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anything other than charlatans trying to con people out of their life savings.   I tend to be skeptical in that department.   I mean, come on.   Pyramid Power?   Crystals and psychic readings and all that?   In my view, the Project Stargate program was just a way to get paid for doing nothing.   You just had to wave your hands and say, ‘We have to keep up with the Russians!’ and the money would flow for some of the stupidest shit ever.”
    “Are you done?”
    I wasn’t but I took hold of myself and gave him a nod.
    He nodded back.   “I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.”
    “You aren’t going to go into a trance here are you?”
    “I’m not going to do anything here, Mr. Shade.   I prefer peace and quiet to focus and slip into the ether.   You have to understand that there are bad things out there and while I could just slip out of my body right now, that would be a bad idea.”
    “Why?”
    “They could be waiting for me.”
    “They?”
    “I call them demons.   I don’t know what they are really, but they seem like demons to me.   They tend to hang out in crowded areas, so I try not to leave my body undefended.”
    If I believed him, I might be creeped out, but I knew better.   I can see ghosts, so if there were spirits around crowds and such, I’d be able to see them.   This clown was as full of shit as a Christmas turkey.
    Walter looked around, caught the waitress’s eye, and pointed at his empty martini glass.
    She gave him a nod and glanced at me.   I took a sip of my beer and shook my head.
    “It’s best to have privacy and protection when you project.   What I’ll have you do is choose a place for me to go and have a look.”
    “The Underworld?” I said.
    “Ha!   Don’t tell me where you want me to go.   That defeats the purpose.”
    The waitress returned carrying another martini with extra olives.   “Here you go, sir.”
    He nodded to her.   She picked up his empty glass and gave me another glance and a smile.
    When she walked away, Walter said, “You should ask for her number.”
    I shrugged.
    He sipped his martini.   “I think I’ll have one more of these before we go.”
    “Drunken spirits.   Fun times.”
    “My spirit doesn’t get drunk, just my body.   It eases the strain of leaving it.”
    “Doesn’t protect it, though.”
    “There is that.   Of course, that’s where the club comes in.”
    “The club?”
    “My remote viewing club.   I’ll call the guys and have them meet us at my place.”
    Wonderful.   A whole remote viewing club .   Just what I needed.   Whackjobs unite.
    #
    Thirty minutes later, back at Walter’s, the crew arrived.
    The first guy to walk through the door was a middle-aged man with long, graying hair and eyes that darted this way and that as if he expected to get attacked at any second.   Too many video games?
    He stuck his hand out.   “I’m Fred Twitty .   You’re the PI?”
    “Safe bet,” I said and shook his hand.
    He looked at his palm when he released me, shrugged, and gave Walter a nod.   “Walt, Cynthia’s trying to park.   She’ll be a minute.”
    I glanced at Walter, and he winked at me.   “Cynthia just bought an SUV.   She’s been driving a little Subaru for years.   She’s worried she’ll run something over because the truck is too big for her.”
    Cynthia entered the house.   She stood four foot nine in high heels.   I guessed her age at fifty-five.   She wore Coke-bottle glasses, and when she waved to me, the skin flaps under her arms jiggled like two kittens in a gunny sack.
    “It’s past my bedtime,” she said, “so this better be good.”
    “Thanks for coming,” Walter said.
    She waved him off.   “I need a drink.”   She headed for the kitchen.
    The fourth and final member of the Remote Viewing Club arrived a few minutes later.   Walter introduced him as Lou, and he looked like he’d been old back in Esther’s day.   That said, he walked with confidence and seemed