Ghosts (Book 1 Part 7)

I was introduced to The Circle of Delphi several years earlier. Violet had told me to contact them. She implanted the number in my head on a drunken night and I recalled it the next day. She seemed to know the country code as well as the number to call outside of the United States. Later, when I looked up the country code, I realized that I had called Spain.

Since Violet gives me the warm and fuzzies, when I awoke the next morning, I almost immediately called, curious as to what would occur. Usually she would just implant directions in my head that mostly led me to forgotten or untended money. I have always felt safe entering homes or other buildings in search of loot that Violet instructs me on, and I have never had any problems or run-ins with anyone. I guess Violet knows that the owners, at the very least, will not be around when I arrive.

“Hello,” the man on the other end of the line had a French accent.

“Uh…hey. I was instructed to call this number.”

“By whom?”

“Violet.”

There was a long pause. “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t know any Violet. Could you give me a surname or an organization that she might belong to?”

“She is a ghost, or an angel. I don’t know what the fuck she is, but she wanted me to call you.”

“Well, you must be joking. Can you tell me why you are really calling?” I learned later that this person was very cautious and also he seemed to take his phone-answering job a little too seriously.

“Nope. I already told you.”
“I see, and you are in the United States. New Mexico. Hmmm… you are calling from a Motel 6 on the corner of—“

I hung up the telephone and immediately packed my bags. I was out of the room in less than ten minutes, and checked out of the motel and on my way out of Albuquerque in less than twenty. I guess it had something to do with the drug money I had recently picked up, but I was quite uncomfortable with someone knowing my location when I had only been on the telephone with him for approximately one minute.

I decided to head back to California. I often head there when I wear out my welcome in other places and do not know where to go. I was not born there, but have spent more time there than any other place on the planet. Often it feels like California welcomes me home, despite the fact that I am almost not allowed to smoke anywhere in that state. But, this was several years ago, and it was not that bad yet. On the drive that day, I pondered the very brief conversation. I didn’t like it, but Violet had told me to call. If Violet wants me to do something, I always do it. I had made up my mind to call him again.

On my way back to California I had altered my previous decision and decided on Vegas. I love to gamble away money, especially when I did not work for it, and I was a little worried about having too much drug money. It was a big score, the money, and I was not used to carrying around $50,000. Besides, there are other things to throw one’s money away on in Las Vegas besides the gambling. Women are quite prevalently for rent and willing to do anything at all if the price is right.

Set for the night, snug in a seedy hotel room that I could have easily paid much more for with all the money I had possessed if I were not overly worried about leaving any sort of a trail with credit cards that I did not have, and been most comfortable, I almost wanted to go drink and gamble. I had my room and plenty of cash to just throw away. Unfortunately, Violet’s influence was still heavily burdening me, and it is hard to break that spell and get into further debauchery for at least a few days. I decided to call the Frenchman again.

Destiny…maybe.

“Hello,” The voice on the other end of the line was seemingly full of enthusiasm and vigor.

“Hey, it’s me again. I called earlier and—“

“Hello Ulysses, I have been waiting for you to call me back. How is Las Vegas this evening?”

These people were good. Very good. “Las Vegas is hot as hell, as is typical in the summer. How is wherever the hell you are?”

“Just fine here, Ulysses, just fine. Je suis enchantee de faire votre connaissance.”

I had already decided that I did not like the guy. His voice had a hint of superiority and his courtesy seemed contrived and false. “Well, you need to tell me what to do, as I am not really sure why I am calling you.”

“I think you need to meet one of us. We can have someone in Las Vegas in twenty-four hours. Is that acceptable?”

“Apparently it is, Frenchie.”

“Good, my name is Jacques. As I stated previously, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Jack.”

“It’s Jacques.”

“That’s what I said…Jack.”

Shortly after I disengaged with Jack I was at a loss as to what to do as Violet’s inspiration still weighed heavily on me, not allowing me to indulge in what I usually mire myself in when left to my own devices. Then, of course, the repeater appeared. He seemed to have been in his late fifties or early sixties. He was wearing some sort of ugly brown leisure suit that led me to believe that he was killed sometime in the seventies.

He was not a bad looking man. Short, cropped, thinning, gray hair clung to his scalp as if not wanting to let go and fall into any more baldness. His eyes seemed kind, from what I could gather, brown with a touch of innocence that might have fooled many if he were in sales. The problem I had was the huge gash in his throat, a red smile that wound along his neck from ear to ear. He smiled and began walking around the room, mouth opening and closing as if in conversation with someone. He seemed not to notice the continually gurgling froth of blood that escaped from his wound.

He began to remove his clothing still silently chatting away to whomever was there forty years ago when he was alive. I started packing my bags. I didn’t really want to see anymore of him.

When I left the room he was lying on the bed with an erection pointing toward the ceiling. He was still smiling and talking, blood issuing forth and pooling on the bed from the gaping wound in his throat.

“Be careful, buddy," I stated as I walked out the door. "She might be the death of you. I’m fairly certain a woman will be the death of me.”