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Sep. 6th, 2006 11:59 amWednesday, September 6, 2006
14 North Moore Street
Manhattan
Morning
"Hey, Pete, check it out," said Winston, holding out the morning paper. "Hometown boy of yours is heading to the Space Station."
"What? Gimme that." Peter grabbed the Daily News from the other man's hand. "Huh, whaddya know. 'Brooklyn-born entrepreneur and space enthusiast Henry Kuttner will be replacing Indian businessman Sunand Joshi as the fourth space tourist to visit the International Space Station after it was revealed that Mr. Joshi had a previously undetected medical problem that would exclude him from participating as a crew member.'" He set the paper down on the table. "I always like to see a local boy get a- GACK!"
"Gnerzblfrgnht!"
"RAY!" Peter bellowed, futilely trying to wipe the freshly acquired ectoplasm out of his face. "You got five seconds to get your spud the heck out of Dodge or I'm gonna stick him in a trap and mail him to Abu Dhabi!"
Ray hastily abandoned his bagel in favor of escorting the overexcited ghost off the premises. He needed a walk anyway.
***
Ten minutes later, after a lot of explanation about why he needed to stay out of sight- Ray was pretty sure that whatever else the spud might have been once, he'd sure had one heck of a case of ADD- the merrily babbling ghost had been introduced to spiced watermelon seeds from Ray's favorite Chinatown candy store. The little green blob orbited Ray's head like the most eccentric of dwarf planets, yammering with glee every time another handful of seeds was parceled out. Ray had bought a bag somewhat larger than his own head, so the rationing served two purposes: one, to keep the spud occupied while Peter calmed down, and two, to give Ray time to think.
Douglaston had gone spontaneously quiet, which was a little worrisome in a calm-before-the-storm kind of way. Egon was out there regardless, taking soundings at some of the synagogues and Hebrew schools. Once he was done gathering his information it would be a week of analysis and general research, unless something big erupted. (You could never really rule that out, after all.) The question was-
"Shnzibbbt, rngelblap?"
"Oh, yeah, here," Ray said, holding out another fistful of the seeds.
"YIIIBBLY!" squealed the ghost, diverting course into a higher upward spiral this time. Ray just shook his head and made a note to wear a baseball cap next time.
Anyway. The Douglaston data shouldn't take too long to correlate and nailed down. After that, though, there were too many point-sources of both ghost and psychic activity cropping up around the city lately for Ray's liking. Nothing like the sort of ramping-up they'd seen before Gozer's arrival, but it was September. They were less than a month from their most insanely busy time of year. Compared to last September, the city was positively crawling with spook activity already. He'd be lucky if he got any sleep outside of Milliways at all this October. And there was the question of Joey, who had apparently progressed to levitating ball-point pens. . . well, maybe Foxtrot could help with that. They'd have to tell Catherine eventually, of course-
"Fnah! Hngherfngerhblibblyrmp?"
"Sure, but you have to promise not to eat them directly over my head."
"Snrgl," the spud agreed, taking off with the next batch of seeds.
Honestly, it was enough to make a guy forget that he was turning thirty-four, sometimes.
14 North Moore Street
Manhattan
Morning
"Hey, Pete, check it out," said Winston, holding out the morning paper. "Hometown boy of yours is heading to the Space Station."
"What? Gimme that." Peter grabbed the Daily News from the other man's hand. "Huh, whaddya know. 'Brooklyn-born entrepreneur and space enthusiast Henry Kuttner will be replacing Indian businessman Sunand Joshi as the fourth space tourist to visit the International Space Station after it was revealed that Mr. Joshi had a previously undetected medical problem that would exclude him from participating as a crew member.'" He set the paper down on the table. "I always like to see a local boy get a- GACK!"
"Gnerzblfrgnht!"
"RAY!" Peter bellowed, futilely trying to wipe the freshly acquired ectoplasm out of his face. "You got five seconds to get your spud the heck out of Dodge or I'm gonna stick him in a trap and mail him to Abu Dhabi!"
Ray hastily abandoned his bagel in favor of escorting the overexcited ghost off the premises. He needed a walk anyway.
***
Ten minutes later, after a lot of explanation about why he needed to stay out of sight- Ray was pretty sure that whatever else the spud might have been once, he'd sure had one heck of a case of ADD- the merrily babbling ghost had been introduced to spiced watermelon seeds from Ray's favorite Chinatown candy store. The little green blob orbited Ray's head like the most eccentric of dwarf planets, yammering with glee every time another handful of seeds was parceled out. Ray had bought a bag somewhat larger than his own head, so the rationing served two purposes: one, to keep the spud occupied while Peter calmed down, and two, to give Ray time to think.
Douglaston had gone spontaneously quiet, which was a little worrisome in a calm-before-the-storm kind of way. Egon was out there regardless, taking soundings at some of the synagogues and Hebrew schools. Once he was done gathering his information it would be a week of analysis and general research, unless something big erupted. (You could never really rule that out, after all.) The question was-
"Shnzibbbt, rngelblap?"
"Oh, yeah, here," Ray said, holding out another fistful of the seeds.
"YIIIBBLY!" squealed the ghost, diverting course into a higher upward spiral this time. Ray just shook his head and made a note to wear a baseball cap next time.
Anyway. The Douglaston data shouldn't take too long to correlate and nailed down. After that, though, there were too many point-sources of both ghost and psychic activity cropping up around the city lately for Ray's liking. Nothing like the sort of ramping-up they'd seen before Gozer's arrival, but it was September. They were less than a month from their most insanely busy time of year. Compared to last September, the city was positively crawling with spook activity already. He'd be lucky if he got any sleep outside of Milliways at all this October. And there was the question of Joey, who had apparently progressed to levitating ball-point pens. . . well, maybe Foxtrot could help with that. They'd have to tell Catherine eventually, of course-
"Fnah! Hngherfngerhblibblyrmp?"
"Sure, but you have to promise not to eat them directly over my head."
"Snrgl," the spud agreed, taking off with the next batch of seeds.
Honestly, it was enough to make a guy forget that he was turning thirty-four, sometimes.
