Could be that someone else has mentioned someone named Burkis.”
Cole dug into his pocket and removed his new phone. It still had the clear plastic film over the touch screen, which would stay in place until it either fell off on its own or got too smudged to see through. He cradled the phone in one hand and began swiping through his screens with gentle, loving motions of his finger. “I’ve got all the MEG branches on speed dial,” he said proudly.
“Take them off.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you only need to know a few phone numbers, and you should have them memorized. Anyone who gets ahold of your phone could find out all of your business. Right now your business is my business, so delete those numbers.”
“Fine. As soon as I hook into my computer and update the software so I can make changes to the system, I’ll do it.”
“Real convenient phone you got there. Is that the one you borrowed all that money for?”
Rather than answer that question, Cole dialed the number. He even used the speed dial to really show her who was boss.
After a few rings a woman picked up and said, “Midwestern Ectological Group Branch 40. How can I help you?”
“Hi, who’s this?”
“Midwestern Ectological Group Branch 40.”
“I know that. Where’s Stu?”
Although there was a touch of tired aggravation in her tone, the woman at the other end of the line was far from flustered. Being an organization that searched for ghosts by following creaks in people’s attics and flashing digital cameras at cold spots in the middle of dark, empty rooms, MEG got more than its share of strange calls. “If you have an instance to report or a sighting to document, you can log onto our website. If you need to reach someone in particular, I can pass along a message.”
Cole knew all too well that the woman wasn’t even close to writing anything down yet, so he spoke quickly before she hung up. “His name’s Stu. He usually always answers the phones. Just tell him it’s—”
Swatting him on the arm, Paige whispered, “Use your number.”
The first time he’d called the paranormal investigation society, Cole needed to pass along an identification number belonging to a Skinner named Gerald Keeley. A lot had changed since then. Gerald was dead and Cole had his own identification number, but he was on such good terms with the guy who usually haunted MEG’s main phone line that he never needed it.
Pressing his phone against his shoulder, Cole used his free hand to pat his pockets. “I can’t find my card,” he whispered to Paige.
Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, she grunted, “You don’t keep
“Sir? Are you still there?” the woman on the phone asked.
“Yeah,” Cole said. “Hang on. I’ve got a number for you.”
“All right.”
The frantic expedition into his pockets turned up nothing but forty-two cents and a faded coupon. His socks contained his feet and a little over two hundred bucks, which only left one more place for him to look. Lifting his butt an inch or so from the seat, he slid his hand along the space where the backrest met the bottom cushion. That’s when he struck pay dirt.
“All right,” he said triumphantly as he plucked the card from where it had been wedged. “Here we go.” He read a string of numbers from his card as Paige busied herself with her own phone. When he reached the final digit, he heard a definite shift in the voice at the other end of the long-distance connection.
“Cole Warnecki?”
“That’s me.”
“I didn’t realize you were one of those…I mean…I’ve never talked to anyone who—”
“I know. I get that all the time,” Cole said, even though he rarely had anyone seem remotely impressed with his name. This was actually one of the few times a newcomer had even pronounced it correctly.
“You still want to speak to Stu? I’m sure I could help.”
As much as he wanted to draw out a conversation with a voice as sweet and promising as hers, he was hesitant to comply. There was more to think about than just getting on the good side of an interesting woman. Surely, the end of days was nigh.
“I’d kind of like to talk to Stu if that’s all right,” he said.
Quickly, the woman replied, “Sure. That’s fine. Let me get him for you.” She didn’t sound annoyed or upset, just a little disappointed to be passed over. Now he really felt like an ass.
There were a few clicks, some static, and then a few more clicks before a familiar voice drifted through Cole’s new phone. “If you want me to retract what I said about those painted hammers on the Digital Dreamers forums, I won’t do it.”
“Hey Stu, it’s not about that. Wait…couldn’t you possibly consider—”
“No! What do you want?”
“I need to know if you guys have heard anything about someone named Burkis.”
“First or last name?” Stu sighed.
“Probably last,” Cole told him. “He’s supposed to be from New York. At least, that’s what my sources told me.”
“How reliable is the source?”
“Just look it up.”
The MEG guys were known as a lot of things. A small group of rabid fans called them brilliant scientists, but closed-minded folks used some more colorful and less favorable terms. Everyone else along the middle of the spectrum either didn’t know about them at all or found them mildly interesting. Their videos of grainy footage taken from inside supposedly haunted locations sold well enough to keep them stocked in batteries for their meters and cameras, but their real funding came from several private investors who didn’t bother hassling the Midwestern Ectological Group about unproven techniques or making up words to fit an anagram. Most of those patrons were Skinners.
Skinners were generally a very low-tech crowd. People who lived and died hunting monsters also tended to be a little paranoid. To that end, they weren’t quite on board with the notion of taking their communications online with the rest of the planet. That’s where MEG came in. The branches of paranormal investigation teams had their communication network well in place before they’d ever crossed paths with a Skinner. Cole often wondered how funny it was when that first ghost chaser tried to get a hardened warrior to pose for a picture in front of a freshly killed werewolf.
Stu’s fingers rattled over his keyboard and he muttered incoherently into his headset. Then again, Stu did seem the type who might also wear one of those obnoxious little wireless earpieces. “There’s a couple Burkises mentioned, but those were in Ontario,” he finally said. “Oh, that was one of our cases.”
“You guys are doing investigations in Canada now? Congratulations.”
“Yeah. After all the commotion when Gerald and Brad’s bodies were found, it’s been a real hotbed up there. Uh, no offense.”
“None taken. What happened with those bodies?”
“They were buried in a private ceremony. Apparently someone claimed them and arranged for it all. No pictures, but it was probably real nice.”
“Yeah,” Cole said as he looked over to a certain brunette who used to work with Gerald before the old man was killed. “I’m sure it was.”
“You got your own number issued, huh? Congratulations right back at ya. Let’s see…Burkis in New York. There are a few listed in phone directories and stuff, but nothing connected to any notes from you guys. I’ll keep checking. Honestly, I thought you called about whatever killed those people in Kansas City.”
“What people?”
“Don’t you watch the news?”
