Ghostbusters II

by Ed Naha

  He noticed that he was still holding his gavel in his right hand. He pounded the floor judicially.

  "Satisfied?"

  "I guess so," Louis offered.

  "Now," the judge said, fuming. "Do something!"

  With that the three Ghostbusters leapt over the rail of the jury box and dashed across the room to the exhibit table. Their proton packs were lying there, tossed aside as useless evidence.

  The three Ghostbusters strapped on their packs hastily, glancing above their heads for any signs of the Scoleri brothers.

  Venkman felt like the Hunchback of Notre Dame as he affixed the pack to his back. "Geez, I forgot how heavy these things are."

  Stantz cradled his particle thrower in his hand. "Okay"—he grinned at his long-lost high-tech friends— "let's heat 'em up."

  The three Ghostbusters flipped on their proton-pack power switches in unison, then raised their parti­cle throwers toward the ceiling.

  "All right, throwers," Stantz barked, authority surg­ ing through his body. "Set for full neutronas on stream."

  Stantz, Spengler, and Venkman switched on their throwers and raised them upward.

  The throwers remained on standby. There was no sign of anything paranormal in the room. All seemed quiet. All seemed normal.

  Suddenly, from the back of the courtroom came a ruckus. Chairs began to fly up into the air and then drop harmlessly to the floor. It seemed as if something were burrowing deep down underneath them, toward the front of the courtroom. Toward the Ghostbusters.

  Stantz, Spengler, and Venkman stared at the court­ room before them.

  There was nothing to be seen. Stantz smiled thinly. Ghosts were goofy, perhaps, but pretty crafty. He stared at the empty ceiling above

  him.

  "On my signal, gentlemen." He grinned.

  He felt the Scoleri brothers nearby.

  He was right.

  A bolt of electrical energy shot across the ceiling above them and from out of the yellow mist appeared the gaunt and obese floating forms of the executed

  killers.

  "Open 'em up!" Stantz yelled. "Now!"

  The three Ghostbusters shut their eyes as their

  wands emitted squiggling, undulating, powerful streams

  of energy.

  Not having used the weapons in four years, Speng­ ler, Stantz, and Venkman fired wildly, allowing the harpy- like Scoleri ghosts to dodge the fluttering beams easily. The ghosts emitted a ghastly cackle and then promptly dematerialized.

  The Ghostbusters were too shaken to notice. They continued to fill the air with orange-hot rays. Venkman took out an overhead lamp. Spengler blew up the court-

  room railing. Stantz managed to obliterate half of one of the courtroom's towering pillars.

  The three Ghostbusters opened their eyes as one. "That ought to do it," Venkman said with a smirk. "Spengs, take the door. Ray, let's try to work them down and into a corner."

  Working as a team, they fanned the area.

  Spengler carefully backed up toward the exit doors.

  Venkman cautiously circled the exhibit table, his weapon trained toward the ceiling.

  Stantz walked to and fro before the jury box. The judge and Louis stayed well down behind the protective gate.

  A howl shook the air.

  The emaciated Scoleri ghost materialized from be­ hind Stantz and lunged downward.

  "Get down, Ray!" Venkman shouted as the ghost swooped down on his buddy.

  Stantz leapt onto the ground and rolled out of the line of fire as Venkman let go with an undulating stream of rays that effectively trapped the screaming apparition within its force field.

  "That's it, Venky!" Spengler yelled from the rear of the room. "Watch your streams. Hold him there."

  Spengler moved toward the exhibit table, where two rectangular ghost trappers were set up, connected to five-foot-long cables attached to foot releases.

  Spengler carefully moved the traps to the center of the courtroom.

  "Easy, Venky," he cautioned.

  "I got him." Venkman nodded nervously.

  "Just keep the beam on him and ease him over there. Pull him down this way. That's it. That's it."

  A shriek cut through the air. Spengler spun around and saw the ghost of the fat Scoleri bearing down upon

  him, fast. He couldn't reach his weapon in time to save

  himself.

  Stantz leapt to his feet and opened fire. The fat ghost chortled with glee as he easily dodged the blast.

  He headed down for Spengler once again.

  Stantz gritted his teeth and let go with a second stream. This time the spiraling rays smashed into the fat ghost, effectively trapping him in a pulsating, levitating

  cage.

  Spengler made sure there were two rectangular traps placed on the floor in front of what had once been the judge's bench.

  He pulled the foot springs back some five feet.

  Stantz and Venkman held the screaming ghosts trapped in their steady stream of rays.

  "Okay," Spengler said, coaching them. "You're do­ ing fine. Watch your streams. Easy, now. Venky, bring him left. Stantz, pull them down."

  The two Ghostbusters nodded and slowly maneu­ vered their captive, screeching spirits down toward the

  rectangular traps.

  Spengler watched their progress, sweating. "Okay.

  Trapping ... trapping ... now!"

  Spengler stomped down hard on two foot-control pedals at the end of the pair of cables. The rectangular traps' top doors opened and a bright light streamed up

  from within.

  Stantz and Venkman guided the two ghosts into the

  white-hot light.

  "Cease fire!" Spengler yelped. "Now!"

  An exhausted Stantz and Venkman lowered their

  weapons.

  The two traps surged into full-tilt power, emitting an inverted triangle of ethereal light up toward the

  floating spirits. Gradually the ghosts dissippated, and then suddenly zipped into the two traps.

  The traps snapped shut and an LED light on the outside of each trap flashed brilliantly.

  Venkman staggered up to his trap. He smiled at Spengler. "Ocupado."

  The three Ghostbusters faced each other, ex­ hausted. They exchanged smiles. They hadn't felt this good in years.

  The judge slowly stuck his head up from behind the jury box. Louis peeked up as well. The judge looked around in total shock.

  Louis and the exhausted Ghostbusters walked to the back of the courtroom and flung open the door.

  Outside, dozens of reporters and spectators waited to greet them with a rousing cheer.

  Spengler glanced to his left. The prosecutor was hiding beneath a plastic chair, shivering her well-edu­ cated butt off. "Brilliant summation." He smiled.

  Flashbulbs went off in the three men's faces.

  Reporters surged forward.

  Venkman faced his two comrades and uttered, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Case closed, boys. We're back in business."

  The halls of the courthouse echoed with the cheers and applause of a devoted crowd.

  "True heroes are those who

  die for causes they cannot

  quite take seriously."

  — MURRAY KEMPTON

  "This is going to cost you,

  you know. Our fees are

  ridiculously high."

  — DR. PETER VENKMAN

  13

  The refurbished firehouse that once housed the original Ghostbusters business was under siege by a small army of workmen. The old "No Ghosts" logo, now dilapidated by years of disuse, came crashing to the ground with a resounding

  thud.

  The workmen fought back sneezes as a cloud of dust wafted into the air.

  A group of men struggled with a pulley as a new logo was hoisted into place over the main entrance of the building. It looked exactly like the old logo, but now the trapped ghost in the red circle held up two fingers.

&nb
sp; Venkman strolled up to the firehouse and gazed at the Ghostbusters' shiny new symbol. Nice, he thought. Very, very nice.

  Inside the firehouse's reception area, Janine Mel­nitz, a veteran New Yorker and the Ghostbusters' first (and only) receptionist/aide, hastily set up her desk. She spread out family photos. A Garfield doll. Bound editions of Cosmopolitan. She hardly noticed Louis as he wad-

  dled out with a handful of forms. Louis certainly noticed Janine. Why was it he had never seen how pretty she was? Oh, yeah, now he remembered. The last time he had been in the firehouse, he had been possessed by a

  demon.

  Louis tiptoed up to Janine's desk, clearing his throat. He sounded like Shirley Temple with a hairball. "Uh, Janine? I'm filling out W-2 forms for the payroll and I need your Social Security number."

  Janine carefully positioned her Garfield doll. "It's

  129-45-8986."

  Louis produced a small pad from his shirt pocket and jotted down the number. "Oh," he said, wheezing. "That's a good one. Mine is 322-36-7366."

  Janine gazed up at Louis. You know, she thought, Louis was kind of cute in a Wild Kingdom sort of way. "Wow!" she exclaimed. "Three threes and three sixes." "Uh-huh," Louis acknowledged. "That's very strong in numerology," she continued, running a hand through her mousy brown hair. "It means you're a person with a great appetite for life arid a deeply passionate nature."

  Louis blinked, embarrassed. He almost fogged his glasses. "You can tell all that from my Social Security

  number?"

  The sparrowlike Janine leaned forward and smiled. "Oh, yes. Numbers are very revealing. If I knew your phone number, I could tell you a lot more."

  Louis swallowed hard. "My phone number?"

  Venkman chose that moment to march into the room. Both Louis and Janine snapped to immediately.

  "Louis, how are we doing on that bank loan?"

  Venkman asked.

  Louis cleared his throat. "Oh, I called the bank this morning ... but they hung up on me."

  "Try another bank." Venkman shrugged. "Do I have to do everything around here?"

  Venkman looked up as Stantz, Spengler, and Win­ ston walked sheepishly downstairs wearing the Ghost- busters' uniforms Venkman had commissioned for their new incarnation. The uniforms were designed in a weirded-out, military style in Day-Glo colors, dripping with medals, and topped by ridiculous berets. Venkman took note of the trio's embarrassed faces and tried to bluff his way through it.

  "Incredible!" he oozed. "This is a very good look!"

  Winston heaved a heavy sigh. "We look like the Bronxville High School Marching Band."

  Venkman sidled up to the trio. "Will you just trust me on this? It's all part of the new plan—higher visibil­ ity, lower overhead, deeper market penetration, bigger profits. Just wait until we open the boutique."

  Stantz blinked. "What boutique?"

  Venkman took him by the arm and pointed to the sky outside the firehouse. "The Ghostbusters Gift Bou­ tique," he said enthusiastically. "It's a natural. I've been working on it all day."

  He whipped a small piece of paper from his pants pocket and began reading. "You'll love it. Ghostbuster T-shirts, sweatshirts, caps, visors, beach towels, mugs, calendars, stationery, balloons, stickers, Frisbees, paper­ weights, souvenirs, tote bags, party supplies, motor oil, toys, video games."

  Spengler frowned. "Our primary concern should be the continued integrity of the biosphere. It's a re­sponsibility shared by all conscious beings."

  Venkman stared at Spengler. "Isn't that what I just said?"

  Stantz turned to Venkman. "Look, Venkman, we don't have time for this. We've got customers waiting—

  paying customers. You can wear pink diapers and go-go boots if you want. We're sticking with the old coveralls."

  The three Ghostbusters marched back up the stairs. Venkman trotted up behind them.

  "Coveralls," he shouted. "Great! Very imaginative, Ray. They make us look like we should be walking around the airport sprinkling sawdust on puke!"

  Stantz shouted down from above. "We're wearing them. And that's final!"

  Venkman took this in and shouted up, with a smile, "Okay, we'll wear coveralls—but think boutique!"

  14

  The TV screen flickered to life displaying a very awkward married couple, played by Louis Tully and Janine, in bed, reading.

  Suddenly a "ghost," actually a puppet that seemed to have been created in an out-therapy class in a laugh­ ing academy, bounced above the bed on a badly con­ cealed wire.

  Janine looked up and emitted a terribly acted scream.

  "What is it, honey?" Louis blinked.

  Janine crossed her arms and watched the puppet bounce off the plasterboard walls. "It's that darn ghost again," she said stiffly. "I don't know what to do any­ more. He just won't leave us alone. I guess we'll just have to move."

  Louis offered a wise smile, which resembled the one worn by Alfred E. Newman. "Don't worry, honey. We're not moving. He is."

  Louis reached for the prop telephone.

  "Who are you going to call?" Janine asked.

  Louis winked at the screen. "Ghostbusters." As Louis dialed, Spengler, Stantz, and Venkman marched into their room, clad in their old Ghostbusters jumpsuits. They walked as stiffly as wooden soldiers and weren't any better actors than Louis and Janine. The threesome faced the screen. "I'm Ray." "I'm Peter." "I'm Egon."

  Stantz took a deep breath. "And we're the ..." "Ghostbusters!" the three men announced in uni­ son, while in the background Winston appeared, traips­ ing after the phony ghost with what looked like a massive butterfly net in hand.

  "That's right," Stantz said, sweating into the TV screen. "Ghostbusters! We're back and we're better than ever, with twice the know-how and twice the particle power to deal with all your supernatural elimination

  needs."

  He glanced over his shoulder, where Winston was still trying to catch the "ghost" without messing up the' puppet's wires. "Careful, Winston," Stantz called. "He's

  a mean one."

  Stantz faced the screen again. Sweat trickled down his nose. "And to celebrate our grand reopening, we're giving you twice the value with our special half-price 'Welcome Back' service plan."

  Venkman expressed exaggerated shock. "Hold on, Ray!" he exclaimed theatrically. "Half price! Have you

  gone crazy?"

  "I guess so, Pete," Stantz replied, wearing a Chesh­ ire cat smile. "Because that's not all! Tell them what else we've got, Egon."

  Egon's mind apparently went blank for a moment. Rolling his eyes and frowning, attempting to remember the script, he suddenly recalled his line. "You mean the

  Ghostbusters hot-beverage thermal mugs and free bal­ loons for the kids?"

  Egon held up a mug bearing the Ghostbusters logo and a limp, uninflated balloon. He glanced at the balloon. Darn. He knew he had forgotten something.

  Stantz didn't miss a beat. "You bet, Egon. That's exactly what I mean."

  Stantz walked toward the screen as bold, flashing letters appeared below him. fully bonded—fully li­ censed — SE HABLA ESPANOL.

  "So," Stantz announced, "don't you wait another minute. Make your supernatural problem our supernat­ ural problem. Call now, because we're still..."

  He glanced over his shoulder. All the Ghostbusters faced the screen and pointed to their unseen viewers. "... ready to believe you."

  An unseen hand clicked off the TV as Regis Philbin appeared, chatting up a thirteen-year-old pop starlet plugging a TV film about Wisenheimer's disease ... a sickness that afflicts elderly stand-up comedians.

  Rudy, the Manhattan Museum of Art's chief security guard, watched the TV set go blank before he returned to his treasured edition of The New York Post. On the front page the headline screamed: ghostbusters save judge!

  His reading was interrupted by the presence of a guest. Peter Venkman faced Rudy. "Excuse me. I'm looking for Dana Barrett."

  Rudy glanced at the visitor. "Room 104. The rest
o­ ration studio."

  Rudy's eyes grew wide. "Hey! Dr. Venkman—World of the Psychic. I'm a big, big fan. That used to be one of my two favorite shows."

  Venkman was obviously flattered. "Thanks," he said suavely. "What's the other one?"

  "Bass Masters," Rudy replied. "It's a fishing show.

  Ever see it?"

  Venkman backed away from the security desk. "Yeah, it's really great. Caught it when Meryl Streep was a guest. Take it easy."

  Venkman stalked off down the hall, coming to a halt in front of the studio. He eased the door open and entered the large room.

  At one end of the studio Dana was hard at work, cleaning a valuable Dutch still life. At the other end Janosz still toiled over the terrible painting of Vigo the rotten.

  Dana smiled at Venkman. "Oh, hello, Peter. What

  are you doing here?"

  Venkman shrugged. "I thought you might want to knock off early and let me chase you around the park for a while."

  Dana laughed softly. "Thanks, sounds delightful, but

  I'm working."

  Venkman studied the painting she was working on. "So this is what you do, huh? You're really good. Is that a paint-by-numbers job?"

  "I didn't paint it," Dana said with a laugh. "I'm just cleaning it. It's an original Vermeer. It's worth about ten million dollars."

  Venkman squinted at the painting, holding up his thumb in a classical artist's pose. "What a rip-off! You can go to Art World and get these huge sofa-size paint­ings for about forty-five bucks. And those black-velvet jobs? Can't top them."

  He glanced around the studio, taking in the various pieces of artwork assembled.

  "I'm sure they're lovely." Dana sighed. "So are you here just to look at art?"

  "As a matter of fact," Venkman replied, "I stopped by to talk to you about your case. We think we know

  what was pulling the buggy. We found tons of this ecto glop under the street. It's pretty potent stuff."

  Dana was confused. "But nothing on the street was moving. Why would the buggy move? Why do these things happen to me?"

  Venkman was about to answer when Janosz stuck his head between them. "Dana," he said. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

  Dana blushed slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry. This is Peter Venkman. Peter, Janosz Poha."