Greg Gifune: Kingdom of Shadows

He turned and bolted for the front door, slamming into it with his shoulder and stumbling out into the parking lot as it gave way. Staggering forward, he nearly pitched face-first onto the pavement but regained his balance at the last moment and in one frantic, uninterrupted motion, broke into a full run.

He did not look back.

The payphone on the corner was occupied by a rotund woman carrying a brown paper bag filled with groceries. Across the street, Rooster waited, watching from the burned out doorway of an abandoned building only a few blocks from his apartment in the housing projects. Though he couldn’t hear what the woman was saying, she was clearly upset and quite animated. He remained huddled in his hiding place until she finally slammed the phone down and stormed from the booth, a look of desperation and confusion creasing her face as she toddled toward the top of the street.

He checked the boulevard in both directions. It was empty. Not even a car or city bus to be found. Moving quickly, he crossed the street, ducked into the phone booth and dug a shred of paper from his jacket pocket. Jotted across it was the information Gaby had written down the last time a call came in. Rooster dropped a dime and punched the numbers.

The connection crackled and hissed but eventually went through and began to ring.

“Hello.”

Even after all this time Rooster knew that voice. “Snow.”

An exhale of relief and then: “Rooster-man.”

He gripped the phone tight and spun around so he could watch the street. “You’ve been calling me.”

“I can’t believe it’s really you. Didn’t know if I’d be able to track you down after all this time.”

“Are you here, in the city?”

“Where else would I be?”

“What do you want?”

“We gotta talk.”

“I’m not in the life anymore.”

“You got no idea what life you’re in.”

A sharp pain stabbed Rooster’s temple. He flinched. “What’s that mean?”

“What the hell you think it means? Means I need to talk to you, bro.”

“Whatever you’re into these days I’m not interested.”

“This is serious shit.”

“Snow, what do you want ?”

“I need to see you.”

The receptionist’s demonic eyes tore through Rooster’s memory in strobe-like flashes. “Just leave me alone, man. I got enough problems.”

“Motherfucker, I’m trying to help you!”

The visions faded. The fear remained. “Stop calling me.”

“You don’t hear nothing else I say you better hear this.” A crackling hiss bled through the line again. “You need to know what I know.”

A burst of wind forced the phone booth door open. He pinned the phone to his shoulder with his ear and sparked a cigarette, making sure to cup the flame until he got it going. “What do you know?”

“I know what you’re going through. The headaches, the nightmares. Hearing things, seeing things. Bad things. Evil things.”

Rooster’s eyes watered. He told himself the cold was to blame as a black Crown Vic with a tinted windshield and windows turned at the head of the street and slowly rolled by. Cop car , he thought, feeling the muscles in his stomach clench. He hadn’t been a criminal in years, but old habits, old fears, died hard. He watched the car until it was out of sight.

“There ain’t a lot of time,” Snow pressed. “I need to see you.”

Rooster breathed heavily into the phone in quick nervous bursts. “When?”

“Today.”

But for their labored breathing, the area is deathly silent. Fog rolls over the open field, cutting across the desolate country road and floating through a thick expanse of forest on the other side. The full moon, still masked by cloud cover, reveals a mist-shrouded landscape of crucified scarecrows, demonic sentries guarding a farmhouse no one would want.

Snow stays in the back of the van with Carbone’s body but the rest pile out of the vehicle and wander about the street amidst confusion and high emotions, attempting to gain their bearings while figuring out what to do next.

“What’s with all the scarecrows?” Landon asks. “Nothing’s grown there for years but weeds, why would they need scarecrows?”

As he surveys the area, Starker still clutches the AK47 he used on the job, his hulking presence and enormous shaved dome daunting even in limited light. He moves to the side of the road. “Maybe it’s not crows they’re looking to scare off.”

“Well if they’re meant for me they’re working,” Nauls says. “Fucking things are creeping me out.”

“Yeah Nauls,” Landon quips, “they’re meant for you. Jesus, what an idiot.”

“I’m an idiot? You’re the one who stopped here.”

“Yeah, because shit-for-brains bit it.” Landon jerks a thumb at the van. “And if it’s OK with you I’ve had my fill of smelling dead ass tonight.”

Snow emerges from the rear of the van and wipes his bloody hands on his jeans. “What did you say?”

Landon faces him. “You heard me.”

“Say it again, motherfucker.”

“Hey, I’m sorry Carbone stepped off, but it’s nobody’s fault but his and you know it. He blew the back doors too early. Total amateur-hour horseshit, he knew better.”

“A good man’s dead.” Snow stepped closer. “Show some respect.”

“He fucked up and now we’ve all got blood on our hands.”

“What the hell would you know about it, wheelman ?”

“Enough to know the stupid bastard could’ve gotten us all killed. And I didn’t hear you making any driver jokes when I was carting your sorry ass the fuck outta Dodge.”

“You’re working my last nerve.”

Landon squares his stance. “Blow it out your ass.”

Rooster steps between them. “Both of you cool it.” He knows he must get the crew focused, split the take and make arrangements to wrap things up one way or another. But it can’t be done out in the open, even in a desolate place such as this. One local police car or nosy townsperson passing by is all it’ll take to escalate things, and there’s been enough escalation tonight. No one was supposed to get hurt. The job had been meticulously planned, rehearsed and timed to the millisecond. Yet there were still mistakes, and what began as a robbery ended in a homicide, one guard dead, two badly injured. And now they’ve lost one of their own. They have to move and move fast. “We’re still on the clock, which means I still call the shots, so get your heads out of your asses and get back in the fucking game. Now.”

Snow points at Landon. “We ain’t done.”

“Any time, douche.”

Rooster stands his ground until both men drift away in opposite directions. “All right, let’s get inside and finish our business.”

Nauls, holding two large canvas duffel bags stuffed with cash, shuffles about like he needs a bathroom. “Can’t we find someplace else?”

“I don’t like this shit bin any better than you do,” Rooster admits, “but it’s out of the way and nobody should bother us here. Nauls, you stay with me. Landon, get the van off the street and under cover. Snow, you and Starker check the place out. It looks deserted but let’s be sure.”

“OK how come the two brothers got to check the farmhouse out?” Snow cracks. “We more expendable, that it? We ain’t special like you white folks.”

“Just get it done.”

Snow pulls two .45s from the back of his belt and turns to Starker. “All right, big man, let’s go.”