In the House of Secret Enemies

by George C. Chesbro

  “I’ll go after Sam because I want to,” I said. “But there’s no reason why I have to play Hayes’ game. Seattle has a fine zoo. They should have the equipment I need.”

  Statler shook his head. “By now that cat’s half-starved, and I think he’s hurt. Pretty soon he’ll be man-huntin’, if he isn’t already. I didn’t bring you out here to get yourself killed, Mongo. You ain’t goin’ after a killer cat with a popgun. You take heavy artillery, or you’re fired before you start. Sam ain’t as sentimental as I am.”

  I shrugged. “Phil, I’ll go after Sam with a tranquilizer gun whether I’m working for you or not. You knew that, or you wouldn’t have asked me to come down here.”

  “All right,” he said after a long pause. “But you’ll take along something with stopping power too. With soft-nosed cartridges.”

  “Done,” I said easily. I turned and looked back the way we had come. “One thing puzzles me. Seattle’s fifty miles south, with at least a dozen towns between here and there. And there didn’t seem to be that much cover. How do you suppose Sam made it all the way up here without being spotted?”

  “He had help,” Statler growled. “Some lousy bastards who don’t know a thing—”

  “Whoa, Phil. Take it from the top.”

  He flushed and spat again in the snow. “Somebody must have thought they were doing Sam a favor. We’d been getting letters for about a week attacking us for keeping animals in cages. I didn’t pay much attention to them until this happened. But Sam didn’t escape; he was let loose.”

  “You said he might be hurt.”

  “We were keeping the livestock in the back of the armory in the middle of town. John was the only man on night duty, and they must have got the jump on him. They slugged him over the head, then broke the lock on Sam’s cage. The city police figure they backed a truck up and forced him in. They found tire tracks further up the road here, along with Sam’s tracks in the snow. Stupid! That’s a big forest, but it ain’t India. The hell of it is that Sam didn’t want to go. They found blood on the bottom of the cage, which means whoever took him probably had to prod him to get Sam into the truck. A hurt tiger ain’t nothin’ to mess with, Mongo.” Suddenly Statler turned and slammed his fist against the fender of the Jeep. “Now I feel real stupid for askin’ you to come here. It’s … it’s just that I can’t stand the thought of Sam gettin’ it from somebody like Hayes, and I didn’t know who else but you to ask.”

  I took a deep breath of the cold, pine-scented air. “Phil,” I said, “you know how much I appreciate that compliment, but I’m going to be damned angry with you if I should get myself killed.”

  I spent the rest of the day shopping with Phil Statler for provisions. The next morning I left him to pick up a few special items, and drove the Jeep into Seattle. It took most of the day and a lot of talking, but I left with a tranquilizer gun and a carton of darts.

  The only items missing were a good horse and a modified saddle, and Statler was to meet me with these early the next morning. I was ready. I ate an early supper and headed up to my room. I’d have gone right to bed except for the fact that Reggie Hayes’ feet were propped up on it.

  Hayes’ picture hadn’t done him justice; in the flesh he was uglier. The skinny deputy leaning against the windowsill wore a uniform at least one size too large for him, and he had a bad tic in his right cheek. Taken together, they resembled something that you might expect to pop up in your room after a week of steady drinking.

  “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” I said, putting the room key I hadn’t had to use into my pocket. Both men stared. “What’s the matter? You two never see a dwarf before?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “Both of you are in my room uninvited,” I said, looking directly at Hayes. “The least you can do is take your feet off my bed.”

  My manner must have taken him off guard; he took his feet off the bed. Immediately he flushed. “Look, now …”

  “Hey!” the deputy sheriff said, trying and failing to snap his fingers. “I saw this guy hanging around the jail late yesterday afternoon.”

  Hayes’ eyes narrowed. “You interested in jails, Frederickson?”

  “You know my name?” The question was redundant, but I felt a strong urge to change the subject.

  “Pete down at the desk told me,” Hayes said, deliberately putting his feet back up on the bed. I said nothing. “This is a small town, Frederickson. We’re all real friendly around here. That’s how I know you and your friend been shopping for some real special items; a high-powered rifle, soft-nosed cartridges, and lots of raw meat. Today your friend ordered a special saddle with the stirrups shortened, so it looks as though that stuff may be for you. If you didn’t look like you had so much sense, I’d think you were going tiger hunting.”

  “I hear the woods here are full of them.”

  The deputy started to say something, but Hayes cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Tell me,” Hayes said, rising up out of the chair and hooking his fingers into his belt, “where does a dwarf get off thinking he can hunt a tiger?”

  “I suffer delusions of grandeur.”

  Hayes’ pock-marked face reddened. He was obviously a man who enjoyed making his own jokes.

  “How come you ordered twenty pounds of dog biscuits, smart guy?”

  “Sam has peculiar tastes.”

  “Sam …?”

  “The tiger you want to kill so badly.”

  The deputy could restrain himself no longer. He strode across the room and grabbed Hayes’ sleeve. “That’s what I wanted to tell you, Reggie; I just remembered who this guy is. I was reading an article about him in one of those news magazines just the other day.”

  For a moment I was sure the man was going to ask me for my autograph.

  “Mongo,” the man continued. “Mongo the Magnificent. That’s what they used to call him when he was with the circus.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The circus,” the deputy said. “This guy used to be with the same circus that tiger came from. The article told how he quit eight, nine years ago to become a college professor. It said he teaches something called criminology. It said he’s also a private detective.”

  The deputy sucked in his breath like a minister who had inadvertently mumbled a four-letter word in the middle of a sermon. Hayes eyed me coldly and touched his gun.

  “We got elected officials in this county, Frederickson. We don’t need no private law.”

  Hayes was starting to take me seriously, and I didn’t like that at all.

  “Those were exactly my thoughts,” I said.

  “What are you doing here, Frederickson?”

  “Hunting.”

  “That’s what you think,” Hayes said. A thin smile wrinkled his lips, but did not touch his eyes. “You need a license to hunt in this county, and you ain’t got no license.”

  “Mr. Statler mentioned something about that,” I said evenly. “I think that’s all been taken care of. Statler Brothers Circus has done a lot of benefits in this state, and I think you’ll find a letter from the Governor on your desk in the morning.”

  “I want that cat, Frederickson,” Hayes said tightly, making no effort to hide the menace in his voice. “You keep your nose out of this.”

  “You need Sam to keep you in office,” I said, fighting the tide of anger I felt rising in me. “That tiger’s running for your reelection, and it’s a race that’s going to cost him his life.”

  “I don’t have to kill no tiger to get reelected,” Hayes said defensively.

  “That’s not what I hear.”

  “You hear wrong!”

  Hayes was breathing hard, his face livid. The deputy, taking his cue from his boss, was glowering at me. It was obvious that my attempt at suave diplomacy was getting me nowhere. Letter or no letter from the Governor, Hayes could be trouble. Bad trouble.

  I took a deep breath and sat down in a straight-backed chair by the door.

  “Sheriff,” I s
aid quietly, “I’d like you to explain something to me. You know, as a professional lawman instructing an amateur.”

  “What are you talking about?” Hayes said warily. His face had returned to its normal color, a reassuring sign that I did not think was going to last very long.

  “I’m puzzled, Sheriff. I would think you’d be spending more time trying to catch the people who let that tiger loose.”

  “You are an amateur, Frederickson,” Hayes said, his eyes glittering like black diamonds. “That happened in Seattle, and Seattle ain’t in my jurisdiction.”

  “Right. But my guess—an amateur guess, of course—is that those men could live right here in this county. Consider: Ramsey County isn’t exactly in a straight line from Seattle. In fact, you have to do a considerable amount of twisting and turning to get here. Now, why did they pick this particular spot to drop the tiger off? Why that particular stretch of woods? Maybe because it was the only area they knew of.”

  “Coincidence.”

  “I wonder. Second question: Why drop off a tiger in a section of forest so near a logging camp? Certainly, they must have realized an animal like that could be a threat to the men up there. I’m right, aren’t I? Isn’t there a logging camp up there? I thought I saw some smoke when I was out there yesterday.”

  Hayes said nothing. Now it was the deputy’s face changing color, from its normal pasty shade to a light sea green.

  “So, you see, it’s just possible that whoever let that tiger loose does live somewhere around here. If so, it shouldn’t take too much checking to narrow down the field of suspects.”

  “Impossible,” Hayes said with a satisfied air of certainty. “They got away clean as a whistle.”

  “Yes, but you see it would take a special kind of truck to transport a cat that size. It would have to be completely enclosed, and strong enough to hold Sam. Why, it might even look something like your paddy wagon.”

  Hayes’ face read like a map. Or a sign warning of thin ice.

  “There’s another funny thing about this whole business,” I continued. “Most of the people who go after circus owners know a lot about animals. They care about them. The last thing an animal lover would do is take a circus-trained cat and put him up in those woods in the dead of winter. It is kind of peculiar, isn’t it?”

  “I thought you weren’t on a case, Frederickson.”

  “I’m not,” I said evenly. “Like I said, all I’m after is a tiger. It’s just that I can’t help thinking aloud sometimes. It’s an awful habit, and I’m trying hard to break it.”

  “Who hired you?” Hayes voice was clipped, brittle.

  “You might say I’m here on a mission of mercy.”

  Hayes laughed, but there was no humor in the sound.

  “C’mon, smart guy, tell me how you’d go about figuring who let that cat loose.”

  This surprised me. Hayes was calling my bluff, and I could feel the damp, cold sweat starting under my arms.

  “Well, first I’d start looking around the county for a truck that would do that kind of job. Chances are it might have some wood in the interior. If it did, I’d take some chips.”

  “Why?” The deputy’s voice was high-pitched and nervous.

  “To check for signs of tiger blood or hair,” I said, raising my eyebrows modestly. “Tigers are notorious pacers, as I’m sure you’re aware. Sam probably left traces all over the inside of that truck.”

  “What if the truck had been washed?”

  “Gee, I hadn’t thought of that,” I said with a straight face. “Like I said, I’m new in the business and the tough ones sometimes get away from me.” I shot a glance in the direction of Hayes. His eyes were riveted to my face, wide and unblinking, like a cobra’s. “Of course, there are blood tests. Blood can’t be cleaned completely from wood. It soaks in. And you could always take some paint scrapings off the outside of the truck.”

  “What good would that do?” Hayes said quietly.

  “Whoever backed that truck up left some paint on the cages.” I didn’t have the slightest idea whether or not that was true, but it would certainly be worth looking into. And I hoped it was enough to keep Hayes at bay.

  “That’s pretty good thinking, Frederickson,” Hayes said evenly. “Of course, it’s only guesswork. Things don’t always work out that simple in real police work.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Uh, have you told anybody else about these ideas of yours?”

  I smiled. “I’m sure I haven’t come up with anything you haven’t already thought of, Sheriff. I’m never one to interfere with another man doing his job.” I paused to give my next words emphasis. “All I want is a shot at that tiger, then I’m on my way.”

  “That a fact?”

  “That’s a fact.” I found it surprisingly easy to lie to Hayes. I’d repeat my scenario to the state police later; but Sam came first.

  “That cat’s dangerous, Frederickson.”

  “I’ll take my chances. All I want is my chance. Without interference.”

  “I need that cat, Frederickson,” Hayes hissed, leaning far forward in his chair. “You don’t understand.”

  I tried to think of something to say, and couldn’t. An iron gate had slammed shut over Hayes’ eyes and I could no longer read them. There was a long, tense silence during which the deputy watched Hayes watching me. Finally Hayes rose and walked quickly out the door. The deputy followed. I went after them and closed the door.

  I didn’t sleep well, a fact that might have had something to do with the fact that I was supposed to get up in the morning and go after a Bengal tiger that outweighed me by nearly a quarter of a ton. And the fact that I hadn’t won the love and admiration of the local law didn’t help matters any.

  I got up around four and fixed some coffee on a hotplate in the room. Then I sat down by the window and waited for the sun to come up.

  Phil Statler was supposed to be waiting for me at the edge of town with a horse and the rest of my supplies. At dawn I dressed warmly, picked up the kit with the tranquilizer gun and went down into the morning.

  They’d probably been waiting for me all night.

  I had a rented car parked out in the back of the rooming house, and the first man went for me as I emerged from the mouth of the alley into the parking lot. He had an unlit cigarette in his hand and was going through the pretense of asking for a match, but I had already sensed the presence of a second man behind me, pressed flat against the weathered side of one of the alley garages.

  Somewhere I had miscalculated; either Hayes was very stupid, or I had overplayed my hand and worried him too much.

  On dry ground, unencumbered by a heavy woolen jacket, I wouldn’t have been too concerned. My black belt in karate, combined with the tumbling skills honed and perfected over the long years of traveling with the circus, combined to make me a rather formidable opponent when aroused, an asp in a world that catered to boa constrictors.

  But snow wasn’t my proper milieu. That, along with the coat wrapped around my body, spelled trouble.

  The second man lunged for me from behind. I sidestepped him and ducked under the first man’s outstretched arms. At the same time I clipped him with the side of my hand on the jaw, just below the lower lip. He grunted, spat teeth and stared stupidly at me as I stripped off my coat.

  By this time the second man had me around the head and was beginning the process of trying to separate it from the rest of me. I gave him a stiff thumb in the groin, then jumped up on his back and onto a drain pipe leading up to the top of a tool shack.

  There I stripped to my tee shirt and kicked off my boots while the two men stood in the deep snow below me. I thrust my hands in my pockets and waited patiently while they recovered slowly from their initial shock.

  “Get him,” the second man said to the first, indicating the pipe.

  He got me, promptly and feet first. I caught him in the mouth with the heel of my shoe, hit the snow in a shoulder roll and came up on my feet on t
he plowed gravel of the driveway. The man I had hit was sitting in the snow, his eyes glazed, his hand to his ruined mouth. After a moment he keeled over and lay still.

  The other man was now indecisive, standing spread-eagled in the snow, glancing back and forth between me and his fallen partner.

  “If you’re going to do something, I’d appreciate it if you’d hurry,” I said, bouncing up and down and flapping my arms against my body. “I’m getting cold.”

  The man frowned, reached into his coat pocket and drew out a knife. The steel glinted in the morning sun. I suddenly felt very unfunny. I stopped dancing, spread my legs in a defensive crouch and spread out my hands.

  The man approached slowly, and looked almost comical slogging toward me through the deep snow. I backed up in the driveway until the gravel under my feet was relatively dry and hard-packed. The man, waving the knife in the air before him, stepped out into the driveway and stopped.

  His muddy eyes were filled with fear, and it suddenly occurred to me that this man was no professional; he was probably a crony of Hayes who had been recruited for the seemingly simple task of working over a dwarf. He’d gotten much more than he bargained for. For all I knew, he might be considering using the knife in self-defense. I straightened up and moved back against the building, leaving him plenty of room to get by me and out through the alley.

  “You can go if you want to,” I said evenly. “But if you come at me with that knife, I’ll kill you. I assure you I can do it.”

  He hesitated. I circled around him carefully, stopped and let out what, for me, was a relatively blood-curdling yell. The man dropped the knife into the snow and sprinted out through the alley.

  I put my clothes back on and went to my car. The first man was just beginning to stir as I backed out of the alley and into the street.

  It still bothered me that Hayes would have made such an overt move after the conversation we had had earlier in the evening. Using that approach with some people would have spelled a death warrant, but Hayes wasn’t big city crime; he was small fry, a corrupt, local sheriff.