Foodchain

by Jeff Jacobson

  Everyone gathered around a gently curving string of wooden picnic tables under canvas awnings that covered cool concrete slabs. Beyond the shallow semi-circle of tables was a dry creek bed, maybe thirty yards across; useless farmland, overgrown with star thistles, lay on the other side.

  The monolithic BBQ, built of solid, blackened brick, rose at the far end of the strip of tables. Sturm had built the fire at dawn, using a combination of eucalyptus and oak at the beginning, building a massive bed of glowing hardwood coals, and added green apple branches, four inches thick, just before the meat was slapped onto the chain-link grill.

  Sturm saved the heart for himself and Theo, frying it up in butter in a cast iron skillet and eating it with biscuits and gravy. Everyone else at least got a taste of the rest of the animal, either leg muscles or ribs, served along with the food that the town had brought. Food like blackened chicken legs, breasts, thighs, wings. Boiled hot dogs. Gallons of baked beans. Giant tubs of coleslaw and potato salad. Enough French bread to build a fence around the picnic tables. Sturm even cut the tail off the lioness and gave it to the Mexicans for stew.

  Frank hadn’t eaten much in several days, and he wasn’t about to pass up this chance. He loaded his plate with chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy with chicken drippings, potato salad—made from baked potatoes, onions, mayonnaise, sweet pickle relish, black olives, and hard boiled eggs—and fries from a deep fryer. Even a corn dog, just for the hell of it. Sturm set aside a special cut of the lion for Frank, something resembling a filet from the chest. It was the only thing he didn’t enjoy; it tasted sour, overcooked.

  * * * * *

  When everyone had eaten, and the crowd had thinned, drifting off to the carnival rides and games, Sturm and Frank sat together in the gathering twilight, watching the glowing coals slowly fade. Frank felt the heat from fifteen feet away. Sturm instructed Theo to bring him an envelope from his pickup.

  Sturm handed it to Frank. “You earned it, son. This is a hell of a thing here, thanks to you.”

  Frank murmured, “Hell, happy to help,” as he glanced inside the envelope. His heart tripped over itself for a second. “Wait…there’s more…more than we agreed on.” He quickly added the bills, guessing there was nearly ten grand in the envelope.

  Sturm grinned as the rolling, spinning lights from the carnival reflected in his eyes. “Yep. I know. Figured you deserved it.”

  “Hell, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything, son. Like I said, you earned it. Use as best you see fit.” Sturm glanced back at Frank. “I know you got yourself some pressing personal problems, and I understand if you have to keep moving. But here’s the thing. Our vet took off last winter. If you want it, there’s a position available here, for as long as you want. I could use a man like you. Got some plans for them animals. We’re gonna have some fun. This, this here,” Sturm gestured at the tables, the stands, the carnival. “This is just the beginning.”

  Frank sat back, feeling something close to warmth in his chest as he watched the women cleaning up all the food, the knots of men, smoking and drinking, the children running about in the dark with flashlights and glowsticks. He felt strangely affectionate toward all of them, as if they were all animals in his care and they needed his guidance, his skills, his love. He was surprised to find himself smiling.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

  Sturm clapped him on the back and said, “First thing in the morning, we’re gonna have to get you some decent working clothes.” They both laughed, and sat for a while, sipping from their beers, watching the people, and enjoying the slight cool breeze that had come up.

  * * * * *

  Sturm saw Petunia first. “Hell’s that damn dog doing here?” he muttered, crumpling his tenth or eleventh beer. Frank glanced over, saw the dog nimbly hop up onto the top of one of the picnic tables and help herself to the leftovers. The three people still at the table suddenly found some urgent business somewhere else.

  The Gloucks followed Petunia.

  They came out of the darkness, a ragged, seething group of boys, ebbing and flowing around the two mothers in a surging amoeba of bodyguards. The two women, the two mothers, Edie and Alice, walking purposeful and unhurried, headed straight for Sturm, chins up, like the proud, sticklike birds with dagger beaks that strutted through the flooded rice fields. Folks got out of their way.

  Two girls, holding hands, trailed the group. One was seven years old, the same little girl that had hollered at the two deputies from the dead tree several days earlier.

  The other was nineteen. Her name was Annie.

  Frank saw her immediately. She wasn’t plump exactly, just filled out; lots of curves in all the right places and she moved like a racehorse, smooth, graceful, strong.

  The boys spread out in feral, scuttling movements, spilling around Frank and Sturm and fading back toward the tables. They wore long baggy shorts, oversize basketball tank tops, hats turned sideways. They’d been watching too much MTV off that gigantic satellite and were doing their damndest to look like wannabe hip hop thugs that carried nine millimeters of handgun next to their dicks. But instead of nine millimeters, these kids were packing air pistols and BB guns and slingshots.

  Alice extended a flat dish that steamed in the cool air, a gift for the potluck. She stopped just short of giving it to Sturm as Edie shouted back at the boys, “Git that dog off that fucking table. We’re guests, goddamnit.” She gave them a meaningful look. “There will be no ruckus here tonight.”

  The boys nodded. Annie smiled, gave her sister’s hand a squeeze.

  The mothers turned back to Sturm, still pissed at their boys but at the same time, deferential and respectful to Sturm, ignoring Frank. The food was a thin, burnt husk of something. It smelled of BBQ sauce, onions and garlic, maybe some Tabasco, and something else, some kind of meat, something different underneath.

  “Well, thank—” Sturm started.

  “We’ll need that dish back,” Edie said. Her left eye seemed glaringly fake, a ping pong ball or something, some kind of cheap movie monster from the ‘50s, staring at the stars somewhere over Frank’s head. She fixed her good eye on Sturm, moving her head as if on a thousand ball bearings, utterly smooth, like a rattlesnake on opium.

  Alice leaned in, smiling, and bumped Sturm’s chest with the potluck dish. Sturm tried to talk, to take the dish, anything, but couldn’t manage anything but licking the inside of his lips. “Uh, well…”

  Frank stepped in, very smooth, very diplomatic, and took the dish.

  Sturm finally managed, “Thank you,” and stiffly held up his hand, shook Alice’s hand. The mothers were very pleased. They all stood around grinning at each other as if they’d been friends for years. Finally, Sturm couldn’t take it anymore and gestured at the tables. “Please, please, make yourselves welcome. Eat.”

  The boys hit the tables like crabs going after a dead whale. “Thank you very, very much.” Alice took Sturm’s hands with both of hers. She bowed her head and the mothers descended upon the tables, a couple of egrets joining the crabs.

  Frank wasn’t sure if the dish in his hands was supposed to be meat, pasta, or vegetable. It smelled scarily of fish. He put the dish on the table in the center of the half circle of tables, between a carrot cake and cookie sheets heaped with blackened chicken. The mothers watched him.

  Edie coughed.

  “Hell, son,” Sturm said. “Don’t be shy. Go on ahead. Try some.” He tapped his skull and gave a sad smile. “I would, but…afraid the doc’s got me on a restricted diet. Smells delicious, though.”

  Frank reluctantly tried to scoop out a little piece, but snapped the plastic fork instead. He took a nearby spatula and had a hell of a time cutting himself out a few bites. He dumped a few crumbs on a paper plate, got a new plastic fork, and scraped a little into his mouth and just as he realized it was the worst thing he’d ever tasted, he heard Annie’s voice from somewhere close. “You like it?”

  The bite f
rom the potluck dish tasted like a deep fried turd. Frank tried to swallow, turned, tears burning his eyes, his gag reflex threatening to explode.

  Through the stinging tears, he got a closer look at Annie. She wore cutoffs; white, dangling threads accentuated her strong, tan legs. Her flip-flops were nothing more than flat strips of rubber that used to be neon orange, smudged with grime. Silver toe rings glittered. One of them bore a grinning skull. The bottom of her feet were black, darker than dirt. The white halter top had risen, revealing a sliver of a round brown belly. Heavy, full breasts strained the fabric; the raised buds of nipples were clearly visible in the night air. She had straight black hair that hung just past her earlobes and a round face made for smiling.

  Frank swallowed the bite of potluck without tasting it anymore and nodded dumbly, head itching maddeningly under his long hair, suddenly hyper-aware of his surroundings, of everyone around him, as if a brilliant spotlight had focused on his lanky frame, and he was the center of attention, stared at by the mothers, Sturm, the clowns, even the quiet gentlemen somewhere deep in the shadows. “S’good,” he said, but couldn’t quite suppress the coughed gag that escaped from his mouth.

  Annie’s smile just grew wider. The dimples grew deeper. “You want to go on a ride with me?”

  The creek bed and scrub beyond exploded in light and for the briefest moment, Frank wondered if he had died. But it was just the massive klieg lights that had powered on with an impact that made everyone jump in mid-conversation. The smart ones were expecting it, and already had their shooting glasses on, tinted yellow, gold, or blue.

  Shotguns appeared. Frank followed the curve of the tables that weren’t only meant for eating; now he could see that they were arranged around a shooting range. In the harsh glare of the field lights, there was a square concrete bunker that even now had started flinging clay pigeons out into the sky above the farmland. Shotgun blasts split the night with flat, booming thunder.

  “If you don’t want to go on a ride, that’s okay. I understand if you don’t want to go with me.”

  Frank suddenly remembered Annie. “Um, hell no. I mean, yeah. Yeah. Let’s go. Let’s go on a ride.” He found himself smiling back at her. He nodded at Sturm and the mothers as he slipped the plate onto the table, let Annie link her arm through his, and they slowly moved off towards the carnival. As they walked away, he heard one of the mothers say, “Now what’s all this we hear about all these new animals at that auction yard of yours?”

  * * * * *

  Annie leaned in close and said in a loud stage-whisper, “Sorry you had to eat that. Mom made it for Sturm special, if you know what I mean.”

  Frank shrugged. “You didn’t make it?”

  Annie shook her head. “No. Not sure exactly what all went in there, but I know for a fact that the main ingredient was a raw catfish that Ernie caught out of the ditch last week.” She thought that was funny. “Sturm and my moms got a little feud going. They’re unbelievable cooks, and Sturm knows it, but he’s scared to try anything they make, because he doesn’t know what they’ll put in it.”

  “I don’t blame him.”

  Frank and Annie took it slow, wandering through the carnival, through the garish lights, the shouts and screams, the smell of egg roll on a stick, dunked in sweet and sour sauce. Frank caught a quick glimpse of Theo a couple of times, dashing from one ride to another with a few of his buddies, but the Glouck boys were nowhere to be found.

  “This one,” Annie said, and squeezed Frank’s arm.

  “This one?”

  “This one.”

  It was called “WHEEL OF SCREAMS” and was just a large flat disc, about thirty feet across, with a six-foot wall around the outside. They went up the steps, walked out onto the disc, painted in a giant spiral circling out from the center, and found a couple of open spots on the wall. “Stand there, with your back up against the wall, and grab hold of those bars,” Annie instructed. There were no straps, no safety bars that went across your hips and held you in place. Just vertical bars along the wall, like playground bars. At the last minute, Theo and his followers jumped on and found places along the wall opposite of Frank and Annie. The operator said, “Y’all have fun,” and slammed a bar down, shutting the ride off from the outside world. Frank started to sweat, nervous, worried that he would puke up the potluck dish, the chicken, the potato salad, the corn dog.

  The disc to spin, slowly. Frank swallowed and exhaled through his nose. Annie’s hand found his on the bar between them. The world revolved; Frank saw the carnival worker, rolling a smoke on the front steps, then the big bouncing balloon castle with its segmented floor and walls, always leaning slightly over, as if a corner had split open, the Corn Dog and Egg Roll trailers, the distant startling white lights of the shooting range, and the carnival worker again, but just the back of his head this time, as he walked down the steps.

  Annie gripped his fingers tighter as the machine gained velocity. Frank felt himself slowly pressed back into the wall as the ride spun faster and faster. With a lurch that sent Franks’ stomach scrabbling queasily up onto the back of his tongue, the disk started to tilt. One edge rose and rose, until Frank realized the whole disc was on some kind of arm, resembling more of a wheel than a disc. It kept rising, until the wheel was almost completely sideways, holding its passengers in check through centrifugal force.

  Something deep inside Frank relaxed its clenched fist just a bit, and he found himself grinning, almost enjoying the rush of wind, the powerless feeling of watching the pavement slide past, followed by the jet black darkness of the night sky, the ground again, giving way to the sky, the ground, the sky. He uncurled his fingers from the bars, letting the ride take him, giving up control. Annie whooped, raising her own arms, fingers spread wide. Frank closed his eyes, opening his palms to the stars and neon lights.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good.

  * * * * *

  As they staggered slightly away from the Wheel of Screams, still feeling the effects, Frank wanted to ask Annie if she’d like to try another ride, but just as he was about to speak, they both watched Theo fling an empty beer bottle at Ernie Glouck’s head.

  The bottle missed, and by the time it had shattered against the pavement, Ernie had launched himself at Theo. They went down, Theo tearing at the Ernie’s Laker jersey, Ernie slamming punches into Theo’s midsection. The rest of the Glouck boys swarmed the two fighters while Theo’s friends slipped through the crowd and ran.

  For the third time that night, Frank wondered where the clowns were, but didn’t have time to wonder long because Annie was no longer standing next to him. She stormed into the circle of teenagers, grabbing her right fist in her left hand, twisting and turning like a pissed-off tornado, jabbing her elbows into anyone who came close. Her brothers, both by blood and by marriage, had enough experience with their oldest sister to get the hell out of the way. She came upon Ernie, hanging onto Theo’s hair and T-shirt, kneeing the bigger kid repeatedly in the left kidney while Theo kept slamming his bleeding knuckles into the back of Ernie’s head and getting nowhere.

  Annie planted her back foot and kicked Ernie square in the small of his back. Her brother spasmed and released Theo before rolling over onto his side, flailing as if in the grip of an electric current. Theo backed off for a second, let his eyes wander over Annie, then turned back and punched Ernie in the face.

  “Little boy, what is the matter with you?” Annie asked, walking toward Theo, slow, taking her time, rolling those formidable hips like an expensive, wide yacht in calm waters.

  Theo started to yell something, but Annie kicked him in the balls before he got a breath. She turned to Ernie, cursing quick and quiet. “Stupid dickbrained motherfucking pieces of garbage…” She kicked him again, this time in the muscle of his thigh, enough to seriously hurt him, but nothing permanent, nowhere near a joint like the knee. “Get home. Now.” He broke off into a run. “You better pray I calm down before I get home!”

 
Theo had just about straightened from the kick when the little Glouck girl expertly flipped a rock the size of a cell phone at his head, not particularly fast or furious, just hard enough to smash his ear against his head, splitting the cartilage and skin. He went back to his knees, suddenly realizing that the entire Glouck family, except for the mothers, had surrounded him.

  “Get on home to Daddy, little boy,” Annie told Theo. “It’s past your bedtime.” Theo didn’t run like Ernie, but he moved fast just the same, knees never straying far apart in an uncomfortable shuffling dance, back towards the shooting range. Annie shooed her family away. “Rest of you trigger-happy fucks get home too. Now.” They didn’t argue, just broke into a jog toward the parking lot.

  She came back to Frank, shaking her head. “Boys, boys, boys,” she said with a grin. “I’d better go too.” She cocked her head. “Are you going to be in town long?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then maybe I’ll see you around.” She smiled at him again and Frank felt that warmth, as if everything inside of him, floating free after the ride, had settled down into a safe place for a comfortable nap. She turned and waved, just once, on her way to the parking lot. Frank wasn’t even aware he was waving back until he caught his hand in the air.

  Frank was far from a virgin; the horse world was full of women that gladly rode any horses or men within reach. Still, when Annie had touched his hand on the ride a shockwave of lust had ricocheted through his chest and groin. It surprised him. He had no idea that he was even capable of a need that intense, especially after the events of the past week. Maybe facing death just added fuel to the fire.

  * * * * *

  Frank drove back to the auction yard, planning on sleeping in the house trailer with the rest of the clowns, but found the place empty. The animals were gone too. Frank hoped they hadn’t escaped. It didn’t look like it, though. Everything was locked down and clean. Just empty.