
“There’s always something going on in New Orleans,” she stated flatly. “Most of those gigs go through other companies, though, like Heartman and Bloodgood. The Abaddon Company also gets their share, but that’s different fare from what you are used to.” She turned the screen to show them at least a couple of dozen offers. “We get the smaller gigs. They don’t pay great but many turn out to be bunk anyway so could be easy.”
“Can you cross-reference with the other companies or is there a database for that?” he asked. “I’m looking for something on a larger scale—maybe a gathering or cult or something like that.”
Angie made a noise somewhere between a huff and a snicker. “Are you looking to go full-on bounty hunter? I wondered when you would drop the detective schtick.”
“Can you or not?” he demanded.
She shrugged and turned the monitor again, typed quickly, and scanned the results. “Nothing like you’re asking for. I have some possible possessions, a hell of a lot of hauntings, and a handful of murders but no cults. They are more a Maryland and California thing.” She smiled wickedly at him. “Texas too.”
“Uh-huh.” Johnny deadpanned and scratched his head. “So if one were to say…stumble upon such a thing, there would be a finder’s fee connected to it, right?”
“Sure,” she agreed uneasily. “But you would need definitive proof. A finder’s fee is a big payout so something like words on the wind or a letter won’t cut it.”
He frowned and took his hand out of his pocket as the guard returned with a sack that he dropped on her desk.
“Ah, our hard-earned reward,” Vic said with glee as he reached for it, only for Angie to whack his hand with her pen to stop him. “Hey!”
“The kid has gotta hold it, remember?” she chastised and handed it to Johnny. “Otherwise, it doesn’t turn to cash on the other side.”
The young man took a handful of silver coins and passed it to his partner. “Here’s your cut.”
“This pittance?” he asked sourly as he fumbled in the back of his jacket for a small sack and added the coins to the contents. “Ah, well. I have enough to have myself a good time for a few days at least.”
“You certainly drink expensive liquor for someone who says I have ‘froo-froo’ tastes,” Johnny chided.
“The liquor is one thing. It’s the women who rob me,” Vic admitted and craned his neck. “Sometimes literally.”
“It’s nice to know our earnings are going to a good cause,” the young man muttered as he pushed from his chair. “Thanks, Angie.”
“No problem. See you again soon.” The phone rang again and she picked it up and yelled, “What?”
As the two partners left and began their return to the glowing orb, the ghost detective looked around. “So are you taking some time off?” he asked and jangled his sack of silver. “If so, I’ll stay here for a while.”
“I might but I have a proposition,” Johnny responded as he removed his jacket. “I need some lunch first, though.”
“What? Can’t you spit it out while we’re here?” Vic asked, slightly annoyed.
“It’ll take a while and I’m hungry. If you aren’t interested when I tell you about it, we can find another crossing point for you.” He smiled and his unnatural eye sparkled. “There could be a lot of money in it.”
His partner frowned for a moment before he shook his head and smirked. “You sweet-talking bastard. All right, I’m in for now—wait, do I have to wear the suit?”
The young man nodded as he held his jacket out. “I don’t want to look like a lunatic talking to nothing.”
Vic clenched his jaw as he began to fade into Johnny. “Which means I get to look like a moron. Let’s get out of here already before I change my mind.”
Chapter Five
“And what will your…friend have?” the waitress asked as she looked at the gentleman across from Johnny decked out in a large black coat and a winter cap with a scarf over his mouth and shades on his face.
“He’ll be fine with the coffee,” he stated and handed her their menus. “Sorry, he’s not too chatty—sore throat.”
“Uh-huh.” She took the menus and checked her notes quickly. “Right…one lunch special with a Coke and one coffee. I’ll be back soon.” She hurried away to the kitchen to hand in the order, no doubt gossiping to her coworkers about the odd man in the layers of clothes on the way. Still, given the area, maybe it wasn’t the oddest thing they’d ever seen.
“I hate this, Johnny,” Vic mumbled and adjusted the jacket. In reality, he wasn’t wearing the clothing so much as possessing the mannequin below them. This was the third one they had gone through and they used one whenever he needed a physical presence. Sometimes, they used it for plans in which one needed to be a distraction for the other. At other times, it was simply to chat in a public place so Johnny didn’t look like he was talking to himself and draw unwanted attention.
Despite the mannequin being his idea, the shade grew to despise it. He said it always felt off and just because he was in control didn’t mean it was any more maneuverable than it normally was. Seeing him waddle around in it always amused the young detective, however. “Shut up and enjoy your coffee,” he said with a smirk as he drank some of his cola.
“You know I can’t drink anything in this plastic prison.” Vic grunted and slid the scarf up. “Hurry up and give me your spiel so I can take my mind off this.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t thought of it yourself yet.” Johnny took the envelope out again and placed it on the table. “I think we go to New Orleans and poke around to see if we can’t find anything related to this note.”
“You got me into this get-up to suggest what could merely be a wild goose chase?” his partner demanded in genuine irritation.
The young man whistled. “You seemed more interested in the note last night.”
“Yeah, well, I was in a better mood.” The ghost sighed and used a bulky hand to pick the envelope up and shake the contents out. He picked the letter up and read it slowly. “It makes sense why you were asking about the finder’s fee back there, though. To give you some credit, even if we find out that this ‘cult’ has only four members, one of which is a small dog, it would still be good enough to earn us a heap of pay as long as they were plotting something.”
“That’s my thought.” Johnny opened the bag from Angie and looked inside. “We got about six grand all in all for the last job. It’s not bad but that was almost two weeks of work, and given the money lost in that time, we made about three and a half thousand. A small finder’s fee is still usually in the lower five digits so if we stumble onto something good, we are looking at a nice payday. Maybe enough for you to have a whole week to yourself in Limbo.”
Vic placed the note on the table and tapped it a few times as he thought. “We wouldn’t even have to solve the crime, only report it. But if we do both we could probably take a nice long vacation.”
“I like where your thinking is going.
” The young man chuckled.
“That’s if anything turns up,” his partner reminded him cautiously. “If we do this, we can’t dawdle too long. That’ll cost us potential cases that would bring in definite money. We have our usuals at Big Papa’s and The Exorcist, but we don’t have our foot in the door at the big organizations yet.”
“That’s the price of working for yourself, isn’t it?” Johnny stated and sipped his drink. “That’s something you’ve hammered into my head often enough.”
“Too true,” Vic admitted and folded his arms. “Still, until you’re ready to start your own agency, this is the circuit for now.”
Johnny decided to add to the offer now that his companion seemed somewhat interested in the idea. “Along with the vacation, maybe we’ll have enough time left to look into more personal jobs.”
The ghost went silent and tilted his head when the words struck home. “We have become cold with that, haven’t we?” He began to tap both hands on the table. His partner had learned over the years that this was a habit when he was nervous or lost in thought as if he wanted to make sure something filled the silence.
“Life and death have gotten in the way,” the young man remarked as the waitress returned and put a plate containing a meaty sandwich with fries and ketchup on the table. He thanked her as she took his glass to refill it and he began to dig in. “We don’t know if that thing is still in Limbo. It had to be getting all those souls for something.”
“Yeah…had to have been,” Vic muttered, his head bowed as he went through his memories and the start of their memories. “I give us three days starting from now. If we can’t find nothing, we grab the next gig we can, understood?”
“Agreed,” Johnny said with a nod. “I’m thinking of getting some pie. Do you want anything?” His companion's response—which only he could see—was that his eyes flared beneath the darkness of his shades. “I’ll get it to go.”
Johnny set his box of apple pie on the roof of their black 1985 Z28 Camaro IROC before he popped open the trunk and placed a hand on the mannequin’s chest. “Go ahead.”
Back From Hell (Revenant Files Book 1) Page 3