confirmed it.
SHE SHOULD'VE SEEN IT COMING Elizabeth Foster, known to certain wealthy Manhattanites as psychic advisor Madame Pomerol, was picked up in the financial district last night wearing nothing but a large piece of cardboard. Her husband Carl was similarly attired. The couple explained that they had been driving near their home on the Upper East Side when suddenly they were 'aported' out of their car-and their clothes as well!-by mischievous spirits who were angry at them. The spirits whisked them through the night and dumped them naked in Lower Manhattan. Madame Pomerol claims that certain spirits are angry at her for forcing them to return many items that they have previously stolen from her clients.
'I don't believe this!' Lyle said, looking up at Charlie. 'She's turning the whole thing into a commercial for herself!'
He read on...
Two years ago, Madame Pomerol was just another among the scores of spiritualist mediums working the city's psychic beat until she appeared on The Late Show with David Letterman. Although Letterman generally made light of her psychic claims during her appearance, the exposure made her a celebrity and she has become one of the most prominent and prosperous mediums in the five boroughs.
Despite her claims of psychic abilities, however, Madame Pomerol didn't know where her car was. Police had to tell her that they'd located it shortly after they found her, not on the Upper East Side where she claimed to have been snatched from it, but on Chambers Street, a short distance from where the couple was found.
'The spirits must have apported the car after they apported us,' Madame Pomerol said.
The psychic couldn't explain how this was done. Nor could she explain the .32 caliber pistol found in the trunk of the car, other than to say that, 'The malicious spirits must have placed it there. They want to get me into trouble because they're furious at my ability to undo their mischief.'
The Fosters were not charged at this time, but might be in the future, pending investigation of the weapon.
'They damn well better be charged!' Lyle said. 'They tried to kill me with that gun!'
'She pretty quick on her feet, ain't she,' Charlie said.
'Yeah. Too quick, maybe.'
That harpy had turned what should have been humiliation into a publicity stunt. Lyle wondered if he would have been quick enough to do the same.
Charlie said, 'Ay, yo, leastways now she got something else to think about besides us.'
'Yeah. She and the mister have got to be worried about that gun. But even if they skate on that, maybe all this publicity'll help her pick up enough new business so she'll stop caring about the clients we siphoned off.'
Charlie grinned. 'She ain't gonna be so crazy about one new client comin' in today, know'm sayin'?'
'You mean Jack.'
'Yeah, my whodi, Jack.'
'You really like him, don't you.'
Charlie nodded. 'I first saw him I'm thinkin', this the guy gonna pull our butts outta the fire? Nuh-uh. But was I off. My bad. He rag out like some kinda bama, but he the furilla gorilla, bro.'
Lyle felt a twinge of jealousy at the admiration in his little brother's voice.
'Think he's up to putting Madame Pomerol in her place?'
Charlie shrugged. 'Sure had her in her place last night, yo. We checked her appointments when we was over her 'temple.' She got four flush fish set for a group sitting this afternoon. Jack gonna try to wheedle his way in.' He grinned. 'And that's when the fun'll begin, know'm sayin'?'
'We should be doing our own Sunday sittings,' Lyle said. They'd been over this countless times before, but he couldn't help bringing it up again. 'It would be a big day for us. People are home, it's a spiritual day, and if they're not going to church, maybe they'd come here.'
Charlie's grin vanished. 'I told you, Lyle, you do a sittin' on a Sunday, you do it without me. I hope someday I be forgiven for what I help you do the other six days of the week, but I know I'll burn in hell sure for luring Godfearing folks away from praising the Lord on a Sunday. If I ever-'
Lyle started as a voice spoke from the adjoining room. He gripped the edge of the table and was halfway to his feet when he recognized Bugs Bunny.
'The TV,' he said, feeling his muscles start to uncoil. For some reason it had suddenly blared to life. He glanced at Charlie. 'You got the remote in your pocket or something?'
Charlie shook his head. 'No way. Never touched it.'
They both jumped at the sound of gunfire, then Lyle realized that too came from the TV. He might have laughed then, but it wasn't funny. The TV room was what remained of the old dining room, which used to connect to what was now the waiting room, but they'd closed off the opening during the remodeling. No way in or out of the TV room now except through here, the kitchen.
Lyle stared at his brother for an uneasy moment, then he picked up a knife and straightened to his feet. No way anyone could be in there, but it never hurt to be ready.
'Let's go see what's up.'
Knife held low against his thigh, Lyle stepped into the next room, but found it empty. On the screen the early, long-snouted Bugs was taunting a shotgun-toting Elmer Fudd. Lyle spotted the Cartoon Network logo nestled in the lower right corner.
'You been watching cartoons?' he asked Charlie.
'Not lately.'
He glanced around, found the remote on the recliner, and hit the number of the Weather Channel. 'Might as well see what the weather's going to be.'
The Weather Channel came on, but the set immediately flipped back to the Cartoon Network. Lyle tried again, with the same result. Annoyed now, he punched random numbers, but the set always returned to the Cartoon Network.
'What is this shit?'
He went to the window and peered outside.
'What you looking for?' Charlie said.
'Oh, I've heard stories of pranking kids using a universal remote on a neighbor's set.'
The yard was empty.
'Yo, maybe it the Fosters, you know, messing with our heads again.'
'This seems too petty, even for them. Besides, I'm pretty sure they've got other things on their minds this morning.'
Hell with it, he thought, and hit the power button.
The screen went dark. But a second later it buzzed to life again. He hit power half a dozen times in a row but the damn set kept turning itself back on.
Charlie said, 'Lemme deal with this.'
He reached behind the set and pulled the power plug, killing the picture.
Lyle held out a hand for a five. 'Now why didn't I think of-'
They both jumped as the screen lit again, this time with Jerry the mouse flattening the head of Tom the cat with a frying pan. Lyle pointed to the plug in Charlie's hand.
'You must have pulled the wrong one.'
'The other's the VCR. Look at it. The display still lit.'
'Pull it anyway.'
Charlie reached back and yanked out the other cord, but Tom and Jerry kept up their nonstop mayhem.
Charlie threw down the cords as if they were live snakes. 'I'm geese, man.'
'Hey, don't bail on me. You're the electronics guru here. Figure this out.' But Charlie kept moving, disappearing into the kitchen. 'Where you going?'
'Where I go every Sunday at ten: church. You should give it a shot, bro, because there ain't nothin' electronic wrong with that TV. It's haunted, yo, know'm sayin'? Haunted?'
Lyle turned and watched the cartoon characters race about on the screen of the unplugged TV. After the last
