Predatory Animals Page 13

  The Mexican fell straight down into a heap. The clanging of his metal baseball bat against the concrete floor echoed across the silent arena. All of time stopped, and no one—not even Bobby—moved. Sly’s throat grew dry and he realized his mouth hung open. Walter Coining stepped out of the bunker with his pistol raised, looking up into the booth awaiting instructions from Gordon.

  The intercom buzzed to life, bouncing Gordon’s irritated voice around the arena.

  “The special event will commence after a thirty minute intermission.” The intercom went silent and the crowd filed from their seats, whispering surreptitiously to each other.

  To Sly the intermission seemed more like thirty seconds than thirty minutes. He stood close to the fence, looking in on the three champions. As before, Nan came into the ring with a bag in hand. Through the intercom Gordon ordered the men to reach in, take a stone, but not to look at it until all the gladiators had chosen. When all three had their stone, they opened their hands. Two held white stones and one held a black stone.

  The man with the broken arm stared down in horror at the black stone resting on his palm. No explanation was needed. Bobby and the man with piercings were shuffled back in the bunker, followed quickly by Coining.

  “Release the cat,” Gordon’s order rang through the speakers.

  Sly swiped his card across the scanner and the controls lit up. He stared at the glowing buttons, lost to his thoughts. How easy would it be to just open the door and unleash Penelope upon this odious crowd?

  Sly’s hand drifted toward the control for the smaller door, but he hesitated. If he opened this door Penelope, enraged by starvation, would kill him first. She might get one or two of the crowd, but not much more. It wouldn’t take long for Wexxel, Coining, and the rest of the guards to take her down. What would any of that prove?

  Sly pressed the other button and the garage door clattered upward. The man with the broken arm ran to the opposite side and pounded on the door, begging for help or mercy or a chance to repay his debts. But the door remained closed.

  Penelope crept from the bunker, crouched low. Her gritty pink tongue made a pass around her mouth, skimming over the four dagger-like fangs. Her thick tail was low and twitching back and forth. A low rolling growl issued from deep within her throat. The deep black tiger stripes she inherited from her mother seemed to shimmer like a mirage over the tawny lion’s fur given to her by her father.

  The Pummels had chosen Penelope because she was different from all of the other cats housed at St. Francis. Penelope was a hybrid, born from lion and tigress, and she held an eerie division of qualities from both great cats. But it was her enormous size that caught the Pummels’ eyes. Ligers grow faster and larger than any other of the large cats. Penelope stood a foot taller than a male tiger and weighed in at over 700 pounds.

  Penelope roared loud enough to silence the raucous crowd. The man with the broken arm ran for the wire fencing that enclosed the ring. The cat hunkered down into a hunting position. The man shot up the wire wall, making it quite far considering his broken arm. Penelope ran, leapt into the air and snatched the man by his ankle, snapping the bone with her powerful jaws. She let go of the wall and used her colossal weight to peel the man from his perch. He hit the concrete with a grunt, rolled to his knees and tried to scurry away.

  Penelope pounced.

  Sly could watch no more. He plugged his ears with his fingers to drown out the man’s screams. Thankfully Penelope was hungry, so silence came quickly. He looked up to the booth where the Pummels sat. Their faces were enthralled, greedy smiles spanning ear to ear. He knew their minds were racing over the ways to make the next event more spectacular.

  Sly swore there would be no next time.

  Threats & Warnings

  It never ceased to amaze Casper how the time of the year could alter a child’s mood at the breakfast table. Now that school was out Tad, Beth and Lucy skipped into the kitchen like a trio of song birds.

  Casper—having recently traded his crutches for a cane—limped over to the counter, poured a mug of coffee and handed it to Maggie as she swept by. Though she had cut back her hours at the hospital, she was now busier than ever. Fall classes didn’t start for a couple of months, but Maggie was feverishly preparing for her first semester as a professor.

  “I’m so sorry I can’t hang out with you guys,” she said as she checked through her briefcase. “I wish I didn’t have to go to these meetings today.”

  “We’ll be fine.” Casper looked to the kids. “Right?”

  Beth and Lucy nodded; Tad gave a thumbs-up.

  “See?”

  Maggie looked at them each in turn. A tiny smile graced the corner of her mouth, but her eyes held the faintest hint of guilt and panic. She wiped her hands several times on her skirt as if she couldn’t get rid of the sweat, and moved about the kitchen as if lost. It was all new to her. When Tad was born, she had put her career on hold to become a stay-at-home mom. It seemed reversing the decision did not come so easily.

  Casper grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her. “I’m proud of you.”

  Her whole face lit in a smile.

  He wanted to apologize for being so difficult to live with these past couple of months. He wanted to explain to her why he had so vehemently wanted the dogs gone. He wanted to tell her about the dreams and visions, about how the dogs sometimes smelled of the water of Rogers River, or that when he stared long enough at the three dogs he could still hear the whimpers issuing from within that burlap sack. That’s why he didn’t trust them; why he wanted them gone.

  But before he could collect his thoughts in to words, Maggie looked at her watch. “Ooh, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you all later.” She gave Casper a stern look that soured the emotions bubbling within. “Behave yourself.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Casper sat down, picked up the newspaper, and gazed at the article about a man that had gone missing last week during a camping trip along Rogers River. The police were planning a press conference to discuss the latest disappearance.

  Maggie kissed the kids then brushed his shoulder with her fingertips as she walked past.

  Tad stood up and Casper folded the paper to hide the article from him.

  “Where are you going?” Casper asked him.

  “Just outside.”

  “Stay close by. Don’t go roaming the woods.”

  Tad rolled his eyes. “I won’t.”

  “We’ll go on a hike later, okay?”

  “That’s a cane, not a walking stick.”

  Casper glanced at his cane and shrugged. “We can take the Gator. Your mother bought a fresh tank of propane last week.”

  Casper had bought the six-wheel propane powered ATV for deer hunting, but for now it could serve as the king of all power wheelchairs. It would be good to finally get some use out of the thing.

  Tad laughed. “Mom’s right. You never will slow down.”

  “You can go outside now.”

  Tad was gone a few minutes, just barely enough time for Casper to return to the newspaper article, before he came bounding back in the kitchen.

  “Dad, there’s a dead cat in our yard.”

  Casper put his face into his hands and sighed. “What is with those dogs? Is there anything they won’t kill? Get a trash bag. You can help me gather it up.”

  Tad puckered his face but didn’t argue.

  “Can we go out, too?” Beth asked with Lucy standing by her side.

  Normally Casper would have said no. Beth was old enough to handle a dead cat, but Lucy was still a bit young. But maybe this would be the ticket to getting rid of the dogs. Perhaps the cat was just what he needed to sway some votes to his side.

  “Yes, but don’t touch it. Do you hear me, Lucy?”

  “I won’t.” She skipped to the door, not at all upset that a cat lay dead in their yard.

  Not far from the back door, a gray tabby cat laid on its back with its legs outstretched. The three dogs danced around the dead cat in a cadence
of wagging tails and excited bouncing.

  Casper swatted at King but he bounced out of range. “What’s wrong with you stupid dogs?” The three dogs sat, still wagging their tails, but seemed confused by his anger.

  Tad nudged the cat with his foot. “What’s the count?”

  It was almost humorous that they were keeping a running total of the dogs’ kills. But then Casper thought of the article about the missing people.

  “Fourteen . . . that we know of,” Casper said. “Six skunks, four possums, three rabbits, one raccoon and countless squirrels, chipmunks, and judging from all of the holes in the yard, moles. I guess the cat makes fifteen.”

  “Wow. And still no bites, scratches, or sprays by the skunks.” Tad scratched Sky behind her ears. “They are unstoppable. I bet they could take down an elephant.”

  Casper didn’t know about an elephant, but he wondered how they would fair against a person. Maybe the dogs’ body-count was actually eighteen, or God forbid, more.

  Lucy squatted down to look at the cat. Casper hoped for tears but she regarded the corpse with gentle bemusement.

  “It has a collar, daddy.”

  “Uh-oh,” Tad said. “I think I know whose cat that is.”

  Beth gasped as if stung. “It’s one of Ms. Reid’s cats.”

  Casper looked at the dogs. “You’ve done it now.”

  Rebecca Reid owned the little plot of land across the street. She was forty-five, a bit of a spinster, and by far the most spiteful woman Casper had ever come across. When the Browns had first moved into the house, they had paid Ms. Reid a visit for nothing more than to introduce themselves. Literally within the first two minutes, she had accused them of thinking they were better than her, and warned them that having the money to buy the big house on the hill didn’t mean their shit didn’t stink. By the end of the five minute visit, both Beth and Lucy were crying and Casper had to push Maggie out the door to keep her from giving Ms. Reid a little long lasting eye-shadow.

  They had spent the rest of their time in Shadeland steering well clear of Rebecca Reid, though they often caught her spying on them from her front window. And now Casper was going to have to cross the street and explain to her how her cat died. He wanted to go on a cursing tirade and threaten the dogs with death by sledgehammer, but children have a funny way of making you bite your tongue.

  “Scoop the cat into the trash bag,” he told Tad. “You can help me take it across the street.”

  “You’re going to her house?” Beth’s face pinched with fear. “Why do you have to tell her? We could get rid of it like the other animals and she’d never know.”

  “We could do that, but we’d be wrong. Hiding and lying is never the answer. It’s always better to face the music.” Beth looked as if she wanted to argue his thinking, but she didn’t. He motioned for Tad to follow him.

  Ms. Reid opened the door before they even had a chance to step onto the front porch. She greeted them with a scowl.

  “What do you want?” She glowered at them as if they had just emerged from a septic tank. Innumerable scowls and frowns had left her face heavily lined and aged her by fifteen years. The whites of her eyes were the milky yellow of an alcoholic’s, her teeth were stained brown by too much coffee, and she reeked of cigarette smoke.

  Casper took a deep breath. Never before had he regretted giving good advice to his children, but right now he wished he had kept his big mouth shut and listened to Beth.

  “Hello, Ms. Reid. We’re sorry to bother you, but I think we found one of your cats in our yard.”

  Her jaundiced eyes fell upon the trash bag in Tad’s hand. Her face went taught and her cracked lips pulled back into a sneer. She reached out, snatched the bag from Tad and tore into it. At the sight of the cat, Ms. Reid began to shake all over as a raspy weep fell from her mouth.

  “What did you do to her? I’m going to sue you for this. You’ll see.” A wet cough rumbled deep within her chest. “Soon I’ll be living in the fancy house and you’ll be over here in the hovel. Was it you, you little shit?” She reached out to grab Tad, but Casper stepped in front of him.

  “He had nothing to do with it. He found her, that’s all.”

  She kicked at Casper’s cane. “It was those mongrels, wasn’t it? It was. I can see it on your face.” She pointed a withered finger at Tad.

  Casper turned to his son. The boy’s face was red, whether from fear or anger, Casper didn’t know. “It’s possible the dogs got to the cat. We didn’t see or hear anything. It’s also possible she was old and just died.”

  “No. Willow was in perfect health.” She crumpled her hand into a fist and shook it in Casper’s face. “I’m calling the Sheriff on you. I’ll have those dogs put down and I’ll own everything you have.”

  Casper was about to speak, but Tad rushed around him like a blast of fire.

  “No you won’t, you old hag,” Tad said. “Your stupid cat should have stayed in your yard. Dogs kill cats. They weren’t doing anything wrong. If you come near my dogs—”

  Casper put his hand on Tad’s chest and forced him back before he made any threats. “Go on back home. I’ll handle this.” Tad trembled; his face blushed hot and his eyes glazed with tears. Maggie’s words echoed in his mind. They need those dogs. “Go on.”

  Tad walked off refusing to wipe his eyes. Casper waited for him to be out of earshot before he turned back to Ms. Reid.

  “I’m sorry about your cat. I really am, but this is the last apology you are going to get. With that being said, I want you to listen very closely you desiccated old bitch.” Rebecca Reid opened her mouth to speak, but Casper held a hand up to stop her. “The dogs did what dogs do. Your cat should not have been on my property, so feel free to call the Sheriff, animal control, the press, the mayor, or even the damn President. I don’t care. Don’t threaten to sue me, because we both know you can’t part with the booze and cigs long enough to pay for a lawyer. And don’t ever make a move toward any of my children again.”

  She stepped back, her witch’s eyes wide with panic. “Or what? You threatening me?”

  Casper shook his head. “No, not at all. I would never lay a hand on a woman, even a mummified old drunk like you. But so much as look at my kids the wrong way and I’ll be forced to let my wife know about it. Then the two of you can work it out amongst yourselves.”

  Rebecca Reid tried her best to ignite him with the fire of hatred pouring from her eyes, but when he didn’t even smolder, she snatched up her dead cat and slammed the door in his face.

  “That went well,” Casper said. He stared at the door for a moment before turning to cross the street.

  Back at the house, the three children were consoling (or perhaps being consoled by) the three dogs. Beth sat cross-legged on the ground with Shadow nestled in her lap. Sky received a world class belly rub from Lucy, while Tad scratched King’s thick neck hard enough to rock his head back and forth.

  “She can’t really take our house, can she, dad?” The absolute terror in Beth’s voice felt like poison in his ears and he despised not the witch but the dogs that had started all of this mess.

  “No. She was just upset about her cat. She was just venting.”

  Tad looked up. His face looked weary with grief. Young hearts are tender; not yet scarred and calloused by the cruel world. To the young, losing your dog is like losing the love of your life.

  “I’m sorry I shouted at her,” Tad said. “Are the dogs going to be put to sleep?”

  Casper clapped him on the shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s good to stand up for yourself. I just didn’t want you to say anything you couldn’t take back, that’s all.”

  He reached down and patted King on the head. The dog took a few strokes then put his mouth over Casper’s hand. He pulled his hand free of the slimy affection and wiped it on his jeans.

  “Don’t worry about the dogs,” Casper added. “As long as they don’t go nosing around Ms. Reid’s yard I think they’ll be fine.”


  Tad smiled and with the indefatigable resilience of youth he was his old self again. “Can we give the dogs a bath?”

  “If they’ll let you.”

  The next hour found the house full of children’s laughter, the playful barking of dogs and the splash of water. Casper sat in his office, surfing the internet, when he heard a car pull up to the house. He looked out his window and saw Dale Wicket getting out of his patrol car. The window was open, so he called to Dale.

  “The door’s unlocked. Come on in.”

  Dale leaned in the doorway looking the office over. “You know, from the outside this room looks like it should be bigger.”

  Casper shrugged. “Dark colors. They’ll shrink a room.”

  Dale stepped over to the window and looked out to where the children, having abandoned trying to catch the dogs for a bath, turned on each other and were now in the midst of a full on water fight. “I hear the list of dead keeps rising.”

  Casper’s mind froze in panic. For a moment all he could think of was the newspaper article about all the recent disappearances. “Come again?”

  “Your neighbor called us about your dogs. Said they killed her cat and tried to attack her.”

  “Yeah, well, she got half of it right.” Casper stood up. “You want a drink?”

  “I’d take a Coke, if you have one.”

  In the kitchen Casper placed a glass of Coke in front of Dale and sat down across from him. Casper could tell the complaint from Ms. Reid wasn’t the real reason Dale was here. But he’d play along a bit just for fun.

  “So, the old crone called the boys in blue about her dead cat, huh?” Casper asked. “I suppose you’ll be taking me in, then.” He held up his hands as awaiting the cuffs.

  Dale smiled and smacked his hands. “That nut calls us at least once a week. Must have us on speed-dial. Trust me, her words are taken with a grain of salt.” He took a sip of his Coke. “We told her we’d talk to you, but that according to Shadeland law cats are not supposed to roam free any more than dogs are. She doesn’t have any legs to stand on, but just to be safe, it might not be a bad idea for you to put the dogs on a chain or fence them in.”