By the time they finally finished questioning everybody at the apartment, the forensics people had taken over number 209 to tag, search for prints and evidence, and to take away the bodies. Kate was almost certain that it had been a vampire, but she supposed it would be safer to get confirmation about her theory, now that she'd shared it with O'Rourke or Tashir. Maybe she'd best hope that neither of the victims had been turned, it wouldn't do at all for their CSI people to get torn apart or even worse, turned into vampires themselves. She was also quite certain that this night was going to be miserable.
"Time to head over for that back room disturbance at the shop," O'Rourke murmured, his face still much paler than healthy.
"Maybe it's just a clerk with a very friendly girlfriend. Or a raccoon, you have those here in New York, don't you?" Kate shook her head and gave a flickering glance upwards, "Can't it turn out to be something relatively harmless? Or at least not inclined to try to cause us bodily harm?"
"We can hope so," Tashir agreed with the sound of feeble hope and considerable doubt.
It didn't take too long to get to the store with the noises. O'Rourke was asking a few questions of the manager, for details about when the noises tended to occur, and how often. Kate also caught him asking if there had been things taken or damaged in the back room.
The clerk was talking to Tashir, looking sullen and unhappy. Maybe part of it was the long hair that hung over his eye, and drooped to his shoulders, looking in desperate need of a good shampoo. Maybe part of it was the baggy dark clothing. The eyebrow ring certainly didn't help.
Something rattled in the back.
"There, that's the noises! It sounds like something's rummaging about in my back room, and I know that I locked the damned door!" the manager growled.
Following O'Rourke and the manager, Kate reminded herself not to let her nerves make her shoot unless there was a clear danger that a gun would help fight. Not at a raccoon, not at funny noises, not at unfamiliar shadows.
The rattling and shuffling noises continued, with the added noise of someone giggling.
"I am not allowed to shoot teens out on a prank, I am not allowed to shoot teens for giggling and being dumb…" Kate started to remind herself.
There was a man moving crates. Well… half of a man, and he was rather see through. The darkish shirt looked to be a faded blue, with the long sleeves rolled up to just above the elbow and an unevenly folded collar. The man faded into a blurred mist around his hips, wisping to nothing somewhere near where his knees should have been.
"A ghost?" Kate blinked, half expecting the image to change. It didn't.
"I guess I know who to call about this now," the manager sighed. "I just hope they don't shatter half my inventory."
"You have it insured, don't you?" O'Rourke asked. "I'll take a statement about what gets damaged if they get here soon."
With an unhappy nod, the manager left the back room, picking up a half page torn from a magazine and heading into his office. "I may need you for that later."
"Shattered inventory?" she asked O'Rourke.
"You'll probably see soon enough."
"Are we staying for… what is going to happen next anyhow?" Kate glanced at O'Rourke, still watching the ghost rearranging stacks of crates.
"Unless something happens that we need to go handle, we'll stay here. You need to know what these guys are like, and how to deal with them, and I'm not going to just throw you into the firehouse with a stack of reports and a cup of coffee. They're memorable, and it's hard to explain what they do and give a real understanding of it," O'Rourke shook his head, "I just hope they don't scare you out of the city."
Kate managed a half smile, "I don't scare that easy."
"I hope not," O'Rourke mumbled.
End part 5.
Kate tried not to fidget as she waited for them to show up. Waited for the Ghostbusters… and that was something that she'd never expected to think, let alone be doing. Part of her wanted to demand to know what sort of lunatics make a career out of chasing ghosts and what sort of city full of equally crazy people lets them, but… that ghost was still moving boxes in the back. She'd seen zombies and vampires and things that Angel had called demons, and magic talking sticks. Just because the whole situation was crazy didn't make all of it wrong. Nor did it explain just what sort of lunatics chase ghosts for a living.
Two men in tan jumpsuits festooned with pockets, some bulging with strangely angular shapes while others might have been empty, each with bulky backpacks set with wires and blinking lights arrived. One of them had blond hair, wire rimmed glasses, a device that reminded her of a Geiger counter in one hand and a nametag over his heart reading Spengler. The other had the sort of smarmy smile that made her want to shoot him before he could start talking about photo ops, publicity and how to manipulate the system for your own advantage, and a nametag proclaiming him as Venkman.
As they got closer, Kate realized that there was a lingering collection of odors, clinging to their working clothes, or perhaps their skin. That scorched wires and electrical scent that normally meant some expensive electronics would need replaced mingled with something that reminded her of old dusty cobwebs. Perhaps that was the scent of ghosts… or some ghosts. She wondered if there was a variety of ghosts the way there was a variety of the demons that Angel and his people fought. If the scents came from the ghosts or from the places that the ghosts had been.
She found herself wondering what it would take to make Venkman stop smiling at her like that. He reminded her of the obnoxious football jerks from when she was in high school, certain that if they made nice with the cop's daughter, he wouldn't ticket them for driving too fast.
"Officers, what seems to be the problem?" Venkman's smile didn't falter.
"In the back room! Do something about it. The racket is scaring away customers." The manager's angry words were accompanied by a finger stabbing towards the back room. "There's a ghost moving my inventory about and I want it to stop!"
"Not a problem," Venkman's smarmy grin didn't falter. Reaching out, he tugged the now frowning Spengler towards the back room, continuing with "We'll just get that ghost right out of there!"
"What exactly are those large packs?" Kate found herself remarkably uneasy about the bulky packs, with their blinking lights and twisting wires.
"Well, they call them…."
Whatever O'Rourke had been about to say was cut off as what she could only describe as an orange-pink lightning bolt blasted through the door to the inventory room, sending smoking splinters and pieces of drywall to the floor even as bottles shattered, their contents evaporating into scorched sugar and burnt alcohol scented steam. Kate and O'Rourke both dropped to the floor, Kate's hands flying up to cover her head. She could hear the tinkly crash of broken glass and a fluid dripping sound from the back room, as well as something that was best described as a faded roar. The ghost came flying out through the door, wisps of not quite steam or smoke flowing behind him. Another of the pink-orange bolts caught him, and that awful faded roar rang out again, causing bottles to shake, and a whole row of cigarettes to fall to the floor.
With a clattering crash that reminded Kate of throwing a pair of old roller skates across a concrete floor, something the size of a small shoebox slid across the tiles, stopping almost beneath the writhing ghost. The box opened, sending up a flood of pale yellow light that seemed to suck the ghost inwards. Shrinking and roaring, the ghost was pulled into the box, which snapped shut with an almost comical ping. Meanwhile, the smoke detectors were shrilling as the splinters burned, a few of them sizzling in the fluids spilled from shattered bottles.
"Whaaa?" Kate couldn't quite manage words to express the many questions that filled her mind.
"Words often fail to describe them," O'Rourke admitted. "That was what they call busting a ghost."
"And the door, the walls, the bottles, the… no wonder you were talking about forms for the insurance agency. The packs make that lightning they were throwing about? It's a small miracle they didn't set the place on fire."
That was when the sprinkler system finally reacted. With a squeal, droplets of water began to fall over the whole room, causing Kate to flinch. She felt better when she realized that it was only water, not blood or slime or something even less pleasant.
The clerk was there, blasting foam at the few places that the drywall still smoldered, his hair clinging even more now that it was wet, the baggy clothing wrapped around him and attempting to slump down his body. A few more sprays at the wall, and he shook his head, muttering about lunatics and firebugs and not getting paid enough for this shit. The scorched door to the back was kicked open, and Venkman strode out, beaming like he'd just accomplished something wonderful, a still frowning Spengler behind him. The clerk just glared and ducked behind them to the store room, where Kate could hear the fire extinguisher being sprayed a few more times.
Suddenly it made a great deal more sense why being sent to deliver messages or even just talk with these people was considered the short straw. She understood about getting police verification for insurance paperwork. She understood the apparent profitability of selling this much booze. This was not something that she needed, especially not on top of what they'd found in the apartment building.
Kate could feel the headache growing to monstrous proportions.
End part 6.