Chapter Three

I checked my watch and saw that I had half an hour to get back to my office. My midday appointment with Mrs. Florence had snuck up on me, I’d spent the past few hours shopping and having lunch which used up the majority of my funds. The last thing I needed now was to be late to one of my few appointments and have the customer cancel because of it. I really needed to work on my time management, or better yet, start shopping on my side of town. Why couldn’t the good coffee house with the delicious bagels be closer to home?

The traffic was, mercifully, fairly light, which made my next task much easier. People always the think the fact that I can talk to ghosts to be my special ability, but I find my talent for getting changed in a moving car far more impressive. I managed to handle the car with my knees as I shrugged out of my old brown leather jacket and slipped on my suit. The next few minutes was a whir of limbs and clothes as I managed to remove my jeans and replace them with my slacks. By the time I’d reached my office, I was just doing the finishing touches on my tie. I’d made it, and with time to spare.

As I unlocked the door and let myself in, I found myself face to face with Eric. This wasn’t unusual, though the fact that he didn’t try to startle me with a ‘Boo!’ was a little odd.

“You have a visitor.” Eric said in way of greeting.

“Mrs. Florence? But she isn’t due-“

“It is assuredly not Mrs. Florence.” Eric interrupted.

“The door was locked.” I said, more to myself than my spiritual associate.

“That didn’t seem to faze him.” Eric replied. The worry must have shown on my face, because he added, “He isn’t armed. I checked.”

The light in my office was on, and I could see a silhouette moving about through the stained glass on the door. The fact that he was unarmed apparently made me feel secure, as my apprehension turned to anger as I swung open the office door.

“Oh.” I sighed; fear quickly evaporating and turning to slight annoyance. Standing with his back to my desk was a man of average height, average build and a practiced smile. The only reason he stood out was the fact that his suit was of obvious quality and made my shabby one look sad in comparison. Though I’d never seen the man before, I knew he was from P. L Delilah. Call it instinct.

“Good morning, Mr. Hawkins.” He greeted me in a toneless voice. I wasn’t used to being called Mr. Hawkins, even the police at the station knew me as Josh.

“I’m pretty sure I locked my door when I left this morning.” I said lightly, masking my annoyance. In response, the man simply held up a small key.

“Skeleton key,” I remarked. “Clever.”

The suit nodded and slipped the small unassuming key into his breast pocket. “My name is Lawrence Porter,” the man began, “I’m from P. L Delilah. You’ve heard of us.” It wasn’t a question.

This wasn’t the first time P.L Delilah had approached me, but it was the first time they’d resorted to breaking into my office to do so. I hadn’t realized they wanted me on staff so badly. “Of course. I’ve met a few of your crew.”

“I’ve been sent here to offer you a job.”

“Hold on a sec, I’m having a case of déjà vu.”

“I realize this isn’t the first time we have made this offer.”

“Fourth, in fact.” I added helpfully, holding up four fingers.

“We’re prepared to offer you a great deal more than before.”

“Not interested.” I replied, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have an appointment...” I said, looking at my watch.

“No, you don’t.” Lawrence said calmly as he slipped a folded piece of paper onto my desk. “This is the figure we’re prepared to offer.”

“What do you mean I don’t? I have an-“ I stopped myself mid sentence. Of course, the good people at P. L Delilah had resorted to stealing my customers. It was a bad time for small business.

“The offer; Think it over.” With that, Lawrence Porter breezed past me and left the office, leaving me with only a piece of paper and bitter anger. I knew there had been a reason for the lack in business, but I hadn’t expected such dirty business practices.

I made my way over to my desk and sat down heavily on my swivel chair which bounced slightly under the weight. My desk was covered with manila folders, loose papers and two empty coffee mugs. I usually kept my desk neat and respectable, but I’d been too distracted and busy to straighten it out recently. The slip of paper Lawrence had left behind was sitting directly in front of me, almost tauntingly.

“Are you going to look at that?” Eric had appeared on the other side of my desk.

“I don’t really want to.” I admitted. “At this point, I might actually take the money and run.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Eric countered.

I sighed, picked up the paper and twirled it between my finders absentmindedly. The thought of having to give up my office, home and the business I’d built filled me with apprehension and a tingle of relief. Even I had to admit that making more money and not having to constantly worry about income would make life that much easier. It’s what any intelligent person would do, but nobody ever accused me of being an intellectual. Without allowing myself to think about it further, I ripped the paper in half and dropped the pieces into the trashcan under my desk.

“Good choice.” Eric said, and I thought I caught a glimpse of a smile on his features before he vanished. The dead were far more supportive of us underachievers than the living. Then again, they didn’t have living expenses.

I’d just finished up with my last customer when I remembered I had plans for dinner with my brother and his wife. Mr. Belmont, who’d just talked to his recently deceased daughter, silently handed me a cheque and left my office when I realized I hadn’t bothered to prepare anything to take with me. To be fair, my cooking was about as good as Mr. Lawrence’s people skills had been, but I knew etiquette dictated I bring something with me so as not to be shunned by those high society types. With a gruntish sigh I looked in my wallet and decided that, if I skipped a meal tomorrow, I could afford to buy a bottle of wine. Josh Hawkins, class all the way, baby.

After a quick stop at a small connivance store and picking up the classiest bottle of cheap wine I could find I made my way out of downtown and found myself in the slightly nicer area of the city. My brother and his wife weren’t rich, but they were able to afford a nice place in a wholesome little suburb, the kind of place they show on television that’s perfect for raising children. Funnily enough, I’ve never encountered the image of fresh faced kids flying kites by the lake, but I suppose the advertisements wouldn’t be quite as effective if they showed little Johnny sitting in his room playing video games.

The sun had set by the time I reached my brothers neighbourhood, which made the flashing blue and red lights really stand out in the darkness. I hoped, I may have even prayed that the police lights were from the house next to Rich’s. I couldn’t make out what was happening and the road was blocked off, so I jumped out of the car (still absurdly holding on to the cheap wine) and ran towards the scene. There were three police cars, an ambulance and yellow tape surrounding my brother’s house. By the time my feet had stopped moving I found myself standing behind the yellow tape. I attempted to step over the tape but a uniform restrained me until I heard a voice, Brooks maybe, call out that I was okay, I was Rich’s brother. Suddenly I was granted access to the crime scene, though I had no idea what the crime was.

It wasn’t until an officer, I knew his name but couldn’t remember it at the time, led me into the house that I finally let go of the wine. The bottle broke at my feet, staining my shoes and pants with dark red liquid.