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“You really don’t think we should just do this ourselves?”

“I’m not doing this without everyone, man.” Jack folded his arms over his recently acquired bosom and turned away from the passenger seat of Margaret’s car, where Dale’s essence sat.

“I hear you, Jackie, but how do you expect to convince any of them that you’re who you are? Or that I’m here with you? Eli don’t even believe the earth is round, bro. He’s not gonna believe you’re living in a little old lady.”

“Which is why we’re not starting with Eli,” Jack said on a huff.

He narrowed his eyes at the house across the road: a squat little single-story redbrick with a sloped roof and a yard polka-dotted with dandelions. Carter would be the easiest get, and once they had him, the others would surely fall into line. They always had. And though a few inconsequential things had changed over the years—beer bellies and receding hairlines and Jack borrowing someone else’s body—what truly mattered never would. His army would be ready to go into battle at his side, just as they always had.

He unbuckled his seat belt. “You coming?”

Dale obediently passed through the passenger-side door, his skepticism quickly withering in the face of Jack’s authority. It was a dynamic that had always served the group well. After all, Jack was good at what he did, and Dale was good at telling that to everyone.

Just now, Dale expertly followed Jack up the stone slabs to Carter’s front door. Jack readjusted the blazer of Margaret’s hot pink Gucci pantsuit and gave the door a rap. He was enough of a presence in this body for Dale to have recognized him; surely some of that famous Jack pizzazz would be visible to the living too, at least when they knew him as well as Carter did.

A moment later, Carter was in the doorway, beige Henley stained with ancient spray paint splatter, the archaeological remains of shenanigans past. His obsidian eyes searched the small woman on his front step, apparently coming up empty.

“Can I help you?”

Okay, so Jack was going to have to pizzazz a little harder than he’d expected. But that was all right. Aside from dying, he’d rarely faced a challenge he couldn’t meet.

“Dude, it’s me,” he said in a voice that wasn’t his at all. “It’s Jack. Jack McCoy. I’ve got a mark for us.”

Carter’s blank expression melted into a furrowed brow before his entire head gave a small shake on a disappointing sigh. “Jesus Christ,” he barely muttered. “How much?”

Jack’s face did an instant replay of Carter’s expression journey as he tried to suss out the meaning behind his words.

“How much did he pay you for this stunt?” Carter continued, apparently attempting to fill in the blanks for Jack and failing miserably.

“Huh?”

“Jack,” said Carter.

“Yes?” said Jack.

“No, I mean how much did Jack pay you to show up here and be weird?”

Dale cleared his throat. “I mean, that is something you’d do, man.”

Jack couldn’t really argue with that. Actually, now that Carter mentioned it, he suddenly wished he’d set up this kind of prank before kicking the bucket. He’d never had any intention of resting in peace, much less letting anyone else do the same after his death. Though that reputation didn’t help him much right now.

“He didn’t,” Jack said. “I didn’t. It’s me, I swear. Look, I can explain.”

Carter put a hand on the door. “Sorry, ma’am, not interested. He did enough damage when he was alive; I’m not dealing with his bullshit now.” The door clicked shut in Margaret’s face, leaving Jack blinking at khaki paint.

He wheeled on Dale. “The hell was that?”

“No idea, Jackie. He’s one of those temperamental artist types, you know?”

“Since when?”

Dale shifted his nonexistent weight from foot to foot. There was more in him to say and it made him antsy, like a kid who had to pee. And like a kid who had to pee, he’d rather hold it in until he burst. That was fine. Jack would let him. He could wait. Besides, that wasn’t his main focus right now. Carter was making this whole thing more complicated than it needed to be. Jack wasn’t particularly accustomed to doors closing in his face; not in this world, anyway. Out there in the broader world, sure. Legitimate jobs were hard to come by and love was never to be. But here, among his people, in his neighborhood, everyone knew better than to say no to Jack McCoy. He was a man who got things done and who would always make a favor worth its while. But right now he was also Margaret Chen, and that presented certain difficulties.

“What now?” Dale asked, his pee dance reaching its final eight count.

“We try Eli,” said Jack. This drew an incredulous silence from Dale. Jack had figured it would. If they couldn’t get Carter, Eli was pretty much a write-off. But as far as Jack was concerned, they simply hadn’t got Carter yet, and instead of waiting around, he’d rather waste their time attempting the impossible. It was more fun that way.

“I really think we could do this just you and me, Jackie.”