Readings

My hopes that they wouldn't return vanished once they approached the table promptly at 9:30. Smiling, the large man walked directly up to me. “Pardon me sir. I do hope you remember my friend and I from earlier this evening?” I admitted that I did. “Good! Would it now be possible for us to gain the access we discussed at that time?”

I was torn. On the one hand, if they were ghost hunters, I was against their profession on principle. On the other hand, they were being very polite about this. There wasn't a crowd lined up like there had been before so it shouldn't be quite the pain to move the table to the side for a moment. “You're not going to try and get in the exhibit or anything like that?” I checked.

“Not at all!” he enthused. “Why, that's the furthest things from our minds. We just want to take a few readings with our equipment and make some observations.”

Cautiously I continued. “I just don't want to get into trouble for letting you in and then you break something.”

The large man dismissed this concern with a wave. “We shall be as cautious as cats. The last thing we wish to do is cause you any trouble. Isn't that right Larry?”

Apparently Larry was the thinner member of the two as he replied “Exactly right Harry.”

I'm a chump and I know it. I let them in. Sandy helped me shift the table enough so that Harry could squeeze his bulk through. Larry loped in without incident.

It's not so much that I didn't trust them but I accompanied them to the display case. Okay, I did accompany them because I didn't completely trust them. That's not a bad thing. Being concerned is often a wise choice.

Most of the display cases in this little section are set up to reflect a dwelling place in Morocco. The one side holds kitchen ware, another clothes. We headed for the 'living room' area with the long couches and tables that fold out to reveal backgammon boards. Ornate lamps flicker as they illuminate the sole occupant of the display, a fez wearing mannequin. “Him?” I checked.

“Yes sir,” Harry replied.

“Interesting,” I stated. “I have heard some stories about activity here but didn't realize they surrounded him.”

Larry rummaged around in the messenger bag he carried with him. Calmly he extracted a device that to my eyes resembled an electrical outlet box with a fork sticking out of the top. Harry quickly grew frustrated. Slapping it away, he declared “Not that one! The Ectoplasmic Frequency Indicator.” Larry stared at him dully, prompting Harry to continue with “The EPFI!” This did nothing to help Larry. “The one in slot five!” This did the trick and Larry returned to the bag.

With the return of his warm, face compressing smile, Harry returned his attention to me. “Yes sir, this is the gentleman right here.” An elaborate finger gesture directed my attention back to the mannequin and the fez. “As I understand it, the model for it was a former director of this establishment that met an untimely end. Most tragic indeed sir. It is this end coupled with the likeness that tethers the ghost here.” Larry now handed over a device that reminded me of the old electronic handheld football game I used to play with a small antenna on the top. This pleased Harry. After politely excusing himself, Harry activated the device. Carefully, methodically, he passed it around the window, monitoring the display constantly.

Harry's smile grew more intense. He chuckled. Energetically he tapped Larry on the shoulder, getting his attention while knocking him about. “The notepad! Get the notepad!” Harry directed.

Calmly Larry returned his attention to the messenger bag, sorting through the items within to locate the notepad in question. He attempted to hand it to Harry. “No, no, no. I'll read off the numbers and you write them down.” Larry opened the pad while Harry excitedly recited the findings from his screen.

Once the flow from Harry had ceased, he turned to observe Larry. His energetic happiness twisted to frustration at seeing Larry standing there. Harry's voice remained calm as he asked “Did you write any of that down?”

Larry had little to say. “No.”

“And why not?” Harry demanded.

“Cause I haven't got a pencil,” was the logical reply.

Harry's patience began to crack. At an increased volume, he wondered “Well, where is it?”

“I think it's in the bag somewhere.”

This was too much for Harry. “Why didn't you get it when you got the notepad?”

“You didn't say to get the pencil, you only said to get the notepad.” Larry's voice grew higher and higher pitched until it turned into a non-communicative squeak. Harry grumbled and huffed while Larry continued to nervously squeak.

I love pockets. I love having handy items in those pockets. An interior jacket pocket of mine held a mechanical pencil. I quickly removed it and primed the lead for use. “Pencil?” I asked as I offered it.

Once again, Harry's mood changed when dealing with me. “That's very kind of you sir.” Delicately he plucked it from my grasp and handed it to Larry. “See? He's prepared. He has a pencil.”

“Has he got a pad?” Larry wondered.

While trying not to rub it in, my hand dipped back into my interior jacket pocket. “Actually, I do.”

This made Harry strangely calm. It was clear to me that he was upset with Larry but chose to express it as disappointment rather than hoping up and down or yelling. “You see that? He knows that a pencil and a pad go together. Everybody knows that. It's common sense. If you have a pad to write on, you must have something that will write on it. Why couldn't you see that?”

For a long moment, Larry was quiet. “I could have had a pen.”

Harry slapped his forehead before giving Larry a Look. “Just write down the numbers.”

This time he did.