Free A Ghost of a Chance by Minnette Meador Page B

floor and drifted to float above the toilet. “Don’t talk, just listen. Name’s McGillivray, but you can call me Mac.”
    Funny, he doesn’t look Scottish . A little smile tugged at Keenan’s lip, the first one of the evening. It made him feel better.
    Mac replied, “My father was Scottish, my mother Chinese.”
    Keenan could not get his wits wrapped around any of this. The whole situation was only confirming his suspicion that maybe he really was crazy and the last to hear about it. Makes perfect sense.
    Mac assumed the lotus position above the toilet and put on a spectral pair of glasses that materialized out of the air. Resting them on his nose, a large leather bound book appeared on his lap. Opening it to somewhere at the center, he poured over the contents while water poured down Keenan’s sides and back. It was getting very warm.
    “Let’s see…” Mac wrinkled his nose up and down several times and ran a finger along the page. “163…163… Ah! 163.465 Public indecency. (1) A person commits the crime of public indecency if while in, or in view of, a public place the person performs . . .” Mutter, mutter, mutter, and then, “ (c) An act of exposing the genitals of the person with the intent of arousing the sexual desire of the person or another person. Public indecency is a Class A misdemeanor .” He pursed his lips and regarded Keenan gravely. “Oh, that’s very bad. And in front of a girls’ school too. Don’t suppose you knew where you were, did you?”
    Keenan shook his head then watched his hands fold themselves together on his lap. The room was getting hotter and he reached to take his coat off. It was only then he realized he didn’t have it on.
    “Good. I’m afraid you’re in for a night in jail, son.” Mac regarded him gravely. “Normally, they just give you a citation and send you home. You must have pissed this guy off. You may need to get in touch with someone to come up with bail.”
    Bail .
    The word was the first that actually took on some significance for Keenan.
    Someone to come up with bail.
    Keenan had no family in town, no friends, not even close acquaintances he knew well enough for him to go to for money. There were several ex-girlfriends, but he was certain they’d all just hang up on him. The only people he could think of were his next-door neighbor (fat chance) and Mike, the other graphic designer that sat in the cubicle next to him. Since Keenan had less than forty bucks in his pocket until Monday, and even less in the bank, Mike would have to do.
    Just then, the door opened and a man in shirtsleeves and slacks sauntered through it. Under his arm was a clipboard with a yellow tablet attached to it. He was tall with pale skin, fishy eyes, and rumpled dishwater hair. He looked about as threatening as a sponge.
    The man leaned on the wall across from Keenan and pulled a piece of paper from the back of the clipboard. Keenan didn’t say a word while he examined it.
    “Keenan Swanson, right?”
    Keenan nodded and the man tucked the clipboard back under his arm.
    “Sergeant Thompson read you your rights, correct?”
    Keenan nodded again, but he couldn’t look into those bulging eyes anymore, so he bowed his chin toward the floor.
    “Good,” the man continued. “I’m Detective Johnston, Mr. Swanson. Before we start any questioning, I need to know if you would like to waive your right to have an attorney present during an interview.”
    Keenan blinked back at him and didn’t know what to say.
    Mac floated to stand next to him and turned to the detective. “Tell him you’d like your phone call.”
    “I’d like my phone call,” Keenan repeated dutifully.
    Johnston put his lips to one side and gave him a single nod. “Okey, dokey. I’ll check with Thompson.” He ambled out the same way he came in and locked the door behind him.
    Keenan was convinced he’d never get that phone call, but five minutes later, Johnston reentered the room without comment and handed