He yanked open a cabinet drawer. Inside were at least a hundred dog-eared menus. There was everything from Chinese and Mexican cuisine to a flyer from Mr. Nut's International House of Peanut Butter and Jelly.
He strode across the loft to a door. "And the bathroom's right here," he said with a flourish. "Uh, let me just tidy up a few things."
Dana smiled. "Peter, this is very nice, but you don't have to do any of this, you know."
Venkman grinned gallantly and, slinging another trash bag over his shoulder, dashed inside. A toilet flushed. The shower ran. The sound of glass, tin, and wood could be heard tumbling into the trash bag.
Within a minute Venkman emerged, carrying a full trash bag over his shoulder. "The shower works but it's a little tricky," he advised. "Both spigots are marked 'hot.' It takes a little practice, but at least this one won't try to eat you."
Dana began to ease herself onto Venkman's ratty sofa. Venkman walked by her, the trash slung over his shoulder. "Be careful on that sofa, though. It's a butt biter."
Dana nearly leapt to her feet.
"But the bed's good." Venkman smiled. "And I just
changed the sheets, so if you get tired, feel free. In fact, I think you should definitely plan on spending the night here."
Dana offered him a crooked grin. "Really? And how would we handle the sleeping arrangements?"
Venkman dropped the second trash bag in the kitchen and pondered the problem. "Hmm. For me, it's best if I sleep on my side and you spoon up right behind me with your arms around me. If we go the other way, I'm afraid your hair will be getting in my face all night."
Dana stared at Venkman. "How about you on the sofa and me in bed with the baby?"
Venkman nodded. "Or we could do that."
"Thank you," Dana said, picking up Oscar. She cradled the baby in her arms. "Poor baby. I think I should put him down now."
Venkman walked up to them both. "I'll put him down for you."
He stared at the child. "You are way too short! And your belly button sticks out! And you're nothing but a burden to your poor mother!"
He picked up the giggling baby and carried Oscar into the bedroom.
Dana watched Venkman play daddy, and smiled.
For the first time in ages she felt relaxed.
And safe.
Very, very safe.
She savored the feeling, sensing that it wouldn't last for very long.
18
Peter Venkman paced back and forth in front of the Manhattan Museum of Art, watching the building's first horde of art lovers make their way up the front stairs toward the entrance.
He checked his watch.
The EctolA screeched to a halt in front of the curb. Stantz, Spengler, and Winston scrambled out, Winston muttering under his breath about crosstown traffic.
Venkman, clearly concerned, cornered Stantz. "Did you find anything at Dana's apartment?"
Stantz shrugged. "Nothing. Just some mood-slime residue in and around the baditub."
"But we did pay an interesting visit to Ray's bookstore this morning," Winston said, grinning.
Venkman rolled his eyes. There was nothing inter esting in Ray's bookstore if you didn't count the cock roaches.
Stantz smiled and whipped a small, dog-eared vol ume out of EctolA. "We turned up some intriguing stuff on this Vigo character you mentioned."
He held up the book. It was nearly falling apart. "I found the name Vigo the Carpathian in Leon Zundinger's Magicians, Martyrs, and Madmen. Listen to this! Egon?"
Spengler held up a photocopy or two taken from the crumbling book. " 'Vigo the Carpathian, born 1505, died 1610—'"
Venkman blinked. "A hundred and five years old? He really hung on, didn't he?"
Stantz smiled knowingly. "And he didn't die of old age, either. He was poisoned, stabbed, shot, hung, stretched, disemboweled, and drawn and quartered."
"I guess he wasn't too popular at the end there," Winston theorized.
"No," Spengler agreed. "He wasn't exactly a man of the people."
He began reading again. " Also known as Vigo the Cruel, Vigo the Torturer, Vigo the Despised, and Vigo the Unholy.'"
"This guy was a bad monkey," Stantz explained. "He dabbled in all the black arts. And listen to this prophecy: Just before his head died, his last words were: 'Death is but a door, time is but a window. I'll be back!'"
Venkman wasn't impressed. "That's it? That's all he said? 'I'll be back'?"
Spengler shrugged. "Uh, it's a rough translation from the Moldavian."
Venkman sighed. "Okay. Let's visit Viggy."
The Ghostbusters picked up their paranormal mon itoring equipment and walked up the front steps toward the museum.
Dressed in full gear, they marched through the lobby. Rudy, the security guard, stared at them in disbelief. Venkman was in the lead.
"Hey, Dr. Venkman," Rudy asked with a smile, "what's going on?"
"We're just going back to the restoration studio for a minute," Venkman replied.
Rudy frowned. "Oh, I can't let you do that. Mr. Poha left strict orders. He told me not to let you back there anymore."
Venkman stiffened. His eyebrows knitted together. He glared at Rudy in ultra mock seriousness. "Okay," he said confidentially. "We were trying to keep this quiet, but I think you can be trusted. Tell him, Ray."
Stantz walked up to Rudy and in a clipped tone announced, "Mister, you have an ecto-paritic, subfusionary flux in this building."
Rudy was aghast, although he wasn't quite sure why. "We got a flux?"
Winston strode forward. "Man, you got a flux and a half."
Rudy looked to Venkman. Venkman glanced at Stantz. Rudy shifted his gaze to Stantz. Stantz nodded grimly, raising his left hand. He began counting fingers. "Now, if you don't want to be the—one two three four—fifth person ever to die in meta-shock from a planar rift, I suggest you get down from behind that desk and don't move until we give you the signal, 'Stabilized—all clear.' "
Rudy nodded and swallowed hard. He slowly slith ered out of his chair and crouched down behind his desk, and the Ghostbusters marched back toward the restoration studio.
Inside the studio, Janosz was patiently working on the horrible portrait of Vigo the Lowlife when the Ghostbusters barged through the door. Janosz hastily tossed down his paints and brushes and rushed over to the door in an attempt to bar their entry.
"Dr. Venkman?" he blurted. "Uhh, Dana is not here."
Venkman flashed him a cool smile. "I know."
Janosz was sweating now. "Then why have you come?"
Venkman pushed the agitated artist aside. "We've got a major creep alert, and we're just going down the list. Your name was first."
Janosz stood, quivering in terror. Stantz turned to Winston and Spengler. "Let's sweep the area, boys."
The three Ghostbusters pulled out their hand-held monitoring devices and began to stroll through the studio area. Janosz was growing more and more nerv ous. Venkman sidled up to him.