Night Kill (5 page)

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 where 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.

I had the bucket rim in one hand and grabbed the shovel in the other as I got to my feet, heart thundering in my chest, spots flickering before my eyes. Urine warmed my thighs. Rajah halted barely two feet away, crouched with his ears back and lips pulled up to show giant canines. He swatted at me hesitantly with a broad forepaw. I bashed him in the face with the bucket. He leaped away and turned right back, growling.

Threatening him with the shovel and bucket, I backed toward the open door. The tiger followed me step by step, tail lashing, head down and eyes intent on me. He looked enormous—the most dangerous thing on earth. His breath stank. His ribs vibrated with low growls.

He moved to my left, to circle behind me, a smooth ripple of yellow and black, tail thrashing. I rushed him in big steps, thrusting at his face with the shovel, jabbing his tender nose with the dirty point. He veered away and turned back toward me, closing in. I backed up, afraid to look behind to see where I was going, shovel and pail still in front of me, hopelessly inadequate. The tiger matched my steps, head low, eyes unblinking, vibrating. After an eternity, my shoulder bumped the heavy metal door. I stepped backwards through it and slammed it in his face.

Everything faded.

When I came to my senses, the door was locked—I couldn’t remember doing it—and the tiger was out of sight, probably down in the moat.

I couldn’t get up. I sat with my back against the cement wall, a spilled bucket of tiger shit next to me, the shovel across my legs. Nothing run by motor neurons worked. I could see and hear, that was it. Most of what I heard was thundering blood in my veins. Finally my hand obeyed and moved. The palm was skinned up and bleeding. I pushed the shovel away, bent a knee. It felt scraped also. I got up and leaned against the wall.

When I could walk, I looked in the den. It was empty, the guillotine door open. The tiger was out in the exhibit.

There was no doubt Raj could safely have ignored the shovel and bucket and taken me out. He chose not to. There was no real reason I was still alive, except maybe that he didn’t want me dead, just back where he thought I belonged. I wanted to believe that he didn’t want me dead.

What had happened—keeper error? Rajah had been in the den, but the door to the yard hadn’t been closed? No, I had shut that door. Had I? Maybe I had checked, as always, but hadn’t seen, looked but not noticed. I’d been so focused on thought control. Could I trust myself to know? I couldn’t think straight.

It felt like hours since I first walked into the exhibit, but my watch claimed it was only minutes. I called Wallace and told him I was sick. He said he’d move Linda to cats to finish up, and I stumbled to the employee parking lot, thighs rubbing against cold wet uniform, and started home. Once on the freeway, I started shaking so badly I had to pull over and wait, teeth chattering, until I could drive again.