Frank finished the bottle of rum driving back to the vet office. He grabbed a beer and told the cats about his evening. He wasn’t sure if they were impressed or not, but he was happy. He hadn’t felt this good since the night of the town BBQ and carnival. The nagging worm of doubt about who was telling the truth was gone. Annie had shared her secret with him and he was sure she was being honest. He couldn’t say why, exactly. There was something about the way she watched him most of the time, direct, merciless; but she’d get shy every so often and couldn’t meet his eyes. Soft and hard. Sweet and sour. Yin and yang. It was the contrast, that wonderfully wild seesaw of feelings that pulled him in. He didn’t think she had enough control over her emotions to lie.

He fell asleep on the couch, plotting out an escape to some tiny seaside town in Mexico. He’d earned plenty of cash, and Annie would come down later, only wanting to be with him, to lie in his arms and listen to the distant surf. It was a fine vision.

And it seemed damn close to grab.

DAY TWENTY

Like the cheap rum, the fantasy had rotted the next morning, turning sour and sick in his mind. His head felt brittle, fragile, like his skull was too tight. He wanted to smash something breakable. Around six, the sensation of his head cracking apart like hardwood cooking in the sun drove him into the bathroom, where there was a bottle of aspirin on the toilet. He stumbled back to his cot where he slept dreamlessly until noon, when it took him at least ten minutes to realize someone was ringing the hospital’s buzzer.

* * * * *

Frank drifted along the rows of cages, the eyes of the big cats like starving leeches on his bare skin. His tongue felt as if fungus had covered it during the night. The horizon swam and lurched in his eyes.

And when he saw the two deputies outside, his hangover got truly vicious, grabbing him by the ears and stabbing at the nerves behind his eyes and refusing to let go. His stomach spasmed and quivered, threatening to spatter half digested tiger meat, pasta, and spicy vegetables all over the tile floor.

Through the bathroom window, standing on the toilet seat, Frank saw them waiting just outside the front door, hands on their hips, alternately watching the empty street and the door. They looked like they were trying hard to look bored, but the occasional cry or hiss from one of the hungry cats made their heavy-lidded eyes snap open in furtive movement. Then they’d glance quickly at each other, as if reassuring themselves that they were on the right track. Herschell Thibbetts still wore his mirrored sunglasses, anchored to his squashed, pinched face by a strap around the back of his head. Olaf Halford looked like he’d sheared his head that very morning. Neither one let go of the butt of their handguns.

Thoughts swam sluggishly through Frank’s wounded mind. His first reaction was to simply bolt out the back door, snatch the cash hidden in the horizontal freezer behind the barn, jump in the long black car and drive north. He was all the way to the back door, his hand curling around the doorknob, when he heard Herschell shout, “Mr. Winchester. Mr. Winchester, we know you are in there. That car of yours is back in the barn.” Herschell hit the buzzer again. “Mr. Winchester.”

The last shred of rational thought left in his head begged him to slow down and think. Driving north wouldn’t help him much. Frank needed help, plain and simple. He could always try to run later, if it came to that. As long as he wasn’t a suspect for the murder of some trucker. Or the murder of the zoo owner. Or, while he was being honest, one of the quiet gentlemen, the one he’d pulled into the tank with him.

He let go of the back door handle and stumbled over to the black phone nailed to the wall. He dialed Sturm’s number, but Theo answered.

“Hey. This is Frank.”

“So?”

“Your dad there?”

“Why?”

“This is important.”

“Then tell me. And I’ll decide if it’s important enough to get my dad.”

Frank resisted the urge to smash the phone against the wall. “I need to talk to your dad. Right now.”

“He’s not here.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s out.”

Herschell or Olaf rang the buzzer again.

“Well listen. This is Frank. I need to talk to him right now.”

“He’s out.”

“Yeah.” Frank punched the wall. “Listen, doesn’t he have one of them cell phones or walkie-talkie things? Said so himself that this was serious work. Said these cats were the most important element in our business. I know you can reach him. Give me the number.”

“Don’t have it. So fuck you,” and the line went dead.

Frank slammed the phone down hard enough to pull the top of the base away from the wall. Baby spiders, stung by the sudden light, crawled sleepily out from under the base, setting out for the nooks and crannies of the vet hospital.

Frank knew he didn’t have a choice. He went back up front and opened the front door. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned with exaggerated gestures. “Morning.”

“Good…” Herschell checked his watch. “… afternoon, sir.”

Olaf Halford fixed his stare on Frank. “Wondering if we could come in and take a look around.”

Frank said, “Sure,” but didn’t move. “What are you officers looking for? Maybe I can help you out.”

“Some of the neighbors have expressed concern over the use of the facilities,” Olaf said.

“Neighbors? Didn’t realize I had any,” Frank said, eyeballing the empty, dead houses down the street.

Herschell’s smile was thin and forced. “This whole town is your neighbor, sir.”

“And these concerns…concerned…?”

“The illegal captivity and holding of non-licensed animals.”

“Well, this is a vet hospital. Didn’t realize that sick animals needing my help needed licenses to be treated.”

“We’d like to take a look around,” Herschell said. The “sir” attitude was gone. “We can come back with a search warrant, if you’d like.” Herschell’s tone suggested that this would be a bad idea.

Frank knew it was useless to pretend anymore. “Of course, just curious, that’s all. The animals are back here. Mr. Sturm had ’em brought in special.” There was a distant hope that by mentioning Sturm’s name, these deputies would understand he was simply following orders, same as them.

“Mr. Sturm is subject to the same laws regarding exotic animal captivity as anyone else,” Herschell said, stepping inside. “If these are actually indeed his animals.” Olaf followed, both removing their hats with their left hands. Their right never left the butt of the sidearm.

Frank said, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” stalling for time.

“We’ve got these reports. From concerned citizens,” Herschell said, standing solidly in the middle of the room while Olaf wandered around, looking nowhere and everywhere at once. Herschell held his hand up and snapped his fingers, a snapping, dry crack that stabbed Frank’s brain like a dull icepick. When he had Frank’s attention, he said, “I think you know why we’re here.”

Frank shrugged. “I don’t understand the nature of the complaints.”

Herschell brushed past Frank saying, “I think you do,” and followed Olaf through the door to the back of the office. He poked his head in the bathroom, the second examining room, and the back room filled with books. But this was a quick, cursory scan, making sure Frank didn’t have any company.

Frank wondered if Herschell or Olaf had been with Annie.

“Seems like there’s been a whole hell of a lot of different animals in and out of this place in the last few weeks, not to mention the shooting in town, we want to know just what the hell is going on. We got the safety of this town to think about.”

“Yeah. So you’re looking for…?”

“Besides the monkeys out in the barn? And that thing, whatever it is, some kind of retarded elephant?” Herschell opened the door to the cats. “And of course, these little darlins.” He motioned for Frank to follow. Herschell stopped halfway down the cages, triumphant now that the game was up, fishing in the back pocket of his uniform. The cats shrank to the back of their cages, tails flicking, eyes darting.