tonight’s calls,” she replied, passing them a bundle of work orders. Stantz shuffled through them, sorting them by way of distance and difficulty.
“Rats, Peter. We’ve got two more free-roaming repeaters here.”
“And this is Winston Zeddemore. He came about the job.”
“You’re black!” Stantz said delightedly.
“Yes, I know.”
“No, you see that certain forms of vapors, particularly the later types of cyclical roamers, respond better to black people.” He stuck out his hand. “Ray Stantz, and this is Peter Venkman.”
“Hi.”
“Come on back into the equipment area, Winston, and I’ll show you just what it is that we do here.”
Ah, Zeddemore thought. At last I’m going to find out the real skinny. Stantz was leafing through his resume.
“Very impressive. Strategic Air Command ECM school . . . black belt in karate . . . small-arms expert . . . as far as I’m concerned, Mr. Zeddemore, you’re hired. Now, as you may have heard, we locate ghosts and spirits, trap them with streams of concentrated quantum energy, and remove them from people’s homes, offices, and places of worship.”
“Yeah, I heard that,” Zeddemore replied, following Stantz down into the basement. “Now tell me what you really do.”
Venkman was still standing by the desk, reading through the work orders. He calculated the rising demand for their services against the projections Spengler had made regarding approaching PKE peaks. Yeah, we’ll definitely need help. Better hire the Zeddemore guy, and see about digging up another ambulance. He looked up. Janine was staring at him impatiently. “You say something?”
“I said that someone from the EPA is here to see you.”
What now? “The EPA? What’s he want?”
“I didn’t ask him. All I know is that I haven’t had a break in two weeks and you promised that you’d hire more help.”
“Janine, I’m sure a woman with your qualifications would have no trouble finding a topflight job in the housekeeping or food service industries.” He wandered back toward his office.
“Oh, really? I’ve quit better jobs than this one, believe me.”
Standing in his office was the tallest, thinnest man Venkman had ever seen. He sported a fashionably trimmed red-blond beard and was dressed in a beautifully tailored three-piece suit. Venkman disliked him on sight. Another nasal-spray type.
“Can I help you?”
The man tore himself away from the collection of news clippings that Stantz had been tacking to the wall since they had started, and smiled. Venkman didn’t like his smile either. Something of the predator in it, like a ferret or weasel.
“I’m Walter Peck. I represent the Environmental Protection Agency, third district.”
“Great! How’s it going?”
Venkman grabbed his hand and shook it warmly, managing to leave a large smear of ectoplasm on the man’s suit. Peck looked at the slime with barely disguised disgust. Venkman shook his head sadly.
“Sorry about that. Holy water takes that right out.”
“Holy water?”
“Right. What can I do for you?”
Peck looked him in the eyes and Venkman realized that the man wasn’t especially tall, just thin. “Are you Peter Venkman?”
“Yes, I’m Doctor Venkman.”
Peck stared at Venkman’s soiled jumpsuit. “Exactly what are you a doctor of, Mr. Venkman?”
Venkman indicated the rank of framed diplomas behind the desk. Admittedly most of them belonged to Egon and Ray. “I have Ph.D.s in psychology and parapsychology.”
“I see,” Peck replied snidely. “And now you catch ghosts.”
“You could say that,” Venkman said, plopping himself down into his stuffed chair. Peck took a seat across the desk from him.
“And how many ghosts have you caught, Mr Venkman?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“And where do you keep those ghosts once you catch them?”
“In a storage facility.”
“And would this storage facility be located on these premises?”
“Yes, it would.”
“And may I
“Rats, Peter. We’ve got two more free-roaming repeaters here.”
“And this is Winston Zeddemore. He came about the job.”
“You’re black!” Stantz said delightedly.
“Yes, I know.”
“No, you see that certain forms of vapors, particularly the later types of cyclical roamers, respond better to black people.” He stuck out his hand. “Ray Stantz, and this is Peter Venkman.”
“Hi.”
“Come on back into the equipment area, Winston, and I’ll show you just what it is that we do here.”
Ah, Zeddemore thought. At last I’m going to find out the real skinny. Stantz was leafing through his resume.
“Very impressive. Strategic Air Command ECM school . . . black belt in karate . . . small-arms expert . . . as far as I’m concerned, Mr. Zeddemore, you’re hired. Now, as you may have heard, we locate ghosts and spirits, trap them with streams of concentrated quantum energy, and remove them from people’s homes, offices, and places of worship.”
“Yeah, I heard that,” Zeddemore replied, following Stantz down into the basement. “Now tell me what you really do.”
Venkman was still standing by the desk, reading through the work orders. He calculated the rising demand for their services against the projections Spengler had made regarding approaching PKE peaks. Yeah, we’ll definitely need help. Better hire the Zeddemore guy, and see about digging up another ambulance. He looked up. Janine was staring at him impatiently. “You say something?”
“I said that someone from the EPA is here to see you.”
What now? “The EPA? What’s he want?”
“I didn’t ask him. All I know is that I haven’t had a break in two weeks and you promised that you’d hire more help.”
“Janine, I’m sure a woman with your qualifications would have no trouble finding a topflight job in the housekeeping or food service industries.” He wandered back toward his office.
“Oh, really? I’ve quit better jobs than this one, believe me.”
Standing in his office was the tallest, thinnest man Venkman had ever seen. He sported a fashionably trimmed red-blond beard and was dressed in a beautifully tailored three-piece suit. Venkman disliked him on sight. Another nasal-spray type.
“Can I help you?”
The man tore himself away from the collection of news clippings that Stantz had been tacking to the wall since they had started, and smiled. Venkman didn’t like his smile either. Something of the predator in it, like a ferret or weasel.
“I’m Walter Peck. I represent the Environmental Protection Agency, third district.”
“Great! How’s it going?”
Venkman grabbed his hand and shook it warmly, managing to leave a large smear of ectoplasm on the man’s suit. Peck looked at the slime with barely disguised disgust. Venkman shook his head sadly.
“Sorry about that. Holy water takes that right out.”
“Holy water?”
“Right. What can I do for you?”
Peck looked him in the eyes and Venkman realized that the man wasn’t especially tall, just thin. “Are you Peter Venkman?”
“Yes, I’m Doctor Venkman.”
Peck stared at Venkman’s soiled jumpsuit. “Exactly what are you a doctor of, Mr. Venkman?”
Venkman indicated the rank of framed diplomas behind the desk. Admittedly most of them belonged to Egon and Ray. “I have Ph.D.s in psychology and parapsychology.”
“I see,” Peck replied snidely. “And now you catch ghosts.”
“You could say that,” Venkman said, plopping himself down into his stuffed chair. Peck took a seat across the desk from him.
“And how many ghosts have you caught, Mr Venkman?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“And where do you keep those ghosts once you catch them?”
“In a storage facility.”
“And would this storage facility be located on these premises?”
“Yes, it would.”
“And may I
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