Page 32 of Ghost

“What are we looking at?” I ask, keeping my tone steady despite my pulse trying to break the sound barrier.

“Homemade, but not amateur. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.” He pulls a multi-tool from his pocket and starts carefully separating wires. “Give me space. You see anything weird, you pull me back.”

I nod, stepping back, my eyes scanning the now-empty room. The door behind us stays closed, and the sound of the confused and frustrated crowd rolls through to us, muffled but oblivious.

Time crawls as Caesar works, sweat beading on his forehead despite the AC. His hands are steady, every move deliberate, every cut precise.

2:15.

2:14.

“Crypt?” I ask quietly, glancing toward the parking lot, knowing he has some experience in this field, leaning more toward the homegrown variety.

“Not a help now,” Caesar says, not looking up.

1:45.

Caesar pauses, his knife hovering over a bright red wire. “This is it,” he mutters, half to himself.

“You sure?”

“Nope.” His lips twitch in what might pass for a smile in a less dire moment. “But if I’m wrong, we won’t have time to argue about it.”

I nod once. “Do it.”

He snips the wire.

The world holds its breath.

The clock stops.

0:56.

“Done,” Caesar says, exhaling hard, his shoulders sagging as he closes the multi-tool and sits back on his heels.

I let out a breath I am pretty sure I’ve been holding for damn near five minutes at this point. “You’re a goddamn magician.”

“More like lucky.” He stands, grabbing the bag and tucking the disarmed device under his arm. “Let’s get this somewhere safe before anyone starts asking questions.”

The bag under his arm vibrates and plays what sounds like a bad 8-bit version of some children's song. Caesar hollers and drops the bag, stepping away quickly. We both stare at it in horror as the song gets louder and louder until, with the last notes, the bag gives a final shake, and a puff of red smoke and glitter pops from the device's guts.

“What the actualfuck?” Caesar exclaims, looking down at the glitter-covered bag like it betrayed it. Honestly, I can’t blame him. After the stress of the last few minutes, I would pull out my piece and fill this thing with holes if I had it on me.

“Fuck if I know. Let’s get it downstairs and debrief the others before someone comes looking,” I growl, snatching the offending glittery mass up between two fingers and carrying it gingerly in front of me as I storm down into the clubhouse below and through to the war room.

“Well… what the fuck was it? Don't keep us waiting,” Rasp grits out as we enter, and I can see the stress and worry on his face. Rasp, Omen, and Fossil are already here waiting for us, just likeI expected them to be. I may not have known exactly who would be here, but they know the drill.

“It wasn't a bomb,” I tell the group, throwing the offending lump into the center of the table. As the bag flops onto the hard surface, the guts of what we assumed was an actual bomb tumble out, revealing a parcel in the bottom of the bag. Caesar, his emotions still running high from the stress of the situation, grabs the parcel from the bag and roughly tears into it. Caesar pulls what looks like a circus monkey toy out of the parcel. It's one of those old fucking creepy monkeys playing with those loud symbols, wind-up toys.

“The fucker rigged up a damn convincing device. Fooled the fuck outta me until the damn thing started playing fuckin’ music and shot glitter and smoke all the fuck over. The building’s clear and safe. I need a fucking sandwich after all this,” Caesar says, irritated.

It's been a long fucking day, and this was just the icing on the cake. How in the hell am I supposed to make this up to my woman? I look around when I hear a commotion behind us, and see Tizzy, Crypt, and the twins push their way into the room. The light that's normally in her eyes is dim, and she looks so lost. How the hell did I fuck up so badly? Walking over to her, I pull her into my arms.

“I’m so sorry, Bunny. I promise I’ll find a way to make this up to you,” I whisper into her big, beautiful hair.

“Make this up to me?” she asks, pulling back and looking up at me, confused. “You think I'm upset about the opening? Wasn’t drawing out the jokers who have been tryin’ to mess with us the whole point of all this hubbub?” Now it's my turn to look confused.

“I’m just upset I didn’t catch on sooner and let anyone know. Now I feel like I screwed up, and we missed our chance,” she says with big tears welling her eyes.

---