Foodchain (25 page)

Frank kept his mouth shut. Sturm probably already knew this, and besides, Frank was still pissed. And more than a little scared. He couldn’t read Sturm, couldn’t see how the pressure built. Yesterday still made him feel like a loyal dog who’d been kicked for no apparent reason by a previously kind and considerate owner.

He practiced his smile more and more.

* * * * *

Theo drove Sturm’s pickup, windows down, one arm out the window. He took the trip slow and easy, as Sturm and Girdler were in the back, sitting on ice chests full of beer and ice. Neither one paid the heat any attention, just told jokes about niggers, politicians, beaners, fucking stupid Polacks, Kikes with their money, and dumb cunts. They’d laugh and fling their bottles at street signs, the few cars left, and the buildings.

Theo drove so slow there was no breeze. Frank wished Theo would roll up the windows and turn on the A.C., but Theo wouldn’t even look at him, let alone speak to him. Even though the back window was open, so Theo could hear his father, the afternoon air slid over Frank’s skin like a slug, leaving a sweaty slime.

First stop was the taxidermist, so Sturm could show off the tiger’s hide.

Theo pulled up and parked in the middle of the street. Before the pickup had fully stopped, Sturm jumped out, hollering, “Didja know—” and stumbled. His boots stuttered along the asphalt and he fell heavily onto his knee and hip, like a chair leg had just collapsed on him.

Girdler laughed.

Frank flinched. He couldn’t decide if he should run over and help Sturm find his feet, just like at the vet hospital, but if Sturm had actually gone and had too many beers, it might make him mean. And the last goddamn thing Frank needed was to piss off Sturm.

But Sturm just laughed too and found his feet in a rolling motion, said, “Didja know a chink girl’s pussy is sideways, like their eyes,” and laughed along with Girdler. Giggles burst out of Theo like snot bubbles.

The taxidermist shop smelled bad. Worse than bad. Like a freezer full of meat after the power had been out a week. Frank wondered if it was the taxidermist himself. He was wearing the same spotless faded overalls, the same rigid white long-sleeve shirt. Frank wasn’t sure if this was simply the man’s uniform, if he had a closet full of identical clothing, or if this was the actual clothes he’d been wearing a week ago.

He poked around the shop while Sturm and Girdler inspected the striped hide, and realized that most of the smell was coming from a large bubbling pot in the back, where the taxidermist was boiling the tiger skull.

* * * * *

The next stop was the town pool. When Sturm told Theo where to go, just north of the high school, Frank was surprised a town this size had a town pool, but didn’t care one way or another. He was seriously considering jumping into the water, clothes and all, but when they unlocked the gate and went inside, they found the pool quite empty, just an echoing hollow husk of concrete, surrounded by a ten-foot chain link fence.

“Think this’ll hold a grizzly—sorry, a Kodiak?” Sturm asked, standing at the lip of the deep end, his voice booming off the blue painted concrete.

The deep end was certainly big enough. Over 30 feet wide, the flat bottom gently sloped down from the shallow end, leveling out at fourteen feet beneath the pool deck. Stagnant, green water waited at the very bottom.

The problem was obvious to everyone. The bear could just walk up into the shallow end, a larger rectangle set at a right angle to the deeper part. They would have to construct some kind of wall; otherwise the bear would simply stroll right up and tear through the fence like a fork through toilet paper.

* * * * *

The auction yard was next. Sturm led them to a large room with a high ceiling where they’d kept the original lioness that Sturm had fought and killed. It had one door. The floor was concrete, with two drains set into it. Tiles covered the walls four feet up, giving way to a series of small windows covered in thick wire.

“This’ll work,” Frank said. “This’ll work just fine.”

“You sure you don’t have, I dunno, someplace outside?” Girdler asked.

Frank said, “We’ll put some straw down for him, make him as comfortable as possible.”

“Frank’ll make sure your bear is comfortable,” Sturm said. “He’s a regular goddamn Florence Nightingale for these animals, believe me.”

“It’ll just be for a few days, right?” Frank asked.

“Guess so. Just wanted him outside, in the sun, for as much as possible…before the end,” Girdler said. “It’s a matter of respect.”

“Of course,” Sturm said, reaching up to pat Girdler’s shoulder. “I understand respect.” He was silent a moment, then said, “Let’s get out of here and have ourselves another beer.”

* * * * *

On the way back to the ranch, they stopped at the gas station. Theo stayed outside and filled up the truck. Frank wished the Glouck boys would fire some BBs and rocks at Theo, but the dead tree was empty.

“How’s business, Myrtle?” Sturm said.

The woman with the shocking red hair shrugged in her kingdom of cigarettes and lottery tickets. “Kinda’ slow, Mr. Sturm.”

Frank stopped and waited just inside the front door, hands in his pockets, head down, bill of his cap obscuring his face. The place was even more cramped and hotter than before. Girdler hit the end of the first aisle, found a few beers in the cooler, and Frank realized that between the two coolers, in the left corner of the of the ceiling, perched a round, concave mirror like the Glouck’s TV satellite’s younger cousin. Myrtle’s curving face appeared in the distorted mirror, staring right at him. Hatred haunted the lines in her face.

Frank had killed her cat. It was that simple.

Sturm leaned on the counter. “That’ll be changing soon. Can I count on you to be here?”

She took her glare off the mirror. “Of course. I’ll be here, open ‘til close.”

Sturm nodded. “Good, good. Can I trust you?”

Myrtle looked as though Sturm had just asked her to drop her jeans and shit in the cash register. “I don’t know quite what you mean, Mr. Sturm.”

“What I’m getting at here, is this. I’ve got men coming into town, they’re gonna be needing gasoline and beer and liquor and snacks and all kinds of shit, and I need someone I can trust to run this place. I don’t know the characters of these men. I don’t know if I can trust them, so I need someone to keep ’em honest, do you see what I’m saying?”

Myrtle thought Sturm’s question was as clear as mud. But she smiled, said, “Yes.”

“So what would you do if some kid came in here, slipped a candybar in his pocket?”

“I’d get up and stand in front of the door.”

“Okay. He tries to run.”

“I’d grab that little pisser by the back of his shirt or hair, whichever’s easiest, with this hand,” she said, demonstrating by vigorously shaking her metal stool that she sat upon, hour after hour. “And I’d get the merchandise with this one.” She gave the stool a good shaking, and slapped it once.

“So what if two vehicles pull up, and the far one, the one you can’t see, that vehicle pulls away with out paying. What would you do then?”

“I’d be on the phone before they made it ten feet. I’d have the license number and a description of the occupants.” She set the stool down. Crossed her arms. “I am a very observant employee, Mr. Sturm,” she said, eyeballing the Glouck house across the street.

“Welcome aboard,” Sturm said, and shook hands with Myrtle.

“I’ll take all them beef jerkeys you got,” Girdler said, shambling up to the counter. “And these beers.”

“Tell you what, Myrtle, you ring up this gentleman on my tab. Whatever he needs. This time.” Sturm looked directly at Girdler. “From here on out, you pay your own way.”

“Sure,” Girdler said, cracking a beer.

Myrtle’s fingernails kept track of everything Girdler carried. Frank opened the door for Sturm and Jack. When it closed, Frank saw Myrtle staring at him through the glass. Frank looked at the pavement. He felt bad. Again, but just for the barest blink, the voice, suggesting the solution to her pain. It could be over and gone.

He turned and went to the pickup. Before him, the Glouck house sat quiet, but smoke slowly rose from the kitchen. Sturm said, under his breath, “Crazy goddamn old bitch,” and Girdler laughed. Theo slowly pulled away in the crackling heat and Frank blinked the sweat out of his eyes.

* * * * *

A big flashy Cadillac Escalade was parked in front of Sturm’s house.

“Okay. We got customers. Look sharp.”

The three new hunters waited out on the back deck, marveling at the giant cross in the corner of the yard. Frank could tell right off that none of these three ever did anything without the other two behind him. He just knew these fuckers were executives somewhere, late twenties to early thirties. They probably worked together, played fucking golf, got their haircuts from the same barber, same goddamn fraternity. Frank suspected they didn’t do much of anything at their work, neither making decisions or lifting something heavy. This would be one of their hunting trips, their version of an adventure.

They gave their names, but Frank immediately forgot and just named them Asshole #1, #2, and #3. He shook all their hands, smiled his smile, and immediately went out back to the lioness cage. He wanted to stop by Jack’s truck for his bottle, but decided he needed to see the cats first. He went quickly through the deepening shadows and curled his fingers into the cage at the back of the barn.

The tranquilizers had worn off hours ago, and Sturm’s girls were irritable and hungry. Lady was busy tearing ragged strips of hard black rubber out of the tires while Princess hulked in a corner, motionless except for her tail, which slapped at the flies. She hissed when she saw Frank, deep, vicious, and pissed.

“I know girl. I know. You’ll eat soon.” Frank’s voice, smooth as fresh motor oil, was low enough that only the cats heard him. “You’ll eat soon. Don’t know exactly what you’re gonna eat, but I know you’re gonna eat soon. That’s right, little girl. One, two hours, tops. You’ll see. You’ll eat.”

Princess lowered her head, staring hard at Frank. Lady stopped shredding the tires and watched Princess, only occasionally glancing at Frank.

“You’ll eat soon. I promise.”

* * * * *

Lights burst on the corral, bleaching the color out of the dirt, the fence, the sky, leaving everything cold and bloodless. The cats each slid to the back corners of the cage, backs low, shoulders against the concrete foundations, as the light found them and sucked the color out of their eyes.

Theo ran up and jumped on the first bar of the cage, both hands wrapped around a video camera the size of a pack of cigarettes, glued to the lioness to Frank’s right. Sturm came out of the dark and asked, “Which one?”

Frank wasn’t sure if Sturm was talking to him or Theo, and was about to mumble something when Theo said, “Both of ’em.”

“Well then, we’re just gonna have to find out tonight then, won’t we?” He turned to Frank, and before Frank could say anything said, “I know. I know. They gotta eat. And they will. Soon as we do. So come on back to the house. I gotta collect everyone and get ’em on out to the spread in the field.”

* * * * *

A large army tent had been erected out in the pasture. Tiki torches illuminated the two tables set up in the front. One was six feet across; the second was considerably smaller. Glouck brothers in black jeans and white shirts and black bow ties walked stiffly from the tent to the table and back again, carrying and arranging the silverware, plates, candles, baskets of bread, bottles of olive oil, and pitchers of ice water.

Sturm took the seat at the big table and had the hunters join him. He started telling an elaborate joke. Frank sat at the smaller table with Theo and Chuck, clearly the little kids’ table at Thanksgiving. The Gloucks poured water and took drink orders. Frank wasn’t shy about ordering alcohol this time.

Theo stared at Gun with amusement and said low, under his dad’s joke, “That’s a nice tie you got there. Your mother sew it for you?” He called over his shoulder at his dad, interrupting. “Hey Dad! Dad! Am I supposed to tip these boys or what?”

“Well, if they deserve it, then tip ’em. Yes.”

“What if they don’t deserve it?”

“Then don’t tip.” Sturm went back to the joke. “Anyways, so the nun says to the taxicab driver, ‘fuck yes, you stud you. Thanks for the ride. And oh yeah, by the way, I’m really a guy on his way to a costume party.’”

The three assholes laughed, slammed their hands down on the table, tilted their various drinks, and took long gulps. Girdler laughed too, but took slower sips out of a silver curved flask. Frank had finished his glass, and waved for one of the Glouck brothers, said, “Another. Thanks.”

Sturm stood. “Gentlemen. Ladies…?” he peered into the darkness. Someone near the house whistled. Frank saw her on the back deck leaning out against the railing, just a silhouette really, but that was enough to know it was her, more than enough. Sturm’s house didn’t just grow gentle curves like Annie. He wondered what the hell she was doing out here. Maybe she was helping her family out.

Maybe she was here to make some money.

“Tomorrow—for starters, you’re gonna sight in your rifles. For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, we will assist you. This will be your only preparation for the hunts to follow, when your prey will not be so docile.”