Pennies for the Ferryman - 01

by Jim Bernheimer

  That probably could have gone better, but Don got a good laugh out of it.

  Considering Melinda McKenna bore a more than passing resemblance to her sister Rose, the very first ghost I’d met, our encounter started on the wrong foot and got progressively worse.

  My run in with Mrs. McKenna reminded me of Candy’s warning that the women in her family were difficult. Normally, I’d have been questioning whether or not this was a bad omen for our relationship, but given the many interruptions to date, I was questioning whether or not it was a relationship or a figment of my very cranky imagination.

  Don and I bonded, which was a very poor second place to a frisky blonde. He wasn’t exactly Bruce Lee, but Don was an honest to goodness black belt in three different disciplines. We started working on ideas of what to do about Roger Taney, the ghost in charge of the territory I happened to call home.

  When the poor lass did finally return after restoring law and order from a triple shift, she wasn’t exactly her usual outgoing self. She was more in the dead tired mood. Two hours before my bus was scheduled to leave, she finally roused from bed. I’d considered missing my bus, but that meant failing an exam the next day and I wasn’t doing so hot in that particular class.

  There was barely enough time to grab a meal together and get me and my ghostly buddy to the terminal. At least we were able to laugh at our dating misfortunes. I suggested we take a flight to California and wait for the earthquakes to start. She countered, saying that she favored a nice cruise to the Bahamas, thinking it might be prudent to keep our life vests handy.

  At least we weren’t two idiots basing our relationship on sex – that would’ve been laughable and pathetic.

  “Alright Elsbeth, spit it out. What’s on your mind?” She was obviously irritated. Considering my performance on that exam, I should have stayed with Officer McKenna. Either way, I’d have gotten screwed, but at least I would have been happy. Reaching down, I scratched Sheba’s ears. At least one spirit in the room was glad to see me. Oddly enough, touching the dog no longer hurt at all. If I could ask why that was so, I would, but there’s not a lot of information out there to enlighten the novice ferryman.

  “You just up and ran off to Roanoke with barely any warning at all. Right after going to Atlantic City! My grandmother had a fever over the weekend and your friend Jenny didn’t stop by until Sunday!”

  “That’s when she said she’d stop by,” I reminded Elsbeth. One blessing was that my repaired hearing meant that I no longer had to physically touch a spirit to communicate with them. Otherwise, she’d be a literal pain instead of just a figurative one.

  I thought I was being a stand up guy by getting Jenny to stop in and check up on “Grandma” Meg. I regarded the elderly woman across from me diligently working on her crossword puzzle.

  “Elsbeth says you were sick this weekend, are you feeling better?”

  She met my gaze with her overly large glasses, “It was nothing. I was just a bit under the weather. When you get to be my age, it happens every now and again. You never really told me how your trip to Atlantic City went. When my Samuel was still alive, we’d go there every few years.”

  Ignoring Elsbeth’s accusingly overprotective glare, I told Meg that I enjoyed myself. Alright, that was a flat-out lie but did a soon to be eighty-four year old woman need to hear about spirits that try to possess people and steal their lives? I lived that story and I didn’t want to hear about it. Hell, I hadn’t even really gone into the details with Don.

  Meg smiled at me conspiratorially, “Did you win anything?”

  “I did okay,” I said evasively.

  I downplayed it on purpose. My new policy was to keep my idiotic mouth quiet when it came to money. Considering she was leaving in a few weeks to go on an all-expense paid cruise to Hawaii, all expenses being paid by me, I figured the less I talked about money, the less fate would be tempted to find cruel and unusual ways of separating me from it.

  Picking up her shopping list and some cash, I headed out the door to do Meg’s shopping with Elsbeth dogging my heels. “Ever since your war buddy showed up, you’ve been neglecting her!”

  I gave her my best “you’ve gotta be kidding me look” and replied, “I was on crutches for three weeks after screwing up my knee fighting Charlie. Yeah, remember him? Even so, I was able to get over here and do her shopping. What’s the real issue - are you and Kevin on the rocks? Say it isn’t so!”

  She reacted poorly to my sarcasm. Oddly, most everyone else does as well.

  “You know damn well that he went with his daughter to visit the Princeton campus!” she said rather tersely.

  “So, you stayed home and realized how little you’ve been around lately and decided to take it out on me. Except in this case, you’re both the pot and the kettle. Quit projecting.”

  What do you know? That Psychology stuff was coming in handy! Too bad I this didn’t count towards my grade.

  She was clearly fuming and I pressed my argument, “I’m tired of being your doormat, Elsbeth. You promised you’d compensate me for helping Meg and then backed out of it because of Kevin’s newfound sense of ethics. That was after getting me to promise to send her on a cruise in return for help that you never gave me!”

  “Well why don’t you just go then?”

  “If it was just you, I would. Fact is, I happen to like Meg and I don’t intend on leaving her in the lurch just because you’re a bitch. You know this, which is why you let yourself off the hook for your end of any bargains we made. Unlike you, I’m perfectly capable of living up to my promises.”

  People like Elsbeth can get under my skin. They use guilt and manipulation to get their way. They try to make you feel bad for not doing exactly what they want, when they want. Freed from the tyranny of her very recently dead husband, she was fast becoming a serious bitch with man-hating issues.

  She faded away, going back to her focus not twenty feet from where I stood. It was the quickest way she could exit the argument. Imagine my surprise when she wasn’t there to face me when I returned.

  “You were right,” I said.

  Don laughed, “Aren’t I always? I know her type – user and abuser. Give her an inch and she’ll take you for everything you got! Makes me wonder if that Charlie guy wasn’t forced into it?”

  I wasn’t prepared to justify Snowden’s behavior. After all, the man did try to kill me, twice. Instead, I kept working on the heavy bag I’d set up in the garage. I’d used my Atlantic City windfall to pick up some new training equipment and was determined to make the most of it.

  “Was Sonya like that?”

  “Oh hell no! She’d just tell me what to do and cut me off if I didn’t.”

  “Honestly, your wife creeped me out, Don.”

  “Really? Why? Didn’t you think she was hot?”

  “No, that isn’t it. Yeah, she was hot, but she creeped me out -- even before you two were married. Lord knows she was better looking than Heather.”

  In what seemed like a lifetime ago, Don and I both dated girls who worked at a strip club just outside the Army Post we were stationed at prior to shipping out to Iraq. Don’s girl was Sonya, also known by her stage name of Cassandra. My girl was a sweet but not too bright girl named Heather. They were as different as fire and ice. Don married Sonya, and my relationship with Heather fizzled out when I got orders for the Gulf. Sonya was undeniably gorgeous, but like I said, I never really cared for her. She had this cold and calculating way about her. Heather was a vapid dingbat, certain that she was only going to dance a few more months. Nowadays, I doubt she’d be worth my time.

  “Was Heather still dancing there when you left?”

  “No, she finally latched on to some guy as her meal ticket. Sonya was her maid of honor. Could’ve been you…”

  “Nah, I’d look terrible in heels and I just don’t have the legs for a short skirt.” I played off his words, knowing what he was really trying to say. Considering what a sunny disposition I had during my rehabilitat
ion and the fact that Heather was already a single mom when I knew her, I doubted we would have lasted very long.

  “I dunno. I think you’d look good in a dress.”

  Well, I suppose I was asking for that. “So, you all set?”

  “Yeah, I reckon. Give me a week or two to scout out this Taney fellow’s powerbase. I’ll keep an eye on his museum and see who’s coming and who’s going. Once we know what we’re looking at, we’ll be able to come up with a plan for how to put the screws to this guy. Just keep these safe.”

  Don pointed to his dog tags, resting on the workbench. Every soldier keeps his dog tags, but for Don, it was even more significant. His tags were his focus; they were in the package that Sonya had sent me. He told me it took a few weeks to “influence” her to part with them. I ordered a pair of brass divining rods off the internet and sure enough, Darren Porter was right. I could locate Don’s dog tags every time, no matter where they were hidden. That definitely would come in handy.

  “Will do; just remember to wait for me before trying to bust any heads. One thing I’ve learned is that physical power doesn’t always translate once you’re on the other side.”

  He didn’t look terribly concerned. I used to refer to it as his “bull-headed Texan mindset.”

  “It’d take more than just some old geezer to whup me,” Don said.

  “If he wasn’t strong enough to hold onto this territory, someone would’ve taken it from him already,” I replied. “He’s been a ghost for almost one hundred and fifty years. That’s roughly one hundred and forty-nine years longer than you. Don’t underestimate him or whatever henchman he has. What little Diamond Jim Brady told me about him is that he’s a power broker.”

  “You’re right, Mike. People with blood on their hands have people around to wash them. I won’t make a stupid move and if things get sticky, I’ll just reappear right here, unless you want to carry my dog tags around with you?”

  “No, they’re safer here behind the protective barrier. It’ll give you a safe place to fall back to. Who knows what trouble I could be in? Wanna take the saber?” I asked.

  Don always had a thing for blades. For a guy who had lived on a Sergeant’s salary he’d had a collection that would rival a small museum.

  “Nah, too conspicuous; I do miss my big Bowie knife, though.”

  I ignored the fact that his desert fatigues weren’t exactly suburban wear. “I figured Sonya would’ve buried you with some of your collection. Too bad she didn’t.”

  He shrugged, “Reckon she liked them too much to part with ‘em.”

  With Don gone, I returned to my student routine and actually had a pretty good day, including lunch in the cafeteria with Jenny. She sat down next to me and immediately inserted herself into what I was doing. “I thought you did History-I during the winter session.”

  “I did.”

  “So what’s with the book on Roger Taney?”

  “Know your enemy.”

  She bounced excitedly, “Wow! Really?”

  “Yes. Why are you so happy?” I asked.

  “It’s just so cool. I know, it’s not cool to you, but he’s like a famous person and I read up on those other ghosts you met in Atlantic City. Did you know that Jim Brady’s stomach was six times larger than a normal person’s?” Jenny gushed.

  “I read up on them too. I’ve got a suspicion that if Lillian Russell still requires a focus; it’s got to be that really expensive bike that Diamond Jim bought for her. Right now, I’m wondering what Taney’s might be? You hang around lawyers now, what do you think he’d use? His law books?”

  She scrunched her nose, “No, silly. I’ve been to the museum before. They’ve got his gavel in a display case. That would be my guess.”

  “It sounds like as good a place to start as any. Thanks. What’s the museum like?”

  “It was a trip in high school. I don’t exactly remember. Why don’t we go there?”

  It was a good idea, but I didn’t want to go just yet. “Not just yet, but I’ll ask a buddy of mine to go up there.”

  “Why not me? I can bring a video camera!”

  “Rusty’s better suited for this job.”

  Jenny huffed, “It’s because he’s a guy right?”

  I leaned next to her and whispered, “No, he installs security systems for a living.”

  “Oh, I guess that…wait! Mike? What are you planning?”

  I put on my best innocent face.

  “Me, I’m not planning anything, but the less I say means the less you know. What are you up to?”

  Jenny wisely let the subject drop, “Well, my job is going really well and Mr. Binstock is really impressed with me. The firm is actually more fun than I expected.”

  She is the kind of person that would say nice things about being a trash collector because she’d enjoy being outdoors or some such nonsense. She slyly mentioned her ongoing relationship with Carleton Binstock.

  “I have to ask, what happens if you and Chaz break up? Does Uncle Seth fire you?”

  “I thought I told you to stop calling him that! Since he’s in school, he only clerks there during the summer and this summer is questionable. He’s thinking about going to Europe.”

  An effort was required to not make a sarcastic comment. I didn’t need to keep up with Chaz. He and I lived on two separate worlds.

  “So, is he taking you with him?”

  “Well, if you must know, it’s too early to say. We’re taking it slow and seeing what develops.” It was yet another contrast. The two of them seemed perfectly happy with a slow growing relationship. Candy and I weren’t exactly experiencing that level of bliss. We had an entirely different opinion of the matter altogether.

  Still, part of me was happy for Jenny. It was good to see life working out for someone; it gave me a sliver of hope.

  “You’re in luck; our company provides security for the museum. The system is an older model,” Rusty explained. “Back in the day, it was pretty expensive. It’s not impossible to get around, just very unlikely. Well that is, unless you know what you’re doing.”

  “I assume you do?”

  My friend laughed and finished his beer. He was a year younger than I was, but he did know his electronics including damn near everything that could be known about the cochlear implant he’d received courtesy of Uncle Sam.

  It turned out that the museum didn’t open for tours until April, but this was a big break in my favor. From his equipment bag, he pulled out a technical manual and flipped through it. He paused at the schematic of the model installed in the Taney house. We went through the sequence to deactivate the panel – several times. “That should do the trick, I’d come along, but there’s this little thing about keeping my job.”

  I agreed. “It’s cool. I’m more worried about whatever paranormal defenses Taney might have.”

  “Better bring a hammer and chisel just in case. Of course, this is a silly conversation anyway. We both know there are no such things as ghosts, right?”

  “Absolutely not,” I replied, “unless you count the one who just walked through the wall over there.” I gestured towards where Don Hodges entered the room. He’d been gone four days and I was more than a little curious what he had to say.

  Rusty started packing up. “Well I’m sure you two have plenty of things to discuss and I don’t feel like sitting here listening to only half a conversation any more than you want to hear me ask ‘What did he say?’ a hundred times.”

  “Okay then, Rusty. I’ll see you later. Take care.”

  “You too, Mike.”

  I waited for Rusty to leave before turning to my ghostly friend.

  “What’s the word Don?”

  “I saw that Reynolds character, just like his pictures online. It sounds like the notes from the late Darren Porter were right on. Reynolds only showed up once while I was scouting the area. That means every ten days, Reynolds brings a shipment of ‘spook juice’ down from Gettysburg. We’ve got a week until the next shipmen
t.”

  “How does he travel?”

  “He was in a car with a living driver. It was daylight, so I couldn’t tell if he had that faint aura around them that the Skinwalker in New Jersey had, but I’d assume he’s one of them. People were waiting for him in the parking lot.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I say we ambush old Reynolds up near Gettysburg. Get rid of him and the Skinwalker while they’re isolated. If he’s really some type of power merchant, he won’t like his supply line being clipped.”

  Don always was an aggressive type.

  “Strike a blow and see if he’s willing to talk then? I might just be provoking him, but then again, his men have tried to kill me more than once. Screw it, we take Reynolds out. Now we just need to track down the car.”

  A spectral predatory grin met my gaze, “I just happened to memorize that plate. You wouldn’t happen to be in the mood to call that deputy friend of yours and have her run a plate for you?”

  “Sneaky, Sergeant Hodges – very sneaky. I like it.”

  One thing I’ve noticed is how life can speed up and slow down on me. February raced by and it was March before we had all the pieces in place. The Gettysburg Battlefield hadn’t opened yet and there was only light traffic. Our target was in the parking area and would be out in only a few moments. I was on edge, a familiar tension that I’d experienced hundreds of times before heading out on a mission in Iraq. For a change, I wasn’t stumbling into a situation and hoping for a lucky break. This battlefield was of my choosing. Don and I had a plan.

  Rusty’s truck sat on the side of the road, looking for all the world like a broken down heap. He fidgeted behind the wheel. About a half a mile away, a glowing General John Reynolds was climbing into the back seat of a gold four door Lexus. I had an antifreeze container in my hands as part of the ruse. Instead of antifreeze, it was full of iron filings. I only had a minute or two left of preparation time.