Preventative Medicine
CindyR
[Story takes place during the episode "Treasure of Sierra Tamale"]
Peter Venkman paused at the bottom of the spiral staircase to stare at the man who was his father. Charlie Venkman was much changed from the last time Peter had seen him - no longer a balding salesman, whose round-shouldered stoop took inches off his six-foot height. Today he was an erect, dignified businessman, well-dressed and confident in his course as befit his present role.
Becoming aware of his son's presence, Charlie raised his head though remaining bent over his task. "I can guess why you're here," he began without preamble. "You couldn't talk Ray out of coming with me."
Peter descended the last step and crossed to the couch. On it lay a small backpack, which Charlie was in the process of filling with clothing and personal supplies. Peter idly picked up a pair of boxers, on which was emblazoned the Ghostbusters logo. "Where did you get these things?" he chuckled, turning them over. "I didn't think anybody wore these except Ray."
Charlie snatched his possession away, quickly stuffing it out of sight. "You didn't come down here to talk about my underwear, did you?" He studied his son shrewdly, his green eyes narrowed. "You couldn't talk Ray out of going with me, could you?"
Peter sighed. "He's got his mind made up. No matter that it's probably a wild goose chase."
"And no matter that there may be danger from those demons the map mentioned?"
"Danger?" Peter snorted. "The only dangers Ray is going to have to worry about are the ones you're going to get him into once you start to operate." He leaned his hip on the arm of the couch and tilled his head until he could meet the other man's eyes, "Ray means a lot to me. Dad. I don't want anything to happen to him."
Venkman senior smiled that wide, toothy grin that had made many a housewife pull out her purse and offer him her credit cards. "Don't you worry about that, Petey-boy, I'll treat him like he was my own."
"Oh, no you don't," Peter snapped, white lipped. "Not if you want to make it as far as New Jersev!"
Charlie blinked, surprised at the unaccustomed venom. "I only meant --"
"I know what you meant," flash temper banking suddenly, Peter remained standing, his shoulders set. "And I don't think you understand what I'm saying. "
"Then suppose you tell me."
Peter rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving his father's. "I've known you a long time, Dab; know you better than anyone has ever known you - even Mom. "
Charlie grinned. "Your mother never did understand me, though in all fairness she tried. Good thing in a way, or she'd have divorced me a long time before she did."
"She did hang around longer than either of us expected," Peter admitted fairly. "She understands Roger, at least."
Then it was Charlie's turn to snort. "That . accountant."
"You say it like it was a dirty word," Peter chided him.
"To me it is." Charlie picked up the next item of clothing, a pair of khaki colored shorts, and began to fold them methodically. "But she married him and that's that. Nothing to be done about it now." Peter maintained a politic science until Charlie had packed the shorts and moved on to a shirt of the same hue. "But you didn't come all the way downstairs to talk to me about Margaret, either. You came to talk me out of taking the boy along,"
"No," Peter shook his head reluctantly- "No, Dad, I didn't. Ray's a grown man; I can't make his decisions for him. Wish I could sometimes. He's just ... not as experienced as you or I in certain matters --still thinks the world is one big Disney movie."
"Meaning what?" Charlie prodded, reaching for a small shaving kit. "That he'll go crazy the first time we hit one of those Mexican cantinas?" He wiggled his brows suggestively, forming a double parabola in the air with both hands, "Lot 'a ways for a kid like that to have fun without getting deported. Least 'a ways you never had any trouble amusing yourself."
Peter laughed, his expression easing fractionally. "Neither did you, as I recall. Remember Lolita?"
Tiny lines creased the corners of Charlie's eyes, giving them a merry aspect. "Lolita. Pretty Lolita. Played the both of us, didn't she? At least she didn't take anything worse than our wallets that night. You afraid Ray could get suckered like that? Never fear, son, I'll keep an eye on him for you, don't you worry."
"I'm going to ask Ray to keep an eye on you," Peter shot back, "He's a lot more levelheaded and he's used to keeping me out of trouble." He paused. "But what Ray isn't used to is questioning a man's motives or not trusting him implicitly. Remember that time you had him believing you knew the Queen of Samoa?
Charlie scowled. "You came home five minutes too early on that one," he complained, rolling up a pair of socks, "He was ready to buy those phony pearls I keep in my watch case."
"I came home five minutes too late," Peter returned sourly. "I had to hear about you and the Queen of Samoa for a solid week."
"Another ten minutes and I'd'a had him believing that I was the Queen of Samoa," Charlie chuckled, reaching for a t-shirt, "Kid's a natural born sucker. "
"The kid is my best friend," Peter corrected impatiently, "and he trusts you, even looks up to you, because you're my father."
Charlie preened ever so slightly under the assumed praise. "And why shouldn't he? I've led a pretty exciting life, met--"
"Knock it off. Dad," Peter said wearily. "I'm not as easy to impress as I was when I was ten, Ray is. He's going to trust you in San Marcos. And his life may depend on it."
The older Venkman stuffed the last of his clothes into the bag and began the struggle with the clasp, his expression losing some of the amiability which had marked it a moment earlier. "Look, Peter, we're going to catch the evening flight to Mexico, and a shuttle should get us into San Marcos just in time to hire a guide and hit the trail. That doesn't leave us enough time to eat breakfast much less start the riot you seem to expect." He scowled. "You're talking as if I'm going to go out and try to get the boy in trouble -- as if it's going to be my fault ..,."
"And you can knock that off, too," Peter snapped back, his own face hardening. "You want Ray along to use him - to have him take the weight if there is some kind of a curse on that treasure, and to throw to the wolves if you. need a diversion. Don't try to fool me, Dad -- it won't work where Ray is concerned."
Green eye met green, clashing like rapiers in the imperfect evening light. "Maybe you'd better just spell out what you're trying to say. Peter."
"All right, I will," Peter closed on his father, not stopping until only inches separated them. "Ray means a lot to me, Dad - more then you can possibly imagine. If anything happens to him because of you ,..."
"Yes?"
A pause, "Then don't bother coming back."
The words hung in the air between them, cold and final. Overhead came the sound of footsteps and Ray's voice raised in summons. The combination drew the attention of both men ceilingward, listening as the cheerful, gentle tones called Egon to share some new delight to be found on the television, Peter and Charlie remained frozen until the footsteps sounded again, followed by those of another, and disappeared into the direction of the back rooms. Then and only then did the men face each other again,
"Did you hear what you just said to me?" Charlie demanded tautly as though no interruption had occurred. "Did you listen to yourself?!"
Peter nodded, his jaw tight. "I mean it. Dad. L'm not going to have him pay because you want to get over on some mark." He looked away, his eyes hooded. "Ray isn't going to get beaten up because you wanted to swindle the head of a Chicago gambling ring. Ray isn't going to spend a week in a Texas jail because you wanted to sleep with the mayor's wife. Or ,,.,"
"Or what?" Charlie asked, standing very still.
"Or crush his spirit." Peter lifted his hand in a small, hopeless gesture, then raised his head to face his father once more. "Can't you understand, Dad? He's not like us and I ... want to keep him that way. I have to. Even if it means I go along on this stupid trip myself," he finished fiercely.
Charlie remained silent for a long moment. Finally, his eyes cleared and he managed a weak smile. "Would you have been this bad if your Mom and I had given you a real little brother?"
Peter took a deep breath and leaned against the couch, once again controlled and on balance, "Are you kidding? I loved being an only child. Still can't stand to share my toys."
"Or your old Dad?" Charlie prodded, grasping his son's arm, "Or your friends?"
Peter took the veined hand in his own. "No, maybe not." He said, squeezing. "I don't want Ray hurt, Dad - either of you. If I thought there was a single chance of that old map of yours being for real..."
"Demons and all," Charlie interjected.
"... I'd say forget adult and force you both to stay here," Peter went on, almost pleading now-. "But all I'm worried about is him getting hurt inside - by you. Use him. Dad, or dump him like ...."
"Like I did you?" Charlie demanded when Peter hesitated.
"I just don't want him hurt," the younger man finished, looking away.
Charlie Venkman's lined face softened at that. He turned his hand over, twining his fingers in Peter's. "I won't hurt your friend," he promised solemnly- "And I won't let anyone else hurt him, either. I promise." He waited until Peter looked up. "I was hoping it would be you to go with me, Ray's a nice kid, but he's not my son, you are."
"Treat him like he was," Peter admonished firmly, but there was real trust in his expression. "For my sake. Because if ever I did have a kid brother, it would have been him. And if by some stretch of the imagination you do run into trouble, listen to him - in our field he's the best there is. Got it?"
"Got it." Charlie chewed his lower lip. "I . uh ,., don't suppose you managed to talk Slimer out of coming along?" he asked hopefully. "That ghost still gives me the willies." Peter laughed and shook his head. Charlie heaved a sigh. "Oh, well. It was worth a shot." He freed his hand from Peter 's and stretched wide his arms, "You too old to give your old man a goodbye?" he asked, enfolding Peter in a firm embrace,
Peter bugged him back, dropping his head on his father's shoulder as he had so often as a child. Thus settled, father and son exchanged a warm smile and pulled apart, though Peter remained staring for some minutes, "What's the matter?" Charlie asked, beginning to grow uncomfortable under the scrutiny,
Peter frowned. "Where did you pick up the hair?" he asked, tipping his chin. "And the black sideburns?"
Charlie tossed his head, beaming. "Picked up the rug when I started dating Kitty last month. Little Grecian Formula and voile, twenty years gone. You like?"
Peter grinned back. "You'll knock "em dead. Dad." A horn blared outside, and Peter stepped away. "That's your ride to the airport, " he said, crossing to the spiral steps. "Y0! RAY!"
"Coming?" came the immediate response from the third floor. A moment later Ray Stantz appeared, a shoulderpack dangling from one hand. "Is it the cab?" he bubbled, his pleasant face aglow with excitement. "Are we ready to go?"
"Yeah, it's the cab," Peter confirmed, snagging his arm. "Guess this is it, bunky."
"I'll wait for you. outside, Ray," Charlie called, already on his way down, "Goodbye, Peter."
Peter remained where he was, staring at his youngest partner gravely. "Listen, Ray? I want you to be careful down there. A lot of things can go wrong in the jungles and there won't be anyone around to help you."
Ray shook his head, a lock of auburn hair falling across his forehead. "Your father will be there," he assured his friend with innocent conviction. "And we're going to hire a guide the minute we get to San Marcos, We'll be fine, Peter. Honest,"
"You'd better be," the psychologist charged, only a tightness around his mouth betraying his concern. He paused, his green eyes boring into Ray's clear brown ones. "I want you to do me a favor,"
Ray sobered instantly. "What is it. Peter? Is something wrong?"
Peter raised both hands, palms up. "Not wrong, exactly, I was just going to ask you to take care of my Dad for me. He needs someone to watch out for him sometimes -- to kind of be a good influence, that sort of thing."
"A good influence?" Ray asked, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Venkman shrugged. "You know how he is, put him anywhere in the vicinity of a bar or a pretty girl and he's a goner. I'm depending on you to keep your head, at least."
"Oh, sure. Peter," Ray nodded enthusiastically. "I'll take care of him for you. Promise. Did you know that your father used to know royalty?"
Peter groaned aloud. "Uh, Ray, I don't know how to tell you this, but Samoa doesn't have a queen."
Ray twitched his shoulders, a half-shy, half-embarrassed little shrug. "I know."
Peter stared, his mouth dropping open. "You mean you knew the whole time that he was feeding you a load? And you let him get away with it?"
"Well ., sure." Ray stared back, rose touching his cheeks. "But he likes telling me about it so much, I didn't have the heart to say anything." He paused, his soft brown eyes gleaming warmly- "You/re really lucky to have a father like him. He loves you a lot."
"Yeah, I know he does," Peter agreed, his tense muscles relaxing for the first time. He smiled fondly at his friend, then draped an arm around his neck and pulled him close. "Take care of yourself while you're at it, kiddo. I don't want to have to come down there and pull your butt out of the sling."
"You won't," Ray promised somewhat unprophetically, leaning into Peter's grasp. The cab honked again and Ray pulled free and reached for his grip. "Got to go, Peter! Bye!" And with a merry wave and another cheerful smile, he was gone.
From the second floor window Peter watched Charlie take Ray's bag and shove it into the front seat of the cab, then hustle the younger man into the back with a hearty clap on the back. Charlie paused in the act of climbing in himself to look up at the window, his lips curving at the sight of his son's silhouette. He raised one hand in salute and then vanished into the interior of the cab. Finally, there was a squeal of wheels and the busy traffic of New York City swallowed it whole,
Peter Venkman remained standing there a long time after, his gaze fixed on the vacant spot in front of the building, which had once held his father and best friend. Then with a fatalistic shrug, he turned back to the suddenly very barren room.
Finish
CindyR
[Story takes place during the episode "Treasure of Sierra Tamale"]
Peter Venkman paused at the bottom of the spiral staircase to stare at the man who was his father. Charlie Venkman was much changed from the last time Peter had seen him - no longer a balding salesman, whose round-shouldered stoop took inches off his six-foot height. Today he was an erect, dignified businessman, well-dressed and confident in his course as befit his present role.
Becoming aware of his son's presence, Charlie raised his head though remaining bent over his task. "I can guess why you're here," he began without preamble. "You couldn't talk Ray out of coming with me."
Peter descended the last step and crossed to the couch. On it lay a small backpack, which Charlie was in the process of filling with clothing and personal supplies. Peter idly picked up a pair of boxers, on which was emblazoned the Ghostbusters logo. "Where did you get these things?" he chuckled, turning them over. "I didn't think anybody wore these except Ray."
Charlie snatched his possession away, quickly stuffing it out of sight. "You didn't come down here to talk about my underwear, did you?" He studied his son shrewdly, his green eyes narrowed. "You couldn't talk Ray out of going with me, could you?"
Peter sighed. "He's got his mind made up. No matter that it's probably a wild goose chase."
"And no matter that there may be danger from those demons the map mentioned?"
"Danger?" Peter snorted. "The only dangers Ray is going to have to worry about are the ones you're going to get him into once you start to operate." He leaned his hip on the arm of the couch and tilled his head until he could meet the other man's eyes, "Ray means a lot to me. Dad. I don't want anything to happen to him."
Venkman senior smiled that wide, toothy grin that had made many a housewife pull out her purse and offer him her credit cards. "Don't you worry about that, Petey-boy, I'll treat him like he was my own."
"Oh, no you don't," Peter snapped, white lipped. "Not if you want to make it as far as New Jersev!"
Charlie blinked, surprised at the unaccustomed venom. "I only meant --"
"I know what you meant," flash temper banking suddenly, Peter remained standing, his shoulders set. "And I don't think you understand what I'm saying. "
"Then suppose you tell me."
Peter rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving his father's. "I've known you a long time, Dab; know you better than anyone has ever known you - even Mom. "
Charlie grinned. "Your mother never did understand me, though in all fairness she tried. Good thing in a way, or she'd have divorced me a long time before she did."
"She did hang around longer than either of us expected," Peter admitted fairly. "She understands Roger, at least."
Then it was Charlie's turn to snort. "That . accountant."
"You say it like it was a dirty word," Peter chided him.
"To me it is." Charlie picked up the next item of clothing, a pair of khaki colored shorts, and began to fold them methodically. "But she married him and that's that. Nothing to be done about it now." Peter maintained a politic science until Charlie had packed the shorts and moved on to a shirt of the same hue. "But you didn't come all the way downstairs to talk to me about Margaret, either. You came to talk me out of taking the boy along,"
"No," Peter shook his head reluctantly- "No, Dad, I didn't. Ray's a grown man; I can't make his decisions for him. Wish I could sometimes. He's just ... not as experienced as you or I in certain matters --still thinks the world is one big Disney movie."
"Meaning what?" Charlie prodded, reaching for a small shaving kit. "That he'll go crazy the first time we hit one of those Mexican cantinas?" He wiggled his brows suggestively, forming a double parabola in the air with both hands, "Lot 'a ways for a kid like that to have fun without getting deported. Least 'a ways you never had any trouble amusing yourself."
Peter laughed, his expression easing fractionally. "Neither did you, as I recall. Remember Lolita?"
Tiny lines creased the corners of Charlie's eyes, giving them a merry aspect. "Lolita. Pretty Lolita. Played the both of us, didn't she? At least she didn't take anything worse than our wallets that night. You afraid Ray could get suckered like that? Never fear, son, I'll keep an eye on him for you, don't you worry."
"I'm going to ask Ray to keep an eye on you," Peter shot back, "He's a lot more levelheaded and he's used to keeping me out of trouble." He paused. "But what Ray isn't used to is questioning a man's motives or not trusting him implicitly. Remember that time you had him believing you knew the Queen of Samoa?
Charlie scowled. "You came home five minutes too early on that one," he complained, rolling up a pair of socks, "He was ready to buy those phony pearls I keep in my watch case."
"I came home five minutes too late," Peter returned sourly. "I had to hear about you and the Queen of Samoa for a solid week."
"Another ten minutes and I'd'a had him believing that I was the Queen of Samoa," Charlie chuckled, reaching for a t-shirt, "Kid's a natural born sucker. "
"The kid is my best friend," Peter corrected impatiently, "and he trusts you, even looks up to you, because you're my father."
Charlie preened ever so slightly under the assumed praise. "And why shouldn't he? I've led a pretty exciting life, met--"
"Knock it off. Dad," Peter said wearily. "I'm not as easy to impress as I was when I was ten, Ray is. He's going to trust you in San Marcos. And his life may depend on it."
The older Venkman stuffed the last of his clothes into the bag and began the struggle with the clasp, his expression losing some of the amiability which had marked it a moment earlier. "Look, Peter, we're going to catch the evening flight to Mexico, and a shuttle should get us into San Marcos just in time to hire a guide and hit the trail. That doesn't leave us enough time to eat breakfast much less start the riot you seem to expect." He scowled. "You're talking as if I'm going to go out and try to get the boy in trouble -- as if it's going to be my fault ..,."
"And you can knock that off, too," Peter snapped back, his own face hardening. "You want Ray along to use him - to have him take the weight if there is some kind of a curse on that treasure, and to throw to the wolves if you. need a diversion. Don't try to fool me, Dad -- it won't work where Ray is concerned."
Green eye met green, clashing like rapiers in the imperfect evening light. "Maybe you'd better just spell out what you're trying to say. Peter."
"All right, I will," Peter closed on his father, not stopping until only inches separated them. "Ray means a lot to me, Dad - more then you can possibly imagine. If anything happens to him because of you ,..."
"Yes?"
A pause, "Then don't bother coming back."
The words hung in the air between them, cold and final. Overhead came the sound of footsteps and Ray's voice raised in summons. The combination drew the attention of both men ceilingward, listening as the cheerful, gentle tones called Egon to share some new delight to be found on the television, Peter and Charlie remained frozen until the footsteps sounded again, followed by those of another, and disappeared into the direction of the back rooms. Then and only then did the men face each other again,
"Did you hear what you just said to me?" Charlie demanded tautly as though no interruption had occurred. "Did you listen to yourself?!"
Peter nodded, his jaw tight. "I mean it. Dad. L'm not going to have him pay because you want to get over on some mark." He looked away, his eyes hooded. "Ray isn't going to get beaten up because you wanted to swindle the head of a Chicago gambling ring. Ray isn't going to spend a week in a Texas jail because you wanted to sleep with the mayor's wife. Or ,,.,"
"Or what?" Charlie asked, standing very still.
"Or crush his spirit." Peter lifted his hand in a small, hopeless gesture, then raised his head to face his father once more. "Can't you understand, Dad? He's not like us and I ... want to keep him that way. I have to. Even if it means I go along on this stupid trip myself," he finished fiercely.
Charlie remained silent for a long moment. Finally, his eyes cleared and he managed a weak smile. "Would you have been this bad if your Mom and I had given you a real little brother?"
Peter took a deep breath and leaned against the couch, once again controlled and on balance, "Are you kidding? I loved being an only child. Still can't stand to share my toys."
"Or your old Dad?" Charlie prodded, grasping his son's arm, "Or your friends?"
Peter took the veined hand in his own. "No, maybe not." He said, squeezing. "I don't want Ray hurt, Dad - either of you. If I thought there was a single chance of that old map of yours being for real..."
"Demons and all," Charlie interjected.
"... I'd say forget adult and force you both to stay here," Peter went on, almost pleading now-. "But all I'm worried about is him getting hurt inside - by you. Use him. Dad, or dump him like ...."
"Like I did you?" Charlie demanded when Peter hesitated.
"I just don't want him hurt," the younger man finished, looking away.
Charlie Venkman's lined face softened at that. He turned his hand over, twining his fingers in Peter's. "I won't hurt your friend," he promised solemnly- "And I won't let anyone else hurt him, either. I promise." He waited until Peter looked up. "I was hoping it would be you to go with me, Ray's a nice kid, but he's not my son, you are."
"Treat him like he was," Peter admonished firmly, but there was real trust in his expression. "For my sake. Because if ever I did have a kid brother, it would have been him. And if by some stretch of the imagination you do run into trouble, listen to him - in our field he's the best there is. Got it?"
"Got it." Charlie chewed his lower lip. "I . uh ,., don't suppose you managed to talk Slimer out of coming along?" he asked hopefully. "That ghost still gives me the willies." Peter laughed and shook his head. Charlie heaved a sigh. "Oh, well. It was worth a shot." He freed his hand from Peter 's and stretched wide his arms, "You too old to give your old man a goodbye?" he asked, enfolding Peter in a firm embrace,
Peter bugged him back, dropping his head on his father's shoulder as he had so often as a child. Thus settled, father and son exchanged a warm smile and pulled apart, though Peter remained staring for some minutes, "What's the matter?" Charlie asked, beginning to grow uncomfortable under the scrutiny,
Peter frowned. "Where did you pick up the hair?" he asked, tipping his chin. "And the black sideburns?"
Charlie tossed his head, beaming. "Picked up the rug when I started dating Kitty last month. Little Grecian Formula and voile, twenty years gone. You like?"
Peter grinned back. "You'll knock "em dead. Dad." A horn blared outside, and Peter stepped away. "That's your ride to the airport, " he said, crossing to the spiral steps. "Y0! RAY!"
"Coming?" came the immediate response from the third floor. A moment later Ray Stantz appeared, a shoulderpack dangling from one hand. "Is it the cab?" he bubbled, his pleasant face aglow with excitement. "Are we ready to go?"
"Yeah, it's the cab," Peter confirmed, snagging his arm. "Guess this is it, bunky."
"I'll wait for you. outside, Ray," Charlie called, already on his way down, "Goodbye, Peter."
Peter remained where he was, staring at his youngest partner gravely. "Listen, Ray? I want you to be careful down there. A lot of things can go wrong in the jungles and there won't be anyone around to help you."
Ray shook his head, a lock of auburn hair falling across his forehead. "Your father will be there," he assured his friend with innocent conviction. "And we're going to hire a guide the minute we get to San Marcos, We'll be fine, Peter. Honest,"
"You'd better be," the psychologist charged, only a tightness around his mouth betraying his concern. He paused, his green eyes boring into Ray's clear brown ones. "I want you to do me a favor,"
Ray sobered instantly. "What is it. Peter? Is something wrong?"
Peter raised both hands, palms up. "Not wrong, exactly, I was just going to ask you to take care of my Dad for me. He needs someone to watch out for him sometimes -- to kind of be a good influence, that sort of thing."
"A good influence?" Ray asked, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Venkman shrugged. "You know how he is, put him anywhere in the vicinity of a bar or a pretty girl and he's a goner. I'm depending on you to keep your head, at least."
"Oh, sure. Peter," Ray nodded enthusiastically. "I'll take care of him for you. Promise. Did you know that your father used to know royalty?"
Peter groaned aloud. "Uh, Ray, I don't know how to tell you this, but Samoa doesn't have a queen."
Ray twitched his shoulders, a half-shy, half-embarrassed little shrug. "I know."
Peter stared, his mouth dropping open. "You mean you knew the whole time that he was feeding you a load? And you let him get away with it?"
"Well ., sure." Ray stared back, rose touching his cheeks. "But he likes telling me about it so much, I didn't have the heart to say anything." He paused, his soft brown eyes gleaming warmly- "You/re really lucky to have a father like him. He loves you a lot."
"Yeah, I know he does," Peter agreed, his tense muscles relaxing for the first time. He smiled fondly at his friend, then draped an arm around his neck and pulled him close. "Take care of yourself while you're at it, kiddo. I don't want to have to come down there and pull your butt out of the sling."
"You won't," Ray promised somewhat unprophetically, leaning into Peter's grasp. The cab honked again and Ray pulled free and reached for his grip. "Got to go, Peter! Bye!" And with a merry wave and another cheerful smile, he was gone.
From the second floor window Peter watched Charlie take Ray's bag and shove it into the front seat of the cab, then hustle the younger man into the back with a hearty clap on the back. Charlie paused in the act of climbing in himself to look up at the window, his lips curving at the sight of his son's silhouette. He raised one hand in salute and then vanished into the interior of the cab. Finally, there was a squeal of wheels and the busy traffic of New York City swallowed it whole,
Peter Venkman remained standing there a long time after, his gaze fixed on the vacant spot in front of the building, which had once held his father and best friend. Then with a fatalistic shrug, he turned back to the suddenly very barren room.
Finish