pool. But over time I began to like the idea of maybe raising a kid. I would go to the park. Play catch. Talk. All the stuff my own parents never did. But when she was born half dead something in me changed.
“See?” a small voice said to me as I held her moments after being born. “You’re not supposed to be a father. This is what happens to things you love. They die. Remember what happened to your sister?”
That’s when my drinking got really bad. I’d wake up and drink. I’d drink during lunch. I couldn’t go to sleep without a bottle in my hand. Louise put up with it far longer than she should have. The funny thing is that when I began to turn my life around she cheated on me. Maybe she stuck around long enough to make sure I wasn’t gonna kill myself.
I have never been a huge fan of sex. It solved nothing but boredom. I would rather watch a movie or a baseball game. It was all just so messy. One time I was so drunk that I hit on a ghost of a prostitute for an hour before realizing that she was dead. I’m sure the bar got a kick out of that.
I wonder what’s on TV?
I’m all over the news. This isn’t good. Not good at all. A fat guy wanders in through the bathroom door and sits down next to me. He just shakes his head and sighs.
“Stinks what they’re saying about you,” he tells me. I can't tell how he died. I don’t see any scars or marks. “Heart attack,” he tells me. Must’ve seen me looking for something. “While banging some whore.”
“There are far worse ways to die,” I tell him. He nods in agreement. “So what do you want?” I ask him. He just shrugs.
“Nothing really,” he says. He scratches his ear and runs his hand over his bald head. “I know I’m dead and all that and I’m supposed to move on. I know who you are and what you do for others. I just don’t need you. At least not right now. Maybe I can help you.” I laugh. “I'm serious. I was a cop.”
“Oh, okay,” I tell him. “So how does a guy that chases away ghosts for a living that is accused of murder save himself?” He laughs.
“It’s so easy I don’t see how you didn’t think of it,” he says. “Plead insanity.”
“I’m not insane,” I say far too defensively. “I just exude certain insane characteristics.” And I do. I am completely aware that on paper I seem bat shit crazy. But I’m not. “Besides that what other plans do you have?”
“You could always kill yourself,” he says. “Its not like you’re afraid to die. Are you?” I smile. “You know what happens on the other side. I assumed that I would head to Heaven and all. I’ve saved a lot of lives when I was alive. I was a good cop.”
“How about as a husband?” I ask him. He doesn’t flicker.
“Now that…” he says and chuckles lightly, “…is another story.”
“The hooker?” I ask.
“The hooker,” he sighs. “I’d been married for 25 years and never cheated. Sure, I’d flirted. I was a cop. Women loved the uniform. But I never slept with anyone. I didn’t even sleep with the hooker.” I laugh. “I didn’t. Had a damned heart attack when she got undressed. Tits were amazing. I just floated above my body and watched while she went through my wallet and stole my cash. She saw the badge and high tailed it out of here. They found me two days later. I just sat here and watched myself piss and shit myself. A couple of rats nibbled on me. But it didn’t bother me all that much. I was worried about what my wife would think.”
“I like you” I tell him. And I do. He has an interesting life. Note to everyone dead: if you tell the story of your life just talk about the end. No one cares about the beginning. No one is fascinating in their youth. “If you ever want to cross over just let me know. Now if you don’t mind I need to see what they have to say about me on the news.”
“No problem” he says and stands. “Good luck. I know you’re innocent. Your wife pretty much told that guy that you killed her. I’ll see you around.”
“Later, ghost cop” I say and he laughs and leaves the way he came. I watch the news and would laugh at how silly the story was if it didn’t involve me. They are saying that I raped and killed Louise. Rape? Where’d they get that from? Oh, right. The sex. And of course when they get their swabs out they will find traces of my sperm in her mouth. Damn it. I just had to unleash in her mouth, didn’t I? Suddenly ghost cop is back.
“Police are here,” he says. “Just thought I’d warn you.”
“Thanks,” I say. If only every ghost was this helpful.
I’m not gonna get too far in what I’m wearing. In all the drama that went down I didn’t grab my wallet, using the cash I always kept in my socks. I sure as hell didn’t pay for this room by using my smile. I have about $8 left. Shit. I need to get out of here and fast before I end up in jail.
“You’re so screwed” the young guy says as he appears and vanishes before I can touch him.
I really don’t like that kid.
I’ve never been good at getting away from cops. When I was 16 this ghost around my age told me how to steal a pager from this place. Yes, a pager. This was a while ago. I went there and asked for a shiny blue pager and while the cashier grabbed it I grabbed a plain black one and started running until I heard the click of a pistol. I threw the pager at the guy and ran out the shop and right into a cop.
Turns out the ghost kid got shot by the same guy.
I peek my head out into the hallway and the cops are three doors down and knocking on the doors. Shit. I’m a smart guy. I should be able to figure out a way to escape. I find the window and there are bars. I run to the bathroom. More bars. Damn it. The ghost asshole pops in and leans on the sink smiling.
“No way you’re getting out of this,” he says. “We know you’re innocent and all that, but still, you’re fucked.” I ignore him and rush out in time to hear the cops pounding on my door.
“Who is it?” I ask in a light voice.
“He’s in here!” the kid shouts. I grab his arm and he screams and disappears. The cops wouldn’t have heard him scream. I just found him terribly annoying.
“Open up please,” the cops say. At least they said please. The ghost cop reappears next to me.
“Need some help?” he asks me.
“Yeah” I tell him. “But only angry ghosts are good at this kinda thing. You seem way too pleasant.”
“I can do angry,” he says. “All I gotta do is think about all the guys that got away.” He closes his eyes and starts to flicker. “You should probably hide under the bed.” I dive behind the bed and cover my head. I can feel the energy coming off this guy. I look over the mattress and he places his hand on the door and it explodes. The cops scream and get thrown against the door opposite mine. “This would be a good time to run,” he tells me.
“Thanks again” I tell him and run down the hall. The police start gathering themselves up and I rush to the stairwell. I fall down because of my damned ankle. I get up and make it out the door. I need to sleep.
I stumble down the street too tired to run and too paranoid to stop. A group of ghosts start walking with me. They all look mangled. Tossers. Accident victims. I don’t even have the energy to send them away. This must be how celebrities feel when they are being chased by the paparazzi.
“I hope they get you,” this old lady with no legs says to me.
“The Thriller auditions have been canceled,” I tell her. “Go away.” She grabs my ankle and holds on. Three more do the same. They don’t weigh me down. They just annoy me. This isn’t supposed to happen. They should pass right through me. I really need to rest.
“Come on, everybody!” some guy with one arm says. “He can't stop us!” They start coming out the woodwork. They dog pile me. I can't shake them off. I grab a couple that hang around my neck and try to make them vanish. They don’t.
“Get away from me,” I tell them. They start laughing. This reminds me of when I couldn’t really control this. When I was 12 I got trapped in the boys’ bathroom by some old dead bullies. They had to have died in the 30’s from how they were dressed. They threatened to giv
e me a “shiner” and told me to cough up my cash. I told them that I didn’t need anything polished and I didn’t swallow money therefore I couldn’t cough it up. Then they told me to scram.
I stumble into an alley and lay down behind a dumpster. I’m tired. I fell asleep fast even as the ghosts shouted in my face. I had a dream that I had a new show where I talked to people about their dead family members. Louise gets up to the mike and asks me where her dead daughter is.
“Rotting nearby,” I tell her.
The crowd boos me.
How long have I been asleep? The sun is going down. The ghosts have all left. This is one of those times that I wish I had friends. I normally don’t. I don’t like people that much. I’m generally not a fan of humanity. But when you’re on the run from the law with no money and no food, a friend seems like a very good idea.
I check my ankle and the swelling has gone down. Cool. I stand and it feels fine. I have a small limp. I pass a thrift store and grab some clothes off the rack hanging outside. These places are too trusting. You never know when a guy that can see ghosts running from cops will wander by and steal your polyester cotton blend shirt and filthy Dickie’s. I head into a McDonald’s and change clothes. I look in the mirror and laugh. I look like a criminal. My hair is a mess and I haven’t shaved in days. I need a drink. I wash my face and slick my hair back. Now I really look guilty.