“I know girl. I know. You’ll eat soon.” Frank’s voice, smooth as fresh motor oil, was low enough that only the cats heard him. “You’ll eat soon. Don’t know exactly what you’re gonna eat, but I know you’re gonna eat soon. That’s right, little girl. One, two hours, tops. You’ll see. You’ll eat.”
Princess lowered her head, staring hard at Frank. Lady stopped shredding the tires and watched Princess, only occasionally glancing at Frank.
“You’ll eat soon. I promise.”
* * * * *
Lights burst on the corral, bleaching the color out of the dirt, the fence, the sky, leaving everything cold and bloodless. The cats each slid to the back corners of the cage, backs low, shoulders against the concrete foundations, as the light found them and sucked the color out of their eyes.
Theo ran up and jumped on the first bar of the cage, both hands wrapped around a video camera the size of a pack of cigarettes, glued to the lioness to Frank’s right. Sturm came out of the dark and asked, “Which one?”
Frank wasn’t sure if Sturm was talking to him or Theo, and was about to mumble something when Theo said, “Both of ’em.”
“Well then, we’re just gonna have to find out tonight then, won’t we?” He turned to Frank, and before Frank could say anything said, “I know. I know. They gotta eat. And they will. Soon as we do. So come on back to the house. I gotta collect everyone and get ’em on out to the spread in the field.”
* * * * *
A large army tent had been erected out in the pasture. Tiki torches illuminated the two tables set up in the front. One was six feet across; the second was considerably smaller. Glouck brothers in black jeans and white shirts and black bow ties walked stiffly from the tent to the table and back again, carrying and arranging the silverware, plates, candles, baskets of bread, bottles of olive oil, and pitchers of ice water.
Sturm took the seat at the big table and had the hunters join him. He started telling an elaborate joke. Frank sat at the smaller table with Theo and Chuck, clearly the little kids’ table at Thanksgiving. The Gloucks poured water and took drink orders. Frank wasn’t shy about ordering alcohol this time.
Theo stared at Gun with amusement and said low, under his dad’s joke, “That’s a nice tie you got there. Your mother sew it for you?” He called over his shoulder at his dad, interrupting. “Hey Dad! Dad! Am I supposed to tip these boys or what?”
“Well, if they deserve it, then tip ’em. Yes.”
“What if they don’t deserve it?”
“Then don’t tip.” Sturm went back to the joke. “Anyways, so the nun says to the taxicab driver, ‘fuck yes, you stud you. Thanks for the ride. And oh yeah, by the way, I’m really a guy on his way to a costume party.’”
The three assholes laughed, slammed their hands down on the table, tilted their various drinks, and took long gulps. Girdler laughed too, but took slower sips out of a silver curved flask. Frank had finished his glass, and waved for one of the Glouck brothers, said, “Another. Thanks.”
Sturm stood. “Gentlemen. Ladies…?” he peered into the darkness. Someone near the house whistled. Frank saw her on the back deck leaning out against the railing, just a silhouette really, but that was enough to know it was her, more than enough. Sturm’s house didn’t just grow gentle curves like Annie. He wondered what the hell she was doing out here. Maybe she was helping her family out.
Maybe she was here to make some money.
“Tomorrow—for starters, you’re gonna sight in your rifles. For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, we will assist you. This will be your only preparation for the hunts to follow, when your prey will not be so docile.”
Girdler asked, “Absolutely. Then what will we shoot?”
“You all are hereby warned to be on the lookout for this dangerous gentleman here.” Sturm unrolled an 8 1/2 by 11 inch paper. The big monkey sat locked to the chair, wearing western clothing, in a primitive cheap two-tone print. In wooden, western-style letters, the sign said, “WANTED” above the monkey’s hat.
“I direct your attention to this particular detail here,” Sturm pointed to the monkey’s ears. “He’s got brass balls and brass earrings.” He pointed to the bottom of the sign, “ REWARD: $20,000.”
Sturm tossed the rolled up paper down the table. “That’s right. Twenty thousand dollars. That’s one bad monkey there. And he’s loose. Goddamn King Kong. Somewhere in town. So be careful. It’s a dangerous mission. So damn dangerous, I gotta be sure you’re serious. This particular hunt, this ain’t free. But the cost is next to nothing when you think about the twenty-thousand dollar reward on this outlaw’s head.” He stood behind his chair, only his shoulders and head visible. “So who’s up for a little outlaw hunting?”
* * * * *
The main course was brought out. Theo asked Gun, “Hey, you wash your hands before touching this plate?”
Frank did his best to ignore Theo, and just enjoy the food, but as soon as the plate was set in front of him, Theo grabbed it and switched it with his own plate. “There,” he said. “Now you can enjoy their spit. I know they spit in mine, and I ain’t gonna eat that shit.”
The Glouck’s faces betrayed nothing.
Frank switched plates with Chuck, who was still enjoying the effects of the tranquilizers to worry about anything as unimportant as tainted food.
Theo didn’t like it, but instead of pushing it with Frank, he poured his water on the ground and shook the empty glass at Ernie. “Hey. Hey water boy. Gimme some water. Now.”
Ernie picked up the water pitcher on the table and poured more into Theo’s glass without saying a word. For now, his fear of his mothers was overriding his hatred of Theo.
“Shit. You might have a career in this, if you work hard,” Theo said, took a drink, then poured the rest on the ground. “Now gimme some more.”
Gun stiffly poured ice water into Theo’s glass, like a robot whose joints had nearly rusted shut.
Frank did his best to ignore Theo; his mind wanted Annie. The curved shadows from the back deck were gone and the back yard was empty. He thought about excusing himself to go check on the lionesses, really just to look around and try and find her, but didn’t want Sturm to see him leaving the table.
* * * * *
Gun made it all the way through dessert before snapping. Theo had had too much beer. He said, “I know you’re half-coon, but even you can’t be that goddamn stupid. I told you I needed another fucking napkin, so hop to it…nigger.”
Gunther Ian Glouck was born at 8:56 AM, after 37 hours of labor. Edie was the only parent who signed the birth certificate. She’d been seen with over fifteen men during the two-week window of his inception, men of all ages, races. She refused to give the mens’ names, refused to give any information. He was three years younger than Edie’s next youngest and had learned very early that the only way to fight was dirty.
Gun snatched a fork with both hands from the stack of dirty dishes he was collecting, dropping the rest of the plates at the ground, and lunged at Theo. It didn’t matter that Theo was four years older and outweighed him by fifty or sixty pounds, Gun’s bottom teeth were bared, his eyes wild with fury. His left hand clawed at Theo’s face while the right came up all sneaky, aiming to puncture the lower intestine with the fork.
Plates hit the dirt and shattered. Two Glouck brothers materialized out of the darkness, grabbing Gun and wrestling him into the ground.
Theo jumped up. “Let him go! C’mon you pussies! Let’s do it!”
Asshole #2 started chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Assholes #1 and #3 joined in.
“Fifty bucks on the blond-haired kid, Sturm junior,” Girdler blurted happily, waving a bill.
“C’mon, you fucking pussy!” Theo shouted at Gun.
Ernie had a knee in Gun’s back. He turned and hissed, “Just cool down, you—”
“Ernie.” A mother’s voice, sharp as a rifle shot, cracked out of the tent.
Ernie turned back to Gun, rock
ed back a moment, and then punched Gun in the back of the head. Gun twitched and lay still, either genuinely unconscious or smart enough not to move.
“That’s enough, that’s enough,” Sturm said, rising to his feet, trying to get a better idea of what was happening down near the kitchen, since he wasn’t tall enough to see over the table. “We’re having a civilized dinner here. You can settle this later.” Frank suspected Sturm was afraid of Gun beating the shit out of Theo in front of the rest of the hunters, and couldn’t stand the shame of seeing his son lose a second fight to one of the Glouck family. A younger and smaller one too. “I’ve got other entertainment planned, something I believe you all will find much more interesting. I’ll meet you gentlemen out at the back of the barn. Frank will show you the way. I’ll be there before you’ve had a chance to refill them drinks.”
* * * * *
Frank led the group back to the lioness cage, still peeled white in the lights. Princess and Lady pressed into the barn corners, eyes shut tight, tails still. Only their ears moved.
A Glouck kid, the one with the stapled earlobe, ran out and took drink orders.
Everyone looked at Frank. He watched them back. Didn’t even bother to practice his smile. Asshole #2 coughed.
“Frank introduce you to the girls yet?” Sturm followed his voice out of the darkness, boots first, then black jeans, then a bare torso the color of a roasted almond, the grim slash of a mouth, and the black cowboy hat. The bandages were gone, revealing angry pink scars. You almost didn’t notice he was short until he came up to the cage and the top of his hat just barely rose above the shoulders of most of the men. “Well, Frank don’t say much, true, but he sure knows what he’s doing with my babies. He’s a goddamn Dr. Doolittle, no joke.”
Frank found his peculiar smile and saluted the men with his drink.
Theo came out of the barn and into the light of the corral leading Sarah. The old horse fought him all the way, stutter-stepping forward, her head up, eyes wide, clearly terrified. Theo jerked her along like he was trying to yank a large goose that was trying to take off back to the hard packed dirt.
Sturm took the reins, holding them at his hip, and kissed Sarah on the nose. The horse slowed down at once, the muscles sagged and relaxed. He whispered something low and sweet to her, got her to lower that long head even more, then kissed her between the eyes, and rubbed her ears.
He led her out into the dark field for a few minutes, then brought her back at the far end of the fenced corral. He unsnapped three padlocks and led Sarah inside. He kissed her nose again, and stepped back, shutting the gate and relocking the padlocks.
“Turn ’em loose, Frank,” Sturm called.
“What?” Frank shouted back.
“Turn ’em loose!”
“Who?”
“Who you think? Jesus Christ, boy.” Sturm caught himself. He laughed. “I’m sorry, son. Didn’t mean to lose my patience with you. I forgot you been touched, as they used to say. That horse kick to your noggin’ there. There, there over by your hand there. Open that padlock. Swing it wide, boy.”
And Frank finally got it. He figured out which padlock to unlock; it was a simple little thing really, a kind of gate mechanism, just grab it, push down, then pull back, and once he did, that would open a small, nearly hidden gate in the lioness cage, letting Lady and Princess into the larger corral, turning them loose on the horse.
Sturm hollered, “I got a fifty says my girls’ll take this horse under a minute.”
“You mean down or dead?” Girdler shouted back.
“Down.”
Having smelled horse sweat, the lionesses had finally opened their eyes.
“Done. I got a fifty on this horse going a full minute and half on all four feet.”
“Okay then. Do it.”
Sarah danced back and forth, looking for a clear way out, her movements growing increasingly sharper, more frantic.
“Open her up,” Sturm shouted. “My girls got to eat.”
Frank grabbed the metal, still warm from the heat of the day, pushed down and pulled back. The cats took a quick glance at each other and the rest of their cage and watched that horseflesh kick at the dust in the white hot glare of the lights. They slowly curled apart and slunk along opposite walls toward the open gate.
“When are we starting the clock?” Girdler asked.
“It’s already started,” Sturm said.
“What’s the time?”
“Where’s your watch?” Sturm held up a stopwatch. “By my count, it’s already fourteen seconds gone.”
“Well all right then,” Girdler said, checking his wristwatch. He’d been wearing it so long hair had grown up through the various holes and cracks in the leather band.
The lionesses watched the men at the fence closely.
Sarah kicked out, over and over. White lather from between her hind legs landed in the dust.
The cats’ wide noses, those flat cliffs of finely etched black leather, flared open, vacuuming the scent, bolting it directly into the very core of their predatory souls.
When it happened, nearly forty-two seconds after Sturm started his watch, it happened fast. The lionesses hit the gate together, then split apart, bounding at Sarah from both sides. She turned to face Lady on the left side, kicking wildly at Princess, who leapt completely above the flailing back hooves, sinking her claws into the horse’s back haunches, plunging great furrows into the old muscle, hanging there, letting the blood wash over the massive paws, snapping at the mane.
Lady went to the left, avoiding the bicycling front hooves, and as Princess hit Sarah from behind, Lady went for the throat. Her teeth snapped shut on Sarah’s windpipe. A smaller animal would have been killed instantly, but Sarah was over eight hundred pounds heavier than any bush antelope; her spinal cord was still intact. Lady swung from Sarah’s neck, dragging the horse down. The lioness’ teeth tore out Sarah’s right artery, and the horse went down, kicking and spraying blood.
The men cheered as Frank watched the fine dust sift over his boots.
“I got fifty-six seconds here,” Sturm said. Everybody else chimed in their times, but nobody had over a minute.
DAY TWENTY-FOUR
The next morning, the heat was somehow worse in town, as if all the pavement, bricks, cinderblocks, and concrete, having absorbed so much for so long, were now more like hot coals, radiating a much deeper and stronger heat back out into the sunshine.
Frank kicked himself for forgetting his sunglasses back at the vet hospital. The last few days, in the full sunlight, he would have to shake his head once in a while, because his eyes would lose focus, and eventually everything in his vision would shatter in a blinding white light, and when the world refocused, the light was reversed, as if he was looking at a photo negative. The colors shimmered and melted into switching, like getting stuck between channels on the hotel televisions. So he’d shake his head until the picture snapped back into full color, keeping the lights and darks in the right places.
* * * * *
Theo rolled Sturm’s pickup out of an alley running parallel to Main Street, behind the Holiday Market and it’s empty parking lot. He went painfully slow, just threw it in drive and didn’t touch the gas. He turned into the street, moving slower than most people walk. Of course, the street was empty. Except for the engine, and Chuck’s unrelenting conversation, the town was silent.
Chuck said, “I’m at this truck stop down in Reno, empty as all hell, sitting at the bar, chatting with the waitress. She was interested, I know she was, ’cause she got me a chicken fried steak and eggs for half the price. And I’m eating, and getting’ cozy with her, when this guy walks in and sits down right next to me. Place is empty, but he has to fucking sit next to me.”
Frank and Chuck rode back on the tailgate. Chuck’s legs swung aimlessly back and forth under the truck. Frank’s long legs would have been dragged along, so he was kind of walking along with the truck, taking long strides backwards. He took a long drink, then p
assed Chuck his flask.
Chuck took it, saying, “And I swear to God, I can see him in the mirror right? So in the mirror, he looks kinda’ sick, but that’s all, and when I turn to look at him, half his head is gone, from the nose on over, just gone.” He slapped his palms together to suggest skipping a rock over water. “And I look back to the mirror, and he looks…well, not fine, no, but at least his head is all there.”
A horse lead line was attached to the bumper. Fifteen feet down, at the other end of the line, was a ewe, dreadlocks of dry mud underneath, legs caked in gray mud, shuffling along, like a wobbly toy being pulled by a string.
Theo rolled across the crosswalk and into the Main Street intersection.
Chuck talked over the diesel engine. “And he turned to look at me, with that one eye left, and he said, ‘Don. Don.’ Then he got up and left.”
“Why?” Frank was bored shitless, wondering when the hell Chuck would get to the point and take a drink. Then maybe he’d give the flask back.
“Why? Fuck, you listening to me? The ghost, man. What are we drinking here? What the hell’s in this?” He shook the flask, spilling some of the whiskey. “You think I can get another injection of that shit? Haven’t felt that good in…ever.”
“I would. I mean, I’d like to. I would. But I can’t afford it.”
Chuck laughed. “Well. How much does this stuff cost?”
“I’m not sure. But I can find out.”
“You got more back at the office, right? You know, any tiny bit. Hell, it don’t take much. I can afford it. Hell yes—I can pay you! Jesus, don’t worry about that. I got paid. So I got it.” Chuck pulled a lump from his jeans and gave Frank a flash of his money, a good thick, tight roll of bills over three inches thick.
They rolled across Main Street. Frank was too busy looking at the pavement, pretending to remember how much he should charge, seeing that fat roll of cash in his mind, wondering when in the hell Sturm had seen fit to pay some employees and not others and barely trying to not listen to the voice raising the possibility of simply killing Chuck and that cash would be his.
Foodchain Page 23
