Ghostbusters The Return (10 page)

CHAPTER 9

"I understand, boys. Really, I do," said Milken. "You feel a responsibility to your team, and you don't want to let them down. It's a virtue, and an important one. To tell you the truth, I admire you for it."

As he spoke, Milken studied the half-dozen prototype posters that were spread out across the conference table. They showed Venkman and Winston in various poses with various attitudes. Some of them were serious and determined, others warmer and more welcoming.

Meanwhile, the real thing was standing on the opposite side of the table. They'd explained their situation and asked for time to spend with the Ghostbusters. Or, more precisely, Winston had made the request while Venkman couldn't resist checking out the posters. Now, Winston stood quietly, listening respectfully to see what Milken would say. Venkman admired the photos of himself.

"The thing is," Milken continued, "You have to remember that you're also a member of another team now. This team carries responsibilities, too. You have commitments that need to be fulfilled so that you don't let down this team either."

"Gary, it's not just a business thing. These are our fiiends we're talking about," said Winston.

Milken held up two posters side-by-side to compare them. "I'd like to think that we're your fnends, too, Winston." He passed one of the posters over to Venkman. "What do you think about this one?"

Venkman studied the photo of himself. "He's a handsome man."

Milken chuckled. "I'm leaning toward that one myself." The poster was a large photo of Venkman, looking serious and dignified, with an equally dignified Winston in the background. The text across the top read,
"WHO YA GONNA CALL?"
and the bottom read.
"VENKMAN FOR MAYOR."

Winston wasn't letting go that easily, though. "Okay, I get that we're part of two teams. I even get the two sets of friends thing. But that sounds like we should split our time evenly between here and the Ghostbusters. Why should the party's needs come first all the time?"

Milken lowered the poster. It was the first time in the entire conversation that he really looked at Winston. "Listen," he said. "I'm not going to try to pretend that I'm an impartial observer here. Naturallv, I want to make sure we get what we need, to make sure you boys have the best chance possible of winning this election. But put all the emotions and biases aside, and look at the situation objectively. You four Ghostbusters are all equals, right?"

Winston nodded. Technically, of course, he wasn't a full partner like the others. But no one had ever treated him any differently as a result.

"Well, that's not the case here," said Milken. "Sure, everyone in these offices has an important role to fill, and an important contribution to make. But you two are the ones that the voters are looking at. You're the ones they're going to make decisions about on Election Day. No matter what any of us may contribute, you and Peter are the ones out front, leading the way."

Winston hadn't thought of it like that before. What with all of the coaching and training and scheduling, he hadn't seen himself - or even Peter - as leading the way. If anything, it felt more like he was following along and working for the party. But, he had to admit, Milken was making a certain amount of sense.

"If you need to cut back your involvement with the Ghostbusters, then your partners can pick up the slack to carry on without you," Milken continued. "Admittedly, it may not be easy. There's lots of work to do, and the two of you leave pretty big shoes to fill. But they can do it.

"On the other hand," he said, "if you cut back here, then everything grinds to a halt. Not one of us can give a speech in your place. Peter's going to debate Lapinski and the other candidates on television in three days. If he doesn't show up, or if he doesn't spend the next two days preparing, what would we do then? The minute the two of you walk out that door, the election is over. So you tell me: When you take everything into account and consider it all logically, where would you place your priority - on the side where other people can pick up the slack, or on the side where you're quite literally irreplaceable?"

Winston didn't answer right away, mainly because he knew there was no good answer. Whichever way he went, he'd be letting someone down - and letting people down was something that he never liked to do.

But he also knew Milken was right. There were people on one side who could pick up the pieces if he let them slip for a while. There wasn't anyone to pick them up on the other. Logically, there was only one choice he could make.

With a resigned sigh, he said, "I guess I'd choose the party."

Milken clapped Winston on the shoulder and gave him a warm smile. "Of course you would." Leaving his hand on Winston's shoulder, he looked deep into his eyes and added, "Thank you for that. I know it's not an easy decision. It means a lot to me." He steered him toward the table. "Now, let's take a look at these posters..."

Throughout the conversation, Venkman had given no sign that he heard a word of it, despite the fact that it was happening directly in front of him. Now that it was over, he continued to stare at the poster in his hands. "Y'know, Gary. I've been thinking..."

"Hm?" said Milken.

"We're laying an awful lot of this campaign on Winston's and my being Ghostbusters. I mean, even this tag line, 'Who ya gonna call?'"

Milken eyed him warily. "Yes. Do you have a better idea?

Venkman brushed a nonexnstent dust mote off the poster. "No, no. You guys are the pros. But I'm wondering if maybe we should change the tag line. Maybe we should downplay the connection a little."

"Downplay it? Why would we want to do that?"

"Well, did you see the paper this morning? There was a nice, big picture of Ray and Egon on the front page, but no mention of Winston and me until the story got continued on page eight."

"So?"

"So there's still a good couple of months left until people step into those voting booths. I don't have to tell you what a long way that is in newspaper time, not to mention voters' memories. How long do you think it's going to be before the papers stop referring to us in their articles about the Ghostbusters? How long'll it be before people on the street start to forget that we were ever Ghostbusters at all?"

Milken smiled knowingly. "That would be a problem," he said. "What do you propose?"

"Well, like I said, I think we might want to make some changes to downplay the connection. Not rely on it so much. Run on our own merits." Venkman snapped his fingers, as though he'd just been struck by a brainstorm. "Oh! Or - and this is just off the top of my head - or, I guess, we could make sure that people don't forget the link."

And how do you suggest doing that?

"I don't know... I guess the easiest way would be to make sure Winston and I show up in some of these front page photos." He frowned, as though another new thought had lust occurred to him. "Yeah...but that would mean spending time helping out Ray and Egon, wouldn't it?"

Winston nodded in agreement; Peter actually did have a point. They didn't stand a chance without the connection. He didn't believe for a minute that the voters would completely forget that they were Ghostbusters, but it wouldn't be at the front of their minds, either. A front-page action photo every once in a while would do them more good than all the campaigning In the world.

"All right, all right," said Milken, throwing up his hands In mock surrender. "Maybe there's a way we can make everyone happy."

"What's that?" asked Winston.

"Well, there's nothing we can do about the next couple of weeks. Your itineraries are already set, and they're packed solid. But after that, maybe -
maybe
- we can try to build in a pocket of time here and there so that you can help out the Ghostbusters occasionally.

"Gary, that's brilliant," said Venkman. "That's why you're the man in charge. I never could have thought of something like that myself."

"Thanks, Gary," said Winston. "We appreciate it."

"Don't thank me yet," said Milken. "Nothing's set In stone. I still have to check with John to see if something like that is even possible. But we'll see what we can do."

"Good enough," said Winston, and he shook Milken's hand.

Just then, the door opened and an aide entered. Milken walked over to see what he wanted.

Venkman gave Winston a wink. "See? Timing and presentation are everything, my friend," he said in a low voice. "If you want to convince them, you've got to look at things the way they do. Show them what's in it for them, and you'll have them eating out of your palm."

As Venkman spoke, Milken and the aide talked quietly, then moved to the far end of the room to turn on the television that was mounted in the wall.

Milken looked at the screen for a few seconds; then he turned to Venkman and Winston. "You boys might want to take a look at this."

Every reporter who worked the city beat was well aware that the Mayor dearly loved cameras. His regular press briefings were virtually a daily affair. Combined with the additional "special press" conferences that he called whenever something out of the ordinary happened - and in this city, "out of the ordinary" could mean anything from a minor school board dispute about chalk suppliers to Arrnageddon - it meant that the Mayor was often standing in front of the same cameras a couple of times each day. Even when the news might conceivably be of some interest, the sheer routine made the process mindnumbingly dull - at least until a few days ago, when Venkman announced his candidacy. It was the first real surprise to hit one of these things in years. Realistically, the odds of stumbling across something else on that scale were slim to none. But until the memory of that day faded, the press corps was living in hope.

Today's gathering didn't rival that one, but it was still something to see. It wasn't every day that the Mayor introduced the city to a walking monolith of a man in a four hundred-year-old wardrobe.

"...not that we don't appreciate the work that the Ghostbusters have done in the past," Lapinski was saying. "They have provided a useful service and have been well paid in return. But there's also no denying that we can do better. The collateral damage alone from their escapades has reached far in excess of one million dollars. It's just a matter of time before the 'collateral damage' grows to include the loss of life as well. We all agree that the citizens of this city need to be protected from supernatural threats. But not at the cost of possibly becoming ghosts themselves. That's why my office has decided to turn to a man with experience, a man who is a real professional. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to New York City's new defender against the unseen: Jonathan Goodraven!"

Ray was driving the Ectomobile back to the office, Egon sitting beside him, when the car phone rang. Ray yawned once, then hit the button on the handsfree device. "Y'ello."

"Ray, it's me. Where are you?"

"Oh, hey, Pete. We're in the car. Hey, guess what? You're not going to believe what we ran into this morning. A class-five, mass-induced - "

"Ray, shut up a minute and listen to me. Turn on one of the news stations on the car radio. It is still a regular radio, right? You haven't rewired it so that it only picks up alien signals from outer space or old radio shows from the past or something, have you?"

"No, it's still the same as it ever was," said Ray. "Although that rewiring idea does sound pretty - "

"The radio, Ray. Turn it on."

"Got it."

Actually, Egon beat him to the radio. The car filled with the sound of a scratchy recording of an upbeat rhythm and blues song. It only lasted for a second or two before Egon changed the station. but the few notes were enough for Ray to identify. "Sam and Dave. Atlantic Records, 1968."

He stopped talking when Egon found the station they needed. A familiar voice was saying, "...collateral damage alone from their escapades has reached far in excess of one million dollars..."

"Is that the Mayor?" Ray asked.

"Until November," Venkman said through the speakerphone.

"What is he talking about?" Egon said, to no one in particular.

The answer became immediately clear as the Mayor continued. "...decided to turn to a man with experience, a man who is a real professional. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to New York City's new defender against the unseen - Jonathan Goodraven!"

"Jonathan who?" said Ray.

"Big guy," Venkman said. "He's on TV right now." He paused. "Somebody's not making Mr. Blackwell's Best-dressed list this year. Either of you know this spud?"

"The name sounds vaguely familiar..." said Ray. "But no, I have no idea."

"Never heard of him." said Egon. "Strange..."

In fact, it was strange indeed. As Ray well knew, Egon made a point of keeping up with all of the parapsychology journals and conference proceedings - including the ones that were so obscure that not even Ray read them on a regular basis. If
Egon
had never heard of Goodraven, it meant that he must not walk along any of the usual professional tracks. 

"So what does all this mean for us?" Ray wondered. Egon smirked without any noticeable humor. 

"I wouldn't put much faith in our contract with the city, for one thing."

The voice on the radio changed - Goodraven's, no doubt.

"I have little use for pretty words," said the deep, sonorous voice. "I shall waste neither my time nor thy own."

There was a brief silence on the radio. Egon and Ray exchanged a puzzled glance. Egon was just reaching to adjust the tuner when the voice returned.

"Very well," it said, in an unmistakably grudging tone. "I am told that I must needs address the citizenry to assuage its fears."

"I could get to like this guy," Egon said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Reminds me of Vincent Price," Ray commented.

"Good citizens, thy world is under siege. The nights teem with ungodly horrors that lurk just beyond the light of vision. Maintain thy vigilance, for the alternative is writ in the blood of untold agonies. Repent thy sins and prepare thy souls, as doing so is thine only hope. For those who are vigilant, and whose hearts are pure beyond blemish, all will be well. I bid you good morrow."