Chapter 9. Uncle Neville screeched to a halt on Throop Avenue. Sierra thanked him, grabbed a pack of gum and an icy at Carlos's bodega, and then leaned against the wall in the shade of the red awning. She pulled the wick file out of her shoulder bag.
Most of it looked to be journal entries, all scrawled out in elegant script. There were a few pictures and diagrams, a lot of the human body, and some overlapping circles that Sierra couldn't make heads or tails of. She skimmed through some more pages. Somewhere in here was the hidden history of her grandfather's weird secret society. She was sure of it.
Sierra's eyes caught the word Lucera, and she flipped back to that page. Back in Brooklyn, a maze tumbled by the beauty and devotion of this community to its local spirits. The art of commemorative regeneration is strong here. A thrilling collision of artistry and spirituality.
The Shadow Shapers mythology revolves around an archetypal spirit named Lucera, who apparently vanished mysteriously a few months back, not long after I entered the fold. There are whispers that, without Lucera, the murals that are touched with Shadow Shaper magic will eventually fade and the connection to the spirits will be obliterated. Wow, Sierra said out loud. She bit open the plastic wrapper of her icy and sucked a cool blue slush out of it.
The vacancy has left them struggling, but still one can feel the buzzing of spirits in the air, the power of a collective imagination manifesting its devotion to ancestry across the walls and inner sanctums of the city. Laz says the secrets of the shadow shapers are not understandable to the outside mind, and I had to suppress that old urge to defend myself, my field. The ugly collective history, you know.
He smirked when he said it as if realizing it would rile my deepest insecurities. I suspect there is some wiggle room in this arrangement. We shall see.
Her grandfather's name in the strange professor's journal. She wanted to read more, but it was getting dark, and Robbie and the domino warriors were waiting for her at the mural. She shoved the file back in her messenger bag, tossed the empty icy sleeve, and headed off.
Vincent's mural still looked cold and determined. Old Drasco limped past her, mumbling his own endless stream of riddles, and his parade of cats marched along behind him as always. Across the street, some white chicks in bikinis lounged on a billboard for something. Maybe a car dealership or some kind of cigarette?
Sierra couldn't tell and didn't care that much either way. Below it, women with big pastel-colored hats filed in for a night service at a storefront church. and a whole other congregation cluttered into the liquor store next door.
Sierra turned and walked into the junk lot. In the open, dusty area between wrecked car mountains, Rutilio executed an off-kilter pirouette in time to his own breathy beatboxing. He landed in a squat with both hands out in front of him. He was mostly skinny, which made his enormous beer belly even more alarming. It didn't do much for his balance either.
He gingerly eased himself up, exhaling a slew of Spanish curses as he got to a full standing position, then swiveled his hips in a creaky circle, stomping forward arthritically. Sierra, Manny, and Mr. Jean-Louis applauded. Worst dance move yet, Mr. Jean-Louis muttered.
Manny frowned. Ah, come on, it wasn't that bad. You haven't seen it with the music on. Total disaster, katasoff.
You see? Rutilio yelled, so simple. Then he winced in pain and clutched his lower back. Ay, cojones. A monstrous dog, some kind of Saint Bernard mixed with pit bull, mixed with Satan spawn, bounded across the junk lot toward him, its huge tongue flapping to either side.
No, not you, cojones, Rutilio yelled. It was an expression, no. The dog tackled Rutilio and gave his face a thorough tonguing.
You really needn't have named your dog that, Manny, Sierra said. I know, but I thought it would be fun, and look, it is. Sierra nodded, conceding the point, as Rutilio struggled back to his feet and hurled a random scrap of metal for Cojones to chase after. I hate that perro, he shouted. Well, he loves you, Mr. Jean-Louis chuckled.
Y'all too much, Sierra said. Robbie started back in. Manny smiled at her. Yep, and we turned on the industrial lights for you. I see, Sierra said.
Thank you. The domino warriors nodded and toasted one another with the evening's first portion of rum. You ready to talk yet, bro? Sierra said. They had worked fast for the last hour.
Sierra filled the whole dragon wing as the sky became a hazy orange around them. A few birds flitted past and down below, families meandered by on the way to the park. Robbie had covered a huge chunk of the wall in white paint, and his skeleton now wore an elaborate dress and was grinning wildly.
Papa Acevedo's eyes seemed to glare off at some impossible enemy, and his colors had faded into an almost see-through wash since yesterday. Robbie, she said when he didn't answer. Hmm?
What are they? What are what? What are the Shadow Shapers?
Robbie sighed. The scaffolding shook violently, which meant Manny was on the way up. Sierra spoke fast.
Something's going on and my abuelo was involved and so is that creepy guy at the party and whoever Lucera is. Everybody in on this but me. Oye chicos, Manny panted, climbing onto the platform with them.
I'm done for the night. Manny, Sierra said. You knew this old Vernon guy that died, right? Robbie tensed. Yes, Manny said.
A few years back. Those days are over now, Sierra. But you and Vernon and my granddad were all close. What was it all about?
I'll tell you one thing, he said, looking back and forth as if someone might be sneaking up on them. Sierra narrowed her eyes. Yeah? Your abuelo? could tell a mean story.
Oh, she tried not to sound disappointed. I mean, I knew that. Everyone talks about it.
I only barely remember him telling stories, though. Like, when we were really little, he used to. Oh, Manny held up one hand. Let me tell you, este viejo, he used to have us riveted. Us, a bunch of old men sitting there silent as a room full of scared children, waiting to see what happens next.
The domino game would be on hold. That in itself was an impressive feat. The domino guys were notorious for continuing games unabated through all kinds of natural disasters, and even, infamously, a shootout.
The shadow shapers, Manny. tell me about the shadow shapers sierra said the old newspaper man raised his eyebrows ah sierra heard robbie shifting back and forth on his feet behind her ah what she said it was a social club sierra a boys club you know a place for the guys from around the neighborhood to get together every now and then like these guys that wear funny hats and whatnot except without the funny hats. Thank God.
But then who's this weak dude and why is he writing about it like it's some kind of spiritual fellowship? Sierra asked. That, Manny smiled sadly, is a question for another time. It's not something I really talk about.
Perhaps your friend Robbie here can explain further. He wiped his hands on his slacks. All right, you two? The whole scaffolding convulsed rhythmically as he made his way to the ground. Buenas noches, he called.
Good night, Robbie said quietly. His voice sounded a hundred miles away. Sierra turned around and shot him a sharp look. You can explain your end of things while you walk me home, buddy.