Ghost Story

'Hah! We are gonna peep, my boy, we are gonna take a look at a lady.' Hardie palled at the bottle, chuckled, dribbled bourbon down his chin.

'Peep? Like a peeping Tom?' He let his head roll toward Hardie, who could obviously steam on to morning and through the next day, getting less predictable all the time.

'Peep. Look. Shoot a beaver. If you don't like it, jump out of the car.'

'On a lady?'

'Well, not on a man, shitface.'

'What, hide in a bush and look through…'

'Not exactly. Not exactly. Someplace much better.'

'Who is it?'

'That bitch at the hotel.'

Peter was now more confused than ever. 'The one you were talking about? The one from New York?'

'Yeah.' Jim swung the car around the square, passing the hotel without even bothering to look at it.

'I thought you were balling her.'

'Well, I lied, man. So what? So I exaggerate a little. Truth is, she never let me put a hand on her. Look, I'm sorry I made up a little adventure about her, okay? She made me feel like a jerk. Taking her out to Humphrey's, giving her all my best lines-well, I want to take a look at her when she doesn't know I'm there.' Jim bent forward and, disregarding the road altogether for a reckless amount of time, groped under his seat. When he straightened up again, he was grinning widely and holding a long brass-trimmed telescope. 'With this. Hell of a good scope, Junior-cost me sixty bucks in the Apple.'

'Mmn.' Peter lolled back against the seat. 'This is the grungiest thing I ever heard of.'

A moment later, he became aware that Jim was stopping the car. He pushed himself forward and peered through the window. 'Oh no. Not here.'

'This is it babe. Move your ass.'

Hardie shoved his shoulder, and Peter opened the door and half-rolled out of the car. St Michael's cathedral loomed before them, huge and forbidding in the darkness.

Both boys stood shivering in their windbreakers by a side door of the cathedral. 'Now what are you going to do, kick the door in? There's a padlock on it, if you haven't noticed.'

'Shut your trap. I work in a hotel, remember?' Hardie produced a bundle of keys on a ring from beneath his jacket. The other hand held the telescope and the bottle. 'Go over there and take a piss or something while I try the keys.' He set the bottle down on the step and bent toward the lock.

Peter walked away down the long gray side of the church. From this side, it looked like a prison. He unzipped, steamingly pissed, staggered and splashed on his boots. Then he leaned against the church with one arm, stood as if deep in reflection, and quietly vomited between his feet. That too steamed. He was thinking about walking home when Jim Hardie called, 'Come on, Clarabelle.' He turned around and there was Hardie grinning at him, waving the keys and the bottle at him beside an open door. He resembled one of the gargoyles on the cathedral's facade.

'No,' he said.

'Come on. Or don't you have hair on your balls?'

Peter trudged forward, and Hardie reached out and yanked him through the door.

Inside, the cathedral was cold, and dark with an undersea darkness. Peter stopped still, his feet on brick, feeling an immense space around him. He reached out his hands and touched chill air. Behind him, he heard Jim Hardie getting all of his things together. 'Hey, where's your goddamned hand? Here, take this.' The telescope slapped against his palm. Hardie's footsteps went away off to the side, clicking on the brick floor.

He turned and saw Hardie's hair flickering in the dark. 'Move it. There are some stairs around here someplace…'

Peter took a step forward and crashed into some sort of bench.

'Quiet.'

'I can't see you!'

'Shit. Over here.' There was a movement in the darkness: he understood that Jim was waving, and cautiously moved toward him.

'You see the stairs? We go up there. To a sort of balcony.'

'You did this before,' Peter said, amazed.

'Sure I did it before. Don't be a dope. Sometimes I used to take Penny here and screw around in the pews. What the hell? She's not Catholic either.'

Peter's eyes were adjusting, and diffused light from a high circular window helped him to see the interior of the church. He had never been inside St. Michael's before. It was much larger than the white suburban box in which his parents spent an hour on Easter and Christmas day. Enormous pillars divided the vast space; an altar cloth shone like a ghost. He burped and tasted vomit. The staircase Jim was pointing to was wide, of brick, and curved against the inner skin of the cathedral.

'We go up there, and we wind up right in the front, facing the square. Her room is on the square, see? With a good telescope we can look right in.'

'It's dumb.'

'I'll explain later, shithead. Let's go up.' He began to go quickly up the stairs. Peter stayed behind. 'Wait,' Hardie said, turning around and descending a couple of the steps. 'You need a cigarette.' He grinned at Peter, pulled out his cigarettes and gave one to Peter.

'Here?'

'Shit, yes. Nobody's going to see you.' He lit his cigarette and Peter's. The flame of the lighter reddened the walls, made everything else disappear. The smoke helped the taste in Peter's mouth, somehow making the vomit taste more like beer again. 'Take a drag or two. See? It's okay.' He blew out smoke, but with the flame extinguished, Peter could only hear him exhale. He drew on his own cigarette again. Hardie was right; it calmed him. 'Just come on up now.' He started again, and Peter followed.

At the top, far up inside the church, they followed a narrow gallery around to the front of the church. There a window with a broad stone sill looked across the square. Jim was sitting with his legs up on the sill when Peter reached him. 'Would you believe it,' he said. 'I once had a beautiful moment with Penny right on this spot.' He dropped his cigarette on the floor and ground it out. Peter saw him wink in the gray illumination from the window. 'Drives 'em crazy. They can't figure out who was smoking. Here. Have a drink.' He held the bottle out.

Peter shook his head and gave him the telescope. 'Okay, we're here. Now explain.' He sat on the cold sill and jammed his hands into the windbreaker's pockets.

Hardie looked at his watch. 'First, some magic. Look out the window.' Peter looked: the square, the dark buildings, bare trees. The Archer Hotel across the square had no lighted windows. 'One, two, three.' On three the lights in the square switched off. 'It's two o'clock.'

'Some magic.'

'Well, if you're so hot, turn them back on.' Hardie swung around, kneeling on the stone, and put the telescope to his eyes. 'Too bad her light's not on. But if she gets near the window I'll be able to see her. You want a look?'

Peter took the telescope and trained it on the hotel.

'She's in the room above the front door. Straight across and a little bit down.'

'I got the window. There's nothing there.' Then he saw a red flash in the blackness of the room. 'Wait. She's smoking.'

Hardie grabbed the telescope from him. 'Right. Sitting there smoking.'

'So explain why we broke into a church to watch her smoke.'

'Well, the first day she comes to the hotel I tried to come on with her, right? She puts me down. Then a little bit later she asks me if I'll take her out. She says she wants to see Humphrey's Place. So I take her there, but she's barely paying attention to me. Really pissed me off, man. I mean, why waste my time if she's not interested, right? Well, you know why? She wanted to meet Lewis Benedikt. You know him, right? The guy who was supposed to of offed his wife over in France.'

'Spain,' said Peter, who had very complicated ideas about Lewis Benedikt.

'Who cares? Anyhow, I'm sure that's why she asked me to take her there. So she's hot for wife-killers.'

'I don't think he did it' Peter said. 'He's a good guy. I mean, I think he's a good guy. I think that women