Frank figured he’d better go see what all was in the truck too. Sturm saw him immediately. “Howdy, Frank. Where’d you come from?”

Frank jerked his head back to the barn. “Checking on your girls.”

“And how are they doing?”

“Fine.”

“They like their new food, don’t they?”

Frank wondered what the hell Sturm was feeding the lionesses now. “Looks like it,” he said. Later, he found out that Sturm hadn’t killed off all the sheep in town. Not by a long shot. There was a pen way out in the pasture and he kept five or six in there at a time. Every night, just before dinner, all the hunters would gather along the tall fences that surrounded that the cats’ corral, and Sturm would lock a ewe inside, then turn Lady and Princess loose. The show wasn’t as spectacular as watching them go after Sarah, but the hunters couldn’t get enough.

“What’s this?” Frank asked.

Sturm clapped his hands together like a child. “Didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” he said. “Take a look. We’re in business now, by God.”

Frank got closer, and before he could even see the cats, he somehow felt the impact of the all those gold stares, striking him from all sides, all at once, as if he was being enveloped in a thick blanket and punched by unseen figures. The cats had been packed tightly into a two level cattle truck.

One of the Assholes had found a long stick and was jabbing at one of the cats through the round holes in the side of the trailer, giggling as the lioness hissed. The game didn’t last long; there was a quick snap, and the Asshole pulled back the stick, now half as long.

Mr. Noe snorted and moved away, taking short, precise steps. Frank watched him out of the corner of his eye, waiting until the little man became nothing but a white blur in the darkness.

“Never would have thought there was this many cats out there in private hands, not in a million years,” Sturm told Frank as he approached the truck. “Apparently, everybody wants just cubs. That’s what brings in the audience. Cute little baby lions, chasing each other around. Maybe even give folks a chance to pet ’em when they’re young like that. But hell, just like anything, them cubs grow up quick. People lose interest. Stop spending money.” He shrugged. “It’s a goddamn shame, really. They get sold. Goddamn cheap, too.”

“We’re gonna need a hell of a lot more meat.”

“You got that right.” Sturm said.

Jack led Frank and Sturm around to the other side of the trailer. Three wolves shared a cage. A mountain lion’s eyes flashed and burned in the blast of Jack’s Mag-lite beam. “Up front, we got hyenas. Mean little fuckers,” he said.

“This is just the start,” Surm said. “We got more en route this very minute, private owners brining in their own animals, so in the morning, you and Chuck, you go grab as many of them sheep we left in town as you need. Keep ’em in the freezer at the office.”

“We’re gonna need a place to keep all of these. There’s only seven empty cages at the vet’s.”

“It’s taken care of. We got the auction yard all set up. You’ll have to stop out there and feed ’em. You’re gonna have yourself a full day tomorrow, that’s for sure.” Sturm grinned, teeth bright in the moonlight. “Missed you last night at dinner. Have a good time?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

Frank didn’t want to think about last night, much less talk about it. “Nothing. I had work to do. She went home.”

“She went home, huh? Look at me.” Sturm grabbed his arm and stared up into Frank’s eyes. “She just a whore to you, or there something else going on?” He glanced at the knots of men and lowered his voice. “C’mere.” He led Frank out towards the barn.

When they were far enough away not be overheard, Sturm asked quietly, “Is there something going on here that I need to know about?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You got feelings for this girl? You two got some kind of relationship going on here?” His frozen eyes bored holes in Frank’s skull. “Shit,” he said, answering his own question. “You listen to me and you listen hard. That girl, she’s nothing but a fucking whore. You got that? She sucks dicks for cash. You understand what I’m telling you here. She don’t care about you. She cares about what you’ve got in your wallet. That’s all. And hell, she’s a goddamn Glouck.” He spit. “That family, they’re nothing but trash. That’s it. Worthless goddamn trailer trash. They got no morals. No nothing. Ain’t hardly human beings.” He brought up a fist and popped his index finger out in Frank’s face. “You stay the hell away from her, got it? I’m gonna let her hang around, just so our guests can blow off some steam. Ever since we had that incident last time some working girls were here, I can’t get any more to come all the way up here. Word’s out, I guess. So I’m gonna let her be. But she is off limits to you, understand?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nothing personal, son. I’m just trying to look out for you, is all. You look like you could use somebody to look out for you. You’ll thank me later, down the line, once you find a nice girl and settle down. Trust me. Later on, you’ll thank me.”

DAY TWENTY-SIX

They collected thirty of the dead sheep, butchered five, and put the rest in the freezer. Chuck offered to help, but Frank waved him off. He preferred to feed the cats on his own, so he could take his time, talking to them in a soft, almost crooning voice.

Most of the new cats had grown up in captivity, and knew nothing beyond life in a cage. People had always been sources of food and water and pain and fear, but something about Frank, his slow easy movements, his smell, his low, soothing voice, something made them trust him immediately. They allowed Frank to scratch their ears, closing their eyes and milking the bottom of their cage in pleasure, stroking the floor, extending and retracting their vicious claws as they alternated paws. Some even licked the palm of his hand.

The hyenas snarled and bristled and snapped at each other when Frank tossed bloody bones into their cage. The wolves were quiet and still as death. They made no move to eat anything until Frank had retreated, taking his clanging bucket with him. The mountain lion paced and ignored the meat.

He found an old boom box in the office upstairs and tuned in a scratchy radio station of slow, sad Mexican songs. The music drifted through the cavernous auction yard and Frank whistled along.

Frank had to resist the urge to step into the Kodiak’s room and scratch the bear’s head, just behind the ears. He tried to just look at the four-inch claws, imagining what they could do to flesh, how they could shatter bone and split muscle, but his gaze kept sliding back up to the shaggy face with its loose jowls, wet nose, and soft brown eyes. Bo-Bo thrust his massive head at the bars in the tiny window and snuffled, craving attention. Frank’s resolve crumbled, and he lightly stroked the broad, flat nose through the bars.

* * * * *

More hunters showed up. So many that Frank gave up trying to keep track. He got used to seeing unfamiliar pickups and SUVs rolling through town. A trailer park had sprouted in Sturm’s back field, and bonfires sent black smoke into the sky. Gunfire crackled day and night.

They shot eight cats that first day. Ten the next.

Chuck and Jack would string a live sheep upside down from one of the lone oak trees out near the edge of the fields, where the foothills began, and stick it a few times with a pocketknife, just enough to get the animal to bleat and kick and bleed. Then Frank or Pine would swing the gate of the horse trailer wide, turning loose whatever big cat was next. The lioness always locked on the struggling ewe and went for the helpless sheep. Sometimes the hunter would shoot it before it reached the sheep. Sometimes the cat would leap and tear the sheep from the tree, and the hunter would shoot the cat as it tore through the wool. Sturm was always ready with his rifle, just in case. But usually, it only took the hunter three or four shots to finish off the lioness. Sometimes more, depending on how drunk the hunter was.