Free Secret Dead Men by Duane Swierczynski

Datsun. I grabbed my trash bag wardrobe and a box of possessions and hauled them through my motel door.
    On this second trip, somebody was waiting on the landing, and it didn't look as if he was there to help with the luggage.
    "Hold it right there," he said, leveling a .45 at my chest.
    * * * *
    I didn't recognize him at first. He was a lean guy; dark hair, neatly parted to the right, strong jaw, mirrored sunglasses. He wore jeans and a brown button-down with goofy gumdrop designs on it. The shirt almost negated the gun.
    "Whatever you're thinking," he said, " don't. "
    "I'm not thinking anything." Actually, I was thinking about hurling my bag full of clothes at him, but what would that do? Mess up his hair part?
    "Good," he said.
    "Can I ask one thing?"
    "What's that?"
    "Who are you?"
    The man half-smiled--that is, one corner of his mouth curled up, while the other stayed put. "Funny. I was going to ask you the same question."
    "Look--"
    "What I mean to say is," the man continued, "I believe we've already met, but I'm not entirely sure. We're going to go back into your room there and talk about it."
    "Where did we supposedly meet?"
    "Woody Creek, Illinois."
    Finally, it clicked. Special Agent Fieldman. Eight months had aged the guy. Last time I'd seen him he was clipboard boy to Dean Nevins. Now he looked and talked like Lee Marvin's younger brother.
    "Hands on your head, and step back into your room," Fieldman said. "Now."
    "I think you've got the wrong guy," I said. "I'm just a traveling man." I'd meant to say "traveling salesman," but I got the Ricky Nelson song in my head by mistake.
    He ignored me. "Both hands, on your head."
    This was not good. Fieldman was wearing those ridiculous sunglasses, so I couldn't use my trusty yank-his-soul-out-of-his-body trick. For some reason, eye-to-eye contact is necessary for soul collection. I'd always wanted to ask Robert about that. Does this mean we could never collect Stevie Wonder? Not that it would be likely to come up, but it would be good to know.
    I was forced into my standard fall-back position: surrender consciousness, transport myself to the Brain Hotel, and regroup. Back in reality, my physical body would collapse, and be at the total mercy of Agent Fieldman. But it would give me some time to think. It was a chance I had to take.
    "I don't feel too hot," I said, taking a few wild steps backwards and mumbling something else about a lousy open-faced roast beef sandwich.
    Fieldman must have smelled a rat, because he stepped back, too, and took better aim. That was the last thing I saw before my vision went woozy and I snapped awake inside the Brain Hotel.
    * * * *
    The lobby was deserted, which was not unusual. None of the souls drifted down here unless something interesting was happening in the real world: a soul collection, a fist fight, or a good movie. Especially movies. Last summer, a few of the souls--Doug, Old Tom and Genevieve--made me sit through Jaws four times.
    I walked over to the lobby desk and picked up the black courtesy telephone, which sat next to the huge silver microphone. This was my polite way of summoning the souls, you see. I could bark commands like an angry god, but they wouldn't appreciate it. I know I wouldn't.
    I dialed an imaginary number for Paul After, happy I had finally collected somebody who could handle this kind of thing. Doug was fine if you were shoplifting or breaking into a car. Harlan was great if you needed someone to eat a large sandwich. But Paul ... Paul was the real deal.
    He answered on the second ring. "Yes, Del?"
    "How did you--"
    "Who else would it be? Avon?"
    "Listen," I said. "I could use your expertise. I've got a real world situation I'd like you to handle. Come down to the lobby, and I'll give you control of my body."
    Paul cleared his throat. "Tempting offer, but you're not my type."
    "You know what I mean."
    "Okay, okay. What's the situation?"
    "Uh," I stalled, thinking of the best possible way to put this.