by J. S. Volpe
32
A small white cinderblock building off Route 214 in Troy Township just east of Kingwood, Freez-a-Pet was open by appointment only. This was mainly because they didn’t get a lot of business, “they” being owner and manager Nathan Gill and sometimes, when they were feeling helpful, his wife Esther and their teenage daughter Janice. But while business was scarce, it was nevertheless quite profitable, freeze-drying being a long and pricey process.
Despite the name, Freez-a-Pet prided themselves on the fact that they would freeze-dry any kind of animal—pets, livestock, game, anything. They’d handled jobs as small as mice and as big as horses. Last year they prepared a pair of baboons for an exhibit at the Kingwood Natural History Museum, a job that netted enough to finish paying off the Gills’ mortgage. Still, most of their business consisted of cats and dogs that their owners—older women more often than not, though Nathan wasn’t the type to wonder why—refused to relinquish to the cold liquefying darkness, opting instead to pay surprisingly hefty sums to preserve whole and lifelike and stiffly posed in some endearing posture like huge, furry Royal Doulton figurines.
Nathan’s only scheduled client today had said he was bringing in something large and unusual but wouldn’t specify what it was, which Nathan found very intriguing. His guess was that it might be an illegal animal from some rich fellow’s private zoo. Nathan had handled a couple such jobs before, one a tiger, the other a boa constrictor. He didn’t give a hoot if the animal was illegal as long as he got paid. Besides, the animals his clients brought him were dead, and as far as he knew it wasn’t against the law to own a dead tiger.
When the black van pulled into the parking lot at the appointed time, Nathan hurried outside, eager to learn what the mystery animal was.
The van parked with its rear doors next to the entrance, and three people climbed out. Nathan was surprised by how young they were. And how well dressed. Unless they were on the job or at a funeral, most folks these days just slummed it in T-shirts and jeans, but the trio in front of him looked spiffy as hell. The blond fellow was wearing a black suit and tie, for crying out loud. The red-headed girl, who would’ve been a real cutie if she’d weighed about fifteen pounds more and had a pair of tits on her, and the van’s driver, a fellow with glasses and slicked-back black hair, were a little more casually dressed—she in a nice white blouse and tan slacks, he in a gray jacket with patches on the elbows and black corduroy pants—but they still looked good. Too good. It likely meant this wasn’t on the up-and-up after all. But as long as they paid, Nathan was willing to overlook all manner of down-and-down.
“Which one of you’s Mr. Beckerman?” Nathan asked. He was reasonably sure it was the blond fellow, who had a certain air of leaderliness about him even apart from the suit, but Nathan figured he’d be polite and ask.
“That’s me,” the blond fellow said.
After a quick exchange of names and pleasantries, Mr. Beckerman led them to the van’s back doors. He was limping a bit on both legs, his lips tightening in pain every now and again. Recent injuries, it looked like. Nathan wondered if they were somehow connected with the subject of today’s business.
Mr. Beckerman opened the back doors. On the floor inside, a large, still figure lay shrouded by a paint-spattered tarp. Nathan’s nose wrinkled at the odor that wafted out of the van. It kind of reminded him of an old dog-bed that hadn’t been washed in years, except this odor wasn’t from any dog. It wasn’t from anything he was familiar with, and he was familiar with the smells of a wide range of animals. The unfamiliarity didn’t bother him, though. On the contrary, it excited him. It meant a new species to add to the ever-growing list of those he’d handled. If it was something legal, he could even mention it on the website.
Mr. Beckerman put his hand on the tarp, then looked at Nathan. “Are you ready? I should tell you up front this isn’t going to be the sort of thing you’re used to.”
Nathan chuckled. “Buddy, I’ve seen it all. I was a vet for ten years before I started doing this. I’ve seen all kinds of animals in all kinds of conditions. I doubt there’s a thing you could show me that I haven’t seen a hundred times before. Though I warn you, I can’t fix a damaged animal. You need a taxidermist for that. I just freeze ‘em.”
“No, this isn’t damaged at all.”
Nathan waved a hand at the tarp. “Well, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Mr. Beckerman whisked the tarp away.
“Good lord!” Nathan cried, taking two big steps away from the van and its ghastly cargo. “What on God’s green earth is that?”
“It’s a mutant donkey,” Mr. Beckerman said, “a member of a pack of severely inbred wild donkeys living in the Appalachians. We found it while we were doing some research on rural folk art in that area.”
Nathan barely heard him. He couldn’t take his eyes off the…mutant donkey, the kid said? That story stank worse than the odor still spilling from the van. This thing didn’t look anything like a donkey, mutant or otherwise. For that matter, he doubted if it was a mutant at all. In his experience, mutants were sickly, short-lived things. This creature, despite its hideousness, looked like it had been frighteningly healthy when it died. Its coat was shiny. Its body looked robust and well-fed. Its teeth, or whatever you called those weird bony blades in its mouth, were whole and strong, with no sign of decay or damage. Its moon-like eyes seemed to glow with horrible luminance. Its nose…
Its nose was thick and black, just like…
“This looks more like a dog,” Nathan muttered.
“We know it looks a little bit like that,” Mr. Beckerman said. “But I can assure you, it’s just an unusual byproduct of the mutations.”
“Mutations,” Nathan repeated, not even trying to hide his disbelief.
Mr. Beckerman cocked an eyebrow. “Unless you’re suggesting that a dog could have hooves.”
“Uh…”
Nathan looked at the animal again. Yes, those were unquestionably cloven hooves and not, say, syndactylous paws that only resembled hooves.
“Well, no, of course I’m not suggesting that,” he spluttered. “But…”
But what?
He didn’t know.
In the face of his uncertainty his professional instincts came to the fore to guide him.
“Do you know how you want it positioned?” he asked.
“Can you put it in a sort of walking position?”
“Sure.” Nathan glanced at the creature again, then licked his lips. “You know, a, uh…an animal this size, it’ll cost quite a lot to freeze.”
“That’s fine. Money’s not an issue.”
“Ah.” Part of Nathan had been hoping the high price would scare them away. Then again, it wasn’t often he got a job this lucrative, and Janice would be starting college in the fall.
“It’ll take about six months.”
They all looked startled at that piece of information.
“That long?” said the redhead.
Nathan nodded, then took another glance at the thing sprawled in the back of the van. He imagined spending the next six months with that leering face.
“Then again,” he added, “I might be able to get it done a bit quicker than that.”