by Carl Alves
***
The following day, Jake met with Mark Saleski for lunch at Panera Bread, Mark’s treat. Jake would have appreciated it more if he wasn’t three days away from the fight and still cutting weight. He only had five more pounds to shed, but he couldn’t afford to take any chances with his diet at this stage. If he maintained his current weight, he could easily sweat off the remaining weight on weigh-in day, the day before the fight.
When Jake had spoken to Mark on the phone the previous evening, he briefly mentioned his encounter with Cotter but did not want to elaborate because his mom was nearby. He had told Kenna and June about it, nearly giving his sister a heart attack, while June had been in tears.
June wanted to meet Mark, but she was giving a presentation in one of her classes and couldn’t afford to miss it. Jake promised to update her later that evening.
When Mark arrived at the restaurant, they took a booth.
“So, what happened to you?” Mark asked. “You were a bit vague on the phone. Are you okay?”
Jake told him about nearly getting hit by the car. “I got by unscathed. I have the feeling he wasn’t actually trying to hit me, that he was just trying to get in my head.”
Mark rubbed his beard. “Well, I tracked down Cotter’s criminal record based on your sister’s information. This guy’s a real piece of work. His name was Ronald Cotter. He had been doing ten years in Rahway state prison and died three years into his sentence, shanked on his way to the prison yard. His rap sheet includes armed robbery, sexual assault, statutory rape, arson, extortion, and operating an illegal gambling ring. I spoke with a detective in Jersey, who told me those were only the things he got convicted on. They believe he was responsible for more, including murder. He was considered a small-time hood with big ambitions.”
“What else do you have on him?”
Mark flipped the page of his spiral notebook. “He was thirty-nine when he died nine years ago. He dropped out of high school and was arrested four times by age twenty-one. He never married, but there were claims he fathered three children out of wedlock and never paid child support for any of them.
“Here is where things get interesting. Your friend Adam Fallon is currently awaiting trial for the murder of Harry Black and Ted Means, both known associates of Ronald Cotter. Furthermore, last week a man was arrested for two separate murders that occurred within days of each other. One of the people he is accused of murdering is Benny Walker, another former associate of Ronald Cotter.”
Jake shook his head. “That son of a bitch. He’s settling old grudges and having these poor saps take the fall for it.”
Mark nodded. “That seems to be his game.”
“So now what?”
“You have the license plate number of the car that tried to run you down?”
Jake nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Good. I have a private investigator who does work for our firm. I’m going to have him track this guy down. Hopefully, by his movement and activity, we’ll be able to figure out whether or not he’s Cotter. Then we’ll decide where to go from there.”
“You know, I was a little unsure about approaching you. I didn’t think it was a wise idea to get someone else involved, but Mia suggested it, and my sister vouched for you. I’m glad I listened. You’ve been really helpful.”
Mark drank his Diet Coke. “Thanks, but I haven’t accomplished anything yet. Not while this psychopath is on the loose.”
“All the same, I appreciate your efforts.”
“You’re fighting this Saturday night, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Be careful.”
Jake frowned. “You think he’ll use this as an opportunity to attack me?”
“If he tried to run you over with his car, then Cotter must be tracking you. In that case, he’ll be aware of your fight. That seems like a logical move.”
“Great,” Jake said. “I’m already going to have my hands full with my opponent that night. The last thing I need is to worry about Cotter coming after me.”
Mark raised his hands. “I don’t want to put any undue pressure on you. Just be careful.”
“I will. And the next time I get a hold of Cotter, I won’t let him get away.”
“Well, that may not be the best strategy. Keep in mind, he could always take possession of you.”
Chapter XXXII
Cotter pulled his appropriated Corvette into the school parking lot and spotted the girl that was the link to this world. He made sure to keep tabs on little Kenna every day. Sometimes at school, other times near her house. He couldn’t afford to lose track of her. If he wasn’t in close proximity to Kenna, he would be banished to where he had come from. That wasn’t going to happen. He was having way too much fun now, more than he ever had alive.
So far, he had managed to remain inconspicuous by playing it smart. He had switched bodies a half-dozen times already, so if she spotted him, he wouldn’t always have the same look as his previous appearances. He was also switching the locations he used to spy on her.
Cotter waited as Kenna got on the bus with her two friends. That blonde girl and the boy with the sad face seemed to spend a lot of time with her.
Satisfied Kenna was fine, Cotter drove off. The red speedster was a sweet ride. A flashy and fast car tended to be a pre-requisite when he switched bodies. Who wanted to drive around some piece of shit?
The man whose body he occupied, Stewart something, was some sort of high-flying financier. Cotter didn’t know what the man did, nor did he give a shit. The only things that mattered were the guy had a nice house, a nice ride, and a girlfriend who recently had a boob job. Probing further, Cotter discovered that old Stewey was twice divorced and had three children, none of whom lived in his house, which was a good thing since Cotter didn’t have time for bratty kids. It was bad enough he had to keep track of Kenna.
The other interesting thing Cotter found out about Stewey was that he was quite the drug user. He had coke, crystal meth, and ecstasy pills in abundance in his house.
Cotter maintained his policy of staying away from the hard stuff but made sure he had a steady supply for Stewey’s girlfriend.
After checking on Kenna, Cotter drove back to Stewey’s house, a big place on a large lot in the burbs. Seeing as how Stewey owned his own business and wasn’t married, Cotter could stay inside this guy’s body for a while. He could ride this out a while, slowly emptying this fella’s bank and investment accounts in the process. Life was beautiful.
Once he got back home, Cotter put his feet up on the expensive desk in Stewey’s office, mentally trying to tally up the money he had swindled since his rebirth. He had safety deposit boxes at two different banks loaded with cash and valuables. In addition, he had a safe in the apartment he rented. By his estimate, he had at least two hundred grand in cash right now. He never had this kind of scratch when he was alive. The things he could do now were downright criminal.
Cotter poured himself some Scotch. He was still trying to get a handle on some of these high-tech devices, like this iPhone. What he needed was someone to give him a tutorial. He would ask Stewey’s girlfriend, but then she would think he was some kind of dumbass. After all, he owned these things. It would make sense he would know how to use them.
At some point, he wanted to settle into someone’s body in a permanent, or at least a long term basis. Before long, he would set up off offshore bank accounts in the Cayman Islands and create fake identities to go along with them. The biggest problem was that he had to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. Wherever Kenna went, he had to follow. He had contemplated kidnapping her and bringing her with him where he went, but the last thing he wanted was to be saddled with some brat kid. To have her travel around with him, an unwilling companion, would be too complicated. That wouldn’t work out for him at all, and he would only go that route as a last resort. He would have to figure out a way to accomplish his goals given his limitations.
Cotter poured himself anothe
r Scotch. Even with these complications in his new life, he would take it over the afterlife any day. People had all these grand conceptions about life after death, but they were all wrong. The afterlife sucked.
The afterlife was an amorphous thing, more of a concept than a place. The setting, landscape, and environment were in a constant state of flux. From one day to the next, things would change entirely, going from a rocky desert to a frosty winter land.
That wasn’t the only thing that was inconsistent. Cotter could never keep track of time. Days blended into each other. Weeks and months melted away, yet moments tended to drag on for infinity. When he first died, he found the whole process disorienting. After thirteen years, he still couldn’t get used to it.
What infuriated Cotter the most was there was no action to be found in the after-life. It was all quiet contemplation and serenity. Supposedly, this stage of his post life existence was meant for him to reflect on his life and come to peace with it. Whatever. It was all bullshit.
In life, Cotter had always been looking for an angle, trying to get one over on everyone else. He was always going for the big score, creating opportunities when nobody would give him one. No such thing existed in the afterlife.
From the moment he got there, Cotter wanted out. Yeah, he had been told about going to a higher level once he reached a certain point of enlightenment, but that higher level would probably be more of the same bullshit. The question was how to find a way out. He had made that his mission, and when he set his mind to something, he attacked it with bulldog persistence.
He had wandered through the seemingly endless world of the afterlife like a nomad, talking to as many people as he could. He kept hearing rumors of a really old bastard who had mystical qualities that awed the other lost souls. It took him a while, but he finally found the old bastard.
Cotter tried to befriend this mystic, a Spaniard named Francisco, but despite Cotter’s best efforts, Francisco always turned him away.
Then he met up with Mia, the skinny bitch with the sad face. He tried to make his moves on her, but she wouldn’t have it, which pissed him off. She thought she was hot shit, but she was nothing special, what with her hippy dippy attitude and Zen philosophies.
It took a while, but Cotter found a way to get to Francisco. The ancient Spaniard had a penchant for the newly dead. Cotter didn’t know what he did with them, nor did he care. What limited the old bastard was that he hated getting out of his hovel and lived like a hermit. Cotter kept his eyes and ears open to find the newly dead, who arrived on a daily basis.
It took some serious negotiation, but Cotter finally made a deal with Francisco. Cotter would supply him with a slew of newbies, and Francisco would teach him how to get out of this shithole. Learning how to do that proved even more difficult than convincing Francisco to help him. Before he could attempt to exit the afterlife, he had to master elemental magic—no easy feat. He had literally been burned several times practicing it but, eventually, he got the magic down well enough to use it.
Once he felt comfortable with using the magic, he needed a conduit for his exit. That’s where that hippy bitch Mia came into play. She so missed her old life, which was probably why she had yet to advance to the next stage, whatever the hell that was, that she was trying to communicate with people on the other side. Cotter formulated a plan. He would use Mia and her new friends to get back, something Francisco claimed had never been done before but was possible.
Cotter spent a good deal of time around Mia, observing how she interacted with those kids. She was old school, using a physical medium to communicate. He got the idea that he could mimic her actions and trick those brats to get him back into the world. They chanted the powerful words he gave them, and he worked his magic. Most wouldn’t think it possible, but Cotter never underestimated his own abilities, especially when he was driven to accomplish his goals.
Cotter smiled as he knocked back some more Scotch. When he thought back to his old life, he realized how many people had underestimated him. His contemporaries from back in the day had always held disdain for him. His accomplishments never measured up to his aspirations or his boasts to others. But now…everything was different. He had gained the power of life over death. His ability to switch in and out of host bodies made him an unstoppable force of nature.
Opening the drawer to Stewey’s desk, he pulled out a Glock. Fortunately, guns had not changed significantly since his last stint in this world. Stewey’s girlfriend wanted him to take her out on the town tonight, but Cotter had other things in mind. For the past few days, he had been tracking down somebody who had tried to keep him down in his old life, an asshole who amused himself by belittling Cotter in front of important people, which was why he never got the respect he deserved.
Cotter packed the Glock in its holster. He set off to New Jersey in his Corvette. Over the last few days, he had been making inquiries, pretending to be a potential buyer of guns and ammo from a dealer named Lorenzo Ibarra.
Back in the day, Cotter had been trying to make a name for himself in the Jersey scene. Back then, Ibarra was still small time, dealing mostly in stolen merchandise he lifted off trucks and ships coming in from the port. One night, Cotter was playing pool with a couple guys when Ibarra and his crew rolled in.
Ibarra was a typical ball buster, always coming with the insults and sharp remarks. For whatever reason, Cotter was Ibarra’s target. Every time Cotter attempted a shot, Ibarra yelled something to disrupt him. To make matters worse, Ibarra kept calling him Jew-boy even though Cotter wasn’t Jewish. After the first few times, Cotter told him to cut the shit. He would have gone over to kick his ass, but he knew Ibarra was at a higher place than him and doing something like that could cause trouble.
Cotter kept hoping the greasy bastard would lay off him, but Ibarra wouldn’t quit. Eventually, Cotter reached his limit and told Ibarra to step outside. Ibarra agreed, but before Cotter made it outside, three of Ibarra’s men jumped him, one of them equipped with brass knuckles. The two pussies Cotter was playing pool with didn’t even jump in to stop it. Ibarra’s boys gave him a royal beatdown. He never got his shot at payback, since a week later Ibarra got pinched for armed robbery.
Cotter was a patient man. Death could do that to a person. Harry Black had been the first on the list. After Black, there had been a couple of others. Now, it was Lorenzo Ibarra’s time. His pet project was Kenna’s brother, Jake. He wanted to torment the kid for a while. Something about the punk’s smug attitude irritated the hell out of Cotter. Maybe it was his self-righteous way, or how he came off as being better than everyone else.
He spent quite a bit of time thinking about how he could make Jake’s life hell. He wanted to make the kid suffer and watch it up close and personal. He had contemplated dropping himself into Jake’s body, killing some people, and leaving Jake to pick up the tab, but that wasn’t his style. He wanted to watch Jake as his life unraveled and ultimately put a bullet into his head.
Cotter revved the Corvette out the driveway and drove north. He had it on good authority that Ibarra always ate at the same Cuban restaurant in New Brunswick on Thursday nights.
Cotter got a prime spot at the bar of the Cuban restaurant with a good view of the tables. He drank a Seven and Seven and waited patiently for Ibarra to arrive, who entered the restaurant just before seven that night with a hot blonde at his side.
As Ibarra was leaving the restaurant, Cotter followed him. He shoved aside the blonde and grabbed Ibarra’s wrist.
“What the fuck’s your problem?” Ibarra shook him off and stepped back.
“I been looking for you for a real long time and I’ve finally found you.”
“Do I know you?” Ibarra asked. “I usually let my underlings deal with pieces of shit like you.”
“You know, you talk a lotta smack,” Cotter said. “I always thought your sharp tongue would get you in trouble. Well, tonight’s that night.”
A deep scowl formed on Ibarra’s face. “Who the fuck ar
e you?”
“What, you don’t recognize me? You used to give me all kinds of shit back in the day, disrespecting me all the time.”
Ibarra balled his hands into fists. “I don’t know who you think you are, but—”
“I’m Cotter. That’s who I am. Remember me?”
Ibarra frowned. “You’re not Cotter. That little shit died in jail.”
Cotter’s eyes narrowed. “Still coming with the insults? Well that’s the last one you make.”
Just as Ibarra reached for something, Cotter pulled out the Glock and shot him in the chest. Ibarra rocked backward, blood pouring from a gaping wound, and fell to the ground. Ibarra choked on his own blood as he clutched his wound.
“Guess you should watch who you fuck with, asshole.” Cotter put a bullet in Ibarra’s head.
While this was going on, Ibarra’s girlfriend was screaming her fool head off. To shut her up, he shot her twice.
As Cotter observed his handiwork, sirens pierced the air. He did not attempt to flee. He was in a whole new world now. The old rules no longer applied.
He looked up into the sky as it started to rain and belted out the chorus to “Singing in the Rain.”
The police vehicle came to a screeching halt just in front of him. He continued to sing, ignoring their unwelcome approach.
“Drop your weapon,” a Hispanic cop shouted.
“Glad to see you decided to join the party. We just got started. Sit down and stay a while,” Cotter said.
“I said put your weapon down,” the Hispanic cop shouted again.
Cotter turned to the white cop next to him. “Hey, bro, your partner needs to chill.”
The white cop kept his gun trained on Cotter. “Drop your weapon now.”
“Why don’t you make me,” Cotter said.
“Put down that weapon, or we will shoot,” the Hispanic cop said.
“Fine,” Cotter said. “You want me to put my gun down, I’ll put it down.” Cotter tossed the gun aside. “I guess you guys want to get this over with, so you can jerk each other off in the back of the squad car.”