Gheist

by Richard Mosses

  Carlos smiled. “Temple of Diana, Ephesus. The guys who built the Hanging Gardens are looking for the next thing. I thought why not give this a shot. Add to the Wonders along the Strip. You’re a Classics major?”

  “No, just always liked the look of these places. Grew up with plenty of examples in Glasgow.”

  “Please, take a seat,” said Carlos. “You’re a long way from Scotland.” He waited until Kat had settled into the soft leather before sitting himself.

  “Tell me about it,” said Kat. “Do you have anything of your father’s here?”

  “No, not really. Why do you ask?”

  “Just with you saying it sometimes felt like he was here. I thought maybe you’d kept a few things around as a memento.”

  “I still use his fountain pen,” said Carlos. “Whenever I sign something it makes me stop for a moment and wonder if it’s the right thing to do. If he would do it.”

  “May I see it?”

  “Why are you so interested in my father?”

  “I dunno. I guess I like to think part of us lives on after we’re gone. Not just a memory, you know? Like an echo in the things we leave behind.”

  “Sure.” He took a Mont Blanc out of a drawer in the desk and put it on the table in front of Kat.

  “May I?” Kat reached for the pen, hopeful. Carlos nodded, looking slightly puzzled. “Heavy,” she said and smiled. It looked like a large solid black bullet with elegant gold bands and clip. She concentrated, and there it was, a faint thread. This had all started to seem like a futile waste of time. She gently sent a tremor down the line, an invitation rather than a summons. “Thank you.” Kat put it back down in front of Carlos.

  Kat didn’t really want to mislead Carlos. Apart from dead men or deadbeat customers he was the first guy she’d had any kind of proper conversation with since coming to the Strip. She might have found him attractive if her heart was in it.

  “Did you get anything from it? You seemed to be somewhere else for a moment.”

  “You believe in psychic powers?”

  “Not normally, but like you said, maybe something of us gets imprinted in the things we use and leave behind.”

  A man, slightly shorter and a lot rounder than Carlos appeared beside him. There was a good resemblance, especially round the eyes and nose.

  “I think I got something,” said Kat.

  “Perhaps we can turn to your project?” said Carlos, although Kat had some difficulty hearing him over another round of abuse from Summers at full volume.

  “Summers is here?” said Vadim Senior. “Dear God, will this torture never end?”

  “To be honest, I’m far more interested in the Inferno Creek Casino itself,” Kat said, trying to speak to both father and son.

  “Why would you be interested in that place?” they both said.

  Should she take a gamble here? Could she alienate the son, or even the father, if she confessed her true motives? They didn’t have any leads on a floor plan. The records office simply didn’t have the paperwork. It had been signed out and not returned. They could visit it and pace it out. One of the guys might even be able to go through into the more inaccessible spaces, but that was a fall back option as it was too high profile.

  Kat smiled and threw the dice. “Danton took something from me and I want to get it back. It requires a direct approach, so I need to know where it might be being kept.”

  Something unreadable flickered across Carlos’ face.

  “What did she take from you?” said Vincent Vadim.

  “She?” said Kat and Clint, who had been keeping rather quiet.

  “She?” said Carlos. “Excuse me?”

  “Danton is a guy,” said Kat. “Big fella, arms like tree trunks.”

  “Who are you talking to?” said Carlos, looking round.

  “She’s talking to me, son,” said Vincent.

  “Your father,” said Kat.

  “Tell me what she took, then I’ll decide if I’m going to help you,” said Vincent.

  “My father?” said Carlos. “Look you can’t come in here and pull this séance shtick.”

  “Danton took my heart, or rather one of his lackeys did.”

  Vincent nodded. “Danton is most certainly a woman. She took my heart too. Told me I’d get it back if I designed the Inferno Creek Casino for her. Which, to be fair, she did.”

  “Danton took your heart?” Carlos was having a hard time, but even he had heard of Danton. “Come on, why are you saying these things?”

  “So this guy is what? Her son, grandson?” said Kat.

  “Or just some muscle who can use the name and keep the troops in line,” said Clint.

  “She was in her sixties when I met her,” said Vincent. “So if he is family, I’d say grandson.”

  “Can you help us?” said Kat, trying to get the conversation back to the point.

  “You need all the help you can get,” said Carlos. “I think it’s time you left.”

  “Will you talk to him for me?” said Vincent. “It’ll make things easier.”

  “I didn’t want to get involved in this ghost whisperer crap,” said Kat.

  “I get it,” said Carlos. “It was a gift, you were chosen. Yada yada yada. The voices make you do it.”

  “I’m sure we can help each other out here,” said Vincent.

  “If you resolve some personal issue and a white light appears, do not go into it,” said Kat. “I will follow you beyond and personally drag you back.”

  “Just tell him I built a hidden room in the basement of the house. Inside is a safe with the combination 23, 42, 15.”

  “Your father says there’s a secret place in the house, there’s a safe in there. He’s given me the combination.”

  “You should do your homework next time, lady,” said Carlos. “We lost that house not long after he disappeared. Surely he would know that.”

  “It’s quite likely if he did know, he forgot,” said Clint.

  “Truly I had no idea,” said Vincent. “There’s a hidden catch. You push one of the bricks. I thought I was being so clever.”

  “Sooner or later, they forget things,” said Kat. “That’s just part of their nature. You sure you couldn’t get in again, ask the new owners for a favour?”

  “That sounds more like your kind of thing,” said Carlos.

  “OK, fine. But are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” said Kat.

  “Just there,” said Vincent, guiding Kat’s hand.

  “Are you sure about this?” said Mrs Conway. “I thought you said Mr Vadim had left something down here. Is it in a box?”

  “I’m not sure, Mrs Conway,” said Kat. “I’m just following up on what I was told at Mr Vadim’s request.”

  “I’m sorry, Agatha. This is all my fault,” said Carlos. “I just wanted to be sure though, then we can lay this matter to rest.”

  Kat pushed the brick, dislodging mummified flies from their eternal rest. It gave way until there was a click and a section of wall opened slightly. Kat remembered how she’d hoped all those castles and National Trust buildings she had visited as a kid would contain secret passageways and maybe a hidden grail or two. There was a big pile of boxes in front of the brickwork that was ajar. Kat got started moving them, then Carlos joined in, so the brick door could swing open properly. Kat shone her torch into the gloom.

  “There should be a switch just inside,” said Vincent.

  Kat turned on the light. “Mrs Conway, I think you should call the police department.”

  “Is there something wrong, dear?”

  Was Mrs Conway really that slow? “I’ve just found Vincent Vadim.”

  “Really?” Mrs Conway looked into the small room. Either she didn’t believe Kat, or was following the same instinct that makes drivers slow down at car crashes. There wasn’t much more than a wooden desk in here, with the dried cadaver of Vincent Vadim sitting in a chair behind it. “Oh,” she said. At least there was no fainting or screaming. She left.


  “I can’t believe it,” said Carlos, looking at his father’s corpse. “I guess we all knew he was dead, really. But I always held up some hope he’d simply skipped town and was living the life of Riley some place without extradition. Not that I thought he’d done anything wrong. Well y’know…”

  Kat quickly moved over to the only other thing in here. Opposite the desk, and the gaze of the cadaver was a large painting, covered in dust.

  “What are you doing?” whispered Carlos.

  “What we came here to do,” Kat said.

  “You’re tampering with a crime scene,” he said. No one could miss the large section of skull missing from the top of the corpse. Whether it was knocked in or blown out didn’t really matter right now.

  Careful not to put any fresh fingerprints on it, Kat followed Vincent’s instructions and swung it open with edge of the torch, hinges stiff, to show the safe behind. Hard to believe it was one of those turn the dial types, she was so used to the safes in hotel rooms where you put your own number into a keypad. Covering her hand with her sleeve she dialled in the combination and the door clicked open. Again she avoided touching the door directly. Inside were three large bundles of notes sitting side by side, something that looked like a gold ingot, and a folder sitting on top of them.

  “What’s important?” said Kat

  “The folder,” said Vincent.

  Kat took out the folder and passed it to Carlos.

  “Bearer bonds, deeds, share certificates,” said Carlos. “This is where most of Dad’s money was invested. God, how much money is there?” He started looking into the safe.

  Kat went over to the body, curious. On the desk, just below the outstretched hand was a ring. Before she knew it, she’d picked it off the desk and pocketed it. Did anyone notice? What was she thinking? A slight outline was left in the dust. She accidentally sneezed creating a cloud and another sneeze.

  “Bless you,” said Mrs Conway. “They’re on their way.”

  “It’s getting late,” said Kat. She looked at Vincent. “Tomorrow we’re going to have a proper chat. Clint will show you how to get to my place. He may even show you the Church.”

  “How will he do that?” said Carlos who realised he wasn’t the one being spoken too. Mrs Conway seemed not to notice. Kat just looked at him. She was tired and had a full shift ahead of her.

  Vincent nodded. “Which church?”

  “The Church of the Holy Spirit.”

  “I’m not going anywhere near that place. The crazy old priest who runs it is the guy Danton used to take and replace my heart,” said Vincent.

  “What?” Evelyn’s grandfather was behind this too? How far was this church involved in all the crazy shit happening in this town? Was Evelyn really involved with Danton? That was why she didn’t want Kat to use the guys to knock over one of his, her, casinos. They were really in cahoots. “Like I said, we’ll talk properly tomorrow.”

  Kat hurried out to the car. Every time it looked like things were getting on she’d be thrown another curve ball. Fortunately, Evelyn knew nothing of their plans. She should have kept them around, kept an eye on them.

  Out of habit, she put her hand in her pocket for the keys and remembered the car was hotwired. Kat found the ring there though. Why had she taken it? In her pocket she held onto it and could feel the thread. Was she turning into Evelyn? How else could she be sure to stay in touch with Vincent?

  A shadow seemed to pass over her and she shivered. Like someone walking over your grave. She could almost feel someone’s gaze on her. Kat looked around, but there was no one there.

  19

  “Why do I feel that we’re the ones always doing all the hard work?” said Jack, perching on the back of a pew in the front row of the empty Church of the Holy Spirit. There weren’t even any drones here.

  “Because you’re not used to hard work,” said Fingers, sitting on the pew, one arm draped along the top. “Honestly, you’d think you’d broke a nail or something following Danton for a few days. What were you going to be doing anyway? Washing your hair?”

  “Jeezus. Don’t you start too. I can’t understand why you’re so keen on this madness.”

  “We’re already dead. Apart from hanging out here shooting the breeze about all those great jobs we done, the ones we can remember at any rate, what were we going to do? We’re just having a laugh. Think Danton can do anything worse than kill us again?”

  “It’s not Danton I’m worried about. It’s getting locked in that crystal prison again, for starters. Forever. We over-reach ourselves, we get trapped in there. And…and it’s not just that. I can’t remember shit no more. I know I had a baby girl, but I don’t remember her face, her name. Hell, I can’t even remember who her goddam mother was. I know I done them wrong, but I can’t tell you what exactly I did. I want to make up for what I’ve done, but I don’t know who I done it to, and I don’t want to get trapped in that place before I’ve atoned.”

  “Trust me, half the shit we pulled in our time, we don’t want to remember anyway. Why’d you think we keep telling our stories? It’s not so we can remember, it’s so other people will remember us. We’re just trying to hope someone still gives a damn, but I got news for you. We’re dead. Ain’t going to change. And we’ll forget sooner or later. Might as well make the most of it while we can. Blaze of glory an all that.”

  “Man, you’re one nihilistic bastard. ‘There’s no meaning, we’re all doomed’. Fuck that shit. I want my death to have some meaning.”

  “Then stop complaining and help a poor, still living, girl get her heart back instead of wringing your hands over what it’s all about.”

  “What about the Commissars?”

  “God, not that fairy tale cock and bull nonsense again? You just need something to worry about don’t you? If there’s some kind of revenant Inquisition we’d have heard something more concrete by now. Expect we’d have seen something too.”

  “Really? Don’t you find it at all suspicious that anyone trying too hard to affect the living world ends up a drone? How’s anyone supposed to make things right when that happens? That was them, the other night, in the casino. I bet you.”

  “You don’t need some weird explanation for someone turning into a drone. You said it yourself. They tried too hard. Forgot themselves. That’s all you need worry about. Although you keep on like this I might have to give you a slap myself. Now where we going to find a Fritzer?”

  Jack looked at Fingers. How could he keep so cool and focussed? This whole thing could turn to shit any second and he was just lounging around. It really all was just a big laugh to him. Why couldn’t he see that there were consequences? There were always consequences. How did it go? Every action has a reaction. A butterfly’s wing could cause a hurricane.

  Jack stopped himself. If he could’ve he’d have taken a deep breath, held it, and let it go. Time to focus on the job at hand. Where could they find someone who could play with electrical stuff? “I don’t know.” Jack shrugged. “Somewhere with electrical goods, a store, with TVs. Or maybe a power station? I thought you knew everyone?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know a Sparky, not in this town.”

  “When were you last in any other town?”

  “Well, you know, before I was metabolically challenged. I guess we visit some stores in our range and see what we see. Course, this could be pretty desperate. I mean if someone wanted to find me it’s not like I’d be hanging out at a hardware store, or a jewellers for that matter.”

  “I heard that the last thing you lifted became one of your anchors.”

  “You know it’s not polite to speak of such things in civil society, old chap,” Finger said, adopting a fake upper-class accent.

  “Terribly sorry, old bean,” said Jack, following suit. “Didn’t mean to pry. Just making conversation.”

  “Meet back here in ten?”

  “Make it fifteen.”

  They went off to visit shops in the malls along the Strip selling high e
nd cameras, UHD TVs, and the latest games consoles, without any luck. They tried a little further away in the stores the locals used, a few second-hand outlets and then stretching their ranges looked into the retail parks and supermarket departments. As Fingers suggested, none of them were being haunted by anyone with a knack for interfering with electronics. More than a few murder victims, some suicides, mostly drones.

  “Anywhere really new that we forgot, or anywhere old that isn’t there anymore?” said Jack.

  “Anywhere that new we probably don’t know about. Maybe Kat does. I doubt it’s worth finding anywhere old,” said Fingers. “We go too far back and either they’ll have forgotten who they are or chances are they’ll not even have heard of electrickery. I’m sure what they do isn’t much different to me, just specialised for this new-fangled modern world.”

  “We could go check out some sub-stations.”

  “You do that. I’ve got an idea.”

  Fingers could just about remember a summer as a kid hanging out at the amusement arcade near the pier at Southend-on-Sea. While he was more into pinball, fancying himself as the guy in The Who song – he even played blindfolded to try and see how well he could do – the younger kids were more interested in a game in a cabinet, displayed on a built-in TV screen. It didn’t look like much. Two white bars, one controlled at each side by the player, in between a small white square was bounced back and forth. Like a flat, blocky game of tennis.

  He’d seen a bar, or something, on his earlier travels along the Strip, In Like Flynn, that claimed it had video games from as far back as the seventies and imported beer on draught. Call it a hunch, but he was never wrong about these things – he’d find his Phreaker there if he was anywhere.

  Some things never change. Crowds of kids and nostalgic adults hung around the cabinets, the cathode glow reflecting off their faces. Bloops and kershs competed with someone’s idea of music. Some of these games were in colour. There was even one where two people sat on motorbikes and raced around a track on a massive screen.