Ghostbusters Doom Patrol
"The Dark Side of the Moon"
(originally "The Guaranteed Eternal Sanctuary Man")
Chapter 1: Helter Skelter
He roamed with the swiftness of the passing night and the wind at his heels. The high gleam of the moon shined down upon his movements across the plains.
The warrior approaches.
He crossed the stretch of matted grass with his loyal brethern following suit. He was an elder, a being whose age matched the passing of many a lunar eclipse. Those who knew him argued that he was among the first of his kind...a new breed of ancient descent. Others say he has existed since the days of Pangea, surviving with the times and tides of a world uknown of his kin. His unkempt, gray mane showed the signs of battles fought and victories won.
Long ago, one had attempted an end to his life, leaving the warrior scarred and permanently rendering his left eye visionless .
A human did this, and now the remnants of his skull hang across the twine of his necklace.
He was a leader and father to his kin. He found them when they were alone, scared, and betrayed by those they trusted. They wanted peace and direction. He gave them just that.
As he stopped, they came to a halt. He saw two young children playing in a field out yonder; brother and sister. Their reflection held steady in his eye.
Jaxor licked his teeth.
Chapter 2: Post-Crisis
New York City
July 2006, 8:00 am
The blinding fluorescent lights bored down on his head. He was sweating, tired, and frustrated. Being confined to a room against his will was one thing, but the migrain he was suffering didn't make his present situation any better. He'd kill for a Tylenol, but that's a figure or speech and not something he'd say that exactly put him on the better side of the present company he was with.
The interrogation room was spacious and comforting to someone with the interior decorating sense of Rainman. Though, it was better than some of the ones he'd seen in various towns over the years. To the right of him was a boorish detective who's greying mustache highlighed the arduous years he'd spent on the force, while doing little effort in concealing a belly that was barely tamed by the belt around it. Looming over the table in front of him was the dectective's partner, a young man who seemed too confident and cocksure in his elocution that the suspect didn't bother to give him the satisfaction of mutual cooperation.
It was the usual dance.
Good cop.
Bad cop.
The presumptuous flatfoot trying to goad him into agreeing with a plea bargain.
The other bulbous detective kept quiet in the background. He'd been drinking a cup of coffee that had long since lost its warmth.
"You see that gentleman over there," the thin detective pointed to his partner. "He wants to send you to Riverside Correctional."
He shrugged. The handcuffs that kept him to the chair rattled as he sat nonchalant.
"So?"
"Oh, well if you want to be put away for twenty years, it's no skin off my hide. This is your only way out, hotshot. We will not hesitate to prosecute you to the full extent of the law. Because guess what, you've got no options left."
"Son, I've been around for a long time. I know my rights and my options. I can take care of myself."
"Ah, well you did a swell job of that earlier this morning. Why won't you tell us what we need to know?"
"Okay, fine. No problem."
"Finally."
The suspect leaned back in his chair, resting his ankle on his knee.
The two detectives began to listen attentively to the confessional their assialant was about to give that would close this case and let all parties go home.
The suspect spoke, "Well…you've got to know when to hold 'em. Know when to fold 'em. Know when to walk away. Know when to run. You never––" (Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler")
"OH FOR FUCKS SAKES!" The detectives were fed up. "Listen asshole, we don't have time for this! You were in that warehouse We'e got witnesses fingering you there. We picked you off the street and you're looking at a long stretch of hardtime."
The suspect turned his head to the younger man's larger associate.
"Believe it." The fatter detective leaned into the man's face. Deep down, he hoped that the detective would hit him.
Wouldn't be the first time he'd thrown down with the long arm of the law.
He once did two years in jail on an assault charge for beating a police sergeant with his own billy club over a dispute with a bouncer who'd provoked a fight with him at a Gentleman's Club in Northwest Washington, D.C.
But the detective receded and just stared at him.
"Listen. We know you were involved in the drug deal somehow. "
"Or maybe you're mistaken,"the suspect said.
"I stand to doubt it. But, maybe we're wrong and maybe we're not."
"Well, if you'd take the cauliflower out of your ears and listen for a chance, that's what I've been trying to tell you,"the suspect declared.
"…"
"…"
"The evidence is against you. Won't you tell us what ya saw so we can all be best friends?"
"You people are a piece of work."
"So, you saw something?"
"No!"
The younger man groaned. "I've had enough of this. We're done. Send him to Riverside" The detective left the room in a huff, cursing under his breath. His partner followed behind.
"Hey, if you're gonna' leave me in here with nothing to do, can't I at least have a smoke?" the man shouted behind the exiting detectives. "Damn."
The door closed…and then opened again.
"You seem a little tied up at the moment."
He turned his head as best he could. "Who the hell are you?"
It was the voice of a woman whom just entered the interrogation room. When she appeared in the shadows, one look at her and he could tell that she wasn't from around the Bowery.
She was a petite, long-legged stretch of graphical goodness, wearing a brown skirt and white blouse that fit her enticingly enough to make an able man take notice. Her sandy brown hair was about the length of her shoulders. The click of her heels were rhythmically intoxicating. Dames like her were a dime a dozen, but the kind of woman who'd men would shill out Fort Knox.
Her eyes were concealed behind a dark pair of sunglasses as she stepped into the light and laid a file in front of the complacent suspect on the table. He looked at the brown envelope as she opened it without hesitation.
"Well, first and foremost I'm not your lawyer,"she quipped, keeping her eyes on the file.
"Great. Well, when you do see him, tell him he's fired. The useless bum, does he even know how much trouble I'm In right now?"
"Trust me, you don't know the half of it Mr. Bondo."
He got serious. "How do you know my name?"
The woman grinned. "Bondo, Timothy Dexter. Born July 28, 1969 in Waynesville, North Carolina. Graduated from Waxhaw High School in 1986. Joined up with the United States Air Force in '87, served until '97. Specially trained in engineering, metallurgy, chemistry, weaponry. Knows bits of judo, bits of boxing and...what's this? First aide?"
"Yeah, I know some things about chemicals and mouth to mouth. Wanna' practice?"
"Cute."
"How do you know about me?"
"Let's just say fate has a way of making things happen. You're lawyer and I met in a restaurant dowtown while I was on a business trip in the city. I was having coffee and chatting with my associate at another table, when I overheard him speaking out loud while he read over your file. I wasn't trying to pry until he made note of your colorful background. So, I introduced myself and we he had a chance to talk. He was, how do I say this kindly, an awkward and persistent pushover."
"Yeah, that's Chuck for you. But why are you here?"
"To make you an offer Mr. Bondo. I believe we can help each other."
"Call me Tim."
"Tim."
"Look, like I told those pigs out there, and even though you're a pretty lady, I didn't see jack––"
"Oh no, not quite that kind of offer, but one that'll get you out of the trouble you're in now."
"What do you know about my trouble?"
"I know that you're wanted on a list of fellonies that include illegal possession of firearms, which is what they popped you for." She saw Tim's surprised look. "Oh, if only you could see your face right now. You mean they didn't tell you?"
"They gave me some shit about a drug deal, but that's not my bag. I admit, I'm a little rough around the edges, and there's all kinds of mess going on out there, but I'm not into bullshit like that. The absolute truth is, I had to take a piss and then next thing I know I'm getting cold-cocked over the cranium by a billy club."
"Yeah, you'll be getting some hard time...in addition to that little unsettled stretch you did in Paterson for the cop you beat up...and for that little thing with your dog..."
"That bitch shouldn't have fucked with Bandit's collar, he wouldn't have bit him!"
"It was a ten year old kid..."
"Your point?"
"1-2-3...you're out. How's that sound?"
"You're an unremitting little lady aren't you?"
"So, I've been told. Tell you what Tim––"
"Go on."
"As I said before, I have an offer for you, a much better option than what those two men outside the door proposed. It's your choice if you decide to take it or not. Otherwise, it's Riverside. "
"I'm listening."
"I represent a small agency in Philadelphia that could make use of your talents."
"What's it pay?"
"A steady paycheck and free room and board."
"Okay."
"We mostly handle...how should I put this? The dirty job that most people don't want to do."
"Legit work?"
"Legit. We're kind of like serviceman. Not quite the police, but we've got nicer toys."
"I'll bet. So what's in it for me?"
"Like I said, we could use a man of your qualifications."
"I can dig it. So. I agree to this and ..."
"And you'll walk free. Of course, you'll still be on a probationary period with us for a time, but it will be subverted to time served and community service. It'll beat picking up garbage on the side of the road in orange overalls."
"And how do you know if I even come to Philadelphia?"
The woman stood up, removed her shades and shown her emerald green eyes.
"I have a hunch you've already made your decision," she replied.
"One thing I don't get though: why come to me?"
"Because..."
"Yeah, I know about the whole 'special skills' shit. But really, why?"
"Mr. Bondo, you were at an event one year and three days ago at a bar in Philadelphia. Do you remember."
"Lady, I don't even remember if I was or wasn't. I don't even know if I had a good hotel room last night."
"Mmm. You'll remember this. It involved a friend of yours named Vincenzo Raymond?"
Tim stopped cold. "Vinny."
"Yep."
"So you are..."
The woman left her business card on the table.
"Call me when you're ready." As she left, Tim saw her speak with the two detectives, fingers pointing back at Tim and heads were nodding. Then she was gone. He looked over at the card that laid before him under the cast of the flourescent light.
A little animated ghost in a prohibition logo was on the cover.
He heard the door open behind him. It was the thin detective.
"Alright."
"Welcome back."
"You're free to go."
Tim massaged his wrists as the cuffs fell away. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"Thank you. It's been fun and…you can kiss my ass."
He grabbed his belongings before exiting the interrogation room and the building. His Harley had been detained in the impound lot beside the police precint. Arrested on false charges, mistaken for drug-running, accussed of witholding information, and released on luck.
"Hell of a morning, Tim. Hell of a morning," he thought out loud. He thrust on the motorcyle's engine and flipped the visor down on his helmet, but not before turning over the card that he'd received earlier to get a better look at the name.
Ghostbusters: Doom Patrol
"Always ready to believe you!"
Chapter 3: Recollections from the Memories of Erin Cummins
It's been a long year...
Even now, as I sit writing this, I can hardly believe the changes that have taken place...not just with the team but also in my own life...
It was by happenstance that we found Salina checked into the same hospital when we brought in Rob. As for Jayson, his wound was a lot more serious than he let on. Whatever allusions I ever had towards believing in the existence of God had been put to rest. But, with Dr. Duran...Salina...we weren't sure if she would make it. We were told a homeless old man had brought her in. When we saw him he seemed a bit transient. We met in the waiting room. He was swaying in his chair, timid and distraught. Whatever courage I had facing Thorsen and his minions, paled in comparison to how to how I felt then. It's one thing to face your fears in the heat of the moment, but standing aside worrying for the lives of your friends and barely being able to do little more than pray took strength that I didn't think I had.
"They're going to think I hurt her," the old man said mournfully. "I didn't touch her, I didn't do anything to her. I swear it."
I put a hand on his shoulder. He looked as though he needed it; we both did.
"Thanks dear," he replied patting my hand. "But, you believe me don't you? That poor girl. She was such a mess, I didn't know what to do and didn't know who she was. I only saw a name tag on her outfit."
Name tag?
It couldn't be...
But I had to know.
"Does she have black hair and wore glasses," I asked anxiously. "Was she wearing a blue uniform?"
"I...I...I think...Yes, she did. But, no glasses."
"Sir, I have to go. I'm sorry, but thank you."
That was all I said. He told me enough that I knew for sure Salina was here. I ran to the nurse and asked if they had brought her in; my assumptions were right. I had to lie and say that I was family, because she had been moved to an intensive care unit, no one except next of kin was allowed. She was in Room 182. I wasted no time.
I found her lying in bed up when I arrived at her room, staring out the window. She was already dressed in a nightgown with her gaze turned away from the door. I guessed she didn't know I was there.
"Salina?" I said softly. She turned her head slowly to face me.
Her left eye was badly swollen, with the cheek showing signs of liaisons and scratches . When she looked at me, there was a cut above her right eye, another cut across her forehead, another liaison on her right cheek. Her glasses were gone.
She mustered a half-hearted smile and said, "I look like shit don't I?"
"What happened?"
She struggled to sit up. "Things did", was all she said. "I see you didn't have trouble making it out alive?"
I was at a loss for words, but all I could say was:
"Yeah, well with Rob and Jayson's help. Looking down the orifice of a giant squid isn't something I'd want to do again.
"Jayson Riddle was there?"
"Yeah. Surprised the hell outta me too", I said taking a seat on the bed next to hers. We didn't talk again for several minutes. I didn't want to. I avoided the obvious questions because...
Well...
I knew they weren't any of my business.
Whatever happened to her...no, whatever happened between her and Andrew…cut deeper than her external wounds expressed.
It was a month before she was released from the hospital. When she returned to what remained of the office, she immediately set out to rebuild it. Needless to say, Doom Patrol was hurt, but not yet out of commission. We did what we could to salvage the damages and scrounged up enough money out of the company's account and our personal savings to hire contractors to make repairs to the building. It wasn't long before we heard from the city; it was to be expected. If that wasn't bad enough, Jane Robard saw to that in her TV news reports. She's had in it in for us for the last three years. We were indicted on charges of fraud and public endangerment, accused of destroying headquarters in order to collect an insurance claim. It took a while, but we were eventually acquitted of all wrongdoing at the request of Detective Madison. How we managed to have a cop on our side was nothing short of a miracle. He didn't have to, but he put his job at risk with the 7th Division of the Philadelphia Police Department and stood by us when no one else would. Though after our actions had manifested in a public outcry, he was a witness on our behalf and managed to gather favor with more than a handful of clients we've helped over the years. He didn't ask for it, but we owe him one…actually, we owe him several. I'm afraid it'll take a long time before people start believing in us again. As for Salina, she no longer went out on busts anymore, not that Philly had been devoid of paranormal activity. But, the cases were suddenly dryer than they had previously been. She also stopped wearing her glasses, and I wondered whether or not she had gotten contacts or just stopped wearing them altogether. For as long as I'd known Dr. Duran, she'd always been the more reserved member of the team. I think back to my first day on the job when we originally met; we barely spoke. Not to say that she was rude, but she was less social and outspoken than the others. With little resources left and our numbers dwindled, we had little recourse but to start over from scratch. We were determined to push on, though I continued to worry about Salina.
I did my job with a limited capacity than what I had been accustomed to a month earlier. Rob returned, but he was shelved with injuries for the time being. None of us knew when he'd come back to active duty or if he still had the desire to.
It feels so weird ...sitting in these hallowed offices now. Even though the threat from last year was long over, I still feel uncomfortable walking through the corridors remembering the sulfurous smell and the shrill screech of the demons that attacked us. As for the Bloofer, let's just say that since then I've been more than willing to stay away from seafood.
Some nights when I feel like being alone on the roof of headquarters, I'll gaze over the cityscape of Camden, New Jersey from across the river basking under the glimmer of the stars and take solice in the wind passing through my hair. The stream of colored lights flashing under the Ben Franklin Bridge always puts me at ease. And every now and then I look up wondering if my fallen teammates can still feel the serenity of the cities before us just as we used to when nights were long. Last night I was there again thinking of CJ. He loved eating fruit and was rarely without an apple nearby or a bag of grapes in the frigerator by his desk. He'd walk up to me nonchalant about to make an out of the way remark on some obscure topic...what was it the last time? Nico Robin was hotter than Nami from the show "One Piece"? Sometimes, I'm dense about things like that. I still don't get it. I sigh and laugh silently at the thought of his chesire smile.
But then it's all just a memory. God, I miss him.
And Brian.
Whatever happened to you, I know its not your fault. None of us were ready for Thorsen. But, whatever's become of you, I don't know…if there's any justice in the world, there's a heaven for sweet guys like you.
Andrew.
I'll never admit it, but I liked you…when you weren't being an ass. Please stay safe…wherever you are.
The other day, Salina and I spoke about what to do regarding the structure of the team. She may not have readily agreed to hiring new employees, but given the circumstances, I felt we had no other choice. We couldn't be Ghostbusters alone.
Erin was startled when she heard the doors of the elevator shaft open at the entrance of the roof.
"How'd it go in Queens New York yesterday?"
She sighed in relief when she saw it was Rob. The muscular member of GBDP had been confined to a wheelchair for five months after being cleared of doctor's care from John F. Kennedy Hospital. His injuries were severe enough that it required surgery to shave away the bone chips in his right knee as a result of the fall he'd taken after being slammed against the wall in the basement by one of the Servant's energy blasts. The femur bone in his right leg had been broken in two. After the five months it took for that to heal, he was later fitted for a leg cast after it became necessary to temporarily fuse his knee with screws. Aside from the damage to his lower body, his mid section had been banged up pretty bad. Fortunately, save for some internal bruising to his ribs and upper back, he suffered no severe damage. The doctor said because of his dense bone structure and keeping himself as fit as he did, there would be no concern for paralysis. Anyone else without his physical make up wouldn't have got off so easy…so to say. After his cast is removed and the screws are taken out, he'll be committed to physical therapy until he can walk on his own again.
"Went as well as it could go," she replied and closed her journal. "You know you shouldn't be up here."
"There's a lot of things I shouldn't do, Erin," Rob Replied. "I needed the fresh air. Salina told me you might be up here. I figured I'd join you."
She smiled.
"Besides, there's but so much of a Walton's Marathon on TV Land that a brotha' can take. So, do you think this guy will take the job?"
Erin replied, "Who knows? You should have seen him. He was quite the character. You'd think wearing handcuffs would phase a person. I couldn't imagine what it'd be like to face jail."
Statler paused a moment to look at Campbell's Stadium across the water as he took a sip from the can of Molson's Canadian Beer he'd brought with him from his shop. The stadium had been open for six years. He'd always wanted to attend a Rivershark's baseball game, but never found the time.
"My brother loved baseball. When we were younger, I promised him I'd eventually take him to a game. He was a big fan of the Phillies too."
Erin was surprised, "I never knew you had a brother?"
"He was a good kid."
"Do you still see him?" She asked.
Rob drank the last of his beer.
"Every year…at Harleigh Cemetery in Camden, New Jersey."
Erin was speechless. She lowered her eyes, feeling guilty for possibly opening up old wounds. With the cast still on his leg, Rob had been getting around on crutches. The pain was often unbearable, but he never acknowledged it. That's how Statler was. He was too proud.
He placed his hand on top of hers, brushing her thumb with his.
"It's ok, Erin. It's not your fault. I choose not to bring it up."
Erin wrapped her arm around him, and he winced…a bit.
"Easy, girl. You'll abuse an old man."
She laughed and then continued to answer his previous question, "He has potential. As far as his background goes, he's a lot like you. Studied engineering, has several degrees…one in chemistry, and spent some lengthy time in the military among other endeavors.
"I remember the briefing you showed me," he replied.
"He'd make an interesting addition to the team…you think?"
Rob shook his head and bit his lip, "We'll see. Anyway, how's Salina?"
Erin sighed.
"Just like that, huh?"
"She hasn't been the same since…," she said.
"…since Andrew left," Rob finished her sentence. "I've noticed. I guess I've always seen it coming when they started going on more busts together toward the end of last year. They might've not known it for a while in the beginning, but I saw their chemistry."
"And how did you see that when the rest of us didn't?"
"Deaf intuition?" Rob shrugged.
"Yeah, right," Erin grinned. "Think she'll snap out of it?"
"Who knows?" He replied. "Come on, its getting cold up here. I'm about ready to get some shut-eye anyway. Are you staying here tonight"
"No, I think I'll head home. I feel like sleeping in my own bed tonight."
Erin helped Rob back towards the elevator.
Chapter 4: For Those About to Rock
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
A few days later...
Dr. Hideo Uematsu Tanaka twirled the invitation over in his hand.
The name seemed ridiculous.
Ghostbusters: Doom Patrol.
The occupation seemed crazy.
Going out like cops and "busting" ghosts.
He sat alone at the bar at Kristopher's, his untouched mug of Stephen's in front of him as the condensation dripped from the glass. The animated NO-GHOST logo upon the card, as he thought it's 'stupid looking face', was mocking him.
"You want a refill there?"
Hide looked up to see the brown-haired bartender looking at him.
"I haven't even finished this one," he said.
The bartender nodded and turned her back when Hide said, "Wait a minute."
"What?"
"I was wondering if you could give me information."
"My name ain't BellSouth, buddy."
"I know..." he squinted to look at her nametag. "Lindsay. I'm just wondering if you've heard of this organization." He handed her the card and her eyes lit up.
"The GBDP?" She said. "Hells yeah I've heard of 'em. They did a job here a while back and I gotta' say those boys in blue look hella' good in uniform."
"Really?" Hide said getting intrigued.
"Fuck yeah they do."
"What if I were to tell you something?"
Lindsay put her hand on her hip. "Like what? You're one of them?"
"Well...not yet...but I'm going down to the offices today to sign up."
The bartender looked him over and laughed. "Ah, you're funny."
"What? One of my..." he hesitated for a moment, "best friends is one and he called me up last week and..."
"If that's true, then I'm fucking Madonna."
"I kid you not."
She continued to humor him while whiping the counter under the wetbar.
"Okay, Mr. Ghostbuster. You come back here with that patch, the uniform, and one of those bulky backpacks they wear and I might believe you."
"Enough to agree to a date?"
"Deal." She stuck out her hand and Hide shook it.
"By the way, name's Hideo Tanaka. You can call me Hide."
"Hide, huh? Like hide and seek?"
"Something like that. Whatever floats your boat."
"Lindsay Wagner," she replied. "So, when are you gonna' supposedly be a Ghostbuster?"
"Sometime this afternoon. Why?"
"You did hear about that whole thing that happened last year didn't you?"
"What thing? What are you talking about?"
Lindsay pointed to a row of framed newspapers from the Philadelphia Inquirer. The lower one depicted a black and white scene of devestation as the headline screamed "WAVE OF DESTRUCTION" in bold letters across the top of the page.
"Uh...what happened there?"
Polishing a mug and not looking at him, Lindsay said, "Some bloke tore up the downtown area last summer. Killed sixty-eight people in the streets, half of 'em policemen and civilians. Two Ghostbusters tried to diffuse the situation, but got thrased around by the guy or thing that done it. He killed one of the Ghostbusters and left the other for dead."
Hide nearly choked on his glass of Stephen's. That was NOT what he was about to sign up for.
"What's the matter, Asian Casanova? You look a little pale."
"I'm...fine," he said. Reaching inside his pocket he pulled out $3.57 and put it on the table. "I gotta go. I'll be back to collect that date."
"I'm sure you will."
"This is shit," Tim Bondo said as he folded his arms over the handle bars of his Harley custom. The body, bars, and engine were all from the 2004 Heritage series, but the "chopper" was modeled to look like Big Daddy Roth's old rig. Behind him, he heard Bandit barking.
"I know boy. I hate this fucking traffic too." He found himself in the back of a taxicab in the midst of a mid-afternoon traffic jam in North Philadelphia.
It had taken him all of three days to accept the woman's offer. His lawyer agreed to it, though his word didn't amount to much. He figured it'd probably be worth a laugh or two, and might put some much needed cash in his pocket.
The sweltering heat pounded down on him as he pulled out a Confederate handkerchief and wiped his brow with it. He may have been a genius, but he realized it was a dumb move to actually wear a leather jacket in this heat.
The taxi cab behind him honked their horn. "Hey you dumb Redneck! Move your ass!"
Tim didn't answer at first and set about fanning Bandit to keep him from getting overheated.
He did remember the last time Bandit got too hot. He never heard the end of that one from his neighbor.
The cab driver continued honking the horn.
"Come on asshole! Move!"
Slowly, Tim turned the engine of his Harley off and got off it. He walked towards the driver's window and tapped it.
The driver, a beefy looking Irishman, rolled his window down. "Can I help you?" he said.
"Yeah. Your horn's bugging my dog. Cut it out."
"Awww, I'm real fucking sorry about that. But in case your inbred mind didn't catch it, I got a customer back here who needs to get to his destination quickly. You dig?"
"Oh I dig sport, but here's the thing: it's a jam so we ain't going anywhere for a while."
"So?"
"So you're only making the situation worse with your horn."
"Oh, you mean like this?" The driver again pressed his horn loudly. Tim winced.
"Yeah. That. I thought I said to cut it?"
"You said something like that. And if I don't, what are you gonna' do about it?"
"Well..." Tim looked at the ground for a moment before tossing a fast right hook into the face of the driver. Grabbing him by the collar, he pulled the man out of the car through the window, threw him onto the pavement and began to kick him repeatedly in the gut with his workman's boots.
"Stop...stop..." the driver begged.
"You didn't stop with the horn," Tim replied and grabbed him again by the collar. This time he leaned him against the passenger side of the cab and had him by both collars.
"Now boys and girls, what lesson did we learn today?"
The driver sputtered as blood from his mouth flowed down his chin.
"Come again?"
"I'm...s-sorry."
"Good", Tim said letting go of him. He looked up. The traffic was moving now.
Going over towards his bike, he said, "Come on Bandit. Let's get this show over with."
The twin engines roared as Tim kicked the stand up and plowed down the street, but he found that he was not getting anywhere faster than when he was stuck behind the semi.
"Hang on Bandit, I'm gonna do somethin' crazy here!" he said as he swerved off the street and onto the sidewalk. It had rained the night before and there was still the remnants of puddles on the walk as Tim's GoodYear tires kicked it up in the air.
At that moment, Hide was walking out of Kristopher's.
Could that be why they called me? He asked himself. Because some of their own members died? He thought back to CJ, as reckless as he was a bit of an idiot sometimes and wondered if that Ghostbuster who had been killed...
Couldn't be. Not him. He'd more than likely accidentally shoot his own ass off before getting killed himself. But then...I haven't heard from him in a while...so...
"Hey watch out!"
Hide saw the glint of Tim's motorcycle out of the corner of his eye and jumped back as quick as he could. The bike sent a deluge of mud and water onto him, which had caused Hide to fall backwards.
Sputtering, Hide looked up to see the bike disappearing in the distance. "Goddamn you stupid sonovabitch!" he shouted waving his fist in the air as the citizens around him watched.
Lindsay the bartender was standing in the doorway and was tapping her foot on the ground.
"You certainly know how to make a lasting impression on people, don't you Mr. Hide?"
Hide groaned. "Do you...?"
"Yeah, sure. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
"Thanks."
Great job, Hide. First I get suckered into joining as cursed an outfit as Custer's 7th Calvary. Then I get dissed by a really cute girl. And now I'm soaked. What the hell else can go wrong?
Chapter 5: Things Change
Tim looked down at his card and then looked around.
He was at the Benjamin Franklin Bridge and stared out across the Delaware River.
"Is this it?" he said. "Where the hell is this place? It ain't even on the fucking map!"
"Yes it is." Tim turned around and saw a brunette woman around his age (though noticeably younger than him) looking at a small brochure. "It's right here, down below us. There's a ramp that we'd have to take to get to it, but it's there."
"Thanks," Tim said stuffing his map down into his back pocket. "You got invited to join this little outfit too?"
"Me?" the woman said. "I'm applying for the position of cleaning lady."
Tim cocked an eyebrow. "Uh...cleaning lady...?"
The woman laughed. "I'm just kidding. I'm here to try out and be a Ghostbuster. And from the looks of it, you are too."
"Yeah," Tim replied as he flipped his sunglasses onto his head. "Name's Tim. Tim Bondo."
"Nice to meet you Mr. Bondo," the woman replied shaking Tim's hand.
"Please, just call me Tim."
"Alright, Tim. And you can call me Orla Wainwright."
"Great. So...about this ramp..."
"Oh, it's right over here. You need a ride?"
"Nah, my chopper can handle the trip, but I'll follow behind you."
"Okay," Orla said.
The first thought that occurred to Erin was:
Now I know why CJ always hated recruitment drives.
Although the offices had always been fairly spacious, today Erin saw that the whole floor seemed to be teaming with activity as a crowd (More than a crowd, Erin thought) of people (or fanboys) standing around. She had remembered hearing of a similar scene back in Los Angeles from the Ghostbusters West Coast Division's C.A., Miss Aberdeen. The group that turned up at their convention center dressed in flightsuits of differing, and in some cases, clashing, colors. Though, there were a few casually dressed applicants.
She saw Rob down on the floor trying to do his best to contain the crowd. Although it had proved difficult, he was wearing a brand new uniform he had personally designed himself: it was a blue leather jacket, similar in style to Andrew's original, and a gray striped shirt with the team's blue NO-GHOST logo.
"All right, all right, everyone settle down!" he shouted above all the chatting voices. "We'll be starting this in about five minutes so please get all of your credentials, your ID, and whatever you have in order." He looked up to see Erin staring down at him, and Erin stifled a grin as Rob shook his head in exasperation.
"Well, can't keep 'em waiting too much longer," she said zipping up her own flightsuit. As she began walking downstairs, she thought she caught a glimpse of Salina down the hall in one of the rooms.
She peeped her head through. "Salina, are you in here?"
It was dark. Erin couldn't make it out, but she was sure that she saw Salina's shape moving around. There was no answer.
"Today we're going to look at some potential candidates for membership. You wanna' come down and participate."
No answer.
"Okay, well...see you around."
"Wait."
Salina put her hand on Erin's shoulder as she stepped into the light. Her dark hair, usually short and a little shoulder-length was now noticeably longer. She had noticed also that she had stopped wearing her usual glasses, instead opting for contacts.
"So they're down there. Now."
"Yeah. Rob's doing all he can, but they're fanboys, and unless I give 'em a taste of Girls Gone Wild they're gonna' get a bit outta' hand."
"They're not going to be that bad, you know."
"I guess, but you know the most about the paranormal stuff than we do and we could use your fair judging on some of these guys and girls."
Salina was silent a moment.
"Listen, I don't like to do this anymore than you. I mean, they were my friends too. But you know, we have to do this. We have to push on."
"I was just thinking of that time when CJ was stuck having to do C.A. applications and hid under his desk,"Salina mused as she walked out the door. "Remember that?"
"Haha. Yeah,"Erin said following her.
"What in the name of high school football is this?" Tim asked walking in.
"Looks like a comiccon," Orla said. "Except not as smelly." She looked around bewildered. "I do wonder where we sign in at."
"Already on it," Tim said grabbing a small young man by the shoulder. "Where do we sign up for this soirée?"
"At the front over there, where the bald dude in the NO-GHOST shirt is", he pointed.
"Thanks," Tim replied and let him go. He grinned at Orla. "I got good people skills."
"I bet," Orla said and walked over towards the desk Rob was at.
"Hi and welcome to Ghostbusters Central," Rob said handing her a clipboard. "Fill these three forms out and wait until the number at the top is called."
"Shit," Tim said. "More paperwork. I figured I filled enough of that out back in New York."
"New York?" Rob said looking up. "Are you Tim Bondo?"
"Yeah," Tim nodded. "Am I that famous?"
"Nah, our Client Admin told me about you. You don't remember me do you?"
"You look sort of familiar."
"Ah, it's alright. Here, just sign these in and wait your turn."
"Wait, I thought I was guaranteed? That chick back in the city told me I had the job."
"Actually, that's just finalizing it. We'll need you to step over there."
Tim grinned widely at Orla. "See you around toots," he said and moved to the back of the room.
"Alright, now who's got 182?"
"That's me!" Orla said.
"Come with me," Rob continued. As he stood up, Orla recognized the leg cast.
Hobbling, he led both Tim and Orla over to a table where Salina and Erin were waiting. "Here are two candidates we got here. Tim Bondo and Orla Wainwright."
Tim stopped as he looked at Salina. If he didn't remember much of what happened the year before (the zombies would forever stick out) he certainly remembered the chick in the form fitting jumpsuit.
How could he forget that, after all?
"I know you," he said pointing at Salina. "You were at the bar last year when that zombie horde came down hard."
"Yeah, I was," replied Salina. "I remember you too. How are you?"
"Pretty good. Pretty confident that I'm gonna get this job."
"Is that a fact?"
"Hells yeah." He leaned over on the table. "Tell me, you saw that crowd back there right? You can't tell me that you don't want a guy who can handle his own over a bunch of kids who sit around their parents basements talking through their comic book collection do you."
Erin snorted, trying to hold back her laugh.
"Now me...I got the skills. She knows what I'm talking about."
"That and he's gonna be on limited parole if we give him the job," Erin added. She saw Tim's head drop. "Sorry guy, but had to burst that bubble you were floating on."
"Okay. But look here, I know about all the weird shit that's going down. I didn't take it seriously, but I remembered it from last year. I can help you."
"Thank you Mr. Bondo," Salina said leaning forward grabbing the next file. She handed it to Erin. "We'll call you when we make our final decision."
"Hey man, you look like you could use a beer," Rob said getting up.
"A beer?" Tim replied. "After the day I'm having, I could use about six or seven."
"Come on to the kitchen, brotha',and I'll hook you up."
"Okay," Erin said. "182. Orla Wainwright."
"That's right," Orla said.
"It appears here that you attended UCONN for about four semesters. What were you studying?"
"Business major, but that was before I met my ex-husband John. I dropped out after the fourth semester to marry that loser and moved to Orlando, Florida. I worked on the Ghostbusters Spooktacular show at Universal Studios Florida for a while after that."
"You worked on the GB show?" Erin asked, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. "That must've been...back in 1992 when they first started doing that along with the street shows."
"Actually, 1991," Orla was impressed with her knowledge of the show. "Haha! How do you know all that?"
"Well, I used to be part of a GB messageboard on the internet. Though, I stopped posting for a while after I joined the team. That must sound silly of me to say, huh?"
Orla smiled meekly, "No, not really. Heck, some of us here probably got our start that way."
"Yeah. So, What part did you play?"
"They had a female character in the Spooktacular there for a couple seasons, but they wrote her out. So, I was mostly in charge as Coordination Manager."
"I see. You noted here that you have two daughters Miss Wainwright."
"Yes I do. Joanie who is ten years old and Mykel who is six."
"That's cool. So let me ask you this Miss Wainwright: what compelled you to want to become a Ghostbuster?"
"Well, my interest in it was always there, even before I worked on the show. I just feel, as a parent, that there are things we can and must do to protect our children from the creatures that you guys face. I want to do my part to make sure that my kids lead a life where they don't have to be afraid of the dark or a bogeyman waiting in their closet."
"We understand," Salina said nodding, as she interjected herself into the interview. "That's a good answer Ms. Wainwright, but let me ask you…are you fully prepared to do whatever it takes within your very soul everything to stop these 'creatures' as you call them and demons of the underworld? What we do can get pretty ugly and I guarantee you those things won't give a damn about whether or not you're a parent."
The mood had shifted, Erin looked over at Salina and noticed that her voice had changed to a more serious intonation, as her eyes had narrowed looking squarely at Orla.
"My mother was a police officer for thirty-four years ma'am,"Orla retorted. "I grew up with a police dispatcher next to my bed, hoping that the call wouldn't come in that she'd been shot or killed in duty. I know everything about danger and I know I can do everything… all that I have to offer to protect my children and the rest of humanity from those things that go bump in the night."
"I think that's enough questions for now," Erin said quickly. "Thank you for your time, Miss Wainwright. We'll call you."
"Thanks so much," Orla said, shaking Erin's hand. "And you too," she said looking over at Salina.
Salina nodded in agreement as Orla walked away.
"Alright, who's the next guy?"
"Are you sure you're alright, Sal?" Erin asked. "I mean, I can handle this for sure 'till Rob gets back…"
"I'm fine."
"You sure? You know..."
"It's nothing Erin. Nothing at all," Salina said. "Call in the next candidate."
"Goddamn it looks like Geeks Gone Wild in here," Hide said as he walked through the tall steel doors of the Highrise HQ. In one hand he held a bag that contained his still damp business suit. Lindsay the bartender had outfitted him with the next possible alternative: a t-shirt that read I Got Spanked at Kristopher's! and a pair of Levi's that she had lying around.
He felt a little embarrassed being there. Was this all that truly remained of legitimate science? He thought. It's like a freakshow in here! In a small corner of the room, he saw a group huddled together, all wearing matching tanned flightsuits. One of them even had a guitar and was leading a small chorus in a singalong of the theme song from the movie.
Hide shook his head in shame and began turning around...
"Hey, are you here too for the job?" Erin asked him.
"Um…I think there's been a mistake miss. I thought this was…"
"It's the right place. Come over here and sign in."
Sighing, Hide followed her over to the table.
I could just walk away, right now, he thought miserably. I really don't need this. I…
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a tall man standing next to another gentleman, the other one having no hair, but he saw that the tall one had biker gear on.
No. It couldn't be! Son of a…
He dropped his pen.
"Hey!" Erin said. "You're not finished yet!"
"And then I said to Mable, how many rolls is it again…," Tim said, but was then interrupted.
"Excuse me?" Hide said walking up to the group. "But do either of you own a motorcycle."
"I do," Tim said raising his hand.
"A black one with a Rebel flag and a caged basket for a dog in the back?"
"Yeah that's me."
"You."
"Yeah...me..." Tim shrugged. Without warning, Hide reached back and threw a sucker punch that rattled Tim's jaw and sent him to the ground. Around them, the crowd suddenly went silent.
"You owe me 300 bucks in dry cleaning, asshole!" Hide shouted pointing towards Tim. Tim got up off the ground and rubbed his jaw.
"You throw a mean punch for a little guy," he said. "I ruined your suit?"
"Yeah. You did. Now what are you gonna do about it?"
"This." Tim tackled Hide to the ground and started tussling with him. But Hide was no wimp himself and rolled around the ground with Tim, getting in a few hits to Tim's head. Rob went around the two, trying his best to break the two of them up, but found out how limited he was.
"Hey you two..." he said to two young men in green and orange flightsuits. "Help me out will ya'?"
The one in orange grabbed Tim and the other grabbed Hide, but both struggled free and continued their wrestling match.
There was chanting coming up from the large crowd around them.
"What the hell is going on out here?" Salina asked as she stood next to Rob. Erin, who had tried to chase down Hide to get him to finish his application, answered:
"The guy in the t-shirt walked right up and punched Tim in the face."
"Who is he?"
Erin looked at the application. She snorted.
"You'll never believe this: Dr. Hideo Tanaka of the Florida Department of Paranormal and Extranormal Activities."
"CJ's friend?" Salina asked, taken aback that a respected scientist was apparently on her floor putting another man in a headlock. She looked at the struggling young man on the ground as he elbowed Tim in the nose, causing it to bleed. "You sure?"
"Positive."Erin replied.
"Salina, when you're done getting around, would you mind helping me separate these too?" Rob pleaded.
"Must I?"
Rob nodded.
Salina walked casually over to Tim and bent down to the ground. She put her thumb on a vein in his neck. Suddenly Tim stopped as his body went immobile.
"What the hell?" Hide said being helped off the ground by Orla, who had gone over to see what the commotion was all about. "What'd you do to that piece of shit?"
"Pressure point," Salina said. "Want some or are you calm now?"
Hide held up his hands and then straightened his shirt. "I'm cool."
"Good." She removed her thumb from Tim's neck.
"I said goddamn! What the hell'd you do to me!"
"You want the Layman's answer or the super, scary, give you nightmares for the rest of your life answer?"
"Uh…the first one."
"Hindu pressure point trick my father taught me when he was dealing with a thief in Liverpool." She blew on her thumb as if it were a gun barrel. Looking over at Hide, she asked:
"So Mr. Tanaka, you were referred to us highly by a co-worker of yours."
"Yeah," he retorted. "And did CJ mention to you that I don't like working with assholes?" He looked over at Tim and for a moment felt like jumping him again.
"Asshole? Me?" Tim said innocently. "Naw, I'm just here looking for a job. Everything was right as rain until Masato Tanaka here Jack Dempsey'd me with a right hook."
Straightening his shirt, Hide picked up his bag.
"You can tell Ceej thanks, but no thanks. I don't need this added stress in my life. I'm already taking five pills a day…"
"Can't," Salina said.
"And why not? Where is that slippery shit?"
"He's dead."
He stopped and looked at her.
"Dead?"
"Yeah," Erin finished.
"How? When?"
"Last year after confronting a man named Adrik Thorsen."
"Holy shit," Hide said taking a seat. "Is that why you called me? To replace him?"
"He used to speak highly of his friends in the department," Erin said. "He said you were really the only one who could actually handle being a Ghostbuster if it ever came down to it."
"He said that?" Hide laughed. "He was always saying things like that."
Erin nodded. "Yeah. He did."
Nobody said anything for awhile, until Rob spoke up.
"Look, nobody's forcing you to do this. We asked you for help. Remember that. You can just as easily walk out the front door and never look back…or you can honor your friend who believed in you enough to take up the fight that he died for."
Hide was silent for a moment as he scratched his chin. "Give me a couple hours."
"Hey wait a minute!" A dark-haired young man in a purple flightsuit shouted. "What about the rest of us? We want some attention too you know!"
"Oh that's it. Can't you see we're having a moment here!" Tim said diving for the young man. He grabbed his head and put him in a headlock. "I am sick and tired of you whiny-ass––"
"Hey now cut that out!" Orla said trying to talk Tim out of it. "Don't hurt the kid!"
"Hurt 'em? I'm not gonna' hurt him. I'm just giving the lad some special attention."
More shouts came from the peanut gallery that was the GBDP recruitment drive.
Standing to the side was Rob, Salina, and Erin.
"So guys," Erin said, "we've got three choices…
Door #1: The Single Mom.
Door #2: The Redneck Wonder.
Door #3: The Angsty Asian
…and then there's…
"You're wrong, Darlene! There's no way you'll ever hold Dr. Spengler's––,"a random fangirl tells another girl out loud in the background.
…them." Erin pointed behind her, not having the heart to look.
"I don't know about you guys," Rob said, "but I'm all for Orla and Tim. They're dedicated enough and damn sure don't lack the passion."
"What about Dr. Tanaka?" Erin asked. "Despite the circumstances, I trust CJ's judgment. Rob?"
"I don't see why not. I'm fine with it." He looked over at Salina. "It's up to you, Sal."
Salina looked at all three of them.
This new trio who were to stand in place of three of the best friends she'd ever known.
"This ought to be some kind of fun," she said under her breath. "How long should we let Tim wrestle with that kid?"
"When it stops being funny," Rob replied. "Still like being a Ghostbuster, Green Eyes?"
Erin shook her head. "Everyday."
Chapter 6: Mr. Crowley
Midnight
The Philadelphia Police Department's 7th Division was well known for matters other than working closely with the Ghostbusters. For one, they had the only police-operated morgue on the eastern seaboard, something that the Forensic director, Dr. Gilligan Hank McCoy, took pride in knowing that the offices no longer had to rely on the labor of local university students.
McCoy had been working there for nearly fifteen years and had grown accustomed to a period of prolonged activity that he called "midnight madness". Officers would bring in casualties of shoot-outs; rape/murder victims; even the occasional burn/decapitated/drawn and quartered individual would be a regular sight.
As he set to work on the corpse of a recent "accident", an automobile collision that resultied in avulsion of the brain, the large steel elevator doors outside of the lab had opened. He heard the sound of wheels squeaking behind him. He sighed.
"Got another one Chris?"
"Yeah, a real live one too."
"If that's a joke, I'm sorry, but it wasn't whimsical after the hundredth time I'd heard it ." McCoy turned around to face Chris and his eyes went to the carrier. Lying on the gurney was the corpse of a young man, about twenty-five to thirty years old, with wavy brown hair that might have been more commonplace in the Eighties.
"What happened here?"
"Another shootout," Chris said. "About an hour ago, we got a call to 1118 Crescent Place..."
"That upscale neighborhood near Jersey?"
"Yeah. This guy here...uh..." Chris looked at the name on his clipboard. "Larry Chaney, was the source of a major disturbance in the neighborhood. Turns out he was assaulted his wife and daughter with a steak knife. Killed the wife and nearly killed the daughter if five detectives hadn't made it there on time. It was a bit of a waste, though. Look at this." Chris pulled back the sheet covering Chaney's chest and showed the seven bullet wounds in the man's torso.
"Any one of those would have done the job," McCoy mused.
"Yeah, but they didn't. It was a shot through the temple that did that did the job." He looked over at the radio. "Is that the Beach Boys playing?"
"Meh, happy music drowns out the depressing atmosphere."
"I guess. I never really listen to the radio anymore. It's all bullshit to me.
"To each his own."
"Anyway, where should I put 'em?"
"Uh..just over there in the corner. I probably won't get to him till tomorrow morning. I'll put him in the freezer 'till then."
"Alright. Hey you want a beer?"
"Yeah, go ahead and snag me one."
"I'll be back."
The rickety elevator groaned and creaked as it made it's way back to the surface. McCoy worked on the auto victim for a few moments but then turned his attention back towards Chaney. The deceased man had a perfect build for his age: square jaw, barrel chest. His muscles, though at rest, bulged underneath the sheet. He also noticed that Chaney had a bit of growth on his face, not a five 'o clock shadow, but rather a nearly full-grown beard.
"What a waste," McCoy said to himself as he covered Chaney's face with the sheet. He rolled the carrier into an empty locker and closed it.
In the background, the Ronettes were now playing on the radio.
A few minutes passed and Chris returned with the two beers.
"Hey, can you watch this a minute? I gotta go upstairs and get something."
"Sure," Chris replied taking a seat. "Nobody's going anywhere."
"Ha, you kill me. I've got about 3,000 words to say to you when I get back about bad puns."
When he was sure McCoy had left, Chris went over to the radio. He raised a fist and slammed it down on the radio, destroying it.
"I hate that song", he said.
He heard some scratching behind him, coming from the locker.
"You in there, Larr?" he called out.
A muffled sound came out.
Chris grinned as he went over to the half-closed locker on the left and pulled out the gurney Chaney was laying on.
Chaney opened his eyes and looked at Chris. He grinned as his canines became more pronounced.
"You gave the pack a scare, Larr." Chris said as he helped Chaney up.
"Hunh, humans don't really scare me," Chaney replied.
"So what are you gonna do about your 'daughter'?"
"She'll join us soon. What hospital what she taken to?"
"Haven't got a clue."
"Shit."
"I know. Look Larr, there's a door over in the corner that leads to crematorium. From there you can go out into the streets."
"Why hurry?"
"If they find you here Larr..."
"You lose your job. Is that what it is Chris?" Chaney said grabbing Chris by his throat and pushing him against the wall. "They'll discover where your heart really lies?"
"No, Larr that's not..."
"Or how about I just kill you right now and you won't have to grieve about it anymore?"
"No! Jaxor, he promised me that I could join you!"
"Hmmph, so he did." Chaney let go of the officer. "So, don't get it into your head that you can tell me what to do."
Chris looked down and saw that Chaney's fingernails had suddenly become elongated.
"So..what are you gonna' do."
"Wait for that old fatass who was checking me out to come back."
Chris looked silently as Chaney licked the dry blood off his nails.
"I haven't had a bite for days."
TO BE CONTINUED...
