The Speckled Rooster by Arthur Davis

The Speckled Rooster by Arthur Davis

The Speckled Rooster, as he was known, stopped off at my farm while on his way back to the Big City. I had enough problems with the cows and goats, a barn that needed a world of fixing, and a tractor that should have been replaced years ago. The last thing I needed was to entertain a gangster whose reputation of violence, extortion, theft, smuggling, and political influence was well documented.

I cleaned up as best I could, after letting the place go a few years after Nell left me for a less contentious life. I don’t blame her. If I had my choice, I would have left me long ago too.

The rooster is revered in many cultures around the world. The rooster is mentioned in the Bible, a symbol that represents confidence, good luck, and protection. Roosters are supposed to be loyal and make devoted friends. Most are not natural born killers.

The sharp knock rattled my screen door. The Speckled Rooster stood as large and formidable as his reputation. Two other roosters were at his side. Both were carrying.

“You Charlie Washburn? You know who I am?” the Speckled Rooster asked.

“Yes. Yes, I believe I do.”

“You look like you were expecting us?”

“No. No, no. Not at all.”

Up close, he stood eye level with me.

The other two roosters moved in behind him. I guessed each weighted over a hundred pounds. Their speckled boss was heavier. A gold watch fob hung off his gold-threaded vest. The cigar fuming out from the side off his beak was so pungent I nearly gagged.

A cold sweat swarmed over my skin. His hooded eyes were empty of emotion. Dark, cold. As psychotic as I had read. I could feel the intensity of menace. I should have acted surprised. Certainly annoyed, to a point, would have been more natural. I’m not good under stress. I’m also not good with strangers. Ask my ex. She will be delighted to describe my less-than-flattering qualities. And at the moment I had no idea why he had chosen me from the other farms around the county, or if he considered me in any way a threat.

And the trace of small black speckles over his beak were spread unevenly, something rarely found in nature. His presence was exactly as the press described, only up close it was more than merely threatening. It was disturbing.

The friend who called from his farm a dozen miles up the road warned me earlier that the Speckled Rooster may stop off. It was a warning I took seriously. I retired this far upstate for rest, peace and privacy.

“We need a place for the night. A place to lay low. We’ll be gone early tomorrow morning. Early. Got it?”

“Not a problem. Always glad to help,” I said, letting them into my home.

He looked around my living room. Not much had changed in decades. It was clean but not orderly, which pretty much describes my life.

“So that we understand each other, you haven’t seen me, you know nothing about me or my two associates here and when we leave, you will forget we were ever here. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.”

“Do I make myself clear?” he asked, louder and more insistent. Cold, black eyes with purpose and meaning.

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you sure? Are you crystal clear sure?”

“Absolutely. Crystal clear. I never met you. Have no knowledge of who you are, where you’ve been, and might be now or any time in the future.”

“Too fucking hot out there to carry this around,” the second largest rooster of the other two said and tossed his 9mm Heckler & Koch P30L and shoulder holster onto my living room table. “I got to piss,” he said and went outside.

Then I remembered I had to crap. I should live that long.

“The food here any good?” the third rooster asked. “We wouldn’t eat swill.”

The third stood uneasy, shifting from left leg to right. Glancing nervously over each shoulder. I’d seen this in cockfighting roosters. According to federal and state law enforcement, cockfights are often associated with other criminal activities, such as illegal gambling, drug trafficking, gang activity, and illegal weapon sales. Federal investigations uncovered international drug cartels running sophisticated cockfighting operations as a means to distribute heroin, cocaine, methamphetamine, and opioids across the United States.

“I’m a good cook.”

“Great. Start working on dinner for the three of us while we look around,” the Speckled Rooster said and walked outside.

The three of them wound up pissing on my prize geraniums. The 9mm Heckler & Koch was a fearsome weapon. I wanted no part of it and repositioned the gun so the muzzle was pointing toward the front door and not at me.

I had heard about this gangster. Every so often the police arrested him, and by nightfall he was out of jail. Whatever the bail was, he made it. Whatever the crime was, he was vindicated by a jury the newspapers believed was compromised.

The press loved him. Dashing. Theatrical when needed, brutal whenever he wanted. A young rooster grown up on the wrong side of the tracks who fought his way up the ladder of the criminal element until he stood at the top of the eastern syndicate.

The very definition of ruthlessness.

& & &

My friend said, “One of his guys took target practice and almost killed two of my prize ducks while the Speckled boss and the other rooster stood and laughed at how bad a shot the third rooster was, which only made him try harder. It was terrible. Whatever he wants, just do it. And get them out of there as soon as possible. You don’t want to wind up dead.”

I couldn’t get over his size and large comb and wattle. The hackles, long pointed neck feathers that flow down into the back on his neck and shoulders, were equally outsized.

From what I had read, he trafficked in drugs, counterfeit hundreds, and smuggling and was just out on bail for a crime too terrible to describe. I wanted them in and out of my life as fast as possible and to be forgetful of me as I would be of them.

Over the next frantic hour, being only once interrupted by gunfire, I managed to piece together a delicious selection of appetizers including cocktail meatballs, a spinach artichoke dip, and mac & cheese bites. Ignoring what could be happening outside, I prepared a brisket, a braised lamb with a spread of fresh vegetables, and two desserts. As a precaution, I decided not to indulge in duck confit.

& & &

Soaked in sweat and fear, I stepped away from what I had made. It was the last meal I had prepared for Nell. I was exhausted and expecting the worst. I couldn’t call anyone, as I could be easily heard from outside, and I didn’t know where the three of them went. They could be right outside the screen door. They could have changed their minds and decided that I was too much of a risk worth living. My heart pumped wildly. My head felt faint. But I pushed through it all. Nell would have been proud.

Nell was my great regret. She never would have left if she knew I possessed such resolve in the face of certain danger.

& & &

Finally, I had it all together when I first heard their muffled voices. I made it to the screen door to see what was left of my farm. The goats, cows, and geese seemed calm. There was no crazed panic.

I could see the Speckled Roster and his two thugs deep in conversation, walking toward my house. The dinner I prepared was the best I could do in what time I had. Was it enough? What if the boss hated everything? I didn’t want to imagine what would happen if he was upset. In every article I had read about his reign as crime boss, his temper, volatility, and unpredictability were the common threads.

“What smells?” he said as he marched himself back into my home.

“I made you dinner like you asked,” I said, leaning against my refrigerator for support.

“I know what I asked,” he said when I noticed the breadth of his shoulders.

Like a professional football player, they were massive. Unnatural. Like everything else about him.

“I wanted to know was what you made that smelled so good.”

Jesus, how stupid could I be?—and went through what I had prepared, dish by dish. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder in silence while I described every ingredient and why I thought they might enjoy the selection.

“Listen to this shit,” he said, turning to the other two. “This guy’s amazing. Fucking amazing.”

The thick black mat of feathers along the back and side of his neck flew out and flapped wildly. The long, fine, often brightly, colored hackles were either excited or enraged. I stood frozen. The two other roosters stepped away and let the room settle.

I wasn’t sure what to say but managed a soft, “I hope you enjoy dinner.”

“I’m sure we will. Now if you can show us where to wash up, we can eat.”

I pointed to my one bathroom.

“If it’s half as good as it smells, we’ll be back. I’m thinking of settling down around here. Hell, we could be neighbors,” he said.

All three laughed.

Yeah. Neighbors. That’s what I needed. Murderers, robbers and thieves. Who better to share my life with. My peace with. Who better to take the stress out of my life with than a gang of ruthless roosters stopping by every day to find out if they could borrow a cup of sugar or did I have any fresh milk to spare.

The stink of the Speckled Rooster’s cigar made my eyes water. I could still hear them joking and laughing from the bathroom. Plotting and peeing at the same time.

My peace and rest and privacy was going to be replaced by members of other rooster gangs when they found out how secreted it was up here. And they would be followed by the local police and eventually by agents from State and Federal law enforcement agencies.

They were in my bathroom and I had to get in there urgently. I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

The 9mm Heckler & Koch P30L and worn leather shoulder holster sat innocently on my living room table. You don’t carry a weapon like that without ever using it. Would it someday be used on me if they thought I had betrayed their confidence or accidently discovered their intentions.

It was too much. It was just too much.

I began to shake.

Silence swallowed me whole. I could feel was the brittle rasp of fear tearing away at my gut. What was left of the blood in my head drained away. My legs folded in like rubber. The ground underneath give way and I fainted, taking a much deserved crap with me.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Arthur Davis 2024