Tansy Taylor (12 page)

“Uh, okay.” I flashed him one of my goofy smiles and waved goodbye as he vacated the booth.

“You are such a softie!” Callie was cleaning up Sam’s glass and gave me a playful shoulder jab before turning and heading back to her station.

“Am not!” I said, more to myself than to anyone. Who was I kidding, I was totally crushing. It was a sad thing when an independent single twenty-something woman could be reduced to a puddle of drool with one wink of an eye from a good looking man.

I left Callie a huge tip, since she insisted that the shake was on the house. I wasn’t sure what to do next, unemployment was a new experience. I decided to wander around the neighborhood for a bit while I waited for Callie to get off work. Maybe there would be someone who hung around that had seen something the night that Buster had disappeared. I checked my purse for my pepper-spray and slid on my sunglasses.

Almost two hours, three bums, two junkies, and four ghosts later I didn’t know a whole lot more than I’d started with. I did, however, know who usually hung out around the dealership and was now on a mission to find a man called ‘Munchie’. Apparently Munchie was a frequent visitor to the dumpster at the dealership. Appropriately, he got his name because of his intense weed habit and penchant for digging though the dumpster for anything that might cure his food cravings. Of course, the dumpster at the dealership frequently had boxes of stale doughnuts in it, and therefore was frequented almost daily by Munchie.

I crept around the back of the dealership to the park. I kept a lookout for my friend, Officer Smith, just in case. I saw two homeless ladies sleeping in the bushes, a few children playing on the playground, no parent in sight, and one homeless man puffing away on some type of rolled cigarette.

I wandered nonchalantly, making my way toward the man. Soon the incriminating scent of pot crept into my senses. Immediately I had a flashback to high school and getting caught out behind the old field house. I couldn’t smell a whiff of pot to this day without having a gut reaction that included Mr. Fogarty catching Jeni and I and marching us home to tell our parents we were delinquent drug users. I hadn’t touched so much as a cigarette for the remainder of my high school career. Now however, I figured that I may have found just the man that I was looking for.

I approached slowly, but deliberately. I didn’t want to scare Munchie away. He looked up with one wary bloodshot eye; the other eye was missing, sewn shut in fact. I involuntarily paused and took a step back. I had to swallow my urge to yak, between the gruesome missing eye and the sickly sweet stench of pot, I was a tad overwhelmed.

“Whadya want?” He gripped a suspicious brown bag tight to his chest. His voice was dry and crackly and reminded me of an ancient surfer who had shared one to many tokes.

“Muchie?” I asked, sugar-coating my words. I stayed a few steps away, hands clasped behind my back, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.

“Who’re you?” Again, with the suspicious eyeball. He took a drag off the joint and leaned back against a tree, obviously savoring the high.

“My name’s Tansy. I’m a friend of Buster’s-he worked over at the dealership.” I spoke to him slowly, like I would to a three year old. I gestured toward Mr. Big’s, hoping that it would help with his recollection.

“Did ya know ya got pink hair?” He cackled like the crazy gold miner on the cartoons I used to watch growing up. I widened my smile; this guy was certifiable.

“Do you know Buster, Munchie? He worked at Mr. Bigs. He washed cars and stuff.” I pointed again in the direction of the dealership.

Munchie took the longest drag off his joint that I had ever seen. He sat there for a moment, holding the smoke in his mouth until he looked like he was going to burst, but instead of bursting; he let the smoke out in a slow controlled exhalation. He appeared to be contemplating my question. However, his eye went blank, glazed over from the weed and lack of brain function, I supposed. A tiny bead of drool formed at the corner of his mouth.

“Munchie?” I clapped my hands in front of him and he startled back to life. “You knew Buster? Did he give you food?” I was getting frustrated. He scowled at me and then took another drag off of his joint. This was going to nowhere, fast. I sat down on the curb, a ways away from Munchie, who was now rooting around in his paper sack, looking for who knows what. I tallied up what I knew. Munchie frequented the dumpster at Big’s. Buster was always helping everyone he could. Buster at some point had probably given Munchie food or some cash, or something. Munchie may or may not have been there the night that Buster was kidnapped or killed. Munchie was perpetually high. It wasn’t much that I had, basically a big circle with a question mark in it.

All of a sudden, Muchie looked like he was experiencing a moment of clarity. “Buster! Ya, he’s a nice dude. Heard he gone missing. Sad thing, that is.” He leaned back and closed his eye.

“Did you see what happened to him? Were you around the night he disappeared?” I asked, scooting slightly closer to him, hoping to give the illusion or some sense of intimacy, or at least, conspiracy. Munchie looked over at me and cocked his head, tapping his ear as if it would help to recall events.

“Ya know, I do remember hearin’ some arguin’ or something like that. That tall detective fella came around the next day asking all sorts of questions with his little flip over notepad. I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. I heard noises, sounded like arguing. Then I heard some sort of pop. I poked my head around the corner of the building and saw a huge blond guy stuffing something in the trunk of a big car. That’s it.” His moment of clarity ended and he slumped back against the tree, taking another long drag. I was speechless at his moment of lucid communication.

“What else can you tell me about the huge blond guy?” I needed to know if there was any connection to the Russian mob, this might just be the missing piece of the puzzle. I clapped my hands next to his ear and then shook him, hard.

“Nothin’. Told you. That’s it.” He closed his eye and sat in a haze of smoke. I felt like I getting a little high too, my head felt foggy and things around me seemed to be swimming. I put my head in my hands.

An icy breeze brushed over me inciting me to lift my head. There, standing in front of me was a fierce man, or rather a ghost of a man. He towered over me at-least six and a half feet tall and three feet wide at the shoulders. He had sooty black hair that covered not only his head but his face and arms. He was dressed in a pair of boxers that had little hearts and cupids all over them. I couldn’t help but let a tiny giggle escape as I took him all in. He glared at me and leaned in closer toward me. I felt all of the warm inviting air around me get sucked out-it was replaced by icy evilness. I sucked in a breath and leaned back as far as I could without tipping over.

I darted my eyes around, the only other soul around was Munchie. I didn’t suppose he would be much help when facing down an unhappy and apparently evil spirit.

“What do you want?” I asked the ghost. He hovered in front of me, still scowling, but saying nothing. His eyes were perhaps the scariest part of him. While Buster maintained the same eye color and emotion that he had in life, this man had deep black soulless eyes. I avoided looking directly at them, because when I did, it felt as though my insides were turning cold and hard. It was an odd sensation, not easy to explain, but I knew to my core that this was one evil dude.

I tried to make a getaway; scooting back on the sidewalk and then jumping to my feet. Blackeyes forced me into the brick wall of the building behind me with his iciness. He didn’t even have to touch me -it was as though he had his own personal force field that he could control. I huffed out a breath and crossed my arms.

“Are you going to tell me what you want? Or are you just going to shove me around and mess with my head?” I snorted and threw my hands up. “I’ve already had a pretty crappy day. I got fired, my hair is freakin’ pink, and I can’t find any of the bloody answers I’m looking for.” I let my hands drop to my sides-pulling my hair and waving them around hadn’t done a thing to sway him.

I took a deep breath and changed my tone from verging on psycho to deep irritation. “So, again, if you have some specific reason to be here right now, with me, please just get on with it. Frankly, I am just not in the mood!” I decided to try and call his bluff. I crossed my fingers behind my back.

Blackeyes, I decided it was a fitting name, took a step back and seemed to contemplate what exactly to do with me. He scratched his head and stuck his other hand on his hip, appraising me with his creepy eyes. He hadn’t tried to kill me, which I assumed was a good thing, although, I wasn’t sure if ghosts were technically able to kill someone. Maybe they could scare them to death? I wasn’t sure. I also figured that since this guy seemed to be able to control what I did and didn’t do, that he could in fact force me to do something, or nothing, that could result in my own death. I really didn’t want to find out, but yet, I couldn’t help but feel curious.

I glanced over at Munchie, who was now wrestling with something in his bag and was oblivious to my curious situation. I supposed hanging out on the street and in this park it wasn’t unusual to see someone talking to themselves or acting crazy, like they were being held against their will pinned against a brick wall.

I started sliding along the brick wall. I could feel the shards of brick scratching me through my shirt. If I could just make it to the corner, I thought I could make a break for it, or at least be seen by someone who might care about my welfare. I had scooted down about five inches when Blackeyes stuck his hand out in front of him and made the universal sign for stop. Maybe he wasn’t able to talk? I stopped sliding down the wall and threw up my hands in frustration.

“What.Do.You.Want.From.Me?” I stomped my foot. I was not above throwing a tantrum. One of my biggest pet peeves is poor communication.

Blackeyes motioned toward the dealership and then made a garroting motion to himself.

“You want to choke the dealership?” I asked and scratched my head. Here, the second ghost that I had actually had a conversation with, and he was playing charades. He shook his head.

He pointed to himself.

“You.” I shrugged in question. I was trapped in a horrific game of Pictionary.

He made the choking motion again, and this time fell down on the ground and let his tongue hang out of his mouth, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yes, I can see that you are dead.” Duh, he was a ghost.

He jumped up and pointed to his nose. He was very excited and was bobbing up and down in front of me. He pointed frantically to the dealership and the light bulb finally came on in my head.

“Oh! I get it! You’re the dead guy they found in the trunk at Mr. Big’s!” He started pointing to his nose again and bobbing even more frantically. I was happy that he seemed to be happy, but frankly, he was still freaking me out with his evil soulless eyes which were made even creepier when he was jumping up and down pointing to his nose, a big lock of ebony hair flopping up and down in front, a bit reminiscent of the King himself. I also had no idea why an exceptionally creepy dead dude would want to talk to me anyway, and it was making me a bit more uncomfortable that he seemed to be growing each time he got excited. I was hoping that it was something to do with Buster’s death, or at least what was going on at the dealership.

He was now about ten feet tall and glowing. I contemplated making a run for it while he was so full of excitement. I was no expert at statistical analysis but I figured that I had a pretty piss poor chance of escaping his attention and having a successful get away.

I felt a cold rush of air and looked back at him. He made a face that I could only interpret as a plea for help. He added a prayer like stance with his hands making a steeple and dropping to his knees. Yup, he needed me, and I had an idea as to why.

“Great. You want me to help figure out who killed you too?” He nodded frantically.

“He can’t leave the dealership,” I gestured over to Buster who was hovering around the edge of the dealership, looking hopeful. “Can you go over there so we can try to figure some things out?” Blackeyes nodded again vigorously.

I headed out in the direction of the dealership, glad to be anywhere but up against the brick wall. I rubbed my shoulder, which was stinging. I must have given myself some sort of brick burn while I was trying to slide my way to freedom.

Buster saw us coming and a look of apprehension crossed his face as he sized up Blackeyes. I looked around for a place that we could all talk and I wouldn’t look like a complete psycho. I also didn’t want Sam to see me. I headed toward the dumpster at the back of the dealership, which unfortunately was becoming familiar to me.

“Over here you two.” I grabbed a large piece of cardboard from the recycling bin on my way past and held it up to disguise the side of me that was facing the wash bay. Once we were behind the dumpster I used it to sit on. I presumed that we would be here a while, I just prayed that I didn’t meet any rodents this time. I drew my feet up as close to me as I could and kept my back against the building.

“Buster, this is Blackeyes; Blackeyes this is Buster. You are both ghosts and apparently you both were killed here or near here.” Blackeyes was shaking his head and pointing to himself.

“Oh, sorry, since you can’t talk and tell me your name, I gave you one. You have very dark and mysterious eyes, so I went with Blackeyes, okay?” He sat back and nodded gravely accepting the name I had chosen for him. They both sat staring at me, waiting for more. They seemed to both be about as clueless as I was.