Chapter Text
It was, by all accounts, an oddly peaceful night in Manhattan. The Ringed Tail wasn’t open that Sunday night after Julien had thrown Mort into the window after he grabbed his feet. Again. This left the street that the Ringed Tail shared with the Tuxedo’s apartment complex unusually quiet and peaceful. Too quiet and peaceful.
Their apartment complex was a six story building, with shops and the Tuxedos' office space taking up the first floor. It was a good-looking building, newer and nicer than the slum that had been torn down here.
Skipper liked the variety of residents in the Central Park Apartments (CPA). Mason and Phil were “cousins”; and Mason took care of the deaf Phil. Burt and Marlene were also fine, though strangely single, neighbors. Plus there were Gloria and Melman, a sweet, if not odd couple.
The four former soldiers lay asleep in their bunks, backs to the walls, hands under their pillows. Always ready, even when asleep. Which was fortunate on nights like this.
A scream pierced the air. A second later, four pairs of feet hit the deck running.
“CODE RED.” Skipper yelled, and their apartment was alive. A minute later, pants were on, guns holstered, and bags seized. The four were out the door, racing up steps towards the sound of the noise. Rico kicked down apartment door #45, and the four of them fanned out with their standard issue TL flashlights.
They swept through the small apartment and quickly found the source of the noise.
“Kowalski, analysis.”
“Marlene Lutrina, female. Approximately 25 to 30 years of age, judging by-hey!” Private had stepped on Kowalski’s foot.
“We heard a scream. Was that you?” Private asked her kindly.
Marlene was sitting on her bed, staring at the four in surprise and annoyance. “Did you guys seriously knock down my door over this? I can explain the scream, chill.”
Skipper turned to Private. “Private, what do you make of the victim’s scream?”
“I don’t know, Skipper. Perhaps she had a fright.”
“Interesting theory,” Skipper replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “How can we prove this?”
With a barely audible sigh, Private turned to Marlene. “Marlene, did you have a fright then?”
“Uh, yes?” Marlene continued to stare at them. “Seriously. My door?”
“Rico, fix the door.”
“Uh-huh.” Rico headed off towards the front of the apartment.
“Great. Thanks. I’m fine now. You guys can leave. Night night.”
“No can do,” Skipper argued. “We can’t just leave a helpless victim in her time of need.”
Marlene stood up off the bed, pulling her robe closer to her. “Who’s a helpless victim here?”
The pair were ready to have at it, when Julien, Maurice, and Mort strolled in. “What is all the commotion? You are louder than a pile of monkeys.” He eyed all of them over his cigar. “Oh! Are we about to have an orgy?”
The five of them froze. Both Marlene and Skipper took a step back from each other.
“Don’t be disgusting,” Skipper retorted. “Go back to your foot fetish.”
“Foot fetish!” Mort screamed, launching himself at Julien’s feet.
“Freaks.” Skipper muttered under his breath. “Go back home. Marlene probably saw her own shadow.” The flashlights shifted back to her as she glared at all of them.
“Listen, a weird noise woke me up, okay. That’s all. I am not a helpless victim. You don’t need to turn this into some kind of commando operation.”
“Kowalski, perimeter check. Rico, I told you to take care of the door!” A hammer appeared out of nowhere. “Fix it, don’t make it worse.”
Rico rolled his eyes and went back to the door frame with a screwdriver now in hand.
“Perhaps it was just a bad dream?” Private asked Marlene, having pulled a tea kettle out of her small kitchen and was now brewing something.
“No. This was real, and loud. I’m not hysterical and I’m not making this up. It was…almost ghostly,” she finished thoughtfully.
“W-what if it was a ghost?” Mort asked from his position at—on?—Julien’s sandaled feet.
“Then you can touch the ghost’s feet!” Julien exclaimed, kicking at him yet again.
Kowalski brought the conversation back to something slightly more reasonable. “Rumor has it the previous occupant of this apartment did disappear…”
“Under mysterious circumstances,” Private added helpfully.
Marlene sighed. “They moved to Toledo to be with family. Six years ago.”
“Toledo?!” Mort shrieked.
Skipper grinned, shining a flashlight on himself. “Ohio.” Mort screamed, and Marlene rolled her eyes at the guys’ antics.
“Not to worry dear lady, as king, it is in my power to exercise the ghosts! Do it, Maurice.”
“Did he mean exorcise?” Marlene whispered to Private, who shrugged.
“Do what exactly?” Maurice asked blandly to Julien.
Julien sighed. “This will require dancing, Maurice. Clearly. Look out!”
Maurice pushed Skipper and Kowalski out of the way and whispered to the gang. “Give him some room, folks. Trust me.”
Maurice sat down at Marlene’s coffee table and began a steady beat. “Are these friends of yours?” Marlene inquired to Skipper.
“No,” Skipper replied shortly. “They’re the neighbors.”
“They’re from the ‘islands’,” Kowalski whispered conspiratorially, while making the universal crazy gesture.
Julien danced around, chanting and singing, Maurice providing a pleasant baritone in the tropical call and response.
“Come on men,” Skipper said. “Let’s go back home. Marlene, call us if you need anything.” The four of them left, leaving Marlene to an unwanted concert.
—
The four headed back to their bunks, but wound up at the floor radio, listening to some night-time blues. “You think there will be a second time?” Private asked.
“Marlene has been a quiet neighbor for years; no problems,” Skipper said. “This is not usual. The eye of vigilance will never be closed.” He sipped his coffee and four dozed in the early morn.
A second scream rang out through the quiet apartment complex. Skipper put the coffee down. “Our turn boys.”
The four arrived slightly slower this time, since Rico (thoughtfully) turned the doorknob instead of bashing the frame in. He’d reinforced it since it was too easy to kick down the first time.
“Talk to me Kowalski,” Skipper ordered, surveying the small apartment they’d been in only an hour before.
The tall man was wearing a telephone operator headset and carrying a mini sonar machine. Skipper wasn’t sure if it worked, but who was he to question the mad genius? He needed results!
“These readings are off the charts!” Kowalski declared.
“Well, get bigger charts then,” Skipper deadpanned. None of them believed there were any readings at all. Didn’t a sonar machine require electricity? And sonar? For ghosts?
Skipper’s attention returned to Marlene, who was complaining about their call to aid. “Do you ever knock?”
“Such pleasantries would only slow us down, Marlene,” Skipper explained, watching Kowalski buzz around the apartment.
“We do pride ourselves in our rapid response,” Private said brightly. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
She rolled her eyes, refusing the cup of tea that had appeared. Did the man brew it that quickly? Did it just appear out of his hand? Skipper didn’t want to know what sort of sorcery the Brits had sold their collective soul to for the sake of tea. He’d told Private he’d go to Boston for a tea party before consuming the un-American drink.
“Yes, I heard the ghost again. Yes, I screamed again. No, I don’t need you guys on guard duty.” She attempted to herd the four of them out of her apartment.
“Good night.”
“No no,” Skipper declared. “This is twice in one night. Private, get some blankets from downstairs. Rico, take the fire escape. Kowalski and I will be in the parlor. We’re getting to the bottom of this.”
Despite Marlene’s protests, the four of them hunkered down after making a safe perimeter. Skipper was, of course, wide awake, noticing that Kowalski had fallen asleep on the sofa. Checking in with Rico and Private, he found them as well, propped up against the fire escape, sound asleep. Marlene looked like she had fallen asleep too. Good. She needed it.
Pen and notebook in hand, Skipper began his written report of this debacle.
At this time in the early AM, all is quiet. A little too quiet. The temptation of warm, soft slumber—it’s too much to bear. We are train…e.d…
Skipper’s pen swirled on the page as his eyelids drooped shut. He jolted awake when a loud noise rumbled through the apartment.
The four of them responded like a well-oiled machine. Skipper and Kowalski approached the area from where the noise was coming from, while Rico remained on the fire escape. Private joined them, watching their sixes.
They entered the bedroom, where Marlene was fast asleep. She was snoring.
Skipper sent Private and Kowalski out of the room, but left the door open. He would never take advantage of a lady, or risk her being seen by others in a vulnerable position.
“Marlene!” He hissed. “Marlene!”
She sat up, screaming, disconcerted until she finally made eye contact with Skipper. What an interesting shade of hazel.
“What happened?”
“Marlene, you snore.”
“I do not snore!”
“Problem solved,” they heard Kowalski say from outside the door. “You spooked yourself. You were alarmed by your own respiratory malfunctions and woke up screaming.”
“That wasn’t the sound!”
“Marlene, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Skipper patted her hand. Marlene quickly snatched it back and folded her arms.
Then, a deep moaning sound rattled around the apartment. The hairs on the back of Skipper’s neck rose, and Marlene shouted, “That’s the sound!”
“Kowalski, report.” Skipper snapped. Of course it couldn’t be this easy.
“The sound appears to be originating from behind this painting.” Kowalski walked around the room with his sonar machine and pointed towards a painting of a fruit bowl. Rico tugged at it and eventually pried it off. It hinged. The painting was not hung. Instead it swung off to the side, revealing a long duct heading downward.
“Down there?” Private warbled.
“Nitro?” Rico asked hopefully, ready to light a fuse.
“No! You could blow this whole place up!” Kowalski argued. “It’s a dumb waiter you dummy! Who knows where this that thing will end up.”
Skipper pulled on the cable, which brought a cart rattling down to their level. “Interesting. All right boys, see you down there.”
“Hang on you are not going without me!” Marlene threw her shoes on and leaped in there with Skipper before anyone could get a word in edgewise.
“Marlene!”
The dumbwaiter shifted, unprepared to deal with one man’s weight, let alone a second person. The cable shifted and squealed ominously, before they heard something snap.
Nothing was left of them besides Marlene’s echoing scream.
—
Private swallowed the lump of bile in his throat that threatened to overturn it. Had he mentioned he hated tunnels, dark holes, things that could collapse on you in a second?
He took a deep breath, attempting to center himself. Kowalski and Rico were still staring down the dumbwaiter. A residual clunk sounded.
“They’ve landed,” Kowalski muttered, fiddling with his notebook.
Private twiddled with a loose thread on his shirt.
“Annd, I hear movement. Both voices. Can’t tell what they’re saying though. But they’re alive.”
The three breathed a collective sigh of relief.
“What do we do now?”
“Well, I’ve got some options,” Kowalski said. “This dumbwaiter is clearly a vertical line between here and the bottom floor of the apartment complex. However, we have basement access, but that isn’t nearly as big as the footprint of this building. Let’s head outside and find another way in.”
The three, not four, took the fire escape down, and clanged down the ladder, much to the annoyance of their sleeping neighbors.
Kowalski kept examining the brick for differences, eventually hypothesizing that these were two buildings. A new half was added on rather recently, which could have included a new basement. Their basement. So there could be two basements, that weren’t connected, but maybe the dumbwaiter was. So now, they just had to find an entrance.
—
The dumb waiter skidded to a halt as it hit the basement floor. Skipper had tucked his body around Marlene’s head as best he could and tumbled out of the chute knocking his own head in the process.
The world was dark and quiet. Marlene felt around, finding the flashlight near Skipper’s hand and quickly flicked it on. This didn’t bode well.
“Skipper,” she whispered. “Skipper!” She opened his eyelid, shining the light in. No response. “Skipper!” A note of panic rose.
This place was dark, damp, and dusty. It smelled like mold, and the chill was already getting through her robe.
“Huh what?” Skipper started, sitting upright, fists drawn. It took him a second to connect with Marlene who breathed a sigh of relief.
“Are you okay?”
“Never better,” he said with a slight grimace as he felt the goose egg starting to form on the back of his head. “You shouldn’t have jumped on that!” he started, but Marlene shushed him. “Where are we?” he asked, quieter this time, listening to the faint sounds.
“I’m not sure,” Marlene said, “We need to find a way out of here.” She jumped to her feet and offered her hand to Skipper. He refused it, and she rolled her eyes.
“Kowalski, give me options.”
Silence.
Skipper looked back from where they came. “Well, good they didn’t follow us; bad news that is not a way out.”
“Let’s look for another exit. I’ll take point.” Marlene was purposefully messing with him, taking control of the flashlight and leading the way.
She skimmed it around. There were old dusty boxes and a limestone foundation. Definitely unused. Kowalski would probably be able to make more of this, but he wasn’t here, now was he? They were on their own.
Something creaked in the ominous dark.
Marlene gasped. “What was that?”
She swung the flashlight around, but it gave out. “Great.” She gave it a shake. “It’s dead.”
“Give me that,” Skipper ordered. “These things don’t die. Sometimes it just requires the magic touch.” He hit it on one of the wooden boxes and it spluttered to life. “See?”
The light went off again, leaving them in the darkness. Marlene sidled up closer to Skipper, taking his arm. He put his shoulder in front of her, prepared to pull her out of harm’s way in an instant.
“Ah who needs it?” Skipper grumbled, trying to keep it light. The ghastly noise struck up again, and Marlene gasped. The hairs on the back of Skipper’s neck prickled. This was not good.
One pistol, one busted flashlight, one damsel in distress. No backup, no light, unknown territory. Well, he’d lived through worse odds.
Both of them tripped over a box and the moaning stopped. So, it was alive. Or they had spooked it.
Skipper noted they were not in complete darkness. Either there was an artificial light source or a window somewhere. The sun should be rising at this point, if his internal chromometer was on track. And if there was a bit of light, now enough to see some outlines as they eased around the maze of dusty boxes, then there should be a way out of here.
A shuffling sound alerted Skipper that there was something, or someone else there. He shushed Marlene who was about to say something unimportant, when he was shoved aside. That woman was stronger than she looked.
Boxes clattered where they had just been. Alarm bells rang in Skipper’s head. They were under attack! He scooped Marlene behind him and grabbed the flashlight like a crowbar. Close quarters, too much wood; he didn’t want to risk a pistol yet.
“Who’s there?” he yelled. A giant man leaped out from behind the crates, waving a crowbar. Marlene screamed. Skipper somersaulted out of the way as the giant struck, and attempted to smack him with the flashlight.
He grunted slightly but it did him no good.
The two now circled each other warily. Good, he was leaving Marlene alone. Skipper crouched low, waiting for the man to attack next.
“My name is Captain Jonas Hale, US Army. Identify yourself.”
“Get out of here!” the man yelled in return, coming in for another swing. The man was no expert, Skipper realized, expertly dodging the blow and delivering a swift uppercut to the jaw before skirting away again.
“I’d love to sir, but I don’t know how I got here!”
At that, the man paused. Skipper waited, in an alert, combat stance. The light was still bad, and his instinct said he wouldn’t need the gun. The flashlight he was holding though was completely broken, even past Kowalski’s repair abilities.
“You aren’t squatters?”
“Uh no. We came down here looking for a ghost. Alice down the rabbit hole.”
“Oh.” The man laughed, immediately dropping the crowbar. “That’s great news! I’m delighted to meet you both. My name is Roger Ondes.”
Skipper was stunned. The man had had a complete personality change.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roger,” Marlene said calmly, “My name is Marlene. Tell us, are you living down here?”
“Well yes, come on then. I’ll show you out. How did you get down here?”
“There’s an old dumb waiter in my apartment. We fell down it.”
“Alice down the rabbit hole,” Skipper repeated, grumpy no one was appreciating his literature references.
“Oh that sounds scary!” Roger exclaimed. “And you said there was a ghost down here? That’s awful!”
“Roger, what exactly are you doing down here?” Marlene asked again.
“Oh that’s a long story.” The man waved his hand and they followed him to the other end of the basement. He’d set up an encampment of sorts. An old rucksack lay strewn beneath an Army blanket, and a cello stood beside the cot. There were other pieces that Skipper didn’t recognize.
“I’m originally from Tampa, and I worked as a musician, but the war called, and I wound up serving as a radio operator. Something got mixed up along the way, and I landed in New York City in 1919. I’ve been so busy working on my invention that I could never remember when I was supposed to go to work! So, I found this little place rent-free, and here I am! It’s very cozy.”
Marlene looked like she disagreed with that term, but Skipper could see the appeal. He was sure Kowalski would agree more.
“Would you like to hear what I’ve been working on?” Roger pulled out a piano looking keyboard, some wires, and another box. Skipper had no idea what to make it as the large man sat down on a different box, placed a wire on his finger and began to play.
An odd melody filled the basement space, turning into a ghostly serenade that made Skipper and Marlene uncomfortable. It was hauntingly beautiful until something twanged. Roger let out a muttered curse. “I can’t seem to get that right.”
“That’s our ghost!” Marlene shouted.
“Ghost? Oh, you heard this all the way upstairs? Oh I’m sorry. It’s just I’ve been hearing noises too lately and it’s been hard to sleep, so I’ll play a little on this until I can fall back asleep.”
“Well, mystery solved, boys, you can come out now.” Skipper ordered the boxes in the distance. He gave them credit, they were good at their jobs.
Marlene and Roger looked equally shocked to see his three men appear out of the dark basement. “Tardy to the party boys, but I’m assuming you found a way in?”
“Unused coal chute, Skipper,” Kowalski said, “It’s hidden by a dumpster in the outside alley. No wonder why we’ve never seen it.”
“Very clever. Gentlemen, this is our musical ghost, Roger Ondes. Roger, meet Private, Kowalski, and Rico.” He introduced in turn.
“This is an absolutely fascinating piece of equipment,” Kowalski exclaimed, and immediately the pair were discussing vibrational frequencies, cellos, and radio operating. Skipper rolled his eyes.
“Are you both quite all right?” Private asked, looking at this new, unlikely duo.
“You know Private, we’re just fine. Let’s just say the next time I ever go hurdling down a dumb waiter, I hope that Marlene is at my side.”
Marlene was flabbergasted. “That’s….sweet?”