Ghostbusters II

by Ed Naha

  Louis stood there, trembling. "Ohmigod!" he shouted. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. It was an accident."

  He flip-flopped across the lab to Janine. The recep­tionist slowly straightened up. "What are you doing up here?" she asked him.

  Louis began to sweat. "I was trying to get that smelly green ghost. The guys asked me to help out. I'm like the fifth Ghostbuster."

  Janine smiled at him sweetly. "Why would you want to be a Ghostbuster if you're already an accountant?"

  Louis thought hard. "Oh, no. It's not like that. It's just if one of the guys calls in sick or gets hurt."

  Louis quickly slipped off the proton pack. The pack slid to the floor, nearly toppling Louis onto his back.

  "So," Janine said, "have you made any plans for New Year's Eve?"

  Louis shrugged. "No. I celebrate at the beginning of

  my corporate tax year, which is March first. That way I beat the crowds."

  Janine was impressed. "That's very practical. I hate going out on New Year's Eve too."

  Louis and Janine exchanged smiles. Suddenly Louis felt awkward. There was a warmth welling up within him. He was either very attracted to Janine, or else he was experiencing the aftershocks of a Thai food lunch Venkman had talked him into.

  "Well," Janine said, turning, "good night, Louis."

  Louis stumbled forward, his mouth getting the best of his brain. "Janine, do you feel like maybe getting something to eat on the way home? Have you ever been to Tad's? It's a pretty good deal. You get a steak, baked potato, a roll, and a salad with your choice of dressing for $5.29. You can't beat that!"

  Janine faced Louis, bestowing upon him a wide, adoring smile. "I'd like to, Louis, but I told Dr. Venkman I'd baby-sit for his friend."

  Louis's face fell instantly. "Oh," he murmured. "Maybe some other time, then."

  "Do you want to baby-sit with me?" Janine offered.

  Louis brightened. "Oh, sure!" he exclaimed. "That sounds great"

  Louis trotted up to Janine, and the twosome left the firehouse together.

  Downtown, Venkman sat waiting for the baby-sitter in the center of his living room. His recently sprayed suit and socks ensemble looked mighty fine, even if he did have to say so himself.

  His front doorbell rang.

  He leapt out of the couch and trotted to the door, expecting to welcome Janine.

  Instead he gazed upon Stantz, Spengler, and Win­ ston. They stood in the hallway wearing over-the-hip

  rubberized wading boots, firemen's slickers, and miners' helmets. They each carried several sensing devices, meters, collection jars, and photographic equipment. If Venkman didn't know better, he would have sworn they were heading out on a major National Geographic spelunkers' expedition.

  Venkman motioned them in. "Don't tell me, let me guess. All-you-can-eat barbecued rib night at the Sizzler?"

  "Better!" Stantz beamed. "We're going down into the sewer system to see if we can trace the source of that psycho-reactive slime flow. We thought you might want to come along!"

  Venkman snapped his fingers theatrically. "Darn it! I wish I'd have known you were going. I'm stuck with these silly dinner reservations."

  Spengler ignored him. "You know, animals and lower life forms often anticipate major disasters. Given the new magnetheric readings, we could see a tremen­ dous breeding surge in the cockroach population."

  "Roach breeding?" Venkman replied. "Gosh! This is sounding better and better!"

  Venkman called through the closed bedroom door. "Dana? The boys are going down under the sewers tonight to look for slime. Egon thinks there might even be some kind of big roach-breeding surge. Should we forget about dinner and go with them instead?"

  Dana emerged from the bedroom looking gorgeous in a long, slinky evening gown, her auburn hair cascad­ ing down onto her shoulders.

  "Wow!" Stantz concluded.

  Dana surveyed the Ghostbusters' grab-bag outfits. "Hi!" she offered meekly.

  The Ghostbusters, slightly flustered, nodded and waved back.

  Venkman faced Stantz and Spengler. "Ray? Egon? I

  think we're going to have to pass on the sewer trip. Let me know what you find out."

  He led the Ghostbusters to the door. Stantz heaved a sigh. "Okay, but you're missing out on all the fun."

  Venkman eased the door shut behind them.

  In the hall, Stantz, Spengler, and Winston passed Janine and Louis in the hall. They smiled at each other.

  Louis was awestruck by the professional-looking trio. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "Where are you going?"

  The Ghostbusters walked into the elevator without saying a word.

  "Okay," Louis said. "Talk to you later."

  Janine knocked on Venkman's front door. Louis was impressed with Janine's importance. He had never vis­ited Venkman at home before. In fact, up until now, he hadn't realized Venkman had a home.

  Venkman swung the door open, clad in his dapper suit and looking very suave.

  Louis sniffed the air. It reeked of drugstore cologne, spray-on deodorant, and talcum powder.

  "Come in." Venkman smiled.

  "I just saw the guys in some nifty outfits," Louis said enthusiastically.

  "They were helping change a diaper," Venkman said, leading them into the apartment. "It was a pretty messy one."

  Janine looked around the loft, frowning. Even when tidied up, the place resembled nothing more than a clubhouse from the old Our Gang comedies. "You ac­ tually live here?"

  "Yes, Janine, I do," Venkman confessed.

  "I think it's neat," Louis offered.

  Venkman smiled at Janine. "But I'm thinking of moving out soon."

  Janine shrugged and, grabbing the TV listings, sat

  before the battered television to see if it worked. Louis chatted up Venkman. "I hope you don't mind me being here. I just thought I could keep Janine company."

  "It's fine," Venkman said, putting a fatherly arm around the diminutive nerd. "Knock yourself out. But I don't want to come home and find you two making out on the couch!"

  "Oh, no." Louis blushed. "We're just good friends."

  "Okay, let's keep it that way." Venkman winked, leading Dana out the door.

  Hailing a cab, he escorted Dana to one of the swanki­est new restaurants in Manhattan: Armand's. It was the kind of restaurant that catered to the very rich and the very blow-dried. Raw fish was served alongside Southwestern cuisine. The wine tasted like Ripple but cost fifty times as much, and the piped-in Muzak sounded like vintage eleva­tor music but was called new age subliminal. Venkman would have preferred a pool hall or an Irish pub, but he figured this was more Dana's style.

  The cab pulled to a stop in front of Armand's. Venkman frowned. When he had moved to New York, the place had been a Laundromat. He sighed. He could use a Laundromat right about now.

  He guided Dana through the front entrance and slipped the maitre d' a five-dollar bill.

  "Your best table, Armand," Venkman cooed, feeling like Douglas Fairbanks.

  The maitre d' peeked at the bill and grimaced. Venkman made sure that Dana missed that, and frown­ing, whipped out a twenty. He stuffed it into the maitre d's hand. The man smiled.

  "This better be good," Venkman said to the man.

  The maitre d' escorted them to a wonderful table. Venkman glanced over his shoulder. The couple next to

  them had ordered a fish that still had the head attached. A cold eye stared blankly at Venkman.

  Jeez, he thought, sitting down. At least they could have put a smile on the thing.

  He glanced at the menu. His heart sank.

  No burgers.

  Venkman sighed and made the best of it, ordering caviar and champagne. A slavish waiter brought their appetizer and spirits immediately.

  Venkman raised a glass to Dana. "To a wonderful lady. A ninja warrior. A woman who stands tall," he toasted. "It's your night."

  Dana smiled sadly and raised her glass. "To the most charming, nicest, kindest ..."

>   "Why, you're talking about me!" Venkman grinned.

  "... most unusual man I've ever broken up with."

  They both sipped their champagne.

  "Speaking of breaking up with really neat guys," Venk­ man said casually. "So, tell me why you dumped me."

  Dana slid back into her chair. "Oh, Peter. I didn't dump you. I just had to protect myself. You really weren't very good for me, you know."

  "Hey," Venkman replied, "I'm not even good for me."

  "Why do you say things like that?" Dana said. "You're so much better than you know."

  "Thank you." Venkman grinned. "If I had that kind of support on a daily basis, I could definitely shape up by the turn of the century."

  Dana smiled, her forehead feeling the first buzz of the champagne. "So why don't you call me in the year 2000?"

  Venkman leaned over to kiss her. "Let me jingle you right now."

  Dana pulled back. "Maybe I should call Janine."

  Venkman continued to lean and pucker. "Don't

  worry. Janine has a very special way with children. I know. I've seen her."

  Venkman's lips touched Dana's. For a split second all the worries and all the pressures of the day faded. For a split second they were together. In love.

  Things were not quite as lovely at Venkman's apart­ment. Janine sat transfixed before the television, watching a particularly engrossing episode of Jake and the Fatman.

  Louis, meanwhile, paced around the living room with a screeching Oscar cradled in his arms. He was trying to feed the tyke a bottle of milk. The baby was having no part of it.

  "Maybe a bedtime story would help," Louis mut­ tered. "You want a bedtime story, baby?"

  The baby belched.

  Louis took that as a definite yes.

  "Okay," he began. "Once there were these seven dwarfs and they had a limited partnership in a small mining operation, and one day this beautiful princess came to stay with them and they bartered room and board in exchange for housekeeping services, which was a very good deal for all of them because back then they didn't have to withhold tax and Social Security, and I guess she didn't have to file state and federal income-tax returns, either, which I'm not saying is right, you understand, because they could've got in a lot of trouble doing that, but it's just a story, so I guess it's okay."

  Louis gazed down at Oscar.

  The little boy had nodded out.

  Louis heaved a sigh. "I can finish this later if you're tired," he advised the child.

  Janine munched popcorn before the TV.

  On the screen a blurb for the evening news ap­ peared. A man with a toupee that looked like a muskrat faced the camera. "Ghosts. Are they worse than street gangs? Film and Ouija board at eleven."

  22

  "Deep within the bowels of New York City, Stantz, Spengler, and Winston stood on an ancient train platform, their powerful flashlights blazing. They quickly unhooked themselves from the cables that had lowered them down to the ooze-laden substrata of Van Horne Station, and gazed down into the churning, glow­ ing, whirling river of slime beneath them.

  It was an awesome sight. The slime belched and bubbled, swished and swirled.

  Stantz stared grimly into the "live" river. "Let's get a sounding on the depth of that flow."

  Stantz grabbed a long coiled cord with a bobbing flotation device on the end. It was attached firmly to his utility belt. "Stand back," he ordered his companions.

  He took the cord in his hand and, swinging the flotation device over his head, cast the line into the water like a master fisherman. The bob at the end of the line sank beneath the depths of the slime.

  Spengler watched the line sink farther and farther down, calculating the depths on a small hand-held de­ vice. "Six feet. Seven feet. Eight feet."

  The line stopped moving.

  "That's it," Stantz announced. "It's on the bottom."

  Suddenly the line began to wriggle again. Spengler continued to calculate. "Nine feet. Ten feet."

  Winston was confused. "Is the line still sinking?"

  Spengler gaped at the river. "No! The slime is rising."

  Stantz glanced down and saw the slime climbing up over the edge of the train station platform and oozing around his boots.

  "Let's get out of here, boys!" he yelled.

  He made an attempt to pull the cord out of the water. The cord seemed stuck. Worse yet, the line seemed to be tugging back!

  "Help me!" Stantz yelled. "It's stuck!"

  Winston leapt in front of his good friend Ray and began to pull the cord as well. Winston and Stantz couldn't budge the cord from the river of slime, and slowly the slime began to pull the two men toward the edge of the platform... closer and closer to the bubbling, churning, living depths below.

  Spengler tossed down his monitoring device and joined the tug of war. The three men grunted, sweated, and strained, but whatever was pulling on the cord from below was clearly stronger ... in a superhuman way.

  Stantz worked a free hand furiously, trying to cut the cord from his utility belt.

  If he didn't sever the tie, he was a dead man. Or at least a very slimed man.

  The cord held fast to his belt.

  Stantz grimaced and attacked his belt buckle.

  Quickly, frantically, he worked at the belt. Finally he yanked the entire belt from his waist.

  The belt and cord were yanked toward the river of slime.

  Spengler and Stantz broke free from the cord in time. Winston, however, unaware of Stantz's lifesaving move, held fast to the cord.

  The startled Ghostbuster found himself yanked off his feet and high into the air.

  Still clutching the cord, Winston was pulled deep down into the slime river.

  "Ray!" he yelled, gurgling. "Egon!"

  Stantz and Spengler glanced at each other.

  "Bummer," Spengler muttered.

  The two remaining Ghostbusters, summoning up every ounce of courage, dove headfirst into the swirling slime after their comrade.

  Stantz and Spengler were unable to swim through the percolating muck. As helpless as flies trapped in molasses, they floated out of the station and into a swirling tide of ooze.

  The slime twisted and turned, Stantz and Spengler bobbing like corks in its wake. They tried their best to surface every so often to fill their lungs with air.

  Stantz squinted into the swirling stream of slime. Bobbing before him was the flailing form of Winston.

  Stantz and Spengler felt the pull on their bodies lessen. The flow of ooze was slowing down. Breaking up to the surface of the slime swirl, they found themselves in a massive chamber. The end of the old New York Pneumatic Railroad line. The slime seemed to calm down, grow dormant.

  Sputtering, coughing, and gagging, the three Ghost­ busters floated atop the gunk at the edge of the last platform of the long-deserted transportation line.

  Winston pulled himself out of the slime first. Lying on his stomach, he reached down and yanked out Stantz.

  The two of them then dangled over the platform and ensnared Spengler, dragging him up out of the ocean of ooze in one violent motion.

  The three lay sprawled on the platform, gagging.

  "Let's retreat," Stantz whispered.

  "Retreat?" Spengler coughed. "I don't know the meaning of the word...."

  "It means," Winston clarified, "let's get the hell out of here."

  Spengler pondered this. "Oh. Okay."

  Moments later the three slime-encased Ghostbust­ ers eased their way up through a dislodged manhole cover in the center of the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

  For a moment the three men sat, exhausted. The slime covering their rubber suits began to percolate.

  Winston suddenly leapt to his feet, thoroughly angry. "Nice going, Ray!" he roared. "What were you trying to do, drown me?"

  Stantz's body tensed. He scrambled up to face Winston. "Look, Zeddemore," he replied menacingly, "it wasn't my fault that you were too stupid to drop that line!"

  W
inston's blood bubbled. He shoved Ray away from him. "You better watch your mouth, man, or I'll put your lights out... maybe for good."

  Stantz's face formed an evil sneer. "Oh, yeah? Any­ time, man, anytime. Just go ahead and try it."

  Egon Spengler snarled and jumped between the two of them. He raised his fists in a classic boxer's pose. "If you two are looking for a fight, you got one! Who wants to try it first? Come on, Ray. Try me, sucker."

  Stantz wheeled on Spengler. "Butt out, you pencil- necked geek. I've had it with you."

  Ignoring the still frothing Spengler, Stantz and Win­ ston grabbed each other by the shoulders and began to

  wrestle and tussle, their movements resembling a slam- dance polka.

  Spengler shook his head clear.

  He knew what was happening.

  Dashing between the two adversaries, he pulled them apart. "Break it up!" he commanded. "Break it up!"

  His voice was so authoritative, the two fighters backed off, blinking. They were confused, addled.

  "Strip!" Spengler yelled. "Right now! Get out of these clothes."

  Spengler began yanking off his slicker and wading boots. Bewildered, Stantz and Winston also started to disrobe in the middle of Manhattan. Spengler stripped himself to his long johns first. When he was done, he helped the other two Ghostbusters wriggle free of their slime-encased outfits.

  Spengler gathered up the discarded clothes and tossed them down the open manhole cover.

  The three men, now clad only in their long under­ wear, stood in the middle of the street.

  They found that they weren't angry anymore.

  They weren't hateful, only bewildered.

  Well, also cold.

  Winston rubbed his head. "What were we doing?"

  He faced Stantz. "Ray, I was ready to kill you!"

  Stantz's face reflected his state of mind. He was totally animated. "Don't you see? It's the slime. That stuff is like pure, concentrated evil!"

  Stantz cased the street and discovered that the three Ghostbusters were standing directly in front of the Manhattan Museum of Art.