by Rick Chesler
The three of them carried the cage over to the stairs at the foot of the tank. Two other men helped them at that point to lug it up the stairs, the panther letting loose a low growl as they went. Murmurs of excitement travelled through the crowd, most wondering what was in the cage. “I heard it’s a big cat…”
“Mountain lion?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve been hearing about this tank, and I had to check it out.”
Parker Combs stood quietly off to the side, observing the cage as it’s lifted to the platform.
On the platform, they got the cage levelled off and then everyone but Kane climbed back down. He swung open the cage door and then quickly stepped behind it. The only exit the big cat had was to jump from the cage into the octagon. It stayed crouched in the cage for a minute, extra cautious about its unfamiliar surroundings. But then it crawled forward in the cage, in a measured, stalking motion until it could stick its head out. It looked down first, into the tank, then left and right, and finally, up.
The crowd quieted while the panther gauged the jump it needed to make. As another car approached, headlights stabbing the darkness, the animal jumped effortlessly to the octagon floor, landing into a semi-crouch on four legs.
“I think it might be able to jump out,” Kane said as he descended the ladder outside the tank.
“We’ll see,” Boyd said. The new vehicle drove up and four more people joined the event, quickly gravitating toward the tank, where they peered in at the wild feline through the tank’s clear panels. The panther started into motion and a collective gasp went up from those watching. Then it executed a little jump before walking to the center of the octagon and resting on its haunches while looking up.
Kane looked away from the tank and made eye contact with Parker, standing off to his left, who walked over to him. “I’m in it to win it. How much time?”
“You tell me. How long do you think you can go? Five minutes?”
Parker looked in on the panther, which now walked slowly around the middle of its enclosure.
“Five minutes, sure.”
Kane gave him a hard stare. “That cat is fast, Parker.”
“That’s why I want this with me.” He flipped up a walking stick Kane hadn’t noticed in the evening light. The octagon itself was well lit by vehicle headlights and a couple of clip-on work lights fastened to the top edges, but outside of it was mostly dark.
Kane shook his head. “You know the rules. No weapons. It’s man versus beast, pure and simple.”
Parker shrugged. “Then pure and simple, I’m not going to do it. You just said yourself how fast it is.” He looked back over to the octagon, where the panther now trotted in a circle along the perimeter.
“Suit yourself.” Kane walked away and found Boyd, who was talking to a cluster of three men and a woman, all of whom watched the panther.
“Parker says he doesn’t want to do it,” Kane told him. “You know someone else who wants to go in?”
“In the octagon?” one of the guys who had been talking to Boyd asked.
Kane nodded. “Don’t do it if you’re drunk.” He nodded to the open can of Budweiser in the man’s hand.
“This is only my second one, I can handle it.”
“I’m not your mom. I’m just saying, if you don’t want to kill yourself or lose an eye or whatever, don’t be drunk when you go in. Five minutes in the octagon with a Florida panther—you’re sure?” Kane asked.
The guy crumpled his can and dropped it on the ground. “I’m sure.”
Boyd stepped up closer. “Lyle, this Brandon Harrison.”
“What’s up?” Brandon said.
“What’s up is you going into that octagon with a Florida panther for five minutes. You last the whole five, you get the cash pot, minus the house take, of course.”
“You don’t make it the whole five, and you get nothing,” Boyd clarified.
Brandon nodded. “Let’s do it.”
#
The panther froze as soon as Brandon’s feet hit the octagon mat. It arched its back, front legs extended while the hind legs were bunched into a ball of potential energy, ready to pounce. It opened its mouth into a soundless roar, facing the newcomer.
Kane and Boyd watched the proceedings from atop the tank platform, while everyone else pressed up against the clear side panels to watch the match at eye level. If Brandon was hoping to keep his distance from the big cat and ride out the time, it quickly became apparent that he would have to come up with a new strategy, for the feline lunged at him even though he stood in place where he dropped in.
Brandon shouted as he feinted left and went right, but the panther hooked him anyway with its beefy left paw, spinning the human around. Brandon stumbled and almost kept his balance, but his right foot came into contact with his left and down he went, face slamming onto the mat.
The panther pounced on him, sinking its teeth into the nearest available flesh, which happened to be the man’s right calf. Brandon’s scream silenced the crowd. He pounded his fist into the mat.
“That’s it, he tapped out,” Boyd said.
“Let’s go get him.” Kane saw the hesitation in Boyd’s eyes. “We need two more guys. Come on!”
Kane jumped into the pit followed by Boyd, who gained some courage when he saw two more men climbing the steps. The panther let go of Brandon’s leg when he felt the floor vibrate with Kane’s landing. It lifted its head and growled, a throaty, menacing vocalization.
“Brandon, can you get up?”
The man winced as he replied. “Lemme try.”
He rolled over onto his belly, the cat watching him while also gauging the four new arrivals. Brandon put his weight on his good leg first, then tested the wounded one. It could bear no weight, but he was able to limp toward Kane, who quickly grabbed him and put an arm around his shoulder.
Boyd and the other two men advanced in a line toward the panther, which held its ground but did not move toward Kane and Brandon.
“Let’s go, buddy, up and out of here.” Kane guided him to the ladder and gave him a boost up a couple of steps. From there, waiting hands were able to grab him and pull him up. As he was lifted over the lip of the tank, Kane felt the warm liquid of Brandon’s blood drip onto his face.
He looked back to make sure Boyd and the others were doing all right, only to see them staring wide-eyed back at him.
“You’re okay,” Kane called back to them. “Panther must think you smell pretty bad, he’s going the other way.” This got a few chuckles, exactly what Kane was hoping for. Lighten the mood a little. He didn’t know how bad yet, but Brandon had to be severely injured. Kane scaled the ladder and found two of Brandon’s friends already up there assisting the wounded gladiator down.
“Left calf is torn mostly off, dude. Gotta get him to a hospital.”
“Gimme a shot! I need a drink of something.” Another guy handed him a flask of Jack Daniels and the injured man took a hefty swig before passing it back. “I’m ready.”
“I’ll take him, let’s go.”
“Hold up, wait up.” Kane walked up to them.
“What’s up?”
“Let me take a look at that leg.” Kane bent his knees in order to get a good look while Brandon was being held up by his two friends. Kane squinted as he examined the wound.
“Who’s got a water bottle? Clean water, anyone?”
“C’mon man, he needs to get to—”
“Just let me see it.” A lady Kane recognized as working as a receptionist in a local auto repair shop handed him a nearly full sports bottle. He poured it onto Brandon’s calf, just above the wound. “Let’s get a real look here…”
A few people sucked in their breath as the deep gash became apparent. Cleansed of all the blood it wasn’t as scary, but at the same time, it made it all the more apparent that it was indeed a serious wound.
“I think we can take care of this right here.”
“What?” Brandon said, the single word a little slur
red.
“It’s not that bad. I’ve got a first aid kit in my truck. Probably other people here do, too. I’m sure we can stitch you up right here, pal, and you’ll be as good as new. Because you know what happens if you go to the hospital?”
“Yeah, they’ll get an actual doctor to stitch my shit up!”
Laughter made its way around the group of those closest to Brandon, which was large since they all wanted to see how badly he was hurt.
Kane stepped closer to Brandon. “Yeah, yeah they will. But you know what else they’ll do, Brandon? They’ll ask what happened to you.”
Kane was surprised to hear Boyd jump in. “If you tell them how you got bit, they’ll send cops over, man.”
Brandon’s eyes clouded over and his head slumped a little with the effort of concentrating. “I’ll say it was a dog. A pit bull. Yeah…my neighbor has one, that’ll work!”
Kane looked at Boyd, who shook his head. Both of them went to Brandon. “Let us disinfect it and stitch it up. We’ll pay you cash. In a couple of days, if it looks like it’s not healing well, then you can go to the hospital.”
Brandon looked down at his open leg and took another swig from the bottle. “How much we talkin’?”
Boyd looked to Kane, who turned to the crowd gathered around the injured man. “Are we done here for tonight or does anyone think they can go a round with the panther?”
This was met with an initial bout of silence. One guy said, “Not me, man.” But then Parker Combs moved out from a knot of people with whom he’d been talking.
“I’ll go in for ten minutes if I can have this.” He held up his walking stick, a simple wooden pole, unadorned but for a stylized carving of an eagle’s head out of the knobby handle.
Kane opened his mouth to say “no weapons,” but Boyd put a hand on his shoulder. “Lyle, we need another wager going if we’re going to have a profit tonight after we pay off Brandon.”
Kane nodded slowly, thinking it through. He looked back over at the panther, which now sat on its haunches in the center of the octagon. Weapons… Of course, at a certain point, it became unfair for the animal. But the time to stay in could be increased… He glanced over at Parker, now balancing his walking stick in the palm of his hand like a circus performer. It was only a stick, after all. Kane nodded at Boyd and then turned to the crowd.
“Hey! Parker wants ten minutes in the tank with his little stick. You guys want to see that?”
An affirmative roar rippled through the small crowd as a hat was passed around.
“First things first,” Kane said to Boyd. “We gotta stitch Brandon up.”
#
The procedure took place inside a van with overhead lights and room to lay Brandon out with three people, including Kane, working on him. Brandon took another shot of whiskey and two of his friends talked to him to take his mind off the pain of the rubbing alcohol Kane poured into the open wound.
As Kane worked, he flashed on a surf trip in Tahiti years ago, on wiping out on a ten-foot heavy wave and being slammed into the shallow coral. He paddled into the beach under his own steam, but had a serious case of “reef rash,” his body ripped open in various places where it had impacted the sharp coral. Most of it he treated by having his surf buddies pour hard alcohol directly over the wounds, but for two of the deeper ones, a local Tahitian villager showed him how to stitch them up himself with basic materials to avoid a flight to the main island to visit the hospital. He’d stayed on the remote island and kept right on surfing, and over the course of his multi-year surfing career, he’d seen it done countless times with other surfers.
That wasn’t something he could explain to his friends today, though.
“How’d you learn how to do that?” Boyd asked while Kane readied another suture. Kane did not look up from his work as he replied.
“In my line of work, sometimes I have to wrangle a gator in a pretty remote area. Some of my clients live in the boonies, and one of the old guys showed me how to do it. Said it saved his life deep in the ‘glades one time on a hunting trip.”
This explanation appeared to suffice, as the conversation moved onto other topics, mostly about how long Parker would be able to last with the panther. Kane worked through it and when he was done he stood and spoke to Brandon.
“Stay off of it for a couple of days. You’ll be fine.” Then he turned to Boyd. “Let’s go see how we’re doing with the bets.”
NINETEEN
They had to use two hats to collect all of the cash for Parker’s bout. A few more vehicles had shown up, and Kane considered whether they should institute a cellular ban. He’d already seen a few phone cameras flashing, and it wouldn’t be long before a viral video ended up online. Not to mention people putting out the word, but he supposed that was what it was all about. He had no idea where it would all end, but it was strange enough that he even got this far, so he would roll with it. He ascended the steps to the tank, briefly looking in on the pacing panther before addressing the crowd, which hushed as he raised an arm.
He made eye contact with Parker, who stood near the front, jogging in place with his walking stick, limbering up like a boxer about to step into the ring.
“Before Parker here gets into the tank, I want to lay down a few ground rules.” Kane paused to let this sink in as his gaze roved over the group. They quieted down and he went on.
“First: no photography or video.” He did not elaborate, wanting this point to be pure and simple.
Someone called out, “What happens in the tank stays in the tank!” and a ripple of laughter spread through the gathering. Kane nodded and then continued.
“You talk about the tank, you’re in the tank!”
A chorus of “oohs” ensued.
“Tell it to the panther!” a guy joked, and Kane knew it was time to get on with it.
“Let’s do this!” An undercurrent of excitement traveled through the throng as Parker stepped up to the tank platform, walking stick in hand. Kane reached up and set the match clock to 10:00. When Parker reached the platform, Kane stood off to one side. He made eye contact with the challenger, looking for that hint of fear, but he saw only cautious determination.
“Don’t use the stick on offense.”
“Afraid I’ll hurt your little pussy cat?”
Kane narrowed his eyes, but Parker went on. “Don’t worry, I get it. It’s just to keep it off me. I won’t use it to hurt it unless I absolutely have to.”
Parker nodded. “You tap out or yell for help and we’ll come get you out.”
Parker dropped into the tank without another word, and Kane reached up and hit the countdown button. On the ground, the knot of spectators clustered even tighter around the clear panels affording a view into the octagon, where the panther turned to look at the human who had just landed in his midst.
Parker stood still where he landed, knees still bent, walking stick held in his right hand. On the platform, Kane raised his eyebrows. Ten minutes was a long time to be in such proximity to a panther. Also, he wondered if having the stick might be a mistake, if the panther would see it as a threat, even without Parker having to use it. But so far, unlike with Brandon, the big cat kept its distance from the human interloper.
This was fine with Parker, who continued his stand-in-place strategy, head on a swivel as he watched the unpredictable feline.
“Nine minutes,” Kane intoned.
The standoff lasted another minute or so, but then it became clear the panther was growing increasingly agitated, unable to ignore the intruder in its presence. This time, it directed its energy toward escape, however, ignoring Parker and instead leaping up, its front paws nearly reaching the lip of the octagon while its back feet impacted with the wall about halfway up. The panther began to trot around the tank, ignoring Parker, who nevertheless spun in circles as he tracked the cat.
The carnivore jumped high again, this time swiping a paw on the lip of the tank, drawing a chorus of shouts from the crowd. It landed at a run on
four feet, using its momentum to continue around the tank. Parker could no longer turn around fast enough to keep constant watch on the panther, so he stopped moving and stood in place.
Observing from the platform, Kane could see now how little difference that walking stick would make against the panther’s raw unadulterated power, were it to run right into Parker. He looked up at the clock. “Seven minutes.”
The panther accelerated some more, literally bouncing off the walls as it ran in a circle, reminding Kane of a race car on a banked track. Again, it came very close to launching itself over the rim of the tank, but came just short. After narrowly missing the tank rim, it roared as it fell back to the mat, and this time, instead of continuing to run, it turned and sprung toward Parker.
The bartender crouched lower and pushed the pole out in front of him, gripping it with both hands. The panther charged, galloping, both front legs going airborne as it pushed off with the rear feet. Parker tried to dodge left, but the panther had time to correct its course and adjusted accordingly.
The pole did save Parker, but it wasn’t nearly as effective as he had hoped. The charging animal opened its maw to sink its canines into the soft flesh of the human’s neck. But it was met instead by the solid wood of Parker’s walking stick—he’d managed to get barely a foot of it blocking his throat a split second before the panther reached him. The move almost surely saved his life. The cat’s incisors chomped down on the wood, splintering it while digging its front and rear claws into Parker’s legs and shoulders.
Kane continued to call out the remaining time but no one was listening as the first true fight they’d seen between man and beast played out. Somehow, Parker managed to hold onto that stick as the feline knocked him to the mat, jaws still around the wood. The bartender braced himself, tightening his back muscles and pressing his left leg into the mat while kicking up sharply with his right. He wore boots, and he buried the tip of one of them in the cat’s soft underbelly, near the groin. With a howl, the panther leapt forward, over Parker’s head.