Good Lord, Deliver Us (4 page)

The Vice Chancellor smiled at being
able to talk the kind of down-home language he imagined Z could
understand. "The soccer field project is my first assignment. While
I think I can handle the historical committee, this business of
ghosts -- and a prying television reporter has already made calls
to the school -- is preventing me from fulfilling my assigned
task.

"But ... let me put you in the
picture." Ashlock leaned forward again to give the impression he
was taking Z into his confidence. "A wealthy family in the Midwest
-- made their money in lead -- has, for many years, been granting
bequests to private colleges. Generally for the improvement of
athletics. Our gymnasium was built with a gift from that family's
trust, for instance. This time, the family is offering to
contribute the money to expand our soccer program.

"But, you must realize,
other colleges are in competition for those funds. In this regard,
the college that acts quickly, gets the money." The small man sank
back to let his chair absorb him once again until only his Cheshire
smile remained. "Part of my responsibilities the securing of grants
for the college, the holdup on this project makes me look ... I
would not say
bad
... but certainly not as effective as I would like to
be.

"Which brings me to the
present."

"Hiring me to investigate the
'ghost.'"

"Yes ... that, too. On the other hand,
if the troublesome house were ... just speculating, mind you ... to
disappear .... If some magician could wave a wand and make the
house go up in smoke, as it were ... then all problems associated
with the house would vanish, too."

So
that
was it! Here's how it had gone
down. Calder recommended Z to Ashlock. Ashlock called Scherer.
Scherer told the vice chancellor that Bob Zapolska was the kind of
no-good-son-of-a-bitch who stuck his nose in police business. That,
though he was too sneaky to get caught, Z had broken every law in
the book. Was the sort of slimy criminal who should be put away for
life! In short, just the kind of man Ashlock was looking for, a man
who, for money, would do anything! Like, "just speculating, mind
you," set fire to the house in question so that all Ashlock's
problems would "go up in smoke."

No way!

On the other hand, the man had wasted
Z's afternoon; time for which Z should be compensated. "What you're
saying is you're offering me this job."

"Absolutely. At your usual rates ...
plus a two thousand-dollar bonus if the property is no longer a
problem by the weekend."

"To prove there's no
ghost."

The vice chancellor frowned, a
rain-squall-blowing-up-to-ruin-a-sunny-day frown.

"That's not
exactly
what I had in
mind."

"Oh?" Z said, pretending innocence. "I
thought I was being hired to hunt ghosts?"

"If that's the only service you can
provide, then I'm afraid I'm not ....."

"If I misunderstood,
there's a quick way to find out," Z purred, patting the baggy
pocket of his coat. "I always tape-record the conversations I have
with prospective clients. Got it all down. Be glad to replay it for
you. ... For
anyone
."

Realizing he'd been
trapped as neatly as a bird beneath a stick-propped box -- Ashlock
knowing that
others
might
also
"misunderstand" his intent -- the Vice Chancellor's smile
slid back. "Of course. Of course. You are certainly hired. What
I
meant
was that,
since your experience in the, shall we say, ghost hunting business,
is limited, any misunderstanding between us was about the
nature
of your
employment. You are hired, never fear. But more to, shall we say,
protect the person who will actually do the hunting."

"I see," Z said, choosing to go along
with the latest lie. Work, after all, was work.

"Yes," the Vice Chancellor continued,
more to himself than to Z. "Since Dr. Calder is a friend of yours,
why don't we just leave it at this? I'll contact Dr. Calder when I
need your services. He'll get in touch with you."

"Soon," said Z, in his most persuasive
hiss.

"Of course. Of course. Within the
week. It is just that, busy man that I am, there will be no further
need for face-to-face meetings between the two of us."

Z was dismissed.

Out of the office to breathe the
delightfully fresh air of the tightly enclosed hall, Z wanted to
warn the young secretary about her boss. Wanted to say that Ashlock
had the kind of teeth that feed on human flesh; including pretty,
perk-nosed blondes.

But didn't. Though she looked young to
Z, she was a big girl. Or about to be.

Instead, Z got out of the building as
fast as he could, into the even fresher air atop Bateman
hill.

Found that, in spite of the breeze, he
was sweating -- but not from the heat.

Panting -- but not from
overexertion.

These reactions came from
...
fear
... Z
always scared by money offered in exchange for extralegal work;
frightened he might cross the moral line he'd made for himself, the
divide separating "anything-to-help-a-client" from "breaking laws
to benefit himself."

But not this time.

Not
this
time.

As for the pocket tape-recorder he'd
mentioned to the Chancellor of Vice, Z had been planning to buy
one.

And he would, too.

Some day.

* * * * *

After the Vice Chancellor had
propositioned him, Z had been in no mood to stop by Dr. Calder's
office and talk pleasantries with the Bateman psychologist. What
would he have said to Calder, anyway? That the new administrator at
Bateman College was a crook?

And if he did warn Calder, what proof
did Z have to substantiate the charge? Nothing tangible. Certainly
nothing that would convince Judge Judy. Yet there could be no doubt
that Ashlock had offered to hire Z as an arsonist. Done it with a
smile and a nod and words that could be "misunderstood." But done
it, nevertheless. Z had refused and, moreover, hinted at blackmail
strongly enough to make the Vice Chancellor hire Z
anyway.

Sitting at his own pathetically
scarred desk, Z had put down the paperback he was trying to read to
review his situation.

Had he really put the
squeeze on a man as powerful as the Vice Chancellor of a college?
He certainly had, leaving a question Z must now ask
himself
: just how
dangerous was it to have Ashlock for an enemy?

A private eye could become so great a
threat to the quarry that the prey would turn hunter
......

But Z didn't think this was the case
with the Vice Chancellor. Z's read of the man was that he was the
kind to get others to do his dirty work -- not the type to soil his
own hands with a crime.

It was the morning of the next --
Thank-God-it's-Friday -- day, Z in his depressing office "working"
the facts as he often did, in this instance, yesterday afternoon's
particulars.

Again, Z thought about putting in a
call to Professor Calder. And again, decided against doing
that.

Having made up his mind not to
apologize to Calder for failing to show up yesterday, Z could
concentrate on the job he'd been hired to perform: protect some
ghost hunter??

The first question his new
job brought to mind was, is there really such an occupation as
"ghost hunter"? If so, where would you go to find out? Not the
Yellow Pages, surely. (There had to be even
less
work for ghost hunters than for
private investigators, Z barely able to afford
his
ad in the Yellow Pages.) As
for
protecting
such a person, protect him from ... what?

All Z knew about ghosts was what he'd
seen in scary movies. Pictures about vampires, werewolves, ghouls,
and mummies that haunted the silver screen of Z's childhood. Z
thought then, and he thought now, that there was nothing so
tingly-delicious on a hot Saturday afternoon as being scared shit
less in an air-conditioned theater.

Z's favorite bogeyman was the mummy,
that frightening-looking Egyptian corpse resurrected by a solemn,
dark-skinned priest with an overturned flower pot for a hat. As Z
remembered, the priest was a member of a secret cult (the
Shriners??,) the priest knowing that burning tana leaves?? would
bring old Kharis back to life. Z could still throw his mind back to
those terrifying times of being all alone in a children-packed
movie house; of shuddering as the linen-wrapped mummy, his tattered
bandages shredding, took his first, halting steps. Of seeing the
mummy limp out of the shadows, corner a petrified victim, and
strangle the person with one outstretched hand.

Scary good times for all. So much
creepy fun you almost wet your pants.

Now a grownup, Z wondered why he, or
anyone else, had ever feared the mummy. Poor old Kharis. One arm
knocked out for good. So lame he dragged along at a top speed of
half-a-mile an hour. So tinder dry, you could have set him ablaze
with flint and steel. Looking back, the mummy was such an object of
pity that his victims felt compelled to trap themselves in dead-end
alleys just to give Kharis a sporting chance of murdering
them.

Horror movies. A big thrill. But
mostly for people with childlike minds.

Anyway, Z guessed that many of his
early favorites: the mummy, Dracula, demons, fiends, hobgoblins,
zombies, and werewolves -- couldn't actually be categorized as
ghosts.

What
were
ghosts, anyway? Creatures sent
from Satan? An electrical phenomena? A powerful personality taking
on a life form of its own? Spirits like elves or fairies? Gremlins?
The souls of dead people?

If Z didn't have a clue
about ghosts, how was he supposed to hunt them? .... Pardon
me
, Z thought,
remembering.
Defend
the person who
would
hunt them.

The office phone rang.

Hoping for a case with quick pay
attached, Z leaned forward to pick up the phone. "Bob Zapolska
Detective Agency."

"This is Hugh Calder."

"About to call," Z said, chagrined;
covering his embarrassment with a lie, a small lie sometimes OK
when there was a benefit to it. (Big lies, he reserved for helping
clients.) Anyway, listening to political speeches on TV had Z
feeling better about being your average, ordinary, everyday,
garden-variety liar. Made him feel good by showing just what an
amateur he was in the falsehood game.

"I missed you yesterday,
but I know you're busy," Calder was saying. "And this won't help. I
just got a call from the Vice Chancellor. I don't know why he's
contacting me, but I've never been good at figuring
administrators."
Z
knew why. It was because Ashlock wanted nothing more to do
with Z,
Z
too
good at deciphering administrators' spiel. "Here's the deal. He
wants me to tell you that the job starts tonight. If that's too
soon for you to make it, he'll understand."

"I can make it." The Vice
Chancellor wasn't going to kiss Z off
that
easily. If Z eventually blew
the whistle on Ashlock, Z was not going to make it easy for the
crook to say Z was making trouble only because Z couldn't do the
job.

"Good. He said 10:00 P.M." A pause on
the line. Calder -- thinking. "Something he said that I didn't
fully understand, though. Something about a "poltergeist expert"
coming? Do you know what he's talking about?"

Ashlock was talking about his ghost
hunter, of course. "No."

"Like I said," the plump psychologist
continued cheerfully, "no way to figure administrators. A breed
apart. By the way, the address of the place is 2609 E. Franklin.
It's on the back side of the campus. Beyond the
stadium."

"Right."

"And Z?"

"Yes."

A space of time followed in which Z
could swear he heard the precise ticking of Calder's fine-watch
mind. "I don't know how to put this. But I've got a feeling
something's ... not right. And I don't even know why I think that.
Maybe something in the intonation of Chancellor Ashlock's voice."
Again, the introspective pause. "What I feel I should say, though,
is watch yourself."

"OK."

"That's it, then."

"Right."

"I'll see you later."

They hung up.

Z
knew what wasn't "right" about the deal, but saw no sense in
getting Calder all upset. Nothing
Calder
could do about the Vice
Chancellor's crooked ways.
Calder
wasn't in charge of hiring the college's
administrators.