Frank shook his head. “Girdler is simply too fucking dumb to realize the bear is like that with everyone. He’s a big old puppy dog. The cats will kill that grizzly faster then the dogs tonight.”

“So we don’t feed it,” Sturm said.

“Girdler already did, when the old girl in there was killing seven dogs here tonight,” Frank said.

“That sonofabitch,” Sturm said. “We’re gonna have to watch him.” This was directed at Jack. “He’s liable to go apeshit he sees what’s gonna happen to his pet.”

“That’s the problem right there,” Jack said. “He still thinks its his.”

Sturm spit. “Fuck. Thought we had an understanding all worked out. Why didn’t you tell anybody that he was feeding it tonight?”

“I didn’t know the bear had been sold,” Frank said.

“Fuck. I guess, technically, we never got around to telling him.” His attention turned back to Frank. “No, that’s not why I’m telling you this. That bear is going to kill a bunch of them big cats over the next few nights. All I want you to do is make sure that damn bear wins until I say so. Hell son, all I’m asking you to do is make it look halfway fair, but hell, as long at that bear wins until the third, the fourth night if it’ll hold out, then we’re all gonna make some very serious money. As long as nobody finds out the damn thing’s name is Bo-Bo.”

“Look, it wouldn’t matter if that bear hadn’t eaten for a month. He simply isn’t going to last. You put that thing up against hell, one of them pound dogs, and it’ll shit itself. It’ll be dead tomorrow night.”

“Well then. That’s why you’re here. You’re the expert.”

“We’ll go in there, spend all night going to work on that bad boy if you want,” Pine said, always ready to hurt something. “Make sure it’ll fight good and hard.”

“No. Not this time. I got a feeling Doctor Doolittle here’s got a point.” Sturm gave a hint of a smile at Frank. “That’s why you’re gonna make that thing fight tomorrow. I got confidence in you, son,” Sturm said as he climbed into his truck. “See you gentlemen tomorrow.”

Nobody said anything to Frank. They looked at the horizon, mumbled excuses, and left. Frank drove back slowly, nursing his bottle. He didn’t see the point in hiding the long black car anymore, and left it outside in the parking lot at the vet hospital.

He stood for a long time in front of the sink. He got down on his knees and pulled the baggie free. It came loose with the sensation of pulling a long, fresh scab off your knee. The noise was very loud in the vet hospital, echoing inside the small space under the sink. He put the bag in the butter drawer in the refrigerator, finished the bottle, and went to bed.

DAY THIRTY-TWO

Sturm thought the bear had to weigh at least a thousand pounds. Frank’s guess was closer to nine hundred. The Kodiak was still massive, like a VW bug covered in rolling muscles and sparse fur, but it looked to Frank like he might be getting a little thin. Maybe the lack of hibernation had caught up to his metabolism.

Frank, Sturm, Chuck, and Jack looked down at the bag of pills on the examining table. “I think four of ’em will put that bear right where we need it,” Frank said slowly. “Any more…I’d hate to give it a heart attack. Be a hell of way to end the fight.”

Frank had called Sturm first thing in the morning. Early. Just to let Sturm know that he was working. “I got these pills. Got ’em offa trucker. I took one and it knocked me sideways for at least twenty, twenty-two hours.

Sturm was silent for a moment. “How many are left?”

“Six of the speeders, and five of the unknown ones.” Frank had put ten pills aside earlier, hiding them back up under the sink, just in case.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll see you later. In the meantime, you make sure the rest of them lions are ready to go tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and son, you did the right thing telling me this.” He hung up.

Sturm came alone to the vet hospital an hour later. Chuck and Jack were already there, getting the trailer ready to haul the remaining cats over to the auction yard.

Sturm picked the baggie off the table and shook it, peering at the pills. “You think four’ll do the job.”

Frank shrugged. “It’s a guess. That’s all.”

“What’ll they do to him?”

Frank shrugged again. “Can’t say. They’re definitely a stimulant. I’m hoping they’ll make him stronger. Meaner. For a while, anyway.”

“How are you gonna dose him?” Jack asked.

“Hide the pills in his food.”

“What’s Girdler feed that damn thing?” Sturm asked..

“Whatever sheep parts we got left over at the end of the day. Walnuts. Almonds. Peaches. Oranges. Whatever he can find in the orchards. Fish, too.”

“Fish?”

Frank nodded. “Three, four a day.”

“Oh yeah,” Chuck said, going through the fridge. “He goes up to the lake. He drinks all night, you know, with us. So he goes up there at dawn, goes fishing. Catfish mostly. Sometimes trout. Crappie. Whatever. He keeps the fish on ice while he sleeps.”

Sturm was pissed. “That freeloading sonofabitch. Taking fish outta’ my lake.” He spit. “You said, how many pills, four?”

Frank nodded.

“We’re gonna give him five pills,” he said.

“I’ll crush ’em up now.”

Sturm turned to Jack. “Go find this fuck. Find him and tell him I’d like a word. Sonofabitch thinks he’s going to take advantage of me, he’s got another thing coming.”

* * * * *

This time, the lot was full. The hunters must have called all of their friends; Frank counted over fifty pickups. Sturm opened the auction yard early, just to get the betting underway. Most everybody was inside when Girdler came walking down the highway in the twilight, face streaked with charcoal and holding a burning branch.

Sturm, Jack, and Frank were waiting outside the front doors. Sturm had instructed Frank to keep the back door locked. “Fuck the fire codes,” Sturm said. He wanted only one way in and out of the building.

Girdler got close. He waved the branch at the sky, sending a flock of sparks toward the first glimmers of stars, then tossed the branch onto the gravel. He strode up to front door and Sturm could see tracks of tears cutting through the smears of charcoal.

“It ends tonight,” Girdler said.

“Is that so? You haven’t been up in the hills chewing on peyote or some other hippy shit, have you?” Sturm asked.

“It ends tonight,” Girdler repeated.

“Heard you the first time,” Sturm said.

“So it’ll end. Tonight. Right here. Now.”

Sturm spit. He took his time, cleaning out the snuff. He pulled a new can from his jeans and thumped it with his thumb. “No. We got plans for that bear. He’s gonna fight for a few nights, at least. Gonna kill more than a few cats. Make us all some money.”

Girdler shook his head vigorously, long hair flying. “No. You can’t put him through that…that torture. He dies tonight.”

“I don’t know what kind of shit you got in your ears, but I’m gonna assume you didn’t hear me. That bear in there, that’s no longer your property. Your opinion don’t mean two shits around here.”

“Please, listen to me—”

“I ain’t listening to anything but the sound of the bell that starts the round. You want to, you come in and lay down that cash you just earned. You don’t, then you best hop in your goddamn RV and keep driving. Don’t you dare look in your rearview mirror ‘til you’re out of the state.”

Girdler blinked soot out of his eyes.

Sturm waited. “Your decision. I got business to tend to.” He marched into the auction yard. Jack gave Girdler a moment as well, then followed Sturm. Frank kept his eyes on the ground; he didn’t want to look at Girdler’s face.

Girdler fingered the two bricks of cash, one shoved his right pocket, the other in his left. He looked to the burning branch, but it had gone out, and nothing was left but a thin trickle of smoke. The roar of the crowd as Sturm came into view made the doors reverberate.