Work Text:
Bust Who?
by Lucinda
:words in colons: are over a telephone.
"Winston!" Janine's voice called into the building. "I know you're back there, Winston."
"You got a call? Is there a job? Unless there's a job..." Winston grumbled, thinking that there had to be some sort of cosmic conspiracy. This was the fifth time that he'd tried to watch the movie 'Die Hard', and yet again, he was interrupted. At this rate, he'd never get to watch the whole movie through.
Shaking her head, Janine replied, "We got a call, and this one... I think you're the only one to appreciate it."
"All right then..." He grabbed one of the Proton Accelerators and a pair of traps as he made his way to the front desk. "Where am I going, and what can I expect when I get there?"
"The guy didn't give a lot of details. You're going to a guitar shop down near the river. Seems there's a ghost that shows up a bit after closing and starts moving things. Strong enough to play the guitars. Apparently, there hasn't been any property damage yet, but the guy wants the ghost taken care of." She tore a page from her notebook and handed it to him. "Here's the address, and the few details that he gave me. From the sound of it, this one manifests in something that looks like black leather."
"A ghost in black leather? Haunting a guitar shop? That's a new one." He shook his head, amazed. That didn't sound too bad, although it might depend on just what the ghost was actually doing. If the ghost was spending hours mangling Stairway to Heaven, it was getting busted as fast as possible.
Winston drove towards the place, his mind going from possibilities of the ghost's behavior to the upcoming baseball game to his last date, which had gone badly. He kept changing the radio station, looking for something other than commercials or groups pf pretty boys crooning to obsessive thirteen year old girls or whiney seventeen year old angry chicks. Finally, he found a classics station, and started to hum along with some of the great old hits.
He really didn't have too much trouble finding the place. It wasn't that he knew the area that well, but it wasn't too cluttered. He had more trouble finding a place to park than the shop. Finding the shop was actually pretty easy - it was the only one that had light shining through the windows. There was also a crowd of people assembled, all focused on the building. They were standing, swaying slightly, and several of them had tears in their eyes.
Sliding the pack on his shoulders, Winston walked towards the building. Time to figure out what was up with this ghost. As he got closer, he noticed that there were no crashes, no ghostly screams, wailings or moanings.
Just achingly familiar guitar music.
"The warden threw a party in the county jail. The prison band was there and they began to wail. The band was jumpin' and the joint began to swing. You should've heard those knocked out jailbirds sing." The ghost looked almost entirely human, just a bit translucent, and his legs became a bit fuzzy towards his feet. He was dressed in tight jeans and a black leather jacket, and his hairstyle and sideburns were unmistakable.
"Oh my God..." Winston gaped, and soon found himself swaying along with the crowd.
Eventually, someone noticed him. "Hey, aren't you one of the Ghostbusters? What are you... You're here on business, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I'm a Ghostbuster." He admitted, not seeing any way to disguise the uniform or the proton pack. "But this is one ghost that I'm not busting. Not him. It wouldn't be right."
He could see people nodding and smiling, and then they turned back to the show. It didn't look like Elvis knew the crowd was there, he just kept playing and singing. And there was the dancing, of course.
He grabbed the little phone that had become part of their standard equipment, and dialed back to the station. "Janine?"
:Winston? Is everything okay?" She sounded worried. :Is this ghost playing hard to find?"
"I'm not busting this one. Don't bother sending a bill." Winston glanced over, seeing the ghostly star put down the blue guitar and pick up a red one.
:Why not? Is there something wrong with the equipment? Egon just recalibrated the proton packs...:
"It's not the equipment. Just listen." Winston aimed the phone at the store, knowing that the sound would carry.
The King started to play again, the mournful song reducing more of the crowd to tears. "Well, since my baby left me, I found a new place to dwell. It's down at the end of lonely street at Heartbreak Hotel. "
Returning the phone to his ear, he spoke softly. "Do you understand now? I can't bust him. He's here, playing, singing."
:I understand.: Her voice was thick, and she sniffled a little. :Put the phone back up, please?:
He stood there, just listening for over an hour. All of them were entranced, and he couldn't blame anybody.
It was the King, dead but still here in person. He looked pretty good, for a dead guy.
Finally, Elvis put down the guitar, and turned to face the crowd. With that famous smile, he pointed towards them and said, "Thank you very much."
As the unforgettable form walked towards the back room, fading with every step, Winston put the phone back to his ear. "Janine? You still there?"
:Yeah. That was... It was him. Don't worry, I'll call the guy back and let him know. He'll probably try to sell tickets or something.: Janine's voice was a bit husky.
Walking back to the car, Winston shook his head. "The guy's got the ghost of Elvis putting on almost live performances, and he wants him busted. Either he has no clue, or no class."
Gratefully, he let the pack hit the passenger seat, and settled into the car. "If only there were more nights like this one."
end Bust Who?