To Die Fur (A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Mystery)

by Dixie Lyle

  Karst paused. He had our undivided attention, of that there was no doubt.

  “And then I realized what was going on. It wasn’t anything the lion was looking at or even smelling that drew him to this spot; it was what he was hearing.

  “See, the river was gushing through this little channel right there, and something about the acoustics was making this odd sort of noise. It was very regular and fairly loud, a pulsing noise, deeper than what you’d expect. It reminded me of something, but I had to listen to it for a while to figure it out. Any guesses?”

  “A heartbeat?” ZZ ventured.

  Karst smiled and shook his head. “No. I know it sounds unbelievable, but it was a purr.”

  “Ah!” said Abazu, clapping his hands together in glee. “Wonderful!”

  “That seems highly unlikely,” Zhen said. “How would the lion even discover such an effect?”

  Karst turned his smile on her. “But that’s just it, love. How indeed? What could have possibly possessed that lion to set foot upon that island, let alone stick his head between those two rocks, so close to the rushing water? I’ve thought on it many a time, and I still don’t have an answer. Not one that would satisfy most people, anyway—though I do have one that satisfies me.”

  ZZ knew a cue when she heard one. “And what did you come up with, Mr. Karst?”

  “That the why of it didn’t matter. In fact, that it happened at all wasn’t that important. What mattered was that it was possible.”

  [Ah. Well done.]

  Karst looked around the table again. He could see from the looks on our faces that we understood: Zhen looked disheartened, Navarro appreciative, Abazu thoughtful, ZZ impressed.

  “Potential. That’s the single word I was talking about earlier. People talk about animals in zoos like they’re invalids; they have to be taken care of, they have to be protected. But that’s not what they are at all; they’re living creatures. They aren’t meant to be locked up and controlled, they’re meant to live in the wild. That’s what the word wild means, after all: uncontrolled, unplanned. You’re not going to get that in any enclosure, no matter how fancy or refined. You’re only going to get that someplace natural, someplace like the nature reserve I represent. Where else could you can stumble across a river that purrs in your ear the way your mother used to?”

  Karst looked straight at ZZ for a moment, until she nodded. He nodded back, then sat down.

  It was brilliantly done, I had to admit. A little short on facts, but I knew Karst had already forwarded the specs of the reserve to ZZ. It was going to be hard for the others to counter that kind of emotional appeal—

  “Excuse me, but you are incorrect,” said Abazu softly.

  Karst’s smile didn’t diminish in the least. “Oh? You don’t think freedom is important?”

  “I do not think what you are offering is freedom,” Abazu said gently. “Your nature reserve is a business, yes?”

  “Well, yes—”

  “And a business always has needs to be met. Customers to be satisfied. Is this not true?”

  “Those needs are secondary to the welfare of the animals,” said Karst. His smile wasn’t quite as large as it had been a moment ago.

  “Welfare. An interesting choice of words.”

  Now Karst looked confused. “What?”

  “It is an American expression, I believe. A generalization, used to describe those who live in poverty. But there will be none of those people present at your reserve’s hotel, of course. Only the wealthy go on safari.”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but—”

  “Animals are a curiosity to the rich.” Abazu’s tone remained gentle, but there was something beneath it—something that shut Karst up every time Abazu interrupted. An intensity.

  “A distraction from their own emptiness,” Abazu continued. “That is why they pay so much money to see them ‘in the wild,’ as it were. To gaze upon them from the safety of a Range Rover, thrilling to something powerful they can never own.

  “But whether gazed upon by the masses at a zoo, by drunken throngs at a casino, or by the privileged elite at a secluded resort, there is one thing that is always stolen. Their dignity.”

  “That is untrue!” Zhen snapped. “We treat our animals with the highest regard!”

  “But they are still ‘your’ animals,” Abazu said. “You own them. They cannot travel beyond your bars or your fences. They cannot have their privacy. They cannot be allowed to simply live; they must earn their keep, by being constantly paraded before greedy cameras and hungry eyes. None of you can deny this.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” said ZZ. “What do you suggest as an alternative, Mr. Chukwukadibia?”

  “Freedom, Ms. Zoransky. True freedom. To be released into the forest without any preconditions or expectations—this is what I want for Augustus. I will make no profit from this; indeed, my organization will incur quite considerable costs. But that is of no consequence. It is, quite simply, the right thing to do.”

  Karst let out a bark of incredulous laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding, mate. Turn an animal—one that’s been born and raised in captivity, one that doesn’t even have any peers to emulate—loose in the wild, with no way to monitor it? That’s insane!”

  Abazu shook his head. “No. It is natural. Surely you are not suggesting a predator the size of Augustus would be at risk?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting—you think just because he weighs half a ton he’s going to be safe? Tell that to the bloody black rhino—oh, no, wait, you can’t, because it’s almost extinct!”

  Abazu shook his head again, stubbornly. “The black rhino is hunted for its horn. There is no such reason for Augustus to become a target.”

  “Then what about food?” Karst demanded. “A beast that size needs meat, and a whole lot of it. Augustus has never hunted a day in his life. You think an antelope or zebra is just going to trot up and plop itself down on his dinner plate?”

  Abazu had no answer for that—but someone else did.

  “He wouldn’t have to hunt,” Luis Navarro said. Everybody turned to look at him—he had said virtually nothing during dinner or after. “He’d do what apex predators have always done. He’d take someone else’s kill away from them.”

  Navarro had an easy smile on his face. He seemed genuinely amused at the idea. “Lions do it all the time. Just stroll up to a pack of hyenas and say mine. They don’t always get away with it, but often they do. And since this particular liger is twice the size of the average lion, I’m guessing he’d get away with it more often than most. Oh, he might run afoul of something like a really big crocodile, if he wasn’t careful—but still, I’d put my money on the one with four sets of claws plus fangs. I’d pay to see that fight, actually—be a helluva thing, wouldn’t it?”

  “That’s in questionable taste, Mr. Navarro,” said ZZ.

  “My apologies. We all have Augustus’s continued good health uppermost in our minds, of course. And I didn’t mean to interrupt Mr. Chukwukadibia’s presentation, either—this is your presentation, right?”

  Abazu wasn’t smiling anymore. “I have brought a great deal more.” He held up a thumb drive. “Detailed information on the habitat where Augustus would be released. Remote, rich in game, with its own population of lions.”

  “I’m sure it’s very well thought out,” said Navarro. “Please, go ahead.”

  Abazu handed his thumb drive over to ZZ to plug in and began. I wasn’t really listening to him, though, because I finally heard Whiskey and Tango’s voices in my head. They were barely audible, but I could hear them. Mostly.

  [… danger … that was not … injuries…]

  < … kill … never was … serious, you can’t … >

  Whiskey! Tango! What the hell is going on?

  It was no good—they were still too far away. I wondered if I could excuse myself and bolt for the door. No, wait—they were slowly getting louder.

  [I still say it was irr
esponsible—]

 

  I tried again. Tango? Where were you? What happened?

 

  Her? Who was it?

  [“It” was another cat.]

  Another cat? Was she carrying a bazooka? Why would you care about another cat?

 

  Her reaction confused me; she sounded defensive, nervous, and a little guilty. Take it easy. I just wanted to know why you left your post.

 

  Oh, boy.

 

  I really hoped no one at the table was looking at me right then, because I was sure the expression on my face would have convinced them I was having a stroke.

  Um. Excuse me?

  [Oh, good Lord. She’s in heat.]

 

  [I can smell your ovaries from here. No wonder you took off so quickly.]

  Uh, guys? This is not a conversation I want to have at the dinner table. Or, like, ever.

 

  Ever have a telepathic cat yowl inside your skull? It’s not an experience I can honestly recommend, unless maybe you’re addicted to the tender, soothing pulse of a killer migraine. I tried not to wince, failed, and hoped nobody noticed.

  He didn’t say anything about you, Tango, because I don’t speak Liger and therefore wouldn’t understand a word anyway and holy cow, please don’t ever yell like that inside my head again.

 

  No.

 

  [How about a translator who isn’t drowning in her own hormones?]

 

  Guys. Please. Can we get back on track here?

  [My apologies. Proceed.]

 

  I hope you can control yourself, Tango, because I’m going to need to talk to Augustus. Just to get a general feeling for how he’s doing, see if he has any concerns about his situation or needs that aren’t getting met. That’s all.

 

  It took all my self-control not to do a facepalm.

  My cat had fallen in love with a liger.

  [I think,] said Whiskey, [that our cat has fallen in love with a liger.]

  Thank you, Captain Obvious.

 

  We’ll talk about this later, I told Tango. A lot.

  Abazu was wrapping up his presentation. ZZ thanked him, then said, “Mr. Navarro? Are you ready now?”

  Navarro nodded, then pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “Well. This has been fascinating evening.” He took a step away from the table and put his hands behind his back. “A lot to digest—including an excellent dinner, I have to say. Kudos to your chef. But there’s been so much, I’m a little bit overwhelmed. Maybe we should do a brief review, just to keep the details fresh in everybody’s mind.”

  He strolled up one side of the table, stopping behind Rajiv’s chair. “First, we have a casino. Plush surroundings, lots of pampering, all kinds of assurances he won’t be overworked. Personally, I’m always a little suspicious when someone goes out of their way to tell me all the bad things they won’t do, aren’t you?”

  “That is an unfair accusation—” Rajiv sputtered. He tried to twist around in his chair to confront Navarro, but the man had already moved on.

  He stopped behind Zhen. “Then we have the earnest-but-slightly-klutzy zookeeper. I found her endearing, didn’t you? But she doesn’t exactly radiate competence, and that speaks volumes about her employers, too.”

  The look on Zhen’s face could have set paper on fire. She didn’t turn to look at Navarro.

  “Then there’s Mr. Karst. Made the best case so far by not really making a case at all. You don’t sell the car, you sell the idea of the car, right, Mr. Karst?”

  Karst glared at him from across the table. “It’s easy to criticize, Mr. Navarro. Haven’t heard you offer anything better.”

  “Then you should keep listening, Mr. Karst.” He turned and walked back to his chair at the end of the table, though he didn’t sit down. “And then there’s Mr. Chukwukadibia—a true believer, I can tell. Keep an eye on this one, ZZ; a fanatic doesn’t let little things like someone else’s wishes stand in their way.”

  Abazu said nothing. The smile, however, had returned to his face.

  “Are you quite finished?” ZZ said coldly. “Despite your sarcasm, all these people have put a lot of hard work into their plans. Will yours show the same dedication?”

  Navarro chuckled. “I’ll let you decide that. Now, while I wouldn’t dare challenge Mr. Karst’s skill as a raconteur, I have my own little story to tell. You’ll indulge me, I hope?”

  “Get on with it, Mr. Navarro.”

  “Thank you. The story I’m going to tell you might not seem immediately relevant, but stick with me; you won’t be disappointed.

  “There’s this man. Let’s call him Mister M. Mister M. is a collector of certain artifacts, and he has what’s known as collector’s mania. Once he begins to collect something, it becomes something of an obsession. When he gets close to completing a particular collection, the remaining objects aren’t just things to him; they’re accomplishments. Benchmarks, milestones. It’s not so much that he has to have them as not having them feels like some sort of failure. And Mr. M. is not someone who deals well with failure—not in himself, and not in those he employs.

  “So it comes to pass that Mr. M.’s current obsession was—”

  “Large hybrid felines?” sneered Rajiv.

  Navarro smiled at him, not at all annoyed. “No, Mr. Gunturu. Rugs. Not animal-skin rugs, either—Persian rugs, by a particular long-dead weaver known for his skill and the intricacy of his patterns. Mr. M. had acquired virtually every such rug known, and was closing in on the last few. And then he made a very unfortunate discovery.

  “Mr. M. was a successful businessman in a very competitive field. He had many employees, and they all worked very hard for him. He demanded loyalty, rewarded excellence, and got both. But one of his top men, as it turned out, also had an eye for rugs. He didn’t own as many as Mr. M., but he did possess one of the finest rugs Mr. M.’s favorite weaver had ever created.

  “This created something of a dilemma for Mr. M. He wanted that rug, but he couldn’t just out-and-out say so. It would cause problems.

  “See, Mr. M. had a very specific relationship with his employees. He required their respect, but the nature of his business meant that respect only came if he behaved in a certain way. Asking a favor of a subordinate would imply an imbalance of power, and Mr. M. couldn’t have that. He could have just demanded the rug, but that would cause resentment. Resentment breeds disloyalty, and he couldn’t have that.

  “So. It was a problem.

  “But Mr. M. was also an opportunist. And it so happened tha
t an opportunity presented itself not too long after that, when the employee’s daughter was kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?” Oscar said skeptically.

  “Yes. Now, loyalty cuts both ways, and Mr. M. knew this. He swore he would do whatever it took to get the man’s daughter back. He brought to bear his considerable resources on finding the kidnappers, and when that proved unsuccessful he paid the ransom in full. The daughter was returned, unhurt, and a few days later Mr. M. went to the employee’s house in person.

  “The employee, of course, was immensely grateful. He couldn’t stop thanking Mr. M. He thanked him, he thanked Mr. M.’s bodyguards, he thanked the whole organization that had gone to bat for him in his hour of need.

  “‘I’ll pay you back,’ the employee said. ‘Every penny. With interest.’

  “‘It’s nothing,’ Mr. M. told him. ‘These things happen.’

  “‘Let me show my gratitude,’ the employee said. ‘A gift. I have something I know you’d appreciate—’

  “‘That’s not necessary,’ Mr. M. said. ‘These men that did this—I will find them, and they will pay the price. Not for revenge. For necessity. You understand?’

  “The employee said he did.

  “‘Having one of your own family taken makes you look weak,’ Mr. M. said. ‘When you look weak, I look weak. I cannot have that. You understand?’

  “The employee said he did.

  “And then—in the employee’s own study—Mr. M. told his men to do what needed to be done. They did it quickly, and they made very little noise. They were professionals, after all.”

  Navarro paused. No one had anything to say.

  “Afterward, they asked Mr. M. what they should do about … well, what was left. Leave it there? Or take it with?

  “‘No need to upset his family,’ Mr. M. said. He looked down at his feet, and shrugged. ‘Roll it up in this rug and we’ll stick it in the trunk.’”