GHOSTBUSTERS: The Return Page 10

  Now, of course, we know that wasn't really the case. The MTA did have enough money. They just weren't managing it well "

  The host nodded sagely. "If you were in office when a similar situation transpired, how would you handle the dispute?"

  "I'd challenge the MTA to find better ways to handle their budgets. I'd remind them that their mission is to serve the public, not to turn a profit." Winston had to acknowledge that the campaign people had written him a good answer. It put him squarely on the side of the public, but didn't rule out the possibility of fare hikes, so that he could avoid completely offending the MTA.

  His eyes moved away from the host to look directly into the camera. "New Yorkers want to work. They want to live their lives. It's up to us to make that possible, and to make sure they can afford to do it."

  As stoic and professional as he appeared on the outside, Winston was grinning like an idiot on the inside.

  What a trip! he thought.

  "The time grows closer, Geezil."

  Much as Geezil realized that the statement was self-evident enough to be a little silly - time always grows closer, it doesn't stand still - he had enough common sense to know better than to mention it. In fact, he'd long since discovered the wisdom of staying outside the reach of Xanthador's arms. Physical abuse came with the job description here. But as Xanthador's size and strength grew day by day, the chances that Geezil's master would kill or dismember him by accident were becoming even greater than the chances that he'd do it on purpose.

  With all of that in mind, he simply said, "My heart leaps with joy, o most excellent monarch of fright."

  Xanthador's tongue rolled languorously out of his mouth to extend several feet, before curling around to lick his lips with pleasure. "Do you feel the change, Geezil? Can you taste it?"

  Geezil stuck out his considerably shorter tongue. All he tasted was the usual foul air. "Oh, yes. Most definitely, o archduke of horror. It tastes delicious. Yum yum."

  Without warning, Xanthador's tongue lashed out to wrap itself tightly around Geezil's throat. "Then why have you not begun the preparations?" he said in an oily tone that did nothing to hide the implied threat beneath the words.

  His power must be growing, thought Geezil as he struggled to breathe. He can talk with his tongue stretched halfway across the plain.

  "II was... just on my...way...to do so...o...master," he wheezed.

  "By all means, then. Fulfill your duties without delay," Xanthador said, releasing him.

  Geezil fell to the ground, gasping for breath. The neck, he thought. Why is it always the neck?

  "The barrier between worlds grows thin as vapor," said Xanthador. "It will be soon now. Before long, Xanthador shall walk the Earth once more. All must stand in readiness."

  He plucked long, silvery strands of ectoplasm from the breeze, and began to mold and weave them into shape.

  "To work, Geezil," said Xanthador. "We have much to do."

  "The thing is," Louis was saying, "If we leave now, we can still be there in time for the curtain. It would be a shame to miss part of the play, even though I did get the tickets for half price, so I guess we'll come out ahead as long as we get there before fifty percent of the play is over. Although, on second thought, I suppose that in computing the net cost of the tickets, you also have to factor in the sixty-three minutes I spent standing on line at the TKTS booth. And, of course, they were sold out of tickets for the play we really wanted to see. But even so, it's still a good deal."

  Janine didn't appear to hear a word that Louis said - she was too busy talking on the phone and scribbling notes at lightning speed. "Yes, sir," she said into the receiver, "I'm sure you had no idea that the car wasn't yours when you drove it away... Yes, I understand that you didn't know the owner's dead grandmother was wrapped in the blanket on the luggage rack... Yes, it must have been quite a shock when she sat up in the chop shop..."

  "Hello, my fellow citizens!" Venkman threw his arms open wide as he swept into the office with Winston following behind.

  Egon raised his eyes from a dusty tome to stare at Venkrnan. He used an elbow to nudge Ray, who was slumped over an equally ancient volume and snoring quietly. Ray woke with a start, exclaiming, "Aw, Mom! Why can't I fly to the Bermuda Triangle?" It took an instant for him to take in his surroundings, and another to wipe the sleep from his eyes After that, he stared at Venkman, too.

  "Did you catch us on TV?" Venkman asked, without waiting for anyone to answer. "It's amazing. These reporters and talk show hosts are hanging on my every word. Naturally, some of it comes from my personal eloquence. But you wouldn't believe what running for mayor does for your social life..."

  He continued on like that for a while, not noticing the state of his audience. But as he spoke, Winston looked around and was concerned about what he saw. It was anyone's guess as to whether Ray or Egon was more disheveled than the other. Their coveralls were dingy, their cheeks were hollow (well, Egon's were more hollow than usual), and there were dark circles under their eyes. The two of them continued to stare at Venkman. Winston suspected that it would have been an angry glare instead, if not for the fact that they looked too exhausted to muster up the necessary energy.

  In fact, Janine didn't look much better. Usually, her clothes were a bit loud and funky but neatly pressed, and her shoulder-length hair was perfectly straight without a strand out of place. This evening, however, her clothes were rumpled and her hair was starting to frizz up as she struggled to keep up with the ringing telephones.

  Louis wore his usual, slightly nonplussed expression. But even Slimer, who was hovering off in a comer of the room and stuffing a family-size bag of potato chips into his mouth (bag and all), didn't look happy.

  All of which seemed to go straight over Venkman's head without effect.

  "...the food in the green room didn't really agree with me," he was saying, "so I said to the associate producer - now get this - I said..."

  Winston poked Venkman gently in the ribs. "Uh, Peter..."

  "Hang on, Winston. Let me just finish this story."

  "Peter."

  "Yeah, yeah. In a minute. So, anyway..."

  "Peter."

  "What?" For the first time, Venkman seemed aware of his surroundings. He was silent for a long moment as he took in the sight of Ray and Egon staring back at him. Then, finally, he spoke. "You guys really need a shave."

  That was all Egon could take. "Good idea, Peter," he snapped. "Maybe we could take the time to shave if half our manpower didn't disappear for five days to be interviewed on talk shows! Maybe we could even stop wearing the same clothes we've been wearing since Tuesday!"

  As always, Venkman looked to Ray for support. "Ray, Egon's off again. Talk to him, willya?"

  Ray shrugged. "He's got a point, Pete," he said with a yawn. "We've been stretched pretty thin all week."

  Slimer blew Venkman a large raspberry, spraying his shirt with a mixture of slime and potato chip crumbs.

  "Gee," said Louis, "If you guys need some extra muscle, I could always strap on one of those gadgets and join you. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time. Remember that whole Vigo thing?"

  Actually, they all remembered it - all too well. Louis still believed that he blasted through the barrier that protected the ghost of a murderous, seventeenth century Carpathian madman. The truth was that he lust happened to fire at the same moment that the Ghostbusters defeated the ghost inside the barrier. In fact, when Ray subsequently checked Louis' equipment, he discovered that the accountant had turned the settings up far too high. It would only have taken a few more minutes for the proton pack to explode...taking several city blocks with it.

  Not that any of that had dissuaded Louis. It took weeks before they could pry him out of the coveralls he'd grabbed and stop him from trying to tag along on their missions.

  "Thanks, Louis. That won't be necessary," said Egon.

  Ray continued to look Venkman in the eye. "This city is in the midst of a major psychic upheaval. W
here've you been?"

  Venkman tried to hold Ray's gaze at first, but then he had to look away. "Do you believe these guys?" he said to Winston. "Here we are, busting our humps to make this city a better place, and these guys - "

  "It won't work, Pete," said Ray.

  "What won't work?"

  "That deflection tactic you use," said Egon. "Consider whom you're talking to. We've seen you do it hundreds of times."

  Without missing a beat, Venkman shifted gears, swinging around to throw an arm around each of them. "Well, besides, I'm sure you guys did great without us. I mean, you're the A team. You've got it going on. We just hang onto your coattails and coast along - "

  "That one won't work either," said Ray.

  "Did I ever mention..."

  "Oh, for crying out loud, Peter, knock it off," said Winston. "The guys are right."

  'Finally," Janine said with a sigh.

  "Sorry, guys," said Winston. "There's just been so much to do. It's been kind of hard to find space to breathe. But we didn't mean to leave you holding the bag."

  Venkman started to say something, but then apparently reconsidered and looked down at his feet. "Yeah, like he said," he mumbled. "So, what's going on?"

  "Major activity," Ray said. "That incident with the alligators was just the tip of the iceberg. Ever since then, we've been up against a non-stop series of contiguous, free-repeating, spectral manifestations. But that's not the weird part."

  "Sounds weird enough to me," Winston remarked.

  "Not nearly weird enough," said Egon. "What sets these apart and makes them truly unusual is that they all take the form of existing urban legends."

  "Hold it," said Venkman. "Urban legends? How do you get ghosts of things that never existed in the first place?"

  "Precisely," said Egon. "There must be a common source. Something out there that's creating them, or at least causing them to manifest in these particular forms. However, we've been too understaffed - "

  Ray cleared his throat and shook his head slightly.

  Egon caught the signal and took the point. "That is, we haven't been able to find the connection yet."

  "Say, if you fellows are understaffed," said Louis, "I could always get out my gear and - "

  "No thanks, Louis," said Ray. "We're okay."

  Venkrnan picked up a cracked, yellowed scroll from the table where Ray and Egon were working. He unrolled it partially and glanced at the unfamiliar foreign writing. "So you're looking for urban legends in here? I don't think you're going to find a whole lot of poodles in microwaves back in the seventh century."

  "No, we're looking for the name one of the ghosts used back at Madison Square Garden: 'Xanthador,'" said Ray. "I knew that blow-up at the Garden was too big to be an isolated incident. Then, less than a day later, all of this hit the fan."

  "But the Garden wasn't even an urban legend," said Winston. "Seems like kind of a long shot, doesn't it?"

  "Maybe so," Ray replied. "But right now, it's the only shot we've got."

  "All right, I get it," said Venkman. "Tomorrow morning, we'll talk to the campaign boys and try to find a way to carve out some time to help you guys."

  "I'll see if I can carve out some time, too," said Louis.

  "Thanks anyhow, Louis," said Venkman, "but we've got it covered."

  Winston nodded his assent. "What do you need us to do?"

  Janine held up the note she'd written. "Well, you can start by checking out an undead grandmother on the roof of a car uptown."

  "Now?" Venkman looked at his watch and winced.

  Egon raised an eyebrow. "You've got to go?"

  "Big fund-raising dinner. We're supposed to meet and greet the major backers of the campaign. It starts in about fifteen minutes."

  Ray and Egon looked at each other; then Ray sighed. "Go ahead," he said. "Do what you've got to do. We'll handle the granny."

  That was all Venkman needed to hear. He clapped Ray on the shoulder, gestured to Winston, and started for the door. "Thanks, Ray. Like I always say, you're a real friend."

  Winston hung back for a moment before following Venkman. "We really will talk to the guys at the party tomorrow," he assured them. "We'll see what we can do to help you out."

  "Thanks, man," said Ray.

  As they watched the candidates disappear through the front door, Ray and Egon closed their books. "I'll go load up the car," Ray said, with a resigned sigh.

  "So much for getting to the root of the mystery," Egon said. "Looks like Xanthador will have to wait yet another day."

  "We could do it," said Janine.

  "Hmm?"

  "Louis and I. We could try to dig up information on Xanthador while you're out busting ghosts, or whatever you call it."

  Loading a pair of proton packs into the Ectomobile, Ray started to reply automatically, without paying much attention: "No thanks, Janine. We've got - "

  Egon interrupted him in mid-sentence. "No, wait. Research is something they can do."

  "Can I wear a uniform while we do it?" asked Louis.

  "Sure," Egon replied.

  The idea registered visibly in Ray's eyes. Actually, it could conceivably do some good. The odds that Janine and Louis might stumble across something while searching blindly weren't great, but it was always possible that they might get lucky. At the very least, unlike proton packs, the books weren't likely to blow up.

  Well, except for the one that Egon kept in the safe.

  "Okay," Ray said. "You guys are on."

  As he and Egon climbed into the Ectomobile, Ray gestured toward the various papers and books on the table. "You can start by going through this stuff, and then move on from there."

  "You got it," said Janine.

  "Oh, there's just one thing," Egon called from the car.

  "What's that?" asked Janine.

  "How's your Sanskrit?"

  Mayor Arnie Lapinski wasn't happy. "The polls say what?!" he demanded.

  The young aide reflexively pulled back and raised his hands in defense against the verbal attack. "Y-you still have the greatest percentage of s-support from the voters, sir!" he hastened to point out. "Thirty-eight p-percent say that if elections were held tomorrow, they'd vote for you! The D-Democrats only have seventeen percent! That's l-less than the number of voters who registered as Democrats! It's j-just that..."

  The Mayor fixed him with a fierce, stony stare. "'Just that' what?"

  The aide spoke in a voice that was so quiet, it was barely audible. "It's just that Venkman is g-gaining. He's up to twenty-three percent now, and the trends show him c-climbing."

  "How is that possible?!" the Mayor shouted. "The guy didn't even exist on the political radar until a few days ago! Where is this coming from?!"

  Nathan Wong, a tall Asian man in a conservative suit spoke calmly from his chair beside the Mayor's desk. "Come on, Arnie, you know exactly where it's coming from. The ghosts are coming faster and more furious than ever. Supernatural attacks are taking the front pages on a daily basis. With all of that going on, is it any wonder that people would start looking toward a Ghostbuster to keep them safe? It's our own campaign strategy, turned against us."