Big Game

by Stuart Gibbs

  “Er, no,” J.J. admitted. “That was supposed to happen, all right. But you should have been notified weeks ago.”

  “Why was our home supposed to be moved?” Dad demanded.

  “Actually, all the homes are supposed to be moved,” J.J. corrected. “Yours was merely the first.”

  “Why?” Dad repeated.

  “I found a better location for them,” J.J. said. “You’re gonna love it. It’s farther from the park, so you won’t be downwind from the stench of antelope poop.”

  Mom gave J.J. a hard stare. “Know what stinks worse than antelope poop? That lame answer. Why are you really moving the trailers?”

  J.J. glanced at his office door, as if hoping someone was going to come through it and bail him out of trouble. Then he sagged and admitted, “I need the space where the employee housing is.”

  Mom’s annoyance turned to relief. “Why didn’t you just say so? What do you need it for? A new animal exhibit?”

  “Are you going to expand SafariLand?” I asked hopefully.

  J.J. glanced at the door once more, then said, “Er, no. It’s not for a new animal exhibit at all.”

  “Then what?” Dad asked.

  J.J. hedged for a few more moments, then owned up. “I’m going to build a roller coaster. And some other rides.”

  All of us sat up in surprise at this. Even Summer. “Daddy!” she cried. “You promised you wouldn’t ever build things like that here!”

  J.J. flashed her a weak smile. “No. I promised I wouldn’t build rides that would interfere with the animals’ well-being. No river rafting through the hippo exhibits or coasters through SafariLand. But the fact is, this park has suffered some financial setbacks, what with Henry’s death and the theft of Kazoo and all, and according to my research, if I want to bring more guests in, I need to build rides.”

  “But this is a zoo . . . ,” I protested.

  “It’s a tourist attraction,” J.J. corrected. “And for Pete’s sake, even zoos have rides. San Diego’s got a sky ride. The Bronx has a monorail. Every darn one of them has a carousel.”

  “But they don’t have roller coasters,” Mom pointed out. “Coasters are loud. They’ll startle the animals every time they go past.”

  “I’m doing everything in my power to protect our animals,” J.J. explained. “My engineers have made noise reduction a priority. And the whole reason I’m putting the rides out where your house used to be is to get them as far from the animals as I can.”

  “I don’t like this,” Dad said. “When you recruited us here, you swore that providing the best possible care for these animals was going to be the number one priority of this park, not making money.”

  “Well, if I don’t make any money, there isn’t gonna be a park!” J.J. shot back. “All these state-of-the-art facilities I built—Monkey Mountain and Hippo River and Carnivore Canyon and all that—they ain’t cheap. High-quality care costs money. Our conservation and breeding programs cost money. All of sudden today I had to double my security expenses to keep some yahoo from picking off our rhinos. That costs money too. This park is a money pit. If you don’t want the gates closed and all your precious animals shipped off to the circus, then you’re all gonna have to cut me some slack here.”

  We all bit our tongues after that. I didn’t like the idea of rides being built at the park, but I understood J.J.’s point.

  The office door opened and Pete Thwacker rushed in. His arms were full of blueprints.

  J.J. wheeled on him. This was obviously whom he’d been expecting. “Where the heck have you been?”

  “I was halfway home when I got your call. And then I figured I should stop by the planning room to get these.” Pete set the blueprints on J.J.’s desk and began to unroll them.

  J.J. asked, “Would you like to tell the Fitzroys here why they didn’t find out about their home being relocated before it was relocated?”

  “That’s the communications department’s snafu, not public relations,” Pete said. “Apparently, they printed up all these nice notifications to hand deliver to employee housing weeks ago, but then failed to deliver them.”

  “What happened to them?” Mom asked.

  “I’m still trying to find that out,” Pete admitted. “It seems they were misplaced—or possibly eaten by a llama. Whatever the case, you and everyone else in employee housing weren’t notified, and we here at FunJungle are extremely sorry for any inconvenience this might have caused. Rest assured, however, that the transfer of your home to its new location was handled by the finest mobile home transfer company in the state of Texas. . . .”

  “Aw, lay off the PR snow job with us, Pete,” Dad groused.

  “I’m speaking the truth,” Pete replied. “We spared no expense. Your home should be in exactly the same condition you left it in this morning—if not exactly the same place you left it.”

  “How’d you even move it?” I asked. “There weren’t any tire marks or anything near the slab.”

  “We used a crane,” Pete explained. “A big mobile one. Winched your home right off the base and onto a flatbed trailer. Then we trucked it out to Lakeside Estates.”

  “Lakeside Estates?” Mom repeated.

  “The new employee housing community!” Pete dramatically unrolled one of the blueprints on the desk. “The previous site of your home was admittedly subpar. Not a whole lot of thought went into where to place the trailers.”

  “I’m surprised to hear that any thought went into it,” Dad said. “It looked like the trailers were all just scattered by a tornado.”

  “I liked where our house was,” I told them. “We were right by the woods. There were always deer outside.”

  “Well, you’re gonna like Lakeside Estates even better.” Pete thumped a finger on the blueprint.

  I took a closer look. The blueprint showed the new plan for the mobile home park, with rectangles marking the homes themselves, surrounded by landscaped paths and trees.

  “We’ll have lighted pathways between the buildings for increased safety,” Pete explained. “Plus better landscaping and a new Jacuzzi tub.”

  “What’s this?” Summer asked, pointing to a blob shaped like a potato.

  “That’s the lake!” Pete crowed happily.

  “Where is this?” Dad asked.

  “On the far side of the employee parking lot,” Pete replied.

  “I’ve been over there,” Mom said. “That’s not a lake. It’s a pond.”

  “True,” Pete admitted. “But Pondside Estates sounds kind of weird.”

  “It’s not even a pond, really,” Dad put in. “It only has water after a big rain. The rest of the time, it’s a mud pit. And a mosquito breeding ground.”

  Pete looked to J.J. “Er, I’m sure we could spring for some bug zappers at each residence.”

  “Why don’t you put in a real pool there?” I asked. “Something to use in the summer when it gets crazy hot.”

  Now everyone looked to J.J. expectantly. “Pools are expensive,” he grumbled.

  Mom said, “I’ll bet it’d be cheaper than hiring a whole bunch of new biologists. Because you’re gonna have a lot of people quit once they hear you’re moving their homes next to a sinkhole without their permission.”

  “It’s not a sinkhole!” Pete argued. “It’s a mud pit! I mean, it’s a lake.”

  “Fine.” J.J. sighed. “We’ll put in a pool.”

  “And we could use nicer trailers,” Mom said. “As opposed to those bargain-basement ones we have now.”

  “Those trailers are top quality!” J.J. proclaimed. “My own company makes them!”

  “They’re crap,” Dad said. “The heaters barely work, there’s no insulation, the walls are paper thin, and the kitchens are firetraps. I know your mobile home division makes far better products, so why don’t you cut yourself a deal on some of them for us?”

  “Double-wide,” Mom added.

  J.J. grimaced. “It doesn’t work quite like that.”

  “I’m
guessing you want to control the story about these new rides you’re building,” Dad said. “I bet you and Pete already have a whole PR campaign cooked up to whet the public’s appetite. So it’d probably be really bad if the public first heard about all these rides some other way—like a news report about how you forcibly relocated all your biologists without any warning.”

  J.J. sat at his desk and rubbed his temples. “I need an aspirin. You folks are giving me a migraine the size of Dallas.”

  “It’s only fair,” Summer told her father. “I’ve seen the Fitzroys’ trailer. It’s smaller than Mom’s closet.”

  J.J. shot Summer a look of betrayal, then turned to my parents. “If I give you folks a double-wide trailer, everyone else is going to want one.”

  “I bet they will,” Dad said. “And I’m sure they’ll be extremely thankful when they get them. Thankful enough not to complain to the press, I’d say.”

  J.J. stared at my parents for a long while, then sighed. “All right. Fine. You’ll get your new trailer. But you’ll also sign an agreement saying you won’t blab one word of all this to the press.”

  “Deal,” Mom said, with a satisfied smile.

  J.J. shook his head sadly. “Of course this had to happen today. As if an elephant stampede and a rhino poacher weren’t enough to deal with.”

  “Any progress on that poacher?” Dad asked.

  J.J.’s eyes quickly flicked to me, a warning not to say anything about the help I was giving him. Then they flicked back to my parents. “Chief Hoenekker is investigating. I’m expecting a report from him later tonight.”

  I averted my eyes from everyone, feeling guilty about keeping my parents in the dark. I looked down at the other blueprints Pete had unrolled on J.J.’s desk. These showed some of the theme-park rides slated for construction. There was a triple-loop roller coaster called the Beast and a log flume, which appeared to have a Canadian Rockies theme, filled with fake moose, wolves, and bears. At least, I hoped they were fake. I wasn’t sure how much I could trust J.J. McCracken.

  “What are you doing to protect the rhinos in the meantime?” Mom asked.

  “Plenty,” J.J. said. “I’ve got them all under lock and key, and I’ve souped up security in SafariLand. Right now those rhinos are better protected than the president of the USA.”

  “But you can’t keep them locked up forever,” Mom said.

  “I know that,” J.J. said, growing exasperated. “I’m gonna find the jerk who took a shot at Rhonda and send him up the river.”

  “And if you don’t?” Dad pressed.

  “Athmani says we should think about cutting the horns off,” Summer said.

  J.J. recoiled in shock. He obviously hadn’t heard this yet. My parents did the same thing. Even Pete, who wasn’t that big a fan of animals, seemed disturbed by the thought.

  “You can do that?” he asked. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

  “No,” Dad told him. “There’s no nerves in the horn. It’s like clipping a giant toenail.”

  “But it’d look weird, right?” Pete asked. “A rhino with no horn would be like an elephant with no trunk. Or a short giraffe. People won’t want to see that.”

  “And they’re not going to see it,” J.J. stated. “I’m not having my rhinos defaced. Literally.”

  “Even if it might save the rhinos’ lives?” Mom asked.

  “We’re gonna save the rhinos’ lives by catching this hunter,” J.J. declared. “End of story. Now, if you folks will excuse me, it’s been a very long day. I’d like to get back to my home, and I’m sure you’d like to get back to yours.”

  “Now that we know where it is,” Dad said under his breath. He and Mom stood up to go.

  “You folks want a ride to your new place?” J.J. asked.

  “No,” Mom said. “We ought to be able to find it now.”

  “You sure?” J.J. pressed. “It’s cold out there.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Mom told him. I got the sense that she was still angry at J.J. and didn’t want to accept any favors from him.

  “All right, then. Have a good night.” J.J. shook hands with Dad as we headed to the door, then extended a hand to me, too. “Always a pleasure, Teddy.” He gave me a sly wink as he said this, like we had a secret club or something. He seemed pleased that I hadn’t spilled the beans about investigating the rhino situation for him.

  “Let’s talk at lunch tomorrow,” Summer told me.

  “Sure,” I said.

  As soon as we were out of the office, Hondo shut the door behind us.

  Dad and I started down the hall to the elevators, though Mom hung back for a second, staring at the door.

  “What’s wrong?” Dad asked.

  “Every time that man offers to answer our questions, I end up with a hundred more.” Mom sighed. “He’s hiding something from us.”

  “He always is,” Dad said.

  Mom followed us to the elevators. Despite the fact that my parents had just negotiated a brand-new home for us, I felt pretty terrible. After all, I was hiding something from them too. I was desperate to tell them the truth, but I feared what J.J. might do if I betrayed his trust.

  I hoped we could find whoever had shot at the rhino and get the whole thing over with quickly. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a clue as to who’d done it. Or who’d broken into the candy store. I’d been railroaded into investigating one crime and accused of committing the other. Overall, it had been an extremely crummy day.

  And it was about to get worse.

  THE HUNT

  “What’s all this about you robbing the candy store?” Dad asked.

  We were walking back to our trailer through FunJungle, passing World of Reptiles, bundled up against the cold. The zoo was unusually quiet. Often, you would hear animals at night or see employees working the late shift, but everyone else seemed to have had the sense to stay inside.

  “I didn’t do it,” I said.

  “Oh, I know you didn’t,” Dad assured me. “But why does Marge think you did?”

  “Because Marge hates me. I’m surprised she hasn’t accused me of trying to kill Rhonda.”

  Dad laughed. “When did this happen?”

  “Sometime last night,” I replied. “Or maybe early this morning. Whoever did it smashed the whole store up and stole twenty-five pounds of candy.”

  Mom turned to me, surprised. “Twenty-five pounds? Who on earth would want twenty-five pounds of candy?”

  “Pretty much every kid I know,” I said. “You think it could be related to the Rhonda thing somehow?”

  “How so?” Mom asked.

  “It seems strange, both things happening on the same night. I thought maybe the robber broke into the store to divert everyone from the rhino shooting—or vice versa.”

  Dad scratched his chin, considering that. “The rhino thing was definitely a distraction, I’ll give you that. I didn’t even hear about the candy store robbery until your mother told me about it tonight.”

  “And everyone’s so focused on the poacher, Marge is the only one left to investigate the candy store,” I said. “She’s such a bonehead that it pretty much guarantees the thief will get away.”

  “It seems awfully extreme, though,” Mom cautioned. “Who would take a shot at a rhinoceros simply to get away with stealing twenty-five pounds of candy?”

  “Someone who really likes candy,” I suggested.

  Vicky, the keeper from the rhino house, passed us heading back from SafariLand, cocooned in a heavy winter jacket, her hands crammed deep into the pockets. We all waved to her, but she didn’t wave back. Either she was too shy or she didn’t want to expose her hands to the frigid air.

  Mom said, “If someone was going to go through that much trouble to create a diversion, wouldn’t you think they’d go after something more valuable? Or at least steal the money from the candy store’s cash register?”

  “Maybe they did rob the register,” I replied. “I wonder if Marge even thought to check.”

  “She prob
ably didn’t,” Dad said. “Maybe J.J. ought to hire you to run security here.” He proudly put his arm around my shoulders.

  I quickly wriggled free.

  Dad faked a wounded look. “Don’t tell me you’re getting too old to get a hug from your father?”

  “No. You just smell like tiger pee.”

  “I do?” Dad sniffed his arm, then wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. I do. Man, that stink really sticks around. As soon as we find our house, I’ll shower.”

  “What were you even doing over there today?” Mom asked.

  “This incredible new project.” Dad’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “You know how the public has been dying to see the new tiger cubs?”

  Mom and I nodded. The cubs had been born a few weeks before but were too young to go out on exhibit yet. This was driving Pete crazy. He had announced their birth with great fanfare, mistakenly believing the cubs would immediately be available for viewing. Now he was overwhelmed by complaints from angry tourists who’d come to the park expecting baby tigers only to find an empty exhibit.

  “Well,” Dad went on, “on the park’s website we’ve had only one stationary camera in their enclosure, so if the cubs went offscreen or hid, that was that. But I rigged up four new cameras to give much better coverage and linked them all to the Internet. So now users can switch viewpoints or even pan or zoom in—and they can take high-resolution photos as well.”

  “So they’ll be able to control the cameras through the Internet?” Mom asked.

  “Yes,” Dad said. “You can control pretty much anything remotely these days.”

  We were passing the SafariLand monorail station. I looked up at the spot on the roof where the poacher had shot from, half expecting to see someone there. It was empty, though.

  My parents scoped things out as well. There was a viewing platform at the station, from which we could see Rhonda’s house down in the Asian Plains. The heaters glowed red through the windows, making it stand out in the darkness.

  “Where’s the extra security?” Mom asked. “I thought there were supposed to be more guards protecting the rhinos.”

  “They’re probably moving around,” Dad replied. “There’s a lot of area to cover.”