Night Kill

by Ann Littlewood

  “So what’s up?” I asked generally. “I’m behind on the news.”

  “You missed a boatload of safety lectures from Wallace and Crandall. I’ve got Reptiles since Rick’s gone,” Denny said around a mouthful of fodder.

  Hap gave him a steely look, as if this were inappropriate subject matter, and took control of the conversation. “We’re short on good news. Kids broke in about a week ago, the day after…” He shied away from Rick’s death again, like a deer smelling wolf scat on the trail. “They, uh, fooled around with the water faucet at the Children’s Zoo.” He settled into the story. “What a mess. They got the wheel off, water everywhere. The drain got clogged with straw, animals wandering around loose.”

  The faucet at the Children’s Zoo was controlled by a metal wheel set on the water pipe a couple feet above the ground. It was almost a tradition for new keepers to turn the wheel the wrong way when they were trying to shut it off. Turned far enough open, the wheel fell off and a spectacular jet of water shot about thirty feet up in the air. Wallace’s scathing remarks at my own initiation by geyser still stung.

  “Diego was really pissed off,” Denny said.

  Diego, the night keeper, was hard to rile, but this would be enough to seriously annoy anyone.

  “They let the petting animals out?” I asked.

  “Yup,” Hap continued. “Opened the gate and propped the faucet wheel against it to keep it open. Goats and ponies wandering all over, trampling shrubs and eating them. The gardeners don’t like herbivores anymore.”

  Linda nodded. “Diego hiked over to the Admin building to the main shutoff valve so he could stop the water and get the wheel back on. Then he had to wade in to clear straw out of the drain. The goats didn’t want to go back and one of them put her head in that garbage can with the top that looks like an alligator, trying to get at the trash, and got stuck and she freaked out. He was still rounding them up when I got there.”

  Normal conversation. I could feel my shoulders relax. “Where was the security guard?”

  Linda rolled her eyes. “We got George that night. Diego was also teed off at George. He didn’t catch anybody and he didn’t help clean up the mess. Just sat there in his cart and watched. He said wading wasn’t in his job description.”

  George was known for his unfailing good cheer and for his dedication to talk radio, which he listened to in the comfort of a little office in the Administration building. He had an electric cart with which he was supposed to patrol the grounds. It was no surprise he hadn’t seen the Children’s Zoo invaders. I wondered if he’d seen Rick the night he died.

  “The kids raised hell with the hoses at Elephants,” Hap said. “They dragged one of them over to the zebras and got mud all over it.”

  That seemed to exhaust the topic. We chewed in silence for a bit.

  “You’re not going back to Felines, are you?” Denny asked.

  “Of course I am,” I said. “How’s the new Asian exhibit coming along?”

  The three did a collective glance that did not include me.

  Linda picked up the thread. “No different from last week, scalped dirt with piles of trees and brush. The rain turned it into a sea of mud, and the bulldozer got stuck the day after the Children’s Zoo break-in. It’s mired halfway up the cab. They have to get another one to pull it out. Serves them right for starting a construction project this time of year.”

  “Crandall was peeing in his pants to spend the bond measure money,” Denny said, getting up to go. “He hasn’t gotten a new exhibit for ten years.”

  Denny was the only person I ever heard refer to the director by anything but “Mr. Crandall” and it always bothered me.

  Denny stood shifting his weight restlessly from one foot to another, scowling at me, his gray eyes cloudy. “Wallace will put you in some other area if you ask him.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because one extreme accident is one too many.” He frowned a little longer before he left.

  I made it through the afternoon, although it felt like running through deep, soft sand with hidden snares. Linda never let me out of her sight.

  In truth, working Felines alone was always dicey. Standard safety procedures, not to mention common sense, called for two people. But Finley Memorial Zoo ran on a scant budget, and I wanted Felines to myself, to work at my own pace without straining to look unruffled. On the way home, I thought, no matter, Wallace doesn’t have enough staff to double up at Felines every day. I’d be alone tomorrow, back to normal.

  The red smear had been gone from the lion exhibit. Linda must have scrubbed it away before I got there.

  I reeled in my wandering mind and focused on the freeway.

  The dogs started yipping when I drove up. Once inside, I stopped to give Winnie the first installment on her evening ration of affection. Range was standing nearby, wagging his tail slowly, looking at the door.

  “Hey, buddy. Come on over.”

  He complied and I fussed with his ears and scratched under his collar, with Winnie shoving her nose into my face. She needn’t have worried. Range nosed my hand, then lay down facing the door, head on his paws. He liked me well enough, but I wasn’t the one he was waiting for.

  Winnie bolted her kibble, but Range ate only half of his and wandered back toward the front door. I rescued his leftovers from Winnie and took a good look at him.

  He didn’t look sick.

  He looked discouraged.

  After a TV dinner, I disciplined myself out of lethargy and took them for a walk. Range cheered up and was diligent about reading the pee-mail and contributing to the correspondence. Back at home, I sat on the rug with Winnie half on my lap and stared into space. It was good to be tired. I’d been right, going back to work was best.

  Range came over after a bit and lay down next to me. My hand on his head found the blue nylon collar I’d bought as a gift for Rick. The matching leash was slung over the back of the sofa. Nylon for him, chain for Winnie, who would chew through nylon in seconds. Range inched over and put his head in my lap, next to Winnie’s.

  It seemed only right to tell him.

  “Rick isn’t coming back, Range. Not ever. It’s me from now on.” And just like that, I was doubled over on my side, crying like I’d never stop.

  When that slowed down, I tried the deep breaths Marcie recommended for crises. A coffee mug full of red wine was more effective. Maybe I was on the same slippery slope as Rick.

  Pain management—what was the trick of it?

  Marcie interrupted my meltdown with a phone call. Articulating my miseries was too much for me, so I kept it short. We set a dinner date. I’d no sooner hung up than Linda called, asking for advice on whether to get a guinea pig or a ferret for an apartment pet. It was completely bogus, but I was calmed down enough to recognize contact calls, the noises monkeys make in thick vegetation that mean only “I’m here and thinking about you.”

  I sat back down with Range. “You poor dope. You picked the wrong guy to love, like I did.” Range didn’t seem to think so. “Why did we get our hearts broken?” Range had no idea. Winnie thought another walk might help.

  Thinking of “whys,” what was Rick doing at the zoo after the party? He’d been with me until midnight. I pictured him drinking hard in a bar to celebrate his conquest, then driving to the zoo. Maybe to check the snake eggs in the incubator, although that seemed unlikely. To meet someone? What did it matter? I stroked dog heads and tried to be done with tears.

  Chapter Four

  The schedule at the Commissary put me on Primates for the entire week, so my second day back started briskly with a shouting match in Wallace’s office.

  He was behind his cheap wood desk, his bulk filling the spavined swivel chair where the police officer had sat. He hadn’t been surprised to see me. He interrupted my sputtering: “No one promised you Felines for the rest of your, uh, career.” He’d started to say “life.” “Keepers get scheduled whe
re they’re needed.”

  “It’s not my fault the accident happened and it’s not right to punish me for it,” I said, failing to keep dismay and indignation out of my voice. “I’ve got the most experience in Felines.” Standing with my feet apart and my hands in fists did not constitute good tactics. I straightened up and edged back a little from his desk.

  Wallace’s mouth moved the way it might if he needed to spit out a bug. “This zoo is too small for every keeper to own an area. I got to be free to move people around, especially since we’re short-staffed.”

  “All the more reason to put me where I can do the job without training. What good would I be at Primates today? I haven’t worked there since my orientation four years ago.” That wasn’t strictly true, but no need to pick nits. “And I researched the protocol to get the clouded leopards together without fighting. You can’t turn that over to someone else in the middle of the process.”

  “Why in hell would you want to work Felines after what happened?” He seemed genuinely baffled.

  “Because I’m still the cat keeper. That hasn’t changed.” Not if I could help it.

  In the end, I stayed at Felines. Wallace said it was temporary and only because he hadn’t replaced Rick yet and was having a tough time staffing all the areas. I figured that as long as I didn’t screw up, he’d return to the old schedule and leave well enough alone. He moved Linda to Children’s Zoo. As I’d guessed, I’d be there alone.

  “Those lions may not act the way they used to,” he said as I reached for the door to leave. “You watch yourself. I don’t need any more trouble at Felines.”

  “You bet,” I replied and got out of there.

  Victory and relief eased the constriction that never quite left my chest. I circled the Feline building, checking on the cats from the visitor side, and spent a few chilly minutes watching Rajah watch a peacock perched on the guardrail on the opposite side of the exhibit from me. Peacocks had been known to blunder into reach now and then, a tiger’s dream come true. Like almost all the zoo’s inhabitants, he was captive-born and predation was a hobby, not a former career.

  I could hear gibbons singing from Primates, a sweet tropical sound in the cold air. A weak sun fought through the overcast and a comforting barnyard smell drifted in from the zebra paddock behind me. Returning to my pre-Rick existence would soon dissipate the choking gray cloud wrapped around me since that terrible morning with the police. It was already working.

  Dr. Dawson stopped next to me. He was tall, lean, and kept his shoulders back. Neat dark hair showed a little gray. I was not alone in respecting him for researching animal health problems thoroughly and for his creativity in preventing them. A white lab coat with syringes poking out of the pockets gave him the aura of a serious scientist. As usual, his air of disciplined professionalism rattled me. He gave Raj a quick once-over and turned to me.

  “Good morning, Iris. Good to see you back. How are you getting along?”

  This looked like one of those sympathetic episodes that I was incapable of managing gracefully. “Not too bad. You?”

  The peacock hopped down from the guardrail to the walkway. Raj shifted his steady gaze to the vet. In his considerable experience, Dr. Dawson was nothing but trouble, most of it starting with a dart in the fanny.

  “Where are you assigned now?”

  “Felines, same as always.”

  An eyebrow twitch might have indicated surprise. “I hope you’re being cautious. Rick’s loss was a shock, a terrible tragedy.”

  Simba and Sugar paced to our right, impatient for me to get inside and start feeding. Spice stood still, golden eyes staring at us, then climbed down the sloping cement to the bottom of the moat.

  I wondered if he knew about the blood alcohol level. He wasn’t a close friend with anyone on the zoo staff except Wallace. “It’s hard to know what to think. I never would have imagined this.”

  “Look, Iris, drop by my office if there’s anything at all…”

  His voice trailed off as Linda, heading out of Felines and toward Children’s Zoo, changed course and joined us.

  Relieved to have the conversation deflected, I took a deep breath and said, “I’m thinking it might be good to wait to put the clouded leopards together for a couple of weeks. Yuri is getting confident, but Losa still hides in her den whenever I come around.”

  The vet chose his words with care. “Yes. Well. Wallace wants to go ahead with the introduction as soon as possible. I saw your report from yesterday and I agree—she still looks timid. I’d rather not rush it. We’ll wait until she’s more settled.”

  I was pleased to hear him agree with my assessment, especially since I usually was as timid as Losa when he was around. We hadn’t worked closely together until this clouded leopard project, and I was still uncomfortable with his formality.

  “We may not succeed,” he mused. “Clouded leopards should be introduced while they’re still cubs, not two and three years old. They may be fine together for a while, then something will go wrong and he’ll attack her. I don’t think I told you—” his nod included Linda—“I finally contacted the veterinarian from the zoo that sent us the male. It sounds as if they did an amateurish job of introducing him to a female there. He tore her up badly. We may regret not going with artificial insemination.”

  “Did she live?” Linda asked.

  “The person I talked to said they were still trying to pair her up, so she must have survived. That incident is the only reason Wallace was able to get the male. Nobody else wants him.”

  “Once a killer, always a killer?” I couldn’t accept that. “We reviewed all the research, and I talked to keepers in other zoos that have tried this. We’re using the best science available. I’m thinking that if we take it slow and careful and keep a close eye on them, the odds will be with us.”

  Dawson had the intensity of a falcon and a falcon’s way of jerking his head up a little when something caught his attention. His chin twitched up now and his eyeglasses glinted in the pale sunlight. “Yes, of course. That’s why I agreed to the plan. Caution is essential.”

  If only I were as confident as I’d tried to sound. After he and Linda left on their separate paths, I thought about how we would all feel if Yuri tore into Losa, which led to thinking about Simba tearing into…I pushed away from the rail and headed inside, trying to focus my mind on dinner with the folks or buying the new work boots I still needed or anything else at all.

  I took a deep breath, then unlocked the service door and let myself inside.

  I walked down the left hall, checking the cats that were inside, then toured the right hall. Everyone looked healthy and impatient for breakfast. In the kitchen, I weighed and laid out ground meat for the big cats, measured the rations for the small cats. It was wonderful to be alone, easing back to the familiar routine. Fog was fading, clarity returning.

  After rolling the meat cart down the hall, I started with Rajah, pulling on the cable that opened the guillotine-style door so he could come inside. I blew my little whistle, announcing that the entrée was available. He padded in, chuffing tiger “hello” noises at me, and rubbed his handsome striped face against the mesh at the front of the den. I stuck my fingers through to scratch the coarse white and gold hair on his face, the closest we could come to rubbing cheeks the way tigers do with their friends. I made tiger “hello” noises back at him and he never corrected my accent.

  After all the big cats were fed and shut inside, I fed the small cats on the other side of the building. Back at the lions, I checked the doors and locks and went outside to the exhibit area. Scooping feces and trash into a yellow plastic bucket with my little yellow-handled shovel, I focused on the mental trivia of everyday life, not looking for blood smears, not looking where Rick might have landed in the moat. I’d shop for rubber boots after work, go over to the mall on the Oregon side of the bridge and see what I could find. Get some new socks, too, synthetic ones that were supposed to stay warm
when wet.

  I was sweating when the lion yard was picked up and not from scooping poop.

  It was time to let the lions back outside, but Sugar decided to let the neighbors know that this was Lion Country. She stood with her head thrust forward, chin close to the ground, her nose jammed into the back corner of the den. She closed her eyes, inhaled, and let go with a coughing roar. The sound bouncing around the concrete was deafening. Spice wandered around grunting the bass line. Simba watched awhile, then joined in half-heartedly.

  When the featured artist paused for breath, I opened the guillotine door. The performers wandered outside.

  I checked the doors and locks again, then filled a bucket with water and a splash of disinfectant and started cleaning their inside holding areas. I scrubbed the floor thoroughly, especially below the steel food chutes. Over the years, the cats’ rough tongues had worn a depression in the concrete where the chutes dumped the meat. After rinsing with the hose and wiping away puddles with a squeegee, I filled the water pans, the thick fire hose turned down to a trickle. The hall smelled of cleaning solutions: strong chemical disinfectant, layered over with icky perfume.

  I checked the holding area to see that Rajah was shut in, then opened the person door and went out into the tiger yard with my pail and shovel. A crow on a fir tree behind the exhibit rattled at me and a scrub jay yammered. The peacock was still loitering on the pathway. It was still early; the zoo wouldn’t open for another hour.

  Raj had taken his dump in the usual place, next to the pool.

  The crow called again, then I heard a small, familiar squeak I couldn’t place. It was vaguely troubling, but I couldn’t think why.

  I was about to turn and look where it had come from when something slammed me from behind and hurled me flat on my face. My cheek stung where it skidded on cement. I had no idea what had happened, but my body seemed to know. I rolled over fast and clutched the bucket, holding it over my belly. Raj had overshot and was a few yards away, coming at me in another smooth leap. Flat on my back, I teetered on the edge of the moat. If I went over, I’d tumble down the slope and land in a stunned heap at the bottom. I rolled away from the edge and scrabbled to hands and feet, desperate to stand tall. Predators equate height with size—low is vulnerable.