The Zoo Crew (Zoo Crew series Book 1)

by Dustin Stevens

  "I would hug you right now, but I don't trust myself to walk over there," Kade said. His words were slurred. He didn't care.

  "And you're waiting to only see one of me?" Drake asked.

  "Hey, there are three right now," Kade said. "That's better than an hour ago."

  Ajax leaned back from the hood and looked over at Kade's truck. "Do we even wanna know what low-level, crab-infested, bus stop skank is driving over there?"

  Sage snorted out a laugh.

  Kade waved a finger at him. "Easy! Her name is, Ammmm...Amy? Amber?"

  "And I'm sure she a very cosmopolitan, high-class...bus stop skank," Drake added.

  Ajax and Sage both laughed. The joke went right past Kade.

  "When did you get back?" Drake asked.

  "Two days ago," Kade said. "Western Oregon. Easiest damn ride I ever did."

  "Nice," Drake said. "That would explain your extra energy at Despo's last night."

  Kade waved off the comment. "When did you get in?"

  "Just this morning," Drake said. "I made it as far as Rock Creek late last night, stopped and camped until this morning."

  "Why the hell didn't you just come on home?" Ajax said. "I was up."

  "I know," Drake said. "You said you had to get the new demo done when I talked to you from Billings. Figured I'd let you work."

  Ajax raised his fingertips to his brow in salute. "An unnecessary, but still noble, gesture."

  Drake nodded. "You get it done?"

  "Fifteen minutes before I came here."

  Drake looked across at Sage. "Looks like you're the only one that got any sleep here last night Sunshine."

  "Trust me, it shows," Sage replied.

  "Did she just call us ugly?" Ajax asked.

  "I don't know about ugly, haggard for sure," Drake said.

  Before the banter could go any further, Kade raised a hand. "Fellas, don't take this the wrong way, I am glad to see you, but are we going to do any fishing this morning? If not, I have something that needs tending to."

  The other three again dropped their heads over the hood of the truck and chuckled.

  "Far be it for us to deny a man just returning from the wild," Drake said.

  "Yeah, you go tend to whatever you need to," Ajax added.

  Kade smiled, waved, and shuffled back towards his truck.

  "Just be sure to make it to the bedroom this time!" Sage called back over her shoulder.

  Drake and Ajax both laughed harder.

  "We are all here, did you guys want to do any fishing or should we just call it a day?" Drake asked.

  "Hell, I didn't even bring my rod," Ajax said.

  "I have mine, but it isn't strung," Sage added.

  Drake nodded. "Alright, Friday it is then."

  Ajax pushed himself up from the truck and extended another fist to Drake. "See you back at the place?"

  Drake returned the pound. "Be right behind you."

  Ajax nodded and backpedaled towards his motorcycle. He dropped the helmet over his tangle of three inch dreadlocks and said, "See you Friday, girl."

  "See ya," Sage said, pushing herself back from the truck. She turned to Drake and asked, "We still on for tonight?"

  "Wouldn't miss it," Drake said.

  Without another word they both loaded into their vehicles and drove away.

  Above them, the first blotches of blue sky became apparent.

  Behind them, Kade's truck sat in the parking lot, rocking in place.

  Chapter Four

  Two things tend to go hand and hand with child birth.

  Bodily fluids and screaming.

  As for the fluids, there was plenty. Blood, a fountain of amniotic solution, even a little urine.

  All of it ran together, stained the sterile dressing surrounding the lower half of the mother. Coated the gloves and sleeves of Dr. Brice Schievers as he worked to deliver the fetus.

  On the screaming side, there was none. Not from the mother during the procedure, not from the infant after delivery.

  "Another one?" Bev Tiffin, head scrub nurse asked. She was in the room only to oversee her newest tech, out of sterile dress and several yards away from doctor and infant.

  Dr. Schievers held the child by his feet and rotated him in the air. "Sure looks that way. Third one this year."

  "Is he okay?"

  The rotation of the child continued. When Dr. Schievers was done with the eyeball test, he laid him on an exam table and checked heart rate and pulse. "Okay as a newborn still riding his mother's Diazepam high can be."

  Nurse Tiffin pulled a mask down from her face and shook her head. She made no effort to hide her disgust as she glanced back at the mother still lying on the table.

  An OB resident was already at work stitching up her vaginal tear. There was no indication that she even knew where she was. Instead, she just stared at the wall, her eyes vacant.

  "Another DZ?" Nurse Tiffin asked.

  Dr. Schievers finished checking the child and handed him off to a nurse's aide to clean. "I haven't run a tox screen yet, but it looks like it. Heart rate is low, muscle response almost non-existent. No way in hell you're going to get that baby to cry."

  "And the mother?"

  "La-la Land," Dr. Schievers said. "She's so out of it I could amputate her leg and she wouldn't know it. Just be sitting there staring at nothing."

  "Did we not know she was self-medicating when we gave her the epidural?" Nurse Tiffin asked.

  "We didn't give her an epidural. She came in like that, so doped up she couldn't even tell us how much she'd taken. We couldn't risk giving her anything else, so we went right in."

  Another incriminating glance towards the mother. "Jesus, was she trying to kill herself?"

  "Herself? No," Dr. Schievers said. "The baby? Sure looks like it. Dr. Richards, are you good in here?"

  "Yes, sir," the resident said, raising his head up just high enough to see over the mother's bent knees. "Couple more stitches and a clean-up and we're out of here."

  Dr. Schievers gave a thumbs up and peeled the surgical gown and gloves from his body. He wadded them into the surgery trash can and backed away from the room, taking the chart with him.

  Nurse Tiffin followed close behind. "Police or child services?"

  "Both," Dr. Schievers said, pushing out into the hall. "What she tried to do was criminal. She should be behind bars, let alone near that child."

  "Does she have any others?"

  "I don't know, but I'll have MPD look into it."

  Nurse Tiffin followed him as far as the corner of the hallway before breaking off. "What a way to start the day, right Doctor?"

  "You said it," Dr. Schievers replied and waved the chart at her. His only response was a full view of the grey hair bunched in curls around her head and her squatty backside crammed into a pair of blue scrub pants.

  "That's not much better," Dr. Schievers muttered and continued down the hall.

  It was just seven o'clock, but already the operating ward was coming alive for the day. Fifteen minutes later and the delivery probably would have taken place in the emergency room.

  That would have been bad. Very, very bad.

  Two orderlies nodded hello as they pushed an obese women past him. He returned the nod and tried not to glance at her on the gurney.

  Probably in for an angioplasty. Maybe a diabetes related amputation. Missoula County Hospital didn't handle liposuction or gastric bypass.

  Dr. Schievers shuffled through his office door and slammed it shut behind him. He had a long day ahead of him and needed to get this done and over with.

  He fished his cell-phone out of his top desk drawer and dialed the number by memory. He bypassed the chair and opted to stand, staring out at the impending dawn. The line rang only twice before a thin, nasal, female voice picked up.

  "Is it done?"

  "You idiots almost killed her," Dr. Schievers said. No salutation, no attempt to pretend he had anything but contempt for the people he was calling.


  "Excuse me," the voice shot back. The tone was sharp. The warning implicit.

  Dr. Schievers pulled his focus from the world outside to his own reflection staring back at him. The day was just a couple of hours old and already dark circles lined his eyes. Each day, his thinning blonde hair retreated a little further up his scalp.

  "I'm sorry," he muttered. "The girl this morning, she was in bad shape. Please tell them to dial back the Diazepam next time."

  "That's what I thought you said," the female voice replied. "Is everything else in order?"

  "She will be discharged later today without remembering a thing. The newborn will be turned over within a couple of days."

  "And the paperwork?"

  "What paperwork?"

  The female snorted. "You're getting better at this whole game, Doctor. We get that temper of yours under control and this could turn out quite beneficial for all of us."

  Dr. Schievers continued to stare at his own reflection in the mirror. He hated it a little more each day, but was in too far now to do anything about it. "Speaking of which..."

  "The standard fee will be wired to your account when the child is collected."

  "Okay, thank you," Dr. Schievers said.

  The line was already dead.

  He thumbed the phone closed and dropped it back into the drawer. Stood with his hands clasped behind his back. After a few moments he turned, lifted the file from the desk and fed it into his shredder.

  He didn't even wait for it to complete the job before grabbing his coffee thermos and heading for the cafeteria.

  It was going to be a long day.

  Chapter Five

  Three minutes before ten.

  Drake pulled his truck to a stop in the back of the law school parking lot and hopped out. He jogged in a stiff legged shuffle as fast as his flip-flops would allow through the parking lot, sliding between cars in a direct line for the side door.

  He carried nothing in his hands. He wasn't going to be here long.

  The west entrance to the school was open as he stepped inside and cut a path from the rear entrance. As a third year law student he only had two classes, both of which met just once a week.

  The bulk of his course load this semester was finishing up his clinical hours. The school required every student complete three hundred hours of clinical training in one of a dozen different fields before graduating.

  They liked to call it job training. The students toiling through it thought of it more as indentured servitude.

  Despite his light load and flexible schedule, Drake was still required to show up at the Dean's opening remarks. Thanks to the school's antiquated attendance policy, this was not the polite way of saying he wanted to go brownnose a bit.

  He actually had to go, sign in, and stay the whole time.

  A bit unnecessary for a place that purported itself as a professional school, but it was what it was.

  His pace unwavering, Drake made it through the library and into the auditorium with a minute to spare. He scribbled his initials on the attendance forms by the door and took up his familiar spot on the back row.

  The rest of the usual suspects were already there.

  First on the end of the row was Mary Ann Schwartz, a single mother that seemed to go through life with an angry glare on her face. With frizzy red hair and an oversized forehead, it was possible the scowl improved her looks.

  An empty seat separated her from Ben Dyke, a rancher from Eastern Montana that took the term introvert to a whole new level. In the two years Drake had known him, he'd heard Ben use a total of eleven words.

  None that weren't prompted by a direct question.

  Another empty seat separated Ben and the pair of corner dwellers Drake usually sat with, Greg Mooney and Wyatt Teague.

  "Dammit!" Greg said. Checked his watch and motioned to Wyatt. "Another three minutes and this prick would have owed me lunch."

  "Very sorry to disappoint you, sir," Drake replied, reaching out to shake his friend's hand. "And for the record, I actually made it in last night."

  "Since when has that ever mattered?" Wyatt inserted. "You live a mile from campus and are late to class at least once a week."

  Drake released Greg's grip and shook Wyatt's hand. "I feel like you want me to say I'm sorry right now, but I'm not."

  "Hell no I don't," Wyatt said. "You just won me a free lunch."

  "Very happy to be of service," Drake said, falling into a chair beside Greg.

  In front of them stretched twenty even rows of chairs, broken into three sections by a pair of aisles. The front third of the room was packed tight with over-eager first years and second year students that were still jockeying for class standing.

  The second third was the remainder of the second year class, all beginning to spread themselves out a bit from one another.

  The rear of the room was comprised of a bored and disinterested third year class. Very few of them even attempted to hide their disdain at having to be in the auditorium.

  Even less tried to pretend most of the people around them were little more than acquaintances by circumstance at this point.

  "I see you're ready for another fun and exciting year here at Montana Law," Greg said, motioning to Drake's empty hands and flip-flops.

  "I got three hours of sleep last night," Drake replied. "I haven't unpacked a thing from my truck, have barely seen my dog. The second this thing is over I'm out of here."

  "You shitting me? What all do you have this semester?"

  "Local Government on Mondays, Land Use Planning on Tuesdays. Clinic with you jokers. That's it," Drake said.

  Wyatt muttered under his breath and shook his head.

  Greg looked at him and said, "Classes last summer, right?"

  "There it is," Drake said. "You guys thought I was crazy then, but it's making life easy now."

  "Lucky bastard," Wyatt grumbled.

  At the front of the room a short, diminutive man with golden hair strode to the front podium. His face was creased with a megawatt smile. He even offered a small wave as if a beauty queen riding on a float.

  "Going with the blonde this year," Drake whispered.

  Wyatt snorted. "Three colors in three years. That's not a bad streak."

  "Impressive," Greg agreed.

  "Good morning," the man said from the front of the room. "For those of you that I have not had the pleasure of meeting yet, my name is Dean Weston and it is my esteemed honor to welcome you all back here for another exciting year at Montana Law."

  He paused as if waiting for applause. None came.

  "I was just telling my wife this morning that this is my favorite day of the year. Better than graduation. Even better than Christmas. Does anybody here know why?"

  As Weston paused again, Greg leaned over and whispered, "How long before he blinds someone in the front row with that smile?"

  "Those veneers are looking quite bold today," Drake agreed.

  "I myself am debating sunglasses as we speak," Wyatt intoned.

  "Because of all the unknown possibilities the next nine months hold," Weston said from the podium. "Today marks the beginning of a new legal career for some of you. A final step towards entering the legal workforce for others.

  "Regardless where you find yourself on your path though, today is an opportunity for you to stake your own bold claim on the legal community. To write a groundbreaking brief, challenge an unjust law, to bring a voice to the unheard masses."

  "Wow, is it an election year in here or what?" Wyatt whispered.

  "This year, we also have a special treat," Weston pushed on. "Due to the untimely and unfortunate destruction left by Hurricane Wanda, with us this semester are two visiting students from the Louisiana State University School of Law."

  As he spoke, he motioned towards a young man marked with severe acne and a Latina with dark hair. Both half turned and nodded at the crowd. Neither looked happy to be there.

  "As always, if anything should arise, my door is
open," Weston said. Once more he stared out at the crowd as if waiting for a reaction.

  Per usual, he looked relieved when none came.

  "And with that, I wish you all well and the best of luck this year."

  He still stood with his arms extended from his sides gripping the podium as most of the room rose to leave. In the back, none of the three made any effort to move.

  "You boys here at all today?" Drake asked.

  "Hell yes," Wyatt said. "Not all of us were smart enough to get a jump on things. Two classes this afternoon."

  "Same here," Greg added.

  "My condolences," Drake said. "I am heading home to eat and unpack, take Q to the park. See you back here for clinic tomorrow?"

  "We'll be here," Wyatt said.

  "I expect a full scouting report," Drake said, pushing himself up to go.

  "Way ahead of you," Greg said. "Got most of the first years scoped and catalogued."

  "That's my boy," Drake said.

  "Quick heads up, Lauer stopped by before you got here," Wyatt said. "Said to wear courtroom attire tomorrow. Guess he's got a special treat for our first day."

  Drake shook his head and slipped into the outgoing flow of students without another word. He nodded a few hellos, but made no effort to engage anybody in conversation.

  Everybody ignored him much the same.

  Chapter Six

  The gravel crunched beneath Missoula County Sheriff Kirby Spore's boots as he climbed from his cruiser.

  He leaned in across the front seat and grabbed his flat-brimmed hat from the passenger seat. With a practiced move, he smashed it down over the bald spot peeking through his strawberry blonde hair.

  One flick of the wrist and the driver's door slammed shut, but he made no effort to move. Instead he hooked his thumbs through a belt loop on either side of his waist.

  Surveyed the scene.

  In front of him was a non-descript barn, brown in color. It looked almost identical to the dozens of others that dotted every field in Western Montana. Two stories, sliding front door, well maintained.

  To the left was an ancient Massie-Ferguson tractor with a round bale of alfalfa stuck to the fork on the back-end. No doubt ready to be unloaded for the cows grazing in the field nearby.