Late winter-early spring is a lovely season anywhere in the world but in
New York City it represents a special time, a time of cleansing showers
washing away the street grime, of tiny buds thrusting their heads through
old concrete, and a time of balmy winds blowing away city smog. Though
still changeable, the weather is tolerable at least, temperate at best.
Even before spring's official start, much of the populace has emerged from
winter's cocoon to wander the streets, enjoy the bright sun and generally
resume the outdoors existence denied them during the harsh winter months.
This may be true with most of New York but it hardly applied to the tiny lab nestled on the third floor of Weaver Hall, Columbia University, New York, New York. The atmosphere within was festive but engaged, all minds focused b on the small feminine figure that lounged comfortably in the guest chair by Peter's desk.
Janice Smithers had returned several times over the seceding two weeks, she, Peter and Egon repairing to the little cubical where Peter ran every standard and not-so-standard test he could come up with to test the woman's alleged abilities. Some she failed miserably: she was unable to read or sense the mind of a student pulled at random, for example, and had no success whatsoever at predicting what Professor McKenna would order for lunch. Others she passed spectacularly, especially in relating events already passed or locating missing objects. When her success rate passed ninety-two percent, Peter started to get excited, talking, reading and writing of nothing else. His curiosity was well and truly piqued by this evidence of actual extrasensory ability, and he threw himself into the study in a way the other two had never before seen. At the end of the second week it could accurately be said that Peter Venkman, skeptic extraordinare, was well and truly hooked.
Egon Spengler too showed every evidence of fascination with the subject. He attended each and every session with the woman, sitting by Peter's side and peering avidly over his shoulder at every test and measure, fidgeting anxiously, much to Peter's annoyance. The two were too caught up in the continuing experiments to mind, however, and worked harmoniously whenever Janice Smithers' tests were scheduled.
In the background, Ray Stantz hovered, getting in the way, approaching at all the wrong moments and generally betraying a deep interest as well - in Janice. Too shy to speak to her personally, he made himself available for any job or errand that would bring him in close proximity to the girl, a situation Janice accepted with friendly equanimity.
Now on this, the first day of April, the four were gathered once again, though not for tests. This time three sat in inquisitive expectation for the announcement promised by their fourth.
Peter began the meeting by rising from his chair and adopting a mildly pompous attitude, aquiline nose twitching like a rabbit. "Glad you're all here," he said, nodding to Janice, Egon and Ray, who were seated around him in a rough circle. "On this most truly momentous day."
"It's Tuesday," Egon pointed out dryly. "Hardly the most momentous day I've ever experienced."
"They had meatloaf in the cafeteria," Ray put in, wrinkling his nose. "I hate it when they have meatloaf."
"I generally go home for lunch for that very fact," Egon returned, rubbing his stomach through his button down pink shirt.
"You have something you wanted to tell us, Peter?" Janice urged, glancing at her watch. "I have to be in class in twenty minutes."
Peter, who had been waiting fists on his hips throughout the conversation, turned his glower on each individually, the tap of his sneaker-clad foot loud in the sudden quiet. "Yes," he began through clenched teeth, "I do have something to tell you." Assured of their attention, he fished through a pile of papers, locating the one he sought and lifting it until all could see it. "I wanted to announce to you all that I have finally submitted for publication the case of Miss Janice Smithers to Psychology Today."
"You're publishing on esp?" Ray exclaimed, leaning forward excitedly. "Peter, that's great!"
Egon rose, extending his hand courteously. "Congratulations, Venkman. I'm certain the article will be received with great interest."
"I'm sure it will," Venkman returned modestly. He fixed his gaze on Smithers and waited, but if he was anticipating more accolades, he was to be disappointed.
"Uh, gee, I'm not so sure about this," Janice said, dividing a worried glance between Peter and Egon. "I don't know if I want to be published."
"Not want to be published?!" Peter regarded her with something like horror. "They've accepted the paper on the basis of your test results. It's only one example, of course, and my review is only being offered as part of a larger study, but there's so little documentation on the subject...."
"Why wouldn't you want to be published, Janice?" Ray asked, tilting his head to look at her. "I think it would be neat, even if it is only one paper."
Janice bit her lip. "Well.... I mean ... uh ... working with you guys is one thing, but I really don't want to end up spread across the 'bloids, you know?"
"Psychology Today isn't anything like that," Ray explained eagerly. "It's a reputable scientific journal." He leaped to his feet, hopping lightly across Smithers' legs and reaching the door in two strides. "I'll show you. Professor Cage has a whole stack of them! I'll get one." He dived through the door, and they could hear the rapid tatoo of his footfalls echoing down the hall.
Peter rested his hand lightly on the woman's knee, staring deep into her eyes with every iota of persuasive logic at his command. "Janice, I really need the results from your tests. I'm prepared to use a pseudonym for you, but the journal is going to require documentation on something like this."
"It would certainly 'make' your reputation, Peter," Egon interjected smoothly. "I'm sure the scientific community will discuss this article for months to come."
Peter glowed. "Only if Janice will go along. "Janice?" he called pleadingly.
"Well, I guess...."
The woman had no opportunity for further response, however, for at that moment the door opened and Chuck Weaver strolled in without knocking. "Yo, Pete!" he called heartily. "You busy? Oh, hi, Janice. How's it going with the new part?"
"Ye--" Peter began, stopping suddenly. "Part?"
Janice froze; Chuck clapped the girl on the shoulder. "She didn't tell you? Janice is up for the lead in one of them improv shows in the Village. She's good enough to get it, too - probably the best little actress in the city!"
"Actress?" Peter echoed, obviously having trouble with the concept. "Janice is an actress?"
Puzzled, Chuck could only stare from the stunned Peter to the nervous Smithers to the decidedly virtuous looking Spengler. "She'd better be an actress by now - we've been sharing the same Dramatic Arts classes for the last three years."
Rapidly recovering, Peter took a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them his gaze slid not to the woman but to Spengler, who was by now unable to hold in his broad grin. "I smell a rat," Peter pronounced carefully. "A half blind rat with blond hair. You did this, didn't you?"
"Wait a minute," Chuck exclaimed suddenly, "You mean Janice is the big 'discovery' you was talking about all week? Janice?!" He burst out laughing, ruffling Peter's hair with one hand. "Janice ain't no more a ... a - what did you call her? - 'controlled psion' than I am Gayle Sayers! HA! You done been had, Pete!"
"I realize that now," Peter returned far too calmly, smoothing his hair with his fingers. "And by an expert at that." He closed his eyes again and shuddered. "Do you realize what would have happened if that article had actually published! I would have been the laughing stock of the college!"
"You may be anyway once this gets out!" Chuck piped up, wiping merry tears from his eyes. "You dope!" He went off into whole new peel of laughter, finally having to throw himself into the chair Ray had abandoned. "Miracle! ... Janice!"
By then both Smithers and Spengler were hard pressed to contain their own merriment. Janice was giggling behind her hand, the proud look in her face admitting everything. Egon was even worse; he emitted a little snort hastily suppressed, then another as the laughter worked its way up from his belly. Finally, he could stand it no longer. Egon Spengler, that phlegmatic logical pseudo-Mr. Spock clone, threw back his head and roared.
Peter stood stock still, enduring his companions' amusement for some while. Eventually, reluctant amusement tugged at his own lips, the green eyes beginning to sparkle. "You realize," he began when the laughter had died down to giggles, "that this wouldn't have worked except I didn't expect this out'a Ray. I wouldn't have trusted you on a bet, Spengs!" He cast a look at the door through which Stantz had disappeared mere minutes before. "I didn't suspect him for one second. You got some competition for best actor on campus, Janice. I didn't think that kid had it in him."
"Actually," Egon sniffed, having to pause to blow his nose, "Ray doesn't know anything about this at all. I knew you'd never believe Janice if I introduced her, so...." He waved one hand helplessly. "It was sheer fortuity that she had taken some engineering courses last year."
"Who knew it would land me this gig?" Janice snickered, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "Although it was the Signing that really swung the act." Peter cocked an inquiring brow at that. "That's how I could practically read your mind, Pete," she explained, gesturing in Egon's direction. "I learned signing as part of my Special Ed minor. Since Egon also knows sign language...."
"Your fidgeting!" Peter exclaimed, slapping his forehead with his palm. "I wondered why you'd taken up fidgeting all of a sudden. You were feeding her the answers to everything."
"Everything I knew," Egon amended smugly. "We couldn't work some of the gags ..."
"Like Professor McKenna's lunch," Janice interjected.
"... but we could run enough of it to convince you."
"Hook, line and stinker," Peter admitted, supporting himself weakly against his chair. "Man, I can't believe it! I'd actually started to believe in this esp crap! Man, if my dad ever found out...."
Egon sobered at that. "ESP is not crap, Peter, it's a serious field of study. People like Sandy Monroe might be genuine; it's only this one instance that was a con not the whole field."
"Yeah. Right. Sure." Peter laughed without resentment. "Man, I'll give you credit. Using Ray was quite a stroke." He stopped as the amusement fled Janice Smithers' face.
"Uh-oh. Ray," was all she said.
Egon sucked in a breath, the air making a little hissing noise through his teeth. "That's something I do regret. I wish you hadn't led him on, Janice; I'm afraid he's grown quite ... 'attached' to you."
"Attached nothing," Smithers returned glumly. "He's got a world-class crush on me. I could be his first one, too, for all I know. And I did not lead him on - all I did was talk to him. He's such a nice kid, I don't want to hurt him but...."
"No return interest?" Peter asked gently.
Smithers shook her head. "It's not that really. Like I said, he's a real nice kid, but I already have an old man - we've been together over a year."
"No big deal," Weaver said, propping his feet up on Egon's desk and earning himself a glower from the physicist. "We all been used at one time or another. He'll get over it."
Egon swept Weaver's feet to the floor, then stood regarding his clenched fists thoughtfully. "Knowing Ray, that's not as much a certainty as you might think."
"Not for a first crush," Janice put in glumly.
Egon nodded. "Hurting him really wasn't a part of my calculations ..."
"Calculations," Peter snorted.
"... but it's something that's going to have to be handled."
As if on cue the sound of a man running could be heard in the hall. The four exchanged a dismayed look, then Janice rose, smoothing her dress. "Leave it to me, guys. There's something stronger than a crush here and I know just how to use it."
On that cryptic remark Ray burst into the room waving a glossy journal and smiling happily. "Here it is, Janice. Now you'll see it's not like those tabloids you were talking about!"
Janice accepted the magazine and riffled the pages, then tossed it on Peter's desk. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," she said coolly. "Doesn't really matter because I am not going to give my permission to publish anything."
Ray stared at her, stunned. "But Peter is counting on you," he protested. "He needs to be able to quote you."
"Yes, I need you, Janice," Peter put in solemnly.
Janice tossed her pretty head. "Well, gee, Peter is just going to have to ride on some one else's coattails, isn't he? Maybe if he was a reputable scientist...."
"Peter is a reputable scientist!" Ray shot back, brown eyes glinting dangerously. "And he doesn't need your coattails to prove it!"
"Gee, thanks, Ray," Peter murmured, cocking a brow. "I didn't know you cared."
Janice sneered so realistically that Egon, Peter and Chuck had to restrain themselves from applauding. "I've seen better scientific method in a delicatessen. No way I'm going to be associated with a bungler."
"Peter is not a bungler!" Really angry now, Ray's lips thinned into a line. "He doesn't need you. He can prove ESP exists without anything you can do. You'll see."
Janice swept by him, headed for the door. "HA!" She paused, surreptitiously winking in Peter's direction. "See you around campus," she offered as a parting shot. Ray slammed the door after her.
"I can't believe it!" he fumed, crossing the office in long strides. "I can't believe she was so mean! I thought she was a nice person!"
"She is," Egon mouthed to Peter behind Ray's back. Even Weaver nodded at that.
"I suppose you're not going to be asking her out?" Peter hazarded, rounding the desk to stand by the upset younger man.
Ray blushed as he always did when the subject came up. "She was awful nasty to you, Peter. I-I wouldn't want to ... to date someone like that." His shoulders slumped slightly though his eyes were still bright. "I thought she was so nice, too."
Peter clapped him on the back. "Don't worry about it, kid. This stuff happens, you know. There'll be another chick along; just like a train, right, Chuck?"
"Better'n trains," Weaver responded amiably. "Trains're usually late; chicks ain't."
Ray sighed. "Yeah. I guess so."
"And I know so." Keeping his hand on Ray's shoulder, Peter urged him gently toward the door, kicking Weaver on the shin as they went by. "Come on, let's go get something to eat, I'm starved."
Weaver lumbered to his feet and followed. Peter shoved Ray into the hall then glanced back at Spengler, who was watching them. "Well?" Peter asked dryly. "Aren't you coming?"
A slow smile broke out on Egon's face, then he nodded and rose. "Love to, Mr. Venkman." He paused to add, "Maybe you'd better cancel the article before you go? For the sake of your reputation?"
Peter glowered. "My reputation will wait until after we eat. And you know what they say about paybacks being a bitch?"
"I have heard," Egon returned warily.
Peter smiled. "Well, man, the bitch is back!"
***
"I'm telling you, Chuck, that guy is driving me nuts!"
That impassioned wail drew no more than a chuckle from Weaver and an unsympathetic slap on the shoulder. "You been saying that for the last couple weeks, Pete," he drawled, steering his friend past a drunken old man soliciting change. "Ah can't figure out why you ain't done something about this Spengler guy yet."
"He's a tricky son of a bitch," Peter groaned, glowering as the old man followed them for several feet. The derelict retreated before that green gaze, muttering something uncomplimentary. Peter scarce heard what; as soon as the man had ceased to be a threat he'd also ceased to exist so far as Peter was concerned. "Problem is, he's two up on me now. Guy's starting to give me a complex. Let's cut over this way, it's a short cut."
The two strolled side-by-side down the filthy alley that connected Lombard Street to Passyunk, stepping delicately around garbage and over two more derelicts en route. It was a warm spring day, breezy and carrying no hint of the rain that had drenched the entire eastern seaboard the evening before. There was no moisture now, only the zephyrs that whistled eternally through the concrete canyons, breezes whipping wantonly through the city like unherded cattle. Peter loved this time of year, the light rainfall tended to wash clean the smog and pollutants from the city that had been his home for most of his life, leaving it fresh and clean and relatively unsullied. It had been his idea to stroll the distance to their favorite bar for a quick game of pool rather than to use Chuck's beat up Nova.
"Hey, how about a little fun over here?" a vaguely feminine voice suggested from behind the shelter of a dumpster.
"She got 'ta look like the Devil himself," Chuck remarked, curiosity drawing him toward the anonymous solicitor. "Sounds more like a young girl, though."
City cautious, Peter snagged his friend's arm and rerouted him for the end of the alley. "No way, pal. Chick may be cool but those buddies of hers sure aren't."
"What buddies?" Chuck asked, nevertheless allowing himself to be steered.
Peter jerked a thumb to the niche cut into one filthy brick wall, then slid his arm around Weaver's broad shoulders. "I'd bet your daddy's next paycheck that she's got a couple of goons stationed in that corner. Any takers?"
Chuck good-naturedly shook his head. "Not me, Yankee. My daddy works hard for his money."
"Yer daddy is a rich old reprobate, who wouldn't even miss the wad," Peter retorted, reaching the slightly less squalid conditions of Passyunk by hopping a pool of stagnant water. "But he's not my problem, Egon is. Guy is two up on me and we're almost at the end of the semester. If we close out with him ahead, my rep'll be shot all over the campus."
"News for you, pard." Weaver wrapped his own arm around Peter's shoulder, under the psychologist's, having to stoop slightly to maintain contact with the shorter man. "After that last little stunt Spengler pulled, you ain't got all that much of a rep to worry about anymore."
Peter's fingers tightened in the material of Weaver's light jacket, his glower returning full force though it was mingled this time with grudging admiration. "Yeah, that jerk. Armstrong still hasn't got off'a my back over that one. I wonder who Spengler had to bribe to get access to my term paper like that?"
Weaver chuckled again and tossed back his head, dislodging a long strand of blond hair from his forehead. "Never saw old Armstrong that pissed over anything like when you turned in your Human Sexuality paper and ... and...." He dissolved into muffled giggles as he always did whenever reminded of Spengler's latest gag.
"It wouldn't have been so bad," Peter remarked mournfully, "but did it have to be typed pages out of Hustler's Forum? I mean, he even set it up in report form, for crying out loud! How much could that have cost him?"
"One o' my daddy's paychecks?" Weaver guessed, impudently mussing Peter's hair with his free hand.
Peter's wail this time was even louder. "I hate that!" he protested, stepping away from Chuck and feeling in his pocket for a comb. "And even worse," he went on, returning to his original subject, "was his using Ray again to set up the last gag with Nancy." He shook his head wonderingly. "That was a low one - even I didn't suspect the kid."
"Ray was in on that thing with Nancy too?" Chuck asked, surprised. "He must be a better actor than I gave him credit for."
Peter ran the comb through his dark locks then restowed it in his breast pocket. "Nah. Far as Ray knew he was just running an errand for Egon. Didn't have any idea what was in that package." He stepped back quickly under Weaver's second pass at his newly styled hair. "Cool that and talk to me about Spengler. He's due."
Weaver stopped to peek in a dark store window, then turned to lean his back against it and cross his arms. Peter waited. "What I don't understand," Weaver began, a puzzled frown marring the ruddy skin of his brow, "is why you don't just get rid of the jerk. That equipment of his could 'disappear' tomorrow, then a friendly warning...." He spread both hands wide. "Poof! No more geek. You could get rid of that kid at the same time."
Peter regarded the blond blankly. "I think you're missing the point here," he said carefully. "I want to 'get' him, not off him."
Chuck stared back. "You goin' soft on the dude or what? I thought you couldn't stand him."
Peter shifted uneasily under his friend's stare, turning to gaze fixedly into the shop's dark interior. "It's not that I'm soft," he protested with rather less conviction than usual. "It's just that ... he ... well, he's two up on me and I can't exactly squash a guy without evening the score first, right?"
Chuck's blue eyes narrowed. "You don't have to even with the Stantz kid. It'd be easy enough to blow him out the door, especially if Casper is using him for back-up. We could...."
"Piss on that," Peter returned instantly. "Leave Ray alone. He's not in this."
"Oh?"
Peter's lips tightened with that knowing syllable. He met Chuck's gaze then stepped closer, poking the larger man's chest with one forefinger. "I'm not looking to be friends with either one of those two, okay? I just ... I'd rather do the paybacks my own way. Got it?" ...
Weaver raised both hands palm up in a conciliatory gesture. "Sure. Fine with me, Pete. But if you ask me, you're starting to like those two a little bit more than you wanna let on."
"Nobody asked you," Peter growled dangerously.
Weaver shrugged. "Cool. Let's get on to the Tower before it starts to rain."
They resumed their walk, finally ducking into a dingy looking pool hall cut into a row of storefronts. It was dim inside, and the two repaired to the bar to await their visions' return before attempting their first game.
"So how're you planning on paying Spengler back for the Hustler gig?" Chuck asked after they'd each ordered a beer. "Any notions?"
Peter stroked his chin thoughtfully, a crafty gleam lighting his emerald eyes. "Matter of fact, I do have a hypothesis I've been dying to try out."
"Hypothesis," Chuck snickered.
Peter grinned unrepentantly. "That's what Casper is going to be saying Monday. He's got his EDG ... his Extra-Dimensional Gauge," he explained to the other's puzzled look, "ready for a field test for Monday. Better, he's invited some of the most prominent parapsychologist ..." He pronounced the word as though it tasted bad. "... in to witness it. It'll be his fifth failure in two years."
"You got something planned?" Weaver asked, sipping from his glass.
Peter casually leaned on the immaculate bar and crossed his legs, left ankle resting on his right knee. "Buddy I met in Criminology is scoring me one of the smoke bombs the cops use. You've seen 'em at demonstrations - big black clouds you can't see your own butt through? Then Jefferson...."
"Jefferson from the Chemistry Department?" Chuck interrupted.
"He owed me a favor." Peter tasted his own beer and made a face. "Tastes like weak dishwater. I think he's watering this down again."
"Up yours, Venkman," the bartender called, overhearing.
Peter blew him a kiss and turned back to the blond. "Yeah. So Jefferson has this chemical he used when he did the Graduation last year - you know, the Hexa-something-or-the-other that made everyone in the area smell like rotten eggs for two days?"
"That was Jefferson's idea?" Chuck's grimace was eloquence itself. "I got caught in that one myself. Cost me a date with two cheerleaders I had set up for the weekend."
"It's gonna cost Egon a whole lot more." Peter helped himself to a pretzel and popped it into his mouth. "I got Jefferson to inject the Hexa-whatever into the smoke bomb and rig the whole thing to go off on a spark. All I have to do is hook the trigger into a power supply and wait for someone to turn it on."
Weaver appropriated the pretzels, taking one and twirling it on his thumb. "That part sounds easy enough. Hard part is gonna be keeping Casper from discovering the gig before he turns it on."
"No problem-o." Peter turned to watch a shapely waitress as she bent to accept a tip. Catching Peter's eye as she straightened, the woman gave the handsome young man a smile but did not stop. "What was I saying?" Peter asked, coming to himself with a start.
"No problem-o," Chuck supplied helpfully.
"Oh, right." Peter took another sip of his beer, shaking his head at the offered pretzel bowl. "I talked Egon into going with me to the bash they're having over at Tri Cuppa Brew Sunday night."
"You're taking him after the Mardi Gras shindig?!" Chuck asked, aghast. "And he's going?"
Venkman tossed his head. "You're dear old uncle Peter can be pret-ty persuasive when he wants to be, you know." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I told him I accidentally booked myself two dates for the night and was desperate for someone to take one of the chicks off my hands. He thinks he's doing me a favor."
"Like you couldn't handle a measly two chicks," Chuck snorted disparagingly. "What's he charging you for it?"
Peter shrugged. "Nothing I can't handle. Egon and Ray are going to finish the EDG Sunday morning, then I'm picking Egon up that evening for the party. On my way over I'm going to stop in the lab and take care of the bomb."
"What makes you think he won't be checking it out first thing Monday?" the blond asked, smiling when the waitress 'accidentally' brushed against his thigh.
Peter followed the woman with his eyes, then ignored her to clap his friend on the shoulder. "Remember the Mardi Gras party? I got a few things planned for this Tri Cuppa bash that's gonna make that one look like a Girl Scout tea. Our only problem is whether Spengs is gonna even be conscious the next morning much less in a technical mood." Peter chortled evilly and stared down into the golden depths of his brew. "Picture this, Chucky-boy: a half-dozen eminent scientists from three, maybe four states all gathered in one little lab to find out whether some gizmo is going to pick up the ghost of Albert Einstein."
"Gizmo gets plugged in ..." Chuck put in, blue eyes beginning to sparkle.
"... and BANG! Eau de Pepe le Pew!"
The two burst into laughter at the portrait this recitation invoked. Several minutes later Weaver wiped his eyes on his sleeve, his wide shoulders still shaking with mirth. "If that don't restore your rep on campus, ain't nothing will." He sniffed and fixed Peter with a curious look. "Hey, you gonna get Stantz in it too, or you gonna warn him off beforehand?"
Peter's pause was infinitesimal but not unnoticeable. "Can't risk telling him ahead of time," he said finally, twitching one shoulder in a shrug. "He'd tell Egon like a shot. Ray can't keep a secret to save his life."
"Or maybe he could to save his life?" Weaver suggested meaningfully, the threat plain in his voice.
Peter shot him a glare. "I told you to lay off the kid," he snapped. "And I meant it." He drained his beer in one gulp then replaced the glass and gestured the barkeep over, not meeting Weaver's questioning look. "He's a nice kid, Chuck. Leave him alone."
"But Casper is fair game?" Weaver pursued, letting the subject of Ray drop.
"Casper," Peter reiterated with an sinister chuckle, "is my fair game. And Friday, my game gets called."
***
This may be true with most of New York but it hardly applied to the tiny lab nestled on the third floor of Weaver Hall, Columbia University, New York, New York. The atmosphere within was festive but engaged, all minds focused b on the small feminine figure that lounged comfortably in the guest chair by Peter's desk.
Janice Smithers had returned several times over the seceding two weeks, she, Peter and Egon repairing to the little cubical where Peter ran every standard and not-so-standard test he could come up with to test the woman's alleged abilities. Some she failed miserably: she was unable to read or sense the mind of a student pulled at random, for example, and had no success whatsoever at predicting what Professor McKenna would order for lunch. Others she passed spectacularly, especially in relating events already passed or locating missing objects. When her success rate passed ninety-two percent, Peter started to get excited, talking, reading and writing of nothing else. His curiosity was well and truly piqued by this evidence of actual extrasensory ability, and he threw himself into the study in a way the other two had never before seen. At the end of the second week it could accurately be said that Peter Venkman, skeptic extraordinare, was well and truly hooked.
Egon Spengler too showed every evidence of fascination with the subject. He attended each and every session with the woman, sitting by Peter's side and peering avidly over his shoulder at every test and measure, fidgeting anxiously, much to Peter's annoyance. The two were too caught up in the continuing experiments to mind, however, and worked harmoniously whenever Janice Smithers' tests were scheduled.
In the background, Ray Stantz hovered, getting in the way, approaching at all the wrong moments and generally betraying a deep interest as well - in Janice. Too shy to speak to her personally, he made himself available for any job or errand that would bring him in close proximity to the girl, a situation Janice accepted with friendly equanimity.
Now on this, the first day of April, the four were gathered once again, though not for tests. This time three sat in inquisitive expectation for the announcement promised by their fourth.
Peter began the meeting by rising from his chair and adopting a mildly pompous attitude, aquiline nose twitching like a rabbit. "Glad you're all here," he said, nodding to Janice, Egon and Ray, who were seated around him in a rough circle. "On this most truly momentous day."
"It's Tuesday," Egon pointed out dryly. "Hardly the most momentous day I've ever experienced."
"They had meatloaf in the cafeteria," Ray put in, wrinkling his nose. "I hate it when they have meatloaf."
"I generally go home for lunch for that very fact," Egon returned, rubbing his stomach through his button down pink shirt.
"You have something you wanted to tell us, Peter?" Janice urged, glancing at her watch. "I have to be in class in twenty minutes."
Peter, who had been waiting fists on his hips throughout the conversation, turned his glower on each individually, the tap of his sneaker-clad foot loud in the sudden quiet. "Yes," he began through clenched teeth, "I do have something to tell you." Assured of their attention, he fished through a pile of papers, locating the one he sought and lifting it until all could see it. "I wanted to announce to you all that I have finally submitted for publication the case of Miss Janice Smithers to Psychology Today."
"You're publishing on esp?" Ray exclaimed, leaning forward excitedly. "Peter, that's great!"
Egon rose, extending his hand courteously. "Congratulations, Venkman. I'm certain the article will be received with great interest."
"I'm sure it will," Venkman returned modestly. He fixed his gaze on Smithers and waited, but if he was anticipating more accolades, he was to be disappointed.
"Uh, gee, I'm not so sure about this," Janice said, dividing a worried glance between Peter and Egon. "I don't know if I want to be published."
"Not want to be published?!" Peter regarded her with something like horror. "They've accepted the paper on the basis of your test results. It's only one example, of course, and my review is only being offered as part of a larger study, but there's so little documentation on the subject...."
"Why wouldn't you want to be published, Janice?" Ray asked, tilting his head to look at her. "I think it would be neat, even if it is only one paper."
Janice bit her lip. "Well.... I mean ... uh ... working with you guys is one thing, but I really don't want to end up spread across the 'bloids, you know?"
"Psychology Today isn't anything like that," Ray explained eagerly. "It's a reputable scientific journal." He leaped to his feet, hopping lightly across Smithers' legs and reaching the door in two strides. "I'll show you. Professor Cage has a whole stack of them! I'll get one." He dived through the door, and they could hear the rapid tatoo of his footfalls echoing down the hall.
Peter rested his hand lightly on the woman's knee, staring deep into her eyes with every iota of persuasive logic at his command. "Janice, I really need the results from your tests. I'm prepared to use a pseudonym for you, but the journal is going to require documentation on something like this."
"It would certainly 'make' your reputation, Peter," Egon interjected smoothly. "I'm sure the scientific community will discuss this article for months to come."
Peter glowed. "Only if Janice will go along. "Janice?" he called pleadingly.
"Well, I guess...."
The woman had no opportunity for further response, however, for at that moment the door opened and Chuck Weaver strolled in without knocking. "Yo, Pete!" he called heartily. "You busy? Oh, hi, Janice. How's it going with the new part?"
"Ye--" Peter began, stopping suddenly. "Part?"
Janice froze; Chuck clapped the girl on the shoulder. "She didn't tell you? Janice is up for the lead in one of them improv shows in the Village. She's good enough to get it, too - probably the best little actress in the city!"
"Actress?" Peter echoed, obviously having trouble with the concept. "Janice is an actress?"
Puzzled, Chuck could only stare from the stunned Peter to the nervous Smithers to the decidedly virtuous looking Spengler. "She'd better be an actress by now - we've been sharing the same Dramatic Arts classes for the last three years."
Rapidly recovering, Peter took a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them his gaze slid not to the woman but to Spengler, who was by now unable to hold in his broad grin. "I smell a rat," Peter pronounced carefully. "A half blind rat with blond hair. You did this, didn't you?"
"Wait a minute," Chuck exclaimed suddenly, "You mean Janice is the big 'discovery' you was talking about all week? Janice?!" He burst out laughing, ruffling Peter's hair with one hand. "Janice ain't no more a ... a - what did you call her? - 'controlled psion' than I am Gayle Sayers! HA! You done been had, Pete!"
"I realize that now," Peter returned far too calmly, smoothing his hair with his fingers. "And by an expert at that." He closed his eyes again and shuddered. "Do you realize what would have happened if that article had actually published! I would have been the laughing stock of the college!"
"You may be anyway once this gets out!" Chuck piped up, wiping merry tears from his eyes. "You dope!" He went off into whole new peel of laughter, finally having to throw himself into the chair Ray had abandoned. "Miracle! ... Janice!"
By then both Smithers and Spengler were hard pressed to contain their own merriment. Janice was giggling behind her hand, the proud look in her face admitting everything. Egon was even worse; he emitted a little snort hastily suppressed, then another as the laughter worked its way up from his belly. Finally, he could stand it no longer. Egon Spengler, that phlegmatic logical pseudo-Mr. Spock clone, threw back his head and roared.
Peter stood stock still, enduring his companions' amusement for some while. Eventually, reluctant amusement tugged at his own lips, the green eyes beginning to sparkle. "You realize," he began when the laughter had died down to giggles, "that this wouldn't have worked except I didn't expect this out'a Ray. I wouldn't have trusted you on a bet, Spengs!" He cast a look at the door through which Stantz had disappeared mere minutes before. "I didn't suspect him for one second. You got some competition for best actor on campus, Janice. I didn't think that kid had it in him."
"Actually," Egon sniffed, having to pause to blow his nose, "Ray doesn't know anything about this at all. I knew you'd never believe Janice if I introduced her, so...." He waved one hand helplessly. "It was sheer fortuity that she had taken some engineering courses last year."
"Who knew it would land me this gig?" Janice snickered, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "Although it was the Signing that really swung the act." Peter cocked an inquiring brow at that. "That's how I could practically read your mind, Pete," she explained, gesturing in Egon's direction. "I learned signing as part of my Special Ed minor. Since Egon also knows sign language...."
"Your fidgeting!" Peter exclaimed, slapping his forehead with his palm. "I wondered why you'd taken up fidgeting all of a sudden. You were feeding her the answers to everything."
"Everything I knew," Egon amended smugly. "We couldn't work some of the gags ..."
"Like Professor McKenna's lunch," Janice interjected.
"... but we could run enough of it to convince you."
"Hook, line and stinker," Peter admitted, supporting himself weakly against his chair. "Man, I can't believe it! I'd actually started to believe in this esp crap! Man, if my dad ever found out...."
Egon sobered at that. "ESP is not crap, Peter, it's a serious field of study. People like Sandy Monroe might be genuine; it's only this one instance that was a con not the whole field."
"Yeah. Right. Sure." Peter laughed without resentment. "Man, I'll give you credit. Using Ray was quite a stroke." He stopped as the amusement fled Janice Smithers' face.
"Uh-oh. Ray," was all she said.
Egon sucked in a breath, the air making a little hissing noise through his teeth. "That's something I do regret. I wish you hadn't led him on, Janice; I'm afraid he's grown quite ... 'attached' to you."
"Attached nothing," Smithers returned glumly. "He's got a world-class crush on me. I could be his first one, too, for all I know. And I did not lead him on - all I did was talk to him. He's such a nice kid, I don't want to hurt him but...."
"No return interest?" Peter asked gently.
Smithers shook her head. "It's not that really. Like I said, he's a real nice kid, but I already have an old man - we've been together over a year."
"No big deal," Weaver said, propping his feet up on Egon's desk and earning himself a glower from the physicist. "We all been used at one time or another. He'll get over it."
Egon swept Weaver's feet to the floor, then stood regarding his clenched fists thoughtfully. "Knowing Ray, that's not as much a certainty as you might think."
"Not for a first crush," Janice put in glumly.
Egon nodded. "Hurting him really wasn't a part of my calculations ..."
"Calculations," Peter snorted.
"... but it's something that's going to have to be handled."
As if on cue the sound of a man running could be heard in the hall. The four exchanged a dismayed look, then Janice rose, smoothing her dress. "Leave it to me, guys. There's something stronger than a crush here and I know just how to use it."
On that cryptic remark Ray burst into the room waving a glossy journal and smiling happily. "Here it is, Janice. Now you'll see it's not like those tabloids you were talking about!"
Janice accepted the magazine and riffled the pages, then tossed it on Peter's desk. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," she said coolly. "Doesn't really matter because I am not going to give my permission to publish anything."
Ray stared at her, stunned. "But Peter is counting on you," he protested. "He needs to be able to quote you."
"Yes, I need you, Janice," Peter put in solemnly.
Janice tossed her pretty head. "Well, gee, Peter is just going to have to ride on some one else's coattails, isn't he? Maybe if he was a reputable scientist...."
"Peter is a reputable scientist!" Ray shot back, brown eyes glinting dangerously. "And he doesn't need your coattails to prove it!"
"Gee, thanks, Ray," Peter murmured, cocking a brow. "I didn't know you cared."
Janice sneered so realistically that Egon, Peter and Chuck had to restrain themselves from applauding. "I've seen better scientific method in a delicatessen. No way I'm going to be associated with a bungler."
"Peter is not a bungler!" Really angry now, Ray's lips thinned into a line. "He doesn't need you. He can prove ESP exists without anything you can do. You'll see."
Janice swept by him, headed for the door. "HA!" She paused, surreptitiously winking in Peter's direction. "See you around campus," she offered as a parting shot. Ray slammed the door after her.
"I can't believe it!" he fumed, crossing the office in long strides. "I can't believe she was so mean! I thought she was a nice person!"
"She is," Egon mouthed to Peter behind Ray's back. Even Weaver nodded at that.
"I suppose you're not going to be asking her out?" Peter hazarded, rounding the desk to stand by the upset younger man.
Ray blushed as he always did when the subject came up. "She was awful nasty to you, Peter. I-I wouldn't want to ... to date someone like that." His shoulders slumped slightly though his eyes were still bright. "I thought she was so nice, too."
Peter clapped him on the back. "Don't worry about it, kid. This stuff happens, you know. There'll be another chick along; just like a train, right, Chuck?"
"Better'n trains," Weaver responded amiably. "Trains're usually late; chicks ain't."
Ray sighed. "Yeah. I guess so."
"And I know so." Keeping his hand on Ray's shoulder, Peter urged him gently toward the door, kicking Weaver on the shin as they went by. "Come on, let's go get something to eat, I'm starved."
Weaver lumbered to his feet and followed. Peter shoved Ray into the hall then glanced back at Spengler, who was watching them. "Well?" Peter asked dryly. "Aren't you coming?"
A slow smile broke out on Egon's face, then he nodded and rose. "Love to, Mr. Venkman." He paused to add, "Maybe you'd better cancel the article before you go? For the sake of your reputation?"
Peter glowered. "My reputation will wait until after we eat. And you know what they say about paybacks being a bitch?"
"I have heard," Egon returned warily.
Peter smiled. "Well, man, the bitch is back!"
***
"I'm telling you, Chuck, that guy is driving me nuts!"
That impassioned wail drew no more than a chuckle from Weaver and an unsympathetic slap on the shoulder. "You been saying that for the last couple weeks, Pete," he drawled, steering his friend past a drunken old man soliciting change. "Ah can't figure out why you ain't done something about this Spengler guy yet."
"He's a tricky son of a bitch," Peter groaned, glowering as the old man followed them for several feet. The derelict retreated before that green gaze, muttering something uncomplimentary. Peter scarce heard what; as soon as the man had ceased to be a threat he'd also ceased to exist so far as Peter was concerned. "Problem is, he's two up on me now. Guy's starting to give me a complex. Let's cut over this way, it's a short cut."
The two strolled side-by-side down the filthy alley that connected Lombard Street to Passyunk, stepping delicately around garbage and over two more derelicts en route. It was a warm spring day, breezy and carrying no hint of the rain that had drenched the entire eastern seaboard the evening before. There was no moisture now, only the zephyrs that whistled eternally through the concrete canyons, breezes whipping wantonly through the city like unherded cattle. Peter loved this time of year, the light rainfall tended to wash clean the smog and pollutants from the city that had been his home for most of his life, leaving it fresh and clean and relatively unsullied. It had been his idea to stroll the distance to their favorite bar for a quick game of pool rather than to use Chuck's beat up Nova.
"Hey, how about a little fun over here?" a vaguely feminine voice suggested from behind the shelter of a dumpster.
"She got 'ta look like the Devil himself," Chuck remarked, curiosity drawing him toward the anonymous solicitor. "Sounds more like a young girl, though."
City cautious, Peter snagged his friend's arm and rerouted him for the end of the alley. "No way, pal. Chick may be cool but those buddies of hers sure aren't."
"What buddies?" Chuck asked, nevertheless allowing himself to be steered.
Peter jerked a thumb to the niche cut into one filthy brick wall, then slid his arm around Weaver's broad shoulders. "I'd bet your daddy's next paycheck that she's got a couple of goons stationed in that corner. Any takers?"
Chuck good-naturedly shook his head. "Not me, Yankee. My daddy works hard for his money."
"Yer daddy is a rich old reprobate, who wouldn't even miss the wad," Peter retorted, reaching the slightly less squalid conditions of Passyunk by hopping a pool of stagnant water. "But he's not my problem, Egon is. Guy is two up on me and we're almost at the end of the semester. If we close out with him ahead, my rep'll be shot all over the campus."
"News for you, pard." Weaver wrapped his own arm around Peter's shoulder, under the psychologist's, having to stoop slightly to maintain contact with the shorter man. "After that last little stunt Spengler pulled, you ain't got all that much of a rep to worry about anymore."
Peter's fingers tightened in the material of Weaver's light jacket, his glower returning full force though it was mingled this time with grudging admiration. "Yeah, that jerk. Armstrong still hasn't got off'a my back over that one. I wonder who Spengler had to bribe to get access to my term paper like that?"
Weaver chuckled again and tossed back his head, dislodging a long strand of blond hair from his forehead. "Never saw old Armstrong that pissed over anything like when you turned in your Human Sexuality paper and ... and...." He dissolved into muffled giggles as he always did whenever reminded of Spengler's latest gag.
"It wouldn't have been so bad," Peter remarked mournfully, "but did it have to be typed pages out of Hustler's Forum? I mean, he even set it up in report form, for crying out loud! How much could that have cost him?"
"One o' my daddy's paychecks?" Weaver guessed, impudently mussing Peter's hair with his free hand.
Peter's wail this time was even louder. "I hate that!" he protested, stepping away from Chuck and feeling in his pocket for a comb. "And even worse," he went on, returning to his original subject, "was his using Ray again to set up the last gag with Nancy." He shook his head wonderingly. "That was a low one - even I didn't suspect the kid."
"Ray was in on that thing with Nancy too?" Chuck asked, surprised. "He must be a better actor than I gave him credit for."
Peter ran the comb through his dark locks then restowed it in his breast pocket. "Nah. Far as Ray knew he was just running an errand for Egon. Didn't have any idea what was in that package." He stepped back quickly under Weaver's second pass at his newly styled hair. "Cool that and talk to me about Spengler. He's due."
Weaver stopped to peek in a dark store window, then turned to lean his back against it and cross his arms. Peter waited. "What I don't understand," Weaver began, a puzzled frown marring the ruddy skin of his brow, "is why you don't just get rid of the jerk. That equipment of his could 'disappear' tomorrow, then a friendly warning...." He spread both hands wide. "Poof! No more geek. You could get rid of that kid at the same time."
Peter regarded the blond blankly. "I think you're missing the point here," he said carefully. "I want to 'get' him, not off him."
Chuck stared back. "You goin' soft on the dude or what? I thought you couldn't stand him."
Peter shifted uneasily under his friend's stare, turning to gaze fixedly into the shop's dark interior. "It's not that I'm soft," he protested with rather less conviction than usual. "It's just that ... he ... well, he's two up on me and I can't exactly squash a guy without evening the score first, right?"
Chuck's blue eyes narrowed. "You don't have to even with the Stantz kid. It'd be easy enough to blow him out the door, especially if Casper is using him for back-up. We could...."
"Piss on that," Peter returned instantly. "Leave Ray alone. He's not in this."
"Oh?"
Peter's lips tightened with that knowing syllable. He met Chuck's gaze then stepped closer, poking the larger man's chest with one forefinger. "I'm not looking to be friends with either one of those two, okay? I just ... I'd rather do the paybacks my own way. Got it?" ...
Weaver raised both hands palm up in a conciliatory gesture. "Sure. Fine with me, Pete. But if you ask me, you're starting to like those two a little bit more than you wanna let on."
"Nobody asked you," Peter growled dangerously.
Weaver shrugged. "Cool. Let's get on to the Tower before it starts to rain."
They resumed their walk, finally ducking into a dingy looking pool hall cut into a row of storefronts. It was dim inside, and the two repaired to the bar to await their visions' return before attempting their first game.
"So how're you planning on paying Spengler back for the Hustler gig?" Chuck asked after they'd each ordered a beer. "Any notions?"
Peter stroked his chin thoughtfully, a crafty gleam lighting his emerald eyes. "Matter of fact, I do have a hypothesis I've been dying to try out."
"Hypothesis," Chuck snickered.
Peter grinned unrepentantly. "That's what Casper is going to be saying Monday. He's got his EDG ... his Extra-Dimensional Gauge," he explained to the other's puzzled look, "ready for a field test for Monday. Better, he's invited some of the most prominent parapsychologist ..." He pronounced the word as though it tasted bad. "... in to witness it. It'll be his fifth failure in two years."
"You got something planned?" Weaver asked, sipping from his glass.
Peter casually leaned on the immaculate bar and crossed his legs, left ankle resting on his right knee. "Buddy I met in Criminology is scoring me one of the smoke bombs the cops use. You've seen 'em at demonstrations - big black clouds you can't see your own butt through? Then Jefferson...."
"Jefferson from the Chemistry Department?" Chuck interrupted.
"He owed me a favor." Peter tasted his own beer and made a face. "Tastes like weak dishwater. I think he's watering this down again."
"Up yours, Venkman," the bartender called, overhearing.
Peter blew him a kiss and turned back to the blond. "Yeah. So Jefferson has this chemical he used when he did the Graduation last year - you know, the Hexa-something-or-the-other that made everyone in the area smell like rotten eggs for two days?"
"That was Jefferson's idea?" Chuck's grimace was eloquence itself. "I got caught in that one myself. Cost me a date with two cheerleaders I had set up for the weekend."
"It's gonna cost Egon a whole lot more." Peter helped himself to a pretzel and popped it into his mouth. "I got Jefferson to inject the Hexa-whatever into the smoke bomb and rig the whole thing to go off on a spark. All I have to do is hook the trigger into a power supply and wait for someone to turn it on."
Weaver appropriated the pretzels, taking one and twirling it on his thumb. "That part sounds easy enough. Hard part is gonna be keeping Casper from discovering the gig before he turns it on."
"No problem-o." Peter turned to watch a shapely waitress as she bent to accept a tip. Catching Peter's eye as she straightened, the woman gave the handsome young man a smile but did not stop. "What was I saying?" Peter asked, coming to himself with a start.
"No problem-o," Chuck supplied helpfully.
"Oh, right." Peter took another sip of his beer, shaking his head at the offered pretzel bowl. "I talked Egon into going with me to the bash they're having over at Tri Cuppa Brew Sunday night."
"You're taking him after the Mardi Gras shindig?!" Chuck asked, aghast. "And he's going?"
Venkman tossed his head. "You're dear old uncle Peter can be pret-ty persuasive when he wants to be, you know." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I told him I accidentally booked myself two dates for the night and was desperate for someone to take one of the chicks off my hands. He thinks he's doing me a favor."
"Like you couldn't handle a measly two chicks," Chuck snorted disparagingly. "What's he charging you for it?"
Peter shrugged. "Nothing I can't handle. Egon and Ray are going to finish the EDG Sunday morning, then I'm picking Egon up that evening for the party. On my way over I'm going to stop in the lab and take care of the bomb."
"What makes you think he won't be checking it out first thing Monday?" the blond asked, smiling when the waitress 'accidentally' brushed against his thigh.
Peter followed the woman with his eyes, then ignored her to clap his friend on the shoulder. "Remember the Mardi Gras party? I got a few things planned for this Tri Cuppa bash that's gonna make that one look like a Girl Scout tea. Our only problem is whether Spengs is gonna even be conscious the next morning much less in a technical mood." Peter chortled evilly and stared down into the golden depths of his brew. "Picture this, Chucky-boy: a half-dozen eminent scientists from three, maybe four states all gathered in one little lab to find out whether some gizmo is going to pick up the ghost of Albert Einstein."
"Gizmo gets plugged in ..." Chuck put in, blue eyes beginning to sparkle.
"... and BANG! Eau de Pepe le Pew!"
The two burst into laughter at the portrait this recitation invoked. Several minutes later Weaver wiped his eyes on his sleeve, his wide shoulders still shaking with mirth. "If that don't restore your rep on campus, ain't nothing will." He sniffed and fixed Peter with a curious look. "Hey, you gonna get Stantz in it too, or you gonna warn him off beforehand?"
Peter's pause was infinitesimal but not unnoticeable. "Can't risk telling him ahead of time," he said finally, twitching one shoulder in a shrug. "He'd tell Egon like a shot. Ray can't keep a secret to save his life."
"Or maybe he could to save his life?" Weaver suggested meaningfully, the threat plain in his voice.
Peter shot him a glare. "I told you to lay off the kid," he snapped. "And I meant it." He drained his beer in one gulp then replaced the glass and gestured the barkeep over, not meeting Weaver's questioning look. "He's a nice kid, Chuck. Leave him alone."
"But Casper is fair game?" Weaver pursued, letting the subject of Ray drop.
"Casper," Peter reiterated with an sinister chuckle, "is my fair game. And Friday, my game gets called."
***
