"I can not believe they hired us back," Peter repeated for the seventh time
that afternoon. "That wimpy little manager.... What was his name?"
"Shupp," Egon supplied.
Peter grimaced. "Shupp hates our guts with a passion."
"He obviously hates being haunted more," Winston replied, pulling Ecto up in front of a rich red awning. He shut off the engine, then craned his neck to stare up at the impressive marble and granite structure which dominated the whole west side of the block. "The Sedgewick Hotel. So this is where it all started."
"Where it almost ended," Peter chuckled. He nudged Slimer, hovering in the rear, with one finger then wiped his hand clean on his coverall. "Hey, Spud, this place bring back any memories?"
Slimer floated upward until he could stick his head through the roof of the car. He studied the building for a long moment, then let out a squeal. "Wow! Slimer knows this place! Lots of food!" He retracted his head and fixed Peter with a pleading look. "Eat now?"
"No," Egon said firmly from Slimer's other side. "We are here to do a job, not to stage a repeat of our first case." He transferred his stern look from a dejected Slimer to Ray, in the passenger seat. "I told you it would be a mistake to bring him along."
Peter spoke up before Ray had a chance, mimicking Egon's stern look as best he could with a twinkle in his eye. "You're a hard man, Egon, trying to deny our little pal here a chance to visit with an old friend." Egon snorted and Peter turned to Slimer. "He doesn't mean to be cruel," he explained instructively. "He just doesn't understand what you and Shupp had together."
"Hmph!" Slimer retorted succinctly, disappearing through the floor.
Jonathan Milton Shupp greeted the team at the door far more cordially than they had expected, that is to say, he didn't immediately call the police and have them arrested. The manager of the Sedgewick Hotel was little changed from their first meeting over four years earlier; pudgier, his hair a little thinner, but his attitude was exactly as they remembered it -- disdain oozing from every pore.
"I think you should know," he began without preamble, "that the owners overruled my recommendation and ordered me to hire you again. As the problem is confined to the 11th and 12th floors, I suggested that we simply close that area down; they, however, insisted."
He hustled them inside, explaining in a hushed voice as they walked. "Two maids reported seeing what they originally took to be a cloud of smoke filling one corner. The assumed there was a fire until it drifted down the hall and disappeared through the wall. One of them has been here for several years and recognized one of... those immediately."
"Could be a Class-3 vaporous apparition," Egon mused aloud. "Or even an unaligned source specific Class-5. Interesting that it's inhabiting the same territory that Slimer did when he first arrived, don't you think, Ray?"
At his comrade's lack of response, Spengler turned, but Ray was several yards back, trailing the queue silently. His tired brown eyes moved from side to side, paying particular attention to the curious faces of the hotel's patrons. Having apparently satisfied himself as to them, he next studied the lobby itself -- walls, ceiling and floor, even stretching up onto his toes to peek behind an enormous potted fern in one corner. Shupp, noticing this, stopped to glare.
"I said the problem is confined to the 11th and 12th floors," he snapped irritably. "Why are you searching the lobby?"
Ray blushed and absently rubbed at his wrist. "I... I'm sorry. I was just...."
Peter retraced his steps, casting Shupp a bright smile en route. "Just part of our thorough and friendly service," he said. He reached the discomfited Stantz and grasped his elbow, then hustled him to the elevator. "What's the matter with you?" he muttered sotto voce. "You trying to ruin what little rep we got?"
Ray hunched his shoulders slightly. "I'm sorry, Peter."
"No matter," the psychologist told him, giving the younger man a pat. He turned to the staring crowd, offering them his best megawatt smile. "False alarm, folks. It was only a cockroach."
"A cockroach?!" one blue-haired matron gasped, clutching an overnight case to her ample breast. "Well, I never!"
"And I wouldn't hold my breath, either," Peter growled, punching the elevator call button with a vengeance.
The five men squeezed into the car, the space limited due to the bulky proton packs the Ghostbusters wore. Shupp backed himself into the near corner, peering from man to man, all four of whom were staring back with undisguised amusement. "I sincerely hope I don't lose any more guests because of all this. The hotel rating dropped an entire star after the last incident."
Ray tightened his web belt another notch, then clasped his right hand in his left. "Don't worry, Mr. Shupp," he said soothingly. "We'll be in and out before anyone even realizes we're here."
"The last time you said that you destroyed my best ballroom," Shupp shot back.
Egon leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "One little mistake...."
Shupp glared. "That 'little mistake' nearly cost me my job!"
Venkman's expression was angelic innocence itself. "We've come a long way since then," he purred, training the barrel of his thrower on Shupp's sweating head. "Would you like a little demonstration before we start?" He lowered his thrower with a little chuckle. "That reminds me of the first time we were here," he told Winston. "You should have seen us. We hadn't even tested the equipment yet; had no idea whether or not it was going to blow us and the entire block to kingdom come."
Ray tilted his head. "I was sure," he said, mildly hurt. "Didn't you believe me?"
Peter draped one arm around his shoulders, giving him the same suspiciously bright smile he'd given the crowd downstairs. "Of course I believed you," he said easily. "It was Egon who was scared."
"I wasn't scared," Egon retorted, uncrossing his arms. "I was... justifiably apprehensive."
Shupp ignored them both. "For the third time," he announced pompously, "the problem is confined to the 11th and 12th floors. I expect you to avoid all other areas of the building at all times."
Ray's ears picked up at that. "The 11th and 12th floors?" he repeated. "That's where we trapped Slimer."
Winston rolled his eyes. "We already covered that part, Ray," he said tolerantly. "You want to try and keep up?"
The elevator doors opened and Egon stepped out, then paused to wait for Ray to disembark. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked the younger man.
Ray rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "A dimensional nexus?"
Spengler nodded. "It's the most likely possibility. If so, at least we probably won't have to chase them far."
"Why is that?" Shupp asked, despite himself.
Peter, preoccupied with running a final check on his thrower's settings, replied automatically. "The realities' interface requires a specific amount of inherent energy to traverse...." He caught himself and glanced up. "Or so I've heard," he finished lamely.
"Or so I've heard," Egon grumbled as an aside to Ray. Louder, "That's quite correct. Many minor entities can operate only so far from the influence of their own realm and only where the interface allows for overlap between the dimensions. Breaking through completely into our world is beyond their ability without outside help. That's why there's usually a surge in spirit activity during a visit by some major entity, such as Gozer or Lourdain."
"Are you saying," Shupp interrupted, "that there may be more of those things around?"
Egon shrugged. "Hard to say. If this is a gateway, we're going to have to close it to prevent a mass invasion. We suspected as much when Slimer first appeared."
"If you'd closed it then, I wouldn't have had to go through this twice!" Shupp growled. He fixed the four with an angry look. "Why didn't you mention this four years ago?"
Egon returned that look blandly. "You never asked."
Shupp's glare would have burned holes in concrete. "If you had, I could have saved the hotel mon... mon...."
"Money?" Peter supplied helpfully.
Shupp's jaw dropped several inches and his eyes grew wide. "You brought that with you!" he accused shrilly. "I paid $5000 to have that thing removed!" He drew himself up to his full height and pointed dramatically at the floating green blob which was in the process of oozing through the floor. "I refuse, I utterly refuse to pay again! I'll sue. I'll...."
"Don't worry, Mr. Shupp." Ray, always the peacemaker, raised both hands placatingly. "He'll be going home with us when we leave."
"He had better." Shupp watched nervously as Slimer buzzed the ceiling once, then floated over to study him.
"Slimer remembers him," the little mascot remarked in his pleasant falsetto. "First one I saw!"
"The first what?" Winston asked, unclipping his thrower and powering up.
"Human!" Overcome with a surge of amiability, the ghost threw his arms around Shupp's neck and kissed him full on the lips.
"AAAGH!" the manager screeched, spitting ectoplasm. "Ugh!"
"I don't think he likes you, Slimer," Peter commented from a safe distance.
"Yuck!" Shupp reiterated, repulsed by the thick coating of slime which glued his clothes to his body and dripped in great wads off his hair.
Unperturbed by Shupp's greeting, the green ghost stuck out his tongue and gave vent to a truly respectable Bronx cheer, spattering both the manager and the wall behind him with a new coating of slime.
"Don't you worry, Slimer, we still love you," Winston soothed, patting his little friend on the back. "No matter what he says."
Shupp raised his arms to waist level, gaping stupidly at his soggy clothes. "This was an Armani," he mourned, flicking dripping ectoplasm off his fingertips. He audibly ground his teeth, while his face mottled red. "You'll pay for this!" he roared.
Slimer sought refuge behind Ray, who smiled, while Egon placidly pulled out his PKE meter and thumbed it on. He had to clear his throat loudly when a blob of goo detached itself from Shupp's forehead and began a ludicrous downhill ski jump off the end of the man's nose. "PKE is steady on this floor," he said, dismissing the manager. "I'm reading a Class-3..."
"Is that all?" Ray asked. "Darn."
"...but I can't seem to pick up any more information from here. I suggest we split up and search each floor separately for signs of a breach. Ray, do you have the extra PKE meter with you?"
Stantz patted his pockets, finally locating the little instrument snapped to his pack. "Got it."
"Good." Egon jerked his head towards the left hand branch of the hallway. "You check this floor for increased PKE and signs of inhabitation. I'll drop down to eleven and begin there. If you find evidence of a breach, use the radio. A gateway in existence for nearly five years is bound to have weakened around the barrier rim."
"What does that mean?" Winston asked suspiciously.
Ray made a little throw-away gesture. "Boom."
Winston grimaced. "Sorry I asked."
Egon nodded solemnly. "It's a possibility. If we're not careful, we'll end up knee-deep in spirits."
"Just what we need," Peter commented sourly. "A spud-flood. No offense, Slimer," he added.
"Oh, that's okay," Slimer returned agreeably.
"That's all assuming," Ray reminded them, studying the glowing face of his meter, "that this is really a dimensional nexus we're dealing with." He massaged the bridge of his nose with his free hand, then checked the meter again. "Pretty low level Class-3."
"I noticed that, too." Spengler inclined his head. "Perhaps we are dealing with that rarest of improbabilities -- the true coincidence."
"I don't believe in coincidences," Peter growled, shouldering his thrower. "But we'll never find out by standing here gabbing. Let's do it!"
"Right!" Winston agreed.
He, with Egon at his shoulder, reentered the waiting elevator, having to circumnavigate the still sputtering Jonathan Shupp to reach it. Egon paused long enough to say, "I understand that the wet look is out this year," before the doors closed and they were whisked from view.
Shupp, still gaping after them, stared at the metal doors for a full thirty seconds, then closed his mouth with a snap and stormed for the fire exit, muttering low epithets as he went.
Peter and Ray exchanged a grin, then Peter lowered his thrower and switched it on. A low hum filled the immediate area, a reassuring sound in the silent hall. "You have a direction on that thing, yet?" he asked.
Stantz glanced at the meter, then shook his head. "Nothing definite. It's hard to get a reading on something this low powered -- we may not even have a Class-3 here."
"At least we're not facing teeth and claws," Peter sighed, starting off down the hall. "You sense anything, Spud?"
"T-teeth and claws?" Slimer repeated, his yellow-orange eyes as big as saucers.
"Not this time out," Ray assured the ghost, freeing his own thrower and balancing it across his forearm. "Peter just wants to know if you can sense anything around."
"Oh." Slimer's frightened expression faded into one of concentration. "Yeah! Yeah! Follow me!" He zipped rapidly down the hall, Peter and Ray at his back, then disappeared through an innocuous looking door halfway down a side corridor. He was back in an instant, nodding his 'head' and shaking all over. "Here! Here! Hurry!"
"Show time!" Ray called, losing his gloomy mien at the prospect of action. "Out of the way, Slimer!" Slimer obediently disappeared through the floor as Ray leveled his thrower at the door and thumbed it on. He fired just seconds ahead of Peter, whose face wore a look of gleeful anticipation. Twin beams shot out, each striking the closed door exactly dead center. The paneling disintegrated under the destructive might of two nuclear accelerators, leaving a gaping hole into the darkened room. To the rear, Slimer cheered loudly, having reappeared as soon as they'd opened fire.
Ray waited not an instant before leaping through the aperture, flicking on the overhead lamp with his left hand and leveling his thrower with his right. He paused a moment, then back-pedelled hurriedly, his face crimson. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, slamming full into Peter, who was trying to enter the room behind him.
Venkman uttered a low "OOF!" when Ray hit, then swung his colleague impatiently out of the way, allowing himself free access to the room. His "Ooops! Sorry, folks! Please carry on," was off-hand, but the look he gave Ray upon returning to the hall was chagrined. "Honeymoon Suite," he remarked unnecessarily. "Slimer," he went on silkily.
The friendly spectre floated through the doorway again, having gone through after Ray. "Yes, boss?"
"Maybe you misunderstood me," Peter went on, his voice crushed velvet. "I said I wanted you to sniff out 'spuds,' not 'studs.' You do know the difference, don't you?"
Slimer puffed himself out importantly and danced a little jig in the air. "Uh-huh! Wanted you to see! Mushy stuff fun! Watch all the time!"
Ray, his color still high, regarded the ghost wide-eyed. "You don't go peeking in people's bedrooms?" he asked, honestly scandalized. "But that's.... They were... I mean...."
"Would you like me to explain it to you?" Pete offered kindly.
It took Ray several seconds to realize that the psychologist was taking to him rather than Slimer. "Peter!"
"Okay, okay, I was just asking." Peter grinned cheekily, his own aplomb rapidly returning. "We're not looking for mushy stuff, Spud, only the out- of-place gooper we're getting paid for. Got it?"
"Got it," Slimer agreed, disappointed. He floated off, sniffing the air like a hunting dog and mumbling to himself. Without warning, he disappeared through the floor and was gone.
"You don't think he really watches people... when they...?" Ray asked in a hushed voice, deliberately ignoring the sounds of two people cursing and scurrying for their clothes from within the room.
Peter shrugged but his eyes danced with mischief. "It's not like you have anything to worry about," he teased, slapping his friend on the back.
Ray's blush deepened and he turned away, trotting a safe distance down the hall. Peter chuckled. "Guess Slimer's not as dumb as he looks," he told himself running to catch up.
***
"Shupp," Egon supplied.
Peter grimaced. "Shupp hates our guts with a passion."
"He obviously hates being haunted more," Winston replied, pulling Ecto up in front of a rich red awning. He shut off the engine, then craned his neck to stare up at the impressive marble and granite structure which dominated the whole west side of the block. "The Sedgewick Hotel. So this is where it all started."
"Where it almost ended," Peter chuckled. He nudged Slimer, hovering in the rear, with one finger then wiped his hand clean on his coverall. "Hey, Spud, this place bring back any memories?"
Slimer floated upward until he could stick his head through the roof of the car. He studied the building for a long moment, then let out a squeal. "Wow! Slimer knows this place! Lots of food!" He retracted his head and fixed Peter with a pleading look. "Eat now?"
"No," Egon said firmly from Slimer's other side. "We are here to do a job, not to stage a repeat of our first case." He transferred his stern look from a dejected Slimer to Ray, in the passenger seat. "I told you it would be a mistake to bring him along."
Peter spoke up before Ray had a chance, mimicking Egon's stern look as best he could with a twinkle in his eye. "You're a hard man, Egon, trying to deny our little pal here a chance to visit with an old friend." Egon snorted and Peter turned to Slimer. "He doesn't mean to be cruel," he explained instructively. "He just doesn't understand what you and Shupp had together."
"Hmph!" Slimer retorted succinctly, disappearing through the floor.
Jonathan Milton Shupp greeted the team at the door far more cordially than they had expected, that is to say, he didn't immediately call the police and have them arrested. The manager of the Sedgewick Hotel was little changed from their first meeting over four years earlier; pudgier, his hair a little thinner, but his attitude was exactly as they remembered it -- disdain oozing from every pore.
"I think you should know," he began without preamble, "that the owners overruled my recommendation and ordered me to hire you again. As the problem is confined to the 11th and 12th floors, I suggested that we simply close that area down; they, however, insisted."
He hustled them inside, explaining in a hushed voice as they walked. "Two maids reported seeing what they originally took to be a cloud of smoke filling one corner. The assumed there was a fire until it drifted down the hall and disappeared through the wall. One of them has been here for several years and recognized one of... those immediately."
"Could be a Class-3 vaporous apparition," Egon mused aloud. "Or even an unaligned source specific Class-5. Interesting that it's inhabiting the same territory that Slimer did when he first arrived, don't you think, Ray?"
At his comrade's lack of response, Spengler turned, but Ray was several yards back, trailing the queue silently. His tired brown eyes moved from side to side, paying particular attention to the curious faces of the hotel's patrons. Having apparently satisfied himself as to them, he next studied the lobby itself -- walls, ceiling and floor, even stretching up onto his toes to peek behind an enormous potted fern in one corner. Shupp, noticing this, stopped to glare.
"I said the problem is confined to the 11th and 12th floors," he snapped irritably. "Why are you searching the lobby?"
Ray blushed and absently rubbed at his wrist. "I... I'm sorry. I was just...."
Peter retraced his steps, casting Shupp a bright smile en route. "Just part of our thorough and friendly service," he said. He reached the discomfited Stantz and grasped his elbow, then hustled him to the elevator. "What's the matter with you?" he muttered sotto voce. "You trying to ruin what little rep we got?"
Ray hunched his shoulders slightly. "I'm sorry, Peter."
"No matter," the psychologist told him, giving the younger man a pat. He turned to the staring crowd, offering them his best megawatt smile. "False alarm, folks. It was only a cockroach."
"A cockroach?!" one blue-haired matron gasped, clutching an overnight case to her ample breast. "Well, I never!"
"And I wouldn't hold my breath, either," Peter growled, punching the elevator call button with a vengeance.
The five men squeezed into the car, the space limited due to the bulky proton packs the Ghostbusters wore. Shupp backed himself into the near corner, peering from man to man, all four of whom were staring back with undisguised amusement. "I sincerely hope I don't lose any more guests because of all this. The hotel rating dropped an entire star after the last incident."
Ray tightened his web belt another notch, then clasped his right hand in his left. "Don't worry, Mr. Shupp," he said soothingly. "We'll be in and out before anyone even realizes we're here."
"The last time you said that you destroyed my best ballroom," Shupp shot back.
Egon leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "One little mistake...."
Shupp glared. "That 'little mistake' nearly cost me my job!"
Venkman's expression was angelic innocence itself. "We've come a long way since then," he purred, training the barrel of his thrower on Shupp's sweating head. "Would you like a little demonstration before we start?" He lowered his thrower with a little chuckle. "That reminds me of the first time we were here," he told Winston. "You should have seen us. We hadn't even tested the equipment yet; had no idea whether or not it was going to blow us and the entire block to kingdom come."
Ray tilted his head. "I was sure," he said, mildly hurt. "Didn't you believe me?"
Peter draped one arm around his shoulders, giving him the same suspiciously bright smile he'd given the crowd downstairs. "Of course I believed you," he said easily. "It was Egon who was scared."
"I wasn't scared," Egon retorted, uncrossing his arms. "I was... justifiably apprehensive."
Shupp ignored them both. "For the third time," he announced pompously, "the problem is confined to the 11th and 12th floors. I expect you to avoid all other areas of the building at all times."
Ray's ears picked up at that. "The 11th and 12th floors?" he repeated. "That's where we trapped Slimer."
Winston rolled his eyes. "We already covered that part, Ray," he said tolerantly. "You want to try and keep up?"
The elevator doors opened and Egon stepped out, then paused to wait for Ray to disembark. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked the younger man.
Ray rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "A dimensional nexus?"
Spengler nodded. "It's the most likely possibility. If so, at least we probably won't have to chase them far."
"Why is that?" Shupp asked, despite himself.
Peter, preoccupied with running a final check on his thrower's settings, replied automatically. "The realities' interface requires a specific amount of inherent energy to traverse...." He caught himself and glanced up. "Or so I've heard," he finished lamely.
"Or so I've heard," Egon grumbled as an aside to Ray. Louder, "That's quite correct. Many minor entities can operate only so far from the influence of their own realm and only where the interface allows for overlap between the dimensions. Breaking through completely into our world is beyond their ability without outside help. That's why there's usually a surge in spirit activity during a visit by some major entity, such as Gozer or Lourdain."
"Are you saying," Shupp interrupted, "that there may be more of those things around?"
Egon shrugged. "Hard to say. If this is a gateway, we're going to have to close it to prevent a mass invasion. We suspected as much when Slimer first appeared."
"If you'd closed it then, I wouldn't have had to go through this twice!" Shupp growled. He fixed the four with an angry look. "Why didn't you mention this four years ago?"
Egon returned that look blandly. "You never asked."
Shupp's glare would have burned holes in concrete. "If you had, I could have saved the hotel mon... mon...."
"Money?" Peter supplied helpfully.
Shupp's jaw dropped several inches and his eyes grew wide. "You brought that with you!" he accused shrilly. "I paid $5000 to have that thing removed!" He drew himself up to his full height and pointed dramatically at the floating green blob which was in the process of oozing through the floor. "I refuse, I utterly refuse to pay again! I'll sue. I'll...."
"Don't worry, Mr. Shupp." Ray, always the peacemaker, raised both hands placatingly. "He'll be going home with us when we leave."
"He had better." Shupp watched nervously as Slimer buzzed the ceiling once, then floated over to study him.
"Slimer remembers him," the little mascot remarked in his pleasant falsetto. "First one I saw!"
"The first what?" Winston asked, unclipping his thrower and powering up.
"Human!" Overcome with a surge of amiability, the ghost threw his arms around Shupp's neck and kissed him full on the lips.
"AAAGH!" the manager screeched, spitting ectoplasm. "Ugh!"
"I don't think he likes you, Slimer," Peter commented from a safe distance.
"Yuck!" Shupp reiterated, repulsed by the thick coating of slime which glued his clothes to his body and dripped in great wads off his hair.
Unperturbed by Shupp's greeting, the green ghost stuck out his tongue and gave vent to a truly respectable Bronx cheer, spattering both the manager and the wall behind him with a new coating of slime.
"Don't you worry, Slimer, we still love you," Winston soothed, patting his little friend on the back. "No matter what he says."
Shupp raised his arms to waist level, gaping stupidly at his soggy clothes. "This was an Armani," he mourned, flicking dripping ectoplasm off his fingertips. He audibly ground his teeth, while his face mottled red. "You'll pay for this!" he roared.
Slimer sought refuge behind Ray, who smiled, while Egon placidly pulled out his PKE meter and thumbed it on. He had to clear his throat loudly when a blob of goo detached itself from Shupp's forehead and began a ludicrous downhill ski jump off the end of the man's nose. "PKE is steady on this floor," he said, dismissing the manager. "I'm reading a Class-3..."
"Is that all?" Ray asked. "Darn."
"...but I can't seem to pick up any more information from here. I suggest we split up and search each floor separately for signs of a breach. Ray, do you have the extra PKE meter with you?"
Stantz patted his pockets, finally locating the little instrument snapped to his pack. "Got it."
"Good." Egon jerked his head towards the left hand branch of the hallway. "You check this floor for increased PKE and signs of inhabitation. I'll drop down to eleven and begin there. If you find evidence of a breach, use the radio. A gateway in existence for nearly five years is bound to have weakened around the barrier rim."
"What does that mean?" Winston asked suspiciously.
Ray made a little throw-away gesture. "Boom."
Winston grimaced. "Sorry I asked."
Egon nodded solemnly. "It's a possibility. If we're not careful, we'll end up knee-deep in spirits."
"Just what we need," Peter commented sourly. "A spud-flood. No offense, Slimer," he added.
"Oh, that's okay," Slimer returned agreeably.
"That's all assuming," Ray reminded them, studying the glowing face of his meter, "that this is really a dimensional nexus we're dealing with." He massaged the bridge of his nose with his free hand, then checked the meter again. "Pretty low level Class-3."
"I noticed that, too." Spengler inclined his head. "Perhaps we are dealing with that rarest of improbabilities -- the true coincidence."
"I don't believe in coincidences," Peter growled, shouldering his thrower. "But we'll never find out by standing here gabbing. Let's do it!"
"Right!" Winston agreed.
He, with Egon at his shoulder, reentered the waiting elevator, having to circumnavigate the still sputtering Jonathan Shupp to reach it. Egon paused long enough to say, "I understand that the wet look is out this year," before the doors closed and they were whisked from view.
Shupp, still gaping after them, stared at the metal doors for a full thirty seconds, then closed his mouth with a snap and stormed for the fire exit, muttering low epithets as he went.
Peter and Ray exchanged a grin, then Peter lowered his thrower and switched it on. A low hum filled the immediate area, a reassuring sound in the silent hall. "You have a direction on that thing, yet?" he asked.
Stantz glanced at the meter, then shook his head. "Nothing definite. It's hard to get a reading on something this low powered -- we may not even have a Class-3 here."
"At least we're not facing teeth and claws," Peter sighed, starting off down the hall. "You sense anything, Spud?"
"T-teeth and claws?" Slimer repeated, his yellow-orange eyes as big as saucers.
"Not this time out," Ray assured the ghost, freeing his own thrower and balancing it across his forearm. "Peter just wants to know if you can sense anything around."
"Oh." Slimer's frightened expression faded into one of concentration. "Yeah! Yeah! Follow me!" He zipped rapidly down the hall, Peter and Ray at his back, then disappeared through an innocuous looking door halfway down a side corridor. He was back in an instant, nodding his 'head' and shaking all over. "Here! Here! Hurry!"
"Show time!" Ray called, losing his gloomy mien at the prospect of action. "Out of the way, Slimer!" Slimer obediently disappeared through the floor as Ray leveled his thrower at the door and thumbed it on. He fired just seconds ahead of Peter, whose face wore a look of gleeful anticipation. Twin beams shot out, each striking the closed door exactly dead center. The paneling disintegrated under the destructive might of two nuclear accelerators, leaving a gaping hole into the darkened room. To the rear, Slimer cheered loudly, having reappeared as soon as they'd opened fire.
Ray waited not an instant before leaping through the aperture, flicking on the overhead lamp with his left hand and leveling his thrower with his right. He paused a moment, then back-pedelled hurriedly, his face crimson. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, slamming full into Peter, who was trying to enter the room behind him.
Venkman uttered a low "OOF!" when Ray hit, then swung his colleague impatiently out of the way, allowing himself free access to the room. His "Ooops! Sorry, folks! Please carry on," was off-hand, but the look he gave Ray upon returning to the hall was chagrined. "Honeymoon Suite," he remarked unnecessarily. "Slimer," he went on silkily.
The friendly spectre floated through the doorway again, having gone through after Ray. "Yes, boss?"
"Maybe you misunderstood me," Peter went on, his voice crushed velvet. "I said I wanted you to sniff out 'spuds,' not 'studs.' You do know the difference, don't you?"
Slimer puffed himself out importantly and danced a little jig in the air. "Uh-huh! Wanted you to see! Mushy stuff fun! Watch all the time!"
Ray, his color still high, regarded the ghost wide-eyed. "You don't go peeking in people's bedrooms?" he asked, honestly scandalized. "But that's.... They were... I mean...."
"Would you like me to explain it to you?" Pete offered kindly.
It took Ray several seconds to realize that the psychologist was taking to him rather than Slimer. "Peter!"
"Okay, okay, I was just asking." Peter grinned cheekily, his own aplomb rapidly returning. "We're not looking for mushy stuff, Spud, only the out- of-place gooper we're getting paid for. Got it?"
"Got it," Slimer agreed, disappointed. He floated off, sniffing the air like a hunting dog and mumbling to himself. Without warning, he disappeared through the floor and was gone.
"You don't think he really watches people... when they...?" Ray asked in a hushed voice, deliberately ignoring the sounds of two people cursing and scurrying for their clothes from within the room.
Peter shrugged but his eyes danced with mischief. "It's not like you have anything to worry about," he teased, slapping his friend on the back.
Ray's blush deepened and he turned away, trotting a safe distance down the hall. Peter chuckled. "Guess Slimer's not as dumb as he looks," he told himself running to catch up.
***