Free A Ghost of a Chance by Minnette Meador Page A

was right there watching his every move, ready to call in a dozen squad cars to bust him. Reggie had to bolster him all the way through the transaction, telling him exactly what to say. Feeling a little like a puppet and shaking like a leaf, Keenan gave the guy the twenty-five bucks, snagged the plastic bag, stuffed it inside his jacket, and then took off, staying to the shadows so no one would see him.
    That night he knew Charles and his roommates would be at a game. Following Reggie’s careful instructions, Keenan managed without too much difficulty to pick the lock on the frat house door and get inside, again amazed at Reggie’s expertise in yet another fine art. Finding Charles’s room was easy; it was the grossest one in the house. To this guy, rotten was a lifestyle. Keenan planted the pot under Charles’s mattress and left to make an anonymous phone call to the police from one of the campus payphones.
    The next day the headlines read Heisman Hopeful Arrested on Drug Charges . In actuality, Charles got off with a slap on the wrist, suspension from school for two weeks and had to sit out of football for the rest of the quarter. But the scheme worked; Charles was a pussycat after that. Apparently, his few days in jail taught him some valuable lessons about playing with others. He went on to the pros after college for one season, but was busted for steroid use and kicked out of the league.
    Keenan still felt pangs of guilt every time he thought about what he had done to Charles. Now he realized karma must have caught up on her to-do list and finally gotten around to him.
    When they arrived at the precinct, Sergeant Thompson drove through a huge door at the front. The cruiser moved into what looked like a garage, except it had rolling doors on both ends. The one on the other side was closed. Once the door behind them shut, Thompson opened the car door, unlocked Keenan’s safety belt, and pulled him from the vehicle. Without batting an eye, Thompson marched Keenan through a heavy metal door he opened with a round electronic key and escorted him inside.
    On the other side was a small cement and metal area with two identical holding cells. Each consisted of a concrete bench with lead pipes bolted to the wall at sitting height and a silver toilet bolted to the floor on the other side of the cell. Circling these luxuries were four blank, cream tiled walls.
    As Thompson pulled Keenan to stand to the left of the cell door, he murmured, “You’re going to cause me a whole night of paperwork, my friend. You better sing nice and pretty when we come back to talk to you. Understand?”
    Keenan nodded and Thompson made him take off his shoes before he pulled Keenan into one of the cells. Once they reached the bench, Thompson roughly un-cuffed one wrist and attached the business end to the steel pipe, telling Keenan to have a seat.
    “I might be a while,” Thompson said over his shoulder closing the heavy door behind him. The beep of the electronic lock made Keenan’s ears pound.
    Rubbing his wrists as best he could, Keenan inspected the small room. Except for the toilet and bench, it was empty. Well, of accoutrements, anyway.
    A strange little Asian man sat in one corner, eyeing him suspiciously and rubbing his chin. He was nearly transparent, except for a pair of shining black eyes and a red goatee.
    “Got yourself in a real jam, didn’t you?” The specter’s voice was very old.
    Keenan ignored him and searched the room. He was certain they had it bugged. Spending the night in jail was bad enough; a week on the psych floor, however, was not his idea of a good time.
    “You don’t need to talk, young man,” the apparition stated. “I’m an attorney…or was before I died. Constance sent me to give you some advice and maybe get you out of this.”
    That brought Keenan up short and he thinned his lips at the ghost, not caring if anyone was listening. “Constance?” he whispered.
    “Sure.” The Asian man rose from the