Chapter 27: Reporting In

 

The adrenaline had worn off almost an hour earlier, and Johnny was exhausted. Still, he sat in the main room of the Clubhouse with Marty. Craig was in a daze, slumped in a chair, and half-listening. Marty, Johnny saw, wasn’t interested in Craig or what he had to say.

He was only concerned with Johnny’s statement on what had occurred.

“We may have to go back there,” Marty declared after several minutes of silence.

Johnny didn’t argue. He didn’t say anything.

Marty glanced at him. “Thoughts?”

“We’ll lose people,” Johnny informed him.

Marty raised an eyebrow.

“That woman, whoever she was,” Johnny continued, “she was strong as hell. She caved in Pete’s skull with a single backhand. It didn’t even look like she was angry when she did it. Also, she’s only one ghost. I don’t know how many others are in there. Those shelves were packed. We could have brought a van and a ton of salt and still not had enough for the job. This guy’s probably been collecting for decades.”

“Which is why we’re probably going to need to go back.” Marty rubbed his face and then smiled. “You hit it off with her.”

“I did,” Johnny nodded. “Thing is, I also told her I wasn’t going to try to take her away. Pretty sure it’s a death sentence for me to go back.”

“I’ll send another team,” Marty chuckled. “As they say, it’s not easy living under death’s shadow.”

Sure, Johnny thought. Whatever you say, Marty.

“You brought everything you could,” Marty stated, seeming to speak to himself. “You had to leave Pete’s body. It’s a pity he died. He was so skilled with electronics. Oh well, where there’s one, there’s another.” He looked at Johnny and smiled again. “You didn’t leave any evidence behind?”

“Nothing except Pete,” Johnny stated.

Marty nodded. “Good. What about you, Craig?”

“Huh?” Craig straightened up and peered at him. “What?”

“Did you leave anything behind in Vermont?”

Craig hesitated, then he shook his head.

Marty stared at him. “Why the hesitation, Craig?” The ice in the man’s question sent a chill through Johnny.

Craig swallowed audibly. “I was just thinking, Marty, honest. I just wanted to make sure.”

“You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?” Marty’s question was asked in a low, soft tone.

“No,” Craig whispered. “I wouldn’t do that, Marty. I swear.”

After a moment, Marty smiled. “Of course, you wouldn’t. I know. Okay. Craig, get some sleep. I want to speak with you first thing in the morning.”

“Sure thing, Marty.” Craig got to his feet and stumbled out of the room. The door closed loudly behind him.

“You kept your cool,” Marty observed.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I guess so,” Johnny replied.

“There’s no guessing about it. I’m impressed. Again. I think,” Marty continued, “that I would like you to run point on the next job. I’m not pleased with the way Craig reacted.”

Johnny waited. He wasn’t happy with Craig either.

“I will put together a new team for you to work with,” Marty added. “I don’t know if Craig will be in it or not. This will be a slightly larger haul. I’ll be sending you down east toward the coast. Have you been there?”

“I think I’ve driven through it,” Johnny answered. “Never did any work there.”

Marty nodded. “I know. I made sure you didn’t have history with law enforcement around Hampton Beach and such. It was satisfying to see that you don’t even have a speeding or parking ticket from any of those little towns.”

“I tried to keep a low profile,” Johnny said. “Didn’t always work, but I sure as hell tried.”

“It can be difficult,” Marty agreed. “Why don’t you go back to your place? Take a few days off, recuperate. I may want the Doc to come in and check your shoulder for you the next time you’re in here.”

“Okay, sounds good to me.”

Johnny got to his feet, and as he did so, Marty spoke. “I may need you to carry another burner the next time you go out on a job.”

Johnny paused and looked down at the man.

Marty nodded. “You see, there may be another person I need taken care of.”

Johnny shrugged. “Okay.”

“Do you want to know who?” Marty asked, voice low, his tone the testing one which Johnny had gotten used to.

“It doesn’t matter,” Johnny answered. “If you say they need to go, then they need to go.”

Marty grinned. “And that, Johnny Smith, is why I like you so much.”

Johnny smiled and left the room, wondering if he’d have to put a bullet into Marty’s head sooner rather than later.

Chapter 28: Working Backward

 

Shane rubbed his face, picked up his coffee, and took a drink. Carl looked at him.

“What is it?” the dead man asked.

“I’m trying to figure out where to start looking,” Shane answered.

“For the man who tried to assault you?”

Shane nodded. “That would be it.”

Carl moved closer. He peered down at the map spread out over the dining table. Shane had found a map of the city of Manchester, and he had circled the rough spot where he had encountered the ghost of Derek Knowles. Knowles, according to the documentation, had been an Army Air Force veteran from World War Two and, as Shane had discovered, Derek liked to fight.

“So,” Shane murmured, “I don’t know if Derek was near his object, or at the extreme edge of it. Or even what direction he had come from.”

He tapped the map with a pen. “Going out in a mile radius is a pain, and I think I’m going to need help with this one.”

“Who will you call?” Carl asked. “Tom and Victor? Perhaps Frank?”

Shane shook his head. “I need a ghost.”

Carl frowned. “That does not sound like such an excellent idea, my friend.”

“Maybe not,” Shane replied, “but that’s about all I have right now. Given that he’s violent, he needs to be taken off the street as soon as possible.”

“Do you think he has harmed anyone?” Carl asked.

“Yeah,” Shane nodded, lighting a cigarette. “I can’t see as how he wouldn’t. He came at me just because I saw him and wouldn’t tell him what I was up to. He’s a real sweetheart.”

“Who then will you bring with you to look for him?” There was a note of eagerness in Carl’s voice, and Shane smiled.

“I wish I could take you, my friend,” Shane sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t trust the others with the house. I need you here.”

“Of course, I understand,” Carl replied. “May I ask, though, who will accompany you?”

“No one you know,” Shane said. “In fact, I need to get him now.”

“I do not like your tone, Shane,” Carl said, frowning. “Is there something I should know about this man?”

“Yeah. First, ‘he’ is a ‘she’. Second, if you hear me scream, come running.”

Without waiting for Carl’s response, Shane headed for the stairs.

 

***

 

Johnny hadn’t slept well.

What little sleep he had managed to grab had been fitful at best. For the first time in years, he had been plagued with nightmares. Most of them had revolved around the dead woman in the Vermont farmhouse. In the dreams, she hadn’t let him go. She had, in fact, kept him for company.

Johnny got out of his bed and stumbled to the kitchenette. He poured himself a large drink of bourbon and drank it fast enough to cause himself to vomit into the sink.

Spitting into the stainless steel, he wiped tears from his eyes and cursed himself for the waste of the liquor. A glance at the clock on the small stove showed it wasn’t yet eleven in the morning.

“You sick or somethin’?” Derek asked from behind him.

“Nah,” Johnny answered before he rinsed his mouth out with water and then poured himself another drink. “Drank too fast on an empty stomach.”

“Huh.”

Johnny brought his glass over to the bed, sat down, and watched the dead man, who stood by the room’s window, looking out over Anger, New Hampshire.

“I like little towns,” the dead man mused. “Quiet places to settle down in. So long as they’re close enough to a city, though. Gotta get in there and fight a spell. You know.”

Johnny didn’t, but he nodded as though he did.

“Anyway,” Derek muttered, turning around to face him. “I had a hell of a night.”

Johnny sipped his bourbon. “What happened?”

“Some fella punched me,” the dead man scowled.

Johnny lowered his glass. “Say again?”

“You heard me,” Derek grumbled. “Someone punched me. Elbowed me before that. Tried to get a hold of him, but when he punched me, I don’t know, sent me right back to my wings.”

“That’s the strangest thing I’ve heard,” Johnny told him, and then he realized how absurd he sounded. I’m talking to a dead man, I’ve been stealing haunted items, and now learning about a guy who can punch a ghost is the strangest thing? Nah, I don’t think so.

“Miserable lookin’ fella, too,” Derek continued. “No hair. Scars, missin’ teeth. I mean, it was like he went through hell. I hope to see him again. Gonna beat him like he ain’t never been beat before, that’s for certain.”

“What happened? I mean, were you hiding yourself?”

“Yup,” the dead man nodded. “Completely. He saw me, though, as if I was still a-livin’.”

Johnny shook his head, confused. “I don’t understand. I didn’t think someone could see you unless, you know, you showed yourself to them.”

“You got me,” Derek grumbled. “I thought the same damn thing. Well, like I said, I’m gonna beat the hell outta him when I see him next.”

“Think you will see him again?” Johnny made certain to ask the question as nonchalantly as possible.

“Sure,” Derek replied. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Johnny admitted. “I mean, what if it was a one-off, you know?”

“It ain’t a one-off!” Derek snapped, clenching his hands into fists. “It ain’t one ’cause I’m a-sayin’ it ain’t.”

Johnny shrugged. “Whatever you say, Derek. It’s no skin off my back.”

The dead man snorted and was somewhat mollified. After several moments of silence, he asked, “What’s a-goin’ on today?”

“I’m going to try and sleep a little more,” Johnny answered. “Then I’ve got to get something to eat. Why, what are you up to?”

“Nothin’,” Derek muttered. “I’m dead.”

Johnny nodded. The ghost had a point.

Chapter 29: Memories

 

Shane sat at his desk, iron rings on his fingers, and a lit cigarette between his lips. He stared down at the small, teakwood box. As he smoked and looked at the intricate carvings of Oriental dragons in the wood, he remembered when he first met Li Nguyen.

 

***

 

“They told me not to open it, Sergeant,” Marshall grinned, setting the teakwood box down on the bunk.

“Why’s that?” Shane asked. He tried not to pay too much attention to Marshall. The young private was fresh out of bootcamp at Parris Island, and Shane was trying to study for a test in his non-commissioned officer’s course. Marshall had come in a little needier than others who had arrived, so Shane had taken the seventeen-year-old under his wing.

“It’s supposed to be haunted.”

Shane blinked, put the manual he was reading down, and looked at the box. There was a small lock on the front of it, nothing more than a simple ivory clasp.

“What do you think? Should I open it?” Marshall asked.

“No,” Shane answered, forcing a smile. “No, not at all. Who did you get it from?”

“Little old man, just outside of base,” Marshall answered.

“What did he tell you about it?”

“Just that it was haunted,” Marshall said. “I thought, you know, that it would be cool to own something that’s haunted. But it’s cold and it’s kind of freaking me out now. That old man, though, he didn’t say anything other than something that sounded like, um, ‘beto nah mu .’ I don’t know. His English wasn’t that great, Sergeant.”

Shane nodded and tried to piece the word together. “He say anything else?”

“‘Woman.’ I know that. He told me ‘woman’ about six times.”

“Before or after the word you didn’t get?”

“What?”

“Private, focus. When?”

Marshall stiffened, and he snapped out his response. “Before and after, Sergeant.”

The unknown word clicked.

Vietnam, Shane thought, translating Marshall’s halting pronunciation.

When Marshall spoke again, there was a nervous note in his voice. “Sergeant, did I really buy something haunted? I mean, is there a ghost in there?”

“I don’t know,” Shane answered.

“Um, I brought it in here because some of the other guys said you, well, you know something about ghosts.”

“Yeah,” Shane muttered, “you could say that.”

“What if it’s haunted?” Marshall asked, and the nervousness was replaced with fear. “I don’t think I want it anymore.”

“How much did you pay for it?”

“A hundred.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Private, even if there wasn’t a ghost in this box, it would only be worth about five bucks. What did I tell you when you came aboard?”

“Not to buy anything outside the gates,” Marshall answered.

“Yeah. Listen, Okinawa’s a great duty station, but you’ve got to be smart, Private. Okay, I’ll get you a hundred in a little bit and buy it from you. I’ll open it up, check it out. If there’s nothing in it, and you still want it, you can have it.”

Marshall shook his head. “I don’t want it. Not at all now, Sergeant.” The young Marine smiled meekly. “I’m just going to go hit the rack for a bit.”

“Okay. Close the door behind you.”

“Aye aye, Sergeant,” Marshall answered and left the room.

When the door had clicked shut, Shane got off his bunk and paced the floor for a moment. He glanced at the box, cracked his knuckles, and shook his head.

Okay. Let’s do this. If the box is closed, and there is a ghost in there, then something in the box is keeping it trapped, he reasoned. I’m going to have to hold the box so I can close it if I need to.

If the woman in there is Vietnamese, she’s probably not going to speak any English. I need to remember my Vietnamese before I do anything else.

Shane closed his eyes and remained still for several minutes, reviewing words and phrases, knowing they would be essential in any interaction with the ghost.

Let’s hope there isn’t one, Shane thought, sitting back down on the bed. Let’s hope Marshall just got played for a fool.

Shane lifted the box, undid the latch, and raised the lid. The interior was lined with lead, and a small jade koi fish sat within it.

As he looked down at it, resisting the urge to pick the fish up and examine the exquisite details, the room became cold. Shane tightened his grip on the box, steeling himself to slam the lid closed should he be attacked.

With a deep breath, he lifted his head and looked around the small room. A dead woman stood by the door, glaring at him.

She appeared younger than he was, and she was wearing a black áo dài and black pants. Both items of clothing were riddled with holes and stained with blood. Part of her right scalp was missing above the ear, and her hair was bloody as well.

“Hello,” Shane greeted her in Vietnamese.

She blinked, then her eyes narrowed. The dead woman took a step to the right, and when Shane’s gaze followed her, she stopped. He was about to greet her again when she spoke in Vietnamese.

“You can see me,” she stated.

Shane nodded.

Her eyes flicked around the room. “You’re an American?”

“Yeah,” Shane replied, preparing to close the box.

“Americans killed me.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane told her.

She looked at him, surprised. “Why?”

“I don’t imagine it would be nice, being shot to death,” Shane answered. “It looks like you were hit multiple times.”

“Too many,” she remarked. She glanced down at her body, then back at him, giving him a feral smile. “I killed many Americans.”

“Before you died?”

“And after. It was one of your Green Berets who finally imprisoned me,” she remarked, eying the box in his hands. “What do you want from me, American?”

“First,” he said, “my name is Shane. What’s yours?”

The question took her by surprise.

“What?” she asked.

“Your name,” he repeated. “What is it?”

“Nguyen Li,” she answered.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Li,” Shane smiled. “Someone sold your item to one of my Marines. I bought it from him because he wouldn’t know what to do if he opened it.”

She snorted. “No one knows. I’m surprised you are so calm.”

Shane shrugged. “I grew up with the dead.”

She raised an eyebrow, and Shane nodded.

“It’s true.”

“Are you not afraid of the dead?” she asked.

“I’m terrified,” he laughed.

“You don’t seem to be.”

“Evidently, I’m good at hiding it,” he grinned. “I haven’t been home in years. There are too many ghosts in the house.”

She lowered herself into a squat and peered at him. “This is an interesting situation. Usually, I would kill you for opening the box.”

“I’m happy that you haven’t killed me yet.”

She smirked. “You know that I can.”

“It would be foolish of me to think that you couldn’t,” he responded.

“You are interesting,” she concluded after a moment. “I won’t kill you.”

“Thank you.” Shane let his relief show itself on his face, and her smile broadened.

She straightened up. “You may close the box, Shane. Make sure you are the only one who opens it. And take care every time: I may change my mind.”

Shane nodded and closed the box.

 

***

 

Okay, he thought, let’s see if Li wants to talk or try and take an eye out.

Shane opened the box.

The dead soldier appeared a moment later. She looked around the room, getting her bearings it seemed, and then focused on Shane.

Li let out a cold laugh and shook her head. “You are old.”

Shane laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m old now.”

She took a step closer. “What happened to you? Where is the rest of your ear? You are missing teeth, and fingers?” She grinned. “From combat?”

He shook his head. “’Fraid not. Least not the kind you’re thinking of.”

“Ah,” she nodded, “this is from fighting with the dead.”

“Pretty much.”

Li took a seat and smiled at him. “Tell me, Shane, why have you brought me out? What is it you want?”

“It’s what I need,” he told her.

Her smile broadened. “Tell me.”

Chuckling, Shane did.

Chapter 30: Back at It

 

Johnny had managed to sleep most of Monday and nearly all of Tuesday throughout the day. A quick shower, a decent meal at the diner in Anger, and then a ride in a Lyft to Manchester had brought him to the YMCA. Johnny had walked from there to the Clubhouse. Craig was there to let him in.

The other man looked tired and stressed.

“What’s wrong?” Johnny asked.

“The client sent a rep here,” Craig muttered. “She’s a real sweetheart, too. C’mon. Stay in the common room. I’m hoping Marty will be done soon enough so we can get the next job planned.”

“Do you know who’s going back to Vermont?”

Craig shook his head. “No. I hope he gets a younger crew to do it. Someone who can run fast. That lady was scary.”

You ran pretty fast yourself there, Craig, Johnny thought.

They entered the common room, and Craig asked, “You want coffee?”

“Yeah, if you’re making some, I’ll have a cup.”

“Yup.”

Johnny walked around the room and wondered when Marty was going to be done. The meeting was supposed to start at seven, and it was already ten of. Usually, Marty would have been in the room, anxious for everyone to show up.

How important is this rep if Marty’s risking running the show late? he wondered. As the thought crossed his mind, several other people he didn’t know entered the room. Craig nodded hello to them and told them there was a fresh pot of coffee ready. He brought a mug to Johnny.

“Here you go, man,” Craig offered him the drink.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, I just wanted to apologize for the Vermont job,” Craig muttered. “I appreciate you not sayin’ I ran out on you.”

“Wasn’t my place to say anything,” Johnny replied.

“Lots of guys would have,” Craig said. “Anyway, thanks. I told Marty what happened, how I took off.”

Before Johnny could say anything in response, the door to the common room opened again, and Marty walked in. The smile on the man’s face was tight, as though he was forcing it to remain there. Beside him walked a woman who appeared to be in her early twenties. Her face was pale, and her red hair was pulled into a French braid that hung over her left shoulder. The smile on her face was pleasant and relaxed. She wore a hooded sweatshirt that had ‘UNH’ over the front, and a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans and a pair of black, Converse All Stars sneakers.

“Hello,” she greeted them. “How are you all this evening?”

She sounded, Johnny realized, exactly like a kid fresh out of college. It sparked an immediate dislike for her.

“Fine,” Craig answered. Everyone except for Johnny nodded.

“Not you,” she asked, fixing her eyes on him, and Johnny understood that it was all an act.

She wasn’t as young as she looked. She wasn’t as cheerful as she looked. He was certain she could kill them all without batting an eye or having the smile on her face falter.

“I’m worn out,” Johnny answered truthfully. “We’ve been busy the past week or so.”

“You’re Johnny,” she stated.

“Yup.”

“I have you to thank, then,” she continued.

“For what?” he asked. He didn’t trust her, and he didn’t like the amount of attention she was giving him.

The woman seemed to know it, and her smile broadened. “For helping Marty here get so many quality items. My boss is really happy about it. When he’s happy, I’m happy.”

“And we want you happy.” Johnny made it a statement, not a question.

“You’re a bright guy, too,” she laughed. “Good. Keep him on, Marty. He’ll help you get through this in one piece.”

Marty’s smile became tighter.

“Anyway,” she said, “I wanted to say hi to you all and let you know that my boss is impressed. Keep it up. He’s got a bonus coming your way.” The woman turned toward Marty. “He’ll compensate you extra for Pete. Not for Viv, though. You killed her.”

Without another word, the woman left the room, and Marty hurried after her.

No one in the room spoke, and Johnny sat down in his preferred chair, wondering how angry Marty was going to be when he returned.

 

***

 

Jack removed his reading glasses and took a drink of water. Then he rubbed his eyes, yawned, and put his glasses back on. He picked up the papers he had printed out before leaving the barracks and looked at the next name on the list.

Rachelle Traynor.

Her name had been one of those engraved on a brass plate in the vic’s home in Concord. Hm, Rachelle, what’s your story?

Rachelle Traynor, he read, had passed away in 1967 from a heart attack when she learned her husband of twenty-six-years had died in Vietnam in a helicopter crash. She had lived in Austin, Texas.

Jack set the papers down and Googled her name. He scrolled through several entries and then stopped.

A silver Eiffel Tower charm, circa 1950, occupied by Rachelle Traynor. She is a mild specter and will occasionally engage in conversation. Prefers silence but has been known to make her presence known when a pipe is being smoked. Her charm is being offered at a reasonable $130 (US), with a 10% carrying fee, which will, of course, cover the cost of insured postage.

Attached to this curious bit of information was a link for a company called Moran and Moran .

Jack clicked the link but only received a 404 Server Error.

He pressed the Back key and jotted the information about the charm down beside her name.

The next name on the list was that of Jose Miguel Rocha. Jose, Jack saw, had died in a plane crash on a return trip from New York City. He had been fifty-nine-years-old and had been finishing negotiations for the sale of his insurance agency.

Jack typed Jose’s name into the search engine and found a hit. Like Rachelle, Jose was associated with Moran and Moran. Jack frowned as he received the same 404 error.

Okay, he thought, turning to the next name, let’s not worry about clicking on any more links right now. Let’s just see how many of them are associated with this Moran and Moran company.

Jack entered in the next name and waited for the results.

 

***

 

Shane couldn’t shake the feeling that he had a live grenade in his pocket, and the pin was pulled on it. Carl wasn’t around to help if she decided to change her mind about being helpful. Don’t have much of a choice, though. I need her brutality.

Li Nguyen’s piece of jade was wrapped in a cloth in his jacket pocket, and the ghost was off where he couldn’t see her. He was walking close to where he had encountered Derek, and he was hoping to find him again.

If I can get a hold of him, Shane thought, I can find out where the rest of the items are. Take care of the people who ran the operation. Find the shooter and kill him.

Maybe just kill everyone.

He reached the dead end, adjusted the iron on his fingers, and turned around. Right, do a mile back the way I came, and we’ll see what happens. Have to call Li back to me if she doesn’t find anything first.

The blow hit him hard and fast, sending Shane stumbling forward. Realizing he was going to fall, he turned it into a tumble and was back up on his feet a moment later, facing the direction from which he had been hit.

Derek Knowles was there, an expression of shock on his face.

“How’re you up?” the dead man asked, shaking his head. “You should be out cold and ready for me to stomp you.”

Shane tried to answer, but pain blossomed in his head, and he realized he had been struck far harder than he had initially thought.

Derek smirked as he saw it. “Oh, I got you good, though.”

The dead man came in, his fists raised, and Shane knew he was in for a fight. His reactions were slowed by the fall, and the blow to his head made it difficult for him to focus enough to block the punches thrown by the dead man.

I just need to land one punch, Shane thought, and as he swung, he knew he had telegraphed the strike. The dead man stepped aside and lashed out with an open hand, slapping Shane hard enough on the side of the head to make what teeth were left there shiver in their sockets.

Absorbing the impact, he stepped forward and drove an elbow into the dead man’s chest, forcing him back several steps.

Derek swore at him, came in, and snapped out a kick that came within a hair’s breadth of taking out Shane’s knee. The dead man’s follow-up punch grazed the top of Shane’s head and threw his own punch off enough to cause him to miss.

Derek stepped back, his hands still raised. He smiled at Shane. “You’re a fighter. Gonna give you that much. I ain’t really fought someone who knew what they were doin’ in years. That how you get so cut up? Fightin’?”

Shane shook his head. “Your mom. She gets a little too excited when I visit.”

A look of pure rage consumed the dead man. “You can’t say nothin’ ’bout my ma.”

“Sure, I can say whatever I want,” Shane continued. “I mean, your Pops, he was workin’ and your mom, she was lonely, so, hey, there I was.”

His head was starting to clear, and Derek’s fury was growing.

“My ma never cheated! She never ran ’round on my pa!”

Derek came in, fists raised, and Li slammed into him.

The two ghosts tumbled across the asphalt. Li screamed at him in Vietnamese, and Derek shouted racial slurs.

Great, Shane thought and threw himself at them. One ring grazed Li, and the other struck Derek, and Shane let out a muffled curse as he struck the street. He rolled onto his back and lay against the curb, breathing heavily and hoping that neither a car nor the dead man would show up.

The temperature around him, which had begun to rise, sank, and he struggled into a seated position.

Li stood before him, smiling. “I’d like to fight more.”

“Oh yeah?” Shane asked, taking out his pack of Luckies. His shoulders sagged when he saw the box was damaged. He fished out the best cigarette of the bunch and lit it.

“Yes, much more,” she answered. Li glanced over her shoulder. “He doesn’t live close to here. He would have been back by now.”

Shane nodded. “Did you have any idea?”

“No,” she answered.

“Fantastic,” Shane sighed, getting to his feet. “Time to walk some more and hope we find him.”

“Yes,” Li nodded. “Let us hope so.”

The dead woman walked off to the left, and Shane shook his head. Smoking, he tried not to think of the pain he was in, or how much he would hurt in the morning.

Chapter 31: Ready for the Next Job

 

Marty was in a foul mood, and Johnny wasn’t thrilled to be alone with him.

The others had been sent away almost an hour earlier, leaving Johnny sitting in his chair while Marty occupied his own. The man didn’t move. Instead, he sat with his arms folded as he stared at the far wall. Johnny had gotten up several times to refill his glass of bourbon, and he was mildly drunk.

Glancing down at his watch, he saw it was a quarter past midnight. When he looked up, he was surprised to see Marty was looking at him. The man was smiling.

Johnny didn’t like it.

“You’re my go-to guy on this job, Johnny,” Marty stated.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Didn’t you want me running point on this one?”

Marty shook his head. “No. You’re going to make sure that nothing bad happens this time, and that if someone dies, we recover the body.”

Johnny frowned. “Why is that important?”

“Evidently,” Marty sighed with a small, angry smile, “our client is not pleased that the body was left behind. The Vermont State Police have already identified Pete, and they know that he lived in Goffstown, right next door to the fair city of Manchester.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Marty nodded. “It won’t take long for someone in the world of law enforcement to understand that four criminals with ties to southern New Hampshire have shown up dead. Too many think the police are dumb. Do you think so?”

“Nope,” Johnny answered. “Used to. But that was before I had five years to sit and think on it.”

“I had a similar revelation when I was younger,” Marty said. “Oh, yes, lots of our colleagues like to blame bad luck. What they don’t do, however, is analyze their own mistakes and accept the fact that the police are far more capable than people give them credit for.”

“Hey, whatever happened with that guy we dumped the murder weapon on?” Johnny asked.

Marty’s brow furrowed for a moment, then he smiled. “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten all about him. Evidently, he’s panicking. Concord police haven’t been able to put the murder on him, it seems he has a so-called ‘airtight alibi’. Putting the stolen items and the murder weapon in his home made him understand that I can reach out and touch him any time I like. I’m afraid the revelation has not been good for him mentally. The last I heard, he was petitioning the police to place him in protective custody.”

“Will they?”

Marty chuckled. “No. He refuses to tell them who he has information on until he has assurances that he will be protected. Since he isn’t even hinting at what it might be, the police won’t bite. He is in a predicament, and I’m rather enjoying it.”

“Have you done anything else?” Johnny asked. Despite his slight inebriation, he was watching Marty’s reactions. The more he dealt with the man, the more concerned Johnny became. Marty, it seemed, was far more dangerous than he appeared to be.

“To him?” Marty asked.

Johnny nodded.

“No. Not yet. If he gets too vocal, then I will,” Marty mused. “Regardless, that’s really neither here nor there, is it? No, we need to focus on this next job. I’ve shifted it from Hampton to Hollis.”

“Hollis is a well-to-do town, isn’t it?” Johnny asked.

“Some of it is,” Marty answered. “Quite wealthy, in fact. However, there are more than a few sections where the people are a little more salt-of-the-earth type.”

“You mentioned in the discussion that we don’t have to worry about security with this one?”

Marty nodded. “Yes. I have managed to cultivate a source in a security company. This particular individual has the ability to turn off the alarms to homes in the area. I don’t plan on activating this source often, as I would rather not waste it completely on these small jobs.”

“Cool.” Johnny finished his drink and set it down on a nearby table. “So, this person will turn off the alarm for us, and we’ll go in.”

“Yes.”

“Why is the team so big this time?” Johnny asked. “Why six?”

“It’s divisible by three,” Marty answered, “and you’ll need to gather as much as possible. A woman who cleans the house said there is an entire second-floor room dedicated to the objects.”

“Wow,” Johnny murmured. “And what if a ghost attacks us again?”

Marty shrugged. “I talked to that rep about it. She said it was a fluke. From what you told me, she said the ghost had been active because of her relative—the guy who owned the house. She said they must’ve kept each other company, but she assured me that’s not usually the case. So long as you go in quick and quiet, you shouldn’t disturb anyone.”

Johnny wondered if that was true but knew better than to question it. That was obviously the only information that he’d be getting, and he’d just have to make the best of it and try to be careful. And maybe he’s right. What do I know about ghosts anyway?

“There is one major difference here,” Marty continued, interrupting Johnny’s thoughts.

“What’s that?”

“I’m giving Craig one last chance. If he decides to run, if anyone decides to run,” Marty’s voice became cold, “I want to know as soon as you are here. No waiting for them to come and speak with me. At this point in the game, if anyone fails to carry out their end of the job, we might all suffer.”

Marty leaned forward, his gaze intense. “I want you to understand that our client is going to kill us—all of us—if we do not come through with our end of the bargain.”

Johnny looked at him, and the other man shrugged as he leaned back.

“The client’s representative made that abundantly clear to me,” Marty added. “Evidently, they have multiple operations taking place around the country. One of their employees was killed in Detroit recently.”

“Do we have any info on it?”

Marty shook his head. “No, but we should soon. I’ve requested information from them, arguing that it would be best to know who, or what, to look out for. As soon as I receive it, I will share it with you.” Marty paused. “You know, I would appreciate it if you stayed here tonight. Tomorrow will be challenging enough. I don’t want to be worried that you won’t make it in time.”

“Sure,” Johnny nodded. “I’ll go up to the room and stretch out. Anyone else up there?”

“No,” Marty answered. “They should be coming back by dawn, however. We’re running this one a little differently.”

“Sounds good to me.” Johnny got to his feet and steadied himself before he picked up his glass and carried it into the kitchen area. He left in silence and made his way to his room. When he closed the door behind him, he stifled a groan as the temperature shifted, and Derek stepped into the open.

“Why the hell you been down there so long?” the dead man demanded.

“Waiting for the boss to tell me I could go,” Johnny told him, dropping onto the bed.

“Oh,” Derek muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Johnny asked.

“That rotten, bald-headed SOB is what’s wrong,” Derek complained. He sat in a chair and looked at Johnny. “I had him. I swear I did. Laid a solid one on the back of his head, and he went down, but damned if he didn’t pop right back up like a Jack-in-the-Box. We was a-scrappin’ too. Then, this lady, she came right outta nowhere and laid into me!”

“How?” Johnny was confused. “Was she like him?”

Derek shook his head. “Nope. She was dead, like me. She was a-yellin’ at me in some sort of language. I don’t know if she was Japanese or Chinese or what. All I know is she can scrap, too. Next thing I know, I’m back here, and you’re down there.”

“Did you go back out after him again?”

“Not with that ghost near him,” Derek muttered. “One-on-one ain’t bad. Two on one? Nope, them odds don’t ever work out. Hate it. You always get stomped when that happens. I mean, maybe if it was two livin’ people, I might be able to do some damage. But not when one’s a ghost, and the other one keeps knockin’ me back here.”

The dead man sulked for a moment. Then he shook his head and asked, “So, what’s next?”

Johnny briefly told him about the Hollis job.

“You want me to tag along?” Derek asked.

Johnny considered it for a moment before he said, “No. Better not. I like having you around here. I don’t trust these people.”

Derek grinned. “Good. Means you’re thinkin’. I like that. Good for you. Should I keep an eye out then while you sleep?”

“Yeah,” Johnny smiled. “That’d be good. Thanks, Derek.”

“You got it.”

Johnny took off his shoes, stretched out on the bed, and closed his eyes. He shivered, pulled a blanket over him, and let his body rest.

 

***

 

Shane popped a couple of Tylenol and washed them down with a swig of whiskey. He put a cold pack against the back of his head and winced.

“Are you badly hurt?” Carl asked.

“No,” Shane answered. “I just want to get my hands on him, so I can finish this up.”

“You think you will find him again?”

“Oh yeah,” Shane smiled. “I’m not worried about that at all. He was livid. It’ll be good to put the screws to him. I think it drove him crazy that Li beat the hell out of him. You should have heard the names he was calling her.”

“Does she know what he said?”

“No,” Shane told the dead man. “She would have killed people just because of it. I don’t need that.”

“When will you try again?” Carl asked.

“Tomorrow night,” Shane replied. “I mean, so long as I can. I won’t push it. He came pretty damned close to putting a real hurt on me tonight.”

“Will you sleep?”

“Soon enough,” Shane told him. “Hey, you want to play some cribbage?”

“I’m not sure,” Carl responded, his eyebrow raised. “The last time we played, you cheated.”

“Only because I have to move the pegs for you,” Shane smiled.

“I cannot move them,” Carl replied dryly, “due to the fact that I am dead.”

“Well, yeah, there is that. Still, you want to play?”

Carl smiled. “Yes. But if you cheat, I will exact some sort of revenge.”

“Fair enough,” Shane laughed, then he winced. He took another drink of whiskey. “Damn. Right, let’s play.”

Carl laughed, and Shane hummed the Marine Corps’ Hymn as he took out the cribbage board and a deck of cards.

Chapter 32: Worsening Symptoms

 

His fingers trembled as he lit his pipe. It took several attempts to get the tobacco started, and when he was finally able to draw deeply upon it, the smoke did little to settle Marcus’ nerves.

He sat in the small house which he had claimed as his own in the village. Marcus rocked slowly, letting the pipe smoke slip out the corner of his mouth and disperse on its way up to the ceiling. He looked out of the window at the village, the melting snow, the cobblestones peeking up. According to the weather sites, the snow was now gone for the season. There would be no more storms. Perhaps an occasional dusting but nothing more.

Marcus was glad of that. He felt his age in the mornings and by the time he went to bed.

The room chilled noticeably, and he smiled around his pipe.

“Hey, Pop,” Timmy greeted, coming around to stand in front of Marcus.

“Timmy,” Marcus smiled at the ghost, “how goes the world beyond my small home?”

“Not too good,” Timmy remarked.

Marcus frowned. “What is it?”

“Alex, he wants to take a trip again.”

“Where to now?” Marcus lowered his pipe. “Was not the last trip enough? He shouldn’t be up and about more than necessary. The doctors who were brought in aren’t sure he’s going to recover completely.”

“Yeah, kid’s not worried about that,” Timmy shrugged. “Besides, he isn’t all that bad. I mean, yeah, it’s not great, him getting hurt and all, but hey, he is who he is.”

Marcus didn’t want to argue the point. “Where does he want to go?”

“Norwich.”

Marcus stiffened. “Whatever for?”

“He wants to see Abel Worthe.”

Marcus blinked, shook his head, and asked Timmy to repeat himself. The dead man did so.

“Why?” Marcus managed to ask, his voice hoarse, his anger heavy on his chest.

“He wants to talk to him,” Timmy said in a low voice. “He wants to talk to him about the experiments he was running.”

“Why?” Marcus demanded. “Why would he want to know that?”

“Because,” Alex said from behind him, “I want to run my own.”

The boy walked in to stand beside the dead man. Alex smiled, brushed some of his white hair out of his eyes, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. It was an odd quirk, a result of the injury the boy had sustained.

“Alex,” Marcus began, choosing his words carefully. “Do you really want to do that to people? Do you want to bring them here and make them suffer the way you and I did?”

“No,” Alex laughed, shaking his head. “Not at all.” The boy grinned. “Marcus, I want to send ghosts out into the world. I want to see what they can do, how people will react. You know, as I’ve been resting, I’ve read all of Professor Worthe’s notes. They’re very precise. I’ve enjoyed every bit of it. That’s why I want to talk to him. I know he’ll be able to give me some good ideas about how to do it.”

“People will get hurt,” Marcus argued.

The smile faded from the boy’s face, and he rubbed the back of his head, wincing. “People always get hurt, Marcus. It’s life. Come up to the house in an hour.”

The boy turned around and left by the front door. Marcus watched him go, his eyes fixed on the boy’s dented skull. He was bald near the nape of his neck, and there was a jagged, almost puzzle-like dispersion of bright pink scars across his pale skin. The surgeons had done their best, but there was only so much that could be done.

They had warned me of this, Marcus thought, closing his eyes. They had said he might be a little different after the injury.

I’d have to agree, he sighed, except that this is far more than a ‘little different’. I don’t know this Alex Kallistos. I don’t know him at all.

 

Chapter 33: Working in Hollis

 

The house was huge, and Johnny found himself worrying that the operation wouldn’t go as planned. There was something nagging at him.

They were gathered in a semi-circle around a bulkhead door, which was how they were supposed to go in. Johnny stood, his eyes darting about. From what they had been able to ascertain, and from the information given to them by the housekeeper, the family was out for the next few days. They were in Boston, celebrating someone’s birthday.

Wouldn’t matter if they were running naked up and down Newbury Street, Johnny thought, just so long as they’re not here. That’s all I want.

Craig made a clucking sound in the back of his throat, and everyone looked to him. He nodded toward the bulkhead as he put his phone away.

The notification that the alarm system was down had come through.

Johnny didn’t worry about anyone else as he went down the stairs and into the basement. He was focused on the task at hand, and that was for him to get to the second floor, into the ghost room, and to start putting items into his bags to take out of the house.

They crossed the basement in single file, and Johnny hardly noticed the extensive weight room and fitness area. In a moment, they were climbing the stairs up and into a kitchen that was by far the largest Jimmy had ever seen. But this they passed through as well. Craig led them, a small map in his hand. It was nothing more than a layout of the house, but its presence bothered Johnny.

The damned thing’s another piece of evidence we don’t need to lose track of, he thought. Johnny glanced at the rest of the team and concealed his disgust. There were too many people on the job.

Marty’s caution was getting the better of him.

Is he being overly cautious? Johnny wondered as they climbed a broad set of stairs to the second floor. Or is it really that dangerous?

Johnny was bothered by the questions. He didn’t have any answers, and not having the answers when it came to a job meant there was a chance to end up in prison, or dead.

And Johnny was done with prison. He wasn’t particularly keen on dying either.

They reached the second floor, and Craig went to the first door on the left. He reached out, grasped the doorknob, and Johnny saw the man relax. With a smile of relief, Craig opened the door. A wide room spread out before them as the men filed in. Waist-high glass display cases were laid out in neat and orderly rows, and lights high above could illuminate the objects if the lights were turned on.

They wouldn’t be. Everyone had small flashlights with red lenses. The lights allowed them to see what they were taking, and the red preserved their night vision. Around him, the men spread out. All were professional criminals, and no one wanted to be in the house longer than they had to. Each man moved to a case and opened it.

Johnny slid the door to the case in front of him open and was thrown backward.

He twisted at the last moment and cursed as his hip struck a case. The glass cracked as he tumbled over it and landed hard on the floor. There were instant shouts of surprise that quickly transformed into screams of pain and fear.

With a grunt, Johnny pushed himself into a standing position and saw Craig bolt out through the door. Another man he didn’t know was thrown across the room by a ghost that, had he still been alive, would have put most professional football players to shame. Johnny glanced at the door and saw the back of it was shielded with lead.

That’s something, he thought.

“Someone grab him!” Johnny ordered, pointing at the downed man. “Everyone else, fill those bags!”

The dead man glanced at Johnny and grinned as he spoke in a language Johnny couldn’t understand.

Another scream filled the air, and from the corner of his eye, Johnny saw another man go down, this time at the hands of a woman he could hardly see. Other ghosts were appearing.

“Enough!” Johnny yelled. “Enough!”

He ran forward and ducked beneath the sweeping, outstretched arm of the dead giant to grab the collar of the second man who had been knocked down. “Let’s go!”

Johnny and the others raced from the room, the ghosts hurrying after them, but they were unable to cross the threshold. Johnny suspected there was some sort of protection in place, but he wasn’t sure what it was, only that he was happy it was there.

The group fled the house, and in a few minutes, they were at the large van they had used as transportation. Johnny’s entire body ached, and he collapsed onto the ground as one of the men checked on the two who had been knocked down.

“They’re dead,” the man declared, straightening up.

“Both of them?” Johnny asked.

He nodded.

“How much did we get?” Johnny inquired, glancing at the bags on the ground.

“Don’t know,” the man who had checked the pulses replied. “I filled a bag, Carlos filled another. I know you weren’t able to. I think we left a lot of the bags in there.”

“Hey,” Carlos said, looking around. “Tiny, did you see where that guy Craig went to?”

“No,” Tiny answered. He looked at Johnny.

“I know he ran out,” Johnny informed them. “I don’t know where to, though.”

Carlos swore, and Tiny looked furious. “What the hell?”

Johnny shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s get the doors open, and everything loaded up. I’ll tell Marty it was a bust.”

Carlos opened up the back doors and froze.

Craig was sitting inside the van, his face pale, and his knees pulled up to his chest. The man’s eyes were wide as he smiled apologetically to the others. “Hey. I’m sorry. I just, I couldn’t be there, you know?”

Johnny walked up to the doors. “Yeah. We know. Were you able to grab anything?”

Craig’s expression was sheepish as he shook his head. “No. Um, no. I just sort of ran as soon as it started.” He fixed his attention on the bodies. “Are they both dead?”

Tiny nodded as Johnny answered, “Yeah. You don’t have to worry about it, though.”

“Why not?” Craig asked.

“Because you’re dead, too,” Johnny stated, and drew his pistol.

He squeezed the trigger once, the bullet striking Craig in the forehead. As the man crumpled to the van’s floor, Johnny holstered the pistol. “Okay,” he said, nodding to Carlos and Tiny, “let’s get this stuff loaded.”

The other criminals nodded, and together, they placed the bodies into the back of the van.

Taking the keys, Johnny walked to the front of the van and started the engine. The bags were still inside, but he wasn’t going to risk his life to get them.

Not this time, he thought. All Johnny wanted was to get back to Manchester sooner rather than later.

 

***

 

Shane took one last hit off his cigarette, then pinched it out before he stripped the butt and tucked the remains away in his pocket.

He stood on the sidewalk close to where the ghost, Derek, had attacked previously. Shane knew Li was close by, and a ripple of nervousness passed through him. She was a dangerous quantity in the present situation. Shane hoped she would remain loyal to him.

But there’s always that slim possibility that she’ll decide to have a little fun with me, Shane thought. Hell, wouldn’t that be priceless, if the two of them decided to work together? I don’t think they will, seeing as how they can’t communicate, and I doubt either of them doesn’t absolutely despise the other.

Whatever. Got to get my head in the game because this is going to hurt like hell.

Shane felt as though he was being watched, and he knew the dead man was nearby.

He’s looking for me, Shane thought. He cracked his knuckles and hated the lack of iron on his fingers. But iron isn’t going to help me figure out where his item is. Or get my hands on whoever stole him in the first place.

Shane shivered as the temperature sank again, and he braced himself. A heartbeat later, the expected blow struck him in the center of the back with enough force to drop him to one knee. Shane groaned, clenched his hands into fists, and got up to face the dead man.

Got to make it look good for the pip-squeak.

Derek grinned at him, the expression grotesque. “Let’s see how you do, Nancy-boy.”

Shane returned the grin. “Sure. I mean, I’ve got to be better than you, right? I’m alive, and you’re dead. Honestly, I’m surprised you were let into the Army. What’d they do, bring you in around forty-four? Back when they were scraping the bottom of the barrel?”

Derek let out a curse and stepped in, his hands a blur.

Shane found it difficult to concentrate and block the blows at the same time. One slip of focus and his strength would drop enough to allow one of Derek’s jabs to pass through and cause real damage.

The dead man’s strikes were powerful and well-aimed, and Shane could not deny that the man had definite skill when it came to fighting. And Derek knew it. Shane could see the dead man grinning, planning out each attack.

That’s it, you little rat, Shane thought, dodging a punch to the head. Get a little more confident. Let’s see what you like when it comes to fighting.

Shane took several more punches on the arms and one on the chest. When Derek stepped in to capitalize on a blow, Shane lashed out and knocked the dead man back. Derek lost his footing and fell.

Time to go, Shane thought, and without a word, he turned and ran from the scene.

 

Chapter 34: Calculated Risks

 

The van was parked in a friendly garage, and the stolen items had been secured in the back of an old Camry Marty had shown up in. Johnny stood with Carlos and Tiny in the garage’s office. Marty sat on the desk, his face emotionless as he looked at the three men. Johnny refused to look away when Marty made eye contact.

“Three dead,” Marty observed finally. Johnny and Carlos nodded. Tiny muttered something that no one understood. Marty’s eyes flicked over to Tiny for a moment, then back to Johnny.

“What happened?”

Johnny told him, right up to when he blew out Craig’s brains.

“He ran again?” Marty asked.

Johnny nodded.

“Why did you shoot him?” Marty inquired.

“Because he ran. And, hell, I was angry. I still am,” Johnny answered. “Not only did he put the job at risk, he jeopardized all of us. If he didn’t break right then in the van, well, he would have broken later on.”

“You’re sure of that?” Marty asked.

“Yup.”

“Carlos, Tiny, your assessment?” Marty asked.

“Without a doubt,” Carlos answered. “Come on, Marty, you know we can’t have any of that crap.”

Everyone looked at Tiny, who was staring at his hands and whispering. It took Johnny a moment to understand Tiny was singing a nursery rhyme, although Johnny couldn’t remember which one it was.

“Tiny,” Marty said, his voice low.

The man didn’t look at him. He continued singing, and he began to rock back and forth. Marty glanced at Johnny, and Johnny knew what the man wanted.

Stepping forward, Johnny slapped Tiny as hard as he could across the face. The blow left his hand stinging and a red mark on the other man, but Tiny kept singing.

Marty muttered and shook his head. “Carlos, get out of here. Get some cash from the Clubhouse and go spend some time in Portland.”

“Maine?” Carlos asked.

Marty nodded. “Yeah. If you get a text asking about your mom, get on up to Canada for a bit. All right?”

“Sure thing, Marty,” Carlos nodded, and he turned around and left without another word, the door closing hard behind him.

Tiny’s voice rose and fell with the song.

“This is not a good situation,” Marty observed after a moment of silence.

“No,” Johnny agreed, “it isn’t.”

“Suggestion?”

Johnny looked at Tiny. The man’s eyes were glazed over, and his lips moved despite the fact that he was no longer singing aloud. Johnny glanced into the garage’s bay and realized the pistol he had killed Craig with was in the van with the bodies.

Without a word, Johnny stepped behind Tiny, threw an arm around his neck, and started to choke the man out. Tiny struggled, clawing at Johnny’s arm, but Johnny sank to the garage floor, increasing pressure.

The other man fought, but he soon weakened. Johnny’s heart raced as he killed Tiny. For several minutes, he kept the pressure up, knowing full well that it took a long time for a man to die by strangulation. He’d seen a few men killed in prison that way, and it was never pleasant.

When he was sure Tiny was dead, Johnny let go of him. Tiny rolled lifelessly to the floor and lay motionless on the concrete.

Johnny glanced at Marty, and the other man smiled.

“Excellent,” Marty stated. “I can’t say how pleased I am with that. Really. Forward-thinking. I love it. Now, let’s load him into the van. I’ll make a call and have it removed.”

They got Tiny’s body up and into the back of the van, and Johnny closed and locked the door as Marty made his call. When the man finished, he glanced at Johnny. “Hungry?”

Johnny’s stomach rumbled, and he nodded. “Yeah, I could eat.”

“Me, too. Come on, there’s a twenty-four-hour diner that has some of the best burgers this side of Boston.”

Johnny followed Marty to the nondescript Toyota Camry, climbed into the passenger seat, and buckled up as Marty started the car.

 

***

 

Shane washed the Tylenol down with whiskey and then lit a cigarette. His head throbbed, and his body ached.

I’m kind of thinking that using myself as bait was stupid, he thought with a wince as he shifted his position. He had spent most of the night waiting for Li to reappear, and when she had still been absent at sunrise, Shane had been forced to return home. I hope like hell she’s not messing around.

He took another drink and then, out of habit, took out her item. Shane looked at it for a moment, the cool sensation of the item, any haunted object, pleasing against his skin. Then, with a small smile, he said her name aloud.

The dead woman appeared a moment later, smirking.

Shane spoke in Vietnamese, “You found him.”

“Of course, I found him,” she answered, walking around his library and shrugging after trying to read a book’s title. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You could have told me last night.”

“That was not fun,” she told him. “Making you wait and worry, well, that was fun.”

“It’s not my idea of fun,” Shane sighed. “But, whatever. You’ll be able to show me where?”

She nodded and turned to face him. “Do you wish to go now?”

“No.” Shane put out his cigarette. “I need a little more rest. Preferably without so much pain. I don’t think that’s going to happen, though.”

“And what of me?”

Shane considered her question. “You’re too dangerous to wander around unsupervised, Li.”

“I know.”

“What do you want then?”

The dead woman hesitated before she answered, “I want to watch the world for a little while.”

Shane nodded. Standing up, he walked to the windows and pulled open the drapes. “Enjoy.”

She smiled, stepped up to the window, and remained silent as Shane left the room.

 

***

 

Johnny was ready to pass out when he stumbled into the small bedroom in the Clubhouse.

Derek didn’t afford him that luxury.

The dead man was there, grinning at him.

“What’s up with you?” Johnny asked, dropping onto the bed and unlacing his shoes.

“I got the best of that bald guy I was tellin’ you about,” the dead man crowed. “Man, I beat him real bad. Sent him a-runnin’ for the hills.”

Johnny tried to understand what Derek was talking about, but he couldn’t quite piece together what he was saying. “What bald guy? What are you talking about?”

“You know, the one I’ve been fightin’ with the past few days, right?” The dead man seemed disgusted by the fact that Johnny didn’t remember.

Johnny closed his eyes and tried to recall what Derek had said before about someone. “Yes. Yeah, I remember now. You were upset because you wanted to teach him a lesson the other night.”

Derek nodded, the swollen half of his face twisting grotesquely as he smiled. “Hell yeah! That’s the one!”

“So, you caught up with him?”

“Damn right, I did, and I landed a few solid ones on him before he turned jack-rabbit and ran.”

Johnny nodded. “Great. Awesome. Listen, Derek, I’m exhausted. I need to sleep.”

“What are you exhausted for?” the dead man asked as Johnny stretched out on the bed.

“Killed two guys tonight,” Johnny answered. “One, because he was a coward. The other, well, I guess that was a mercy killing.”

“Huh. Yeah, that’ll tire you out some,” Derek agreed. “You get your rest. I’ll tell you what I did to that bald guy when you wake up.”

Johnny tried to answer, but he was already falling asleep.

Chapter 35: The Sandock Residence

 

Luke Sandock pulled his respirator up and over his head, wiping the sweat off of his brow and peering down at the piece of cherrywood he was sanding. The coloring was finally beginning to show, and he smiled, proud of what it looked like.

The lights in the workshop flashed, and he looked up. Annie, his wife, stood in the doorway, a tired expression on her face.

“Are you coming to bed or are you going to play with your wood for the rest of the night?”

There was no humor in her question, and there hadn’t been much humor in her since he had retired seven years earlier.

Luke set the respirator and the sander down on the workbench. “I’ll be done in a minute. I just need to clean up.”

She rolled her eyes, turned, and left the doorway. He watched her go and then shook his head.

I thought the third marriage was supposed to be the charm, he sighed, taking the piece of cherrywood out of the vise and setting it down beside the sander. Evidently, I was misinformed.

He walked to the mini-fridge he kept by the back door, opened it, and took out a beer. He popped the top and took a long drink. A shudder raced through him, and Luke smiled.

Always good, he thought. He climbed the steps into the kitchen, closed and locked the door, and then went to the front of the house, double-checking the windows and the main entrance. Everything was secured, and he peered out at the rolling grass of his long front yard.

I’ll need to mow that tomorrow, he thought, making a mental note. Need to check the forecast, too. Have to get some fertilizer down.

Luke looked in either direction, pleased that there were no vehicles on the road. He and Annie lived in an isolated part of Pepperell, Massachusetts, and the lack of road traffic, especially after dark, pleased him.

Annie slammed a cabinet, and he shook his head. Sighing, Luke turned and stepped into the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

 

***

 

Penny Demillo lowered her binoculars and settled back into her position. Fifteen years earlier, when she had returned from her first tour in Iraq, Penny had quit smoking.

With that firmly in the forefront of her mind, she removed a pack of Newports from her bag, stripped off the cellophane, and shook out a smoke. In a moment, she had the cigarette lit, and then she was coughing as her lungs reacted to the sudden introduction of the tobacco. Her eyes watered, and she spat on the ground before taking another drag. After a few minutes, she was used to the smoke, and her body relaxed as the comfort of the forgotten habit returned.

Yeah, she thought, looking up at the night sky. This is how far I’ve come, Ma. Back to smoking because of the job. Great, isn’t it?

Penny doubted her dead mother could hear her. And if she can, Penny mused, she’s probably swearing at me for being stupid.

The idea of her mother, dead and yelling from beyond the grave, made Penny smile. Then, the smile faded as she recalled exactly why she was smoking and why she was in Massachusetts.

Her eyes shifted from the sky to the small, shoebox-sized container beside her. The box was heavy, and Penny knew it was from the lead-lining as well as the small amount of C4 placed within it. The detonator was connected to an app on her phone, and all she needed to do was log into the app or speak a certain word to set off the detonator.

Here’s hoping that never has to happen. Penny swallowed nervously, finished her cigarette, and stubbed it out in the dirt. She left the butt where it was and leaned over, unlocking the box and flipping up the lid.

A heartbeat later, he appeared.

The ghost standing in front of her was a young boy, one who had died badly. Rumor at the post was that he had been pulled out of Detroit by one of the boss’ “talent acquisition specialists”, as they liked to joke in the barracks.

But there was nothing funny about the dead boy. He looked at her with flat eyes that revealed no emotion. She knew he had been spoken to by the boss, but it didn’t mean the ghost would listen to her.

Which was one of the reasons there was C4 in the lead-lined box.

“Am I here?” the dead boy asked.

“Yes,” Penny answered, her voice revealing none of the trepidation she felt. “It’s that house across the way. A married couple. Husband is on his third marriage, wife is on her first. Husband is retired, white male.”

The dead boy nodded. “Good.”

He vanished a moment later.

Penny found herself trembling as she shook out another cigarette and lit it. With a deep breath, she opened the protected hard case she had brought and extracted the laptop. In less than a minute, Penny was looking at an array of camera feeds. They were positioned around and within the subject’s house. Each camera was small and powered by a lithium battery.

After Penny checked the feeds and made sure they were uploading to the cloud, she took a long drag off her cigarette and waited to see what would happen.

 

***

 

Luke and Annie no longer shared a bed. She slept in the master bedroom, and he slept in the guest room. It didn’t matter to him. He enjoyed his solitude, and he suspected she enjoyed her time away from him as well. The only difference was that he didn’t mind spending time with her.

She certainly doesn’t like to see me, he sighed, pulling on his pajama top. I wish she would learn to fall asleep while I’m working. I wasn’t that loud out there. Hell, I’ve seen her sleep through thunderstorms louder than my sander.

Luke yawned and climbed into bed. The sheets were cool and comforting, where his skin was exposed, and he smiled as he closed his eyes. He pulled the blankets in tighter, rolled onto his side, and adjusted the pillow beneath his head. Luke yawned again and waited for sleep to claim him.

A loud thud and the shaking of the house caused him to sit upright.

What the hell was that? He waited a moment, then called out, “Annie, you okay?”

He thought he heard a moan from the master bedroom, and he climbed out of his bed. Annie drove him nuts, but he wasn’t about to let something bad happen to her. He hurried to his bedroom door, opened it, and called her name again.

The moan which came from the master bedroom was unmistakable.

Luke raced down the hallway, grabbed the doorknob, and tried to turn it.

The door was locked.

Luke rolled his eyes and turned to enter the bathroom. Instead, he let out a yelp of surprise and took a step back, slamming into the master bedroom’s door.

A boy stood in the doorway of the bathroom, and he appeared to be dead. His skin was pale, and his throat had been cut. While the horrific injury was disturbing, Luke was more concerned with his ability to see through the child and into the bathroom beyond.

It was only when he was looking at the boy that Luke realized it was freezing in the hallway. Suddenly shivering, Luke wrapped his arms over his chest and tried to warm himself. His breath slipped out in the form of vapor from his mouth, and Luke desperately wanted the dead thing in front of him to leave. A plaintive wail penetrated the door and filled the hall.

The dead boy smiled.

“What have you done?” Luke whispered, knowing full well that whatever had occurred was the fault of the dead boy.

“Not enough,” the child whispered and launched himself at Luke.

Chapter 36: Necessary Information

 

Marty hadn’t slept for more than four hours.

He was far behind on the quota established by the client, and he knew it was going to cost him. Marty didn’t believe they would kill him, but there was always the possibility. He also knew he couldn’t run. There would be nowhere to go.

He lifted his cup and sipped his tea. The previous attempt to obtain more stock had failed. He had lost four of the six men permanently, and Carlos was in hiding in Portland. If necessary, Marty would send someone out to kill him. He didn’t want to since good men were hard to find, but he didn’t want to have his business collapse, either.

As he pondered over what next to do, his computer chimed, alerting him to the arrival of a new email.

Frowning, Marty opened it and saw it was from a generic account. He was about to delete it when he saw the subject line: Detroit, Issues with Collection

Leaning forward, Marty clicked on it.

 

Operative in Detroit was intercepted by Shane Ryan of Nashua, NH. It is believed Shane Ryan was responsible for the death of the operative and the destruction of the operative’s dead companion. Shane Ryan was contacted by Moran and Moran regarding the death of its employees and the theft of the merchandise. He has been seen recently in the city of Manchester, and it is believed he may have had interactions with one of the ghosts stolen from Moran and Moran, considering his close relations with that firm. This ghost is not located in the collection you have at your facility. It is believed this ghost is in the possession of John Smith as not all the items from that job have been accounted for.

Shane Ryan is a former combat Marine with twenty years of service. He is known to be able to speak with the dead and is fluent in a wide range of languages. He is described as lean, bald, and heavily scarred. Shane Ryan is to be avoided at all costs. If he is interacting in an aggressive fashion with a ghost stolen from Moran and Moran, it would be in your best interest to cut John Smith loose rather than have Shane Ryan destroy you.

This is not an exaggeration on our part. Shane Ryan is to be considered extremely dangerous.

Please find attached several images of Shane Ryan. Should you see him, do not engage.

 

Marty shook his head, read through the email several more times, and when he was certain he had everything, he opened the images.

The man portrayed was a rough-looking man and one that appeared to be far more dangerous than the email implied.

And that’s saying a lot, Marty thought. He sipped his tea. Where’s your hair, Mr. Ryan? How on earth did you get those scars? My, you’re quite the mess.

Marty had an easy time imagining Shane Ryan wreaking havoc in the Clubhouse and taking some sort of violent revenge on the person who had ordered the attack on Moran and Moran.

Since that someone is me, I am going to need to find out if Johnny really does have one of the ghosts, and if said ghost has been battling with Mr. Ryan.

With a sigh, Marty got to his feet and headed for the kitchen. It was always good to have a full stomach before confronting someone he might need to kill.

Chapter 37: Calling Up the Company

 

Jack had seen the company, Moran and Moran, come up in relation to each of the victims he was investigating. If their website was to be believed, then the company dealt only with haunted items.

Jack tapped his fingers on the edge of his keyboard, frowning as he looked at the website. It was a little past ten in the morning, and the company was supposed to have opened at nine. He hesitated, then switched to another tab, one which showed a police report detailing the killing of two of the store’s employees, as well as two of the thieves.

While there was no footage from any sort of security system, which Jack found difficult to comprehend, there had to have been at least a third, if not a fourth, suspect. A box of unknown items had gone missing, according to the store, and there was no vehicle that could be attributed to the thieves.

So, Captain Jack, he mused, switching back to the company’s page, your stellar detective skills tell you that there had to be someone else. But where would this person go? Why did they steal the items in the first place?

He shook his head. Jack didn’t know of anyone who would truck in such material, so he needed to call Moran and Moran, to see if perhaps they had any sort of inkling as to who might be stealing items.

Well, here goes nothing, he thought and picked up his phone. He dialed the number and waited.

After two rings, the phone was answered, and a gentleman with a professional, Northeastern accent stated, “Moran and Moran, James speaking, how may I help you?”

“Mr. Moran,” Jack said, “this is Captain Jack Thompson of the New Hampshire State Police. I was wondering if I might have a few minutes of your time.”

“Of course, Captain,” James answered. “How might I be of assistance to you today?”

Quickly, Jack told the man about the missing items, leaving out the information that the owners were dead.

When he finished, Jack asked, “Do you happen to know if there would be anyone in New Hampshire who would be intent on stealing such items?”

“No, I am afraid I do not,” James replied. “It’s rather disheartening to think that these are being stolen. Most of our clientele in New Hampshire have reached an advanced age, and I worry for them. If this trend you’ve described continues, they might come to harm. Is this something they should be warned of?”

“Well,” Jack began, switching the phone to his other ear and picking up a pen, “you could always tell me who your clients are, and I could dispatch some troopers to speak with them.”

James made a clucking noise of disapproval on the other end. “Unfortunately, Captain, that is not something I can do. I will certainly reach out to my clients and inform them as to the situation, and I can pass along your information should they so desire to speak with you. What I cannot do is give you their private and personal contact information. This would be a breach of trust, and, as I am sure you can understand, New Englanders are rather concerned about their privacy. I would not be able to conduct any sort of business in the area should they believe I was untrustworthy.”

Jack considered using the tried and true methods of attempting to browbeat the man into changing his mind, but something in James’ voice told him he wouldn’t get far. Tapping his pen on the desk, Jack said, “Okay, please pass on my contact info to your clients in the area.”

“I would be quite pleased to, Captain,” James answered. “I am ready whenever you are.”

With a sigh, Jack gave the man his information.

Chapter 38: Unhappy

 

Johnny rolled onto his side, yawned, opened his eyes, and almost yelled.

Marty sat in a chair across from him, a small smile on his face.

“Good afternoon, sunshine,” Marty said. “How are you?”

“Scared,” Johnny admitted, sitting up. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. “Didn’t expect to find you watching me sleep.”

“Ah, well, I wanted to be here when you woke up,” Marty replied. “Slept all right?”

Johnny shrugged, disliking the soft tone Marty was using. “Well as can be expected.”

“A fair statement.” Marty brushed a speck of dust off of his knee. “Johnny, I received an email about our client’s operative in Detroit. Actually, I received an email about what happened to the operative in Detroit. It wasn’t pretty.”

“No?”

Marty shook his head. “He was killed by a bald man.”

“Lots of bald men out there, Marty,” Johnny said, rubbing his hands through his hair.

“There are. This one, however, looks like someone rode over him with a lawnmower. And more than once.” Marty smiled, but there was no humor in it, and Johnny found himself wishing he had a gun with him. “Ring any bells?”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah.”

“Have you seen him around?” Marty’s voice had gotten lower, and there was a note of menace in his tone.

“Nope.” Johnny almost left it at that, but he could see how keyed up Marty was. “I’ve got this ghost I talk to,” Johnny explained. “He was complaining about this bald guy.”

“Really?” Marty folded his arms over his chest. “Tell me more.”

Reluctantly, Johnny did so. When he finished, Marty’s expression had not changed.

“I don’t suppose he might have killed this bald man?” Marty asked after a moment of silence.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Marty nodded. He took a deep breath and smiled. It was a cold and calculating expression, and Johnny didn’t like it.

“I’d like you to go spend a little time with Carlos,” Marty stated. “I’ll give you the address. Make sure you bring your dead friend with you.”

“No chance of me just going to Anger and crashing out for a bit in my place?” Johnny asked.

“No,” Marty answered. “No chance.”

“I’ll catch an Uber then, up to Portland?” Johnny asked, knowing full well that Marty was going to have him followed.

Marty nodded. “That sounds excellent. Meet me down in the kitchen in five, and I’ll have the address and some money for you.”

“Sure.”

Johnny watched as Marty stood up and left the room, closing the door behind him.

A moment later, the temperature in the room plummeted, and Derek appeared. “That’s your boss, right?”

“Yeah,” Johnny scowled.

“What’s your problem?”

Johnny shook his head, too dumbfounded to react for a moment. “Derek. Do you understand what’s happening?”

“Naw, not at all,” the dead man admitted.

“I’m supposed to go to Portland, Maine,” Johnny told him. “Once I’m there, I’ll have to bunk with Carlos. If Marty gets any sort of jumpy, he’s going to have us both killed.”

“Huh. Really?”

“Yeah,” Johnny sighed. “Really.”

“Why don’t you just skip out, then?”

Johnny looked at Derek to see if the dead man was being serious.

Damn. He is. “Okay,” Johnny explained, “I can’t just skip out. I don’t have a car here. When I go out to get a ride, you can bet that I’m going to be followed on foot. I’ll get to my ride, get in, and then I’ll be followed all the way to Portland.”

“I can help,” Derek said. “I can mess up anybody who comes at you.”

Johnny opened his mouth to argue the point, then he closed it. “You know. That might work.”

The dead man grinned. “See, I can follow you and see if anybody’s taggin’ along. If they are, why, I’ll knock ’em out. Or at least hit ’em hard enough to give you time to skedaddle.”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. I can call for a ride, but not for one at the YMCA, one a little closer. Soon as you figure out who Marty has tailing me, I can take off for the ride.”

“We gonna go back to our place in that little town?” Derek asked.

“No,” Johnny scoffed, shaking his head. “Nope. Best bet will be to head west. Find a bus station and then catch a ride into Buffalo or someplace. May have to move west for a bit. Anyway, no, there’s nothing I need in the apartment. Plus, it’ll be the first place Marty will look, and that’s just to make sure we’re not there.”

“Okay, whatever you think will work,” Derek grinned.

“Whatever I hope will work,” Johnny responded. With a sigh, he put on his shoes and got ready to get the money from Marty.

Chapter 39: Preparing for a Visitor

 

A building fitting his requirements had not only been easy to find, but well within the one-mile perimeter of the structure Li had tracked Derek Knowles to, and the living man she had seen the dead one speaking to.

It was a single-story structure that had, at one time, been the home to El Camino , a bar and grill with a Latin American theme. When Shane forced his way into the building, he realized the owner had probably never been closer to Latin America than Hudson, New Hampshire. What decorations and paintings remained were all poorly done, cheap imitations of Latin American artwork, and would have undoubtedly offended anyone from the various Americas below the Texan border of Mexico.

Shane stretched a black plastic bag out on the floor before he laid out a second bag, one containing an array of items he had purchased, with cash, from numerous hardware and grocery stores around the southern portion of New Hampshire. It had taken him a couple of days prior to the last confrontation with the ghost Derek Knowles before he had all the materials he needed.

Wearing gloves and disposable clothing, Shane went about the business of preparing an area in which he might properly question whoever had been part of the robbery. He taped down heavy plastic in a large area, using silver Duct tape from a pack of rolls. Next, he took out zip-ties, a ball-peen hammer, a box cutter, and a small propane blowtorch. Glancing around, he spotted a chair tucked in a corner, and he carried it to the center of the plastic.

Finally, Shane removed several boxes of Morton’s salt, opened them, and made a small circle, making certain the salt was piled high and thick.

When he finished, Shane stepped back and observed the setup. Torture displeased him. For the most part, it failed to garner proper information. When it did, that information rarely provided actionable intelligence.

That’s in a military setting, though, he reminded himself. This is to find out if this guy who Derek was talking with is the one who set up the robbery or just another link in the chain.

Shane wanted a cigarette and forced himself to resist the urge.

No ashes. Nothing that can be traced. I’m on thin ice as it is.

He took a deep breath, crouched down, and extracted Li’s jade koi fish, setting it on the chair. “Hey.”

She appeared a moment later, feigning tiredness and yawning. “Is it time?”

“Yeah,” he straightened up. “It’s time. Let’s go and find my new friend.”

Her look was cold, and she nodded. “You’re going to speak with him where he lives?”

Shane shook his head. “Nope. Right here.”

The dead woman looked around and smiled with approval. “You will question him.”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

Shane nodded. “When he doesn’t answer my questions, Mr. Hammer gets to ask.”

She frowned. “Is it necessary?”

“I hope like hell it isn’t,” Shane answered. He rubbed his face. “Okay, when we spot the ghost, if he’s out and about, I want you to focus on him, okay?”

Li nodded. “Yes. And if he fights?”

“Fight back,” Shane answered.

The dead woman nodded, and together, they left the building.

 

***

 

Johnny accepted the envelope of cash from Marty and tucked it into his back pocket.

Marty looked at him and asked, “You’re not going to count it?”

“Why would I?” Johnny replied. “I’m sure you’ve put enough in there to cover me until I get to Carlos.”

Marty smiled, and again, Johnny saw there was no humor in the man’s eyes. “Yes, you’re right. Do you have your little friend?”

There was the faintest hint of anger in Marty’s question, and it was then that Johnny realized how upset the man was.

He’d kill me now if he thought he could clean the mess up easily enough.

“Yeah,” Johnny answered, patting his breast pocket. “I’ve got him.”

“Good.” Marty glanced at his watch. “Go to the YMCA and wait for your ride. You have the money and Carlos’ address. He will be expecting you.”

Carlos is the trigger man? Johnny thought as he nodded. Well, I’m not going to be there, so it doesn’t matter.

“Sounds good,” Johnny said. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”

Marty smiled tightly and walked away without another word.

Johnny left the Clubhouse and wondered if Derek would see whoever Marty sent to follow them.

He hoped like hell that the dead man would, because when it came right down to it, Johnny realized he didn’t want to have to kill Marty. He just wanted to get away safely.

 

***

 

Shane felt uncomfortably undressed without his .45 semi-automatic. He had left it home, for practical reasons, but he still hated being unarmed, especially when he was going into a possibly lethal situation. Shane twisted the iron rings on his fingers as he glanced over at Li, who was across the street from him.

They had spotted both the dead man and the thief walking along Elm Street, but there was another person, too. Someone following the thief.

Not a cop, Shane thought. Almost positive he isn’t. Too sloppy.

The man tagging along after the thief was doing his best not to appear like he was doing so but was failing miserably. If the thief had any sort of ability to spot a tail, the man behind him was done for.

What concerned Shane wasn’t the tail, but Derek Knowles walking behind the tail. It seemed that the dead man was waiting for the right time to attack, and Shane and Li watched, waiting as well.

It came a moment later.

Derek Knowles attacked the tail from behind, knocking him to the sidewalk. The thief broke into a sprint, dashing to the left and vanishing up a side street. Shane went running after him and motioned for Li to stay with the dead man.

As Shane rounded the corner, he saw the thief break to the right down a narrow alley.

Shane’s lungs complained, the years of smoking causing stars to explode across his vision as he coughed.

Furious at his own weakness, Shane plunged down the alley and saw the thief come to a stop in front of a brand-new chain-link fence. From where he stood, Shane heard the man curse, turn around, and stop as he looked at Shane, his eyes widening.

All of that trouble before to prepare a place to question the guy, and he wouldn’t be able to use it now. Shane spied their closed-off surroundings with his peripherals and decided this place would probably be just as good. Time for a little adaptation, he thought.

The thief took a step back, felt the chain-link with his hands, and then turned around, grabbing hold and trying to scramble to the top.

Shane slammed into him, grabbed the man by the belt, and ripped him down. The thief tried to get up, and Shane kicked him in the ribs. He drove a fist into the back of the man’s head and then an elbow into the center of his back. The thief collapsed to the ground, and Shane grabbed the man’s left arm and twisted it back and up.

“I’ll scream,” the thief hissed.

“I’ll gut you,” Shane answered, drawing his switchblade knife and snapping the blade open. Even over their labored breathing, the audible pop of the blade locking into place was unmistakable.

The thief stopped moving. After a moment, he asked, “What the hell do you want?”

“Information,” Shane responded.

“’Bout what?”

“Who sent you to rob Moran and Moran?” Shane asked.

“What are you talking about?” the thief asked.

Shane pushed up on the man’s wrist, and the thief squirmed, grinding his teeth against the pain. Relaxing the pressure, Shane asked, “Do you want me to pop it out of its damned socket?”

“No,” the man hissed.

“Moran and Moran?”

“It was just a job,” the thief answered. “Come on. They shot each other up, and I got out with the goods.”

“Doesn’t tell me anything about who sent you,” Shane stated. “Now, listen, I’m going to put this out here real simple. If you don’t answer that question, then I’m going to pop your shoulder. If you don’t answer after that, I’m going to take your pinky off. My knife is sharp, but it’s still going to hurt like hell when I do it, understand?”

The thief replied with several unkind words, and Shane dislocated the man’s shoulder, shoving his face into the ground to keep him from screaming. When the man’s pained shuddering stopped, Shane asked, “Who?”

The thief swore, and Shane sighed. Adjusting his weight and position, Shane forced the man’s pinky out. As he prepared to sever the digit, the thief screamed.

A second later, a muffled explosion sent Shane flying backward and into the fence. His head buzzed, and he somehow managed not to drop his knife, even as he collapsed to his hands and knees. A ringing settled in his ears, and he tried to straighten up. After a moment, he managed to do so, and what he saw was disturbing.

The entire back of the man was blown out. Bones were exposed, and blood and organs were sprayed about the alley. A glance at himself showed Shane that he, too, was covered with the innards of the thief. Dimly, he heard shouts and questions. Shane saw a door was hanging off one hinge, and he forced himself to his feet. He staggered to it, pushed it aside, and stumbled in. Struggling to maintain consciousness, he managed to put the door back into place.

Moments later, he heard voices in the alley.

Shane took his knife and jammed the blade at an angle under the door. It would serve as a rough doorstop until he managed to recover enough to get away without drawing attention to himself.

Breathing heavily, he got out his Lucky Strikes, found one that wasn’t too crushed, and lit it.

Chapter 40: Slipping Away

 

Marty sat alone in the room, his fingers steepled, and his eyes half-closed. Adrian Danziger, whom he had sent to follow Johnny and ensure that the man actually got into the Uber that was to take him Portland, had just left.

Johnny had not gotten into the Uber. Johnny had, in fact, gotten away from Adrian after someone had knocked him down from behind. Had knocked Adrian down hard enough to send him to the hospital with a concussion.

Marty had known about Adrian ending up in the hospital because Marty had friends in both Elliot Hospital and Catholic Medical Center. Friends who told him whenever anyone directly or indirectly involved with Marty showed up in an emergency room.

Marty also had a few friends on the police force. They liked to share information with Marty, too, though for a significantly larger amount of money.

That was how Marty had learned about Johnny’s death.

Johnny had been found in an alley less than a block from where Adrian had been knocked out. There was, according to the police officer who had called Marty, a hole the size of a fist in Johnny’s left breast, and not much left of his back. Most of Johnny’s innards had been scattered over the alley, and it would take the CSI team hours to pick up everything.

Marty wasn’t sure if he was pleased or displeased with Johnny’s death, but before he could think much more on the matter, his cellphone rang.

Frowning, Marty picked it up and answered. “Marty speaking.”

“It’s Abby.”

Marty stiffened. Abby, the red-headed representative from the client. “Hello.”

“Johnny Smith is dead.”

Marty hated the uneasiness he felt when speaking to the woman. “Yes.”

“Do you know how?”

“No, I’m waiting for my contacts in the police department,” he started.

Abby cut him off. “Johnny was killed because a haunted item exploded. This was the result of the ghost in the item being destroyed. Granted, it was an odd sort of explosion. But it looking like a gunshot wound will be conveniently confusing for police.”

“What?” Marty asked. He was confused, and he despised himself for it.

“Johnny had a haunted item,” she continued, her tone that of an adult speaking to a child of dubious intelligence. “He was evidently carrying it in a breast pocket. This explains the hole in his chest and his rather complete evisceration.”

Marty remembered Johnny patting his chest when asked if he had the ghost’s item. “Why did you call?”

She let out a bitter laugh. “I called because my boss wanted me to. He’s on his way to Connecticut right now for a little relaxation and exploration. When he learned of Johnny’s death, he was a little disgruntled. He thinks you’re holding out.”

Fear gripped Marty’s stomach and twisted it. “Why would he think that?”

“Well, Marty,” she said, her tone derisive, “Johnny, arguably your best employee in the collection business, was walking around with a powerful ghost. My boss got to thinking, and he’s wondering if you’re holding out. If maybe, just maybe, you’re stupid enough to keep a few aside for yourself. I told him that you weren’t that quick.”

Marty ground his teeth together but didn’t respond.

“Luckily for you, Marty,” she added, “I did convince my boss that you’re just a little slow.”

“Why is that lucky for me?” he asked through his clenched teeth.

“Because,” she answered, her voice lowering, “he would have you killed. You and everyone who works for you. Then, when that was done, he would send a team to visit your wife and children.”

Marty froze, his mouth dry.

“Yes, of course, we know about them,” she sighed. “Do you really think we don’t know what’s going on? You may be a small-time crook, Marty, but we’re a professional organization. There is a team near your home right now. That quaint little colonial up in Stratham. A single text message will wipe out everyone on your block. Even the cute Owens girls who play with your daughter.”

“What do you want me to do?” Marty managed to ask.

“Simple. Get us the items we require. Failure means death for you. Stealing means death for everyone.” Abby’s voice was cold. “Do we have an understanding?”

“Yeah.”

She ended the call without another word.

Marty’s hands shook as he set down the phone.

He had never been outplayed before, and he hated the sense of impotence it left him with.

 

***

 

Shane awoke to the sounds of laughter. He opened his eyes and saw he was in a dimly lit room. There were dust and trash strewn about, and a glance at the door reminded him of where he was and why he was there.

His knife was still jammed into the threshold, keeping the door in place. The laughter came from the alley, and from the chatter that followed, he suspected it was a police CSI team.

Shane straightened up and smothered a moan. His head throbbed, and he felt sick to his stomach. He got to his feet and swayed for a moment as he looked around the abandoned building.

Good thing Manchester’s in such rough shape, he thought, spotting a bathroom. He stumbled toward it, hands outstretched in case he started to fall. Never would have made it if I hadn’t been able to get in here. Cops would have had me in for questioning. Still might if I’m not smart about this.

He stepped into the bathroom and looked at his reflection. There were splatters of blood on his face, but more on his sweatshirt. A glance down at his jeans revealed they were all right for the most part.

Okay, sweatshirt’s got to stay here, he thought. Stripping it off, he tested the faucet and was pleased when a trickle of water came out of the spigot. Using his hands, he washed his face free of blood, turned his sweatshirt inside out, and dried himself off.

Right, he sighed. Time to go.

He made his way out of the bathroom and to the door facing the alley. Spotting a bit of cardboard, he picked it up and folded it several times. When he finished, Shane slid the cardboard between the threshold and the bottom of the door, hoping no one in the alley would see it.

Once it was in place, he worked his knife free and put it away.

With that done, he went in search of an exit not covered by any sort of law enforcement and found it a few minutes later. Another door in the back opened onto an alley absent of people. Shane stepped out, stomach clenching as the sunlight struck him.

Oh yeah, that’s a concussion, all right. Fantastic. I’ll have to get checked out once I’m in Nashua. Can’t risk it here.

It took him almost an hour to find his way back to El Camino, and when he managed to get back into the building, he stumbled to a corner and threw up. Little more than bile came out, but the act of vomiting was painful, causing the pain in his head to spike.

Damn, he thought, closing his eyes and spitting onto the floor. Am I even going to be able to drive myself home?

He reached for his phone to call for a ride, and then he remembered it was turned off and in his car. He had left it there to make certain he couldn’t be traced should his name somehow come up if torture had been absolutely required.

Just got to grab Li’s item and get the hell out of here. Hope she doesn’t realize how weak I am, or there’s going to be hell to pay. Why hasn’t she said anything?

Shane straightened up and feigned strength as he glanced at the chair.

He couldn’t see her jade koi fish. It was gone.

No, he thought a moment later. No, it’s not.

In the dirty light that filtered in through the cracks in the wood over the windows, Shane could see shards of jade scattered around the room.

It took him nearly a minute to process the scene.

They destroyed each other, he thought. Derek’s item blew a hole in the thief. She would have blown a hole in me if I had been carrying the jade koi.

Shane stood there for a short amount of time, and then he turned and left the building. There was no reason to clean up his mess. None of it could be traced to him, and no crime had been committed.

Chapter 41: Success

 

He walked alone up the stairs, a constant buzzing in the back of his head. It had been that way, ever since the accident, and there was nothing he could do about it.

That’s okay, though, Alex thought, humming as he opened the door and stepped out onto the ward. The smell of cleaning agents and sickness swept over him, and he discovered he liked the smell. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he crossed the polished floor and came to a stop in front of the nurse’s station. She looked up, a bored expression on her face. That expression shifted sharply when she saw him.

“May I help you?” she asked, her voice tight.

“I called ahead,” Alex stated, his voice breaking slightly. He smiled without embarrassment.

The nurse, who was easily in her fifties, frowned. “You can’t have called ahead. This is a secure ward. You shouldn’t even be in this building.”

Alex watched her reach for the phone. When she picked it up and brought it to her ear, the furrows in her brow deepened. She pressed the number eight several times, but her expression showed there was no response. The phone wasn’t working.

“Your phone is dead,” Alex told her. “If you want to be like your phone, by all means, keep doing that.”

The woman stared at him.

He smiled, and her face paled as Timmy appeared beside him. For a moment, her expression remained frozen with horror, and then, the nurse screamed.

“That’s not nice,” Alex said, his voice becoming hard, and she clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle herself. “He’s my very best friend. Don’t scream when you look at him.”

She licked her lips and reached for her cellphone on the desk.

“If you touch your phone,” Alex told her, “I am going to cut your fingers off and feed them to you, one by one. I promise you, it will not be pleasant.”

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“Do you really want to know that?” he asked her.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head violently.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered. Then, in a louder voice, he added, “I would like to speak with my friend now. I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Betty,” she told him in a hushed voice. “Betty Yankovich.”

“Nurse Betty,” Alex grinned. “My name is Alex and this, this is my dearest friend. Timmy.”

Alex nodded encouragement as she moved her hand away from the cellphone.

“That was a good choice,” Alex sighed contently.

Some of the people in the room’s wards hollered unintelligibly, but he ignored them. To the nurse, he asked, “Are you going to be good now?”

She nodded her head.

“Excellent. Now, about my other friend.”

She lowered her hands, shivered, and asked, “What’s your friend’s name?”

“I want you to guess,” Alex whispered. He grinned as her look of fear deepened. “He’s old, though. And I bet he screams a lot. I mean, a real lot. He probably tries to tell you he’s a professor and all sorts of stuff.”

Her eyes widened. “Yes. Yes!”

“Shh, not so loud!” Alex laughed. “What room number?”

“He’s in four,” she said, gesturing behind her.

“Oh, good, I’ve always liked that number,” Alex smiled. “Did you know that it’s divisible by two?”

She appeared confused by his question, but she nodded nonetheless.

“It’s such a nice number,” Alex sighed.

Then, before the woman could react, he launched over the desk and slammed into her. She screamed, but Alex only laughed, wrapping his hands around her throat and digging his thumbs into the soft flesh of her neck. He found her carotid and pressed firmly upon it, just as Timmy had taught him.

Fear of death gave her incredible strength, and Alex’s laughter became maniacal as he retained his grip upon her. He eased off for a moment, allowing her a chance to grab a quick bit of air.

“Just kidding,” he said and tightened his hold on her again.

Within a few minutes, the woman was dead, and Alex was breathing heavily.

“Gave you a fight, huh?” Timmy asked.

“She did,” Alex agreed. Humming, he straightened up and looked around the desk. He found the keys to the different rooms, took them, and walked to room four.

Before he unlocked it, Alex knocked on the door. Gently, at first, then with a growing intensity, until the occupant within first groaned, then cursed at him for interrupting his sleep.

“He’s awake,” Alex told Timmy.

The dead man rolled his eyes. “Yeah, kid, I can hear that.”

“Do you want to go in first?” Alex asked.

“What for?”

Alex shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“I don’t want to go in at all, to be honest,” Timmy stated. “I’ll hang back unless you need me. Think you will?”

Alex shook his head. “I’m going to take an eye out if he gives me any trouble. Then, then I’ll feed it to him!”

“You need to calm down a bit,” Timmy observed, and Alex frowned.

“Fine.”

“Remember, you’re not here to torture him,” the ghost continued. “There’s no need, and it’s just a waste of time more often than not.”

“I said ‘fine’.”

“Yeah, you did. We’re just going over it again.” Timmy’s voice was hard, and Alex grinned at him.

“Okay, Timmy, no torture like that. I just want to talk to him.”

“Then go on in and talk to him,” the dead man said.

Alex nodded, unlocked the door, and opened it up. A thin man with a filthy beard glared at him from a small cot.

“Who are you?” the man hissed through broken teeth. “What the hell are you banging on my door for?”

“Oh, Professor Worthe,” Alex grinned, “I thought you’d remember me. I’m Alex, Alex Kallistos.”

Professor Abel Worthe’s eyes widened, and he pushed himself into the back corner of the bed, as far as he could from Alex. “Why are you here? What do you want? How do I know you’re real—”

“Oh boy, do you ask a lot of questions,” Alex interrupted, sighing with mock exhaustion. “Shut up, will you? I’m here to show you something.”

Alex took his knapsack off, removed a manila folder, and tossed it onto the bed as he winked at the old man.

Worthe flinched, but after a moment, he reached out for the folder. His fingers, bent and twisted, trembled as he opened it. When he extracted the eight by ten photographs, the trembling stopped.

Worthe held them up, and he flipped through them. A dry chuckle escaped his lips, and he asked in a low, passionate voice, “Where were these taken?”

“Pepperell, Massachusetts,” Alex said, folding his arms over his chest. “Test house one.”

Worthe looked over at the child. “There are others?”

“All over the country,” Alex told him. “Soon, I’m going to be getting results in.”

“What are you looking for?” Worthe’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“How people react to fear,” Alex responded. “How they all react to fear.”

Abel Worthe’s sob was one of joy and justification, and it made Alex Kallistos smile.

Chapter 42: Things Fall Apart

 

Shane had no memory of getting home.

When he woke, it was on the hallway floor, and several of the dead were near him. Carl entered the hallway, glanced down at him, and then shooed the others away.

“They were of the mind that you might die there, my friend,” Carl observed.

“No such luck,” Shane muttered. He pushed himself into a sitting position and then leaned back against the wall. Closing his eyes, he fumbled for his cigarettes, found them, and opened the pack. There was one, last, mangled cigarette. Sighing, he broke off the savable portion and lit it. As he exhaled through his nose, relaxation and relief washed over him.

“Bad?” Carl asked.

“Yeah,” Shane replied, opening one eye a crack. “Real bad. In fact, I may have to go to the hospital if I don’t feel better soon.”

“What happened?”

Shane told him, and by the time he finished, Carl was frowning.

“You know, you cannot continue this lifestyle,” the dead German stated.

Shane shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“What about this new friend of yours, hmm? This Jacinta?”

Shane smiled. “Well, hell, you’ve got a point there, Carl. I am fond of her.”

“And I am looking forward to meeting her. Please, have the courtesy to not die before I have that opportunity. She is coming soon, is she not?”

“She is,” Shane agreed. “And the sooner, the better.”

“Will you be calling Mr. Moran before or after your hospital visit?” Carl asked.

Shane scowled and regretted the action. His head ached even more.

“I’ll call him soon,” Shane answered, climbing wearily to his feet. “First, I want a shower. I’m positive I didn’t get all that guy’s blood off me.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t state you wanted a glass of whiskey first,” Carl said.

“That’s because I’m going to be drinking on the way to the shower, in the shower, and when I get out of the shower,” Shane informed him. He walked with dogged steps to the study, grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar, and took a long drink. “Right. Time to get clean.”

With the dead man trailing behind him, Shane made his way up to the second floor.

 

***

 

The phone call had not gone the way he would have liked, Shane realized.

Well, anytime the police become involved, it’s never a good thing. He took another drink and realized he was almost done with the bottle. Probably not going to help my concussion.

He lit a cigarette and picked up his pen as he stared at his notes. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, he was able to focus.

Somewhat.

Captain Jack Thompson, New Hampshire State Police. Inquiring about haunted items. States several were stolen. No specifics. Obviously has to be in NH. James is forwarding information about collectors.

Shane tapped the ashes off into the tray, took a swig of whiskey, and continued writing.

Thief was being tailed. More than likely by whoever he was working for, or a third party sent by that person. Great. Who is it?

James is pleased that the thief is dead and is ready to set this behind him.

I’m not.

Shane underlined the last two words. No, he thought, I’m definitely not. Whoever ordered the job is planning more. I want to know what the hell is going on with these stolen items.

And does this have anything to do with Detroit?

As the last thought crossed his mind, his cellphone chimed. Shane picked it up, saw there was a text from Jacinta, and smiled.

Both cigarette and whiskey were forgotten as he typed out his reply, his worries about the unknown power behind the robberies forgotten in the sweetness of the moment.

 

* * *

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