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Ray would've preferred to make this drive with Ecto, but the guys needed her too much back in New York. He's therefore rented a car on the State Department's budget for the sake of getting to Port St. Helena, Oregon, without having to deal with some of the nimrods at the airlines and Amtrak. Said nimrods have an issue with the contents of the passenger seat.

"Okay, Jhalak," Ray says to said contents. "Welcome to Boise, Idaho. We're gonna stop here for the night, if you don't mind. I know it's been tough being stuck in the car and all." Mind you, he's made a point of buying several reference books at any bookstore in each of the towns where they've stopped, along with a big honking quantity of fresh fruit. But still.

Comments

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Ray nods and reaches for the room service phone.

The bellhop isn't there when Ray opens the door this time. Just a tray with the kiwifruits on it.

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"Kiwifruits!"

It holds the tray in two hands and dashes back to the table on its remaining three wrists, stretching up a little to settle the food onto the table before it climbs up there itself to eat.

"One, two, three, four, five." "Thank you!" "Kiwifruits!"

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"You're welcome," Ray says. "Enjoy!"

In the meantime, he's going to make a phone call back home. Ecto's got Internet access; she can at least look up Night Moves for- wait wait wait. No. It's one thing to ask his daughter to sift through her paranormal information archives but putting her on a strip club research case? Uh-unh. Therefore, the call begins instead with, "Hey, Janine? Is Peter there?"

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Jhalak, delighted with its prize, divides its attention equally between parroting bits of Ray's phone conversation and eating kiwifruits.

Om nom.

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Ray eventually hangs up the phone and flops back on the bed. "I am never asking that man to do serious research again," he says, either to the ceiling or to Jhalak. "I'll never hear the end of it."

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"Don't need to go repeating that kind of thing," agrees Jhalak, fishing the phrase whole out of its recent conversational memory.

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"That's about right," Ray says. "Except that Dr. Venkman doesn't like kiwifruits, so I can't get him not to repeat stuff."

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"Doesn't like kiwifruits?" "Holy cats!"

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"Well, he's an old friend of mine, so we'll forgive him his lapses in judgment," Ray says. "Anyway, he gave me some information on what's on the net about the Night Moves hauntings. They haven't really got anything solid in the way of evidence- no internal cameras or sound recordings- but they do have a bizarre history of cold areas and electrical fluctuations that none of their repair technicians or HVAC inspectors can account for. Plus there's a pretty substantial list of patrons who've claimed to have seen people who weren't there on the second or third pass, although that could be attributed to the fact that people don't always want to be caught staring in a place like this. I don't have time to do any sort of a background interview or hunt down any of the patrons, which is really annoying, but we've always got the PKE meter... when you're done there, would you like to go for a ride? It's on the other side of town."

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"Pretty substantial list." "Don't always want to be caught staring." "Don't have time to do any sort of a background interview." "We've always got the PKE meter." "He's an old friend of mine." "They haven't really got anything solid in the way of evidence." "Would you like to go for a ride?" "Go for a ride?" "A ride!" "That's right." "Approve."

Jhalak wiggles its digits joyfully.

Cars are fun! Less so when they fail to talk, but still fun!

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"Great," says Ray. "Okay, then. Here-"

He ducks into the bathroom and comes out with a damp towel, which he tosses to Jhalak.

"Clean yourself off with that and we'll head out."

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Jhalak inspects the towel, pokes and prods it a bit, stretches it between two five-thumbed hands, and then delicately rubs itself free of fruit juice.

Hey, nobody likes being messy.

Hopping to the floor, it scrambles Rayward on five wrists and once again climbs to his shoulder with the aid of convenient nearby furniture.

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Ray affectionately ruffles the creature's nonexistent hair and heads out of the room.

Night Moves is across town from Hotel 43. It looks... well, it bills itself as a gentleman's club, which mostly means that on the outside it looks like it could pass as a reasonably upscale bar, albeit one with silhouettes of remarkably well-constructed young women on either side of the door. "Why do things like this come up when Venkman's not around?" Ray wonders aloud.

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"Venkman's not around." "Why?" "Doesn't like kiwifruits," opines freckled(arm) wisely.

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"... that's as good a reason as any," Ray says, and strides up to the door. "Excuse me! Sir? Mr. Bouncer?"

Mr. Bouncer is not a bouncer, exactly, so much as a bored large man settled on a stool just past the entrance. He glances up from the sudoku puzzle he's been working on. "Can I help you?" he says, in a tone that implies most people who come here just hand me the cover charge and go in.

"I certainly hope so. My name's Ray Stantz. Mr. Stoppard wanted me to- um-"

Ray falters; the man is squinting at Jhalak.

"... okay, wanted us to come by and attempt an investigation of the local potentially paranormal phenomena?"

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"Potentially paranormal phenomena," chirps Jhalak, waving an extraneous limb.

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The man rubs at his eyes with one fist and squints again. "What the-"

Ray doesn't get his hands up fast enough to block Jhalak's ears before the man uses some very vulgar words indeed. Not that Ray knows where Jhalak's ears are. But he tries.

"-is that?"

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Since Jhalak has five sets of auditory equipment, Ray's attempt here was doomed from the start.

"Jhalak," it says cheerfully. "What the !@#$ is that?" "Jhalak!"

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"Thank you so much," Ray says wearily. "Look, can I just talk to Mr. Stoppard?"

The man doesn't take his eyes off Jhalak as he reaches for the radio at his belt. After a brief conversation, he says, "Go on in, he's in the back."

"Thank you," Ray says, and steps in. Thankfully the place isn't too busy at the moment; there's a couple of patrons who haven't got anywhere better to be in the late afternoon, but they've got better things to look at than one human and one Jotok. At least, Ray hopes they do. Because otherwise? They have really weird priorities for the patrons of a topless bar.

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"Thank you," Jhalak echoes.

Lucky thing it just ate, really, or its tendency to rattle off lists of fruit names could get singularly inconvenient.

However, at the moment it's happy to occupy itself with Ray's hair.

And-- thankfully-- not repeat the bouncer's question out loud any longer.

For now.

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Ray will deal with that when it comes up. Right now he's trying to navigate without actually looking at anybody, or rather without looking at anybody any lower than the chin. The patrons don't really care- there's always somebody like that in a place like this, usually there for the first time- but some of the dancers seem to find it terribly amusing. Jhalak's gonna get an introduction to giggling and then some by the time Ray makes it to the Management Only door in the back.

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Giggling is an amusing sound. Way more fun than curses. Jhalak manages several impressively musical imitations, each arm competing with the rest to see how melodically it can improve on the score.

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When you are as bored as a stripper who's been on duty for as long as some of these women have this month, you stop caring that the thing on the new guy's shoulder looks weird and start being mightily entertained by the fact that it's making some really neat noises. About half the dancers are looking Ray's way by the time Stoppard opens the door. "There you are, Dr. Stantz!" the manager says. "Didn't think you were gonna come around after all."

"This is purely a diagnostic survey, Mr. Stoppard," says Ray with as much dignity as he can manage. Unfortunately, we are talking about Ray. It says something about a person from 2008 New York City when the only way he can honestly be said to have any sort of dignity involves putting on a Jedi outfit. "I'm not here for-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, not for the girls, not for the booze-"

"And not for cleaning anything out either. I don't have a proton pack with me," Ray cuts him off. "Can we get this over with? Please?"

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"Purely a diagnostic survey, Mr. Stoppard." "Not for cleaning anything out either." "Can we get this over with?"

Plus a last trailing giggle from short(arm), quickly shushed by the rest of them.

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Stoppard nods. "Yeah, sure," he says. "Right this way."

So of course the first place he takes Ray? Is back out into the main room. "Hey, Sue!" he calls to one of the less busy dancers, a red-headed woman with hair that falls about halfway down her back. The top of her head comes up to Ray's collarbone. In practical terms this means Ray has to look downward to look at her. We hope Romana appreciates his efforts at keeping eye contact, or at the very least, his utter embarrassment. "Sue, we got us a Ghostbuster here! Come and tell him about the Starlight Room!"

"...ohgod."