The Tank

by Rick Chesler

  She gave this one a second glance, but still didn’t seem too surprised. Just another large alligator in Florida.

  “Big guy this time, huh?” she said with a smile. “We’ll find a good home for him.”

  Kane thanked her and got back into his truck. He stopped at a Tom Thumb station and gassed it up, using cash from the previous night’s take. Still had some leftover after the gas, too. Not too bad, he thought, for a little extra alligator handling past what he had to do anyway. Too bad the backyard wasn’t going to work for that anymore. No real surprise, though. Things got pretty rowdy.

  He checked his phone to see if he had any new messages—he was eager for more work—legitimate or otherwise—but his phone was silent. Good thing I had that match last night, he thought, driving toward home, wishing an alligator would fall asleep on somebody’s golf course.

  When he pulled into the driveway, he was surprised to see the screen van he’d seen on his job yesterday. Matt’s car was also there. He parked and found them sitting in their screened-in porch, already drinking beer.

  They nodded as he walked up. “How’s Felix?” Kane asked. “Don’t see his ride.”

  Matt smiled. “Mr. Tough Guy actually went to work today.”

  Kane nodded. “They did a good job on those stitches.”

  Boyd, one of the guys from the screen place, leaned forward on his chair. “Hey, Lyle, let’s talk riches, not stitches. You got a minute?”

  Kane took a seat. “Sure. Nobody’s got an alligator in their yard at the moment.”

  “Including us,” Matt said, referring to the now-empty pool.

  The screen installer went on. “Remember what we talked about last night?”

  Kane nodded. “Yeah, about building a better tank?”

  “Right. I think between myself and a couple other guys, we could build a serious one that would let us have good matches.”

  At length, Kane said, “The big problem is where to put it. Cops came last night, probably because we had a backyard party two nights running. Same thing will happen pretty much anywhere.”

  “Not if we can move it around.” Boyd looked smug.

  Kane and Matt made eye contact and then Kane asked, “A portable tank?”

  “Bingo. Imagine if it was collapsible and could be loaded into a larger pickup, say like at least an F150. Then you could hold a match at a different place all the time and just let people know a day in advance where it will be.”

  Matt smiled. “Sort of like the old rave scene.”

  Kane added, “It has to hold water, you know. For alligators. How’s something that holds water going to be collapsible like that?”

  The screen man leaned forward on his chair. “A collapsible frame tank. I do some side work at a fish farm, so I’ve worked with them before. They have a steel bar frame with some kind of heavy-duty fabric for the sides—they have different types for different applications. There’s even a see-through plastic that would be awesome. I’m thinking we can modify a couple of the large ones and make something that’ll kick ass. Then have matches wherever it looks like the least hassle.”

  Kane nodded but had nothing further to say, so Matt cracked another beer and added, “We need to start charging anybody who comes into the yard—or wherever the venue is—during a match. Have a gate guy, everything. And the house take at the gate—the four of us who live here—will get a cut. If you build the tank—what are you looking for, a percentage of the take, or a flat fee or what?”

  “Oh, I want in on it. Cut me in on the take. I’ll handle the tank. I’ll get it built, handle the expenses, handle the setup, and teardown at the matches. I already have some of the stuff and I can get the rest. A lot of the work I can do myself, too.”

  Kane and Matt agreed, then Boyd got up. “Time for me to bounce. Got to get to work installing those screens. But tonight, I’ll get started on this little side project.” He extended a hand as though completing a formal business deal, making eye contact with each of the roommates while pumping their hands. “Later.”

  After he’d started his truck’s engine, Matt asked Kane, “You think he’ll deliver?”

  Kane shrugged. “Doubt it. But we can’t have any more matches here so, I hope so.”

  Matt watched their new partner drive away. “Me too. That was pretty fun, you know? Even though Felix got hurt and all, overall it was a lotta fun.”

  NINE

  Over a week passed during which Kane fell back into a normal routine. As much of a routine as a guy on the lam could have, anyway. He still looked over his shoulder a lot, a habit he knew he could not afford to break. But his work kept his nose to the grindstone, and brought in enough cash to be able to blend in to life on the edge of the Everglades.

  The nuisance animal calls picked up and he was kept busy enough not to think about the matches or the tank. He’d even managed to expand his business a bit. He got a call from a country club, not about an alligator, but about a large snake on the grounds. He went there and it turned out to be a ten-foot python lurking in the shrubbery. Kane had learned that pythons were not native to South Florida, but once a few kept as pets escaped—like so many tropical animals—they found they could make a go of it. He removed it without much hassle, and then, to his surprise, the manager actually offered him a contract to be his on-call animal guy. The deal even included a “monthly stipend” just for being on call, although he was expected to respond promptly when he did get a call.

  So when Kane was home from working one evening and the screen installer van rolled into his driveway, it came as a surprise. He’d all but forgotten about the conversation they’d had. Boyd walked up to the porch, smiling broadly. He gave Kane a fist bump. “Where’s the rest of the gang?”

  “Still out working. I just got back. How’s it going?”

  Boyd nodded toward his work van. “Check this out.” He led the way out to the van, where he opened the rear cargo doors.

  The tank itself was a work of genius, in part because of its simplicity, but to Kane, the heap of fabric and metal tubes on the floor of the van didn’t look like much.

  “One guy probably could drag this out and set it up,” Boyd said, “but with two guys, it’s super-easy.”

  Kane helped him pull the assemblage of materials from the van, still skeptical. On closer inspection, he could see that some of the fabric panels were clear, translucent material, while others were opaque black.

  “First, just grab two of these long support struts, here and here, and I’ll do the same on the other side…” Boyd walked Kane through the setup, and within a few minutes, Kane could see the tank taking shape.

  “Wow, so it’s not circular, it’s got sides?”

  Boyd smiled. “Yeah, it’s an octagon. Remind you of anything?”

  “Ultimate Fighting cage matches?”

  The screen installer nodded as he bent down to pick up another metal bar. “Except this octagon holds water. Like I said, they use these for aquaculture and also sometimes for portable water tanks, even hazardous liquid spill containment.” The walls of the tank began to take shape as the side panels were erected. Every other panel was translucent, affording a clear view to the inside of the octagon from most angles.

  “Fantastic how you can see right into it!” Kane acknowledged.

  “Yeah, at first I wanted to have them all be clear like that, but they told me it’s more structurally sound with the opaque ones because those are a little bit stronger. As it is, they said it could be filled to the top with water and hold it with no problem; it’s actually rated for that.”

  When the two of them had finished snapping together the tank, Boyd pointed to the hose. “Shall we fill ‘er up?”

  Kane turned on the water. “Let’s test it out. “ He ran the hose into the pool and the two of them drank beers on the porch while they watched it fill.

  “Have you filled it before?” Kane asked.

  “Nope, first time. But the guys who sold it to me say it’ll be no problem.
I’ve seen square and rectangular ones way bigger than this. Only difference is the clear panels—they said they don’t usually do those.”

  “Did they ask what you wanted it for?”

  Boyd shot him a knowing grin. “Yeah, but I just told them it’s for raising tilapia fish and that I wanted the see-through panels to be able to monitor the fish better. They didn’t have any problem with that.”

  Kane nodded as he sipped from his beer and watched the water level in the tank slowly rise. “Good, because the less people we tell about this, the better.”

  “You talk about the tank, you’ll be in the tank!”

  Kane grinned. “Nice. I like that.” He glanced over at their new toy, watching the sides bulge as more water entered. “Looks like it’s holding up pretty well. I’m sure it’ll work.”

  The screen nodded enthusiastically. “Lots of room in there, right?”

  “Gotta be at least four times the size of our little pool.”

  “Yeah, give the guy some room to run, right?”

  Kane thought for a moment while downing his beer before replying. “Or get bigger animals.”

  Boyd’s eyes lit up. “Bigger animals…or more guys in at a time.”

  Kane had his beverage halfway to his mouth but set it back down on the old table. “Say what?”

  “I was thinking, as a way to make it more interesting. I know you don’t want the animals to get hurt, and I’m down with that, I think that’s a good thing to stick to… But what if we had matches where it was two guys at a time in the tank.” He glanced over at the filling octagon.

  “Two at once riding out the time limit?”

  “Two at once with no time limit—just whoever gets out first loses.”

  “So they can’t work together to hold down the gator?”

  Boyd shook his head. “Like you said, it’s not about going on the offensive with the animal. The humans are on defense only. But if it attacks somebody, obviously…”

  “You have to fight back, at least push it away.”

  “Right. And we can be ready from up top of the tank—we could have a platform with you or me or somebody standing there with one of those gator wrangling poles you have…”

  Kane nodded and cracked open another beer. The discussion went on for well over an hour, the two of them mulling over various rules for the matches while watching the octagon fill.

  By the time Boyd said he had to get back to work to install a screen, Kane had a new question.

  “So where’s the next match? Can’t be here.”

  He looked back at Kane as he got into his van. “I’ll get a place to hold the match. You get an animal.”

  TEN

  Heather Winters took a seat in front of the big desk, the desk that belonged to her boss, the Fish and Wildlife Executive Director. She tried to think of the last time she’d seen him. Probably at that all staff meeting a couple of months ago. She didn’t think she’d ever had a one-on-one meeting with him before. But she knew what this was about.

  Her “Fish & Game Ranger Shootout with Stolen Boat Suspects,” as the Miami Herald had put it, garnered her no small amount of attention. And not all of it good. There were those who said she had used excessive force, or that she was reckless in attempting to pursue the suspects without waiting for backup. So she had a pretty good idea of what this was about. It was the head honcho’s reaction she was unsure about.

  “Ranger Winters, thanks for stopping by.”

  As if I have a choice. But she put on her best smile and said, “Thank you, Director Stevens. Good to see you.” At least she hoped it was. She was about to find out.

  He was a large man, to put it politely, with a walrus mustache and a perpetually red face. His overall image was somewhat comical in a cartoonish, exaggerated way, but Heather knew from experience that his demeanor did not match his overall image. He tented his hands and looked her in the eyes.

  “I’ve been over the Sector 4 arrest.” The rangers’ area of responsibility was divided into numerous sectors in order to facilitate assignments. Sector 4 was where she had apprehended the stolen boat suspects. He paused, as if waiting to see if she would immediately have some defensive thing to say, but she waited for him to go on.

  “Good work, Ranger. Miami-Dade police located security camera footage that shows the suspects you arrested entering the boatyard the night before it was reported as missing.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “That said, Winters, the more prudent thing to do would have been to wait for support.”

  She opened her mouth to explain, but he waved her down. “You don’t need to justify your actions to me. Really, this is more to appease certain outside political elements than it is because you did anything wrong…”

  ‘This is…what is? She knew as soon as she heard those words that something was coming, and probably not something she was going to like.

  “…but I’m going to reassign you to terrestrial duty for the time being.”

  Heather’s mouth dropped open in surprise. For almost her entire career thus far, she’d been a marine officer. “Terrestrial“ referred to land—basically cops who drove the Fish and Wildlife pickup trucks looking for land-based violations like hunters, or inspecting fishing catches at boat ramps when vessels returned to land. She loved being out on the boat.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I do my job out there, I always have.”

  Stevens’ expression changed to something approaching sadness, which concerned Heather even more, because that meant there was nothing he could do about it even if he wanted to. “I know you do, Winters. But right now, we need you on land for a while. It’s not like the marine resources are the only ones worth protecting, after all.” He held up his hands as if to say. How could you possibly disagree with that? And the truth was, she couldn’t. But that didn’t mean she was happy about it. Driving around in a truck all day instead of being out on the water, the wind in her hair…

  Stevens’ desk phone rang and he shot her an apologetic look. “I need to take this. Go see Sanderson about your vehicle assignment; he’ll get you set up.” He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear while Heather said, “Yes, sir,” and got up. When she reached the office door, Stevens said, “Oh, and Winters?”

  She turned around, her hand on the doorknob. “Sir?”

  He cupped his hand over the phone. “Be careful out there.”

  ELEVEN

  Kane slid the muzzled American Alligator into the back of his pick-up truck, next to the other two already there. His golf course connection had called him out today to remove a snake, but once he had done that, he was asked to remove three gators from two different water hazards. As he got into the cab, he lamented the fact that all three were small individuals, four to five feet long. Not Tank material.

  He drove them across town from Miami to the Wildlife Relocation Center in Homestead. As usual, he backed his truck up to the rear employees-only entrance and then buzzed the intercom on the fence. He waved to the security camera on a pole above the fence, and the gate began to roll open. He got back into the truck and continued to reverse into the grounds, as he’d done plenty of times before, until he reached an open patch of dirt in front of a row of semi-open alligator enclosures.

  Alicia walked out of a nearby building and waved to him. Kane was glad to be able to deal with mostly one person at the Center, as the less people he came into contact with, the better. And if he had to deal with only one person, it may as well be her. Still, he had to be careful about relationships. She was becoming friendlier with him, and it was just a matter of time before things got more personal, if not with her, then someone, and he wasn’t sure his cover story could withstand that much scrutiny yet.

  “Hey there, Lyle, whatcha got for me today?”

  Her smile was infectious and he couldn’t help but return it. “Three little alligators. Maybe you need a new purse or some shoes?”

  She gave him a look of mock seriousness and put a finge
r to her lips. “Shhhh. Don’t tell anyone what really goes on here!”

  “Your secret is safe with me.” Kane opened the tailgate on his truck and waved a hand at the three lizards, properly muzzled and bagged.

  “Clean work as always, Lyle. Where’d these guys come from?”

  “Homestead Mini Golf.”

  She shook her head. “Can’t have ‘em scaring the kiddies, now, can we?”

  “Not on my watch. You want a hand moving them or you got staff to help?”

  “If you don’t mind, they just need to go to Pool 3 right over there…” She nodded to the nearest of the semi-open gator enclosures. “We can load them on the cart, though.” She jogged over to a flatbed cart and pulled it next to Kane’s truck. Kane was then able to easily drag the three alligators onto the cart, and then he pulled it over to Pool 3 while Alicia unlocked the pool’s gate.

  “Welcome to your new temporary home, guys.”

  Kane wheeled the cart in through the entrance to the pool, which was a concrete, in-ground affair with sloping sides down to a bottom with a deep end and a shallow sunning area. About two dozen small to medium-sized alligators currently dozed about in and around the pool. Kane had to suppress a chuckle as he wondered how much cash it would take to get Cody to stand in there for five minutes.

  Alicia grabbed one of the gators and Kane followed suit, first slipping the bags off of them and then holding them down while she cut the tape from the snouts. As soon as they were freed, both gators immediately hissed, causing one that was nearby to hiss in return. They freed the last alligator and exited the pool area with the cart, Alicia locking the gate after them. Kane was opening his mouth to thank her and that he would be on his way, when she held up her cellphone which had beeped with an incoming notification of some kind.