The Ghost of You

Gerard, neatly dressed, exits his building and hails a cab. He's determined. No longer does he need psyching up. He hops inside the cab.
The driver is awful and rude.
Seconds later he hops out again, yelling." You fascist bigot. Who do you think you are? This is America. "
The driver speeds off. Gerard hopes the driver sees the finger he gives him.

He takes a breath as he enters 131st Street. There is a sense of menace in the air.

Gerard sees Willie's building. His feet make him step back a few steps. It takes another moment of deep breaths util his feet start to work with his brain. As he walks into the dark lobby it's full of shadows. Leaning close, he examines the mail boxes. Willie's name is there.
His feet back away again. He's suddenly afraid. He says he can't do this, because really. . . could he? He's afraid that he doesn't have enough strength.

He trust his feet this time. He turns to leave.

*________*

The dresser drawer opens and a box labeled 'Frank's Things --Valuable" is slowly pulled out. As his hand reaches inside it, his fingers connect with something leather and pulls at it. It's Frank's address book. Ray opens the book and quickly jots down a series of code numbers he finds in the back. His eyes sparkle with excitement.

*________*

Gerard is sitting in a room opposite Detective Sergeant Thomas and Sergeant Wallace. Both officers are staring at him as he speaks.

He's very uncomfortable. " Look, you've gotta believe me. I don't even believe this stuff, myself. But this is real. Do you think I'd come here if it wasn't real? You told me to come if I had any new information. Well, here I am. "

The officers don't respond.

" Don't look at me like that. Don't you guys use psychics all the time. "

They are dead silence.

" Damn it. I know how this sounds. I hear myself saying it and I want to cringe. But this Man knew things he couldn't have known. Intimate details. "

" How intimate? " Sergeant Wallace said.

" Things Frank only said to me. "

" Okay, let me get this straight. According to this psychic man, there are ghosts and spirits all over the place, watching us all the time, huh?. . . " He stands up. " I'm sorry. I've got important things to do. " He leaves the room.

Gerard gives him a dirty look and turns to Detective Sergeant Thomas.

" I'm telling you. The killer's name is Willie Lopez. I've got his address. You've got to check it out. "

Sgt. Thomas gets up and looks over to Gerard." Okay. You just wait here. Let me see if this guy's got a record. " He heads out of the room.

Gerard sits back with an air of enormous relief and gratitude.

Detective Sergeant Thomas comes into the room again, carrying a thick folder.
Gerard waits nervously.
After a moment Detective Sergeant Thomas returns with a police file in his hands.
Gerard looks up at him, and then smiles at him as he sees it. He feels vindicated. He lays the
thick folder on the desk and opens it up.
He hurries over his side of the table.
to him.

Mug shots of Bob Bryar and reams of police paperwork. Gerard stares at it all in sudden shock. " What are you doing? Where's your file on Willie Lopez? "

" There's no file for a Willie Lopez. He was probably some old friend he was trying to get even with. This psychic's record goes back a long way. Fraud, numbers rackets, you name it. He's a real pro. "

Gerard is stunned. There are even recent photos of bob Bryar and others going back to his youth. They are fascinating and revealing. In addition, there are pages of arrest records and prison files.

" 1997. Shreveport, Louisiana. Forgery, selling false ID. Served one year. 2001. Baton Rouge. Arrested for fraud, numbers racketeering. Served ten months. 2003. Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Fraud, seven months. 2005. Albany, New York. Petty larceny. It goes on and on. "

Gerard is overwhelmed by the evidence.

" This man's a charlatan. You can't believe anything he said. "

" This isn't possible. There were words, private things. How could he have known all that?

" Gerard. . .They have ways. "

" Ways? What ways? "

" Cons. A lot of times they read the obits. All he had to do was see the word "banker". Hell, they even go through your garbage to find things they can use, letters, old papers. They don't need much.

Gerard can't bare it. He turns away.

" I bet you threw stuff out, huh? It could have been anything. What about that underwear he knew all about? "

Gerard's eyes widen.

" Green underwear. I'll bet he zeroed right in on that. "

" No! He was real. He said things. He knew about a sweater my Grandmother knitted, about songs we sang. . . He knew about this place we went, Montego Bay. . ."

Gerard begins to cry.

" I'm sorry. I know this is hard. People want so much to believe. They're grieving, vulnerable. They'd give anything for one last moment. . . money, insurance policies. Believe me, these people know what they're doing. Look, I know how you must feel about you. . . boyfriend? You know, you can press charges.

Gerard shakes his head no. Sgt. Thomas closes the file. Gerard sits for a long time. He feels like he's is in terrible pain." Oh God, I wanted it to be Frank. "

Sgt. Thomas nods his head compassionately and then turns away.

*_______*

Gerard is sitting in his bedroom. The weeping is now out of his system.The glow of the late
afternoon sunlight casts long shadows across the bed. He feels deeply depressed and alone. Gradually his gaze falls on a jar sitting on the nightstand. In it is the penny Frank found when they were first working on the loft. A label on the jar says, "For Luck!"
In a moment of sudden rage, he picks it up and throws it against the wall. It shatters on
the floor.

*_______*

The code from Frank's address book, jotted on a piece of paper, is sitting beside Ray's keyboard. " God, let this be it! " Ray says excitedly.

Anxiously, Ray punches the code into a computer and, suddenly, Frank's old accounts appear on the screen. A look of relief wafts across Ray's face. " Oh God, yes! " Ray is staring at the same accounts Frank was examining the afternoon before he was killed, the accounts with too much money in them. Ray picks up the phone and punches a number. Someone answers.
" Tony, this is Ray. I'm all set.We're fine. Everything's fine. Just tell me what you want me to do. "
" We want you to transfer the money from the 12 separate accounts into a single account under the name " Brian Shechter". Tomorrow, at five minutes before closing, 3:55 p. m., transfer the full account to First Island Bank of Nassau, registry number 486-9580. "
Ray writes it all down.
"Call us when it's done. "

" Tell Mr. Balistrari there won't be any problems. "

" I'll do that. "

Ray hangs up. He feels deeply relieved.

Frank is nothing but disgusted standing in front of Ray, watching him closely. Quickly, Ray begins punching commands into the computer. He is setting up the dummy account. Brian Schechter, #926-31043.

*________*

Ray and Gerard are sitting on the couch drinking coffee.

Frank is not far. He is beside himself, watching them.

" Are you alright? You look nervous, upset. "

" What can I tell you. It's been tough. Hell, you know. It still hurts so much. Then on top of it all... it's the responsibilities. They've given me my own accounts, but I've had no time to adjust. My mind has been reeling. "

Frank can see that he's lying through his teeth.

Gerard reaches out and pats Ray's arm therapeutically. There is an awkward pause.

" Where were you this morning? I thought you were coming to the bank to sign those papers. "

" I didn't have time. I went to the police, Ray. "

Frank looks at him, amazed.

Ray, on the other hand, stiffens. He laughs nervously. " You're kidding. You really did it? I don't believe. . . What did you tell them? What did they say? "

" You were right, you know. I felt like such a fool. They brought out a file on this psychic man ten inches thick. It was awful. "

Frank sees Ray relax his shoulders. " Gee, no. " Frank feels saddened

" A ripoff artist, huh? "

" The sad part is that I believed him. I believed him, Ray. It was all a sham. "

" Sometimes we need to believe. "

" Why, Ray?. . . I was a fool. I don't believe anything anymore. Why would people do such things? "

Frank is devastated.

" It's hard to face reality, Gerard, the hard cold facts of it. What you have to remember is the love you felt. That's what's real. You have to remember how good Frankie was. How much he loved you. " Ray starts to milk it.

Gerard holds back tears.

Ray reaches out tenderly and strokes his hair. " You were everything to him, Gerard. You were his life. "

Gerard let's the tears fall. " I feel so alone. "

" You're not alone. You've got so much talent. You're fantastically handsome. "

" Oh God, I don't know what's real anymore. I don't know what to think. "

" Just think about Frank. Think about what he meant to you, the years you had together, how wonderful they were.

Ray glides his hand slowly, lovingly across his cheek. " Let your feelings out. "
Almost imperceptibly, his hand moves down to the nape of his neck.

Frank freezes.

" Life turns on a dime, Gee. People think they have forever, that they'll always have tomorrow. But it's not true. Frank taught us that. We have to live for now, for today. "

Gerard can barely contain his tears.
Ray moves toward his moist cheeks and kisses them gently. Slowly, he guides his lips to Gerard's neck and kisses it, too. It is all hateful and sensual at the same time.

Frank turns away.

Gerard feels Ray's tenderness, needing it. Ray holds Gerard's hand. For a moment they do nothing. Then his fingers reach for his thigh. Gerard's eyes close. He says nothing.

" NO, GEE!!! " Frank charges wildly at the couch and begins flailing uncontrollably at the two of them. Unexpectedly his foot kicks out and hits a framed photograph of him and Gerard that's
sitting on he coffee table. The picture crashes to the floor, the glass shattering.

Gerard jumps, the mood suddenly broken. He sees the photo and recoils. Ray reaches for him but he backs away.

Frank is stunned by what has happened. He jumps up and tries kicking over another picture but nothing moves. His foot goes right through it.

Gerard looks at Ray, drying his tears. " I can't. I'm sorry. I can't. It's too soon. . . You've been great Ray, but. . . I need you to leave. Please. I need you to. "

" Sure. It's okay. I understand. I really do. "

He reaches out and takes his hand. " Look, what if we have dinner tomorrow night? Just talk. Can I interest you in that? "

" NO! " Frank yells at Ray.

Gerard hesitates a moment and then nods his head with a "yes".

Ray smiles.

*_______*

Frank rushes madly down a flight of stairs into a subway station. A train is just leaving. He jumps on board. He begins quickly casing the aisles, looking for something.
It is not there. Another train is seen speeding past the window, Frank takes a running leap and jumps onto it, passing through the walls.
He is enraged. That a childhood friend could be so greedy that after almost thirty years of friendship it comes down to one night where he was shot. All for what? His life partner and some fucking money. His eyes catch a garbage can and reaches out to pick it up to throw it. The lid spills off the top and crashes to the floor.

Frank is no longer angered but surprised. He goes to pick it up but his fingers pass through it.

He's over this thing happening too him. Things going his way then not.

He's angry yet again. He kicks the lid and it fly's far.

His anger washes away. A beer can is sitting on a bench in the subway. He thinks about Ray and tries to push it off. Watching it roll across the platform with couple of clinks causes childlike glee.

He understands now. Strong emotion is needed. Anger really.
Looking up, Frank sees an advertisement for Market Security Bank and Trust. He stares at the encased poster with great interest. "Special Banking for Special People. We make it easy for you."
Something registers in Frank's eyes. He yells and jumps straight up, hitting a subway sign with his fists. With great excitement, he runs for the stairs and rushes from the station. Leaving the glass that's splatted everywhere behind him.