Foodchain

by Jeff Jacobson

  “Just, ah, thought you and your family should know. The grizzly got loose. Could be anywhere.” He needed an excuse to see Annie and figured the Gloucks wouldn’t find out until tomorrow that the bear had been killed inside the auction yard. “I’d keep everyone inside. At least tonight.”

  “Is that why you came by? To warn us?”

  “Yeah.”

  Annie let the silence grow, then said, “Not to apologize for the other day?”

  Frank let a hint of his own smile out. “No.”

  Okay. Thanks.” She started to close the door.

  “I know where the money is,” Frank said.

  The door stopped. Annie’s eye peered out from the crack, watching Frank for a moment. The light was suddenly shut off, leaving Frank in momentary complete darkness. He just waited.

  “So what?” Annie asked softly.

  “You still interested?”

  “Maybe.” A pause. “You interested?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “I got a feeling that I won’t be getting all the money I’m owed.”

  “So you think stealing it is a good idea?”

  “I figure I deserve it.”

  “So where is it?”

  Frank let a hint of his own smile out.

  Annie crossed her arms and smirked. “Fine. When you planning this?”

  “Soon.” He turned and walked back to his car.

  “Hey,” Annie called after him. “You gonna apologize for the other day?”

  Frank opened the driver’s door. He looked back at Annie, silhouetted on the front steps. He smiled fully this time, nothing hidden. “No,” he said, and got in the car and drove away.

  DAY THIRTY-THREE

  Surprisingly, Sturm hadn’t been pissed about the bear’s escape. On the contrary, he had been delighted. “Got me a genuine killer grizzly—no, no, a goddamn killer Kodiak,” he shouted over the phone at sunrise. It sounded like he’d been up all night. The skull and teeth were going on his desk, right next to the tiger. “Get to the yard soon as you can. Got someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Frank fed all the cats at the vet office, then packed fifty pounds of meat into an ice chest in the trunk of the long black car and drove through town. He felt like he’d lived in here his entire life. He could dimly remember the night out in the desert, when he was trying to break the plastic cuffs, but the memory was so distant it might as well have happened to someone else. His mother still lived within his memories in vivid, precise details, but the images of his father often flickered into images of Sturm, like overlapping radio stations.

  * * * * *

  When he got to the auction yard, he found a new truck, some overhauled refrigerated vehicle, parked in front. The engine was shut off, but the cargo cooler wheezed laboriously under the midmorning sun. Sturm and another guy were standing in the shade at the back of the truck; Sturm raised a hand as Frank drove past and parked.

  Sturm said, “Like to introduce you to Billy…” Sturm obviously didn’t know the guy’s last name. “Well, he’s brought us something special.”

  Billy reminded Frank of a squirrel that had lost a fight with a riding lawnmower. He was mostly bald, except for a braided foot of hair where the hair grew at the top of the back of the neck. A long, stringy goatee erupted off the end of his chin; there was no hair above his lip. A couple of sores at the left side of his mouth looked like they might be infected and his upper teeth probably came from a toy vending machine that waited near the exit doors in a supermarket. Whatever was left of the bottom row, that was all his, no question.

  He grabbed Frank’s right hand and shook it like he was trying to rip it loose. Something about the guy’s grip felt stunted and curiously lumpy, but Frank couldn’t have pulled his hand away if he had tried. He was too busy trying not to breathe air contaminated with Billy’s breath.

  “Heard all about you, that’s right, friend of the animals and all that. Well, any friend of animals is a friend of mine. Them cats are in damn good shape—feeding ’em meat, right?” Billy answered his own question. “Right.” He finally released Frank’s hand.

  Frank backed up slightly, eyeballing a row of fresh beer bottles, ice still clinging to the glass, lined up along the truck’s bumper.

  Billy followed his look, and handed a Frank a beer. Frank couldn’t help but notice how mangled his hand was, like it had been slammed in a pickup door a few times and the tailgate too, just for the hell of it. A few fingers were gone, Frank couldn’t actually tell exactly which ones—only a few nubs peeked shyly around the sweating bottle. Billy’s thumb looked suspiciously like a big toe.

  “Much obliged,” Frank said.

  “Betcha,” Billy said. “Always got some on hand, since I gotta keep the truck cold anyways.”

  Frank nodded, as if this made perfect sense. He figured maybe Billy had a dead animal on display and he needed to keep the corpse frozen. When Frank was around nine or ten, his mom took him to the county fair and he paid fifty cents to walk into an air-conditioned semi-trailer and see a big plastic-looking shark behind sheets of rippled glass that were supposed to be ice. Still, the shark had been huge, and Frank had stayed for hours, squinting through the ripples, trying to see the shark better. Finally, the truck owner had to kick him out.

  “Go on, son,” Sturm said. “Ask him what’s in there.”

  Frank looked at Billy. “What’s in there?”

  Billy smiled. The top row of teeth looked like it had frightened the bottom row into rotting and melting away. He leaned into a quick spiel. “A genuine dinosaur. Right in front of your eyes. Guaranteed. Biggest reptile you’ve ever seen. It eats crocodiles for breakfast. Deadliest predator to stalk the Earth. Spanning the ages all the back to the dreaded Paleolithic Era. Which is before the Jurassic Park era, just so you know. It is nature unleashed in all her raw fury. Behold…” Billy snapped the latches at the back of the truck open and swung the thick door wide. “The awesome power of the Komodo Dragon.”

  The dragon stared coolly out at Frank and flicked its tongue at the wall absentmindedly. Frank hadn’t been expecting the thing to be alive. But it made no move to dart to the back end of the trailer, content only to lethargically move its eyes. Frank touched the metal interior and it was cool, but not freezing, like a knife that had been left out all night.

  “I keep it cold so he stays calm,” Billy said.

  Frank realized Billy and Sturm were waiting for his reaction.

  He said, “That’s a damn big lizard.” And it was true. The Komodo Dragon easily stretched across the eight foot trailer, even with the head curled around slightly and a solid three or four feet of tail along the opposite wall. The head and neck looked like an uncircumcised penis that had gotten surly one day and grown teeth and a tongue.

  The claws, incredibly, were even longer than the Kodiak’s. These were thinner. Sharper. Meaner.

  “The spit alone will make you sicker n’ hell,” Billy said. He held up his mangled hand. “When it was just a pup, sonofabitch got hold of my hand here, and I kicked it in the head, got it off. Didn’t think it was so bad at first. Hell, just poured some tequila over it. Shit. Inside of two days I woke up, found myself in the emergency ward. That shit fucked me up but good. That monster, he ain’t nothing to fuck around with.”

  “You gonna shoot it?” Frank asked Sturm.

  “Hell no,” Sturm said. “Jack and Pine are picking up a motherhumping white Siberian tiger as we speak. I don’t need to tell you that that’s one of the rarest goddamn animals on the planet right now. And,” he lowered his voice, “story goes, it’s the same tiger that went after that faggot magician few years back.”

  “No shit?” Billy asked. “I heard they had to put it down.”

  “Supposedly, they switched it with a tiger that was already dead.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Billy said.

  “Tonight, we got ourselves a regular rumble in the jungle; this damn dinosaur is gonna to go toe-to-toe with
that tiger in the bottom of the town pool.”

  * * * * *

  When Frank came over the slight bridge that traversed the dry creekbed that cut across the north end of the valley on his way back to the vet hospital, he saw Mr. Noe’s Mercedes parked on his side of the highway. It was late, and the nearly horizontal rays burned the back of the Mercedes into a slippery white fire. Frank’s first instinct was to just hit the gas instead of the brakes and just crash right into the fucker. But he managed to at least take his foot off the gas, and coasted up on the other car.

  Mr. Noe stood in the sunroof, aiming his rifle at something in the empty irrigation ditch. He fired, twice. Theo, in the driver’s seat, glanced at the rearview mirror. By then, Frank was close enough to see Theo’s eyes narrow as Theo caught sight of the long black car.

  Frank drifted over into the oncoming lane and stopped directly across from the Mercedes. Mr. Noe turned to look, gave a little bow, and then turned and fired a third time. Something cracked inside of Frank’s head and filled him with unease. This was all wrong. These two fucks weren’t just shooting pheasants or raccoons. He shut off the car and got out.

  Mr. Noe waved and dropped back into the passenger seat and Theo made the little car leap forward and by the time Frank had crossed the dotted yellow line in the center of the highway, the Mercedes was twenty yards away and gaining speed.

  Frank didn’t bother to chase them. He kept going on to the irrigation ditch.

  Petunia was down there.

  She’d been shot three times. One bullet had passed through her chest, one through her fourth row of nipples, and one had shattered upon impact as it struck the outermost, center muscle in her thick jaw, sending shards of itself along her skull, into her eye, her throat.

  Frank jumped into the ditch and said, “Easy girl. Easy.” Petunia whirled and snapped at the direction of his voice, shredding herself even further. “Easy. Oh please. Just …” Petunia dragged herself towards him in a barking frenzy, spraying blood with every horrible crunch from her ruined jaw. Frank finally made himself shut up by clasping a hand over his mouth. He crouched and watched until he couldn’t help but try and silently reach out to gently touch the uninjured side of her neck.

  She ripped herself at him and chased him out of the ditch.

  Frank stumbled back to the highway. He looked towards town, where the Mercedes had headed. Fighting the urge to follow, he grabbed a bottle from his car and went to watch Petunia either pass out or die.

  * * * * *

  Half an hour later, when Frank finally dared to get in closer, he wasn’t sure if she was unconscious or dead. She didn’t react when he gathered her in his arms and carried her to the long black car. He put her on the front seat, cradling her head in his lap as he steered with one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the dog, and talked to her the whole way, telling her about all the squirrels she would chase when she got better and how pretty she was and how he was going to take care of her and how Mr. Noe and Theo were going to be hurting worse than she was real soon. But when he finally got her back to the office and up on an examining table, Petunia was dead.

  * * * * *

  Frank sat on the floor for a long time. Then he carefully washed her and stitched up her wounds. He closed her eyes. He eased her tense muscles, moving the legs gently, letting her relax. He put her tongue back inside her teeth. He laid a white sheet on the floor and wrapped it around her more carefully than a new parent tending to an infant.

  He put Petunia in the back seat of the long black car, but before he left, he unlocked all three outside doors to the vet hospital and let them stand open. He shut the freezer off and left the lid open. The ten thousand went in the trunk, under the spare tire. Then he went along the row of cages and unlocked all of them, letting the doors swing open by themselves. The cats watched him without moving.

  “Go on. Get the hell out of here,” he told them.

  * * * * *

  He drove to the Glouck house. The girl that had been hanging in the dead tree his first day in town was out front, sitting on a wooden see-saw, as if waiting for someone to play. He’d overheard the mothers calling her Amber.

  “Where’s your boots?” she asked.

  Frank took Petunia out of the back seat and gently laid her in front of the satellite dish. He turned to Amber. “Your sister here?”

  The front door slammed open and Annie came running out. She had seen the figure wrapped in the white sheet. Strong, tan legs faltered and slowed as she got closer until she finally simply stopped moving forward. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Tears filled her eyes, spilled out, and ran down her cheeks. “Why?” was the only thing she managed to get out before a sob choked her throat and stopped any more words.

  Frank didn’t say anything. His vision grew blurry. It took him a moment to realize that his own tears were flooding his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually cried. He hadn’t even shed any tears when his mother was buried. Something tore, deep inside of him. It sounded awfully like the duct tape under the sink. It kept ripping, shredding some thin membrane down in the darkness. The voice hissed in approval and urged whatever had been sealed inside to squirm free. He shook, his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto his haunches, hands and face numb.

  Annie stepped closer and knelt beside him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t help her.”

  Annie took his face and kissed his tears, her own hot tears spilling down her cheeks, mingling with his.

  A great, agonizing wail grew in Frank’s chest and he felt that if he didn’t let it out and scream for every animal he ever hurt or killed, for all of the animals in his miserable life, his entire body would explode in pain. But he choked it back, rocking back and forth on the Glouck’s front lawn.

  Annie held him close, sobbing into his ear.

  Frank heard nothing but the anguished cry of the Kodiak, the horses, the big cats, all of them. And underneath it all, the voice. The voice, saying it’s about goddamn time. Enough is enough. You’ve been the goddamn grim reaper to the animal world for too long now, and it was time to end it. To end it all.

  Annie grabbed the back of his skull and kissed him.

  The pain floated up into the sky and dissipated among the stars.

  He looked into Annie’s eyes and saw compassion. Kindness. Love. He took a deep breath. She wiped his tears away. He reached out, curled his hand around her ear, slipping her hair back. Her eyes never left his. He pulled her close and kissed her, hard. He tasted tears mixed with saliva.

  He lowered his head and touched his forehead to hers. “The money? It’s all in a gunsafe, hidden in the barn. It’s in a stall in the back, inside a freezer. You got that?”

  “I—”

  “It’s heavy, but you’ll figure it out. I know you will.” He kissed her again. “Remember, it’s in the barn. In a freezer. In the back.” The edge in his voice was sharp enough to shave steel. “Tonight is gonna be your only chance.”

  Annie ran her hand across his prickly scalp. “What are you going to do?”

  Frank was dimly aware of one of the mothers, standing silhouetted in the doorway, Annie in front of him, staring into his eyes, and the body of Petunia in the sheet. He stood and walked away.

  Instead of climbing in the car, he passed the front grille and kept going. The gas station had closed for the night. Frank didn’t care. He walked up to the front door and kicked in the glass. He ducked under the metal push bar and grabbed the entire case of rum. When he came out, Annie was still watching him.

  Frank put the box in the passenger seat, and for a moment, he wanted to say how sorry he was for everything, but instead, he finally just started the car, slammed the door, and drove into the darkness.

  * * * * *

  He saw the lights of the town pool a mile off. After parking in the driveway of an abandoned farmhouse, he walked the rest of the way. If things went bad, he didn’t want to come running out of the pool
and have to jump in his car. It was too slow. He wanted to slip away in the dark and get back to the office quietly.

  Men stood in little knots on the front lawn, smoking, drinking. Rifles and shotguns lined the bike rack. No weapons were allowed in the pool. Chuck was charging ten bucks just to get inside. When he saw Frank, he visibly flinched. “Where you been, man? Sturm’s pissed as all hell. You better get inside and take care of it.” Chuck looked like the conflict might make him throw up. He changed tactics. “Say, what was that stuff you gave me? I was just wondering. The other day,” he added and said nothing else.

  “Yeah.”

  “I was just curious, you know, what it was called.”

  “You need some more?”

  “Well, yeah, now that you mention it…but I was…. you know, I was just wondering what you called it.” Chuck snapped his fingers and pointed at a big guy in a leather duster that had been trying to slip past him. “Ten bucks—you, Mr. Universe there—ten bucks, pal.” The big guy reluctantly gave up the cash, then hurried on inside. “So. What’s it called again? I wanted to look it up,” Chuck asked, taking a wad of cash the size of a softball out of his front pants pocket and tucking the money into a leather saddle bag under his stool.

  “I call it, ‘Frank’s Surprise.’”

  “Oh yeah?” Chuck looked disappointed.

  “I’ll have some for you tonight. Same amount, same price. Tomorrow morning at the latest,” Frank said and that seemed to cheer Chuck up a little.

  * * * * *

  The first few notes of the national anthem lurched out of the loudspeakers, and everyone took that as the signal for the fight and started inside. Frank let the current carry him into the cinderblock walls. He swept past the front office, the entrance to the changing rooms and toilets, and the shower, until it threw him against the shallow end.

  To the left, Chuck and Pine had done a good job sealing off the deep end. Chicken wire, reinforced every four feet with a stout pole anchored in a five-gallon bucket of cement, stretched across the shallow end. Men climbed down the three-foot ladders and lined up along the fence, wanting to see the fight up close and personal. Black, brittle leaves were scattered across the dull white paint like dead scales against a fish’s white belly. Most of the men lined up along the edges of the deep end.