13 Drops of Blood (10 page)

“Keller will come.”

“That’s one man.”

“And he’ll bring his family.”

Monk had a square jaw, beady eyes, and thin lips that came together in a way that made him look tough when he was thinking about money. He looked tough now, looked like he was thinking. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Let’s say he does. That’s him, Ellen, and the five young ones. That makes seven people right there, and you
know
he’ll bring the little ones. He’ll do it because he can, and he’ll do it to show off.”

“I suppose.”

“He will. And do you think Absonoff will stay home, a big shot like him? Not a chance. He’ll be there because of Keller, and he won’t be comin’ alone neither. And once Absonoff decides to go, old man Macmillan will get the fire under his ass. You know that.”

“Yeah.”

“And then there’s Norton King. He wouldn’t miss out on a thing like this, not in a million years. And he can afford it, might not want to shell out the cash but he will. Why? Because he don’t skimp on nothing, believe you me. And what do you think Laura will say when Norton decides to go to the zoo without her? Any ideas?”

“Okay, okay. I see your point. Now that I think about it Wendell and Markus wouldn’t miss something like this. They’d walk a mile in the rain to see a wet turd.”

“Yeah, not to mention ‘what’s his nuts’ up on the hill.”

“Gentry.”

“That’s right. Gentry. He’ll come. He’ll be first in line.”

“Sixty huh?” Monk was looking tougher and tougher. His thin lips puckered into a horizontal button that was threatening to disappear altogether. He was seeing possibilities in Jon’s foolish idea, dollar signs too. He grinned, releasing the button that was his mouth. “Do you really think you can bring in sixty? That’s a lot of people, Jon. A lot.”

“It’ll be a ‘one week only’ event, and whoever buys a ticket can to come all week long if the mood strikes ‘em. Yeah, I recon the zoo will bring in sixty. Like I said… might even bring in sixty-five.”

Monk rubbed his hands together. “Okay, lets pretend I agree. What’s in it for me?”

“Well August, I’ve given this a fair bit of thought too. I know you’re tough, but I believe you to be a man of your word.”

“That’s why I’m running the show.”

“Exactly. Now look-it, I could give you this or that, but I want you to help me nurture the damn thing. We’ll get sixty this time and seventy or seventy-five next; who knows? Might get eighty. You know this town. There’s nothing to do but sit around Bunter’s Saloon, gettin drunk and talking shit. And by the way, what do you think they’ll be yappin’ about after the zoo opens, huh? The zoo, that’s what… they’ll be talking ‘bout the zoo. My zoo. Your zoo.
Our
zoo. You get me?”

Monk’s little lips began to pucker again. “Uh-huh.”

“Hell, if someone farts loud enough half the town comes runnin’ to see whose shorts got dirty.”

“It’s hard to argue there. That new game, what is it called?”

“Bingo.”

“Yeah,
bingo
. It’s more popular than I thought possible… picking numbers to win a basket of tomatoes? I don’t get it.”

“That’s ‘cause people are bored, August. There’s nothing to do here.”

August Monk grunted. Jonathan Weakley was telling the unbiased truth about Monk Town: it was a boring place to live. He didn’t like it much but it was the truth.

“Now listen,” Jon said. “I want to give you twenty-five percent. I’ll cover the cost of food and the growth enhancing chemicals and the rest of it, don’t worry ‘bout that, but what I’m tryin’ to say is: I need your help. I need you to give me Town Pit and wave the three-dollar fee. And talk the zoo up, tell people they shouldn’t miss it… that sort of thing.”

“What’s that work out to, six bucks? Is that right?”

“Help me out and before long, your cut will be twenty dollars.”

August squeezed his lips together. He didn’t think he’d see twenty, not for a big rat. But he was wrong about bingo so he figured he might be wrong about the big rat too. And the town
was
boring; he had to admit it. He said, “If this zoo idea falls flat you owe me three bucks for the Pit plus my percentage. Sound fair?”

“Sounds fine Monk, just fine.”

* * *

That first week they didn’t bring in sixty or sixty-five. They brought in a hundred and forty-eight. The admission total was $74.00. Monk’s cut was $18.50. He couldn’t believe it. It was the easiest money he’d ever made. Stranger than that, Jonathan Weakley was an instant celebrity. Some considered him a hero.

And the people couldn’t get over the size of the rat.

It wasn’t big; it was huge.

To put it in perspective, a 290-pound rat is the size of a full-grown hog. People thought he captured the damn thing.

And they were thankful––none more so than Helga Whitman.

Helga was the first to call Jon a hero.

She said, “Can you imagine that monster finding you face down in the garden? Good Lord, it’d swallow you whole! Jon is a hero for capturing that abomination, a true hero! He should get a metal!”

It was later––after she discovered that Jonathan was responsible for growing the animal––that she formed God’s People.

She hated Jon then, felt like a fool too.

For the first few weeks Jon enjoyed his fame; he never thought people would react the way they did. It made him happy, but it also made him worried. He had the feeling that if people discovered the truth about the rat he might be in hot water.

Monk agreed; he felt it too.

So the two men decided to keep a lid on the science part of Jon’s zoo. Problem was, Jonathan’s experiments weren’t exactly a secret, and in time the information leaked and everybody knew the truth. Fortunately, it was a slow leak, and people didn’t seem to care.

Except for the perfect ten, that is. And they cared enough for everybody.

* * *

The second event sold two-hundred-and-two tickets, $101.00 at the door. Monk’s cut was $25.50; he couldn’t have been happier.

But this time it wasn’t a rat; it was an 850-pound lizard.

The lizard looked like a dinosaur and ran around the Pit with so much speed and might that people thought it would jump free and kill them all. It gave one hell of a fine performance. The spectators went home happy and filled with astonishment.

After that, things sort of went into production.

Jonathan hired Bill Watt and his brother Ted to build a permanent cage over the top portion of the Pit so the animals couldn’t escape. (After the lizard’s little run around the park, escape seemed very possible.) The men also built permanent cages inside the Pit for the rat, the lizard and whatever came next, sparing no expense. After the cages were finished, they started installing seats around The Pit’s rim. They were nicely crafted, made of leather. And they weren’t costing Monk anything, so he was all for it.

The Pit sat empty most of the year; there were a few dances, the odd wedding, and the annual Monk Town auction. But Bingo was held in
Town Hall
not
Town Pit
, and when it came right down to it––if August rented Town Pit ten times a year (at three dollars a day) he considered himself lucky.

Ten times three equals thirty bucks.

And Jonathan had given $44.00 inside a ten-week span.

So, as far as August was concerned, the Pit was Jonathan’s zoo now. The weddings, the auction, and whatever else came down the pipe, could take place at Town Hall––end of discussion.

* * *

The third event was announced fourteen weeks later. It showcased a 330-pound bullfrog; they sold 260 tickets. Six weeks later they showcased an 800-pound turtle and sold another 296 tickets. That was a total of 556 tickets and $278.00 at the gate.

Monk put $69.50 in his pocket.

He figured he’d soon be rich.

Unfortunately the turtle never moved and people went home displeased.

Jon felt that his reputation had taken a beating, his pride too. So he turned things up a notch and mutated something more dangerous: a wolf. By opening night the man-eater was 900 pounds and looked like a water buffalo. Its eyeteeth were four inches long and its snout was the length of your arm. It could easily bite a man in half.

Five hundred and twenty people lined up to see the wolf, nearly double the amount that came for the turtle. People saved for weeks, and Jon raised the admission price to sixty cents. It was a bold move considering the disappointing reviews the turtle received, but in the end the gamble paid off.

520 times 60¢ was $312.00.

Monk’s cut was $78.00.

It was right around then that God’s People started getting organized.

And Jon came up with his cage-match idea.

* * *

Helga Whitman, the woman who first labeled Jon a hero, was Monk Town’s local Bible thumper. She was tall and gangly and her feet looked like snowshoes. Her knuckles were white and somehow bloodless looking; her hands were forever balled into fists. She had a husband named Dale, who had a face like a turnip and tragically bugged-out eyes. He acted like he wore the pants in the family, which, of course, he didn’t. But nobody cared one way or the other so nobody disputed it. The pair made a fine couple. He was stupid and she was obnoxious. And for Helga and Dale, the campaign against Jonathan’s zoo started at home.

They had three children: Betty, Bailey and Mandy. All of them were girls. All of them were as ugly as the back end of a cow; poor things never had a chance, really. At eight, ten, and eleven years of age, what the hell did they know about right and wrong and the lay of the land? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.

They were the first to be recruited.

Next on the campaign trail was Walter and Ruth Huppert.

Walter had a face like a hamster and Ruth was so fat she made her own clothing. Everything she wore looked like a sack. The two of them combined weren’t bright enough to peel a bag of potatoes… and they had nine children. The youngest was two and the oldest was sixteen, and of course, the sixteen-year-old had two children of her own. Two boys. That made a total of thirteen people living under one roof.

Recruiting them was easy. Walter and Ruth were dumb enough to climb on a porcupine. And when they signed up, the family signed up too; they had no choice.

Next stop: Father Maloney.

Maloney was a quiet, peaceful man. He was a man of God who thought Jonathan was doing some interesting things at Town Pit. But that didn’t change the Church’s view of:
no man shall play God
, so when push came to shove, and Helga stuck the petition under his nose (with eighteen signatures, no less) Maloney sided with God’s People. He felt that he had no choice.

He also felt like moving to a different town.

War was brewing. It was easy to see.

With the Church in her pocket, Helga and Dale went door-to-door preaching the Lord’s word and hunting signatures. Some told them to piss up a rope. One couple laughed and one man tried to start a fistfight with Dale; most folk politely said they didn’t get involved in politics. However, there were a few that coughed up a signature, pledged their allegiance to the Lord and said, “I will not support Jonathan Weakley and his satanic rituals.”

Those poor unfortunate bastards thought it was the Christian thing to do.

Once Helga and Dale were done gathering signatures something strange happened, something nobody expected.

People choose sides.

Until then, a good chunk of the town didn’t care what Jon was doing. They heard stories and though it was interesting, but considering something interesting and pulling your ass off the couch are two different events.

That changed.

Now folks wanted to see what the fuss was about. And three weeks latter, when Jonathan showcased a twenty nine-foot gorilla, the zoo enjoyed its first sell out. The evening was a huge success. The beast was breathtaking; it looked like King Kong. Seven weeks later the zoo had its second sell-out showcasing a 560-pound wasp with clipped wings. A couple months later Jonathan enjoyed his third sell-out, showcasing a 1,900-pound rattlesnake. The forth sellout was a 9,000-pound grizzly bear. Then came the scorpion. Then came the wolf spider.

Helga was pissed. And ready for war.

* * *

As time marched on, August Monk grew very tired of God’s People. Every few days they came to his office complaining about Jon’s zoo and Satan and whatever seemed to be the hot topic of the day. Helga was always there, along with several dimwitted followers, and she loved flashing Monk her list of 73 names.

“They gave me their signature and their hearts to the Lord,” she was fond of saying. “The town supports me but most of them are afraid to get involved! That’s the only reason they didn’t sign!”

Monk found it hard to believe that the very people that were supporting Jon’s zoo wanted it shut down. And if they did, tough shit. With Jon constantly raising the admission prices he was making good money; that zoo wasn’t going anywhere. And Monk was no fool. Those 73 names were misleading at best. What Helga was really waving around was fourteen idiots and a bunch of children.

He said, “Jon’s zoo is a part of Monk Town now, Mrs. Whitman. You might as well get used to it.”

But of course, she didn’t. This was her cause. She figured an animal would soon break free and there’d be pandemonium in the streets.

Didn’t happen though.

What happened was a fistfight at Bunter’s Saloon between Helga and Bill Watt, forcing Monk to crawl out of bed and deal with the uproar. And with that, the fate of God’s people was decided.