They left the apartment and took the elevator down to the parking garage level and followed John as he walked along the wall of the elevator enclosure. “Wait here with David,” he cautioned Jennifer and then carefully looked around the corner to where, a short distance away, the BMW limousine had been parked.
As he expected, the spirit of Jim Donovan stood right at the center of the car’s trunk where his corpse lay. For a moment, John marveled at the exact glowing copy of his father’s friend, right down to the tattoos and ineffective comb-over. Donovan was lost and forlorn with an expression of panic on his face, just as he had been immediately after he had changed into a spirit but John had zero sympathy for him.
“Oh, my God! John! You’re like me! What happened to us?” Jim asked with a mixture of confusion and fear.
“You’re dead, Jim! The body you knew is lying in that trunk with bullet wounds to your head and stomach. You’re dead because of greed. Because you tried to sell out everyone you possibly could. Why didn’t you just move on and accept your destiny? There’s nothing for you here on Earth!”
“What are you saying? No, it’s not my time! I’ve been cheated…I need to know why. I need answers!” Donovan’s voice was panicky. He was truly scared, as he should be.
“No, I need answers, you son of a bitch! You’re the reason why I’m like this. You were involved in my stabbing. What’s your connection with Hardwell and El Gordito?
“I don’t know what you are talking about! Who’s Hardwell? El Gordito? The narco-gangster?” He scoffed and a nervous smile of feigned confusion crossed his lips, “How would I know––”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Jim! You picked up your employee Brian McGinty in your car after the detective called him in to look at mugshots at the police station. You were checking up on him. You wanted to make sure he hadn’t identified Vernon Hardwell as the attacker. You argued. He wanted money for keeping quiet. You refused, and then you threatened him with people who could hurt him before you kicked him out of your car.” John paused and added, “I was there Jim… Streams of Whiskey was playing on the radio.”
Donovan looked stunned.
“And I know you sold the pub to El Gordito! I saw the documents.”
“You were at my apartment?”
“Yes, and I saw you shooting up, Jim. You’re nothing more than a pathetic junkie, a parasite.”
“You don’t understand. I needed money! Hardwell wasn’t supposed to stab you. I don’t know where he got the knife. He must have gone berserk! It wasn’t part of the plan! Neither of us wanted you dead. You have to believe me,” Jim blurted.
“And what exactly was the plan?” accused John.
“You were to be kidnapped for a ransom to be paid by your father. I owed El Gordito half a million dollars. With all the money your father made on his property investment deals I was sure he would be able to pay it. El Gordito was going to have me killed, for God’s sake!”
“But why Hardwell?”
“I caught him stalking your girlfriend. He was scared that I would report him to the cops. I wouldn’t, of course, not given my own problems which I didn’t want to draw police attention to, but he didn’t know that. He confessed to me about his obsession with Jennifer but told me he would never harm anyone––all he wanted was for you and her to be apart. He seemed perfect—a strong man with a weak mind––easy to manipulate. It wasn’t hard to convince him. If he helped me, I would make what he wanted happen. I would get you and Jennifer to split up. He didn’t want any money for carrying out the kidnap—he was that obsessed with getting you away from her. I even managed to convince him to take the fall if he got caught. I figured that if he went back on his promise and went to the police, nobody would take his word over mine. But never, I swear, did I think he would actually harm you, John, not like some thug.”
“Hardwell wouldn’t have been able to kidnap me on his own! He must have had an accomplice. Who was with him?” demanded John.
“I was,” Jim admitted. “I lied to you in O’Donnell’s about the cop checking IDs that night. As soon as I told you to leave, I went to meet Hardwell near a van I had parked a block away. He went on foot toward the pub and I followed him, at a distance, in the van. As soon as I saw the struggle, I drove up. I was to stop and open the side door and help him pull you inside.” He paused, seeing John’s eyes now full of rage. Stammering, he continued, “We...we had masks…Like the cartels wear—with the print of a skull on them… I figured any witnesses would think a narco gang was involved.” He paused, as if frightened to say the next part.
“Go on!” John demanded.
“Except Hardwell must have forgotten to put his on...He was acting strange... Then as I got closer and saw you both lying on the ground and the blood...I panicked and drove off.” He paused for a moment. “When the plan failed, all I could do was offer El Gordito the pub in return for my life. I knew then that the debts would really start mounting. I would have to pay inflated rent to continue to run the pub. I would have to launder money and move drugs. Then, a day ago, a woman contacted me. She offered me money—a lot of money—just for information on where David Miller and his daughter were staying. She must have seen me visiting your father. I found out about the rental, and I told her you could be hiding there. She made me go up to
