The Invocation

by Carl Alves

  He stepped inside without knocking on the door. Harry Black was reading over today's odds. He looked up, his lips curled into a snarl. "Who the fuck are you?"

  He smiled. "An old friend."

  "I don't know you," Harry said.

  “Don’t you remember? We did the Greiss job together. Not to mention I supplied hookers for those bachelor parties you used to run. In fact, we got along just great until you sold me out to the cops about my gambling ring in South Jersey.”

  Black’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forward. “Cotter? That’s impossible. He’s fucking dead. Not to mention, you look nothing like him. You’re just some punk kid trying to stir things up. Get the fuck out of here.”

  Cotter smiled. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not until we have ourselves a nice conversation. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

  Harry Black reached for the gun he kept in his top drawer, a move Cotter was anticipating. He lunged at Black and knocked him off his chair. Cotter grabbed a staple gun from the desk and smashed his face with it, relishing the terror in Black’s eyes. This was too much fun. He shot staples into Black’s forehead and reveled as the fat bastard wailed. It was like the sound of a beaten dog. Cotter pulled out the buck knife from his jacket pocket, jammed the butt of the knife onto Black’s nose, then flipped the blade open.

  He held the knife up high. “You dimed out the wrong guy. Nobody fucks with Cotter.” He plunged the knife into Black’s fat gut. He stabbed Black in the abdomen, chest, and neck. It was a bloody mess. So much for keeping it neat, but damn, it felt good.

  He had to get out of here, but before he did, he needed some loot. Fortunately, he knew where Black kept it. He didn’t have enough time to crack the safe but found cash in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. He counted twenties and hundreds. Now he had cash and a gun. All he needed was a woman of loose moral fiber and he’d be set. He took a deep breath. It was good to be alive again.

  Chapter XVIII

  After clipping Harry Black, Cotter washed up in the bathroom. His clothes were a mess. He would get new threads that were more his style.

  He slipped out back without anyone noticing him. Even if they had, he didn’t care. He was not going to be on the hook for Black’s murder. This kid Adam Fallon would take the fall. Tough shit for him.

  After driving to a store and picking up a pair of slacks, a silk shirt, and a fedora to complement the look—all stolen of course—he drove to a club in Conshohocken. The music in the club had changed, and he wasn’t digging the new tunes. He recognized a bartender, an old associate from back in the day. The bartender had done a stint in the joint for dealing. Cotter was able to unload the smack Adam had been carrying to the bartender for a reasonable price. Now his wallet was fat with cash.

  He hustled some losers at a pool table, beating a pair of wet behind the ear yuppies five times before they figured out they were not in his league. Just to add insult to injury, he lifted one of their wallets as they left. He took the cash and dumped the wallet.

  Later, he picked a fight with a college boy who had too much to drink and was getting loud at the bar. Cotter suggested he and college boy take it outside. College boy took him up on the offer, but before they made their way out of the club, Cotter sucker punched him in the back of the head.

  College Boy had it coming since he was dumb enough to turn his back on him. Who said books made a person smart? He proceeded to give him an ass kicking before leaving the club.

  He left the smoke-filled club with the music blaring in the background. The night air felt cool, crisp, and alive when it touched his face. He had built up a good sweat from his fight with College Boy.

  He lit a cigarette. A red-head wearing too much makeup came up to him to make conversation. She had been digging his work inside the club, first hustling the yuppies and then beating up College Boy. She was a hot dish, all the more appetizing when he found out she worked as a dancer at a local strip joint. Her name was Stella—not that it mattered. After tonight, she would not be able to recognize him again.

  They got into his borrowed Mustang.

  "So where do you want to party tonight?" Stella asked. "My place or yours?"

  Cotter had no idea where Adam Fallon lived. "Definitely yours. Too much heat on me. I want to lay low."

  Stella nuzzled against him as he started the car. "This isn't your car?"

  Cotter shrugged. "It's mine tonight."

  "You know, you look awfully young, but you sure know how to handle yourself."

  "I've been around." Cotter had stolen his first car when she was still in diapers. "And I definitely know how to handle myself. More importantly, I know how to show you a good time."

  Stella squealed. "Now you're talking. I have some blow back at my place."

  "Sounds good to me." Whatever got her off. He wasn’t into the hard stuff. Sure, he had dabbled in it from time to time, but he had never developed a taste for it, always too ambitious to let that stuff deteriorate his mind.

  "I haven’t seen you before. You from around here?"

  "This ain't my normal stomping grounds." Cotter stopped himself from laughing. His normal stomping grounds were a world away. If he got her high enough, she might even believe him.

  A wannabe tough guy in a Corvette pulled up beside them. He had seen the type before. Like driving a sports car made you a big deal. Mr. Corvette stared at Stella.

  "Now that's a nice ride," Stella said.

  Cotter said, "Oh yeah? Wanna trade up for it?"

  "What do you have in mind?"

  "Watch this." Cotter lowered his window. "Hey, Cuz, you wanna race?"

  The guy in the ‘Vette rolled his eyes. "Spare me. I’ll smoke you."

  Cotter raised his brows. "Is that right?" He peeled a bunch of twenties from his front pocket. "I got five hundred bucks here that says you can't."

  Mr. Corvette narrowed his eyes. "You're on."

  "We'll race to Trooper. You got the money to put up?"

  "Sure do."

  Cotter raised his windows. "This asshole doesn't have the money. No matter. That ain't what I'm after anyway."

  When the light turned green, the Corvette shot off. It was late at night, and traffic was virtually absent on the street. Almost immediately, Cotter turned onto a side street, then made a right onto a street that ran parallel with their original street.

  "What are you doing?" Stella asked.

  "Just watch. This ain't my first rodeo."

  Mr. Corvette had probably slowed to look in his rear-view to see where Cotter had gone, abandoning the race. Cotter accelerated down the parallel street until he was four blocks from their starting point. He made another right, going back to the street on which they had started. Just as he suspected, the Corvette was slowly approaching. Cotter turned onto the street, floored the accelerator, and drove straight at the Corvette.

  "Holy shit," Stella said. "What are you doing?"

  "Relax, baby."

  Mr. Corvette went wide-eyed as he approached. He slammed his brakes and swerved to avoid Cotter's car.

  Cotter hit the brakes, threw his head back, and laughed. The color slowly returned to Stella's face. After a few moments, she began to laugh.

  Cotter looked at the other car. "Looks like our friend ain't happy. Too damned bad for him."

  As the driver of the Corvette approached him with a deep scowl, Cotter got out of the car.

  Spit flew from Mr. Corvette’s mouth. "What kind of shit are you trying to pull?"

  Cotter smirked. "You know, I was going to let you walk away, but since you're pissing me off, I'll have to take your wheels." He pulled out the gun he had stolen from Harry Black's office and pointed it at the driver.

  Blood rushed from the other man's face. He raised his hands. "Hey, just chill out. You don't need to do this."

  Cotter tilted his head. "Oh, but I do have to do this. Now you got two options. Either leave your car and walk away or eat some lead. By the way, I don't give a shit which option you pick."


  A wet spot emerged near the man's groin, which told Cotter exactly what his decision was going to be. The man's voice faltered. "Look, I don't want any trouble. I have a wife and two kids at home."

  "Like I give a shit." Cotter motioned with his gun. "Now start walking."

  Cotter thought he was going to cry. What a pussy. "Okay, I'm leaving."

  "You're damn right you're leaving."

  Stella emerged by his side with a big smile and flushed cheeks. He could tell she was getting off on the adrenaline rush. He always had a way with the ladies. She called out, "And we don't want you comin' back either."

  After the guy was out of sight, Ronnie Cotter turned to Stella. "You ready to have some real fun tonight?"

  Chapter XIX

  Jake had been in his bedroom watching his next opponent’s fight on YouTube—it was grainy footage of a fight that literally took place in the jungles of Brazil—when the doorbell rang. He had watched this fight three times, each time noticing new tendencies from his Brazilian foe. Joe Renken was working on getting additional footage of his other fights. Santos was good, no doubt, Jake’s toughest opponent yet. He was going to have his hands full in this fight.

  Kenna was at school, and his mom was at work, so he went downstairs to answer the front door. After opening the door, he clenched his fists at the sight of Adam Fallon.

  “What the hell do you want?” Jake was ready to thrash him, but his former best friend looked so utterly pathetic, he couldn’t summon the rage he felt yesterday.

  Tears streamed down his face. “Jake, something bad happened. I’m sorry for everything I did to you but I need your help. I have no one else to turn to.”

  Jake took a deep breath. He had to be the biggest idiot in the world for not slamming the door on Adam’s face, but his former friend looked as if he had been through seven kinds of hell. He remembered how yesterday Adam had suddenly turned into an unbearable jerk as if a switch had been flipped. He looked like a totally different person today. Something seriously wrong was going on here. “Come in.”

  Adam clutched his arm. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Adam sat on the sofa and sobbed. “That’s the whole thing. I have no idea. I…The last thing I remember was being in your house last night, and I, um, was trying to get you to hold my heroin.”

  Jake ground his teeth. “Yeah, you son of a bitch. I can’t believe you pulled that crap, especially after I took a fall for you.”

  Adam looked down. “I’m sorry, man. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m an asshole.”

  For a while neither said anything. Adam looked like a beaten dog.

  “All right, then what?”

  “I don’t remember anything after that. It’s all a big blank.”

  Jake folded his arms. “You don’t remember when you said those filthy, vile things to June?”

  Adam’s brow furrowed. “Who’s June?”

  This was getting weird. “June Madsen. She’s my, um, friend. We’ve been seeing each other. We went to high school with her.”

  Adam raised his brows. “Oh yeah, I remember her. You’re going out with her?”

  “You don’t remember June being in my house yesterday?”

  Adam shook his head. “I would remember that. She was hot.”

  “Well, you said some nasty things to her.”

  Adam frowned. “I did?”

  “Yeah. I was about to kill you. She held me back.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, bro. I don’t remember any of that. I wouldn’t say anything bad about your girl.”

  Jake took a deep breath. What Adam had done was so contrary to anything he had ever seen him do, and Jake had known him his entire life. “So, you don’t remember June, or flipping me off?”

  Adam shook his head. “Flipping you off? What do you think, I have a death wish? Why would I pick a fight with you? You could snap me like a twig.”

  Jake couldn’t argue the point. “What happened after that?”

  Adam released a muffled sob. “Nothing. It’s all blank. The next thing I remember I’m wandering aimlessly on a street in Norristown. I…had a knife and this gun.” He pulled out a pistol.

  Jake’s eyes went wide. “Where the hell did you get that?”

  “Wish I knew. I’ve never owned a piece before. I don’t even know how to shoot one.”

  In the robbery that had landed Jake in jail, Adam had been using a prop gun. He was too chicken-shit to use a real one.

  “There was blood on the knife, my clothes, my car. I don’t know how it got there.” Adam clutched his arm. “Jake, what’s going on? Am I going crazy? Something bad went down. I could feel it.”

  Jake took a deep breath and looked into Adam’s eyes. Yesterday, when he had been a complete bastard, there had been this evil glint in his eyes that Jake had never seen before. That look was gone. He was the same old Adam Fallon. “I thought something was off with you yesterday. One minute, you were trying to peddle drugs to me like a weasel, then you turned into this complete unbearable creep. Not that you weren’t an asshole before, because you were. You were just a different kind of asshole.”

  “I have no idea what happened to the drugs. If I don’t get them back, I’m going to be in deep shit.”

  Jake glared at him. “Remind me to throw you a pity party.”

  Adam wiped away his tears. “I don’t care about the drugs now. I just want to know what went down and why I can’t remember anything. This is freaking me out, man.”

  Jake walked to the window, wondering if he should believe Adam. The story seemed outlandish, but he appeared to be genuinely spooked. He didn’t believe in multiple personality disorder, figuring it was just psychological mumbo jumbo, but if it existed, then maybe it was manifesting in Adam.

  “Even though you screwed me over, I’d help you out if I could, but I don’t know what I could do. Maybe you should see a shrink.”

  Adam motioned toward the gun. “What if I did something, you know, really bad last night?”

  Jake stared out the window, not knowing what to say.

  “What if this happens again? What if I black out and can’t remember anything?”

  Jake nearly jumped at the sound of rapping on the door. He frowned at Adam, who shook his head, his face turning white.

  When Jake opened the front door, two police officers stood in front of him. One was a tall, black man with wide shoulders and a stubby nose. He contrasted with his partner, a short, slightly overweight, Italian looking guy with a pointed nose.

  “You Adam Fallon?” the Italian cop asked.

  Jake shook his head and pointed his thumb. “He’s Adam.”

  “Is that your vehicle parked outside?” the black cop asked.

  Adam looked hesitantly at Jake. “Um, yeah.”

  “You’re under arrest,” the Italian cop said.

  “What did I do?” Adam began to hyperventilate.

  As his partner cuffed Adam, the Italian cop said, “Well, let me see. We’ve got you on two counts of murder, robbery, kidnapping, criminal endangerment, and a litany of other charges. You been a busy boy, and you ain’t very smart about covering your tracks.” He read Adam his Miranda rights, something that brought back horrible memories.

  Adam looked as if he needed a lifeline, but Jake could do nothing for him. His face was pure contorted anguish.

  “And what’s your relationship to the suspect?” the black officer asked.

  Jake hesitated. After his experience with incarceration, he was not going to say anything that was not the absolute truth to these police officers, even if it meant hanging Adam out to dry. “We used to be friends. No longer.”

  “Did you see him last night?”

  Jake nodded. “He was at my house until about 5:30. He left and showed up again fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Are you aware of his whereabouts the previous evening?”

  Jake shook his head.

  “Did he tell you
what he was up to last night?”

  “He says he doesn’t know,” Jake said.

  The officer frowned. “He said he doesn’t know what he did?”

  Jake nodded. “That’s what he told me.”

  The officer handed Jake a card. “We’ll be in contact with you later.”

  “I’ll answer whatever questions you have.”

  As they took Adam away, Jake could not decide if he should feel remorse or satisfaction at the poetic justice of Adam being arrested. Mostly, he felt confused.

  Chapter XX

  When Kenna answered the door, the last person she expected to see was Carlos. She didn’t think he was still her friend after yesterday. At school, Kenna and her friends had purposely stayed away from him.

  Three sets of cold eyes stared at him as he entered her house.

  Carlos took a step back. “Hey, what’s going on? You guys have been ignoring me all day.”

  Cordy folded her arms. “Hmph. If you don’t know what’s wrong, then there’s no point in telling you.”

  “What did I do?” Carlos asked.

  Ben got in his face. “What did you do? What did you do? Are you kidding me?”

  Carlos shrunk backward.

  Kenna shook her head. “Come on. Just own it.”

  Tears streamed down Carlos’s face, the first time Kenna had ever seen him cry. “I really don’t know. Just tell me. The last thing I remember we were in the basement talking to Mia, and then…I was walking outside, just, I don’t know, wandering. I was lost. I was walking around for about fifteen minutes before I figured out where I was at. I was scared.”

  Kenna held back tears. Whatever happened yesterday with Carlos, it was obvious he felt bad about it. Maybe that was why he was acting like it didn’t happen.

  Cordy softened her stance, but still kept her distance. “You were so mean. You even punched Ben in the face.”