Ghostbusters The Return (5 page)

Janine took a good look at Venkman, then gave a dismissive wave. Slimed again. No biggie.

She stepped crisply over to them. "Hi, boys," she said. They mumbled greetings as they started to unpack the Ectomobile.

She flipped through a handful of small pieces of paper. "You got a bunch of calls while You were out. Doctor Spengler, the Psychical Research Society called to remind you that they still haven't received your renewal yet, and they want to know if you're coming to the annual dinner and seance."

"I guess so. I'm supposed to give the keynote chant."

Janine handed him the paper and went on to the next one. "The Mayor's office called. He's coming down here in an hour and a half to hold a press conference out front."

As one, they groaned. "He's coming here?" Egon said. "He never comes here."

"Election year," said Ray.

Winston opened the back of the Ectomobile. He started pulling out piles of smoking traps, and passed handfuls to Ray and Egon. "Not to mention we just saved a school full of kids. Now, that's a photo op."

"Oh, well. Anything for me?" Ray asked Janine.

"No. But Doctor Venkman got three calls from a Mister Gary Milken."

"Gary who?"

"Probably a telemarketer," said Venkman. "I'm gonna go take a shower."

"Okay," said Ray. "We'll stash the livestock in the containment unit."

"Or the walking deadstock," said Egon. The three of them headed downstairs to transfer the trapped ghostly alligators into the high-tech storage unit in the basement.

Venkman started to make his way laboriously upstairs. He was on the second step when Louis called after him "Well, I guess I'll be taking lanine to lunch now. If we catch the traffic lights just right, we can still..."

Venkrnan moved down a step and looked at him with a fixed, irritated stare. Slime dripped from his arm as he waved around at the otherwise empty room. "Don't you think someone should be here to man the phones and door?"

"Well, you're back now. Can't you do it?"

Venkman glared at him. All was silent, apart from the gentle
plip plip
of dripping slime.

Louis shifted nervously. "I, um, I guess we could wait five minutes."

"Thank you," said Venkman.

Once again, he started up the steps. But before he got beyond the third step, he heard a deep voice from the parking bay. "Excuse me, Doctor Venkman?"

He looked down to see a group of well-dressed men in designer suits. He stared at them with all the enthusiasm of someone who'd been dipped in ectoplasmic slime and would really prefer to be standing in a hot shower. "Yes?"

The gray-haired man in front of the group stepped forward and extended a hand. "Gary Milken."

Resignedly, Venkman walked back down the stairs. "Most persistent telemarketer I've ever seen. You must work on commission."

"I'm sorry?"

Venkman shook his hand, coating it with slime. "Never mind. Let me guess. The ghost of your greatgrandmother won't get out of your rumpus room, the walls are dripping blood, and you keep hearing a voice that whispers, 'Get out of the house.' Well, Ms. Melnitz here will be happy to assist you. And in the meantune, please...stay out of the house." He released Milken's hand and started back toward the stairs. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a very important date with a shower."

Milken chuckled. "I'm afraid there's been something of a misunderstanding." He produced a handkerchief in his left hand and casually used it to wipe the slime off his right, as though this sort of thing happened to him every day. He passed the wet, greasy handkerchief off to a young man behind him, who looked at it distastefully before sticking it gingerly in his pocket. "We're not here to hire the Ghostbusters. We're here because of
you."

"Oh," said Venkrnan. "Well, if you're here to deliver a subpoena, it's not really a good time right now."

"No, no, nothing like that. We represent the New York State Independent Party. Ordinarily, I would have waited for you to return my calls, but I understand you're scheduled to participate in a press conference with the Mayor in a little while. I wanted to be sure to catch you before then."

Despite the waiting shower, Venhnan had to admit that he was starting to get curious. "Why's that?"

"Doctor Venkman, do you know when the New York State Independent Party won its last mayoral election?"

"Mmm...no, can't say as I do."

"1926. We'd like to change that."

"So you came all the way down here to ask me to vote for you? I don't want to criticize your campaign strategy, but at this speed, you should finish off the voters in Manhattan by the year 2620. Then, of course, there's Brooklyn..."

One of the well-dressed men behind Milken muttered to the equally groomed man beside him. "Jumps to a lot of conclusions, doesn't he?"

"Yes," muttered his neighbor, "but he's quick on his feet. And witty."

"Witty's good."

Milken continued as though he hadn't noticed them. "We're here for much more than your vote, Doctor Venkman," he said with a winning smile. "To defeat Mayor Lapinski in this year's race, we'll need a special candidate - one with the commitment and charisma to lead this city out of its current hole and into a bright new future. We think you've got what it takes to do it.

"Doctor Venkman, how would you like to be Mayor of New York City?"

Venkman stared at him, not quite understanding any of this, let alone believing it. For perhaps the first time in his life, he was speechless. "M-me. . . ?"

"Who better? You've devoted your life to helping others. While the current administration spends its time down in City Hall, kowtowing to the special interests, you're out there in the streets every day, keeping the public safe."

"But - but I'm not a politician..."

"We see that as a plus. The voters are tired of politicians. They don't trust them."

Venkman's brain was racing so fast that he was having trouble keeping up with it. It wasn't a question that he had ever expected to hear. All his life, his approach to the world had been an ongoing series of hustles, scams, and dodges seeing just how much he could get away with instead of really working at anything. Even when he was six years old and subcontracting his paper route to the neighborhood kids, Venkman was always looking for an angle.

In fact, that's what had drawn him toward parapsychology in the first place. It was all so nebulous that universities would give him a paycheck without him actually having to deliver anything of substance. And when they did finally catch on and the cash cow went off to pasture, he convinced Ray and Egon to start up Ghostbusters. Of course, at the time, he never suspected that they'd actually wind up catching ghosts - or risking their lives doing it. But even with all the risks, it still beat working a "real" job.

And now these people were asking him whether he wanted to take the reins of one of the largest and most prominent cities in the world? Whether he wanted to spend his days managing the million different tasks that made the city run? Whether he wanted to hold the final sign-off on the police, the civil services, and city contractors?

This was...

It was...

It could be...

...the greatest scam on Earth!

Forget about the nice house
, he thought.
Forget the endless stream of free dinners and all the famous rich people coming to you, begging for favors. Forget about never having to pay attention to parking laws or traffic lights. Just imagine what you could do with a gazilliondollar city budget - every year!

Venkrnan left the stairs to greet the group with a broad smile. "Gentlemen," he said, "You've got yourselves a candidate."

Milken ignored the slime as he grasped Venkman's hand warmly in both of his own. "Excellent!" he said. "Welcome aboard. I foresee great things in our future."

"Gary, you have no idea."

Janine and Louis stared at each other in disbelief. "Mayor Venkman?" said Louis.

"I wonder if there's still time to move to Jersey," said Janine.

The politicians in the room seemed much more enthusiastic. Unlike Milken, the rest of his team found it harder to forget about the slime. But despite some frowns and wincing, there were hearty handshakes all around.

"Now. don't worry," Milken told him. "I recognize that your experience running a city government is. .shall we say, limited. That's why we're going to pair you up with a deputy mayor who knows more about the ins and outs of this city than any man alive." He pulled over a small, balding man with wire-rimmed glasses and a combover. "Sid here served as auditor, city planner, and ombudsman in three separate administrations. He'll be there by your side, every step of the way."

For the second time that day, Venkman was speechless. Auditor? Ombudsman? All the dozens of schemes that had flooded his mind in the past ten seconds were evaporating just as quickly.

But he recovered fast. There might still be a way out of this.

Venkman threw a slimy arm around Milken and steered him away from the crowd. "Y'know, Gary," he said, "I'm  sure Sid's great. He seems very talented, and that hairdo - well, what can I say? It's a chick magnet. But if you want to build this campaign as an alternative to the usual politicians and party line, maybe it would be better to go with someone who has less experience."

Milken's eyes narrowed with interest. "What would you suggest?"

"Someone fresh - unsullied by the machinations of the political machine. Someone who could spend time focusing on this big, beautiful city instead of all the nitty-gritty little details. Someone who wouldn't get thrown by new ideas, just because they're not the way things have always been done."

"Hey, what's going on? Winston had a puzzled look as he came back up from the basement.

"Someone," Venkman said, "like him."

Milken studied Winston for a moment, considering the point. "Hmmm...two Ghostbusters," he said, mulling it over.

"But people don't vote for deputy mayor," said one of the well-dressed men behind him. "It's an appointed position."

"True," said another. "But we play up the idea. With Peter Venkman, you don't just get one man, you get a team. Two local heroes for the price of one."

"Interesting," said a third.

The second man consulted a file folder. "He's got a nice background. Former Special Forces, Strategic Air Command training... There's the whole military hero/served his country angle."

"He could bring in the minority vote," said a third.

"Now, wait a minute..." said Sid.

"Huh?" said Winston.

"It's unconventional," said Milken.

"I'd say 'unconventional' is what you were going for when you decided to recruit me," Venkman replied.

"True," said Milken. "I can't can't say that the conventional approaches have paid off very well for us in the past eighty years." He gave Venkman a confident nod, and shook Winston's hand. "Mister Zeddemore, welcome to the team."

"Huh?" said Winston.

"Now, we'd better let you get to that shower," Milken told Venkman. "You've got a lot of work ahead of you. We'll be in touch."

Venkman saw them off with a flurry of waves, handshakes, and friendly slaps on the back.

"Huh?" said Winston.

Janine and Louis just stood there, stunned by the whole spectacle.

Ray and Egon walked in from the basement, carrying armfuls of now-empty traps

"Did we miss anything?" asked Ray.

CHAPTER 5

Even back in the days when the Ghostbusters' headquarters was still a fire station, the block had rarely been host to such excitement. The Mayor stood in front of the large bay doors, flanked by the Ghostbusters and his usual entourage. Beyond them was the crowd of reporters, with their microphones, cameras, and broadcast vans. Beyond that, the crowd multiplied with curious onlookers who'd been drawn by either the media circus, the rumors of the morning's events, or just a bit of free entertainment and a chance to sneak into the background on the TV news.

"...another piece of evidence," the Mayor was saying, "Of the effectiveness of our campaign against quality of afterlife crimes. I'm especially glad to announce the safe rescue of these children, without the loss of a single life. As you all know, I have always been devoted to promoting the well-being of our children, because children are our future."

The Mayor wrapped up his statement. "That's about it. So, if there are any questions... ?"

A flurry of hands went up among the crowd of press people. "Does this mean there are more of these things in the sewers?" one asked.

"We haven't seen any signs of it. Still, in the interest of public safety, I've ordered the DPW to check every sewer drain throughout the five boroughs. They expect to finish the job in under five months."

"Will there be any school closings for fear of future attacks?" another asked.

"No. At this point, we have no reason to think this was anything other than an isolated incident."

"Was PETA or the SPCA verified that the alligators were handled humanely?"

"I can assure you that no animals - living or dead - were harmed in this incident."

"Can we get a first-person account from one of the Ghostbusters?"

"Why, sure," said the Mayor. Boys?"

Venkman moved eagerly toward the microphones. As he passed Mayor Lapinski, the Mayor whispered an almost-friendly warning: "Remember to make me look good, now."

Venkman stepped forward and smiled for the cameras. Freshly showered and wearing a newly-pressed set of coveralls, he pulled himself up to his full height and tried his best to look every inch the hero.

"I won't lie to you. Things got a little hairy today," he said, in his most sincere voice. "But everyone came through it okay. The kids are safe, the ghosts are under wraps, and as far as these kids' families are concerned - as far as we're concerned - that's the bottom line. As long as the safety of this city is threatened, someone's going to have to put himself on the line to protect it. That battle needs to be fought right here in the streets, and it needs to be fought from the highest offices in City Hall, too."

The Mayor smiled to himself. Venkman had indeed managed to find a way to bring this around to a plug for him. As tenuous as the link might have been, Venkman did it in a way that probably didn't sound too terribly strained. He still wasn't pleased about signing that lousy contract business they'd pulled, but maybe the deal was beginning to pay dividends after all.

Lapinski started to take a step forward to rejoin Venkman at the mike.

"That's why," Venkman told the reporters, "I've decided to run for the office of Mayor of the greatest city in the world, that tarnished but beautiful lady - New York City!"

The crowd exploded into chaos. There was a roar of noise as two dozen reporters shouted out questions at the same time. Flashbulbs were popping all over the place. With no warning whatsoever, a routine press conference had erupted into a major scoop.

The Mayor's jaw dropped. What did Venkman think he was doing?!

"Doctor Venkman!" shouted one of the reporters. "When did you declare your candidacy?"

"Just now," he replied with a smile. "Weren't you paying attention?"

"Doctor Venkman!" yelled another. "What ticket are you running on?"

"The New York State Independent Party, along with my good friend and future deputy mayor, Winston Zeddemore." There was another flurry of flashbulbs as Winston waved, a little awkwardly, to the cameras.

"How do you stand on public transportation?"

"Well, usually, I hold the pole in my left hand," Venkman said, "To keep me steady when the train stops."

"Do you think you can win?"

"I wouldn't be doing this if I thought I'd lose."

Venkman gestured for the newspeople to settle down, and put his sincere face back on. "Let's get serious here for a minute, people. Yes, I am a candidate for Mayor, and yes, I am planning to win. I think the people of this fine city are tired of putting up with the same old political machine. I think they're ready for new blood and a new attitude. I think they're ready for someone who won't play politics - who'll do what it takes to get the job done."

"Doctor Venkman!"

"Doctor Venkman!"

The Mayor finally managed to push his way to the front and place himself between Venkman and the crowd. He forced a smile. "Sorry, boys. That's all we have time for."

"Gee, I can hang out for a while," said Venkman. "I don't have anywhere to go."

Lapinski turned toward him, the forced smile still on his lips. But his eyes weren't smiling. "Some of us have cities to run. And some of us should be off chasing ghosts."

"Mister Mayor!" called one of the reporters. "How do you feel about Doctor Venkman's candidacy?"

"Well, boys, I always enjoy a little competition. Maybe one of these days, I'll find some."

The reporters chuckled appreciatively.

"I'm always in favor of people trying to improve themselves. Unfortunately, I think Doctor Venkman will find that the people of New York are smart enough to value the voice of experience... and a mayor who knows what he's doing. You can't fix the school board with a ray gun."

"Still," he continued, "That's one of the great things about America - anyone can run for office, no matter how unqualified they are. I'll offer Doctor Venkman my deepest condolences later, after the voters have spoken. But in the meantime, at least, it looks like we've got us a horse race!"

Lapinski shook Venkman's hand for the cameras. As the photographers snapped away, capturing the moment for posterity, he muttered under his breath, "I'll break you for this."

"Arnie," Venkman muttered back, "did anyone ever tell you that you're cute when you're desperate?"

"He announced?! How could he announce?" Ted Golden paced back and forth in Milken's richly paneled office, gesturing wildly. "He - he's not even on the ballot yet! I'm still working on his message points!"

Milken sat back in the chair behind his desk, watching an all-news channel. He took in the live feed of the press conference with satisfaction. "Relax, Ted," he said. "This is a minor hiccup at most. There's no real harm done."

"Relax? No harm done? Five minutes into this campaign, and he's already a loose cannon!"

"That unpredictability is part of the idea, remember? He's not a politician. Besides..." Milken pointed at the television screen, which showed a close-up of Mayor Lapinski. Milken could almost see the veins bulging in his forehead. "Isn't it worth it to see all of this happen during Lapinski's own press conference?"

Golden stopped pacing for a moment and looked at the screen. A smile almost crossed his lips. But then he threw his arms up with a growl that was a mixture of frustration and resignation. "I'd better go finish those message points before he gets into even bigger trouble." He stalked out of the office, shaking his head.

Milken studied the image of Venkman and Lapinski on the television screen. This could work - they might actually win this thing. Venkman and Zeddemore's celebrity could carry the day more effectively than talent or experience ever could. Voters liked the image of someone strong enough to protect them.

But the election wasn't over yet. In fact, it had hardly begun. While the candidates might be the public face of the campaign, there was an awful lot that still had to be done behind the scenes.

Milken switched off the television, rose from his desk, and walked down the hall to a large open area where a handful of aides sat at desks making phone calls. Campaign manager John Fielding was crouched over one of the desks, giving instructions to the aide who was sitting there.

"How are we doing?" Milken asked the room in general.

"Great," Fielding replied. "I sent an aide over to file the initial paperwork on Venkman and Zeddemore. Fortunately, we already had the campaign finance report done, so we just had to fill in their names. I take it you heard that Venkman announced?"

"I heard something to that effect, yes."

Fielding grinned. "Did you see Lapinski's reaction?"

"I enjoyed every minute of it. How are we doing on the petitions?" In order to get their candidates on the ballot, they were going to have to get more than seven thousand people to sign the necessary petition.

One of the aides covered the mouthpiece of his phone so that she could answer. "Amazing. It's only been a few minutes, but the volunteers from the field have been calling in to say they've got three hundred signatures already."

"Impressive. How are they doing it so fast?"

"Strategic placement," said Fielding. "We got a few dozen just by sending them over to that school with the alligators during pick-up time. Another hundred from the crowd at the Mayor's press conference."

Milken smiled at the irony of that.

"The rest I'd already sent out to places where I figured people would want to see a couple of Ghostbusters in City Hall. Movie theaters showing action films. Science fiction book stores. Places like that. And we haven't even started on the boroughs yet."

"Excellent. At this rate, it's conceivable that we might even be able to file the petitions by next week."

"Meanwhile, Stu's working the unions, trying to drum up support there. Ted's working on message points."

"So I've heard."

"I'm drafting a first pass on their platform. And we've got Venkman and Zeddemore coming in tomorrow for photos and the start of their training."

Milken clapped him on the shoulder. "Great work. We're on our way."

*     *     *

It had been a rough rehearsal that afternoon. The piece itself wasn't particularly difficult. It wasn't the sort of thing that a roomful of beginners could handle, but the New York Philharmonic had performed music that was far more complex. No, what made it rough for Dana was the fact that she had spent at least an extra hour trying to deal with a perfectionist conductor and a first oboe with a head cold.

The longer-than-usual session meant that Dana was late for picking up her son Oscar from day care. It would have been nice if she could have called Peter, or even Janine, and asked one of them to get Oscar for her. But Dana still hadn't started returning Peter's calls yet, so doing something like that probably would have caused more problems that it would have solved. It also would have been nice if she could have asked Oscar's father to take care of his son. But the last she'd heard, her ex was off on an extended tour of Europe, performing a series of one-man minimalist symphonies.

Fortunately, it wasn't the first time that work was going to keep a parent from getting to the day care center on time. A quick call, and one of the assistant teachers assured her that it would be no problem to keep him for the extra time. Of course, it also got her yelled at by the conductor for taking valuable time to make the call, but it was a small price for a mother to pay.

By the time Dana was finally released, ran crosstown to get Oscar, stopped off for groceries, and caught a subway home, it was already well into dinnertime - and she hadn't even begun to cook yet. With Oscar in one arm and a couple of bags of groceries in the other, Dana fumbled her keys free from her bag and somehow managed to open the door. Oscar wasn't exactly crying at the moment, but he was hungry enough to be pretty grumpy by now.

"Eat. Want eat."

"l know, kiddo, I know. I want to eat, too. Just another minute," she told him, bouncing him up and down as she spoke in an unnaturally happy tone. "We're home. Here we are. I'll give you some dinner in a minute, okay? Okay."

Swooping through the apartment, she set the groceries down on the kitchen counter, dropped Oscar into his high chair, returned to the living room to shrug off her coat and toss it over the arm of a chair, and hit the button on her answering machine on her way back to the kitchen.

There was a beep, and a familiar, filtered voice filled the apartment. "Dana, it's your mother. When is that adorable grandson of mine coming for a visit? Not to mention that boyfriend of yours. Not that I'm pushing, dear, but you're still not getting any younger. Well, call me."

Another beep. "Hi, it's Peter. Call number seventeen. I'm a dope. But a cute one. Please call back. 'Bye."

Dana rummaged through the refrigerator. There had to be something she could give Oscar that didn't have to be made fresh. She picked up a half-empty container of leftover dim sum and considered it briefly. Nah, he'd never touch it.

Beep.
"Number eighteen. Did I mention I'm a jerk? Please call. 'Bye."

Beep.
"Me again. You've really gotta call me. I've got some big news this time. You're not going to believe it. Call me, okay?"

Dana smiled and shook her head as she continued to dig through the fridge.
Right, big news,
she thought. Probably
"We belong together."
Bologna? A half- eaten stuffed cabbage? She was starting to seriously consider feeding Oscar chocolate for dinner when she spotted the perfect thing.

Beep.
"Hello, Dana. This is Egon Spengler speaking. Peter would like me to tell you that he truly does have important news to share with you, and that I... What was it?... Right. And that I am serving as an independent third party to verify that this isn't some cheap scam to get you on the phone. Please call him so we can get this over with. Thank you."

Despite herself, she smiled. As she dropped some leftover pasta onto the tray of Oscar's highchair and blew a stray lock of hair off her face, Dana wondered whether she'd been too hasty with Peter. Not just because she could use an extra pair of hands to help with her errands, but because enough time had passed to let her cool off and remind herself that it was true - he really was kind of cute.