Wings to the Kingdom

“I like the sound of that. But where would we buy infrared film around here?”



“I don’t know—but Dave would.”



It occurred to me that Dave would also demand to know what I wanted it for, but if I could corner him when Lu wasn’t there, I might be able to get away with telling him the truth. Then I glanced down at the paper, and that big SHOOTING emblazoned on the front, and I changed my mind.



“On second thought, I’ll call around. Do you have a phone book?”



“Sure.”



Twenty minutes of curious dialing turned up a photography supply store downtown, only a few minutes away. They had the film we wanted in stock, and the price was right.



“I’ll drive,” I announced, and Benny agreed. Once his shift started, he’d be driving a cab all night. He was happy to let me take the wheel.



I wasn’t positive I knew where the camera shop was, but the man on the phone said it was across the street from Jimmy’s Diner, on the same block as the United Way building.



I didn’t remember having ever seen a camera shop there before, but then again, downtown Chattanooga is full of nooks and crannies. The block in question was one of the oldest in town, and had been on the verge of falling in on itself until it was bought and restored a few years back. Nothing delighted me more than to see a set of men with sandblasters methodically stripping the paint off and letting the original red brick show through because if they were bothering to clear it off, then they probably weren’t going to tear it down.



I would have hated to see the old place go.



Parking downtown is something of a pain, especially in the old parts where the streets run one way and the lots are few and far between. After a few minutes of searching, I finally found a space a block up from Jimmy’s Diner. Benny closed his eyes while I parallel parked nose-down on the very steep incline.



“Oh ye of little faith,” I grumbled, sliding the Death Nugget in roughly—but accurately—between the white lines. I yanked the parking brake up and climbed out onto a highly sloped street.



“There’s Jimmy’s.” Benny declared the obvious. “And that must be the camera place.”



“Wow. Little hole-in-the-wall, isn’t it?”



“Who cares? As long as they’ve got the film.”



“Right.”



A bell that hung from the door frame jingled when we pushed the door. Despite the antique appearance of the narrow storefront, the inside of the shop was reassuringly bright and populated with an assortment of shiny, high-tech devices.



At the counter, two men and a woman were excitedly sifting through a set of pictures that I presumed they’d recently had developed. They huddled together and slapped through the photos, sorting them into piles. “That’s a good one; put that one over here,” a man in a dark red windbreaker said.



Behind the counter, a thin guy in a collared shirt with a corporate logo looked up and greeted us. “Can I help you?”



“Yes,” I said, approaching the counter. “I called a few minutes ago asking about infrared film?”



The other three customers abruptly stopped talking.



“That’s right. And it’s funny, too,” the clerk said. The ducked his head at our fellow camera shop patrons. “They were here after the same thing. Two requests for it in one day; and we almost never sell any of the stuff.”



The woman lifted her head from the glossy rectangles on the counter and gazed upon Benny and me with suspicion.



Once I got a good look at her, I realized why: We were sharing a camera shop with Tripp and Dana Marshall.



I didn’t know who the third man was—possibly a replacement for the assistant who had been shot—but the other two were unmistakable. They’d been all over the news for weeks, and they were exactly the sort of people who would have a pretty good idea what we needed the infrared film for.



Benny lifted his right hand and mustered a four-fingered wave. “Hi there.” He couldn’t have looked guiltier if he’d been wearing a T-shirt that said, “I want to believe.”



But as far as I was concerned, our desire for infrared film was none of the Marshalls’ business. I pretended that I hadn’t seen them, I didn’t know who they were, and, for that matter, couldn’t care less what they thought we were up to.



“How many rolls did you need?”



“Three ought to do it,” I told him, and I dug out my credit card while Benny fawned shyly over the Marshalls. I stretched over with my toe to nudge my friend into silence, but it was already too late. He was out of reach, and his mouth had started to run.



“You’re Tripp and Dana, aren’t you? I’ve read all your books,” he began. “And I loved your special on the Sci-Fi Channel, the one about the ship that was sunk in that bay by the lighthouse.”



I cringed. If they hadn’t guessed our plans before, they could surely do so now.



“Thank you,” Dana murmured. The look on her face said she was shaking his hand only because she could not politely refuse to do so. She was a small, blond woman, at least six or seven inches shorter than me and as thin and tight as a strand of licorice. Her hair was cropped close in a frosted do that should have given her a pixielike air, but instead only made her look a little mean. Twenty more pounds and a few curls would have made her appearance infinitely more personable.



“I’m Ben Scott,” he introduced himself. “And I don’t mean to sound stupid, and I don’t want to bother you, but I’m a huge fan.”



“Oh, it’s never a bother to meet a fan. Guys like you keep us in this crazy business.” Tripp stepped out from behind his wife and likewise extended a handshake.



He was only marginally taller than Dana—about Benny’s height—and if I surmised correctly, he was a handful of years older. The first streaks of gray were working their way through the hair at his temples; and although he wasn’t heavy, he was soft.



“It’s a real pleasure,” Benny gushed on.



I kept my mouth shut and signed the receipt that would give us the film and let us leave, but Tripp seemed as happy to keep on talking as my friend was.



“This must be the only place in town that carries this film, huh? We called around all over before we hit pay dirt. It’s a good price too. Much cheaper than it was up north. A few rolls of this stuff in Chicago cost nearly twice as much. Of course, it’s a tax write-off for us, but still. You’ve gotta buy it before you can cash it out through Uncle Sam.”



“What were you doing in Chicago? Are you guys doing another special, or another book?”



“Something like that,” Dana said vaguely, as if she wanted to hurry up and leave as much as I did. She was definitely not the PR end of the operation, but for the moment I appreciated it.



“Oh, yes. We wrapped up a show that’s going to be a two-hour jobbie on TLC in a few months. We had a wonderful time making it. Are you familiar with the wreck of the Eastland?”



Benny seemed thrilled for the opportunity to show his fan colors. “That day cruise boat that sank in the river, and killed all those people back in the nineteen-teens? I read something about it a long time ago. I’ve heard that to this day the police get frequent phone calls from people who hear voices crying for help from the water by the dock.”



“It’s true!” Tripp beamed. “We even got two of them to go on tape. I couldn’t believe it; usually guys like that don’t want their names associated with projects like ours, but every once in a while you find a few who aren’t afraid to stand up and call it like they saw it.”



“That’s incredible. Really incredible.”



By that time I was holding a brown paper bag filled with film, shaking it, and making obvious “come on, let’s go” head motions. Dana caught on before Benny did, though, and she reached for her husband’s elbow.



“Well, it was nice to meet you, but we really need to get going now.”



“It was great to meet you.” Benny smiled from ear to ear. “And I can’t wait to see what you come up with out at the battlefield. We’re all really excited to have you here. I hope you can get to the bottom of things.”



Dana paused to frown at him. “Mmm. Yes. Well. We’re doing our best. Things would probably go more smoothly for us if we had the battlefield all to ourselves, though.”



I stepped forward a little too fast with the righteous indignation. “I beg your pardon?”



“The shooting,” Benny said quickly. “Yeah, we heard about that. You’ve got to keep an eye out over there. Out here, everybody and their brother knows about the battlefield, and people are getting curious and paranoid. I hope your cameraman is okay.”



Trip nodded gravely. “The doctors say he’ll be fine, and they’re going to release him from the hospital tomorrow morning if things go well. But I have to tell you, the whole thing has been quite a shock. The rangers did warn us that there was a big problem with trespassing out there, and that we had more to fear from curiosity seekers than from any ghosts—but that’s always the case. There’s never anything to fear from the dead.”



I was tempted to argue with him, but I bit it back. I wasn’t sure how to contradict him anyway. For all I knew, he was right. He and his wife were the professionals here, after all. What did I know?



“But there’s plenty to learn from them,” his wife concluded, and I had every reason to believe that our conversation had drawn to a close. She guided his arm towards the door, and I laid a hand on Benny’s shoulder to encourage him to head the same way. After some mutual “bye”s and another round of “nice to meet you”s, the Marshalls and their associate went their way and we went ours.



Benny glowed all the way back to the car. “That was awesome. They were really nice, weren’t they? Really? I mean really. That was amazing. Aw, man—I should’ve asked them to sign something.”



“Like what?”



“Like—oh shit. We should’ve had them sign some of the film! We could’ve had ghost-hunting paraphernalia signed by Tripp and Dana Marshall! Okay, now I’m just kicking myself. I really should’ve thought of that. At least the receipt. We should’ve had them sign the receipt.”