Ace. Ace!

Knowing that even shoving a pillow over his head won't make the voice go away, Ace groans and opens his eyes to the dim light of a predawn Monday morning. "What? What could you possibly need done that is so urgent you couldn't wait an hour or two?"

"Jack Simpson. That bastard deserves to be burning in the seventh circle of hell for what he did to me."

"And what exactly is this Jack Simpson guilty of?"

"He's the whole reason I'm haunting you this early on a Monday morning."

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"He slept with my wife and fixed the brakes on my car so I couldn't slow down around Devil's Pass."

Ace sighed.

"So, I'm assuming you drove off the edge of that pass and that's why you are currently dead, but not crossed over?"

"Exactly," the ghost said, pleased that Ace understood.

"Well," Ace said, tossing back his covers and pulling on a pair of comfortable sweatpants. "I never work without first having coffee. And I need proof of what this Jack Simpson did, before I try to interact. I can't just go accusing people of acts without proof they actually did them. Also, do you have a name?"

"Name's Mitch. Mitch Anders."

"Okay, Mitch," Ace said, starting his coffee with a punch of the preset button. He nearly groaned with gratitude and appreciation for whomever had invented coffee when he smelled the first whiffs of that delectable scent. "Tell me why I should give this Jack Simpson anymore of my considerably expensive time."

"Oh," the ghost said, considering. "I didn't think about payment. How does a dead man pay up?"

"We'll talk about that in a minute," Ace said, stirring just a hint of sugar and creamer into his black brew. "First, tell me how you know Jack was cheating with your wife and fixed the brakes on your car."

"I was there," Mitch said simply. "Well, I wasn't technically there. But after I crashed off Devil's Pass, it didn't take long to come to terms with the fact that I was no longer occupying my body. When I could move around, I went home, not really sure where else to go."

"And?" Ace said, urging Mitch to continue.

"That's when I saw that harlot I married being much too friendly with dear old Jack. She, well, I won't go into details, but let's just say she's not acquainted with Simpson in the biblical sense of the word.

"Alright," Ace said. "So, here's how this works. I contact Simpson and give him a chance to admit to his wrongs. If he really did screw the brakes on your car, I'll call the police and he'll go to jail if the evidence holds. As I'm assuming they haven't found your car or remains as yet, that will help preserve said evidence. As for screwing around with your wife, there's not much I can do there. Affairs and infidelity are a part of life I'm afraid and while I might consider them personally offensive to my nature, I can't dictate others choices."

"And how do I make sure you get paid?"

"Did you have accounts or investments or even jewelry separate from your wife?"

"Of course," Mitch said. "Don't all men?"

"Well, I can't speak for everyone, but I'd say the odds are good."

"You give me access." Ace said. "You will give me access to your bank card, and I will withdraw my fee from your account until I've been paid in full. It will take time for your wife to access funds that were only in your name, specifically she'll have to provide a valid death certificate. She'll also have to prove that she wasn't involved in the little fiasco with your car. Then, when I'm paid in full, we'll wipe your card clean and place it back where it was all along."

"But won't it show withdraws from my account after I died?"

"It will, but I'll be long gone and they'll be none the wiser."

"But won't that raise questions about my death and just who is using my card if I'm dead?"

"We won't be alerting anyone of your non-existence until after I get my fee. This will clear up any issue with the fact that you're currently dead and can't possibly take money from your account. I get my fee and you get your closure to move on."

"Well, alright then. Let's go get your money."

"One question," Ace said as he placed his now clean coffee mug in the cupboard. "What's the withdraw limit on your account?"

"One thousand a day."

"Then in five days, we'll alert the authorities to your little accident and figure out the who and what of your untimely demise."