“Monty, I need some info.” Greg’s voice was quiet but firm.
“Three guys just got out of Stateville. Leader’s named Vinnie. Two others—Zip and Slim. Find out who they are, what they were in for, and who they’re running with.” A pause. “Something happen?” “They came by for protection money. Threatened me.” Monty cursed. “Do they know who you are?”
“No.” “Got it. Give me two days. I’ll find everything. You need backup?” “Not yet. Just the info.” Greg hung up. He sat down and closed his eyes. Six years of silence were over. The past was back. For two days, Greg lived as usual.
He woke at dawn, worked in the garden, went into the woods. But inside, everything had shifted. He was back to being the man he was for 20 years inside. He was calculating options, preparing. The phone was always in his pocket. On the third day, Monty called. “Ghost, I got the file. Listen up.”
Greg sat at the table with a pencil and paper. “Go ahead.” Vinnie—real name Vincent Kovacs, 33. Was in from 2007 to 2011 for armed robbery. Tried to act like a big shot inside. In reality, he was a bottom-feeder. In 2009, he was caught stealing from his own crew.
He was snitching to the guards about where the contraband was hidden. The elders were going to judge him, but he bought his way out. He went into protective custody. Stayed there until his release. Greg wrote it down. His face didn’t change, but it was all clear now. A snitch. That meant no code. That meant he didn’t have to play fair.
“Next,” he said. Zip—real name Sam Miller. 28. In since 2008 for burglary. A low-level gopher, was Vinnie’s ‘errand boy’ inside. Did the dirty work. Snitched, set people up. Picked on the weak. Zero respect. “Third guy.” Slim—real name Ian Vance. 30. In since 2006 for robbery. Quiet guy, stayed out of trouble. But when Vinnie started snitching, he didn’t speak up. Either scared or complicit. Followed Vinnie out. The weak link. Greg finished writing.
He was silent. Monty continued. “Ghost, these three have been hitting the county for a month. Shaking down seniors. Beating up anyone who says no. The local cops know, but they aren’t doing much. Either they’re getting a cut or they just don’t care. You want me to send some guys?” “I do,” Greg said.
“But later. First, I’m going to have a talk with them myself.” “You sure? There’s three of them, one of you.” “I’m a Chairman, and they’re snitches. That’s enough.” Monty was silent for a moment. “Copy that. If you need us, call. We can be there in an hour.” They hung up. Greg re-read his notes.
Everything lined up. Vinnie was a snitch pretending to be a tough guy. Zip was a lackey. Slim was a coward. They came here thinking the town was defenseless. They didn’t know ‘The Ghost’ lived here. That evening, Greg went into the yard.
He looked at the barn. Old, wooden, sitting at the back of the property. The door had a heavy bolt, no windows. Perfect. He went inside and looked around. Old boards, tools, empty barrels. Plenty of space. Greg started preparing. He moved the junk to the walls.
He cleared a space in the center. He found an old chain and bolted it to the wall. He tested it. It held. Then he went out and closed the door. Everything was ready. The next day, a car pulled up. Not the black sedan, but a silver Ford. Greg recognized it.
Razor was driving. Greg went out onto the porch. Two men got out. Razor and a younger guy, about 25. Razor walked up and hugged Greg. “Ghost, Monty said you needed a hand. This is Vince, he’s solid.” Vince nodded and shook Greg’s hand.
Greg shook it. A sturdy kid, broad-shouldered, with a sharp look in his eyes. “When do you expect them?” Razor asked. “In two days. They said they’d be back for the money.” “What’s the play?” Greg led them inside. He laid out the paper with his notes.
He explained. “Vinnie’s a snitch. The others are punks. When they arrive, I’ll lead them to the barn. Razor and Vince will be waiting inside. We’ll take it from there.” “Are we taking them out?” Vince asked. “Vinnie, maybe,” Greg said. “The others, we’ll see. The main thing is to teach them a lesson so they never come back.”
Razor nodded. “Got it. We’ll be here the morning before they show up. We’ll hunker down in the barn.” They agreed. They sat for another half hour, had some coffee, and left. Greg was alone again. That evening, he went out on the porch and lit a cigarette. He watched the road.
Silence. The woods rustled. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. In two days, blood would be spilled here. He wasn’t afraid. In 20 years inside, he’d seen it all. Shivanings in the block, brawls. Sit-downs where a man was beaten within an inch of his life.
It wasn’t cruelty for cruelty’s sake. It was the law. The same law. If you break the code, you answer for it. Vinnie broke it. He was posing as an authority, extorting people, making threats. Inside, he would have been judged and stripped of everything. Out here, the rules were different.
But the principle was the same. A snitch has to answer. Greg put out his cigarette, went inside, and went to bed. Tomorrow was the last quiet day. The next morning, Razor and Vince arrived. They brought bats, rebar, and duct tape. Greg showed them to the barn.
They set themselves up, putting out some crates to sit on. They checked the chain; it was solid. Greg brought them water and food. He told them, they’ll be here by lunch tomorrow. Be ready. The day passed slowly. Greg worked in the garden, but his mind was elsewhere.
Tomorrow, it would all be settled. The morning was humid. Greg woke at six, as usual. He washed up, made coffee, and went out on the porch. He watched the road. Empty. The sun was already climbing, promising a hot day. He finished his coffee and went inside.
He checked his phone; full charge. He put it back in his pocket. At eight o’clock, he went to the barn. He opened the door; Razor and Vince were sitting on the crates, smoking. Vince was cleaning his nails with a knife. Razor looked up. “When?”…
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