The C.J. Henderson MEGAPACK ®. C.J. Henderson

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      “Sweet as ever, ain’t ya?”

      “Oh, don’t crawl up my ass; I’ve got all the shit I can handle today, and this job is half of it.”

      “You’re not a happy man, are you, Frank?”

      Madame Renee reached out to touch the detective on the cheek but he ducked the contact, his glower showing open hostility. ”Look, “he told her curtly, “we’re here to de-ghost this dump, and as stupid as I feel about this nonsense, a job is still a job. Mark told me you’ve got the checklist, so, if you do, then let’s get to it. The faster we prove the Ghostly Trio isn’t hiding up the chimney, the faster we get to go home.”

      With a shrug, the madame sighed and pulled out the official Nardi Security Occult Clearance Form from the large carpet bag she seemed to always keep with her. Without trying again to lighten the mood, she simply started calling off routines and posing questions while Nardi poked, prodded, and peeled back this and that part of the old house. Between them they searched every room for cold spots, listened carefully to each wall with their stethoscopes, made certain a mirror would reflect light in every room, and tested the air on every floor to make certain no unwanted chemicals, smells, gases or aromas were present.

      They set up motion detectors in every passageway and sound-trigger tape recorders in every room. Powder was sprinkled around doorways and across table tops and mantlepieces to record the motion of any invisible forces. Hairs were secured across the doors of cupboards and the drawers of dressers with nothing more than a finger smear of saliva. If anything with the slightest physical presence moved within the old house outside the living room where Madame Renee and Nardi would be camped out for the night, it would be known.

      The madame, of course, had her own bag of tricks to perform. She rolled her bones, did an open reading with the tarot deck she had made herself, and set herself to staring into the crystal shard she used for focus to reach out beyond herself to bind herself with the house’s aura—searching for unwanted visitors. After that, as Nardi went room by room, setting his machines and traps, she pulled back into herself, and then opened her own aura to the building and to all and any that might be within it. Reaching deep within herself, she peeled back the layers of modern life, of concern over her daughter’s college expenses, moved past the aches and pains a body some one hundred and sixty pounds past its medically approved weight-for-its-height felt constantly, dug down inward until she had found the pure essence of her inner being and revealed it completely and utterly.

      By the end of the night the pair were utterly exhausted—Nardi from covering the old place attic to basement as well as every room of the three floors in between, Renee from having thrown herself open past all boundaries. She had poured her soul and heart into every bit of wire and plaster and mahogany the old home had to offer, placing herself out before it, helpless and beckoning, and had received nothing for her efforts.

      This fact confused her greatly.

      “What are you talkin’ about?” asked Nardi. The detective desperately wanted to fall back into the recliner he had chosen as his bed and shut his eyes, but a job was a job and so he coaxed the woman further.

      “Com’on, spill it.”

      Renee propped herself up on the couch with one of her massively fleshy elbows. Staring at Nardi, knowing he did not believe in anything they were doing, she struggled to find a way to voice her concern. Finally, she simply told him what was on her mind.

      “Listen, I don’t want to go around and around with you on this, so I’ll just say it. I did several readings of the house before we got started—future glances, stability predictions—that kind of stuff. It’s the low end of what I do for one of these things. Then I fired off the big guns, really put myself out there, bared my soul, big irresistible hunk of ectoplasm for anything nasty in the area and…I didn’t get a bite.”

      “Disappointed?”

      “No, you Italian shit. If you had a soul that could be touched by anything you’d know I was more than earning my fee here. If this was a spirit shanty, I would’ve paid a price, believe me.”

      “Then I don’t get it,” answered the detective honestly, stifling a yawn. “What’s the problem?”

      “The problem is that something should have come for me.” When Nardi said nothing, she continued, explaining, “those early readings I did, they said this place is, I don’t know, that something’s going to happen here. Something…nasty, maybe, I don’t know. I couldn’t get a good sense of it. I didn’t worry about it, because I figured I’d find something later that would point the way to the truth. But, the more we checked the place out the cleaner it seemed to get.”

      “And this is bad?”

      “No; it’s just confusing.” Taking a tiny bit of pity on his temporary partner, and also knowing that placating her would allow him to get some sleep, he said:

      “Look, we’re just here to do a job. If we don’t turn up anything more, then that’s what we tell the too-rich pair of country club snots who bought this museum. We give ’em the bad with the good, tip our hats, and we leave.”

      “I know,” Renee answered. “It’s just that I met the wife. She’s young. She’s in love. She’s,” the sizable woman paused for a moment, then found the word for which she was looking.

      “She’s nice. I don’t want to just take their money. Not this time. Am I making any sense to you?”

      Franklin Nardi did not like to reveal much about himself, especially to women. But, he was not heartless, and he let Madame Renee know that he did indeed understand her concern. He also told her that, tired as they were, if there was anything in this house waiting to play with their minds, this was the time they would do it.

      “We both came extra tired. That’s the deal. Our systems are as weakened as they can get without us bein’ sick or something. We’re as vulnerable as can be. If nothing bites our asses tonight, and we don’t find any reactions in the morning, will you be happy?”

      “Heavens,” the large woman answered. “I’ve heard concern in the voice of Franklin Nardi. Why, I’m happy already.”

      The detective simply reached over and turned off the lights as Madame Renee chuckled softly.

      * * * *

      Despite his fatigue, from a long evening on top of a long day on top of a week where he had already worked two double shifts, Frankie Nardi could not sleep. Renee’s words had stayed with him. As much as he was willing to trade quips with the woman, he respected her as a professional. To him, her tarot readings and the such were the hard evidence of her line of work. Opening herself up to her surroundings was subjective.

      If her hard evidence told her one thing, and her subjective evidence told her another, he was wondering exactly what was wrong.

      Did she just do a bad reading? Three different types? All wrong? Was that possible?

      Nardi drummed the fingers of his left hand against the handrest of his recliner. Wide awake, he worried more and more over the problem before him. Although he did not like the de-ghosting part of his agency’s business, it was not because he did not believe in the supernatural. No NYC cop lasted twenty years without hearing about the Zarnak files, the Thorner case loads, old Tommy Malone…

      “Damnit.”

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