“Spectral boyfriend?” Luke offered.
“That sounds like a bad name for a rock band.”
“Whatever.”
“Or a soap opera.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Remind me not to give you alcohol before you start telling a story. Would you make your point, please?”
Dennis cocked his head to the side, and his brow furrowed as he spoke. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been at this too long, but she sounded like she was actually trying to hire me for something, instead of just talking my ear off about some fantasy.” Luke did not respond, although his eyebrow had arched slightly. Dennis thought back on the conversation again before another thought occurred to him. “You know, Sam had a cop visiting him this morning.”
“Police work is tough,” Luke replied. “A lot of them probably go to shrinks. I fail to see what this has to do with dead lovers.”
“Now that would be a bad soap opera.” Luke pulled his hand back as if to slap him, and Dennis laughed. “Okay, sorry, I’ll stop.” He took another sip of his beer, and his voice took on a more serious aspect. “I didn’t think much of it before, or of the phone call, but I’m starting to wonder if the two of them are related.”
“What, like a setup?” asked Luke. Dennis nodded, oblivious to his friend’s sarcastic tone.
“Sam told me that the detective –”
“You said he was just a normal cop.”
“The detective,” Dennis said again, “was supposedly there because his niece had started seeing ghosts. That’s the kind of person that I find for Sam, right? Then, while I’m setting up another job, some guy starts snapping pictures of the restaurant that I’m in.” Luke stared for a minute more before answering.
“So, you’re still paranoid, then.”
Dennis’ head bounced up. “What?” he said, laughing nervously.
“Come on, dude, you’ve always had these wild ideas about people being out to get you, and they’re always ridiculous.” He waved a hand around the tavern. “There was a whole crowd of people taking pictures in here the other night, and you don’t see me getting all anxious.”
“Luke, there was a topless woman on the table.”
“So maybe there was some fun graffiti on the restaurant wall.” Luke rolled his eyes. “Fine, when is she going to call you?”
“I’m supposed to call her at seven.”
Luke appeared to squint into the distance. “Okay, well, if you’re that worried about it, call her back sooner. That way if it is a setup of some kind, which I’m sure it isn’t, you’ll throw them off.”
“How do you figure?”
Luke threw up his hands in irritation. “Because they won’t be ready yet! Jeez, dude, let it go.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a thoughtful wince on his face. “Seriously, if anyone has a reason to be paranoid, it’s me.”
Dennis gave his friend a speculative look. “Why do you say that?”
Discomfort darkened Luke’s face, and he shifted his weight. “It’s nothing, forget I mentioned it.” Dennis raised an eyebrow, to which Luke scowled in response. “Alright, fine. I made a couple of bad bets recently, and I’m trying to scrape together enough to pay off the debt.”
“Bad bets?” repeated Dennis. “What, you’re gambling now?”
“Hey, I’ve never had a problem risking a bit of money in order to make some. That’s your failing, dude, not mine.”
“I’m not the one who owes a bookie.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Look, it isn’t a big deal. Just a few thousand dollars. Like I said, forget it.”
Dennis paused before answering. Luke valued his pride above almost anything else, and Dennis could never be sure if he would be offended by an offer of assistance. Dennis’ own financial situation was hardly glamorous, but he could probably afford to lighten the load. “Well,” he said finally, “just let me know if you need any help.”
“You’re the one that needs help, dude,” Luke replied, his blasé demeanor returning. “Being all convinced that there’s a sting set up for you. The police have more important things to do than chase after two-bit authors with strange hobbies.”
A smirk crossed Dennis’ face as he relaxed. “Two-bit author, huh?” Luke folded his arms.
“You heard me.”
Dennis pointed at the framed picture of himself above the bar. “Does that mean you’ll take that thing down?”
“Go to hell.”
Chapter Three
The sky was adopting a gloomy shade of gray as Dennis, feeling slightly tipsy, left Thoreau’s. He silently cursed his low tolerance for alcohol, wondering how Luke managed to continually drain beer after beer without showing any signs of intoxication... and how only two bottles had left Dennis feeling more than a little buzzed. Although he was definitely sober enough to drive, he decided to wait until his head had completely cleared before journeying back to his house in the southern part of the city. Luke’s words had given him something to think about, anyway. It was true that Dennis was prone to bouts of irrational paranoia, but something about his current fears seemed more well-founded than that. Of course, he thought wryly, they all did at the time, didn’t they?
A light sprinkling of rain began to fall, and Dennis wondered if he wouldn’t be better off just waiting in his car while his balance returned. Then, with a mild jab of irritation, he remembered that he had left the vehicle outside Harding’s office. He quietly hoped it would remain untouched, not so much worried over the possibility of vandalism as he was concerned about harassment by the city’s overzealous traffic department. Far too often, he had returned only a few seconds past a parking meter’s allotted time and found an expensive ticket waiting for him. Although the private spaces behind the large building were usually safe, Dennis could never be certain that some uppity employee hadn’t taken a chance disliking to his car’s presence and seen fit to report his lack of a parking permit.
Halfway between the psychiatrist’s office and the bar, Dennis spotted a small internet café. Similar establishments had sprung
