A Shadow Around the Sun

by Hugo Damas

  As he landed, though, a great rumbling surged and shook their surroundings. That, in turn, shook the beast and made him lose his footing. Quickly, he stepped out and jumped away, but no one chased him. All the beasts stood still, looking startled. The rumbling wasn’t stopping.

  The leader let out a yell then, voicing out in utter rage, waving all the others to step aside. He looked straight at Katsuo with a maddening gaze and said words that did not seem to be directed at him, even if his rage was.

  “The power. Has left. Us! We now. Descend! Again!”

  Katsuo stared at the leader as he walked towards him. He felt blood trickling down the back of his neck, and his foot was hurting so much he didn’t want to look at it. He was just standing on his right, slightly hunched to conceal his lack of footing. He also felt blood streaming down his legs.

  Katsuo’s conscience was waning, but he still heard the leader speaking to him.

  “You have. Ruined this. But only. For a. Time.”

  Katsuo could feel it. He blinked his eyes, trying to keep it away, but his head was hurting so badly it was hard not to just die. But he refused to do so. If he were to die, he would die by being killed.

  “I-I am the Shadow! Of the…Kagekawa clan,” Shadow spoke, as strongly as he could, but not as strongly as he wished. “I will be replaced. And should you return, you will be stopped.”

  “No.”

  The man darted so quickly that the ground broke under his first step. The Shadow vanished, but the leader stretched out his right arm and caught him in the transparent form, by the neck. Perhaps if his body had not been mangled and weakened, he would have been able to fight further, but as it stood, he could not.

  Katsuo looked startled at the man, feeling a quick sense of fear he had no idea was still in him to feel.

  “You die,” the man growled.

  The human monster thrust his hand through the Shadow’s belly, and it was such a sudden pain that Katsuo couldn’t help but wince. Then he coughed out blood in a sudden violent spasm. The man released Katsuo’s neck, and his head immediately dropped, and blood ran out the mouth. Blood also streamed and sputtered out through the wound on his belly, where his enemy’s hand had perforated.

  “When we. Return. You. All die.”

  Despite his best efforts, Katsuo’s eyes started to cry. It was a really odd feeling because of the lenses and mask. His arms hung low, cliffs down which blood kept streaming like tiny rivers.

  Through the tears, and mindless pain, Katsuo saw a vision of when he took up the mask. The Kagekawa head, old and impeccably dressed in shining robes, had stood behind all the gear he now donned. The mask and eye-lenses were there, ready to be bestowed upon him.

  “All men die,” the clan head had said, and Katsuo forced himself back to reality.

  He filled his senses with pain and the rumbling and the trembling and all the tears that felt oddly relaxing and all the feelings that he had bottled up for years and years. He was not used to them, and for however briefly, they surged and ran rampant inside of him. They intensified the pain he was feeling.

  Grunting, deeply hurt, Katsuo still lifted his head. He refused to die looking down. “All men die,” he whispered, weakly.

  “But!” Katsuo growled, gazing straight into those terrible eyes. “Their shadows live on!”

  The leader didn’t need moments to understand the overbearing defiance Katsuo was emoting. Katsuo saw him frown in pure anger, insulted, and added satisfaction to the torrent of feelings that were ripping through his heart.

  The man’s free hand thrust at his eyes almost immediately, giving Katsuo one last short sensation.

  II

  The Greatest Thieves

  A Businessman

  The furniture was clean and smelled pretty new. From the desk where he would meet with all his underlings to the chairs that were around it to the paint on the wall and to the closet behind his back, and the coat hanger to the entrance’s left.

  He would never get tired of that clean ‘new’ smell, not after all the time he had spent on the bile-infested streets and gutters of the poor-stricken districts, not to mention the later years he had spent in a jail cell.

  It had been around twenty years since he had left that behind, and never again had he stepped foot inside one again. What he had learned from Don Emiliano while inside, he had put to good and fortuitous use.

  Now, Lazaros Infeperio was a Don himself, and his family was one of the most powerful, and actively vying for direct control over the Crime Families. He wanted to be boss of all bosses, the Don controlling every family. And thus the country.

  Hearing voices outside, Lazaros placed the letter that would be the topic of the meeting that day on top of the desk and walked to meet his Capos at the door as they arrived. His adviser was the first one.

  “Lazaros.” They kissed cheeks in gretting. “Is this meeting good or no?”

  “Good,” Lazaros said with a firm nod, “very good, Protos. There’s the coat hanger, as usual, you can take your seat on my right of course. I’ll greet the rest of the family.”

  “Very good, thank you.”

  Lazaros met all ten of them as they arrived, and all the cheek kissing made him note how his mustache, as usual, was already showing. He shaved it every morning, but it was quick to return. Ironically, his thick short brown hair was balding, with his forehead and a bit of the top already refusing to grow hair. He would also note that some couldn’t help but glance over at his small scar which went from the tip of the right eyebrow to the top of the cheek. However, it was only his poise that got him any respect. Well, that and his actual power. His suit usually sported a red vest under his coat, with a wine-colored tie. His coat was always very dark, along with his pants.

  Lazaros gave warm and polite greetings to each of his under-bosses, personally directing them to their respective seats. After everyone had arrived, he went to take a seat himself.

  “Come on, now, I’m dyin’ to hear why you called us ‘ere,” said Florin.

  “Good news, my friends, very good news,” the Don said happily, sitting. He sat and held up the letter with a hint of pride and a full-blown scheming smirk. “In this letter is the very thing that will finally give us the edge we need, see?”

  He handed it to Protos and then leaned back to hear him read.

  “Hm, ok, I will read it then.” He opened it.

  “The deaths will toll, and screams will run. Misery will mold a shadow around the su--” he interrupted himself with a knowledgeable look. “Lazaros, is this?”

  Lazaros grinned smugly.

  “Keep reading.”

  “Misery will mold a shadow around the sun, and when the time comes, the darkness shall source the save. Hope will be pitched from the Shadow Conclave.”

  Murmurs rose from his under-bosses at “Shadow Conclave,” and with good reason.

  “The Shadow Conclave, so formed to make such prophecy reality, has noticed your remarkable achievements in the fields of thieving and other such activities. Don Lazaros Infeperio, you are hereby officially invited to participate in the next Shadow Conclave as the ninth bearer of the title ‘The Don,’ and compete against those of your level for the privilege to be chosen amongst the shadows until such a time as another Shadow Conclave takes place.”

  Protos paused and held down the letter, looking up a bit out of sorts. “Then it explains what that means.”

  “Total and complete protection by every asset and resource they have access to,” The Don pointed out in excitement. “The closest one can get to being immortal, and I’ll have it for the best part o’ five years.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at the end there.

  “But boss,” called one of his capos, Tomás. “How did this happen? I thought only thieves were called to this thing.”

  “Well, all true businessmen are thieves at their core, see? I might even say we’re the best.” He tapped his head with his index finger, “we out-think others all the time. Besides, it can’t be tha
t uncommon if I’m gonna be the ninth.”

  “Nobody doubts ya, boss, everybody knows ya never come outta a deal on the losin’ side. But how’ll you do in the Shadow Conclave?” Marco asked, “I watched the last one. There ain’t nobody to make any deals with, it’s pure…ya know, groundwork.”

  “I can do groundwork,” Lazaros said, crossing his arms and disintegrating the friendly, buddy-buddy demeanor he had been manifesting, completely sucking it out of the room. “This’s important, boys. That organization’s an alliance between all the top dogs of the underworld, see? We’re a part ovit ourselves. With their protection, we can get more aggressive, right? We’ll finally put our family on the very top, and everyone’ll have to bend to Infeperio.”

  Some smiled in agreement, and the rest held their reservations in respect, and because they knew their place.

  “I will leave to win this Conclave. Florin will keep things running in my place, got it?”

  “You can count on me, boss.”

  “Sure,” “you got it,” “no doubt,” “a good decision.”

  Lazaros grinned again, bringing the good mood back into the room and visibly relaxing his lieutenants.

  “Ok then, that’s the meetin’!” He announced, slapping the desk. “Who’s up for a good night out dinin’ and drinkin’?! This’s an opportunity worthy of celebrating!”

  They roared with laughter and appreciation, getting up to put on their coats so they could leave, all the while talking heartily and joyously.

  Don appreciated his lieutenants, they were family after all, but he appreciated even more how much of an opportunity the whole thing really was. One that he would fully take advantage of, as he had been taught to do, and had never failed to do in all the time since he had left prison. An opportunity that he believed was well earned.

  The good mood was gone the very next day, just as swiftly as the car, sent from the Shadow Conclave, was opened to Lazaros.

  Every single experienced bone in his body was telling Lazaros it was a setup. He looked at the limo, and then back at his supposed bodyguard, one of the envoys from Shadow Conclave.

  “The windows are tinted,” Lazaros pointed out.

  “Yes they are. Now if you please,” the man said, invitingly

  Lazaros put a cigar in his mouth and lit it. Showing a bit of impatience, the man walked to try and diplomatically hurry the Don along, but Lazaros interrupted that.

  “See,” his voice came out abruptly, startling the man, “this don’t sit right with me. Feels like I’m getting whacked.”

  The man shrugged. “I’ve already shown you the seal, what more do you require?”

  “A normal ride,” Lazaros said, through teeth that held the cigar in place.

  The man sighed, inconvenienced. “Sir, with all due respect, but we’re supposed to take the appropriate precautions. Your trip there will take about three days, how are you supposed to get through it if you can’t even get off your street?”

  Lazaros looked down at the man, who was younger than him even if he wasn’t the least bit young. Still, he shivered and averted his eyes, incapable of handling Lazaros’s gaze.

  “I didn’t mean--”

  “Watch your tone before I watch it for you, kid,” Lazaros threatened, looking back at the dark inside of the car. He sniffed, blew out some smoke, and then nodded. “Right. I’m gettin’ my gun.” He spat out the cigarette and forced them to wait for him.

  Of course, he had had the gun all along, but he needed a few extra minutes to think about the situation. By the time he returned, he felt more confident about the whole thing.

  “Alright, let’s get goin’, sounds like this’s gonna be one annoying trip,” Lazaros said, and he made it sound like a warning.

  “Can’t imagine what’d come close,” the guy agreed, closing the door behind Lazaros.

  * * *

  Lazaros fell asleep in the car and woke up to board a train. It was only when he woke from falling asleep on the train that he started to suspect he was being put to sleep. Nevertheless, he was then supposed to board an underwater vessel of some kind, which was something he had never even seen before.

  “Don’t you guys think you’re exaggeratin’ a bit?” Lazaros asked, annoyed.

  “Not at all, Don,” a voice surged from his side, from someone different than his first driver.

  “Who the hell’re you?” Lazaros asked. He was right about ready to shoot someone.

  “The sub’s captain. Now if you would, please.”

  Lazaros grumbled, “so someone decided flying wasn’t dangerous enough, huh?”

  Lazaros boarded the elliptic mechanized vessel that had too many mirrors for comfort. Then, he was led to his room. All the while, he tried to maintain composure about having had no idea that such a machine was even possible to construct. He handled himself as if he had one parked behind his mansion.

  Once there, Lazaros was quick to hold his breath, putting a napkin he was carrying in his pocket over his mouth. He would give a quick breath every couple of minutes but nothing besides. After thirty, he left the room.

  I know when I’m bein’ set-up, Lazaros thought to himself while getting out his gun, immediately noticing that it was empty. He stopped for a second and then frowned hard. All this goin’ around is overkill on anyone in the world…unless it’s the Shadow Conclave you want to shake off.

  Stepping out, he saw a sailor walking by. Lazaros still had his wallet, and it was as full as when he left the house, he knew by its consistency and weight, so he smiled and called to the sailor. “Hey, boy.”

  “Wha--oh no!” Lazaros pointed the gun, interrupting his running start. “Now now, hold still. C’mere, kid.”

  He wasn’t a kid. In fact, if Lazaros had to guess, he was around twenty-five years old, but calling him kid eased him into the belief The Don didn’t want to kill him.

  “Now, I’ve got an offer to make you, and you’d do well not to refuse it, see? What’s your name, boy?” Lazaros asked, grinning.

  “Alfredo,” a frightened voice replied.

  “Alright Alfred, listen up.” Lazaros took two large bills from his wallet and placed them in the kid’s hand, and he had grabbed them before he could realize what he was doing. “I want you to stay in front of my door, and if anybody asks, you were asked to make sure I didn’t leave. Are you a complainer?”

  “Co-complainer?”

  “Yes!” Lazaros snapped, acting impatient so that the boy would feel in danger. “Yes, do you complain about your job?!”

  “Uh, I dun--”

  “Jeez, kid, ‘re you brain dead? Can you do this for me or not?” He spoke even more impatiently, his pistol hand twitching ever so slightly, but not so little as to go unnoticed.

  “Ye-yes! You can count on me,” the kid managed to say.

  “I better, kid. If you’re a complainer, complain about having to do it, since I’m fast asleep and ain’t going nowheres. Got it?” Lazaros asked, rhetorically.

  “I…I got it. Uhh, until when?”

  Lazaros threatened a slap, making Alfredo wince. “When?! ’Till I say otherwise, runt! You leave, or you tell ‘em, or you fail me in any way, and I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you suffer the consequences. Goddit?”

  “Oh my…yeah, ok.” Poor kid was close to crying. It was funny.

  “Good,” Lazaros said. Patronizingly, he gently slapped him in the face twice. “Don’t make me regret putting my trust in your good skills now, Alfred.”

  The boy nodded nervously, and Lazaros left with a smile. Once he was out of view, he took off his right shoe, opened a little compartment and took out the bullets that were hidden in it. He then loaded them into his pistol.

  What kinda novice do they take me for to think I wouldn’t notice my gun was empty? Lazaros wondered, a bit offended and certainly insulted.

  Crossing corridors, Lazaros looked for information. He wasn’t one for stealth or anything, so he just walked like he owned the place -- that u
sually worked.

  The one man that suspected him was thoroughly and easily intimidated into going back to his room and hiding under his bed, lest his family suffer the wrath of Lazaros. That was a bluff, of course, Lazaros had no idea who the man’s family was, or even if he had one, and least of all if he cared about them. The thing was, anyone working on an underwater vehicle like that was sure not to be doing it for themselves. It was a supposition that turned out to be solid, as Lazaros’ suppositions frequently did.

  “Mr. Infeperio,” a voice came from the end of the hall. Lazaros looked around him but saw nothing, though to be fair, the voice carried an echo. “I commend you for your keen senses. To think we were one trip away from having you all to ourselves.”

  Lazaros looked closer and noticed a speaker of some kind attached to the ceiling wall. That was where the sound was coming from. Pretty big wires were coming out of it.

  “You have indeed walked into an ambush, and unless you wish to die, you will cease this running around and surrender yourself immediately. You really have nowhere to go.”

  “Running?” Lazaros smirked and turned away to continue looking for whoever the pilot of that thing was. “He thinks I’m runnin’,” Lazaros mumbled, shaking his head thoroughly amused.

  Lazaros checked a few rooms that proved fruitless, even though one of them was occupied.

  “Don’t move now, doll,” he told the woman, aiming his pistol at her. “I’ll be needin’ two things from you, and if I get those two things, you get to see tomorrow, sound good?”

  “Ye-yes,” she replied, too wide-eyed and scared to be insulted, which was a good sign. Means she was less liable to act crazy.

  “First, you’ll give me the key to this room o’ yours so I can lock you inside.” She nodded, assenting. “Second, you’ll tell me where I can find whoever’s piloting this big bathtub.” She looked up at him, and he immediately turned his face to her and opened his eyes. “What?!”

  She looked back down and nodded again, scared.

  “That’s better,” he said, and held out his hand. “Key, please.”