Paw of the Jungle

by Diane Kelly

  His burner phone buzzed in his left pocket. He cursed and closed his eyes, willing it to be a wrong number. He should’ve gotten rid of the stupid phone so he wouldn’t be tempted to answer. When Harper had heard that a monkey was missing from the zoo, she’d burst into tears. “Do you think he’s okay, Daddy? Do you think whoever took him is being nice to him?”

  The Poacher had tried to be as nice to the monkey as possible after he’d offered him the sedative-laced fruit. He’d slid the sleepy creature into the outward-facing baby carrier he’d found in the boys’ closet. It would prevent the monkey from escaping and make it easier for him to sneak it out of the zoo. He’d worn black nylon running pants and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. For camouflage, he’d cut holes for his head and arms out of a black garbage bag and worn it like a poncho. Genius. It wasn’t his idea, of course. He’d heard in prison that an inmate had once escaped when he’d disguised himself as trash.

  When the Poacher had seen the beam of the zoo security guard’s flashlight coming up the path, he’d curled up behind a garbage can. The guy had walked right past him, none the wiser. The Poacher had scaled the outer wall, dropped to the dry grass at the edge of the road, and rolled until he reached the row of bushes that led to the adjoining neighborhood.

  The phone buzzed again. I should let it go.

  But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was nearly out of money again. Who knew it cost so much to raise a family? Still, unless the offer was upped, he wouldn’t do it. It was too risky. He didn’t want to end up back in prison.

  He accepted the call, listened to the man on the other end, and asked, “How much?” When he heard how much, he knew he couldn’t say no. He also knew he’d need help this time. Help and a trailer.

  TWENTY-SIX

  MIDNIGHTMARE

  Megan

  It was near closing time on New Year’s Eve and the Shoppes at Chisholm Trail looked like a ghost town. Unwanted or ill-fitting Christmas gifts had already been returned, and shoppers looking for after-Christmas markdowns had already snatched up all the clearance merchandise they wanted. The carolers were gone, too, of course. Shame. They’d been a big hit with the customers.

  The nail salon had been offering a New Year’s special, glittery gold polish with a teeny glass of champagne painted on your thumb. Cute. But it was too late now. The nail technician with the strawberry-blond hair turned off the lights in the salon, stepped outside, and headed off down the walkway.

  Brigit and I weren’t far behind. Given that tonight marked citywide partying and general debauchery, we’d better get back out on the streets. It was sure to be a rough night. The only good news was that Mother Nature had apparently been given orders by Father Time to take it easy on us this New Year’s Eve. The outdoor temperature was mild, the winds light, the skies clear.

  Over the next three hours, I issued two speeding tickets, arrested one drunk driver, and issued a teenager a citation for illegal fireworks. He’d been shooting off a Roman candle in his driveway, his friends gathered around to watch. The sound and the repeated explosions in the sky over his house had made him easy to find. I’d caught him red-handed. Literally. The last Roman candle he’d shot off had burned his fingers. That’s why the warning label says not to hold the thing, you nitwit.

  The kid was just as burned about the ticket I issued to him. “I didn’t know fireworks were illegal! How can they sell them if they’re against the law?”

  Here we go again. I explained the difference between the county and city regulations and jurisdiction, providing an impromptu civics lesson. Seeing my flashing lights at the curb, his parents came outside and tried to convince me to let the matter slide.

  “They’re only having a little fun,” the boy’s mother said, her words slurred, her breath as flammable as the fireworks.

  The dad piled on, giving me an unwelcome nudge and wink. “Surely you can just give a warning for a little violation like this.”

  Not gonna happen. Not with me dating a firefighter who’d be putting his life on the line to extinguish any conflagrations caused by the illegal firecrackers. My roommate, too. Why should they pay the price for someone else’s careless and flagrant disregard of the law and warning labels? Besides, this guy had only offered me a weak attempt at charm. At least Vaughn and his cohort had had the decency to offer me hundreds of dollars to turn a blind eye to their criminal activity. Not that I’d take it from either of them, but at least there was some semblance of a quid pro quo.

  “Sorry, folks,” I told them as I picked up the used fireworks and dropped them into an evidence bag. “This is a serious offense.”

  Having not gotten his way, the boy’s father eyed the name badge on my chest and issued what he thought was a threat. “I’ll be contacting your superiors, Officer Luz.”

  “Feel free,” I replied with a smile. “They’ll be happy to hear I’m doing my job.”

  First the donkey bites Seth, then this jerk chews me out. Two jackasses in one week. What were the odds?

  With that I returned to my cruiser and set back out on patrol. I cruised by the zoo every twenty minutes or so, slowly circumnavigating the parking lot with my flashing lights on. If I couldn’t figure out who’d taken Fabiana, Fernando, and Sarki, maybe I could at least deter them from attempting to steal another animal.

  Random bursts of colored lights continued through the evening, accompanied by ka-bangs, pop-pop-pops, and the elongated wheeeeee of those whistling fireworks as they fell to earth. While patrolling the Ryan Place neighborhood, I came upon a small grass fire at the edge of a yard. Several people were gathered about, each of them with a bottle or cup in their hand. The homeowner had a garden hose aimed at the fire. When he noticed my cruiser approaching, he turned the stream of water on the conical firework that had started the mess and washed it down the storm drain, getting rid of the evidence.

  He tossed the hose aside as I pulled to the curb and unrolled my window. I wagged a finger at him. “Don’t think I didn’t see what you did there. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

  The group laughed and yukked it up as I drove away. This is such a thankless job sometimes.

  As the night wore on the temperature plummeted and a light fog drifted in, the mist dressing the streetlights in halos and making the roads slick. The fog decreased visibility on the roads, too, on what was already a dangerous night. Mother Nature was toying with us.

  At twenty to midnight, my cell phone chirped from the cup holder. The readout told me it was Frankie calling. Like me, she and Seth were both on duty tonight while the rest of the city was having fun.

  I pulled to a stop down a side street and tapped the icon on the screen to take the call. “Hey, Frankenstein.” What were roommates for if not to bum hair spray from and razz a little?

  Her tone was tense. “Any chance you can come to the station?”

  “Something wrong?”

  “It’s Seth. He was catching some sleep in the bunkroom and woke up screaming. I think he had a flashback. He acted like he’d shrugged it off, but he’s been sitting alone outside for half an hour now.”

  “I’ll be right there.” I ended the call without saying good-bye, dropped my phone back in the cup holder, and hooked a U-turn to head to the station. I turned on my flashing lights. When someone I loved was hurting, it was an emergency.

  As I pulled into the parking lot, I spotted Seth’s silhouette sitting atop the picnic table on the side of the station. Blast sat next to him, the dog’s eyes reflecting my headlights as he cast a look our way. I parked, rounded up Brigit, and walked down the side of the building.

  Seth turned to look over his shoulder and sighed. “Frankie called you, didn’t she?”

  “Yes. She was worried about you.”

  He grunted. “They’re making a big deal over nothing.”

  I circled around in front of him and looked him in the eye. “If it’s nothing, why are you out here alone in the dark?”

  He sat up straighter and looked around, almost
as if he hadn’t realized where he was. Another pop-pop-pop sounded in the distance, and Seth’s jaw flexed. “Those things should be outlawed.”

  I wholeheartedly agreed. There were plenty of other ways to celebrate holidays without risking fire or the loss of life and limb. One could whack a parrot-shaped piñata, for instance.

  I eyed him intently. “You had a bad dream, right?” No doubt the fireworks had activated his subconscious to cough up the nightmare. “You want to talk about it?”

  He eyed me back for a long moment before saying, “No. People say talking about these things is supposed to make it better, but that doesn’t work for me.”

  Though I hadn’t faced the horrors of war, my job provided me a thorough and repeated immersion into the seedy underworld of life, the depths of human depravity. I didn’t like to talk about the things I’d seen on my job, either.

  “What would help?” I asked.

  He reached out to pull me toward him. “Maybe a little of this…” He nuzzled my neck. “Or a little of this…” He nibbled at my ear. “Or a big bunch of this.” He put his lips to mine.

  I was so lost in the kiss I didn’t hear footsteps approaching on the grass. Evidently Seth didn’t, either. Suddenly, a voice broke the darkness.

  “Oh!” It was Alex, standing a few feet away. She bit her bottom lip. “Officer Megan. Hi. I didn’t mean to…”

  Catch me and Seth kissing? She didn’t say it, didn’t seem to want to acknowledge what she had seen.

  She raised her shoulders to her ears and offered a coy cringe. “I only came to see if Seth was okay. I’ll go now.” She swept her hand in an arc, waving awkwardly before turning around and scooting off.

  I turned to Seth. “You know she’s got a crush on you, right?”

  “Alex?” He snorted softly. “I don’t think so. She’s just a sweet kid.”

  Frankie and the rest of the firefighters and paramedics streamed into the parking lot in front of the station, twirling noisemakers and blowing fringed horns. Someone carried a boom box tuned to a local radio station playing party music. Alex was among them, seemingly swept up in their current.

  Frankie stepped to the edge of the lot and waved me and Seth over. “Come on, y’all! It’s almost time for the countdown!”

  Seth slid down from the table. We gathered our dogs and hurried over to join the others. I scurried over to my cruiser and turned on my flashing lights. They might not be actual party lights, but we’d pretend they were for the moment.

  We danced in the parking lot until the countdown on the local radio began. “Ten! Nine! Eight!”

  All of us counted along with them. Next to me, Brigit wagged her tail.

  “Seven! Six! Five! Four!”

  Brigit woofed, as if counting down, too. Woof-woof-woof! Not to be left out, Blast raised his snout and sent up a howl. Aroooo!

  “Three! Two! One!”

  The sky erupted in light and color and bang-pop-wheees! Unlike the sounds that had invaded his sleep, Seth was prepared for these noises and even smiled softly as he looked up at the sky.

  I tossed my partner a liver treat and cried, “Happy New Year!”, before turning to Seth for the traditional midnight kiss.

  When we finally pulled away from each other, we looked down to see Blast and Brigit licking each other’s mouths. They were welcoming the new year with a kiss, too.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  THINGS THAT GO BANG IN THE NIGHT

  Brigit

  Brigit had spent a lot of time on firing ranges, and was trained to remain calm during gunfire. Still, the sounds tonight were different. The bangs and pops she didn’t mind so much. But what was that weird weeeee? It sounded like something was falling from the sky.

  Blast, who’d been trained in explosives, was familiar with the high-pitched squeal. He licked at Brigit’s mouth, letting her know everything was all right. She licked him back to thank him for being there for her. Brigit put on the tough alpha dog act most of the time. But, whether they liked to admit it or not, everyone needed someone else sometimes.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  SPRUNG

  The Poacher

  He’d tried to track down some of the other guys he’d known from prison. Unfortunately, not many of them had landlines in their names and few of them spent much time on social media. He’d finally touched base with one of the guys from his job-training class in prison. He’d sent the guy a message through Facebook and asked for his phone number. When the Poacher had called on his burner phone and asked if the guy might be up for helping him on a job that might not exactly be legit, the guy had been a total dick.

  “I don’t know what you’ve got in mind,” he said, “but don’t you be trying to drag me down with you. I’m getting my shit together. Got a good job, making some money. I don’t need to go looking for trouble. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t go looking for it, either.” With that, the guy had hung up on him.

  But the Poacher had other options. Since his release, he’d been taking classes with fellow ex-cons in the evenings, trying to broaden his skills. Some of them went out for beers afterward. He knew where one of the guys worked, at a fast-food chicken place, working the fryer. He’d swung by and spoken to the guy when he’d got off his shift. That conversation had gone much better. Hell, he’d even lowballed the guy, offering him only a couple hundred dollars for his help, expecting to haggle before settling on a price. But the guy had agreed right off the bat.

  Now, the two of them were busy doing the job. Ironically, the additional security lights that had been installed at the zoo only served to better hide the Poacher’s activity, and the pops and bangs of the fireworks should mask any noise they might make.

  He was nearly into the enclosure when his phone silently vibrated, sending his heart into his throat. The text on his dimmed screen read only G, the agreed-upon shorthand to indicate a guard was coming. He turned off his tool and slipped behind an evergreen bush. He held his breath as the security officer approached. His pulse pounded in his ears as the beam of the man’s flashlight played around the edges of the walkway and over the surrounding fences, walls, and foliage. Should I run for it?

  Before he could make up his mind, the guard was on him, no more than four or five feet away. The man stopped and ran his light over the bush, bisecting the Poacher’s belly. If it had been a light saber, it would have cut him in two. Does he see me hiding back here?

  His question was answered when the guard moved on. No, the guard hadn’t spotted him.

  The ghillie suits had been a good idea. He’d thought it up when he’d been playing hide-and-seek with his boys. The youngest had quickly found his brother lying curled up under the Christmas tree. But when the Poacher had pulled the garland off the mantel and wrapped himself in it, the boys hadn’t been able to find him behind the tree only a few minutes later. Military snipers wore the ghillie suits to disguise themselves when hunting a target. The fake foliage on the suit made them blend right in with their surroundings. The Poacher had blended right in, too.

  The guard walked a few more feet before abruptly stopping and sniffing the air. He turned his head toward the fence where the Poacher had been working.

  NO! The Poacher nearly wet himself. He should run like hell, try to get out of there as fast as he could. But while his mind knew what he should do, his body refused to cooperate. He was frozen to the spot. Turned out to be a good thing his flight instinct hadn’t been activated. After another second or two, the guard continued on.

  The Poacher inhaled so deep he became light-headed for a moment. A minute later, he received a text of C for “Clear.” He eased himself out of the bush and returned to his work.

  In mere minutes, they were in and out. Once the animal had been loaded into the trailer, he turned to the other guy and held out two hundred dollars in twenties. “There you go.”

  The guy took the money, counted it, and folded it in half, sliding it into his back pocket. He held out his closed hand for a fist bump. �
��Nice doing business with you.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  OFF TO A BAD START

  Megan

  Working New Year’s Eve had been no fun, but at least I was free on New Year’s Day. My mother, Gabby, and I decided to have a girls’ day and, naturally, a girls’ day involved shopping at the mall. Gabby had babysitting money burning a hole in her pocket.

  We arrived shortly after noon. The mall had wasted no time pulling down the Christmas and New Year’s decorations, and replacing them with hearts and cupids for Valentine’s Day next month. We meandered through clothing stores, but nothing caught our eye. The bookstore was another matter. I bought a couple of mysteries, while Gabby picked up a young adult novel. The young couple depicted on the cover stood back-to-back with their arms crossed over their chests, their body language a sure signal the book would serve up plenty of teen angst. Mom perused the Valentines-themed romance selections that had been placed on a special table up front, choosing one set in Victorian England. Her choice didn’t surprise me. When she’d returned to college recently, she’d discovered a latent interest in history.

  As we passed the nail salon, Gabby grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the door. “Let’s get our nails done!”

  Mom agreed. “I’m game.”

  Before I knew what was happening, I was sitting at a table in front of the platinum-blond nail tech. Mom sat at the next table, her nails being tended to by the strawberry blonde. Atop each of the three tables was a tiered display of polish in all colors of the rainbow, as well as a velvet-covered hand-shaped ring stand. I recalled the woman at the country club mentioning that her manicurist had a ring stand like these. I also recalled her saying there was no chance she’d left her rings at her nail salon because her technician had explicitly reminded her not to forget them.