Pennies for the Ferryman - 01

by Jim Bernheimer

  Here I’d been worried about my career path. This morning, I just wanted a few grand to stave off the bill collectors and get myself back above water. Now I was close to owning a successful security consulting firm. Talk about the American Dream! I’d have to go back to my high school guidance counselor; he said I probably wasn’t management material. Wouldn’t he be surprised!

  I shut up for the next half hour, needing to finish clearing my head and hoping that Shultz would send one of the other two away before I made my move.

  Pitman sat in front of his laptop for a little while and then walked upstairs to make a few phone calls. I covered my “special” eye to let me see better. He was using the Internet to search for information on me. It was too much to hope for that they’d be as technologically inept as Vincent and his group. My wallet was lying on the desk and my expired driver’s license on top of it. It took me a minute to remember what Equifax was. I’m sure my credit report looked rather disappointing to Shultz.

  Deciding I was sober enough, I looked around. Nice fireplace complete with a nice poker. I thought it through. Yeah, it would do nicely. There was a holstered gun over there. Shultz wouldn’t want to hurt this body. I didn’t have any such restrictions, though I didn’t need to watch CSI to know that if this becomes a crime scene, the dudes from Homicide will check his computer and be asking me questions about his death. I decided to save it as a last resort. “Hey asshole, can I get something to eat in here? The body’s getting hungry.”

  Landau laughed, “You want another beer?”

  “Jackass.”

  “Fat Tony, go get it.” Ghost number three walked to the kitchen.

  The aptly named Fat Tony returned, straining to float a bag of bagels in front of him. They drop as soon as they hit the edge and roll in. I move to the edge of the “curtain,” to fetch the carbohydrates.

  “What no cream cheese? What are you, a goddamn moron?”

  He leans close to the barrier and answered, “You got a big mouth on you. You know that?”

  Stepping right through the Obi-whatever with only a bit of resistance, I smashed my fist into Fat Tony’s four chins, hard. My second punch knocked the wind out of him and I spun and pushed him into the center of the intricate design watching as he hit the other side and slid down it like he just ran into a glass door.

  Abe was slow to move and I got to the poker.

  He wasn’t impressed. “You think that’s going to help you? You’re dumber than you…”

  He never finished that sentence. Ever seen someone take an iron poker across the face? It’s not a pretty sight. “Now who looks dumb, jackass?”

  Shultz comes down the steps. “What the hell?” I reached over and pulled the nine millimeter from the holster, leveled it at him, and flip off the safety.

  “Nice body there Shultz. Stick it in there.”

  He finished walking down the steps. “You got no idea who you’re messing with, boy.”

  I smiled. “I don’t really care either. Get in.”

  He responded by shimmering and stepping out of Pitman’s body. Dutch Shultz was a balding piece of crap, with a weak little aura. It was dimmer than both the other goons, but that was consistent with what I’d heard about Skinwalkers from Eva. They kept themselves relatively weak to stay inside of the body. “Fine, I’ll just take it from you!”

  I flipped the safety back on and tossed the gun behind the desk. Only one body was worth hurting now and that was me.

  “Nice trick getting my boys to free you.”

  Fat Tony pleaded with Shultz, “Boss, I swear! I didn’t…”

  “Shut up! Shut the hell up! I’ll deal with you when I’m done with this punk.”

  I started to step forward but Abe must have been playing possum. His hand tripped me and I fell. Then he grabbed my legs.

  “Hold him still and I’ll get in there and drive him out.”

  Often, far too often in fact, I am forced to use the words “indescribable pain.” It’s a hazard of my new lifestyle, I guess. Either way, it felt like a trip to the dentist without the benefits of anesthetic. My body was on fire and I felt myself half-crawl and half-roll away from Schultz’s goon, who let go of my ankle.

  Not being in control of my body was a strange and painful sensation. I could feel my lips moving. “Where are you, you dirty little bastard?”

  Mike Ross might not have had much in this life, but damn it all if I was going to let some ghost take my body. There was a heat and energy building inside of me. It was a raw and savage anger – all my pain, all my suffering, and all my rage coalesced into a tangible force.

  My voice let out a blood curdling scream, but I wasn’t the one screaming. I collapsed back onto the ground and convulsed like a person having an epileptic attack. Distantly, I could hear Abe shouting. I vomited as my body joined the fight against the intruder.

  Ever fallen out of a tree and have that sudden acceleration feeling followed by the impact on the ground? That’s about as close as I can come to explaining it. Dutch shot out of me and clear through the wall.

  I wasn’t a really violent guy by nature, but I felt violated on a level that even a rape victim might have difficulty identifying with. My fingers closed around that poker and I literally saw red. I hit Abe so hard with that poker he screamed and when a noticeably dimmed Dutch Shultz staggered back into the house, I met him by jamming the poker right through him and into the drywall.

  He screamed again and thrashed while impaled, darkish smoke pouring out of the wound in his stomach.

  His eyes bulged and I could have sworn the poker was glowing. “What are you?” he gasped already beginning to fade.

  “Know what a ferryman is Mister Shultz?”

  “No! It can’t be. They’re just a legend!”

  “You might be right, Dutch, but my legend is just beginning and yours is over!”

  Seconds later the wispy smoke disappeared and I was left staring at a wall with a poker in it. I spun around and looked at Abe and Fat Tony. I don’t know what they saw in my eyes, but whatever it was, it scared them shitless. Landau started to disappear, but I pounced on him before he could. With a strength borne of my rage, I hurled him into The Eye of Horus.

  There wasn’t a lot of time to think. Poor Pitman’s body was on the ground. Nothing could be done for him. I snatched my wallet and made sure everything was in it, along with the laptop with all my personal information still displayed on it. The poker and the pistol stayed, though I wiped my prints off of them with a rag. Afterwards, I cleaned up my vomit and dumped some bleach directly on it. It was time, yet again, to tuck my head between my legs and get the hell out of a situation where I was way over my head.

  Sadly, it was a reoccurring theme wasn’t it?

  Abe and Fat Tony didn’t say a word. Had I not been in such a rush, I would have enjoyed the irony of ghosts being afraid of me, but I was a bit pressed for time.

  Shultz’s Hummer sat the driveway. I swallowed the lump in my throat and hopped in. Hopefully, this would end better than my last time driving a Hummer.

  I made tracks to the hotel. If I was in luck, I’d be able to get Rusty and get out of there. Otherwise, I’d leave the Hummer at the hotel and catch a bus out of here. Naturally, I wanted that twenty-three hundred dollars from the hotel safe.

  As usual, nothing went right for me. Some fat guy next to the desk was screaming into his cell phone to somebody named Cassandra and the receptionist didn’t have any record of me being moved up to the suite. On the bright side, she did have my cash. I used the courtesy phone to call my room, but got no answer. I tried Rusty’s cell phone next, reaching his voicemail.

  “Rusty, its Mike, I’ve got to get back home right now. There’s a bit of a problem. I’ll find my own way back.” Rusty was probably having dinner with one of the coeds he’d been chasing.

  Turning around, my only hope was that no one was going to Shultz to report. Considering the receptionist was pointing at me and four men all in suits were standi
ng there. It looked like my “winning ways” were continuing. I suddenly wished I’d kept the pistol.

  The leader, a tall man in a suit addressed me, “Mr. Ross, Mister Pittman wants to talk to you; we can do this the easy way, or the hard way – your choice.”

  Regretting that I didn’t just drive out of state as fast as Schultz’s overpriced guzzler could take me, I followed my “peaceful” escort right back to the holding room where all this started. They didn’t take the laptop, or the cash.

  For twenty minutes, I sat there, just waiting. I used the laptop and found it was recognized by the wireless network inside the hotel. Leveraging the mighty power that is Google, I quickly learned the story of Diamond Jim Brady and Lillian Russell.

  When the door next opened, I wasn’t terribly surprised to see Mickey Pitman staring at me. He held the door and two ghosts entered. Both possessed that same powerful aura I sensed with Eva. The first was a very attractive woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. Though Miss Russell had died at a much older age, Eva had told me that sufficiently powerful ghosts could choose to appear as they were at any stage in their life. She was quite beautiful and wore a long flowing evening gown and gloves reminiscent of the 1920’s.

  Diamond Jim was a small mountain of a man. He was the kind of presence that could really fill a room, both figuratively and literally. He looked to be in his late forties, stylishly attired in a pinstripe suit.

  With a rich baritone, Diamond Jim Brady addressed me, “Good evening, Mr. Ross.”

  “Mr. Brady, Miss Russell.” I nodded curtly to each of them.

  “Abraham has filled us in on the events of this evening. I must extend my apologies for the behavior of those spirits in my service.” Abe must be “driving” Mickey now. He didn’t appear very happy.

  “I don’t hold you responsible for Mr. Shultz’s actions.”

  I figured that I’d be gracious and wait to see if the other foot falls.

  Lillian regarded me as if I was a curiosity or some form of carnival act.

  “So, this is a ferryman. Are you certain you’re not just a Skinwalker trying to pass yourself off as one? Wouldn’t be the first time I’d heard such a tale.”

  “I’d invite you to see for yourself, but when Mr. Shultz tried it was rather painful for both of us, so I’d prefer not to go that route again.”

  She nodded, “Yes, yes. I suppose you are right, dear. It’s just that I’ve never met one before.”

  Brady interrupted, “We don’t want any trouble from a ferryman, Mr. Ross. Not in my territory. If it’s all the same to you, we’d like you to leave and go back to Maryland. You’re welcome to stay the night.”

  “That was the same deal Mr. Shultz offered me. I’d prefer to leave this evening, if at all possible.”

  “Abraham, get Mr. Ross the rest of his money. I understand you were using a ghost to help you. Under normal circumstances, I’d be angry, but as a gesture of good faith, I’m willing to return the five thousand dollars you stole from me in return for the electronic device you have. It has a good deal of information related to my business ventures in the world of the living.”

  “I can live with that, Mr. Brady. Schultz pulled a lot of my personal information — something I didn’t want to leave at a potential crime scene. I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion that being a ferryman isn’t something that one brings up in polite company.”

  Lillian nodded sagely, “You are right to be wary. We heard rumors that there was a new ferryman several weeks ago, but dismissed them out of hand. There hasn’t been a ferryman in these parts in over a century. In our world, some will welcome you; others will fear what you could do to the status quo. I do not envy you.”

  They seemed like nice enough folks, though they employed dead mobsters and didn’t mind if the Skinwalkers under them peddle flesh on whatever the hell the “body market” was.

  “Have you heard of other ferrymen active in the world?” I figured if the ghosts could band together, I could get in contact with people like me. Maybe we could start a bowling team or something.

  Jim answers. “Only rumors about some among the Europeans. Unlike the living world, our world is not very interconnected. Very few choose to travel beyond the areas where they died.”

  “I suppose the exception is the Skinwalkers.”

  “Yes, some can’t resist the lure to walk among the living and taste what they once had. Most of them relocate immediately and distance themselves from their previous lives.”

  “You hire them.”

  He shrugged, “They have their place. I couldn’t run my territory without them and someone else would move in and take over. There’s a saying your generation uses, ‘That’s just the way it is.’ Like I said, it’s just the status quo.”

  It felt very feudal and I didn’t want to correct him. Nowadays people say, ‘It is what it is.’ Either way, we weren’t fighting and that was a good sign. I used this opportunity to get more information. “What can you tell me about the neighboring territories? DC, Pennsylvania, and Baltimore?”

  “The capital is a dangerous place; people, power, and politics all in one place. Like the real world, no faction can seem to stay on top for long. I’ve heard the ghosts of Arlington have the most influence right now.”

  I was right to be creeped out about Arlington National Cemetery. “What about to the west of Washington? I haven’t met the ghost that claims my territory.”

  “Someone affiliated with the Civil War era. He’s a bit of a power broker named Taney.”

  The name sounded familiar. “Roger Taney? Used to be a Supreme Court Justice?”

  “That’s the one. How long have you been operating in his territory?”

  “Since September.” There was a museum for him up in Fredrick. Knowing who my probable enemy was both relieved and frightened me at the same time.

  “Unless he’s a fool, he’s at least aware of you and probably looking for you. He brings extra energy into the area and supplies it to those trying to control Washington. He doesn’t take a position in the conflicts, but he’s definitely involved.”

  Lillian told me about the Skinwalkers that controlled Philadelphia. Avoiding the City of Brotherly Love sounded like a good idea.

  They even mentioned Eva, talking about a matron who controlled an isolated wedge of Western Pennsylvania. I opted not to tell them that I’d met her up close and personal.

  “Baltimore,” Jim says, “Most everyone avoids it. They say there is a caged spirit there.”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  Diamond Jim shook his head. “No. It is only known as The Beast and it existed there long before I died.”

  The more I learned about Baltimore, the less I wanted to go there. Between the two, Arlington sounded like a picnic spot.

  Once I took my leave of Diamond Jim Brady and Lillian, it took some time to locate Rusty and unfortunately, he was in no shape to drive that night.

  Listening to his drunken snores, I flipped around the television until a haggard looking Don Hodges dragged himself into the room after three in the morning. I was happy to see him. He was equally relieved to see me.

  “Mike! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! One of the ghosts told me that things were cool and you were back at the hotel. I thought it was a trap…”

  “I met the owners of this territory. We came to an understanding. They want me to leave and I don’t intend to hang around. If you don’t mind, let’s talk about it later. I’m exhausted and need some rest.”

  “Sure, no problem buddy. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  “Tomorrow, we need to start talking about Roger Taney. He’s the boss ghost out where I live. Our paths are going to end up crossing sometime in the future and it sounds like the ghosts in Gettysburg work for him. Think you can do a bit of spying on him?”

  “Isn’t recon my middle name?”

  I chuckled. “I thought it was Peter?”

  “Just get some rest. I’ll be on watch for the
rest of the night.”

  Settling into my bed, I thought about all that I learned. It all came back to greed. Greed made the living and the dead do strange things. People come to Atlantic City for the promise of something for nothing. Greed wasn’t so much a vice as it is a way of life here. The dead fed off that greed and used it to sustain their existence.

  Atlantic City was a real eye opener into the dark underside of both worlds.

  I’d leave there in the morning with over seven grand and a couple of forms so the IRS could take their cut of my winnings. Where exactly did greed get me?

  I’ll tell you where, possessed, almost killed, and closer to truths I really didn’t want to know.

  Somehow, that wad of money didn’t seem very comforting. I wasn’t going to give it back, mind you, but having it just wasn’t as important as it once was.

  Episode 10: Hitting the Fan

  My long delayed trip to Roanoke was a tale of ups and downs. The first day there, Don and I found one lousy lead on the oldest cold case, enough to reopen the investigation and hopefully get somewhere. That boded well for Candy’s career. She gave me a smoldering kiss that was definitely leading somewhere when the phone rang. I might not have those types of psychic powers, but I knew something was wrong.

  Would it have killed the prisoners in the county jail to wait just two more hours to riot? Did the standoff have to take so long? Did they honestly expect that the police would let them go – or was the riot just a bargaining chip to get a better cable TV package in the jail? Seriously, it seemed like the powers above just didn’t want me and Candace McKenna to spend quality time together - ever.

  So Don and I got to enjoy the sights from Candy’s apartment window and sample the fruits of her sub-basic cable package. Why Candy bothered with a cable package that consisted of six channels and a live feed from the state highway surveillance cameras was beyond me. My girlfriend-less vigil stretched on for the next twenty-eight hours, interrupted by brief pair of phone calls from my “oh so close, but oh so far away” girlfriend. Then her mother stopped by to find an unknown man at her apartment.