by Greg Herren
“Thanks, Annetra. As always, the veterinary students and university police evacuated Mike the Tiger before the full evacuation of students, faculty, and university employees began. The plan was for Mike to be moved to a secure facility just outside of town, which the university built for just these kinds of emergencies. But things didn’t go according to the careful plans made for just such an occurrence.”
Brandon Hardy started walking along the road, the camera following him. “When the truck towing Mike in his trailer reached this point in the road, they were cut off by a white panel van. Once the truck stopped, masked armed men jumped out of the van, tied up the veterinary students and campus security, and knocked them unconscious. They apparently unhooked the coupling and took Mike and his trailer. When the students and security regained consciousness, the trailer and the van were gone. One of them was able to call for help on his cell phone. The state police have put out an APB on the van and are asking anyone who may have seen the van—or Mike’s trailer—to call.” Brandon Hardy stopped walking and looked back at the camera. “Apparently, there have been some threats made about Mike in the past few weeks.”
The camera cut to a young woman’s face. There was a bandage on her forehead, and she looked distraught. A caption appeared under her face, reading HOPE PORTERIE, LSU VETERINARY SCIENCE MAJOR. Mom gasped as Hope started speaking.
“We’ve been getting some threatening letters and calls,” Hope Porterie was saying to Brandon Hardy. “But we get that sort of thing from time to time, you know, cranks and pranks—drunk frat boys from Ole Miss or Arkansas or Alabama, saying they’re going to kidnap Mike, but you know, who’s going to kidnap a Bengal tiger?” She shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears.
“We’ve also been getting some threats from an animal rights group, saying it was inhumane to keep a tiger on a college campus and drag him out for football games, but you know, we get that kind of stuff all the time and it never means anything, you know, it’s just people trying to make a point.” Her voice broke. “Mike is very well cared for, and we keep him healthy and fed and happy. Who would do such a thing? Why? I hope the people who did this are aware of how dangerous he is. He’s used to people, but he is still a wild animal and can do a lot of damage.” She wiped at her eyes. “Please, whoever did this, if you’re watching, please let us bring Mike back home.”
The camera zoomed in on Brandon Hardy’s face as he solemnly said, “Who would kidnap a tiger? That’s the question on everyone’s lips tonight, Annetra. Back to you in the studio, Aaron.”
“Do the police think that maybe the bomb threat was a decoy, to get Mike moved off campus so he could be taken?” the news anchor asked, a concerned look on his face.
“The state police are looking at every possibility, Aaron.”
“Thanks, Brandon.” The camera went back to Aaron in the studio, and he smiled at the camera. “After the break, a ruckus at the state capitol today brought legislative business to a standstill.”
We all just stared at the television as a Subway sandwich commercial started. Storm picked up the remote and muted the sound. He whistled. “I can’t believe someone kidnapped a two-thousand-pound tiger in broad daylight and got away with the tiger!”
“This is just terrible, absolutely terrible.” Mom moaned, rubbing her eyes. She looked at me and then Storm. “Poor Hope. Storm, you have to do something.”
“You know her, Mom?” I asked, starting to get that wretched feeling in my stomach. Of course Mom knows her.
Mom nodded. “She’s Veronica Porterie’s daughter.”
“Oh, good God.” Storm buried his face in his hands, and the knot in my stomach tightened.
“Veronica Porterie?” Frank looked confused. “The woman who runs that crazy animal rights group?”
“AFAR,” I replied, taking a deep breath. “She was Mom’s best friend in high school.”
AFAR stood for “Army For Animal Rights.” It had started as a group trying to keep cats and dogs in California shelters from being euthanized. But as Veronica Porterie raised more and more money, AFAR’s vision expanded and its members became more and more aggressive and belligerent. They became known for breaking into laboratories and setting test animals free. They protested against zoos and hunting. They called wearing fur murder, and as more and more time passed, Veronica Porterie seemed less connected with reality.
I hadn’t seen her in years, and I’d never known she had a child; she always seemed to be too busy saving animals from humans to be bothered with marriage, family, or kids. She was tried for murder in California a while back—they’d broken into a testing facility to release animals and a security guard had wound up dead. There had been a hung jury—afterward, the jurors who’d voted against acquitting her felt the prosecutor hadn’t proved she was the actual killer or had even been there, which she denied. After the trial, AFAR kept a low profile for a few years, but they’d been getting more active again lately.
“Wait a minute,” I said slowly. “One of the vet students who takes care of Mike just happens to be the daughter of a militant animal rights activist? That can’t be a coincidence.”
“She’s going to be their top suspect once they figure it out.” Mom buried her face in her hands. “It won’t matter to them one bit that Hope hasn’t seen her mother since she was a little girl.”
“Why not?” Frank asked.
“After Veronica was tried for killing that security guard, her parents sued for custody of Hope and won,” Storm explained. “They also managed to get a restraining order against Veronica so she couldn’t even see the child.”
“That seems a bit extreme.” Frank frowned.
“That poor child—Storm, she’s going to need a damned good lawyer, and I know you’ll do the right thing and represent her.” She stood up and walked over to the window. “This is really bad. Hope wouldn’t be involved, I just know she wouldn’t.”
I was about to ask why when the phone buzzed. “That’s our pizza,” I said, heading for the door. “No one says a word until I get back.”
When I got back upstairs with the hot pizza, the news was back on and there was a picture of Mom on the screen. “Mrs. Bradley has been arrested before, mainly for disturbing the peace or resisting arrest, but this is her first arrest for assault,” the news anchor was saying as I kicked the door shut with my foot. “Attorney General Dufresne’s office has not returned any of our calls asking for a statement.”
“Terrible picture,” Mom said as Storm turned off the television. “I’ve never taken a good mug shot.”
“There’s something to aspire to,” Storm replied sourly. “I’m sure if you get arrested enough times, you’re bound to take a good one sooner or later.”
Mom gave him a dirty look. “You’re not too old for me to spank, you know.”
Frank interrupted before Storm could say anything. “Mom, you said you went to high school with Veronica Porterie?”
“McGehee.” Mom nodded, making a face as she said the word. Mom hated that she went to McGehee, which to her symbolized privilege, power and snobbery—everything she believed was wrong with our country and society. When it was time for college, she refused to go to Vanderbilt—the traditional school for the Diderot family—and went to the University of New Orleans instead. She’d started dating Dad in high school. Since the Bradleys were an LSU family, Dad went to LSU for a year before transferring down to UNO. He and Mom have been together ever since. “Veronica and I were in the same class, we started kindergarten together. I don’t remember how we first met or how we became friends—all I know is we were inseparable until we graduated.” She smiled, her eyes a million miles away, lost in memory. “She always liked animals. She always wanted to be a vet or something, you know, work with animals. She always liked animals better than people. She went to Berkeley, and she really changed there—I don’t know what it was. I mean, she was in Greenpeace for a while”—she inhaled—“and I joined because of her, you know. But Greenpeace isn’
t the same as AFAR. But AFAR wasn’t originally what it is now, either. Your father and I were two of the original members of AFAR, and we donated a lot of money over the years. But as much as I believe animals should be treated ethically, I don’t believe you have the right to destroy personal property. Or harm people to prove your point. That pizza smells good.”
I flipped open the box. “Help yourself. But it’s not vegetarian.”
“I’m so hungry I don’t care,” Mom said, grabbing a slice and taking a healthy bite, strings of mozzarella stretching from the slice to her mouth. “Storm, I wish you’d give Hope a call. She’s really going to need some help. You know the police are just going to turn on her once they find out who her mother is.”
“After I eat, Mom.” Storm took a slice.
“How come I’ve never met Hope?” I asked. “Or ever heard of her before today?”
Mom sighed. “Veronica has never married, you know. She’s never, as long as I’ve known her, had a long-term relationship with a man. It’s like she always thought all they were good for was sex.” She laughed. “And some aren’t even good for that. I was really surprised when she told me she was pregnant. AFAR had already started liberating animals from testing labs by then, and your father and I were distancing ourselves from the organization. She wasn’t married, and she didn’t tell me who the father was.” She took another bite of the pizza. “The baby was about three when that security guard got killed. Her parents sued for custody and won, like I said, and got that restraining order against Veronica so she couldn’t see her own daughter. Her father died shortly after—your grandfather believes knowing his daughter was a murderer is what killed Albert Porterie—and his wife moved away from New Orleans. I think she wanted to get away from where everyone knew they were related to Veronica. I can’t say as I blame them.” She tossed the crust back into the box. “Funny that she wound up a veterinary student, don’t you think? Just goes to show, you can’t escape your genes.”
“So, you do know her, Mom?” Frank took another slice of pizza and wiped grease from his chin.
Mom nodded. “I made a point of inviting her down to New Orleans when I found out she was coming back to school here.” She glanced at me. “I stayed in touch with Veronica’s mother, even after she…after that security guard was killed. She was my friend, I wanted to make sure, you know, that her daughter was okay. Veronica never tried to get in touch, in all of those years…” She glanced over at the television. “Taking the tiger—it is the kind of thing they’d do.” She sighed. “But how do you kidnap a tiger in bright daylight? Surely someone had to notice them driving that tiger around; it’s not like his cage isn’t garish.”
“All you’d need is an eighteen-wheeler.” I shrugged as I took a drink of my soda. “With a hydraulic lift, I guess, you could haul the trailer into the back, and once you pull the door down, voilà. No one can see the tiger, and you’re just another truck driving down the road. The question is, where can you keep a tiger that people wouldn’t notice?”
“A barn somewhere,” Frank pointed out. “If you’re out in the country and you have a barn on the property, you can just leave the tiger in the cage and, you know, throw meat in to it. And if the barn is far enough away from the road…no one would hear it roaring.”
“Yes, that makes some sense,” Storm mused, muffling a burp with his hand. “But AFAR couldn’t be responsible. Their thing is to return animals to their natural state. So they wouldn’t keep a tiger captive in a cage somewhere. They’d want to return it to Africa or India or wherever the tiger is indigenous.”
“But Mike wasn’t a wild tiger,” I replied. “He was raised as a cub in captivity. He wouldn’t know how to survive in the wild.”
Mom’s lips compressed into a tight line. “AFAR doesn’t care about that sort of thing.” Her face looked severe, like she was trying to hold on to her temper. “Veronica always claimed that animals were instinctive, that a tiger or any animal raised in captivity will instinctually know how to survive if returned to the wild, like how a housecat will go feral if it escapes, or a dog will go wild.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s true or not, but…it just seemed wrong to me. So many things they believe…are wrong. That’s why your father and I finally had to just walk away from AFAR. It really broke my heart, you know. Veronica was my best friend. But people change.”
I closed the now-empty pizza box and folded it up for the recycling bin. “So, Storm, are you going to call her?”
“Well, I don’t think it would hurt her to have some legal advice.” He yawned, stretching his arms overhead.
“I’ll call her.” Mom got up, digging for her cell phone in her purse before going out onto the balcony.
Storm gave Frank and me a strange look. “Somehow, I have the feeling this isn’t going to be the last we’ve heard of this. Things never seem to go easily for us.”
He had a point.
Chapter Three
Strength, Reversed
Discord in one’s affairs
Although I’m the one who has some psychic ability, Mom’s prediction about Hope needing a lawyer came true the very next morning.
Storm was on his way out the door when I staggered out of the room Frank and I were sharing in desperate need of coffee. “There’s coffee made in the kitchen,” he said as he went out the front door. “I’m running late for the session. See you tonight at the match if not before.” The door closed behind him.
I walked into the kitchen with a sigh. I dumped the coffee and made a fresh pot—Storm made coffee so awful that there aren’t proper words to describe it. I’d hoped Mom was already up—no one made coffee good enough to match hers. It wasn’t quite eight yet. I yawned again while the coffee brewed. I hadn’t slept very well, tossing and turning all night while trying not to wake Frank up. He needed his sleep—he needed to be totally on his game tonight, and I wasn’t going to be responsible for him not being on his A game. When there was enough coffee in the pot for a cup, I went ahead and poured myself one. I walked over to the window and looked out at the muddy river.
We hadn’t stayed up too late—even Mom, who usually doesn’t go to bed until the sun is rising, was yawning and wandered off to her bed around eleven. I was feeling pretty worn out myself. It had been a rather long day, and Frank didn’t need to be convinced when I said it was time for us to go to bed as well. Frank, like always, was sound asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow.
But not me—the best I managed all night was that awful half-sleep where your mind is still very much aware it’s awake but your body thinks it’s sleeping. I couldn’t seem to get comfortable in the bed—it was a little too soft for my liking—and every time I seemed to be about to fall into a deep restful sleep, Frank would turn over onto his back and start snoring.
Of course, when he does that at home I just put my hand underneath him and lift a bit—he always rolls right over onto his side and it stops.
But I was afraid I’d wake him—and then what if he couldn’t get back to sleep? Then he’d show up for his big match all tired and worn out and unable to focus. And when a professional wrestler is tired and unfocused, that’s when injuries and disasters in the ring are more likely to occur, and I wasn’t about to be responsible for that.
An overactive imagination can truly be a bit of a curse sometimes.
I finished my cup of coffee and had just poured another when Frank came wandering into the kitchen in just his black Calvin Klein briefs. He smiled at me sleepily before getting a cup down from the cupboard and pouring himself some coffee. “I don’t suppose there’s anything to eat around here?” He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of the coffee.
“Not likely. Storm doesn’t cook. That’s why he has all those delivery menus.”
Frank walked over to the window, giving me a lovely backside view of the muscle development in his back, his narrow waist, and his perfectly shaped ass. “You don’t suppose there’s a diner somewhere nearby?” He a
bsentmindedly scratched his leg. “I really am starving.”
“I guess we can find out.”
Mom was still asleep when we finished washing up and getting dressed, so we went foraging for breakfast on our own. We found a nice little greasy-spoon diner a few blocks away from the condo. Frank had an egg-white mushroom omelet, while I indulged with blueberry waffles. “You nervous about tonight?” I asked when he finished and pushed his plate away.
He shook his head and beamed at me. “No, it’s going to be great. You’re going to be amazed.” He winked at me and sighed. “No, I’m worried about my nephew.” He rubbed his hands over his head. “I was thinking I should e-mail my sister and have him come down right away, don’t you think?”
“It’s fine with me,” I replied. It wasn’t completely a lie—I hated the thought of him being stuck up there in Homophobia County, and said so. “The sooner he gets out of there, the better. I still have some reservations, but they aren’t about him, they’re about me, if that makes sense?”
Frank grinned at me. “We’ve been together how long? Of course it makes sense.” He put his hands down on top of mine. “Thanks, Scotty, I appreciate this.”
I got some toast and jelly to go for Mom, and we walked back to the Riverview Tower. We kissed in the elevator on the way up, and I was thinking it might not be such a bad idea for him to have sex the day of a match when the elevator opened on Storm’s floor.
But as we walked down the hall to Storm’s door I imagined all kinds of awful things happening to Frank in the ring because I’d worn him out.
Stupid overactive imagination.
Mom was sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee watching the television when we walked in. “Hey, guys,” she said, not looking away from the television screen.
“We got you some toast,” I said, handing her the bag and sitting down next to her as she started spreading jelly on her toast.
“I need to jump in the shower and head down to the arena,” Frank said, kissing the top of her head.
