by Rick Chesler
The voice on the other end laughed a little nervously. “Well sure, I guess. But the reason I’m calling is you said to let you know when there’s going to be another contest—I mean, party?”
Heather shut her front door and flopped down on her small couch. “Yeah! Really, there’s another one already?” She was genuinely surprised. She’d expected at least a week to pass before she started hearing about a new one.
“Yeah, I know, it’s pretty quick. But word is they got something special to put in the tank.”
“Like what?” Her curiosity was piqued.
“I don’t know, they’re keeping it a secret. But it’s probably going to be something new, that’d be my guess.” Then, before Heather could reply, he added, “Either new, or really big. Or maybe both!”
He laughed and she laughed long with him. “All right, so when is it? Where is it?”
“Not one hundred percent on the details yet, but pretty sure it’s going to be tomorrow night, 8pm. The old Hatteras ball field.”
Heather nodded silently to herself. She vaguely knew the location. Basically, an abandoned field at this point, far enough away from the nearest residential neighborhood that noise and traffic complaints shouldn’t be a problem.
“Sounds great, Danny, I’ll meet you there at eight sharp.”
“Uh, I could pick you up if you want.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll just meet you there. I might even have to leave early for work, so just in case, I want to have my car.”
“All right.” She detected the disappointment in his voice. “See you then.”
She disconnected the call and thought about the situation. Depending on what was in the tank—assuming they had an illegal animal being used for illicit purposes—it was an ideal place for a bust. Especially at night, under cover of darkness, where a special tactical team could move in without being noticed by bystanders. She would need clearance for that kind of support, though, and so she placed a call to her boss to lay out a plan.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Kane could tell the turnout was going to be huge by 7pm the night of the event. The buzz surrounding this match was thick and non-stop, with the phones of his inner circle sounding off almost continuously. He kept glancing over at the great white shark, afraid it would for some reason no longer be alive one of the times he looked, but each time, it was slowly prowling its octagon.
He walked up to the tank and climbed the platform. Looking down on the water, he shook his head with the new perspective of how huge the fish really was. He actually grabbed onto the handrail, so afraid he was of falling into the water and becoming an instant snack for the giant predator. Would he get into the ring with this animal? He asked himself the question rhetorically, because he was hoping Parker would do it, maybe one or two others. But, he forced himself to suppose, what if there were no other takers? This shark was absolutely deadly in such close confines. Yet if he wanted to make money tonight, he’d have to get in if there were no other takers.
He stared over the rail into the rippled surface of the tank one more time, where a large triangular dorsal fin sliced through the water, and then turned and surveyed the scene outside the octagon. A couple of cars drove onto the site. Kane checked his watch. It was still early, but friends of the friends were now entering. A few minutes after that would come everybody else. He frowned at the absence of any kind of gate or fence at this venue, but then told him to lighten up. This is your last one. It doesn’t need to go perfectly. Just make some money and get out of here…
“Hey, Lyle!” Cody’s voice carried up to the platform.
“Yeah?”
“Parker called. He’s on the way.” This news was delivered with a big grin. A grin that said, Parker’s the man, he’ll get in the ring with this white shark, and money will be made.
But when Parker arrived, he walked up to the octagon—still with a slight limp, Kane noticed—and watched the shark in silence for five minutes. Then he turned away and shook his head. “Not going to do it.”
Kane and Boyd exchanged glances and then Kane trotted after him. “Parker, hold up.”
“That’s too much for me, man. Not interested.”
“At least wait and see what the pot turns out to be. Could change your mind.” He raised his eyebrows, but Parker remained unconvinced.
“Whatever it is, it’s not worth losing a leg over, or worse. I’ve got a bad feeling about this one. How’d you even get it, anyway?”
Kane nodded, acknowledging the involved logistics behind the question. “Wasn’t easy, that’s for damn sure.” He told him the story of how Boyd, José, and his fishing buddies used an earth-moving machine one of them had access to from a job site, and some off-road jeep recovery straps to crane the shark onto a flatbed truck (also a borrowed work item) with the tank full of water already strapped onto it.
“What happens to it when the match is over?” Parker looked at Kane, who looked in on the shark and then shrugged. “Same thing that always happens. We let it go. Unless you want it for dinner?”
Parker laughed. “I heard they’re not good eating.”
“Then we might as well let it go. Hey, Parker…”
The bartender returned his stare.
“If you change your mind, just say the word, okay?”
Parker nodded.
“You know anybody else who might want a chance with it?”
“Maybe you, Lyle?” He smiled. “You up for the challenge?”
Kane looked back at the shark and shook his head. “Not my thing.”
“Just gators, they’re your thing, right?”
Kane nodded. “I understand those. That thing—” He pointed to the white shark. “Not so much.”
#
An hour later, the event was open to invited spectators, and they still had no one willing to get in the octagon. Kane was getting concerned. Maybe he would get in the tank. Make it five minutes. 300 seconds with a great white shark in return for real freedom—that was worth it, wasn’t it? But as he gazed in at the behemoth, he wasn’t so sure. The shark swam fast in the tank, surprisingly agile for such a large creature, turning and darting with movements that conformed perfectly to the tightly constructed shape of the octagon.
Kane shook his head to himself. How had things gotten to this point? Regardless, it would all be over soon, one way or the other. Already, he could hear guys talking about what it would take to get them in the ring. More beers, joked one, more money said another. More, more, more, Kane thought…
He was jittery, nervous from the stress of worrying about getting arrested before he’d make it out of town. He’d been driving all over South Florida, basically shuttling illegal wildlife around for profit, and he’d already been sighted at least twice by law enforcement. He knew they had to be looking for him for that reason alone, besides the fact that he was on the lam from California. He stared out at the gathering crowd while these thoughts pinged around in his head.
Funny how he knew most of these people now, was friends with quite a few of them. He’d done okay for himself here, he thought, managed to blend into a scene and even have a little bit of fun while figuring out how to move on. He even felt bad about it, a little—his roommates were good guys; they just had no idea who he really was, and it would have to stay that way. He continued to watch the people mill about, socializing, drinking, watching the shark. He’d miss some of these people, he thought, watching Cody high-five Johnny, watching Parker talking to two women while shaking his head and pointing back at the shark; watching—who was that?—walk over to the tank, around the back side, where she removed her cellphone and took a picture of it.
The phones should have been collected by now, he thought, checking his watch, but then again, they didn’t yet have anyone to get in the ring with the shark, so there was no need. Still, who was that, taking snapshots? She was by herself for the moment—but here came that guy Danny. As Kane watched, she quickly pocketed her phone before turning around and smiling at Dan
ny. He put a hand on her shoulder and waved toward a group of guys behind him, no doubt wanting to introduce her to his friends. Who was she, anyway, Kane wondered?
He remembered seeing her at the last match. He racked his brain, trying to picture where else he had seen her. He couldn’t recall her being at any of the other matches before that. It was like she just sort of appeared out of nowhere a few days ago. And yet she was supposed to be a local; certainly she looked the part. Kane shifted his focus back to the man she was with. He was somewhat familiar with him. He was a gung-ho fan of the matches, and a light bettor. Homestead local, worked in construction. Never with any women before. Kane wondered why the sudden change in that department. He didn’t see any real reason he should have suddenly acquired a girlfriend.
Kane looked out toward the edge of the field where the spectators’ vehicles were parked. He wondered which one was hers, but there were too many people in attendance now to be able to figure that out by process of elimination. He supposed she could have come in Danny’s car, anyhow.
Kane cracked a beer and sipped it while he continued to observe her.
#
Heather felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Not her personal one, though. This time, she was more prepared. If and when her phone was confiscated per match rules, she had a prepaid “burner” phone to hand over, while her smartphone remained concealed on her person. She took the phone out of her pocket, saw that the call was a text from her work and marked urgent, and promptly put the phone back in her pocket. She turned to Danny.
“Listen, I’ve got to take this call, okay. Be back in a couple of minutes.”
He nodded while frowning slightly. “You got a boyfriend?”
She smiled and shook her head. “No, it has to do with my work. I’m sorry, but I’ll be right back.” She walked a short distance away from the tank. She considered using the port-a-potty that was set up on the other side of the field to afford her a modicum of privacy for the call, but there was a short line of women already there, so decided instead to walk away from the tank until she was by herself in the field. She stopped, pulled out her phone, and looked at the message:
NGI-IPS QUERY RESULTS: C/B REQUIRED
A chill coursed up Heather’s spine as she looked up from the phone and back toward the tank, where the dorsal fin of the white shark cut through the water like a scythe. Call back required. She knew that meant they had returned a hit from the database search of one of the names she had submitted, and that they deemed it important enough that she needed to know about it right now. Taking one last look around the tank area, where the spectators were still pouring in, Heather dialed her work number and put the phone to her ear. A deskbound officer she knew well from working together over the years answered the other end.
“Hey, Linda, Heather here, I’m in the field on a case. What have you got?”
“I’ve got something you need to hear, especially if you’re on the tank case. Is it safe to talk now?”
“Affirmative. Let’s hear it.”
After a three second pause during which Heather heard the tapping of computer keys, Linda spoke. “One of the names you gave us, a ‘Lyle Johnson’ returned no hits, while the other two were both known local individuals with minor records.”
“Right, I heard that from Stevens. So you have an update on Lyle?”
“I sure do, and it’s a whopper. Make sure you’re clear there in the field.”
Heather took another quick look around. No one was in earshot, but at the same time, she knew that simply standing alone put in the middle of the field for too long would bring unwanted scrutiny. “I’m clear, you can go ahead.”
“Okay. Since the name ‘Lyle Johnson’ turns up nothing at all, we submitted the picture you took of him to the NGI-IPS facial recognition database.”
“And you got a hit?” Heather couldn’t contain the excitement in her voice.
“We got a huge hit all right. Turns out that this guy’s real name is ‘Kane Brooks,’ a former professional surfer from California, and he’s not only a convicted felon, but he’s currently on the lam after escaping from state prison in Chino, California.”
Oh my God… Linda knew that Heather was struck suitably speechless, so she went on.
“You need to get out of there, Heather, right now, and let us call in a SWAT unit. You need to—”
At that moment, Heather heard footsteps pounding the ground somewhere behind her. She spun around and saw a man—not Lyle—Kane, she mentally corrected herself—running straight toward her. Quickly, she spoke into her phone. “Copy that, Linda, gotta go.” She pocketed her device, but the guy running up to her pointed to it as she did so. He was young, early to mid-twenties; she couldn’t recall his name, and he didn’t offer one.
“I need to collect that. It’s time for the match to start, you know the rules.” He held out a bag already containing several phones. Hesitating for just a second, Heather reached into her pocket and removed the burner phone. She held it up for the guy to look at. “You guys have anyone to get into the tank yet?”
“Lyle says he might do it if no one else wants to.”
Heather raised her eyebrows and then dropped the phone into the bag. “Should be good.”
He smiled and started walking back to the tank. Heather thought it would be really suspicious to hang around here by herself now, supposedly without her phone, so she walked with him over to the octagon. Once there, her escort headed for the tank platform where Lyle and Boyd were chatting, while she found Danny waiting for her.
“That guy took my phone,” she told him as he handed her a cold beer. He nodded, saying, “Yeah, I gave him mine, too. Means we might get a match soon!” He stared excitedly at the octagon, where the great white circled.
THIRTY-NINE
Kane watched Heather walk back from the field and then approached his roommate, Matt, who had the bag of phones. He waved him over to the platform and ducked beneath it, indicating for his friend to come with him. “Hey, let me see that, would you?” He pointed to the bag. “You get ‘em all?”
“I did. Here.” He handed him the satchel of cellphones. Kane opened it and peered inside. “Which one belonged to that girl out in the field you just talked to?” Matt looked into the bag and pulled out one of the phones lying near the top of the heap. “This one here.” He handed it to Kane, who turned it over slowly in his hands, examining it. He powered it on and waited for it to boot up.
“Why, what’s up? This chick some kind of narc or something?” Matt appeared perplexed.
“She told me her name was Jenna. I never saw her around until the match before this, did you?” Kane asked while watching the tiny screen light up. Matt looked back toward Heather where she was talking to Danny. “Nope. Are you gonna get in the tank with that shark or what?”
“I don’t know.” The phone finished booting and Kane started to scroll through its contacts, text and call logs. He frowned as he looked at the screen.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing on this thing. It’s like it’s brand new. You sure this one was hers?”
Matt shrugged. “I’m sure, yeah. You want me to go get her?”
“No, I’ll handle it. See if you can get the pot circulating. The more cash up for grabs, the more takers we’ll have.”
Matt nodded. “Could be your cash, too.”
Kane eyed him. “We’ll see.”
Matt left the platform and began circulating through the crowd, leaving Kane to stare at the prepaid phone. He didn’t understand why, since he had observed her talking on it while she stood there in the field, that there was no call history whatsoever. No texts, no emails, nothing. That meant that either this was the wrong phone or…he looked up and watched her look away from the guy she was with to stare at the shark—or she had another phone on her. She had to have another phone on her. But why? Unless…he supposed a lot of people carried two phones, one for work and one personal… But this was a cheap prepaid phone, he tho
ught, turning it over in hands. Obviously never even used. He felt a pang of…was that fear?—concerning his legal status… This lady started showing up only last week, now she was trying to game the phone confiscation rules for the matches?
If that was true, Kane thought, then she was either some kind of local law enforcement—perhaps Fish and Wildlife—attempting to break up the animal matches—or else it was even more serious than that, and she was a federal agent—FBI or even a US Marshall—working undercover to bring him in. He shuddered at the thought of being apprehended and sent back to that prison in California, where he’d face even stricter conditions and a longer sentence. Could he simply be acting paranoid? He supposed, but then again, he reflected, it wasn’t paranoia when they really were out to get you.
No, he was going to have to do something about this. But he couldn’t simply walk away. He had a great white shark in a cage match tank, for crying out loud, with a crowd of people gathered around to wager. He needed to make this happen, take the cash, and then run. He momentarily considered the option of simply taking the pot that was already gathered. He could ask Boyd to let him check it out, he wanted to count it…and then…disappear. Drive back to the house, put it with his existing stash, and get to the Bahamas tonight.
But he hadn’t yet put together his escape plan—his boat passage or plane fare—hadn’t worked out how to exactly do it yet, he’d been so busy planning the matches. He’d anticipated having one more successful match and then having a few days to orchestrate his exit from Florida. Not only that, but he didn’t really want to burn the people who had helped him make this all possible, although he would if he absolutely had to, but he didn’t want to. Besides, they’d be after him too, if he split with the cash, and they knew the area very well. He didn’t need that.
Kane wiped the sweat from his forehead and swatted a mosquito off his arm as he turned his mind toward who was going to fight in the match. Boyd had had a point—if Kane entered the tank, he’d make that much more cash. If he lived, that is. He looked over at the apex predator, the massive bulk of its fish white underbelly gliding past him in the tank. He didn’t go through all the trouble of escaping from prison, going on the lam all the way across the country, and starting up a new life only to be eaten by a shark in a tank. He had to get someone else to be a contestant.