Pennies for the Ferryman - 01 (31 page)

“Power, influence, money; there’s a lot of it around DC and everyone wants a piece.”

“You said there’s something more important than money?”

“Energy.”

“What sort of energy?” I remembered Darren’s notes about how the ghosts collected energy in Gettysburg, but wanted to hear it for myself.

He shakes his head at us and laughs.
“How did you two ever get this far? Maybe it’s the war; I’d forgotten how bad it was after the war back in the seventies. Spiritual energy, dipshit, it’s what you’re using to keep a hold of that body. That’s how I can lift up things without having a physical body; without it, you’ll lose control of your meat puppet there soon enough.”

“Where do you get this energy?”

“Different ways; some get it by haunting and pull it out of living people’s fear. Me, I walk around the casinos, there’s all kinds of nervous energy and whatnot there. You kind of absorb it. The more people around, the more energy you can pickup. You’re gonna need to figure out where you’re going to get the extra energy to keep that body under your thumb. How long you had it?”

“Only about two weeks,” I said, hoping that I could keep my story straight.

“Started feeling weak, like the host is fighting back?”

“No, not really.”

“The guy, he must be feeble then, which from the looks of people these days don’t really surprise me.” He pointed at the commercial. “Look at that, people these days got it too easy. They got mobile phone and fancy jobs. I was alive during the Depression. You miserable bastards don’t know nothing about hardship. Oh, hey! I forgot this fight was on. Just press that button to charge it to your room. I’ve got a side bet with Jimmy ‘the Wrench’ on this one.”

Obviously, he didn’t “waste” his energy without a reason. Well that sounded like a gangster name if I’d ever heard one. Abe continued, “Too bad you guys didn’t come yesterday; I probably could have gotten you a ticket.” The fight only lasts three rounds and Landau was pleased that his fighter won. The Wrench apparently would have to pay up.

The doorbell rings and I answered it. A very attractive looking hotel employee pushed in a cart with a deli tray and a small cooler filled with six different brands of beer.

“Compliments of Mr. Pitman,” she coos.

I fished a ten out of my pocket and tipped her. Yeah, this was the life!

Our watcher waltzed over to the tray and breathes deeply using his arms to steer the scent towards him
. “I’ve been dead over seventy years, but I still love the smell of kosher meats.” He looks at Don, “Say, you wanna come downstairs with me and some of the boys? The dancers for the show should be in the dressing room in a few minutes. It’s the one thing I miss more than this…”

“What about me?” I ask.

“You, you don’t go nowhere. Wait here, enjoy the food. I’ll make some arrangements. You like blondes, brunettes, or redheads? Break in that new body of yours properly. Never mind, don’t answer, I’ll surprise you. Come on, it’s Hodges right?”

“Yeah. You cool with this Mike?”

“Er, yeah sure. Have a good time. When in Rome…”

I wasn’t really. Even in the service, I was never really comfortable with the idea of making sex a commercial enterprise. Heather never charged me for anything more than a lap dance.

Yeah, I’ve got some great standards don’t I?

Don followed Abe straight through the floor, leaving me alone in a suite that probably costs per night more than Mom’s mortgage payment. I grabbed a couple of sandwiches, a few expensive imported beers and sat down in front of the mother of all television sets.

One thing was certain; I doubted that it could get any better than this.

The big problem of never really experiencing good things in my life was that I had a slight problem recognizing too-good-to-be-true.

There weren’t many times in my life where I’d woken up hung over and completely out of it. It was the reason I avoided tequila like the plague. While I was trying to put two and two together and spell the word “cat,” the voices around me became more intelligible.

“How long has he been out?”

“Couple of hours. He should be coming around in a few minutes.”

“What about his friend?”

“The living one or the dead one?”

“Who gives a shit about the flesh bag? Where’s the ghost?”

“I had three guys rough him up, he managed to get away, but Jimmy says that Mister Hodges was in a bad way. I’ve got people out looking for him.”

There’s a pause, “Doesn’t matter, he has no idea where we are right now and even if he did, it won’t help his little friend here.”

Okay, I was fully awake now. Adrenaline was doing a nice job of countering whatever they’d gotten me with, must have been something in the beer.

I was lying on a hardwood floor, but there were several pieces of uncomfortable metal under me. Struggling, I rose to my feet looking at the intricate metal design beneath me. Imagine my shock when I realized it was a metal representation of The Eye of Horus. Mickey, Abe, and another ghost were in the room.

Mickey lets out a barking laugh, “Look who’s back in the land of the living? Don’t bother trying to escape. That’s a spirit cage you’re standing in, it’s called an oubliette.”

I played along trying to get my feet back under me, so to speak. “An obi-what?”

“It’s French for you ain’t going anywhere, idiot. You’re stuck in there until we let you out. We’re not letting you out until you give up the body.”

“I’ve become rather attached to it, so no thanks.”

My good friend Abe chimed in, “Boss don’t worry about it. Guy doesn’t know how to collect energy and he’ll run out soon.”

Shultz gives me a cold blooded smile. “He doesn’t? Man, they really are getting dumber by the day.”

The house was a nice new construction type, all brick and hardwood floors. There were a few nice paintings up and several pictures of Mickey Pitman standing with various dignitaries – a true “I love me” wall.

“What are you going to do with it, my body that is?”

“Well, I think I’m going to switch from dark to light meat. I’ve been in this tired old thing for over a decade. Yours looks like some prime real estate, a bit short, but in good health. If you’d come to town wearing an overweight fifty year old balding insurance salesman, I’d have let you walk, just like I promised. Instead, you’ve got a tidy little twenty-something in mint condition and I’m going to take it from you, because I can. I’ll unload Mickey Pitman on the body swapping market and Mike Ross is going to take over my security ‘consulting’ firm.”

That really didn’t sound like a good idea. I guess it was a little flattering that he thought I was such a catch. Though it was a bit disturbing to be compared to a car or a nice set of clothes. No wonder Eva spoke so distastefully about Skinwalkers. “What happens to me?”

“We could maybe make a deal. Most ghosts just fade away – and those that don’t, few make it to being a walker. You might have some potential down the line, even if you are an ignorant little dipshit. Then again, I don’t like competition. I think I’ll just leave you in the Oubliette and let you fade from existence. You can’t absorb any energy in there, kiddo. You’ll just get weaker and weaker. Eventually, you’ll just fade away.”

Okay, I officially reversed my opinion. I didn’t want to be a mobster when I grew up. Reaching out, I feel the barrier. It reminded me of what I tried to do with Charlie Snowden’s gravesite. I could sense the barrier. It felt like a heavy curtain. It might be enough to stop a ghost, but not me. I could push through this, no problem.

“Well, since we’re going to be here for a while, I’m curious, what happens to the host?”

“Depends, ‘walkers keep ‘em in the background. Let ‘em drive the body every now and then. They just think they’re crazy and not in control of their lives. Me, I just eat them. It’s easier that way. Mickey Pitman’s long gone. I hop out of Pitman’s body and he’ll just stand here drooling like a goddammed vegetable. He’d keep breathing for a few days and then the body shuts down. Abe here is going to drive Mickey around until we line up a buyer. Old David Michael Ross, Junior there is about to become one hotshot protégé.”

Here I’d been worried about my career path. This morning, I just wanted a few grand to stave off the bill collectors and get myself back above water. Now I was close to owning a successful security consulting firm. Talk about the American Dream! I’d have to go back to my high school guidance counselor; he said I probably wasn’t management material. Wouldn’t he be surprised!

I shut up for the next half hour, needing to finish clearing my head and hoping that Shultz would send one of the other two away before I made my move.

Pitman sat in front of his laptop for a little while and then walked upstairs to make a few phone calls. I covered my “special” eye to let me see better. He was using the Internet to search for information on me. It was too much to hope for that they’d be as technologically inept as Vincent and his group. My wallet was lying on the desk and my expired driver’s license on top of it. It took me a minute to remember what Equifax was. I’m sure my credit report looked rather disappointing to Shultz.

Deciding I was sober enough, I looked around. Nice fireplace complete with a nice poker. I thought it through. Yeah, it would do nicely. There was a holstered gun over there. Shultz wouldn’t want to hurt this body. I didn’t have any such restrictions, though I didn’t need to watch CSI to know that if this becomes a crime scene, the dudes from Homicide will check his computer and be asking me questions about his death. I decided to save it as a last resort. “Hey asshole, can I get something to eat in here? The body’s getting hungry.”

Landau laughed,
“You want another beer?”

“Jackass.”

“Fat Tony, go get it.”
Ghost number three walked to the kitchen.

The aptly named Fat Tony returned, straining to float a bag of bagels in front of him. They drop as soon as they hit the edge and roll in. I move to the edge of the “curtain,” to fetch the carbohydrates.

“What no cream cheese? What are you, a goddamn moron?”

He leans close to the barrier and answered,
“You got a big mouth on you. You know that?”

Stepping right through the Obi-whatever with only a bit of resistance, I smashed my fist into Fat Tony’s four chins, hard. My second punch knocked the wind out of him and I spun and pushed him into the center of the intricate design watching as he hit the other side and slid down it like he just ran into a glass door.

Abe was slow to move and I got to the poker.

He wasn’t impressed. “You think that’s going to help you? You’re dumber than you…”

He never finished that sentence. Ever seen someone take an iron poker across the face? It’s not a pretty sight. “Now who looks dumb, jackass?”

Shultz comes down the steps. “What the hell?” I reached over and pulled the nine millimeter from the holster, leveled it at him, and flip off the safety.

“Nice body there Shultz. Stick it in there.”

He finished walking down the steps. “You got no idea who you’re messing with, boy.”

I smiled. “I don’t really care either. Get in.”

He responded by shimmering and stepping out of Pitman’s body. Dutch Shultz was a balding piece of crap, with a weak little aura. It was dimmer than both the other goons, but that was consistent with what I’d heard about Skinwalkers from Eva. They kept themselves relatively weak to stay inside of the body. “Fine, I’ll just take it from you!”

I flipped the safety back on and tossed the gun behind the desk. Only one body was worth hurting now and that was me.